The Ragamuffin Kid

occasional rumblings of the bedraggled, beat-up and burnt-out

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I am a traveller on my way Home, passing through this little land. It's a lovely place, though nothing compared to where I'm heading, I was told. I have journeyed through several valleys. Not the kindest place I must say. But hey, I've had some "mountain top" experiences too. They made me long for Home. I heard there are no valleys at Home. I have met some fellow travellers along the way. But mostly find myself among locals. If you're local, please bear with my quirkiness. I know my accent and ways are puzzling sometimes. If you're a fellow traveller, keep going. We should be reaching soon. Bon voyage!

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Liberation Day

Finally the day of liberation came for me last Sunday. It came without much fanfare. Almost went unnoticed if God had not trained me to look out for changes in my heart's rhythm and how daily events affect it's direction.

It is wise at this moment not to be overly jubilant and think myself to have succeeded. This deliverance was purely a gift of grace. Personal success and victory is no where to be found.

The major difference this time is the lack of my active participation. But as surely as the mist clears when morning breaks, the addiction lifted and the brilliance of sunshine descended upon me. For once in a long while, my soul could breathe freely. All my will power and determination in the past had not brought me very far. Maybe this is why we call them "addictions". Precisely because they are beyond our control. Sheer will power doesn't cut it. But just as I let go of it, God came through for me. A lesson on dependence? No doubt, but I know it's just the beginning. I say with Paul, "I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead".

To all of you who are fighting for your own freedom; be it from depression, oppression or addictions, take heart ...... your day of liberation will come! ......Though not always through your own hands. Real freedom is a gift.

I would love to be able to retell this experience in the form of an allergorical story in the likes of John Bunyan's The Pilgrims Progress or C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia. Perhaps one day I shall attempt it. For now, I'll breathe in the new air.


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