I should quit school and just open my own business already: A’s Agency for Freedom Advocacy. That about sums me up! Something clicked just now and I had to write it down. I have an innate instinct to rally for freedom.

Freedom in every form! Personal, professional, social, political. Freedom for those who have it and want more, freedom for those who want it but don’t have it. Freedom for those who aren’t even looking for freedom. Freedom for the children, freedom for the elderly. Freedom from imposed restrictions and those put upon us by ourselves…Let it RING!!!

I guess it’s normal, or at the very least natural. We want our souls to feel free from our mortal bodies, we just don’t want to be tethered! I know I don’t. And since I feel so fiercely about this freedom business I ought to make some use of it. Not to discount the idea of needing one another as a human race, because that I most definitley believe we do. The freedom I’m speaking of is just the light feeling of joy that abounds where opression does not.

It’s funny how things shake out when you begin to scan your life backwards and see pieces of your unique puzzle fit together in a way that couldn’t be recognized looking forward. For instance last semester I had a class on African American Literature. This was mind-blowing, heavy stuff. It was enlightening and sad and jubilant. It was eye-opening and it was tear-inducing, and the whole of every single story was about FREEDOM. For a girl like me, this is the stuff that wrenches my gut. Not with pity but with excitement for having a chance to glimpse into the heartfelt words of other FREEDOM SEEKERS!! I somehow get it. Not in the smae way for the same reasons, but I get it. I feel it and it moves me. I like that culture in it’s essence traced back to African roots. There is one thing I find mysterious and captivating and reverent about them: they know a secret about life I will never know. Their wisdom came at a cost any anglo I know could never bear. I believe God chose that race of people to teach this world something because they are the strong and spiritual. Freedom was their cost. That semester I understood things I could have never known without reading the literature of thier people. This semester God plunked me in a math class 5 days a week with mainly African Americans. I am the major minority in this class. We laugh, listen to gospel, and help each other learn math. Because we all want freedom from this math obstacle. We work hard together everyday to learn a thing none could do before. We are doing it now, together, and every day we get a little freer. Abd underneath the math they are teaching me so much more. This math is the difference between a ghetto and home for many of them. I get that. I respect it. I draw strength from it and it frees me from the belief that anything in my life is too hard to overcome. It isn’t ever really too hard, just sometimes hard. But if I ever want freedom from things that stand between me and my goals, all I have to do is believe that freedom is already mine, in my heart. Freedom in your heart is the best place to start!

And I have their back on that. I have the backs of all freedom seekers because freedom is what we are and what we need in order to be unencumbered enough to make use of the gifts we are given. So if it’s freedom you seek, freedom you shall have. Freedom in your heart is the best place to start. Free yourself from yourself. Free those you love from your control. Fear not what may happen when you love and let live.

You see, I haven’t always been a freedom expert. I am only beginning to learn it’s power. But I have always felt it’s yearning inside and I’m beginning to recognize it in those around me. When I see someone who seems to be hankering for a little of the free stuff I ask myself how can I help? I begin with my family. I do my best to raise my kids in a freedom-friendly environment. This doesn’t mean “free for all,” just free to be who you are (not free to eat a can of whipped cream or free not to shower for a week). Those kinds of freedoms come when mama’s no longer in charge of safe keeping.

I recognize my endless struggle for freedom in my own life, in the ways I feel it was restricted by my parents who chose the parenting path of tyranny rather than tenderness, my need to free myself with a formal education, being free from social “cliques,” free within the context of a committed relationship. I want nothing more than freedom from time constraints. I hate clocks and almost never watch them (to the dismay of anyone who’s waiting for me). So I empathize with freedom seekers everywhere. My 11-year old begs for freedom from her siblings. I know that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love them. It means she needs some time to explore her own identity outside the context of the one within this family. And my husband needs freedom from my endless expectations of what he should always be doing. Hark! I have stolen the freedom of a loved one, the very freedom I cherish! God knows my son just wants freedom to express himself and explore the world through his own interesting filter and no one else’s. Fair enough. I shall intentionally continue on my freedom advocacy to include allowing him to decorate his bedroom like Sanford & Son. Nice and “ecclectic,” just the way he likes it.

For the hubs, if it’s freedom from unfinished projects inside so he can hone his green thumb outdoors, so be it. It’s what makes him happy. And what else in the world could I ever want more than the happiness of those I love? A freshly painted foyer would be nice, but in all honesty won’t fill my love bucket or anyone else’s in the way my husband’s enjoyment outdoors will.

In an end to the Freedom Post, I wish freedom for all. And freedom in the heart is the best place to start!

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