You Don't Have to Stay Here

I am often plagued by nightmares. Less so than before, but they happen at least once a week or so. Sleep has never, really, been my friend. They don't really surprise me anymore, but are just simply expected. And then it is a sweet relief if they don't come.

I had one the other night that was unlike any I've ever had before. The darkness and fear, they were the same. But in the middle of it, everything stopped. A man appeared out of nowhere and said to me, "You don't have to stay here," and pointed to an open door. But I didn't understand. I couldn't comprehend what that meant. So I did what left me with gut-wrenching guilt and shame when I awoke: I turned back. I turned my back on the man offering me freedom, and I chose the horrifying.

Appalling, horrifying, terrifying, sickening. And yet, familiar. It was safe, in a way. Because it was all I had ever known. The unknown life waiting just beyond the light in the doorway was far more terrifying, in the moment, than the familiar nightmare.

I have not been able to shake the meaning of this. No, I don't normally read into dreams. But this was not a normal dream, and the truth echoing in it has stirred my soul unceasingly. That pull in my soul has said, "Pay attention." So I'm paying attention.

I've been reading The Supernatural Ways of Royalty by Kris Vallotton. The book has hit home more than I thought it would. Partly, because Kris's story is similar to mine and he points out many of the struggles I face because of it. And partly because it addresses what God has been trying to teach me for a while now, I just didn't realize it: my identity.

I always thought it was solid. My identity is in Christ, and I have always rested in that. What I am realizing now, though, is just how many lies I have been told about my value, and how they still affect the way I live my life. And resting in my identity in Christ cannot be complete and wholehearted until the lies I used to believe are defaced.

That's a scary thing. To open yourself to every fear you ever faced, every one of the innumerable lies you were told about your value, every single thing you have always feared was actually true. Even if you know it isn't. Because it's familiar, the presence of those lies.

But, as I was reminded the other night, "You don't have to stay here." There is a truth, an identity I have never truly taken ahold of, waiting for me. That of a daughter of a king. A princess. Immensely valuable. I want to turn back to the familiar nightmare no more.

I don't really have any idea what this means. It is difficult, but I can tell I am at the beginning of something wonderful. Something immensely hard, but wonderful. And I do not face it alone. And at the end of it, God has graced me with a promise: that I will know who I really am and how incredibly loved I have always been.

Any fear pales in comparison to that sweet, sweet promise.

I don't think I'll stay here anymore.