Another One Bites the Dust…

The year I turned 33.

I mean I know they call it a “Jesus Year” but for some reason I conflated it with the resurrection only. The proper paradigm would’ve acknowledged it to be the year I would experience both the beautiful and the brutal.

That is the juxtaposition of “Good Friday” right?

Every mountain top moment was accompanied by an instant blow, bringing me lower than its starting point. Every betrayal left me so broken I wondered if I had enough “want to” in my heart to function in connectivity…ever? And on to mention the countless sabotage attempts. Damn near fumbled my faith for a mischief belief that weapons, in fact, do prosper.

So, the new year was spent in recovery. Honoring what it took to survive 33. Acknowledging the increase of endurance capacity. The presence of new boundaries to protect me. The courage to interrupt generational cycles lacking an invitation to destiny.

To be assured that just as He, Jesus did. 33 would be the year of the brutal breaking down…and an even more beautiful ascension.

Another one bites the dust.

B