Fear. Fireworks. and Freedom.

I couldn't help it. I went out to Atlantic beach with my parents tonight to enjoy some fireworks, and it hit me. A distant memory flashed before me as if it just happened yesterday. Confession time: I was a strange child. I guess being the middle child of five requires you to go to extreme measures to stand out. To be unique. To get the attention every child (ahem, every person) likes and requires to feel significant. All that to say this: as one of my childhood quirks, I was scared of fireworks. That's right. As everyone else was enjoying the first-hand sights, I was overly fearful of the sound of fireworks. As a result, I'd go into my aunt's living room and shove pillows into my ears until the madness was over. I don't know when or how I eventually overcame this strange fear of mine, but tonight, as I sat on the beach with my parents, I realized how very glad I am that I no longer fear fireworks. Rather, I can now enjoy them as the sign of freedom that they are. You know what? I'm gonna go here with that thought: aren't our spiritual lives the same way, sometimes? We see others enjoying the freedom that Christ came, died, and rose again to give us, yet the silly ( yet oh-so-real) fears in our hearts, minds, and lives require us to bypass the firework moments of life, shove spiritual pillows in our ears, and miss the celebration altogether. Whatever fear you're facing tonight, let go of your comfort pillows and join the family in celebrating the freedom and victory Christ died to give you. Your fireworks are waiting.

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