Are You Clinging to a Dead Self?
Sometimes the simplest interactions with nature prompt us to have deep and meaningful conversations with our creator. Sometimes God uses his handiwork to exhort us to have those conversations with ourselves.
I had one of those moments of discovery weeks ago while doing the mundane—taking my fur baby out for her midday “relief.” She quickly directed my attention to the big tree in our front yard, where cicadas had been hatching from their shells. Here in Michigan, we don’t have the species that only show up every thirteen to seventeen years; we grow these monsters yearly. They are common, noisy insects despite being pretty cool to budding entomologists.
I decided to snap a picture to share with my grandkids. The intricate design of his wings drew me in as I wondered at the soft, translucent, green details. Here was this new creature hanging on a dead and crusty shell—for dear life, I might add.
The Holy Spirit wasted no time in convicting me with this question: Cyndi, are you clinging to your dead self?
He wasn’t done, either, because as I edited my photos, I noticed some fragments of old chain hanging from the tree. Broken, hanging, useless chains.
How easy it is to cling to the dead me! How easy it is to forget the chains that once bound us have been rent! Patterns of thinking, patterns of sin, cause us to sink our fingernails into useless things.
As women, we tend to be incredibly hard on ourselves. We can easily fall into the temptation of measuring ourselves against everything other than biblical standards. Our identities as daughters of the King take a backseat to how others may view us, and worse yet, how we view ourselves. Social media comparison contests often deliver blow after blow to who we are designed to be. Negative self-talk hastens defeat. We can’t forgive ourselves for what the Lord already has forgiven, and Satan, the master of lies, calls for encore after encore of all our past mistakes and regrets. It is here we find ourselves clinging to the dead me, forgetting we are not chained to who we once were, forgetting we are made free by the Lover of our imperfect souls.
Ask yourself, Who or what is the dead me hanging on to? Is it your past, or is it a habit you haven’t yet kicked to the curb? Maybe it’s anger, resentment, jealousy, envy? Maybe it’s present self-esteem issues based on body image, health, or aging? Possibly, it’s the caustic words of someone else ringing incessantly in your ears, drowning out the Spirit, who is whispering truth to you. I urge you to spend some time allowing the Holy Spirit to reveal exactly what your “dead me” is.
There is no life in these hollow shells, dear sisters. They are empty exoskeletons that keep the true you, the new you, from spreading those delicate wings and flying. We can’t stop with the breaking-out portion of our spiritual development. We must exercise brave trust and let go of the very things that have held us. Let go of death! Let go of defeat!
Grasp this:
“If anyone is united with the Anointed One, that person is a new creation. The old life is gone—and see—a new life has begun! All of this is a gift from our Creator God, who has pursued us and brought us into a restored and healthy relationship with Him through the Anointed” (2 Corinthians 5:17–18 VOICE).
Every day is new. Every day you are new. Every day his merciful, plentiful love is new.
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:22–23 ESV).
And now, let this be our hope as we choose to release our white-knuckled grasp on all that is the “dead me.”
“Those who trust in the Lord will renew their strength; they will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint” (Isaiah 40:31 HCSB).
We have been set free by the Lover of our souls.
likes to write and blog about life lived and lessons learned on her journey as a Christ-follower. She has been greatly blessed with five children, two in-love kids, and seven grandchildren. Her family represents a beautiful tapestry of skin colors. Cyndi lives in Michigan with her husband, Jim, and the only birdie left in the nest. She blogs at Soul Tracings.
Photograph © Cyndi Thelen, used with permission
