Glorious Monday morning, friends! I hope that your Resurrection Sunday was filled with signs and wonders. My Holy Week was filled to the brink with attacks and clarity. I realized that I’m a lot softer in this season. The attacks I’ve endured over the past month would’ve taken me out a few years ago. I would’ve been bitter, angry, and retaliative. Though I knew how God would want me to respond to these attacks, I would’ve likely taken care of things my way. Thank God that’s not who I am today.
Just last week a colleague told me that I was getting soft. I think he said it to try to get under my skin. In fact, every time I made a decision that week, I could hear him saying You’re getting soft, Malone. The more it echoed in my mind, I realized that it didn’t get under my skin; it had entered my heart. What I know about the heart, is that it stores lots of things. I also know that what’s stored there will eventually come out of my mouth, so if soft, tender, sentiments and words are stored there, then I’m equipped for whatever comes my way. It’s called grace — God’s amazing grace. When my friend referred to me as soft, I viewed that word through a reflection on my past when I equated that word with weakness. I was not allowed to be weak as a young woman, and I refused to be weak by putting on a tough exterior and using tough words, but I was (and still am) weak. I’ve found that the way I see myself these days is a direct reflection of how my Lord sees me and always has seen me. Thankfully, he can use me best in this weakened state, and he can use you too once you realize that being tough is overrated.
As I was driving to church to serve Saturday, a not-so-gentle man was right on my bumper as I prepared to merge onto 295. I was late, but apparently, he was later. The old, down-for-whatever me might’ve tapped my brakes just to teach him a lesson or to scare him a little. This new and improved me continued at the same speed without looking into the rearview mirror or giving him the death stare. Instead, I prayed that he would safely make it to his destination without harm to himself or others–that God would afford him grace in a mighty way. As I merged onto 295, he zipped around me at a feverish speed and nearly clipped me. I’m glad I prayed that prayer and that I had the opportunity to see my transformation through this gentleman.
I have learned to pump my brakes — to slow down — even if it means I’ll be tardy for the party or miss it altogether. A few too many hard lessons have softened me in all the right places. I’m no longer a slave to what the world says I need to say, do, or be. I have put away those childish things — finally. As HIS child, I only want to please him. I can’t control the speed at which you do life, but I have a little control over my own speed. I encourage you, however, to keep your eyes open for potholes, speed traps, and road signs — these are sometimes the signs and wonders he sends to remind us to pump our brakes. ❤
Please take a minute to turn up the volume, put on your dancing shoes, and rock out to my Music Monday selection from Sugarland. May blessings abound!
P.S. If you love this post, pass it on. My goal for this year is to travel to every state and every nation. Help a sistah out. ❤