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Kimberly N. Alleyne
The Harvest Magazine Publisher and Editor
I am going to need you to give up your front-row seat. Someone else needs to sit there. You’re sitting in the front row of my life, but you’re really in the wrong seat, so you’ll have to relinquish your spot. I allowed you to sit there for the first few acts of my life, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to stay there for the next acts. You won’t understand them: the purpose, the theme or my role. You won’t be able to grasp the content. I am convinced that these next acts will leave you bewildered and befuddled. Why? Good question.
My shine will be too bright for you. It will leave you breathless, and without words to utter. Essentially, this is my appointed time, my NOW time. This act, this time, has been appointed and pre-ordained for me to shift into a new place — a place where I walk in the full confidence and esteem of God.
[su_heading size=”14″]The front-row seats are reserved for individuals who genuinely want me to fare well, who are cheering for me to succeed, and who pray for me when I don’t even ask them to.[/su_heading]
This is where I go UP, and where you go OUT.
I wish you could stay, but it’s time for my show. I’ve been waiting for this starring role, this moment, all of my life, and I won’t miss it. I do thank you for everything you brought to my life while you sat and watched. Thank you so very much for your rejection, for your betrayal, for your scheming, plotting and conniving, for your heartache, for your lies to me and about me, for using me, for hoping I would fail and laughing on the inside when I did daily, for plotting against me, for unfairly characterizing me, for intentionally mis-portraying me and for wrongly judging me, for attacking me without warrant or cause, for pretending to be my friend, for pretending to love or care about me.
Yes, thank you!! Awesome job!! Can you hear the applause?!!
And you did exactly what you were appointed to do. Great job!
You pushed me closer to God, into a depth of intimacy that I imagined and hungered for. You strengthened my soul man. And you softened my heart, and drilled a fountain of mercy there so that I can now pray fervently for my enemies and bless them from a pure, unmotivated place. You prompted me to empty myself of all my “stuff,” to chase healing and wholeness. You also propelled me into new heights, heights where I know how to seek God for EVERYTHING, and heights where the opinions of others, including and especially you, just don’t matter.
Surprisingly, Longtime Front-Row Seat Taker, you actually launched my ministry and sharpened me for God’s use. Thanks to you, my purpose and my destiny are crystal clear, and I am not afraid or intimidated by what I see. For the longest time, I had my head down, hunched over, if not paralyzed, by fear, insecurities and low self-worth. But NOW…lemme tell you. Now, I am bubbling over with excitement to do what God told me to do. Thank you sooo much!
I really don’t think you can handle this next act. The heat will be too hot for you, and my shine will blind you. Please get up. It’s for your own good — and for my continued greatness.
You ain’t ready for this. Trust me.
I know, I know. Change is hard. It’s even harder when you’re expecting others to stay where they are–stuck and complacent, eschewing and running from what God called them to do. I lived in that place –wallowed there– for a long, long time. My spiritual address made the enemy ecstatic. He knew he could count on me to always be at home. I answered the door any and every time he knocked.
I lived at 1234 Not Good Enough Avenue in the city of Rejection, in the county of Abandonment, in the state of Pitiful, Hopeless, Helpless, and Severe Fracture. That was my spot. I was not happy there, but that was my home. It didn’t matter where I lived physically because I lugged all of my spiritual baggage to every residence I moved to. I was dutiful and diligent about that. So even though the geography, architecture, square footage, and layout changed, my furniture (baggage) never changed.
Anyway, the stage manager is calling me to take the stage. This is where “we” end. “We” are over. Our relationship is over. Your time in my life has expired. Please turn in the ticket for your VIP, season ticket-holder, front-row seat. Your viewing privileges have been revoked.
Thank you again. Thanks for polishing me up. I know you didn’t intend to, but thanks anyway.
I have to go to now — and so do you.