Recently, the Lord moved me from Arkansas to Louisiana. I was so happy to leave Arkansas and be released from it – it had felt like an overgrown prison to me.
As I drove south on the interstate, I was thanking and praising God for a new start in a new place when He impressed upon me that I could have been released much sooner, but my words had been stout against Him.
Then I remembered myself saying, again and again, the Lord usually keeps me in a place for 4 years. The Lord usually keeps me in a place for 4 years. So guess how long I had to stay in Arkansas. Yep, you guessed it. 4 years.
I was in a prison alright, one of my own making. I had built its walls with my words. How often do we live in prisons of sickness, lack, bad relationships or geographical location that we build ourselves while desperately wanting out of them?