When I look back at the person I was two years ago, I don't recognize her. Sure, she has the same maniacal laugh, the same self-deprecating humor, the same squinty-eyed smile... But she doesn't have joy, at least not really. She is seeking to find someone to be pleased with her, searching for something to offer God that will make a mark on the earth. She just wants more. Of what, she doesn't really know, but perhaps, she thinks, Jesus is the way after all.
The past three months have been the most incredible and difficult months of my life. I have wrestled with God, coming back to the States, adjusting to going back to school when all I really want to do is write music and make art, loving people out of the overflow of my heart like I know is needed, and pressing into the places I haven't been while I rest in the arms of home. It's been interesting.
But He has overtaken my life in a way that I cannot fully explain. I can't tell you the moment it happened, because I think it's been a slow yearning that welled up in me from the day I was born, but the love that I always wanted, the purpose of life that I thought wouldn't ever come to fruition, the joy that I never knew could be tasted on the earth... I have found all of it and everlastingly more... For in Jesus lies all the riches of eternity, and I have been consumed by His power and love. There is no returning to a time when I had no hope, there is no such thing as having no song, for HE is my song and will be forever.
This weekend I feel another shift coming for many hearts in people I have long known are asking for more from God. I pray His song comes and the eyes of people's hearts are opened to see Him and hear the melody that flows from His heart.
I pray you ask so that you may receive from Him.
Thursday, April 9, 2015
047 (Memories)
Sometimes I feel memories are as real as the moment I breathe this breath. They're as vivid as the purple light streaming through my dying window. They're as painful (or as joyful), like the rusty nail I stepped on when I was five.
I used to wish that some memories would be left alone. I didn't want to remember them, and they probably didn't like me much, either. They haunted me. I could not escape them, an endless hunt for a space without them dragging from my ankles like hungry children with big, dark eyes that would never be satiated.
But these days... all I seem to know is light, and love, and a peace that can't stay in my chest. I am home at last, home with the One I love. I am surrounded, encountered by memories every day that I hold in my heart, memories that I will recall for all of eternity. They stay in my heart, and I welcome them, make a place for them to sit. The memories of old pain are gone, somehow, in the light that they bring.
All I can see is the goodness of the days ahead, the richness of those gone by, and the sweetness of the present.
All is well, I think. You are here to stay.
I used to wish that some memories would be left alone. I didn't want to remember them, and they probably didn't like me much, either. They haunted me. I could not escape them, an endless hunt for a space without them dragging from my ankles like hungry children with big, dark eyes that would never be satiated.
But these days... all I seem to know is light, and love, and a peace that can't stay in my chest. I am home at last, home with the One I love. I am surrounded, encountered by memories every day that I hold in my heart, memories that I will recall for all of eternity. They stay in my heart, and I welcome them, make a place for them to sit. The memories of old pain are gone, somehow, in the light that they bring.
All I can see is the goodness of the days ahead, the richness of those gone by, and the sweetness of the present.
All is well, I think. You are here to stay.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
046 (A Prepared Place)
Oh dear, it's been a few days, hasn't it?
And more has happened in the past few days than all the days combined. Isn't that the way it works? Beautiful and tragic all at the same time.
The fabric of the natural is being torn. Think about it as a woman who was pregnant for a long time giving birth. See, for a long time I think she has been pregnant with a promise, one that came from the very mouth of God. She has taken care to eat for two, and now the baby is ready to come out.
The Holy Spirit is birthing a dream of God in the world. Even now it is happening all around you. I don't know if you notice it; I often do not see the Kingdom of Heaven though it knocks me upside the head. But no matter, it is here, even as we speak.
He has prepared a place for us. A place to rest, a place to love, a place to be. It has been a long time coming, but now is the time that we step out into what we do not know, into the realm of Heavenly things.
We were not made for this Earth. We were made for a prepared place.
And more has happened in the past few days than all the days combined. Isn't that the way it works? Beautiful and tragic all at the same time.
The fabric of the natural is being torn. Think about it as a woman who was pregnant for a long time giving birth. See, for a long time I think she has been pregnant with a promise, one that came from the very mouth of God. She has taken care to eat for two, and now the baby is ready to come out.
The Holy Spirit is birthing a dream of God in the world. Even now it is happening all around you. I don't know if you notice it; I often do not see the Kingdom of Heaven though it knocks me upside the head. But no matter, it is here, even as we speak.
He has prepared a place for us. A place to rest, a place to love, a place to be. It has been a long time coming, but now is the time that we step out into what we do not know, into the realm of Heavenly things.
We were not made for this Earth. We were made for a prepared place.
Sunday, April 5, 2015
045 (Emotional Easter)
This has been the best Easter I have ever had.
My family is here, and they are whole. This morning I went to the church I grew up in for the first time in over two years. I sang a song for the offering time, like I had done when I was younger. A lot had changed since the last time I stood up here, staring at the stained glass windows and wondering if God was perhaps bigger than what I knew.
I started to sing "In Christ Alone," and halfway through the first verse, I started to cry and I couldn't finish it. I tried in vain to make the words pass my lips, but all I could see were the eyes of Jesus, shining with life and pleading for the Bride to let Him come closer. He deserves everything for what He has done and who He is. I knew in that moment that a million songs sung to Him would never be enough to pour out enough praise on His feet, would never compare to the love that He pours out on us.
I managed to make it through the song with a few other choked-up moments. I didn't care that it wasn't perfect, people don't come to church to get perfect, they come to church to get raw and real truth. I felt the power of the love of God pour out in the sanctuary and I saw many people with tears streaming down their faces. I knew Holy Spirit was touching them.
My mother and I sat in the car and cried together because I told her Jesus just wanted to be close to us. My father and I were children again, laughing in the service. Joy is in our bones and runs through our blood, it covers our house and permeates the earth around.
The garden is green and all the flowers are blooming, and I feel like my heart is doing the same thing. He has risen, so that I can rise and come out of hibernation, my roots growing deep and my perfume of praise pouring out in the garden of God.
I am overwhelmed by Him. He is the most lovely person in all of eternity, and He is closer to me than my own skin. What a gospel. What a Savior.
My family is here, and they are whole. This morning I went to the church I grew up in for the first time in over two years. I sang a song for the offering time, like I had done when I was younger. A lot had changed since the last time I stood up here, staring at the stained glass windows and wondering if God was perhaps bigger than what I knew.
I started to sing "In Christ Alone," and halfway through the first verse, I started to cry and I couldn't finish it. I tried in vain to make the words pass my lips, but all I could see were the eyes of Jesus, shining with life and pleading for the Bride to let Him come closer. He deserves everything for what He has done and who He is. I knew in that moment that a million songs sung to Him would never be enough to pour out enough praise on His feet, would never compare to the love that He pours out on us.
I managed to make it through the song with a few other choked-up moments. I didn't care that it wasn't perfect, people don't come to church to get perfect, they come to church to get raw and real truth. I felt the power of the love of God pour out in the sanctuary and I saw many people with tears streaming down their faces. I knew Holy Spirit was touching them.
My mother and I sat in the car and cried together because I told her Jesus just wanted to be close to us. My father and I were children again, laughing in the service. Joy is in our bones and runs through our blood, it covers our house and permeates the earth around.
The garden is green and all the flowers are blooming, and I feel like my heart is doing the same thing. He has risen, so that I can rise and come out of hibernation, my roots growing deep and my perfume of praise pouring out in the garden of God.
I am overwhelmed by Him. He is the most lovely person in all of eternity, and He is closer to me than my own skin. What a gospel. What a Savior.
Saturday, April 4, 2015
044 (Black Saturday)
I don't know why today is called that.
I don't feel any flicker of darkness today. I was driving home to Monmouth yesterday and I began thinking about the conversation I had had with my good friend Jay last night. About how God has called us to not be of the world, and instead be of another Kingdom... His Kingdom.
I began to laugh, for no reason other than "joy is better than being sad." Then I cried, because of course, one does not come without the other lately. I felt myself being lifted out of my flesh and felt my feet touch solid ground again, ground that I knew was in heavenly places.
Because of what our Lover and Savior did for us, we now belong to a family that is seated in heavenly places! Nothing on this earth can harm us, nothing can move where we have been planted... By the streams of life.
And there we can grow every day forevermore.
I don't feel any flicker of darkness today. I was driving home to Monmouth yesterday and I began thinking about the conversation I had had with my good friend Jay last night. About how God has called us to not be of the world, and instead be of another Kingdom... His Kingdom.
I began to laugh, for no reason other than "joy is better than being sad." Then I cried, because of course, one does not come without the other lately. I felt myself being lifted out of my flesh and felt my feet touch solid ground again, ground that I knew was in heavenly places.
Because of what our Lover and Savior did for us, we now belong to a family that is seated in heavenly places! Nothing on this earth can harm us, nothing can move where we have been planted... By the streams of life.
And there we can grow every day forevermore.
Friday, April 3, 2015
043 (Powerful)
God sets the lonely into home,
He leads out those with chains
He rearranges us so that we may be whole.
I wish to die to myself, more full,
No fear, only grace.
He makes us powerful, you know,
because He that is in me is greater than he who is in the world.
Sin tells me that I cannot fight,
but that is not the truth.
I am a fighter,
and will always be,
for He who fought
now lives in me
and has made His home here
forevermore.
Sin has no hold on me,
and only freedom has a space to speak.
And powerful is who I am,
and who I'll always be.
He leads out those with chains
He rearranges us so that we may be whole.
I wish to die to myself, more full,
No fear, only grace.
He makes us powerful, you know,
because He that is in me is greater than he who is in the world.
Sin tells me that I cannot fight,
but that is not the truth.
I am a fighter,
and will always be,
for He who fought
now lives in me
and has made His home here
forevermore.
Sin has no hold on me,
and only freedom has a space to speak.
And powerful is who I am,
and who I'll always be.
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
042 (Mind You)
I've been thinking a lot about thoughts today...
How most of them aren't our own. We got them from somewhere else. Our parents, our friends, what we heard our pastor say, the book we read last week and the movie we watched today. They subconsciously come out of our hearts, spilling over and obvious for everyone to see. Each thought comes into our head and we catch it, thinking it comes from and belongs to us.
But that is not so.
Everything is trying to invade your mind, for it is the single most valuable piece of property you will ever be in possession of, and by it wars are won and lost.
I want to have the mind of Christ. I want to know what He thinks about me. I want to know how He created me to think my own way about the world, how He made me to see His face and know the truth and become free from the light it brings. I want to think with my own thoughts, the ones that come from the truth, not cheap counterfeit that the world tries to peddle like a beggar, not a patched up version of my old mind.
I want to know what it is to have a renewed mind.
And He says He is always making things new...
How most of them aren't our own. We got them from somewhere else. Our parents, our friends, what we heard our pastor say, the book we read last week and the movie we watched today. They subconsciously come out of our hearts, spilling over and obvious for everyone to see. Each thought comes into our head and we catch it, thinking it comes from and belongs to us.
But that is not so.
Everything is trying to invade your mind, for it is the single most valuable piece of property you will ever be in possession of, and by it wars are won and lost.
I want to have the mind of Christ. I want to know what He thinks about me. I want to know how He created me to think my own way about the world, how He made me to see His face and know the truth and become free from the light it brings. I want to think with my own thoughts, the ones that come from the truth, not cheap counterfeit that the world tries to peddle like a beggar, not a patched up version of my old mind.
I want to know what it is to have a renewed mind.
And He says He is always making things new...
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
041 (Home)
Did you ever think you'd be here? In the place where home is, in the place where family dwells?
See, worry, can't stay anymore. Impurity and selfishness, loneliness and all the sadness you used to feel are gone. Can you feel the place where they rested fill with pure, selfless, loyal love? Do you feel the insecurities rise to the surface and carried away on the wind? Do you feel the steadiness seep into the marrow of your bones? Did you see the burden come off your shoulders when you stepped into this place?
You don't even remember the heaviness of the season before. It seems a shadow, a mere flicker of another dreamworld that never really existed, at least not while this one exists.
You take a deep breath in. It's full of melodies and new songs, ones that haven't been heard before. It smells like wind and rain and freedom. You reach down and crush the soil in your fists, finding that the earth is rich and ready to be sown into. You taste the air, and it is a sweet honey filling your senses. You hear the tremors of the deep places and the teetering of the birdsong from the trees.
You are with family. You are safe here, and will be forevermore.
(Dedicated to the Worthy Crew)
See, worry, can't stay anymore. Impurity and selfishness, loneliness and all the sadness you used to feel are gone. Can you feel the place where they rested fill with pure, selfless, loyal love? Do you feel the insecurities rise to the surface and carried away on the wind? Do you feel the steadiness seep into the marrow of your bones? Did you see the burden come off your shoulders when you stepped into this place?
You don't even remember the heaviness of the season before. It seems a shadow, a mere flicker of another dreamworld that never really existed, at least not while this one exists.
You take a deep breath in. It's full of melodies and new songs, ones that haven't been heard before. It smells like wind and rain and freedom. You reach down and crush the soil in your fists, finding that the earth is rich and ready to be sown into. You taste the air, and it is a sweet honey filling your senses. You hear the tremors of the deep places and the teetering of the birdsong from the trees.
You are with family. You are safe here, and will be forevermore.
(Dedicated to the Worthy Crew)
Monday, March 30, 2015
040 (Shammah)
I am taking care of a bonsai tree that is not my own. His name is Shammah, which means Yahweh is There. He sits on my end table as I write, drinking in the evening light from my lamp and growing. I wonder for a moment if he is tired from growing. I feel tired. I get done with some days and I feel as if I've gone nothing but try to get off the ground, try to grow out of these roots that keep me planted in the earth.
The earth can be harsh sometimes, after all, for a little tree. It can bring drought, and floods, and horrible scorching heat. It can bring frost that kills silently in the night, parasites that eat the lifesource right out from underneath, and other plants that crowd out a little tree, pushing it out of the way so that it cannot reach the sunlight.
Sometimes, says the little tree, I feel as if I weren't made for this valley. I dream of a place where the sun shines and no weed will ever crowd out my sunlit joy. I look at the mountains and think that I should be there instead of here, where moth and rust destroy, and thieves break in and steal. Why do I feel such deep sorrow at being apart from a place I have looked for all my life but never been?
But little trees, you are not of this Kingdom.
See, we are little trees in our Father's garden, seated in heavenly places. He tenderly prunes, loves, and cares for us, feeds and waters us, speaks kind words to us that we would grow strong and tall, unwavering in the storms of earth. Remember when He told you that the lilies of the field are more beautiful than Solomon ever was? And you are so much more important than they...
Sleep soundly, little tree. Rest and grow. Shammah.
The earth can be harsh sometimes, after all, for a little tree. It can bring drought, and floods, and horrible scorching heat. It can bring frost that kills silently in the night, parasites that eat the lifesource right out from underneath, and other plants that crowd out a little tree, pushing it out of the way so that it cannot reach the sunlight.
Sometimes, says the little tree, I feel as if I weren't made for this valley. I dream of a place where the sun shines and no weed will ever crowd out my sunlit joy. I look at the mountains and think that I should be there instead of here, where moth and rust destroy, and thieves break in and steal. Why do I feel such deep sorrow at being apart from a place I have looked for all my life but never been?
But little trees, you are not of this Kingdom.
See, we are little trees in our Father's garden, seated in heavenly places. He tenderly prunes, loves, and cares for us, feeds and waters us, speaks kind words to us that we would grow strong and tall, unwavering in the storms of earth. Remember when He told you that the lilies of the field are more beautiful than Solomon ever was? And you are so much more important than they...
Sleep soundly, little tree. Rest and grow. Shammah.
Sunday, March 29, 2015
039 (The Beautiful Fountain)
Amanda Davis is back in town (We call her Favis now, to differentiate between her and Amanda Cole). The Lord brought her back to little Monmouth just in the nick of time. The town is ready for her song, and she is ready to sing it.
We sat on the lawn the first night she was back, and like old times, we got out the guitar and just started singing. We didn't sing a particular song, just one that came out of our hearts.
Drink in, drink it in deep,
Drink, drink, drink it in deep,
drink, drink, drink it in deep...
A couple days later we all ended up on the front porch again ,and this time more of the song came as we praised Jesus.
What a beautiful fountain you are.
What a beautiful fountain you are,
Drink, drink, drink it in deep,
We drink You in, God.
The song that will come out of this woman and released into the town we call home will be world-changing. She is ready to write the songs of heaven! She is prepared to allow the love of God to overwhelm her until beauty pours out her hands and throat and lips. She is armed with humility and gentleness and a beautiful strength. And we have waited so long for a time like this, for people who worship God in Spirit and in Truth.
And the Beautiful Fountain that is Jesus will pour out of her, and us, until we are no longer ourselves and completely drowned.
I can't wait.
We sat on the lawn the first night she was back, and like old times, we got out the guitar and just started singing. We didn't sing a particular song, just one that came out of our hearts.
Drink in, drink it in deep,
Drink, drink, drink it in deep,
drink, drink, drink it in deep...
A couple days later we all ended up on the front porch again ,and this time more of the song came as we praised Jesus.
What a beautiful fountain you are.
What a beautiful fountain you are,
Drink, drink, drink it in deep,
We drink You in, God.
The song that will come out of this woman and released into the town we call home will be world-changing. She is ready to write the songs of heaven! She is prepared to allow the love of God to overwhelm her until beauty pours out her hands and throat and lips. She is armed with humility and gentleness and a beautiful strength. And we have waited so long for a time like this, for people who worship God in Spirit and in Truth.
And the Beautiful Fountain that is Jesus will pour out of her, and us, until we are no longer ourselves and completely drowned.
I can't wait.
038 (What Heaven Feels Like)
Comforting and familiar
Your kind Presence
Warm coat of arms
Around my chest
And heartbeat
Under cheek
You never
Change
-Isi De Gersigney
In all of our hungering for everything else, we just want God. We don't even really want what He can give us; we just want God. I want to lower my own desires to just be with Him. I want His Spirit to come out at every turn, awakening the sleeper and calling the dead to rise and come out of the dark.
This weekend was incredible. Jesus showed up at our leader's get-together (as He always does). It was so sweet. Intimate. We are learning to become more like Him, slowly but surely.
As my dear friend Shelby says, "I seem to be caught in so many Holy moments. I take a deep breath in and try to experience it through all my senses. Moments like this give us glimpses of heaven. Life abundant. We are caught in these holy moments where heaven kisses earth when we praise."
This is what heaven feels like.
Your kind Presence
Warm coat of arms
Around my chest
And heartbeat
Under cheek
You never
Change
-Isi De Gersigney
In all of our hungering for everything else, we just want God. We don't even really want what He can give us; we just want God. I want to lower my own desires to just be with Him. I want His Spirit to come out at every turn, awakening the sleeper and calling the dead to rise and come out of the dark.
This weekend was incredible. Jesus showed up at our leader's get-together (as He always does). It was so sweet. Intimate. We are learning to become more like Him, slowly but surely.
As my dear friend Shelby says, "I seem to be caught in so many Holy moments. I take a deep breath in and try to experience it through all my senses. Moments like this give us glimpses of heaven. Life abundant. We are caught in these holy moments where heaven kisses earth when we praise."
This is what heaven feels like.
Friday, March 27, 2015
037 (Always Stay in Love)
I took a walk today. I felt heavy, so I laced on my shoes and left. It rained, a cooling, fragrant rain that soaked my cheeks. The things that I had been loving, the things of the world that I have put my affection into, pulled at my heart and I felt them drain away the love that I wanted to pour out on Jesus.
I gave them all to Him. I felt them leave, and I felt Him come and rest where they had been. I felt the gentle weight of love on me, and I could not speak. I felt His Presence all around me, and I felt the thirst that had been growing in my heart be quenched. I heard His Voice.
Always stay in love, beloved. No matter what. Kingdoms come and fade, and seasons change, but Our Love will never die. Keep the fire, beloved. Stay in love.
The simple act of just hanging out with Jesus cannot be overstated. Revival is coming. We will see wonders, signs from heaven. The blind will see, the deaf will hear the voice of the Lord, and the nations will come to hear the name of the Lord, but we must know Him. We must know the One we love. Revival will be built on a foundation of simplicity and love.
Worship is the only way to stay in love. Give all your life to worship Him, for then you will always be in hopeless, desperate love for God all your days. And really, that's the best place in all of eternity.
I gave them all to Him. I felt them leave, and I felt Him come and rest where they had been. I felt the gentle weight of love on me, and I could not speak. I felt His Presence all around me, and I felt the thirst that had been growing in my heart be quenched. I heard His Voice.
Always stay in love, beloved. No matter what. Kingdoms come and fade, and seasons change, but Our Love will never die. Keep the fire, beloved. Stay in love.
The simple act of just hanging out with Jesus cannot be overstated. Revival is coming. We will see wonders, signs from heaven. The blind will see, the deaf will hear the voice of the Lord, and the nations will come to hear the name of the Lord, but we must know Him. We must know the One we love. Revival will be built on a foundation of simplicity and love.
Worship is the only way to stay in love. Give all your life to worship Him, for then you will always be in hopeless, desperate love for God all your days. And really, that's the best place in all of eternity.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
036 (Dancing on the Front Lawn)
We danced in the driveway tonight.
Amanda (we call her Favis now) finally got to little Monmouth. She's here to stay for a while. I'm so glad. We sat out on the porch in the dimming light and started to worship. We just enjoyed the sound of each others voices, half in awe that we were together again and half enjoying just hearing the sound of our voices together, (like any good musician would love.)
Soon the other girls came out, and we sang and danced in the driveway until the sun went down. We sang about the River of God, the way that Jesus was the most beautiful fountain we had ever seen and how we would dance in that fountain until the end of our days. Favis and I finished the song we had been writing.
And what can I say? Life is good. We have seen growth in the past three months like never before, growth in ourselves and growth in those around us. These girls have drawn me closer into family and into the heart of the Father and the freedom that is found there. They are so dear to me...
I'm back up in Portland now, getting ready to hit the books again, and my heart is already aching for them.
Soon. This is only the beginning.
Amanda (we call her Favis now) finally got to little Monmouth. She's here to stay for a while. I'm so glad. We sat out on the porch in the dimming light and started to worship. We just enjoyed the sound of each others voices, half in awe that we were together again and half enjoying just hearing the sound of our voices together, (like any good musician would love.)
Soon the other girls came out, and we sang and danced in the driveway until the sun went down. We sang about the River of God, the way that Jesus was the most beautiful fountain we had ever seen and how we would dance in that fountain until the end of our days. Favis and I finished the song we had been writing.
And what can I say? Life is good. We have seen growth in the past three months like never before, growth in ourselves and growth in those around us. These girls have drawn me closer into family and into the heart of the Father and the freedom that is found there. They are so dear to me...
I'm back up in Portland now, getting ready to hit the books again, and my heart is already aching for them.
Soon. This is only the beginning.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
035 (Family Part 3)
The day was a good one.
I woke up this morning with the first thought in my mind: Good morning, Holy Spirit. We hiked Cascade Head and Dad made it all the way, when two days ago he was in bed with a back spasm. Thank you Jesus for healing him. We fished off of the rock cliffs at Dad's secret spot. We threw a couple crab traps off the pier in Newport, and caught a whopping six crabs. We had clam chowder and a beer at Rogue. We drove home with bluegrass music playing in the car, talking about the future and dreams and memories.
I started to think about how these past few years have been tumultuous, to say the least. I have been in and out of home, here and then gone, ragingly independent and then necessarily dependent when I couldn't last anymore. I have lived in over five countries and stayed in one place no longer than six months. It's been lonelier than I'd care to admit.
I am no longer ashamed to admit that I need family. I need the stability that it brings. I can't do it on my own. I can't achieve my dreams on my own, and even if I did, it wouldn't be worth it unless I have people who helped share in my victory. It's not a shameful feeling, but one of relief:
I can need other people.
I need family, whatever form that looks like.
I woke up this morning with the first thought in my mind: Good morning, Holy Spirit. We hiked Cascade Head and Dad made it all the way, when two days ago he was in bed with a back spasm. Thank you Jesus for healing him. We fished off of the rock cliffs at Dad's secret spot. We threw a couple crab traps off the pier in Newport, and caught a whopping six crabs. We had clam chowder and a beer at Rogue. We drove home with bluegrass music playing in the car, talking about the future and dreams and memories.
I started to think about how these past few years have been tumultuous, to say the least. I have been in and out of home, here and then gone, ragingly independent and then necessarily dependent when I couldn't last anymore. I have lived in over five countries and stayed in one place no longer than six months. It's been lonelier than I'd care to admit.
I am no longer ashamed to admit that I need family. I need the stability that it brings. I can't do it on my own. I can't achieve my dreams on my own, and even if I did, it wouldn't be worth it unless I have people who helped share in my victory. It's not a shameful feeling, but one of relief:
I can need other people.
I need family, whatever form that looks like.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
034 (Time's A Changing)
I love that when I come back here, to the farm, nothing has changed.
I mean, little things here and there. The blackberries are burned down to reveal the beautiful oak trees that were hiding beneath all these years. Dogwood and serviceberry are planted underneath. The strawberry patch has multiplied, stretched to three different plots due to Mom's splitting and transplanting. The chickens are almost all white now. The dogs are gone. There is only Soxy left now, out of all the cats. She stares at her reflection the the windows and tries to catch birds on the TV.
The tree that I used to sit under and watch the river has fell, taking with it the bank it had its roots in. It's drowning in the river now, still upright but in too deep. The river still moves slow, even when the spring rain has made it pregnant with too much water. The air smells like springtime and no sound can be heard but silence.
Mom is making meatloaf tonight, and Dad is making his horrible Folgers coffee. Later we'll probably bring out the guitar and banjo and sing an old song, or maybe we'll write something new. The warm glow of the fire warms my shins as I sit and write, thinking about all the beauty that this place holds, remembering the steadiness of days that it brought to me.
I have more happiness in me than I can pour out on paper. I pray you feel the warmth of the love of family today, wherever you are.
I mean, little things here and there. The blackberries are burned down to reveal the beautiful oak trees that were hiding beneath all these years. Dogwood and serviceberry are planted underneath. The strawberry patch has multiplied, stretched to three different plots due to Mom's splitting and transplanting. The chickens are almost all white now. The dogs are gone. There is only Soxy left now, out of all the cats. She stares at her reflection the the windows and tries to catch birds on the TV.
The tree that I used to sit under and watch the river has fell, taking with it the bank it had its roots in. It's drowning in the river now, still upright but in too deep. The river still moves slow, even when the spring rain has made it pregnant with too much water. The air smells like springtime and no sound can be heard but silence.
Mom is making meatloaf tonight, and Dad is making his horrible Folgers coffee. Later we'll probably bring out the guitar and banjo and sing an old song, or maybe we'll write something new. The warm glow of the fire warms my shins as I sit and write, thinking about all the beauty that this place holds, remembering the steadiness of days that it brought to me.
I have more happiness in me than I can pour out on paper. I pray you feel the warmth of the love of family today, wherever you are.
033 (Memory)
My heart hurts today.
I felt that times like these are few and scattered throughout life. I know they are fleeting, here now and gone in a flash, leaving only a memory on my heart. I feel the weight of that memory strong on me, heaviness that comes from so many sweet times that I cannot come nearer to except by a faint shape and shadow.
J.J. got a call today. He is leaving for boot camp in April, then for nuclear school for the next two years in South Carolina. Today is March 24th. He won't be back, not for a long time.
I always have felt change strongly. I cried when I left high school. I cried when I left my home to go to Spain, for I knew I was changing. I cried when one of my best friends left town to go work in another state, for I knew that life would never be the same after that. I cried when I left for Australia, for I didn't even know if I would come back. I knew that change was necessary, it had to happen, but I still grieved for the season that would never be again.
I grieve for the short season I am having with my family before we are going to be apart again. I grieve that we had to grow up, that we could not stay children forever. I grieve for the intimacy that my brother and I could have had if I had been in the country the past year.
But most of all, I grieve because we are not going to sit down as we are now and eat breakfast together.
Life moves fast. Always put yourself in the midst of it.
I felt that times like these are few and scattered throughout life. I know they are fleeting, here now and gone in a flash, leaving only a memory on my heart. I feel the weight of that memory strong on me, heaviness that comes from so many sweet times that I cannot come nearer to except by a faint shape and shadow.
J.J. got a call today. He is leaving for boot camp in April, then for nuclear school for the next two years in South Carolina. Today is March 24th. He won't be back, not for a long time.
I always have felt change strongly. I cried when I left high school. I cried when I left my home to go to Spain, for I knew I was changing. I cried when one of my best friends left town to go work in another state, for I knew that life would never be the same after that. I cried when I left for Australia, for I didn't even know if I would come back. I knew that change was necessary, it had to happen, but I still grieved for the season that would never be again.
I grieve for the short season I am having with my family before we are going to be apart again. I grieve that we had to grow up, that we could not stay children forever. I grieve for the intimacy that my brother and I could have had if I had been in the country the past year.
But most of all, I grieve because we are not going to sit down as we are now and eat breakfast together.
Life moves fast. Always put yourself in the midst of it.
Monday, March 23, 2015
032 (San Fran Part 2)
The Holy Spirit told Shelby that we'd meet someone from the local church in the city, someone we could encourage and pour into. We knew that if we continued to worship, people would come. So we started walking.
Then I saw a patch of grass by the water, and there were thousands of daisies on it.
Daisy chains.
I ran over and sat in the grass. I started to do what I hadn't done in years, tying one stem into a knot, and looping the next one through. I would make a crown, I thought. We are the children who are co-heirs with Christ. We are the children of the Kingdom.
Vitoria was sitting behind us as we started singing to Jesus. She glanced at us curiously as we sang the name of Jesus, and slowly, I watched her wrestle, leaning in and then away again. She eventually asked us where we were from, because no one in San Francisco ever acted as free as we did. She was part of a church in Sacramento, and we prayed and poured into her. Mariella came up with her daughter and asked us how we were making the daisy chains. Then two more people who were sitting nearby wants to know.
We showed them how to be children again.
The world needs to know how to be children again. We've all grown up too fast, having to be an adult and grow up before we were ready. But in the Kingdom Of God, you grow backwards, always becoming more like a child. And children will know the ways of God.
Then I saw a patch of grass by the water, and there were thousands of daisies on it.
Daisy chains.
I ran over and sat in the grass. I started to do what I hadn't done in years, tying one stem into a knot, and looping the next one through. I would make a crown, I thought. We are the children who are co-heirs with Christ. We are the children of the Kingdom.
Vitoria was sitting behind us as we started singing to Jesus. She glanced at us curiously as we sang the name of Jesus, and slowly, I watched her wrestle, leaning in and then away again. She eventually asked us where we were from, because no one in San Francisco ever acted as free as we did. She was part of a church in Sacramento, and we prayed and poured into her. Mariella came up with her daughter and asked us how we were making the daisy chains. Then two more people who were sitting nearby wants to know.
We showed them how to be children again.
The world needs to know how to be children again. We've all grown up too fast, having to be an adult and grow up before we were ready. But in the Kingdom Of God, you grow backwards, always becoming more like a child. And children will know the ways of God.
032 (San Fran)
It began with a song.
It echoed off the walls of the old buildings as we walked, giddy with joy, down the hill toward the wharf. A couple walked in front of us and stared, the man's eyes lighting up with recognition of true joy, though he didn't know where it came from.
A sign and a wonder, said the Spirit. A sign that makes you wonder.
Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be Your name. Your Kingdom come quickly, your will be done the same, on earth as it is in Heaven, let Heaven come to Earth.
Telicia was pacing by, a piece of bread in her hand and a mocking grin on her face. She did not come too near to us, but my eyes met hers and she smiled, as if to say, "What are you doing in my city?"
I stepped closer. So did Sara. A glimmer of fear flashed before my eyes and then vanished, total freedom. There was nothing going on behind us; the world was reduced to us and her. The people passing by we're just figments of time and light.
She said, "Do you have a dollar?"
Sara put her hand on her shoulder and said, "What if I told you that I could look into your eyes and change your life forever?"
"I'd like that."
She said she wanted to kill the devil. Sara told her that she knew how, for the Devil was already under her feet. Sara said to look into my eyes. She did and told me that if she died, the city would die too, and I knew it was the demon speaking out of her.
I was not afraid.
See, the Devil has already been defeated. We have the power to release the love of God to the darkness that puts chains on people and constricts cities with addiction and a perverted version of identity. We have to tell them there is One that loves them. We have to show them that there is life abundant in Jesus.
It echoed off the walls of the old buildings as we walked, giddy with joy, down the hill toward the wharf. A couple walked in front of us and stared, the man's eyes lighting up with recognition of true joy, though he didn't know where it came from.
A sign and a wonder, said the Spirit. A sign that makes you wonder.
Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be Your name. Your Kingdom come quickly, your will be done the same, on earth as it is in Heaven, let Heaven come to Earth.
Telicia was pacing by, a piece of bread in her hand and a mocking grin on her face. She did not come too near to us, but my eyes met hers and she smiled, as if to say, "What are you doing in my city?"
I stepped closer. So did Sara. A glimmer of fear flashed before my eyes and then vanished, total freedom. There was nothing going on behind us; the world was reduced to us and her. The people passing by we're just figments of time and light.
She said, "Do you have a dollar?"
Sara put her hand on her shoulder and said, "What if I told you that I could look into your eyes and change your life forever?"
"I'd like that."
She said she wanted to kill the devil. Sara told her that she knew how, for the Devil was already under her feet. Sara said to look into my eyes. She did and told me that if she died, the city would die too, and I knew it was the demon speaking out of her.
I was not afraid.
See, the Devil has already been defeated. We have the power to release the love of God to the darkness that puts chains on people and constricts cities with addiction and a perverted version of identity. We have to tell them there is One that loves them. We have to show them that there is life abundant in Jesus.
Friday, March 20, 2015
031 (Miles)
Last time we were on the road it was from Sydney to Katunga.
I feel like years have passed since then. Years have come off my face. I feel like a little girl again. Something about the road does that to you... Suddenly you're seven again and eating beef jerky and wheat thins and singing along to Stevie Wonder. You're really, truely content again, there is no thing that can break through this beautiful confidence you know is yours.
This time the miles feel different. They don't feel like they're wearing on me, thought they might be adding new laughter lines to my face. Maybe it's because I have a home now... A foundation to rest on.
I will never again count the miles that pass under me and feel the emptiness grow in my chest. For I have found my home! It is the sweetest thing in all of eternity, to find you're home.
It is in the Heart of God, you see...
I feel like years have passed since then. Years have come off my face. I feel like a little girl again. Something about the road does that to you... Suddenly you're seven again and eating beef jerky and wheat thins and singing along to Stevie Wonder. You're really, truely content again, there is no thing that can break through this beautiful confidence you know is yours.
This time the miles feel different. They don't feel like they're wearing on me, thought they might be adding new laughter lines to my face. Maybe it's because I have a home now... A foundation to rest on.
I will never again count the miles that pass under me and feel the emptiness grow in my chest. For I have found my home! It is the sweetest thing in all of eternity, to find you're home.
It is in the Heart of God, you see...
Thursday, March 19, 2015
030 (Waiting)
Sometimes life can feel like nothing but a big, fat wait.
Waiting for what?
I wait for time to read, and then reading turns into trying to finish a book. I wait for time to walk, and the walk begins to be about what I will do when I get home. I wait for time with my brother, but that time doesn't end up looking like I planned it would, so instead it is a waiting for when I can be alone.
And now, I realize that I wait all my days for the Father to be with me, and when the time comes that He is near, I do not know how to sit and be with Him. I sit down to be with Him, and there's all this stuff I start thinking about. The hard shell that has grown around me is slowly dissolving, but I will not wait long enough for it to break so that He can make me in love again. I feel guilty when I realize there's stuff in the way, I blame myself for not connecting as I should, I get up, and I go to bed.
But wait, He says. I love you so... I want to be with you. That is all. I am not afraid of what you hold inside, dear one. I just want to dwell with you. I promise, if you wait for Me, I will come as you have asked. I will come and shake down the boxes you have built in your mind, stones that have blocked your heart. Behold, I stand at the door, but if you do not stop and wait, you will never hear my gentle knocking.
For all the doctrine that I know, there is nothing like when He comes to me and sits with me and tells me of His heart. I don't care what it takes, I don't care if it costs me sleep, or food, or all the time in eternity, or my life.
He is worth the wait.
Waiting for what?
I wait for time to read, and then reading turns into trying to finish a book. I wait for time to walk, and the walk begins to be about what I will do when I get home. I wait for time with my brother, but that time doesn't end up looking like I planned it would, so instead it is a waiting for when I can be alone.
And now, I realize that I wait all my days for the Father to be with me, and when the time comes that He is near, I do not know how to sit and be with Him. I sit down to be with Him, and there's all this stuff I start thinking about. The hard shell that has grown around me is slowly dissolving, but I will not wait long enough for it to break so that He can make me in love again. I feel guilty when I realize there's stuff in the way, I blame myself for not connecting as I should, I get up, and I go to bed.
But wait, He says. I love you so... I want to be with you. That is all. I am not afraid of what you hold inside, dear one. I just want to dwell with you. I promise, if you wait for Me, I will come as you have asked. I will come and shake down the boxes you have built in your mind, stones that have blocked your heart. Behold, I stand at the door, but if you do not stop and wait, you will never hear my gentle knocking.
For all the doctrine that I know, there is nothing like when He comes to me and sits with me and tells me of His heart. I don't care what it takes, I don't care if it costs me sleep, or food, or all the time in eternity, or my life.
He is worth the wait.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
029 (Family Part 2)
God has blessed me with a family.
He told me I would learn how to walk in family, and then instead of leaving me to go and walk a journey with a roommate that I didn't know, He put me in a family. I come home to a warm light from the window and the smell of dinner on the stove. As I sit in the living room, the fire crackles softly and the radio hums low. I am safe here, I realize. I have a bed that is my own. Coffee in the morning and a little girl to read to and giggle with as I do my homework. Food in my belly and picture on my wall. Prayer drifting through rooms and the Word lying on the coffee table in the living room, open to Acts.
Oh, the things that I have taken for granted as I roamed, the things that I longed for in the night as I went to sleep! I thought they would not come near me for some time. But here they are, surrounding me and laughing at the timeliness of it all.
You knew they were in my heart all along, Father.
I am overcome with the weight of family. I pray you are as well, wherever you are.
He told me I would learn how to walk in family, and then instead of leaving me to go and walk a journey with a roommate that I didn't know, He put me in a family. I come home to a warm light from the window and the smell of dinner on the stove. As I sit in the living room, the fire crackles softly and the radio hums low. I am safe here, I realize. I have a bed that is my own. Coffee in the morning and a little girl to read to and giggle with as I do my homework. Food in my belly and picture on my wall. Prayer drifting through rooms and the Word lying on the coffee table in the living room, open to Acts.
Oh, the things that I have taken for granted as I roamed, the things that I longed for in the night as I went to sleep! I thought they would not come near me for some time. But here they are, surrounding me and laughing at the timeliness of it all.
You knew they were in my heart all along, Father.
I am overcome with the weight of family. I pray you are as well, wherever you are.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
028 (Family Part 1)
Heidi Baker came to Lebanon last night.
Lebanon, of all places.
We were worshipping and I heard the word, almost audible, though it spoke to my Spirit.
Family.
That was it. Only one word. Funny, I thought.
I heard once from my favorite Sydney prophet that family is the word for this season, it's the word for next season and it's the word for all the seasons to come. It's what matters. I know that... Or at least, I think I know that. That's what I tried to tell myself when Heidi came up to speak. Then I knew why I had heard it.
He's going to cause something to happen that changes you as a region. As Oregon. As the Northwest. A spirit of adoption is going to come on you. You're going to dance. Your feet are going to be set on solid ground. You will know that you are the Bride. You will know that you are the Family of God. This is the season of putting down roots. Don't be afraid to be surrounded by family. It's messy, but it's always worth it, for the Perfect One, the One who was pierced, He leads us as Our Father.
Family is the word for this season. Get used to it.
Lebanon, of all places.
We were worshipping and I heard the word, almost audible, though it spoke to my Spirit.
Family.
That was it. Only one word. Funny, I thought.
I heard once from my favorite Sydney prophet that family is the word for this season, it's the word for next season and it's the word for all the seasons to come. It's what matters. I know that... Or at least, I think I know that. That's what I tried to tell myself when Heidi came up to speak. Then I knew why I had heard it.
He's going to cause something to happen that changes you as a region. As Oregon. As the Northwest. A spirit of adoption is going to come on you. You're going to dance. Your feet are going to be set on solid ground. You will know that you are the Bride. You will know that you are the Family of God. This is the season of putting down roots. Don't be afraid to be surrounded by family. It's messy, but it's always worth it, for the Perfect One, the One who was pierced, He leads us as Our Father.
Family is the word for this season. Get used to it.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
027 (The Golden Sessions)
Ok, so I stole this title from one of my best friends. It's the title of her past blog post. But I couldn't help it. And here's why...
I am completely and utterly overwhelmed by the goodness of Jesus in allowing me the honor of spending my days with sisters that I never would have hoped of having. As C.S. Lewis talks about in his book, "The Four Loves," we are always having time together that is so rich and beautiful that we are overcome with joy just to be around each other. We are so blessed by the uniqueness of each other's company, to share in the joy of true fellowship as it was designed to be.
I can't believe that this is my life. I will treasure these moments for all of eternity. So richly had Jesus blessed me with these beautiful friends I have. They are forever. They are forever.
I am completely and utterly overwhelmed by the goodness of Jesus in allowing me the honor of spending my days with sisters that I never would have hoped of having. As C.S. Lewis talks about in his book, "The Four Loves," we are always having time together that is so rich and beautiful that we are overcome with joy just to be around each other. We are so blessed by the uniqueness of each other's company, to share in the joy of true fellowship as it was designed to be.
I can't believe that this is my life. I will treasure these moments for all of eternity. So richly had Jesus blessed me with these beautiful friends I have. They are forever. They are forever.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
026 (It's Been So Long)
The rain is strong today.
I climbed into my old bed and sat there for a while listening to the rain patter on the metal roof. I pretended that I wasn't all grown up, in nursing school, and that my brother wasn't leaving so soon to go to the Navy. I pretended that I had nowhere to be but here, that no one could see or find me but Jesus, that I was safe from the cynicism and hardness of heart that the world had brought to me. I was sad, I realized, for I had never wanted to grow up. I had never asked for it. It was a curse I was born into, and I did not want it. I just wanted to be a child. To be whole.
I asked Him to come and sit with me. He did, as He always does. He covered me with His mercy and unfailing protection, and I felt the burden slide off my back. I felt the child in my spirit come out from hiding and open her eyes, gasping the cool, clean air.
"It's been so long," I said. "I'd almost forgotten."
I have fallen more in love with Jesus. There, I said it. I didn't think it was possible. I have carried some burdens so long that I didn't know I could let them go. I didn't know that He could be so loving and so good not only in the past, but in this moment, in the perfect present, as I breathe in His Spirit and the things that the Enemy has stolen from me are restored. But He is, and He will be my truest and dearest Lover and friend until time is no more, and He shall be yours too, if you allow Him.
You never have to leave your joy behind.
025 (Wildness)
I have to admit it: I'll never be a meek, timid woman. It just ain't gonna happen.
I'm a beautiful daughter of God who has a lions heart. I have strength clothing my back and fierceness flowing from my mouth. I will fight for the One I love, I will fight to follow my Jesus.
I am wild. I will never be tamed. I was never meant to be tamed. I was meant to run fast and far, to dance and jump and be a child again at last, wild hair flying and completely and utterly myself.
He has made me so.
I'm a beautiful daughter of God who has a lions heart. I have strength clothing my back and fierceness flowing from my mouth. I will fight for the One I love, I will fight to follow my Jesus.
I am wild. I will never be tamed. I was never meant to be tamed. I was meant to run fast and far, to dance and jump and be a child again at last, wild hair flying and completely and utterly myself.
He has made me so.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
024 (Weightlessness)
All is most well, here in the Presence of God.
He is all that I have, all that is good and perfect and steady in this world that turns me around until I'm upside-down in grief. He is the only thing I ever want to live my life for, the only One worth giving all of myself to.
Everything else will leave You dry. Give all of yourself to find Him, spend all that you are to follow Him. He is worth it.
I feel a weightlessness I have not known for so long... A lifting of the burdens that pile themselves on my back. The heavy boots that I have been wearing are gone. I am with those I love with my whole heart. And I am with Him.
He is here. Lover of my soul. Healer of my heart. He will make all of it come to pass. He will do it.
All will be most well.
He is all that I have, all that is good and perfect and steady in this world that turns me around until I'm upside-down in grief. He is the only thing I ever want to live my life for, the only One worth giving all of myself to.
Everything else will leave You dry. Give all of yourself to find Him, spend all that you are to follow Him. He is worth it.
I feel a weightlessness I have not known for so long... A lifting of the burdens that pile themselves on my back. The heavy boots that I have been wearing are gone. I am with those I love with my whole heart. And I am with Him.
He is here. Lover of my soul. Healer of my heart. He will make all of it come to pass. He will do it.
All will be most well.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
023 (Innocence)
The unselfconcious sleep of the spirit. The peace that rests over the mind that is always saying half- absentmindedly, "Tomorrow I will live. Next week I will start my life." The bleeding, leaping, crawling-in-the-dust-to-find, losing oneself in fields and forests in pursuit of something that is not hanging in the romantic air of the future, but lays within the grasp of my thought in this very sweet moment.
The pavement exuded earth and cedar; the rain fell onto my eyelashes and stayed there in childlike droplets. The air smelled pink and unassuming. The sky was gray-white and bled life so that dreams can grow. I looked up at the honey-suckle vine and tried to hush, just for a moment, the ceaseless interior babble that has me in it's claws, the flow of trivial and trash that is held at bay, if just for a breathless moment of awe to be what was and what will be.
Oh, to truly see,
to allow yourself to be filled up like a new wineskin,
to breathe in air like light.
to master the art of devotion,
to be planted, open-mouthed,
for to love is to be a child,
and to be a child is to live.
The pavement exuded earth and cedar; the rain fell onto my eyelashes and stayed there in childlike droplets. The air smelled pink and unassuming. The sky was gray-white and bled life so that dreams can grow. I looked up at the honey-suckle vine and tried to hush, just for a moment, the ceaseless interior babble that has me in it's claws, the flow of trivial and trash that is held at bay, if just for a breathless moment of awe to be what was and what will be.
Oh, to truly see,
to allow yourself to be filled up like a new wineskin,
to breathe in air like light.
to master the art of devotion,
to be planted, open-mouthed,
for to love is to be a child,
and to be a child is to live.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
022 (Where the Water Passes)
We sat,
two pilgrims content to rest awhile on the old, timeless edge of the river. They said that live water was the place where memories were healed. Perhaps it is also the place eternal where they remain present in your mind until the end of your days. The place where you could find respite from what was and what was to come, but forevermore trembled at the power of the moments spent in the place where water passes.
Many memories had come and gone as we sat there. We watched them float by, looking down on them from our gnarled, mossy perch of the old oak tree that had given its life years ago so that we could look at beauty and really see. We saw songs that had been, songs that were to come in the Great Time, moments of pure love that we knew we could never recover, not now. And we saw what was to come and we had hope.
The present is the wave that explodes over my head, flinging the air with particles at the height of its breathless unroll; it is the live water and light that bears from undisclosed sources the freshest news, renewed and renewing, world without end.
I knew it in my very bones that he must leave, a dread that mingled with the dappled light shining through the branches. It was the way of things.
But we counted the lines in the bark and stayed in the place where the water passes.
And perhaps we never left.
two pilgrims content to rest awhile on the old, timeless edge of the river. They said that live water was the place where memories were healed. Perhaps it is also the place eternal where they remain present in your mind until the end of your days. The place where you could find respite from what was and what was to come, but forevermore trembled at the power of the moments spent in the place where water passes.
Many memories had come and gone as we sat there. We watched them float by, looking down on them from our gnarled, mossy perch of the old oak tree that had given its life years ago so that we could look at beauty and really see. We saw songs that had been, songs that were to come in the Great Time, moments of pure love that we knew we could never recover, not now. And we saw what was to come and we had hope.
The present is the wave that explodes over my head, flinging the air with particles at the height of its breathless unroll; it is the live water and light that bears from undisclosed sources the freshest news, renewed and renewing, world without end.
I knew it in my very bones that he must leave, a dread that mingled with the dappled light shining through the branches. It was the way of things.
But we counted the lines in the bark and stayed in the place where the water passes.
And perhaps we never left.
Monday, March 9, 2015
021 (Tangled Roots)
He's still with me, you see. His memory is a fog around my heart, a gentle mist that reminds me each morning that I am apart.
We ran together, in a fair country of sun and light, swam in rivers slow and sweet, drank from streams of clear truth and sang songs that mAde the Angels cry as they danced with us under the moon. We held hands and danced in the street, under the light of the stars and a flickering street lamp.
We ran together, in a fair country of sun and light, swam in rivers slow and sweet, drank from streams of clear truth and sang songs that mAde the Angels cry as they danced with us under the moon. We held hands and danced in the street, under the light of the stars and a flickering street lamp.
Our roots grew deep then, they entwined deep in the earth and fused together that day, as if betraying the youthfulness of our ways by creating a promise that could not be sustained, not while the earth remained untamed.
Our roots are still tangled together. I do not know how, for many miles have passed under my feet, and he journeys onward to new lands, as I knew he would, as he must. The world needs strong and valiant trees like him to rest under, to learn how to grow.
We grow apart now. I still feel the pull of the weight of memory on my heart in the night, but I am glad for roots, and that ours are still tangled.
Without them we could not grow tall.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
020 (Musings of an Introvert)
I love people.
I love the light in their eyes when they laugh uproariously at a joke that reminded us all of that one time some years ago that brought light to our memory. I love the way that they think, musing the world and examining it's treasure, as if trying to determine its true worth, and their own. I love their brief glimmers of mischief and their glimpses of childlikeness that confound the wise and make them believe in something greater. I love longsuffering love of an old friend, one that has loved long and never lost the road.
But I also love silence. I love the quiet that allows Heaven to speak, the calm after the storm when you crash on your couch, pour yourself a peach tea and eat some pretzels, and think one beautiful thought at a time. I love early mornings without a soul, breathing in the clean, clear air of clarity. The nights when the frogs croak and the air is cool and the only light is the one from your dim laptop screen, when He comes and sits next to you and speaks life like a River rushing over dry land.
I love you so, Jesus. I love the way you come every time.
I love the light in their eyes when they laugh uproariously at a joke that reminded us all of that one time some years ago that brought light to our memory. I love the way that they think, musing the world and examining it's treasure, as if trying to determine its true worth, and their own. I love their brief glimmers of mischief and their glimpses of childlikeness that confound the wise and make them believe in something greater. I love longsuffering love of an old friend, one that has loved long and never lost the road.
But I also love silence. I love the quiet that allows Heaven to speak, the calm after the storm when you crash on your couch, pour yourself a peach tea and eat some pretzels, and think one beautiful thought at a time. I love early mornings without a soul, breathing in the clean, clear air of clarity. The nights when the frogs croak and the air is cool and the only light is the one from your dim laptop screen, when He comes and sits next to you and speaks life like a River rushing over dry land.
I love you so, Jesus. I love the way you come every time.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
019 (Courage)
I want to fight to love.
I want to be like a queen of old, raising up a standard of courage against darkness and watch it shudder and shake in fear. I want to stand in front of the Kings of the earth and tell them that God tells them to let their captive hearts go free. I want to stand everyday with strength in my bones and give all of myself to Love. I want to have courage in my heart again, for I was never destined to feel fear of anything.
I want to fight.
But in the end, He fights for me. And loves me into fullness of courage and strength.
I want to be like a queen of old, raising up a standard of courage against darkness and watch it shudder and shake in fear. I want to stand in front of the Kings of the earth and tell them that God tells them to let their captive hearts go free. I want to stand everyday with strength in my bones and give all of myself to Love. I want to have courage in my heart again, for I was never destined to feel fear of anything.
I want to fight.
But in the end, He fights for me. And loves me into fullness of courage and strength.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
018 (Love in Winter)
[Poem by Rory Hudson, Australian poet.]
Tis said, of course, that springtime is the season
when love swells bright and bold, beyond thin reason.
but I have known you in the winter, too,
and loved the dying that I saw in you.
Your gentle fading into quiet retreat,
the spirit shining 'neath the world's deceit.
For when the leaves have fallen from the trees,
and birds, no longer chirping, rest at ease,
the is the world to essences reduced
and deeper modes of being introduced,
a kind of slow and unselfconscious sleep-
in you, a beauty to make wise men weep,
For I have seen the sadness in your eyes,
the insight of the slipping of the prize.
In winter, this in you comes to the fore,
for which I love you then not less, but more.
This winter has not been the season I expected it to be; Quite the opposite, actually. But there's something about the winter that has done something unique in me: In it, Jesus has whittled me down, reduced me to the things that I am and only am, the essences I am made of, and allowed the rest to leave.
It's not a painless process. I think it's happening to a lot of people right now. Some would be angry that Holy Spirit would take so much from them. I am not angry. I welcome any and every change He wishes to make, I embrace the moments when things that I profess to own slip out of my weak and unsure grasp. I lean into the thing that I love most, Him, and let Him become the very substance that is within me, the essence of my soul, the thing that spills out when I am pressed hard on all sides and the thing that people will see in the end.
Let it be Him.
And then Spring comes.
Tis said, of course, that springtime is the season
when love swells bright and bold, beyond thin reason.
but I have known you in the winter, too,
and loved the dying that I saw in you.
Your gentle fading into quiet retreat,
the spirit shining 'neath the world's deceit.
For when the leaves have fallen from the trees,
and birds, no longer chirping, rest at ease,
the is the world to essences reduced
and deeper modes of being introduced,
a kind of slow and unselfconscious sleep-
in you, a beauty to make wise men weep,
For I have seen the sadness in your eyes,
the insight of the slipping of the prize.
In winter, this in you comes to the fore,
for which I love you then not less, but more.
This winter has not been the season I expected it to be; Quite the opposite, actually. But there's something about the winter that has done something unique in me: In it, Jesus has whittled me down, reduced me to the things that I am and only am, the essences I am made of, and allowed the rest to leave.
It's not a painless process. I think it's happening to a lot of people right now. Some would be angry that Holy Spirit would take so much from them. I am not angry. I welcome any and every change He wishes to make, I embrace the moments when things that I profess to own slip out of my weak and unsure grasp. I lean into the thing that I love most, Him, and let Him become the very substance that is within me, the essence of my soul, the thing that spills out when I am pressed hard on all sides and the thing that people will see in the end.
Let it be Him.
And then Spring comes.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
017 (Hide and Seek)
I read Eva a bedtime story tonight. It was beautiful. I found myself choking up as I tried to get through pages of how God, the one who fashioned the stars and the moon and the sun, the One who made the canyons and the sea, how He was the One who made her. How He made her eyes to twinkle and her mouth to giggle and her feet to dance.
I finished the book and prayed with her. Thank you for good dreams and sweet sleep. Thank you for the roof and the sun and warm milk before bedtime, Jesus. I turned off the light, but when I leaned down to give her a kiss goodnight (or a "buss", as the Carlson's call it), she giggled and buried her face under the covers. I realized she was playing Hide and Seek. And with such joy!
Our whole lives are, at times, one big game of Hide and Seek. We like hearing stories from our Father, and when He leans down to give us a kiss or a hug, we hide under our blankets in the dark, as if to say, "Come and find me, Daddy."
And He will always find you. That's one thing you can be sure of.
I finished the book and prayed with her. Thank you for good dreams and sweet sleep. Thank you for the roof and the sun and warm milk before bedtime, Jesus. I turned off the light, but when I leaned down to give her a kiss goodnight (or a "buss", as the Carlson's call it), she giggled and buried her face under the covers. I realized she was playing Hide and Seek. And with such joy!
Our whole lives are, at times, one big game of Hide and Seek. We like hearing stories from our Father, and when He leans down to give us a kiss or a hug, we hide under our blankets in the dark, as if to say, "Come and find me, Daddy."
And He will always find you. That's one thing you can be sure of.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
016 (Bubbles)
I drove through North Portland today on my way to give blood. (They denied me; apparently the Mekong Delta in Vietnam is a no-go zone for malarial reasons. Whatever.) I began to see people who were not the same kind of people you would see in Tigard... they dressed differently, they walked differently. I actually found myself staring, realizing how poor they were and how, though I desired to be the same as they, seemed to be separated by an invisible wall. I drove on.
On Vancouver Drive, a woman and man were standing on the corner with a cardboard sign, the fourth one I had seen that day. The woman sagged against the traffic post, her eyes half-lidded from some drug that kept her bound by addiction. The man was weaving in and out of traffic with his pants halfway down and a glazed, drunken stupor surrounded him. I tried to look away. I couldn't. I wanted to do something. What could I do? I was in a car, and they were asking for money to buy the drugs that they were already under the influence of.
Am I being one of those people that drive by and ignore the least of these?
Jesus said, "When you give a dinner or a supper, do not ask your friends, your brothers, your relatives, nor rich neighbors, lest they also invite you back, and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you..."(Luke 14:12-14).
Dang it, Lord, I am a rich woman in a rich woman's bubble, when there is poverty running rampant in the streets of your city.
I want to throw a feast and treat beggars like kings, for that is the Kingdom of God in it's very nature. It doesn't matter if they never repay us or act the way we want them to. The only question now is, How do I begin?
On Vancouver Drive, a woman and man were standing on the corner with a cardboard sign, the fourth one I had seen that day. The woman sagged against the traffic post, her eyes half-lidded from some drug that kept her bound by addiction. The man was weaving in and out of traffic with his pants halfway down and a glazed, drunken stupor surrounded him. I tried to look away. I couldn't. I wanted to do something. What could I do? I was in a car, and they were asking for money to buy the drugs that they were already under the influence of.
Am I being one of those people that drive by and ignore the least of these?
Jesus said, "When you give a dinner or a supper, do not ask your friends, your brothers, your relatives, nor rich neighbors, lest they also invite you back, and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you..."(Luke 14:12-14).
Dang it, Lord, I am a rich woman in a rich woman's bubble, when there is poverty running rampant in the streets of your city.
I want to throw a feast and treat beggars like kings, for that is the Kingdom of God in it's very nature. It doesn't matter if they never repay us or act the way we want them to. The only question now is, How do I begin?
Monday, March 2, 2015
015 (Holes)
Jacob and I went to get an Americano and a crepe before Fundamentals. We stopped and got his dog Hugo from his truck, whimpering and shaking in anticipation. We didn't have a leash, so I used my scarf.
We sat there in the sun, Hugo barking savagely and testing my scarf's strength as he lunged for an innocent Golden Retriever passing by. We were talking about tractors or white hot chocolate or something. Jacob abruptly turned his head toward me.
"Are you religious or something?"
I laughed and told him that I loved Jesus. He started to ask me about my story, about how I was how I was. How I was so full of an emotion that he didn't recognize because he hadn't seen it before. He asked me about how a logical person like me could believe in God at all. I think he was really asking me how a logical person like him could.
"Well, you see, there is a hole in each person's heart. Logical, artistic, romantic, cynics alike. They all know it's there, but no one wants to admit it. They try to fill it with everything and anything they can think of. Some people turn to money. Some people throw themselves into their career. Some people get lost in the eyes of someone they love, hoping to lose themselves and that emptiness they feel somehow. Some people turn to alcohol, some to drugs, some to food, some to rules. But no matter what they do, they can't fill that hole, and they know it, deep down. We all do...
And you want to know something else? That's a God-shaped hole. And I've found out what fills that hole.
It's Jesus."
We sat there in the sun, Hugo barking savagely and testing my scarf's strength as he lunged for an innocent Golden Retriever passing by. We were talking about tractors or white hot chocolate or something. Jacob abruptly turned his head toward me.
"Are you religious or something?"
I laughed and told him that I loved Jesus. He started to ask me about my story, about how I was how I was. How I was so full of an emotion that he didn't recognize because he hadn't seen it before. He asked me about how a logical person like me could believe in God at all. I think he was really asking me how a logical person like him could.
"Well, you see, there is a hole in each person's heart. Logical, artistic, romantic, cynics alike. They all know it's there, but no one wants to admit it. They try to fill it with everything and anything they can think of. Some people turn to money. Some people throw themselves into their career. Some people get lost in the eyes of someone they love, hoping to lose themselves and that emptiness they feel somehow. Some people turn to alcohol, some to drugs, some to food, some to rules. But no matter what they do, they can't fill that hole, and they know it, deep down. We all do...
And you want to know something else? That's a God-shaped hole. And I've found out what fills that hole.
It's Jesus."
Sunday, March 1, 2015
014 (Spring)
Springtime is coming.
Even now, what once was dead, long dormant and sleeping, is bursting forth in resurrection. Restoration. Rescue. The flowers in Mom's garden are the only color I have seen in long months, a splash of light in what was before gray. The weeds haven't come yet, and new life is all that can be noticed now.
The birds are back. The chickadees and robins, they sing a new song, one that is new yet has been sung since time began. The winter sun shines at a sharper angle through the kitchen window, just so that you have to squint to read over your morning coffee. The branches are still visible, but growth is welling up on the inside, ready to spill forth and crown it's foundation in glory.
See, winter seasons are really important. You get down to the bare, raw, reality of things. You can see for miles, stretching your eyes in anticipation of how far you'll run. But things only die so that what is truly beautiful and lovely can come back to life.
...And that is what springtime is all about.
I ask that He resurrects in you new life and burns you so that you cannot, will not bloom for anyone else.
Even now, what once was dead, long dormant and sleeping, is bursting forth in resurrection. Restoration. Rescue. The flowers in Mom's garden are the only color I have seen in long months, a splash of light in what was before gray. The weeds haven't come yet, and new life is all that can be noticed now.
The birds are back. The chickadees and robins, they sing a new song, one that is new yet has been sung since time began. The winter sun shines at a sharper angle through the kitchen window, just so that you have to squint to read over your morning coffee. The branches are still visible, but growth is welling up on the inside, ready to spill forth and crown it's foundation in glory.
See, winter seasons are really important. You get down to the bare, raw, reality of things. You can see for miles, stretching your eyes in anticipation of how far you'll run. But things only die so that what is truly beautiful and lovely can come back to life.
...And that is what springtime is all about.
I ask that He resurrects in you new life and burns you so that you cannot, will not bloom for anyone else.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
013 (Tragedy)
I wanted to have something beautiful to write today.
I wanted to be eloquent, to have some wisdom worthy to share... But some days just take it out of you and leave you with not a lot left over. Today was one of those days. Today reminded me of something I wrote in October, right after I found out that I hadn't got into nursing school.
"Sometimes what's in front of you is so far outside what you dreamed, you want to declare the whole thing a tragedy. But you have the boldness and the courage to call it not wrong, but beautiful, And you'd be right. Because that's when you really start to learn what celebrating life usually means."
I will choose to celebrate, though this beautiful season has worn a memory on my heart. I will choose to sing, even though the road is sometimes lonely and life doesn't add up. I will choose to believe that joy is my destiny, not sorrow. That God knows the promises He has made to me and He will see them through.
I will never declare life to be a tragedy.
I wanted to be eloquent, to have some wisdom worthy to share... But some days just take it out of you and leave you with not a lot left over. Today was one of those days. Today reminded me of something I wrote in October, right after I found out that I hadn't got into nursing school.
"Sometimes what's in front of you is so far outside what you dreamed, you want to declare the whole thing a tragedy. But you have the boldness and the courage to call it not wrong, but beautiful, And you'd be right. Because that's when you really start to learn what celebrating life usually means."
I will choose to celebrate, though this beautiful season has worn a memory on my heart. I will choose to sing, even though the road is sometimes lonely and life doesn't add up. I will choose to believe that joy is my destiny, not sorrow. That God knows the promises He has made to me and He will see them through.
I will never declare life to be a tragedy.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
012 (Don't Lose the Joy)
Never let your joy be taken from you.
Don't let people tell you that there is anything "greater" (but feels to me more like drowning in lukewarm milk). Don't let the darkness throw any shadow of control on what God has called passionate and free.
Don't listen to the voices of the world. They tell you that joy has fled, that the excitement you feel, as if you were a child again, at the mention of something wondrous was, in fact, too childish for such times. Times, they say, when now is the time to wake up out of daydreams and put on what they think to be the heavy, full, weighty armor of God.
Never wake from the dream that is actually reality. He is our reality. His armor is the taking off of the old burdens, not the putting on of obligation and routine. His "work" is in fact to keep the joy He gives to us. It is the most precious thing we could ever own or obtain.
For it comes from His heart. And it is who He is.
Don't let people tell you that there is anything "greater" (but feels to me more like drowning in lukewarm milk). Don't let the darkness throw any shadow of control on what God has called passionate and free.
Don't listen to the voices of the world. They tell you that joy has fled, that the excitement you feel, as if you were a child again, at the mention of something wondrous was, in fact, too childish for such times. Times, they say, when now is the time to wake up out of daydreams and put on what they think to be the heavy, full, weighty armor of God.
Never wake from the dream that is actually reality. He is our reality. His armor is the taking off of the old burdens, not the putting on of obligation and routine. His "work" is in fact to keep the joy He gives to us. It is the most precious thing we could ever own or obtain.
For it comes from His heart. And it is who He is.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
011 (Peculiar Things)
It's a peculiar thing.
Somehow, the song that God sang over me, long ago on the old fallows of eternity, the song that was woven into my heart and leaks out even now as I live and move and breathe, that song is the Singer's. He was the Singer. And now I am the Singer.
Our wills, our minds, our souls are ours, somehow; we are the owner's of them, though they once came from our Father. Somehow He has given us ownership of them, that we might decide what to do with them, how to use such a gift as something to call our own. "He made our wills our own," Lewis says, "In such a way that we can freely offer it back to Him."
What does it mean to think for oneself, truly, to step outside and look up? Perhaps we have been living inside for a long time.
I wonder now... If each man were to really sing His own song; that is, to create and love and talk as if there were no normalcy or standard of thought to live up to, would that song tear the very fabric of the natural? I mean, if we were to know God first and not second or third, to let all thoughts flow from the Truthful Source and not from a third-party, if we were to spend our lives tasting the flavor of real Love and not making ourselves full eating cardboard, would the world around us really remain unchanged?
Hmmm.
Somehow, the song that God sang over me, long ago on the old fallows of eternity, the song that was woven into my heart and leaks out even now as I live and move and breathe, that song is the Singer's. He was the Singer. And now I am the Singer.
Our wills, our minds, our souls are ours, somehow; we are the owner's of them, though they once came from our Father. Somehow He has given us ownership of them, that we might decide what to do with them, how to use such a gift as something to call our own. "He made our wills our own," Lewis says, "In such a way that we can freely offer it back to Him."
What does it mean to think for oneself, truly, to step outside and look up? Perhaps we have been living inside for a long time.
I wonder now... If each man were to really sing His own song; that is, to create and love and talk as if there were no normalcy or standard of thought to live up to, would that song tear the very fabric of the natural? I mean, if we were to know God first and not second or third, to let all thoughts flow from the Truthful Source and not from a third-party, if we were to spend our lives tasting the flavor of real Love and not making ourselves full eating cardboard, would the world around us really remain unchanged?
Hmmm.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
010 (Silence)
I have a new love for silence. It's where He lives.
He takes the dreams that we had and burns them only to reach into our deep pool of longing and makes a new dream, better than we could have ever made. I'm so glad he took my old dreams and gave me an ever-unfolding vision of His Kingdom! What is our vision?
To show the nature of the Kingdom of Heaven. To look up to and not down on humanity, not belittle but honor men, not be the authority but convince every man that he is a temple of the living God. Be of the nature of a child. To do as God does and think with His thoughts and speak with His words.
But first... there must be silence.
Silence so He can speak.
He takes the dreams that we had and burns them only to reach into our deep pool of longing and makes a new dream, better than we could have ever made. I'm so glad he took my old dreams and gave me an ever-unfolding vision of His Kingdom! What is our vision?
To show the nature of the Kingdom of Heaven. To look up to and not down on humanity, not belittle but honor men, not be the authority but convince every man that he is a temple of the living God. Be of the nature of a child. To do as God does and think with His thoughts and speak with His words.
But first... there must be silence.
Silence so He can speak.
Monday, February 23, 2015
009 (Friendship)
Shelby and I sat in Barista on Alberta St, reading The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis:
In this, frienship exhibits a glorious "nearness by resemblance" to Heaven itself where the very multitude of the blessed (which no man can number) increases the fruition which each has of God. For every soul, seeing Him in her own way, doubtless communicates that unique vision to all the rest. That, says an old author, is why the Seraphim in Isaiah's vision are crying "Holy, Holy, Holy" to one another. The more we thus share the Heavenly Bread between us, the more we shall all have.
I am overwhelmed with how rich God has blessed me with friendship. Even though I'm in Portland studying my rear end off and starting a new and somewhat intimidating season of nursing, my family in Monmouth are still linked arm in arm with me. I still feel the strength of their hearts behind me. How can that be so? The answer is that Friendship, the way it was meant to be, is supernatural.
Ask the Lord for friends, and He will dump buckets of plenty on your head, give you people that you are humbled to serve with, to spend time with. He will lavish you with people who will call you out, who will remind you who you are, and who will always point you back to His heart.
...oh, by the way...Shelby and I had the best day.
In this, frienship exhibits a glorious "nearness by resemblance" to Heaven itself where the very multitude of the blessed (which no man can number) increases the fruition which each has of God. For every soul, seeing Him in her own way, doubtless communicates that unique vision to all the rest. That, says an old author, is why the Seraphim in Isaiah's vision are crying "Holy, Holy, Holy" to one another. The more we thus share the Heavenly Bread between us, the more we shall all have.
I am overwhelmed with how rich God has blessed me with friendship. Even though I'm in Portland studying my rear end off and starting a new and somewhat intimidating season of nursing, my family in Monmouth are still linked arm in arm with me. I still feel the strength of their hearts behind me. How can that be so? The answer is that Friendship, the way it was meant to be, is supernatural.
Ask the Lord for friends, and He will dump buckets of plenty on your head, give you people that you are humbled to serve with, to spend time with. He will lavish you with people who will call you out, who will remind you who you are, and who will always point you back to His heart.
...oh, by the way...Shelby and I had the best day.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
008 (Playtime)
You can play.
Really. You're allowed to have time where you aren't producing a product, time where the things you do aren't casting a shadow over who you are (they are different, you know). You're allowed to fight for space for your heart to grow, space so it doesn't wither under the weight of expectation. You're allowed to defend your time, a treasure more precious than gold which is too often spent on things that would not appreciate its worth.
You're allowed to run. To laugh. To forget what it is to think like an adult. To play again.
The park was full of Russian orthodox women in head coverings and laughing children. The winter sun shone sideways on Eva's hair, making it sparkle like her laughing eyes. We played tag in the fading light, giggling and dodging children and puzzled parents. My heart bubbled and splashed again as I played, my hair coming undone from it's proper bun and tangling in straggles on my jacket.
Then I looked over and saw a Dad start to play tag with his daughter. Then a Dad chasing his 3-year-old son around, laughing freely. Then two brothers giggle as they watched us run. A little girl looked up at me.
"Can I play too?"
And I realized that to play is to be truly free.
Chase your childhood until you catch it every time.
Really. You're allowed to have time where you aren't producing a product, time where the things you do aren't casting a shadow over who you are (they are different, you know). You're allowed to fight for space for your heart to grow, space so it doesn't wither under the weight of expectation. You're allowed to defend your time, a treasure more precious than gold which is too often spent on things that would not appreciate its worth.
You're allowed to run. To laugh. To forget what it is to think like an adult. To play again.
The park was full of Russian orthodox women in head coverings and laughing children. The winter sun shone sideways on Eva's hair, making it sparkle like her laughing eyes. We played tag in the fading light, giggling and dodging children and puzzled parents. My heart bubbled and splashed again as I played, my hair coming undone from it's proper bun and tangling in straggles on my jacket.
Then I looked over and saw a Dad start to play tag with his daughter. Then a Dad chasing his 3-year-old son around, laughing freely. Then two brothers giggle as they watched us run. A little girl looked up at me.
"Can I play too?"
And I realized that to play is to be truly free.
Chase your childhood until you catch it every time.
Friday, February 20, 2015
007 (Untangling)
You unravel me,
Take all my pieces
Place them here and there,
strewn about on the floor.
Detangle the knots
That have worked themselves into my spirit,
Touch the aches
And heal the burns.
I was always told
to pick up messes,
But mine is safe,
Here with You.
Sleep tight, beloved.
Take all my pieces
Place them here and there,
strewn about on the floor.
Detangle the knots
That have worked themselves into my spirit,
Touch the aches
And heal the burns.
I was always told
to pick up messes,
But mine is safe,
Here with You.
Sleep tight, beloved.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
006 (Study Break)
I woke up this morning with one sentence running through my mind:
I am full but I'm not satisfied.
There is an ache, an empty place in my heart for life that I used to think would always be out of reach. A desperation to go past what I can understand with my mind and instead be consumed with a knowledge that is all-consuming. A dream that you don't quite remember, but whose strength sits behind your eyes so heavy you know what it carries. Little signs, now and again, that don't match what you've been told is normal.
Heaven is here. It's all around. It has settle on the earth like a sheet, cloaking everyone in white and blinding the wise but making the children laugh in joy. It's a truth that everyone is looking for in their core, but doesn't realize its reality until it's coming. It's a freedom from any and every lie that has established itself against the beautiful reality of days.
There is nothing better than swimming in white truth and not seeing where you're going. You don't have to. He will fill you. He will always fill you.
And the rest doesn't matter.
I am full but I'm not satisfied.
There is an ache, an empty place in my heart for life that I used to think would always be out of reach. A desperation to go past what I can understand with my mind and instead be consumed with a knowledge that is all-consuming. A dream that you don't quite remember, but whose strength sits behind your eyes so heavy you know what it carries. Little signs, now and again, that don't match what you've been told is normal.
Heaven is here. It's all around. It has settle on the earth like a sheet, cloaking everyone in white and blinding the wise but making the children laugh in joy. It's a truth that everyone is looking for in their core, but doesn't realize its reality until it's coming. It's a freedom from any and every lie that has established itself against the beautiful reality of days.
There is nothing better than swimming in white truth and not seeing where you're going. You don't have to. He will fill you. He will always fill you.
And the rest doesn't matter.
005 (Always Worth It)
Relationships are hard.
It's hard to move toward someone with the insides of your soul flying around you. It's hard to let someone past the walls you've put up with everyone else you've known. It's hard to open up, when everything you've ever known is telling me to shut myself away.
But it's always worth it.
Don't be afraid. To go onward, toward being consumed by the love of Jesus for people and for the one you're closest to. Don't fear to go inward, to move toward the heart of the matter. You will break sometimes, you will burn, and some parts of your heart will become ash in the end.
But beauty comes from ashes.
Don't be afraid to keep moving, Don't be afraid to give yourself to the people you love. To be known. To know.
I want to know you. To be known by you.
It's hard to move toward someone with the insides of your soul flying around you. It's hard to let someone past the walls you've put up with everyone else you've known. It's hard to open up, when everything you've ever known is telling me to shut myself away.
But it's always worth it.
Don't be afraid. To go onward, toward being consumed by the love of Jesus for people and for the one you're closest to. Don't fear to go inward, to move toward the heart of the matter. You will break sometimes, you will burn, and some parts of your heart will become ash in the end.
But beauty comes from ashes.
Don't be afraid to keep moving, Don't be afraid to give yourself to the people you love. To be known. To know.
I want to know you. To be known by you.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
004 (Talking Jesus)
We were talking about Instagram. Matt, Jacob, Chauncy and I.
Matt said, "I gather from your photos that you are religious."
"Well... I don't know if I really like that word too much."
"...Ok, you're spiritual."
"...Yeah..."
"But you talk Jesus to people."
Yes.
I can feel it rise from the inside. The joy of the Lord cannot be stopped up. It has to come out. So much more than morality or being kind to people... it's about letting the Spirit shuft and change something that perhaps before could be unchangeable.
People will notice immediately if you are different. If your mind is free, people will be drawn to that feeling. They will know you are a safe place to come and rest.
Thank you for changing me so that people can see You in me. May I become more and more like You until I vibrate with the melody of heaven.
I used to hate being different. I relish it now, I want people to see that I have become a daughter of a different realm; I am no of this world, but I am a child of God!
And I love talking Jesus.
Matt said, "I gather from your photos that you are religious."
"Well... I don't know if I really like that word too much."
"...Ok, you're spiritual."
"...Yeah..."
"But you talk Jesus to people."
Yes.
I can feel it rise from the inside. The joy of the Lord cannot be stopped up. It has to come out. So much more than morality or being kind to people... it's about letting the Spirit shuft and change something that perhaps before could be unchangeable.
People will notice immediately if you are different. If your mind is free, people will be drawn to that feeling. They will know you are a safe place to come and rest.
Thank you for changing me so that people can see You in me. May I become more and more like You until I vibrate with the melody of heaven.
I used to hate being different. I relish it now, I want people to see that I have become a daughter of a different realm; I am no of this world, but I am a child of God!
And I love talking Jesus.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
003 (Morning People)
I was eating breakfast at 7 this morning when Eva, my 8-year-old roommate, walked out of her room to the bathroom. She was moaning loudly. I silently wondered if it was considered rude for an adult to do that. ...I'm considered an adult, right?
Despite the fact that I feel the need to moan loudly more often than normal, I've made it through my first week of this little journey people call nursing school. It's been a wild ride from the start. I've gone through many thoughts, steps of denial and excitement, which I might reference later.
1. I got in, YAY! ...Now what?
2. I get my very own stethoscope? How cool is that?\
3. AND my very own scrubs! I'm not even gonna lie about how cool I feel.
4. Why is my professor for the hardest class have the thickest Thai accent I've ever heard?
5. Everyone is so smart... I thought I was smart before...Then I got into a school full of smart people.
6. This is where I'm meant to be. I've found what I am good at!
More to come later...
B
Despite the fact that I feel the need to moan loudly more often than normal, I've made it through my first week of this little journey people call nursing school. It's been a wild ride from the start. I've gone through many thoughts, steps of denial and excitement, which I might reference later.
1. I got in, YAY! ...Now what?
2. I get my very own stethoscope? How cool is that?\
3. AND my very own scrubs! I'm not even gonna lie about how cool I feel.
4. Why is my professor for the hardest class have the thickest Thai accent I've ever heard?
5. Everyone is so smart... I thought I was smart before...Then I got into a school full of smart people.
6. This is where I'm meant to be. I've found what I am good at!
More to come later...
B
Thursday, February 12, 2015
002 (Poetry in Research Class)
Today Nathan wrote me a letter. It came at a good time.
"God is going to pour you out for others. Your life is not your own, it belongs to the King who longs to use it as a fragrance over His beloved wandering broken children. Stop for the ragamuffins. Listen to the stories of the bitter and the wounded.You will be exposed to so many lives in this season. God is bringing these points of contact as holes of light piercing into darkness. It is like drops of dye dripped into crystal water. The impact you can have will be monumental. You can literally save people's lives.
But don't let go of your intimacy with Papa. The first thing Satan would want is to get you so busy and caught up that your love grows cold."
Promise me that you won't let the world put a basket over what He has called light. Promise me you won't let the joy of living fade as you move forward into new lands. Promise me you won't let fear bind any part of your beautiful mind. Promise to always let truth into the very core of who you are, to speak it over every moment of your precous existence. Promise me that you will always let Him in, allow Him to speak over the gray you feel on winter days. Promise me you will not shut me out, that you will always let me come closer, and that you will come close to me, too.
Promise me you'll choose life. Every time.
"God is going to pour you out for others. Your life is not your own, it belongs to the King who longs to use it as a fragrance over His beloved wandering broken children. Stop for the ragamuffins. Listen to the stories of the bitter and the wounded.You will be exposed to so many lives in this season. God is bringing these points of contact as holes of light piercing into darkness. It is like drops of dye dripped into crystal water. The impact you can have will be monumental. You can literally save people's lives.
But don't let go of your intimacy with Papa. The first thing Satan would want is to get you so busy and caught up that your love grows cold."
Promise me that you won't let the world put a basket over what He has called light. Promise me you won't let the joy of living fade as you move forward into new lands. Promise me you won't let fear bind any part of your beautiful mind. Promise to always let truth into the very core of who you are, to speak it over every moment of your precous existence. Promise me that you will always let Him in, allow Him to speak over the gray you feel on winter days. Promise me you will not shut me out, that you will always let me come closer, and that you will come close to me, too.
Promise me you'll choose life. Every time.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
001 (The Gift of Compassion)
Routine has set in at last. But somehow, it's ok.
I wondered today at the monumental task it will be to love all the people that I encounter in this season of life, in my career as a nurse. But today God told me He was giving me a gift.
He is giving me the gift of compassion.
He loves His people so... and will give us the same love for them if we but ask. He loves every one, you see, every wayward child and every weary heart that has lost its way in the gray space of nowhere. We are the children of His heart; He longs, He yearns to draw each and every one back to His womb. His love is longsuffereing. He is not angry with us because we are sow to learn. No... He loves every single thing about us!
I do not know how to love. Jesus... He has enough love for the whole world. He always has enough. Everything that we'll ever need is in Him.
May the next 365 days be the most rich of all.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)