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.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
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.
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