Lay hold of your freedom, dear heart.~Quote from my book, The Light By Which We See

Things come to me. Like last week. A friend gave me a turquoise and white mug.  On its side I read the words, "Go Where You Feel Most Alive." My friend's loving and kind eyes shone when she gave the cup to me. "You can drink your hazelnut coffee in it when you sit down to write." I haven't stopped thinking about the words on the side of the mug. It was an invitation to think about what makes me feel most alive. I thought of the things that don't make me feel alive--too much scrolling on the internet, comparing myself to others who are more beautiful or talented or both, watching life-sapping movies or reading overly dark books, putting pressure on myself to do what I "should" do. People pleasing. "So where do you feel most alive?" I asked myself. I remembered when I began to lay hold of the answer. It came in a dream I had in a hotel room when Giovanni and I traveled to Barcelona, Spain. Room 1614.

I wrote about the experience in my latest book, The Light By Which We See. The cover design was inspired by the encounter in Barcelona.

In the dream, I stopped to look in a mirror and noticed a long hair coming from my eyebrow. I plucked the hair out. But as I looked closer in the mirror, I noticed a minute hole in my skin where the hair had been removed. There was a piece of thread that I could see inside the opening, and I began to pull at it. When I tugged, streams and streams of gauzy fabric began to flow out. I was determined to yank out all the material emerging from that narrow exit. And when the end finally came, I looked down. Mounds of soft, ugly, gray cloth lay at my feet. I observed a faint plaid design in the textile.

I awakened with a start. I sat up and looked out our window. The sky appeared dark purple, light beginning to seep into the horizon. I got my journal and began to record the dream. "God, what was that material that spooled to the floor in a heap of darkness? What came out of me? I stopped writing and once again looked out the window. On an open terrace, two chairs nestled around a table--a pot of red geraniums at its center. People would sit there later in the day. I wanted to be them. I wanted to go to my terrace and sit in my own chair and look at my container of geraniums, gladness cascading from my lips. Loving myself. And it was then that I realized what the dream meant. A message began to ring true. It was as if I stood at the bottom of a staircase and heard the light at the top. If I followed that sound, I'd hear the voice of God. I ran up the stairs and this is what I heard, the light shining all around me.

"Priscilla, I love who you are, and I long for you to see yourself through a different lens--my lens. The repulsive material symbolizes the layers and layers of self-consciousness and shame over the years. It's out now. Plaid has patterns Allow the dark, gray, shadowy thought patterns about who you are to remain on the floor. Step out of that mound of dingy, unsightly material and move on. Lay hold of your feedom, dear heart."

I feel most alive when I stay close to Jesus. In that location, I'm anchored into my real identity and experience His peace and mercy. His nearness. Jesus is the one who searches us out. Seeks us. He gave His life so that we can can stay close to Him, where it's safe, where we're loved as we are. And He's creative in His approach. A dream, a pot of red geraniums, the love of a friend who gives you a mug to remind you where you feel most alive.