Tag Archive for: 2 Corinthians 3:17

Red Bird Redemption

,

2 Corinthians 3:17 — Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and I found myself outside soaking up the sun. It was a beautiful, sunny day. The sun was shining brightly, but on the inside, gloomy was an understatement for how I felt.

You see, alcohol had a stronghold on me for nearly twelve years. The good news is our Savior is still in the business of saving, and His love is still reaching.

On that particular day, I found myself sitting outside with my head between my knees when something made me look up. Right in front of me was a red bird. It shocked me because cardinals weren’t common in my neighborhood. But there it was.

The world around me felt dull, but its bright red coloring was so vibrant—impossible to ignore. As a mom, it reminded me of a picture book I used to read my girls that reads, “Red bird, red bird, what do you see?” When I asked myself that question, the only answer I had was this.

It was something alive. The cardinal was something bright and bold and stunning, and it stood out so much against the heaviness I was carrying inside.

My youngest daughter, who was two years old at the time, walked up to me and asked, “Mommy, why are you so sad?” I thought to myself, “How did she know?” In that moment, I broke, and tears began flowing down my face.

After that day, I started noticing red birds everywhere. One on a fence post. Another at my grandma’s house. One more perched just long enough for me to really see it before flying away. At first, I brushed it off. But after a while, it became hard to ignore.

It began to dawn on me that the Holy Spirit was trying to get my attention, gently reminding me of what had already been set in motion that Sunday afternoon.

Looking back, I know the red bird wasn’t a coincidence, and its color wasn’t just a color. Curious, I looked up what red birds symbolize, and I learned that in Christian literature, the cardinal often represents the blood of Jesus, hope, and the presence of the Holy Spirit.

That truth settled deep in my soul. It was a reminder of Christ’s blood, poured out for me, covering every failure, every mistake, and every sin. It was as if God was showing me, in a way I could see and understand, that I wasn’t beyond redemption. His blood poured out for me on the cross secured my freedom—He didn’t want a sacrifice. He was the sacrifice. He wanted me to trust Him with all my heart and surrender to His will.

Scripture puts words to what my heart was learning to believe: “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Corinthians 3:17). Outside of that powerful truth, I don’t know how else to explain it. Freedom didn’t just mean the absence of alcohol—it meant the presence of the Spirit reshaping my life. That Sunday that was the last day alcohol would have a stronghold on my life. What I thought had me bound no longer had the final say.

Now, every time I see a red bird, I remember the moment I looked up and saw proof that God was with me—and that He still is. If you’ve ever struggled with addiction, or anything that makes you feel trapped with no way out, you understand the weight of guilt, shame, and regret. But here is the truth: God’s grace is bigger than our past, and His love is stronger than any of our failures. The enemy thought he had me, but Jesus said, “Nope—she’s mine!”

If you are reading this and feel like you are bound, with no way out, maybe today is an invitation to look up. You never know what God might be using to get your attention. You might just find hope—unexpected, unmistakable hope—in a way you least expect it.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What in my life feels like a stronghold right now?
  • Have I believed the lie that I am too far gone?
  • Where might God already be trying to get my attention?
  • Do I truly believe that freedom is possible for me?
  • What would it look like to surrender this struggle to the Holy Spirit?
  • When I think about my past, do I see shame—or the covering grace of Jesus?
  • What small reminder has God placed in my life that points me back to hope?
/by

Breathe In His Presence

, ,

2 Corinthians 3:17 “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”

If you had asked her, Marie would’ve said she was a wife, a friend, and a worship leader, maybe. But not a songwriter, and certainly not anyone famous.

She felt more at home in ballet studios and church pews than anywhere else. Her days were spent teaching dance, folding laundry, and loving people. Her ministry happened in bare feet and ballet mirrors. Quiet, hidden, holy.

Then came the phone call that changed everything.

Her mentor—a man she cared deeply about, who had once come to church with her— died by suicide. He left behind a note asking Marie to take over the dance studio. No warning. Just grief. And a heavy set of keys.

There was no manual for that kind of loss. No training for how to carry someone else’s legacy when your own knees feel weak beneath you. But Marie kept showing up.

She kept teaching. Pliés in the morning, worship services on Sundays, prayer when she had the words—and when she didn’t, she just whispered the name of Jesus. She didn’t need a spotlight to serve. She just needed space to breathe.

One Sunday night at the Mission Viejo Vineyard in Southern California, there was no plan—no printed setlist. Just Marie and her husband, John, leading worship as they’d done so many times before. They had just finished singing Isn’t He by John Wimber. John kept playing quietly, and in the stillness of that moment, something welled up in Marie’s spirit. It wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t planned.

It was just raw worship.

“This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence
Living in me…
And I, I’m desperate for you
And I, I’m lost without you”

The congregation joined in, as if the words had been waiting in their hearts too. And even though Marie had sung spontaneous songs before, something about this one was different. People kept singing it—at home, in the car, in the grocery store. And they told her so.

The song, Breathe, soon became a regular part of their church’s worship. It brought many to tears. Even Marie could hardly get through it herself. “I think the word desperate digs deep into me,” she later said. “The longer I’m a Christian, the more desperate I am for God.”

They recorded the song for Vineyard—just another quiet offering during a season of raw worship. “We recorded the song for Vineyard, and then nothing happened,” Marie would later say. “Not that I thought anything about it, because, to me, it was just a neat thing the Lord gave to our church.”

Five years passed.

Then worship leader Brian Doerksen reached out, asking to include Breathe on Vineyard’s Hungry project. From there, the song quietly began to travel. Michael W. Smith recorded it on his 2001 album Worship. Rebecca St. James followed. But even as it began to echo through churches and concerts around the world, Marie stayed grounded in what it had always been: a prayer whispered in desperation, not a platform.

So when she was driving one day and heard Breathe playing on the radio, it wasn’t excitement that overtook her—it was awe. She pulled the car over, buried her face in her hands, and wept.

Because somehow—somehow—God had taken her lowest moment, her heartbreak, her whispered worship, and turned it into healing for strangers she’d never meet.

How could God take so much pain and breathe hope through it into kitchens and traffic jams and hospital waiting rooms? But He did. He always does. He fills the cracks and carries what we can’t.

Sometimes the Holy Spirit shows up like wind and fire. But more often, He’s as close as breath in our lungs. He doesn’t wait for us to be strong—He fills the places where we’re trembling and somehow gives us the strength to dance again.

Take a deep breath today. Let it remind you that you are not alone. Even when you’re weak, He is near—and that is more than enough.

— Inspired by the story of Marie Barnett

L Y R I C S:

This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your Holy Presence
Living in me

This is my daily bread
This is my daily bread
Your very Word
Spoken to me

And I, I’m desperate for you
And I, I’m lost without you

Written by: Marie Barnett
Copyright © 1995 Mercy/Vineyard Songs (ASCAP) (adm at IntegratedRights.com) CCLI#1874117

/by