Where the Sidewalk Ends


He hands us paper in eight different colors.

Purple for me. Tan for another. Green for one of the men.

We’re asked, simply, to pray and speak life over each person, writing down what we hear or see on the card.

The exercise takes thirty minutes or so. I don’t think much into what I’m writing. If I think it, I overthink it, and so I pray “Jesus, what do you say?” then write, not reading over it. On one card, a tree with roots in a river. On another, a wedding bower. Symbolism, maybe, but I hope it means something to them.

When I get my envelope back, there’s a pause, a catch as I read through them. Mostly, they speak of rest–something I’ve struggled with all my life.

But one makes me stop completely.

On it is a crudely drawn sidewalk full of holes. The artist’s written:

There are some cracks in you that cause emotional instability. But the Lord is wooing your heart, gaining your trust. And as you release more and more control to Him all of those cracks become filled up with His love. And you are being built up into a secure, stable and steadfast woman of God.

This is almost offensive honesty.

I don’t want to hear that I’m unstable, uncertain, although this month it’s been true.

April has been the month that wouldn’t end. The roller coaster month of emotion and communication and angst and the question, What if? and What now? It’s been the month of uncertainty at war with peace– and winning.


Or almost.

Something’s been shifting in my spirit lately. Since Sunday really, when I found myself sitting on my bed surrounded by journals, searching for answers.

I needed God to speak some really clear things to me. I needed a yes–to see where it’s His hand leading me to this place that feels so uncomfortable sometimes. It’s the edge of a cliff and I’m looking over, wondering about the logistics of jumping off.

Will I hit something on my way down? What if I get hurt? How far down am I jumping, anyway? What if I land on something at the bottom and smush it?!

There’s a routine for this kind of questioning. It goes something like this: Massive freakout. Seclusion. Quiet. Emergence of stubborn determination.

And then the search begins.

When I began to search for the answers, I started seeing patterns. I started writing all the promises spoken over me in vibrant color, pulling them up and away from my own words so I could see the truth of the LORD spoken so clearly over me, singing over the things to come.

When I see them, the cracks in my sidewalk get caulked up, filled up, with the tangible expression of His love. I know I’m valuable, seen, loved and adored. I remember how I got here in the first place, and why.


I think, if I’m willing to jump from such great heights from the edge of the sidewalk, what I’ll find at the bottom of the cliff is a garden, wild and rambling, the trellises overtaken with cabbage roses and sunflowers higher than my head.

I think I’ll find my heart.