I'm not going to use the cane anymore. It has become a crutch-a way to say things without ever actually speaking; a billboard of disability.

I'm going to get stronger and I'm going to build muscle. No more of this weakness and fear that I'll "overdo it" and die-stuff. I will die, eventually. We all do. There's no formula that ends any other way. The truth is, I had a stroke and it completely scared me. It knocked me back and off kilter. But I don't have to stay there. I can move forward. I can. I will and I am. 

We went home yesterday-to our home church. Everytime we go, we are met with such warmth. It's as if we never left. As if nothing changed. 

That's what Landmark is. A place to come home to-a light on a hill. A remnant of a precious time. A steady beacon filled with steady folk, who serve the Lord day in and day out. They are small in number, but mighty in faith that is proven and strong.

We worshipped with Ms. Becky at the helm, Ms. Vickie on the piano, and my husband on the drums. Steady fire is the best way to describe it.

Ms. Vickie told me later that I should have played instead. She's a sweetheart, but I felt the Lord in my spirit say, "Worship, Jess. Be free." So, I did.

I closed my eyes, lifted my hands, and the cane kept falling. It was such a hindrance. I had nowhere to put it. But when I took my eyes off of it, and leaned into the embrace of Jesus, and truly stopped worrying so much about it, that's when I knew.

I knew before I made it to the altar that I wasn't going to need it anymore. I already knew I was gonna pray for whoever ended up down there, needing a healing touch. Funny thing, was I had to go down there to do it. 

I love to pray. I love to put my hands on people and speak life over them. I wasn't thinking about anything but the prayer and that may seem pretty straightforward a notion, but for me, it isn't. I get so distracted. I think about so many upcoming, worrisome things. See, I like to be prepared. I'm anxiety-riddled.

But not then. I was on mission. My intent was to pray for, not be prayed for. I had accepted the stroke and all its side effects as just what was, now. I carried the cane out of habit to the altar, but it didn't feel right. 

The prayer was special. I went down because she went down and I D K how to explain, 'cept say it was faith that led me to. I ain't ever had a problem hearing from the Lord. It's my pride that keeps me from doing what is asked of me. She said that word yesterday, before the altar call, and I felt it. Deep. Pride and perfectionism keep me bound up in knots, and that is documented on the therapy/scientific side of things.

I prayed for her and I was not uncomfortable when the Lord took hold and that's huge for me. I just listened and I understood and this quiet confidence woke up within.

Ah, I see.

The cane fell again, albeit quite dramatically, and I knew I wasn't ever gonna pick it up again. I don't need it. I am stronger now than I've ever been and I have things to do.

The stroke happened. The tremor persists and I have left-sided weakness; but God. I've got faith to overcome.

I'm not gonna look for a reason why because it doesn't matter. What matters--what truly matters--is that I follow through with my faith.

The stroke brought focus that this wild and roaming heart needed for this last bit and that is how I'm choosing to look at it. Not as a victim. 

Purposed.