Freedom

 

  Cruising through my neighborhood in my black Tesla Model S feelings of power and control are running through my veins. Children are playing amongst each other. Parents are getting themselves some rest and relaxation. Elders are looking at babies. Babies are smiling back at them. This what I call freedom.   

  Sitting on a bench watching time go by my thoughts escape me. I reflect on the hours that I wasted and the hours I used correctly. I pace my steps and watch my tone. My disabilities remind me that I am nothing more than a human being. Before I use my gifts and talents, I am careful as to what causes I use them for. If I don't seek the Lord's counsel on any given topic, I will drop it and keep it moving. This is what I call freedom.      

  A field of flowers is what calms my nerves. A couple of minutes without a phone or social media solves half of my problems. I brush my fingers through lilies. Bury my nose in bunches of roses. Lay my head on pillows of grass. This is what I call freedom.    

  Reclining a therapist chair, I tell a professional what I want him or her to know. The more personal questions the psychiatrist ask me the more annoyed I become. Childhood is off limits. Love life is off limits. Work and occupation are off limits. Salary is off limits. Walking out of that office I felt sane and intact. This is what I call freedom.   

  The foot of the cross is where all my burdens lay. The cross is my source of healing. The cross is where my deliverance comes from. The cross is where I find redemption. The cross gives me strength to live day by day. Without the work that was done on the cross I don't know where I would be. This is what I call freedom.     

  I urge whoever reads this to be comfortable in their own skin. Be a polka dot in a room full of stripes. Be a black sheep amongst the spotless. Be the one that walks the straight and narrow while people digest blue and red pills. Be smart. Be courageous. Be strong. Most importantly be free.