I exhaled, communicating my fatigue to my friend on the other end of the telephone. I was in strong throws of situational anxiety and my hope was wringing out with the cycle of every unpredictable day. Having tried nearly every aid in my human capacity, I was at the end of my rope. Blessedly, I had a good friend to accompany me through this season, and she was familiar with my struggles.

I quipped, "Maybe I should just develop a low-key alcohol dependency."

She laughed, knowing that I was kidding in an attempt to lighten the mood. But I'd be lying if there wasn't a part of me that wondered if that was the only option left.

Later that evening in prayer, the Lord brought the conversation to mind. I knew that He wanted to talk about it, but I brushed Him off, telling Him that I wasn't serious. In the merciful way He does, He pressed further and asked me in my heart, "Do you want to exchange prisons or do you want to be free?"

Jesus did not die so I could be enslaved to unhealthy coping mechanisms. By the virtue of my baptism, I have "been freed from sin and have become slaves of God" (Romans 6:22). And so have you.

I don't want to exchange prisons. I want to be free, and I bet you do, too.

Today's Responsorial Psalm declares, "Blessed are they who hope in the Lord." In today's reading, Saint Paul's letter to the Romans reminds us that we are human, weak and limited. So what do you do if your hope is dwindling like mine was? Cast yourself with more abandon and desperation into the arms of the Father. Plant yourself near the running water of the Sacraments. Ask the Holy Spirit to set your heart ablaze (Luke 12:49).

Saint Paul is correct—we won't get very far on our own. But we were never meant to. Our Lord came to set us free from every prison.

Today, ask Him to show you the prison walls He wants to break down in your heart.

[bctt tweet="Our Lord came to set us free from every prison. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"]

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