the cross

It is my heart's meditation...

buy the truth, sell it not

A few truths I have been taking consolation in...

Jesus is a beautiful intercessor and he put himself between me and the accuser, on purpose.

Jesus bore every emotional/physical/spiritual whipping for every man who has ever lived and will ever live. He EVER LIVES to make intercession for me.

Jesus did not open his mouth to defend himself when accused. His extreme display of humility...I have no way to comprehend this. Awakens more love in my heart for Him.

Jesus was not afraid of what man could do to him. He knew not self-preservation.

Self-preservation will actually kill you; a silent, lonely death.

Anger is only as powerful as I allow it to be. I don't have to feed it, fuel it or respond to it.

It is not OK to spiritualize dysfunction. I must agree with the cross over its deadly wages and the provision for the healing of it.

Unsanctified mercy will not bring a pardon on the day we stand before the One whose eyes are like fire. Do not give it, do not receive it.

Relational codependency is not the same as unconditional love. One enables, the other empowers.

Often times emotional manipulators guilt, marginalize, dismiss, or discredit so as to maintain the upper hand, to gain control.

I never have to be emotionally manipulated when Christ has made a better way.

Sowing and reaping is such a painful/glorious process.

Before something can experience resurrection power, there must be a death.

What is in my heart will always come out of my mouth. No man can tame the tongue.

Change always equals conflict.

The right choice is always the hard choice; the one that requires more time, energy, resource, faith than I have on tap. But there is grace...

The Father will never play the victim. Even when I have torn his heart in two, He maintains His posture, His promise to be steadfast in love.

The LORD suffers so long. It is endearing to me. So patient. So kind.

If I am a son, I endure discipline. If my life is unruly, I must examine my heart.

Jesus has a jealous jealousy over my life. Others may, I cannot. My life is not my own.

Pruning is so severe at times but those who produce fruit are the ones who get the pruning. It is a double-edged sword resulting in life and death.

There is a peace that passes understanding, that touches untouchable depths.

It is good to get real with God.

There is real grace that gives real power to live in real victory.

I must not have more excuses than truth.

I must not take consolation in a lie.

I labor to rest in Him.

I labor to lay hold of the joy set before me; Christ crucified.

I am rich, rich, rich in friendship.

I have communion deep with my Father.
Guilt is an awful motivator and it whips its slaves.

I have asked my children to forgive me for the times I've tried to emotionally manipulate them with anger, fear or great big emotions.

I have asked my Father to forgive me for my doubt of what He is able to do, of what He is able to cure.

I have found that letting go and falling into grace is the scariest but safest place.

There is a supernatural grace and freedom that come when you entrust God with your relationships. Even the one you have with Him.

Sometimes to save a thing, you must be willing to let it die entirely. This takes great faith and prayerful watching and waiting.

Saying no to fear and control require a setting of my will, a conscience/cerebral decision that eventually work their way through my heart and spirit and penetrate the way I live my daily life.

Forgiveness is blessed. To give it, to receive it.

Never give up hope. Ever.

I will stand before God one day, accountable for every idle word and deed. Holy terror and comfort.

God cares most about how I treat those that He has entrusted to me; my children.

My Father is not angry with me. I am a son and will never suffer the Father's wrath.

Wisdom is learning from the mistakes/prudence of others.

Mercy triumphs over judgement.

My God is gracious, slow to anger and rich in love.

The Lord will never do my part and He will not require me to do His. I must cooperate with grace.

Trust is established in truth. You cannot build on a lie.

Jesus didn't endure what He did so that I could live a defeated, deflated, dysfunctional life. He came that I would have life and life abundant!

Repentance is a requirement for true peace and pardon. It is conditional.

The road is narrow...very, very narrow.

His promise to me is greater than.

Christ's body is beautiful because it was broken for my sanctification. I don't have to live as a bond servant to sin but rather, a bond servant to Love.

Obedience is costly but disobedience is more costly.

Jesus had not one who could rightly discern Him...and He was the son of God, perfect in every way.

The measure we use to weigh a man is the measure we will be weighed.
Turning the other cheek, going the second mile...

Bless those who curse you. Always.

He makes everything beautiful. He makes all things new.

Hurting people hurt people. Jesus died for both.

God is able and willing to turn my world upside down, in order to have every part. I am OWNED!

Truth is a refuge.

Nothing...NOTHING...is impossible with God. Does my life echo this?

Every motive of the heart is laid bare before Him.

We may fool ourselves but we can never fool God.

There is nothing more cleansing than a good heart to heart with my Father.

My Father is healthy. Healing.

My Father loves when I love Him with my choices, honor Him with my words, obey Him with my life.

My Father is a good, good Father and His leadership over my life is perfect. I can trust Him. He is able to keep me. Always and forever!

perspective

Lord, have mercy. I'm so forgetful. I'm so unable to keep perspective, and not just in trials but in the mundane. Ann Voskamp calls it soul amnesia, the inability to remember all the good, the God. Perhaps there is a pill that can cure me; a corrective soul surgery that forever corrects all that's skewed? Help, I need a doctor! I need the Healer.

Are any irritations ever truly valid? I mean, really? Any demand made on my time, does that not mean I posses time? Any demand on my body, does that not mean I have health and lungs full of air? Any demands for grace/forgiveness/mercy, am I not positioned to receive more than I deserve, anyhow?

1000 Gifts has been calling me again. No, actually, whispering to me because gratitude, thankfulness, thoughtfulness...they don't make a scene. They simply make a statement. Beautiful, humble, simple statements that require a settled heart, a cleared mind, a heavenly perspective. And quite frankly, most of the time I would rather just hurry this thing along. Does my day have a place setting for thanks? For Eucharisteo? For the making, taking and breaking of eternal bread? Some days my soul goes hungry and when I'm hungry, I'm grouchy!

I was looking for an email address this past week and in my search, some unopened emails from my recently deceased grandmother came up. Unopened. She sent me a lot of forwards, with videos and glittery graphics and silly jokes. Most of the time I felt I didn't have to time to indulge in them. But a memory came to mind of years ago when my inbox was being flooded by 'junk' mail and I actually turned on a filter that caught and tucked away all of the fwds to multiple recipients, sent out by my beloved grandma. I opened that unopened email the other night and it was indeed a silly joke. Found another one, read it as well. Wanted to find more, just to see her name, just to enjoy her personality, even if it was sent to dozens of her friends and not just to me. It's different now because she's not here but her emails remain in my inbox. Every junk mail now precious, pieces of her that she forwarded to me. I wept. How ridiculous am I? It was email. Just lots and lots of them and what would it have hurt anyone to have my inbox fill up, only to empty it out? My chest hurt I cried so hard. Why must I learn on THIS side of the lesson? Why can't I see this when it's before me, not just behind me? Kudos to the one who coined, 'hindsight is 20/20.'

The demands of life whip me, drive me like a race horse. Go faster, push harder, do more. In fact, what was once simple has become complex; more factors, more players, more twists and turns. But the Spirit within me says no such things. It says stop, pause, rest, wait...trust me.

'The fast have spiritually slow hearts.' - 1000 Gifts

I'm really getting nowhere then, aren't I, at this rapid pace? And my haste makes so much waste in that I forfeit the grace that could be mine; grace that could turn irritation into celebration, into enrichment, into Christ likeness. God, I thought I knew this! I thought I had an angle on this! Darn you soul amnesia! How quickly these lessons leave me.

'Without God's Word as a lens, the world warps.' - 1000 Gifts

My heart confession/petition to God:

When my children seem determined to cause a blood vessel to explode in my brain, Lord grant me perspective. I would rather have them nipping at me than not. I would rather a million irritated moments with them than none. I would rather a million tears with them than a life of dry eyes. They are SO MUCH WORK but they are the best work that's ever been entrusted to me, the greatest gift You have given me. And when I lose perspective and forget all that your hand has provided, HELP ME LORD, to remember, to choose to pause and recall your goodness, your faithfulness, even while I have been unfaithful. Help me to recount your tender mercies to me, your endless graces given to me, that I would choose thanks over irritation, that I might choose bread over a stone. Because no matter what, no matter how bad it may get, no matter how maddening it may be, no matter how 'valid' the trial, pain, loss YOU SAID I can choose joy, thanks, praise, and quiet trust.

Most of us will never know the level of betrayal you experienced, the rejection, despising, scourging, beatings and duh, death! And you gave thanks. You saw and see perfectly. I want to see better than I see right now. I am skewed, my perspective jaded by pain, disappointment, irritation, entitlements and so forth. How can one whose eyes have been touched by the Healer, still see so poorly at times? Oh, I am a mere vapor, God, like the grass in the field, how I fade and with me, heaven's perspective.

I have felt that I have been lost and found many times in my journey. I guess I was never really lost to the One who has kept me but I have felt lost in the frenzy of life, felt lost in that I've been grasping for heaven's truth. And then I find it, yet again, because He is faithful to come to me in the small, foolish things like unopened email, and then I'm ashamed at myself and thankful all at once. And I'm so happy to be found, to have found yet again, this beautiful thing/One called Truth. It's always a warm welcome, hot tears and all, fully embracing me when my mind and heart have gone wretched. Perhaps that is part of the beauty of it all, losing and finding over and over again. I am forever reintroduced to redemption, no matter where I am or what I'm dealing with. And it's sweet every time. It's peace every time. It's joy, every single time.

True saints know that the place where all the joy comes from is far deeper than that of feelings; joy comes from the place of the very presence of God. Joy is God and God is joy and joy doesn't negate all other emotions - joy transcends all other emotions. though my marriage tree may not bud and though my crop of children may fail and my work produce little yield, though there is no money in the bank and no dream left in the heart, thought others may chose different ways to live their one life, till my last heaving breath, I will fight to the death for this: "I will take joy" (Habakkuk 3:18) - 1000 Gifts

go on and grow slow

I love her bedhead hair in the morning. It curls up over her ears, makes a fuzzy nest on the top of her head. Her skin is like the sweetest peach. I think I could eat her up, bit by bit. It would have to be nibbles since she is so busy. We have run-ins all the day long.

She is getting big. She has always been big. My baby, never so much a baby. I marvel at how almost 2 years could have whisked right by me. Surely I was in the room when this all happened. She's so long...so tall. Over 100% on the charts. I watch her sisters struggle to carry her on their hips. She is two-thirds the size of her brother who has 5 years on her. But yet she is just a babe, full of babble and chatter and nonsense that she takes quite seriously.

She reads her books like a proclamation! Most of the time, it's a thick chapter book, upside down, turned open to the middle. And her little face will come up every once in a while, to see whom she might be entertaining. And if an audience is near, she will give a quick smirk and plunge back into the black and white pages.

She loves to move. She loves to be free. She loves to do what she wants to do; go where she wants to go. She was meant for wide open spaces and pleasant boundary lines. She was made for momentum and play and for work that keeps the hands and body busy. And she will find rest just as she does now, in the moments in between; in the moments you blink; in the moments you sit a spell only to be back about it all before too long. She was born for great things...for God things.

How she has already tasted and seen that He is good. Her appetite is good, and for good things. She craves real food and is brave and eats anything and everything. She takes great delight in her meal times. If she is walking about with a snack she really enjoys, she will dance as she eats it. She lives life to the fullest!

She is a little mama, if I ever did see one. Her babies are most precious to her. She holds them close, thumb in her mouth. A baby with a baby. She finds comfort, she gives comfort. And kisses. So many kisses she gives freely to her babies. But, mama has to beg for one of those. She likes to tease me, holding out her affections, making me work hard, barter with her. And she knows exactly what she is doing, sneaky grin on the side of her face, her eyes all slanted and twinkling. When she is ready to give it up, only then will I get a sacred kiss. She is not easily moved unless she WANTS to move. A strong will, indeed.

And shoes...she's an honest girl with her shoe fascination. Any size, any type, just as long as they make a loud clunky sound as she steps. She loves to announce her coming in and going out.  Makeup is a wide-eyed temptation for her and if she gets hold of my blush brush or facial sponges, it's just a matter of time before I feel my toes getting a makeover. So silly.

Peek-a-boo, is simply, "BEE!" and requires little hiding but LOTS of vocal projecting. "Wuuun, doooooo..." will never be followed by three because that's our job. Her cup is a 'bobby' and mom is, 'mommy' and now sisters have become, 'didthy' and it all makes my heart melt, every single time.

Pouty lips and cheeks and she looks like her daddy. Mouth wide open, eyes glistening, she is her mother made over. I see flashes of us and yet she is her very own person with her very own faces and mannerism. She shuffles and swings her one arm just like her Mimi. She makes you work hard for giggles and affections, just like Teniel. She will get louder than you, if need be, just like Tess and she will wander around endlessly like her fellow dreamer, Taryn. She'll wrestle Teague down in a heartbeat and only let him up for more. She is quite a precious package, already. She if full, full, full. And we get to enjoy the overflow.

I don't want to forget...so grow slow my great big little one. Grow slow so I can remember and capture it all.

Fathers

 

No matter who you are...where you are...you have a Father.

 

 

 

 

Listen, my heart...

 

My Father in heaven is perfect. He leads me perfectly. He loves me perfectly. He sees me perfectly. He knows me perfectly.
Listen, my children...

Your Father in heaven in perfect. He leads you perfectly. He loves you perfectly. He sees you perfectly. He knows you perfectly.

 

Listen, fatherless generation...

 

You have a perfect Father in heaven.  He leads you perfectly. He loves you perfectly. He sees you perfectly. He knows you perfectly.

 

 

"Even the best of them...are just brothers in the end.

 

I'm the only Father.

 

Man can't be God and God's not like man."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

pause

Thank you, God. Just thank you. Again and again.

fix you

I use to think it was my job to fix people, things. By nature, I am a 'fixer-type' personality, also known as peacekeeper, mediator, bridge-builder, caretaker, etc. Any one of those fits the bill. But through the last few years I have learned a hard lesson, that I cannot fix anything or anybody. I can't even fix myself. Only Jesus is the true fixer-upper and for me to assume this role is simply prideful, exhausting, and even enabling at times to the one who is broken. It is not my job to fix. It's my job to introduce the Fixer to the one who needs fixing. He does the fixing and sometimes he uses my hands, feet, life to aid in the process.

I believe the Lord has made me to be a responder. If I see a need and I can help meet it, I try to do that. If I see a hurting soul and I have a free hand or ear to offer, I will do this as well. But many times in the past, I have thought I was the only one who could meet needs, even taking on a false responsibility and guilt in meeting specific needs for specific ones. It has required more faith on my part to not rush in and try to fix a situation but rather wait on the Lord to do something deeper, something eternal. Who am I to interfere with His processes, to constantly 'fix' in a surface way a deeper hemorrhage that only the Surgeon can attend to? Again, my pride. Hard lesson to learn and ultimately harm for the already hurting.

I know that as a parent, my fix instinct is STRONG. I don't want my children to make painful mistakes, obviously. But to rush to the place of every injury and slap on a band aid is not really fixing anything. And it's not really love, either. It's fear. It's me, as a parent, fearing my children actually having to deal with pain and perhaps, not dealing well with pain. I don't want my children to suffer. Who does? But, this is not the Lord's heart posture over us, as His children. While He does not delight in seeing us hurting, squirming, wrestling, He does not always automatically rush to the scene of the crime and make it instantly better. Many times He lingers in the background, giving us just enough space to invite Him into the trauma, into the pain. Sometimes He tarries long in His response, even as hard as it is for us to fathom. Sometimes He allows things to get worse, well before He makes them better. That's because He is the True Fixer, and he fixes perfectly, not superficially. He does deep work that takes a lifetime to perfect. He is not a genie in a bottle, He is God. He is not afraid of pain, has taken it on in the fullest form. Therefore, He knows that pain, struggle, need, brokenness and the like, is not too much for His children, either. He said to not fear, He has overcome the world. Knowing that Jesus took on every hardship known to man and overcame it, should instill a perfect peace inside of me, that I can do the same; that my children can do the same. He faced great need (didn't even have one friend who really 'got him' or who could stay awake and pray with him), great opposition and insurmountable persecution. And the Father spared Him none of it. In fact, the scriptures say that Jesus was taught obedience through these things. What kind of parent allows this?!!! A perfect one.

While Jesus healed all who came to Him and performed signs and wonders, He was not rescued when it seemed He should have been. As the old song goes, "He could have called 10,000 angels..." But there is always something bigger, greater, deeper going on. He was securing our eternal healing in the midst of all that pain. God is indeed the perfect Fixer-Upper. He knows just what He's doing and I would do well to trust and follow His way.

letting go

It's been a perpetual season of letting go...

A season of letting things die...myself included.

I don't always die so well. Really, don't know many who do but for Jesus; one man, perfect in life and death. He died well.

The grieving of letting things go, letting things die is bittersweet.

Speaking of Lazarus...Then Thomas said to the rest of the disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” John 11:16

...that we may die with him...a friend, a loved one, a family member...the Christ.

So many journeys I don't want to take. So many roads I'd rather avoid all together. Many cups I want to pass.

“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.” John 11:21 & 22

Bitter is the sting of loss. Sweet is the promise of hope.

And then the offense of death, of stripping away what is precious, of four days in bewilderment at how the One who could turn this all around, stayed away. Even saying, "and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe."

Why so much dying in the midst of the Resurrection and the Life? Why so many salty tears mingled with sweet wine?

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die;  and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?” John 11:25 & 26

Do I believe this? Not simply physical death, bodies buried in tombs but, death to intangible things, undefined things, unseen things? Things that take faith to even see? Things that seem to die before they are even yet alive, seemingly? Things that are precious, invaluable?

Jesus wept.

Two words that fill thousands of pages in my heart. He cries with me. He cries for me. He understands loss, though nothing was ever truly taken from Him. He gave it all away freely, and all his loss is my gain. He wept and He weeps, still.

"But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” John 11:37

Oh, how I've asked the question but comforted myself like Martha...“I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” There will be a resurrection. There will be life anew. What was once dead will be made alive again.

But Jesus meant it for greater glory. For glory that traveled to the grave and back. Glory that eyes could hardly perceive. For no eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind can perceive...

When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”  The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. John 11:43 & 44

He calls forth life out of death. He calls forth light out of darkness. He requires that which has been stolen to be returned. He commands that all things crooked be made straight, that every low place be raised up and every high place be leveled. He calls forth truth out of deception, the prisoner from his prison, the lame from their sickbed. He is entirely contrary to what we see, to what we know, to who we are.

It will always be, die to live...lose to gain...let go to get God. Let go, and trust Him as your most precious 'things' die. Let the contradiction take place. Let the bewilderment run its course as you cling to the HOPE of resurrection and life. Nothing is really useful unless it first dies.

"Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." John 12:24

All That is Hidden
Bernadette Farrell

If you would follow me,
follow where life will lead:
Do not look for me among the dead,
For I am hidden in pain, risen in love;
There is no harvest without sowing of grain.

All that is hidden will be made clear.
All that is dark now will be revealed.
What you have heard in the dark
proclaim in the light;
What you hear in whispers
proclaim from the housetops.

If you would honor me,
Honor the least of these:
You will not find me dressed in finery.
My Word cries out to be heard;
breaks through the world:
My Word is on your lips and lives in your heart.

If you would speak of me,
live all your life in me.
my ways are not the ways that you would choose;
my thoughts are far beyond yours,
as heaven from earth:
If you believe in me my voice will be heard.

If you would rise with me,
rise through your destiny:
do not refuse the death which brings you life,
for as the grain in the earth
must die for rebirth,
So I have planted your life deep within mine.

trust

I can feel how narrow His ways are. I can see how fine the line drawn is. And then I am forced to pick a side, to pick a 'truth' and then stand for it with all of my might, build my very life upon it. The questions comes, every situation, every scenario...who/what are you going to believe? Who/what are you going to trust? Who/what are you going to place your faith upon? God or man? There are so many things to believe, trust, hope in but only One will prove true in the end. Only One is left standing once the fire of testing has had its way. If I don't believe what He says is true, I call Him a liar. If I don't trust His goodness, I call Him bad. If I don't cast my hope upon Him, I trust in idols that are unable to truly save me. Even the kings of the earth hope falsely when they trust in their riches, favor, and power. There is only one name that will truly save and that is the name of Jesus.

Psalms 20:7 "Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God."

Psalms 40:4 "Blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD, who does not look to the proud, to those who turn aside to false gods."

Psalms 84:12 "LORD Almighty, blessed is the one who trusts in you."

Psalms 118:8 "It is better to take refuge in the LORD than to trust in humans."

Psalms 125:5 "Those who trust in the LORD are like Mount Zion, which cannot be shaken but endures forever."
Proverbs 3:5 "Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding..."

Proverbs 11:18 "Those who trust in their riches will fall, but the righteous will thrive like a green leaf."

Proverbs 29:25 "Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the LORD is kept safe."

rich

I do not covet another's life. I don't want anybody else's life but the one I have in Christ. I am so entirely rich with the one that I've been given. My portion, my boundary lines, they have indeed fallen in pleasant places. Does that mean I possess every worldly pleasure known to man? Hardly. I many times make due with what I have but I'm thankful. So thankful. My cup runneth over, and over and over. Little is much when God is in it. He makes all things abound to me because He is abounding in love.

Proverbs 15:16 "Better a little with the fear of the LORD than great wealth with turmoil."

My children are phenomenal. Each one of them is a gift from heaven, no matter the difficulties, sacrifices, the tensions at times. I would lay down my life for each one of them. They are the fruit of my womb, a reward from the Lord; a reward I do not deserve, mind you. I could have never imagined that God would have given me this much life, blessing, goodness. Surely there is nothing I could have done to deserve the kindness He has shown me, in blessing my life so richly. I am eternally indebted to his greatness. I am so thankful for my children, for this new life that is growing on the inside. I'm growing richer every day in God's grace and glory and that's the only kind of rich I really ever want to be. My life, my heart, my arms are full and that is the mark of the blessing of the Lord. He is more than enough.

alive

I'm so glad to be alive. So glad to feel joy and pain. I'm so glad God rescued me and gave me a life I could never deserve. I'm so blessed to be the wife of a patient, thoughtful husband; a mother to brilliantly beautiful children; a friend to incredible souls; and even more than all that, a friend of God. There is no loss or disappointment, failure or devastation that could ever take what has been given me. For what I posses is eternal, untouchable and will never perish. What I've been given in Christ is what I am, who I am. Nobody can truly take that away from me. Man may demand it of me but it can never be. You can't touch it with human hands, you can't even put a price on it. It's this precious thing called life and I've only one to live. And it belongs to the One who gave it to me and I know that nothing can pry it from His grip. What a deep assurance to know that I'm perfectly kept by God, that my days have a number to them, that my life is written in a book and it is a phenomenal story, with a phenomenal ending. I'm so glad to be alive in Christ.

a hard day

We lost two kitties today. One was a baby kitten, not even a week old. Failure to thrive is all I can gather. It looked just like Paige, having the same father. It was the calico one. The girls ran out early this morning to check on the babies. The gray one was already stiff but was nestled up with the orange one, as if it didn't know. Hard morning, lots of tears and then a funeral behind the shed with songs and prayers. I do not like losing things that I love.

And then right before dinner this evening, we find our most precious Paige in the road, bloody, eyes bulging. It was awful. An awful way to lose a very special friend. The worst part is that Paige was pregnant. I just happened to take some pictures of her today. This is the two of us on the back porch swing. I was reading the Word. She was being the sweet cat that she was. She was as soft as our rabbit.

I've never met a cat as sweet as Paige. She truly was a source of joy in my life and I'm so very sad that she and her unborn babies are gone. I miss her already. Tears.

signs

Ezekiel 36:26-28

I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws. Then you will live in the land I gave your ancestors; you will be my people, and I will be your God.

Sometimes God gives us a sign...of His goodness...of His presence. And sometimes He gives us two...

life

Sometimes it all feels like a movie, like slow motion; a book unfolding at the speed of the reader's ability to comprehend it. There are these pregnant pauses, moments, and the theme music is cued and the whole unforeseen thing comes to a crescendo and it spills divinely over. It reminds me that I am still alive, still incredibly alive; admonishes that every pore in my skin is indeed open, vulnerable and not the heavy armor that it at times feels to be. It is larger than life but dainty enough to tuck away in a heart-shaped locket. Lost in wonder at how two complexities can coexist at once, like harmony and melody, terrible and wonderful, God and man. This life is wild and fluid yet must surely be framed so on-purpose-like by the Creator of it all. It's for Him to behold with his privileged perspective. It is foolproof from afar, no doubt. It all makes sense in context, from that place of deep space where all is motionless with a quiet hush; where all is seen and understood and not absorbed in the chaotic details of the soul's traffic. Magnificent perfection. Heavenly composed peace. 

Beginnings and ends. Life and death.

the unexpected

I can honestly say that God has brought some of the greatest gifts in my life through unexpected circumstances, scenerios and surprises. So glad that He is God and I'm not

the beauty of devastation

I think one of the most merciful things that God could ever allow in our lives is what might seem to be total and utter devastation. Don't get me wrong, I don't love pain, I don't enjoy suffering, I don't innately want hardships, conflict, trials or anything that is synonymous with such things. In fact, I actually like to laugh until I can't breath, savor the moments as they come, drink deeply from the joy well, etc. If I could do this all the time, I probably would. But now, lying level in this place that I am in, whatever the address is, I find it all has a different feel to it. Life, that is. Laughter now crests over quickly, becomes tears and a smile that is pulled from a place deep inside of me. Gratitude looks like not being able to say all that's in my heart because there is just too much. Eternity feels like gentle brushes and breezes, blowing over me, into me. I'm just different. Life is different, but in the very best way. So sincerely thankful, for everything; especially the hard things.

In preparing my heart for service this morning, the title of this blog post kept running through my head. I was thinking about how much beauty has come from this wilderness I've been in. The Lord has been so gracious, so giving, so kind to me in allowing me to walk through the valley that this last season has been. It's just like Him to do it this way. It's just like Him to give life for death, to level to establish, to allow loss that I would gain. I see that there has been severe loss, severe tearing of the heart. Yet, what has been poured into me, what has been measured back to me from the heart of God is much more valuable. I can't get away from the notion that I am incredibly rich, that I posses all things because I posses Christ. How can you be bursting at the seams when you are so entirely emptied? How can you posses prevailing faith and hope when you've just limped bloody off the battlefield? Jesus. Only Jesus.

I think most of us put a maddening amount of energy into staving off the Cross of Christ in our lives. I'm certain I have. When we are confronted in the gardens of our lives, as Jesus was, with the cup of the fellowship of His sufferings, I think we inwardly plead, "Please not that, God. Anything but that." 'That' constitutes something different for each one of us but, it does exist, perhaps even as our deepest fear. I believe God puts His Divine finger on those very things for a reason. I think He actually intends to drive out fear, bring faith to the places that if not exposed or confronted, would serve ultimately as the thing that keeps us from really dying; the thing that keeps us from the Cross of Christ. And it's fellowship we gain when we say yes to the beauty of devastation, to the scorn and glory of Calvary. What could have been seemingly more devastating than watching God's son (the one who's supposed to save all) die a brutal, unjust death by crucifixion?

During worship today He touched me and I was undone and in my moment of weakness, out flowed these prayers that always get me in trouble. He corners me with His worth, His glory and I'm left powerless to say no, to turn Him away. He has His ways.

Lord, do whatever you want.
Just be God.
Mess me up.
Flip the script.
Turn my world upside down.
I want you, no matter what it looks like.

I just prayed a world of hurt right there but you know what? God is really wise. He's so wise that what looks like total devastation, what looks like a criminal's death on a rugged cross; what seems to be hopeless, dark, even dead, He makes beautiful. He makes all things beautiful, especially the suffering Savior's labor for my soul. He got what He wanted on that cross. He got me.

It is a gift to suffer severe loss in this life, to suffer seemingly unrecoverable devastation. It is meant for abundant life, no doubt. It is meant for an eternal gain that makes the riches in this life seem like dung. It is wisdom to suffer loss in this day that we would not suffer on that day. This is at times what mercy looks like in light of an incredibly wise Maker who can see both the beginning and the end. He is glorious in infinite wisdom.

Wow...the beauty of devastation when the power of the Cross resurrects it. Selah.

my best friend

Lamaze class and my bad poodle hairdo
juvenile giggling over bad art illustrations
pushing babies in strollers
Cindy Crawford kicking our butts
Stories and stories and stories and...'are you still my friend?'
Cathy Flack's ladies group
Cathy Flack's quiche Lorraine
prayer
"How do you shred lettuce?"
"Surely you jest!"
coffee with amaretto creamer in your checkered coffee mugs
Fanny May brownies
stretch marks
M.O.P.S
FIRE! Fire on ya!
KC hotel room video confessions
serving you chicken thighs our first dinner date (and not the boneless/skinless kind!)
a blackhead story
polka dancing
Roy Lessin bible studies
Char Lessin taco dinners
prayer
highlighting your hair the first and last time
Pat & Steve
Doug & Kathy
you fixing Tim's orange handled scissor botch up on my hair
poppy seed dressing
Deja Vu coffee shakes
a bad dog we gave you
our wasp attack incident
Jim Clayberg
running hard after God together
walking through fire with you
X-rated birth footage
me in a wig in a birthing room
yard sales
your amazing fingernails
prayer
homeschooling chaos
the Christmas mouse
sobbing goodbyes the night before you leave for Thailand
getting lost
getting lost again
your house smelling like a health food store
releasing you
you releasing me
cashew chicken and sticky rice
packing up my heart and sending it overseas
the green maternity shirt
Fels Naptha
some very special meals/times with Lidia and Kelli
a yard sale in a snow storm
prayer
tears
delirious laughter with Joel
getting you high on caffeine
a rough but memorable weekend at Cedar Lodge
camping and the best burgers ever
nutritional healing
coconut oil
your oil and vinegar dressing
Callahan's chicken salad and bread
Jambalaya and a Chocolate Mess
handwritten recipe book
knowing your handwriting well
Outreach Center
The Lord's Place
"You are an intercessor"
bread and juice and a candle on the floor
prayer
endless Mike Bickle teachings
Gary Wiens and a front row encounter
consecrated snot mound in KC
fevers and long nights
baby showers
prayer meetings that smell like coffee and old carpet
counseling
 a fearful trip to the health department
knowing me really well
seizures
fibromyalgia
allergies
Dr. Murphy
size 8 jeans
nursing bras
dirty dishes
birthing babies together
ADD
prayer
Skype
cardamom
mint chocolate chip ice cream
DaySpring
mean talking in your sleep
dreams
filthy minivans
diapers
mating socks
Apostolic Prayers CD
books
Vintage Inn
awkward high pitched singing that made me laugh until I cried
harp and bowl
trafficking sets 10pm - Midnight
Derek Loux
1000 Gifts
Ezekiel Rain
dying and crying
Lidia's cooking
breakthroughs
miracles
love
love
love
love
love
love
love
missing you to tears
May 23rd around noon

the weight of justice

The other day I read an article about the co-founder of Invisible Children and star of the KONY 2012 video being arrested for some disturbing public behaviors. The first thing that came to mind was, "Only Jesus is Just." As you probably have seen, the awareness campaign video went viral weeks ago. My children and I watched it together. I had been made aware of the violence in Uganda about 10 years ago through some prayer meetings. I watched the video I.C. had produced about child soldiers years ago. I remember the night I heard of the persecution, where I was sitting where I heard it and how I felt as the jagged pill went down. My world was so self-absorbed (still working on that) and I needed a good dislodging. I heard stories of how villages were ravaged, women were raped, water holes were poisoned, children were kidnapped. One story that I will never forget was an account of a nursing mother whose breasts were torn off so that her baby would die of starvation and every other child to come, for that matter. It marked me back then. I cried and cried, still cry when I think of this. I shared that story with my children that night. I saw the horror in their eyes, that this had been going on ever since I heard about it. Yes. And even before then. Hard to imagine what suffering in this measure is like when the worst of our suffering is usually financial or some physical affliction, and mostly as a consequence of our poor choices. Lord, have mercy on us.

After watching the video, the children and I prayed for the capture of all who did evil in Uganda, for comfort for the people, for protection for the persecuted church there and for revival to break forth through such things (and we know it has). I understand this much, that there is no justice outside of God. While He wants to put to an end to all evil (and He will one day) and while His heart breaks more than mine ever could for the trafficked, for the innocent slaughtered day in and day out, it is so much more than that. He longs for justice to come to the heart of every man through the mercy of the Cross. We prayed that Kony would come to a place of repentance, a saving knowledge of God and in turn, be used mightily of Him to undo all that had been done, to make straight all the crooked places he had helped to establish. God's will is for all men to be saved, for none to perish. He alone knows who will come into that saving grace and who will refuse but we always pray mercy because that is the Lord's heart posture over us.

When I read the article about the arrest, I was saddened. Saddened for this attractive, blue-eyed father and husband who had found himself in such a mess. I prayed for him, for his family. Surely the pressures of a 'global' justice movement took their toll. But, this is why one man cannot take on justice as if the government could rest on his shoulders. Even while so well intended (and I can relate to this part) justice is nothing that I can execute on the earth apart from the One who is Just and True working it through me. And the frightening thing about partnering with Jesus as a Just Judge is that He is also the Judge for us, for our crooked ways, for our sin, etc. If I cry out for justice it must be coupled with a mercy cry for my own self. Mercy and justice must always marry. I believe that is what may have happened with this man. Justice is so heavy that no man can carry it, no organization can shoulder it, no nation can uphold it but for the grace of God bearing the enormity of it. There is not justice without Jesus. He is Justice.

roots

Learning so much these days. So much. Feel like I'm in Kindergarten again, relearning the basics. But the basics are so beautiful, simple. Love, bless, forgive. Rinse and repeat. Surely this life is a cycle of such things. Feel the grace and truth of God touching my heart in a fresh way. Humbled. Grateful. Oh, the expense of a flowing heart! To graduate means to arrive back at Kindergarten. That's the way of the Kingdom, is it not?

In my younger years I lived in a darkness that is not worth mentioning here. Suffice to say that I understand what it means to be defiled in every sense of the word. I get it. I know what it feels like to absolutely despise what you have become, to feel that your soul is as good as dead, and to loathe your very existence every waking moment. I know what it feels like to not want to wake up the next morning just so you can get away from yourself. Words can't even touch it, really. And knowing all of this, having been all of this, I don't think I have ever known anything more defiling than a bitter root, its judgements and expectations. It's sickening to the soul that it lives in and it's sickening to those who taste of it. It's like dying from the inside out as you spew poison on everyone around you. It's awful.

Hebrews 12:15 See to it that no one comes short of the grace of god; and that no root of bitterness springing up causes trouble, and by it many be defiled.

I'll confess, nothing makes me want to run away more than a sickly tree with a bitter root. It's very difficult to come close for fear that the poison will get on you and you can bet that there is a vile of venom with your name on it. Nobody can get it right to the person with a bitter root. Nobody. I know this much because I lived with many as an angry hell-bent teenager. The poison was killing me though, and everything I touched.

The thing about a bitter root is that it takes it root in offense and unforgivness. While I had been hurt many times and my pain was valid, according to the Cross of Christ, I had no right to take offense or to not forgive, and that included even myself. So, being hurt or unjustly handled does not mean you have a bitter root but it is definitely the inroad for the bitter root when the Cross is not appropriated at the place of injury. While I may think that I had forgiven my offenders, if in my mind I still harbored a bitter root judgement against them, I would continue to find trouble and defilement in my  heart.

What does this look like exactly? Well, for me it looked like a bitter judgement/expectations against my parents, authority figures, men, myself and God. For example, "I can't trust men because...*insert offense taken*" or, "All women are...*insert offense taken*" For me it was, "I can't trust my parents because they made poor choices that brought deep wounding to me." This of course was projected upon God and unwittingly I grew more and more bound up in rebellion, anger and self-hatred, believing the lie that I really wasn't safe, that God really wasn't good and therefore I must be no good. Wasn't I worth protecting, keeping? I made bitter judgements and expectations toward myself. Those were the worst, actually, believing every sort of evil about myself which only plunged me deeper into the dark. It's a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, really, rooted in deception. You believe the worst, expect the worst and guess what? You end up with the worst. God will not be mocked, a man shall reap what he sows. Tremble!

Every place of wounding became the home of a bitter root judgement that grew deep into me, choking out truth and life. My response to the injustice in my life was devastating in that it was flat-out sinful and became spiritual death to me. God extended great, great, great mercy to me during that time, being the only One who was immune to the resentful acid that was eating me alive on the inside and was burning up everything/everyone that I touched. Jesus is ultimately the projected upon One and has suffered the ultimate injustice through both the injustice done to me and that which I inflicted upon Him and others, even through my bitter root judgements and expectations. I'm just gonna sit here a minute and think on that. Woh. Oh, He suffers long...

He still came to even the nastiest, most vile, venom-spewing, blackened heart (even while I couldn't stand myself!) He took my poison and drank it down once and for all. Know how He did this? By forgiving me ... that I could forgive. Mind-blowing, really. I'll never get over it. Ever. He's untouchable with pure Love and I want to be the same. The only remedy for a bitter root is to the lay the ax to it by repenting and forgiving. There are no shortcuts and no faking it. What's in the heart comes out of the mouth. It is easy to tell if a tree is dead or alive simply by looking at it. It's just as easy to discern when a person is dead or alive on the inside because it will show in their speech. We might be able to hide the symptoms of sickness on the outside but, no man can tame the tongue. Does yours/mine spew venom or pour forth as a healing balm? Ouch. (Luke 6:45)

Did you know that there are only two instances in the Bible where you will not receive forgiveness? One is if we blaspheme the Holy Spirit (Luke 12:10) and the other is if we do not forgive others. (Matthew 6:14-15) Actually in Matthew 18:21-35 is a frightening account of what will happen to anyone who does not forgive from the heart. In light of the Cross, we have no right to be hurt but rather, every right to be healed. Forgiveness is healing, to the one who receives it and to the one who gives it. What a blessed assurance to know that your sins are forgiven. My son Teague says that they are so far away, like the East and West, and by the time they find you, you will be in heaven. I like his theory!

a weakling's reproach

I don't ever want to be looked upon as strong. Ever. It is an insult to me. Please don't admire me in any way. I have done this to another and have set a snare for them in doing so. I don't want to be viewed as superwoman or supermom or super-anything because I am not. (not news to most who know me well) I am not strong in any way that would be admirable. I lack anything to really be desired but for the grace given in light of my weakness. In my own ability, I am quite wimpy, unable and severely inept. I don't like the idea of faking it until you make it, saving face, pretense ... none of it has ever appealed to me. I have heard others say to me over the years, "I don't think I have ever met anybody more real." or, "You are really sincere." While sincerity won't save me, these comments do speak of who God created me to be. This means that if I am struggling, you will know it. If I am seeking, you will sense it. If I am rejoicing, you will hear me! I'm an open book and I made a promise to God years ago that by His grace, I would stay that way. If I stay open, others can read what He writes upon me. He asked me to be transparent, even at the cost of my reputation (do I even have one?). He asked me to stay open even when my covers wanted to snap shut. He asked me to be real and raw even when it meant the poor opinions of others, being disregarded, dismissed or written off. And as I have journeyed through this Christian life, I have seen the wisdom of living a life turned inside out. While not everything is for everybody (everything is permissible, not all things are beneficial) and I've had to weigh what would be helpful/edifying, it has proven to be a very safe way to carry my 'book' though I'm left wide open and most vulnerable. It requires a lot of faith to trust people. Jesus knew this well. He had to entrust some messy folks with the Gospel. Crazy! A lack of trust in people is ultimately a lack of faith in God. To trust Him means I must trust others, especially those He's brought to me. To submit to God is to submit to others. Such a vulnerable posture, back flat on the ground, totally exposed, seemingly easy to injure. He keeps me. He preserves me.

When we willingly become weak, when we equate ourselves with the weak (1 Corinthians 9:22) we will bear the reproach of the weak, even as we win them. When we love broken people, when we touch unclean people, we will bear the reproach of the broken and unclean. When we have 'friends in low places' we will be considered guilty by association (Luke 7:34). If we do not bear any reproach or guilty charges in this life for those that we choose to touch, love and serve, then we might not really be Jesus to anybody. What reward is there for loving those who can repay us? Even sinners lend to sinners. (Luke 6:34) It is offensive that a Holy God would come and save a filthy people and did He ever bear the reproach of such an absurd idea. (Isaiah 53) How grateful I am that He did! When we love the ones that are rejected and despised, we are loving this Beautiful Man, even while others hide their faces.

So, if while reading through my life's pages you have come to a conclusion that there is something noble or worthy in me, please know that there is nothing, nothing, nothing good in me apart from the baffling grace of God. If I do something right, please know that I have also done much wrong. If I look like I know what I'm doing or that I 'know' something about something, smack me, please.  I don't know anything about anything other than that all that I am and have is a gift from God. All that I ever hope to be is but His goodness and kindness to me. I am not strong, wise, capable, worthy of looking to or following. I am a fellow sojourner and maybe, just maybe, as the Lord leads us to the depths of His heart, we can learn a thing or two from one another.

threshing floor

It feels so right to be wrong about what I 'thought' I knew of God. It seems like wisdom to be shown how small you are, how finite you are, how quickly you will expire. This is why fearing the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. It's because He is God and we are not.

I have come to love His divine resetting in my life. I've come to find that the rebuke of the Lord is life-giving, even the ones that seem impossible to recover from. Oh, is He not both the builder and the wrecking ball? He injures to heal, he breaks to bind up, and He puts to death that He might live. He swings the sword and it draws my blood to His.

The threshing floor, where God meets man, where man meets God. It's where He and I once met. I offered myself at His feet, He spread his garment over me as kinsman Redeemer. It's where He took on all of me forever, with joy in His heart. It's also where I am opened up as a sheave, spread thin, trampled, threshed, and winnowed as grain. He tosses me into the wind only to fall at His feet, a thousand times. I'm made small, I'm made useful, I'm set apart for good. I become a small bit in His large, capable hand. He keeps me.

wonderful counselor

Isaiah 9:6 ...And he will be called Wonderful Counselor...


Psalm 16:7 "I will praise the LORD, who counsels me; even at night my heart instructs me."

Psalm 32:8 "I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you."

Job 12:13 "To God belong wisdom and power; counsel and understanding are his."

Isaiah 11:2 "The Spirit of the LORD will rest on him— the Spirit of wisdom and of understanding, the Spirit of counsel and of might, the Spirit of the knowledge and fear of the LORD."


We are never left to our own devices. There is a counselor that trumps all other counsel and that is the Spirit of the Lord, the Wonderful Counselor. He will lead you into all truth, He will reveal the Father and He will seal you and keep you until the day of redemption. This is the voice you can trust in the day of trouble.

laid low

I have so far to go. I feel entirely leveled and so severely pruned back, I have little left to say. I am so unimpressive. I am so entirely impoverished that I find I despise myself in the best way. I have no arguments, I have no agendas, I have nothing but the grace of God that is keeping me alive. I am entirely and eternally indebted to my Creator. My knowledge of Him is but a grain of sand in the ocean. The deepest depths of me are as but shallow waters compared to who He really is. I came at God as Jacob, with a wrestle in my spirit, to know Him, to know His ways, to lay hold of His blessing. I have concluded the struggle with a limp that I pray will stay with me the entirety of my walk. My questions end with His questioning of me, to which I reply as Job, “I am unworthy—how can I reply to you?”




a grown up lesson

She came in from what seemed like hours outside. I feel a subtle change, thoughtfulness in her eyes, though twirling on her toes as she always does. She glances at me and then down again before sharing her thoughts.

“I really needed that.” said with sincere relief, leaning against the countertop nearby.

“Needed what, babe?” even more curious now.

“Well…” she picks at her fingernails, hair falling into her face, “…you know since Papa and Tammy and France Lee died, I’ve kind of been a little angry at God. Like, why he let it all happen.”

She now has my full attention, mama’s heart reaching across the room to her though I stand over the stovetop giving dinner a quick stir.

“Yeah, and I just had to talk to God out loud and tell him what’s been in my heart.” I relate, having spent weeks now talking aloud to God and myself, at the expense of looking crazier than I already do.

“And I realized that I was kind of angry at him for what all happened and so I just told him that and I had to repent. I just repented of being mad at Him and I feel a lot better now.”

Spatula laid aside now, my body catches up with my heart and I’m at her side, holding her, kissing her wild wind-blown hair. My heart grows and I can feel it actually get larger, actually throw overboard fear and concern making room for hope and faith.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. I know it’s easy to become offended and you have done something today that many adults will wrestle against the length of their lives. So good.”

I hold her, embrace God’s redemptive work in her, letting it absorb into me. I feel clean, pure, and whole as I cling to Him inside of her. I feel the cleansing work of forgiveness through her innocent heart.

Yes, this is the beauty of the season of Lent, where we let go and let God, where we give in and give up daily only to in turn gain Christ and all that He did on that tree. 

kept

Sometimes God puts a hope in our hearts that seems so contrary to that which is in the world. Sometimes he brings a deluge of love and floods it, cleansing and purging and sweeping away all the junk while leaving it entirely larger than it was before. Sometimes He takes all the messy drawers of life and dumps them out before us; holds each article up against the light and truth of who He is and you make decisions, together, as to what to keep and what to get rid of. Sometimes He asks you to do the impossible, to love well beyond hurt. At times He comes like a fire, burning off all that will not do and brings a perfect shine to His gold inside of you. Sometimes He comes as a salve, healing, protecting, and covering all the exposed places. Sometimes He comes as the friend who is closer than a brother, as the Word made flesh and you dwell in the richness and the power of His words to you. Other times He comes as your past, present, and future, as the Omniscient One who has known you all along and will always know you. Sometimes He comes as Father, affirming and approving and speaking identity. He also comes as a mother, His tender Spirit reaching to every weak place with gentleness foreign to human hands. He comes again and again, as all that I need, will ever need, have ever needed.

a true story

I had a memory wash over me yesterday. It hit me so hard, like a wave breaking onto the shore that lifts you up and sits you back down about a foot further back. I could not hold back the tears, they came and liquid love crested over my eyelids and the brim of my heart. It was an image that I will never forget, forever seared into my memory.


A dear friend of mine was in hospice the weeks leading up to her death last fall. Her body was frail and swollen with steroids, at the time. I remember coming to visit her one evening and the center was filled with about 20 people (men, women and children) beautifully singing hymns with just their voices. It was incredible. My friend was making requests and they would sing them for her. The truth of the hymns brought warmth and light to the entire place. It was a holy time and I drank up the moments visually, not knowing if they would be my last with her. When I walked in I found her upright, sitting in a chair, facing the window. Her husband was leaning on the window sill, facing her. Her father had pulled up a chair for me, to sit right next to her, my friend. He slumped down nearby in a love seat, exhausted. My dear friend’s husband leaned over and kissed her long on the forehead and said he loved her so much and straightened up to a slouch before leaving for home. He too was exhausted, weary. We all were. My friend had been in her chair for some time so she was ready to move to her bed, tired after a long but good day. Her face and neck were so swollen; she had taken on a much different look by now. Every day was a gift at this point. She wanted to live. She told me this. She told me she was going to live and not die. She wanted a chance to make right all she had done wrong. She wanted mercy.

As her father was trying to move her from the chair to the bed, she collapsed to her knees. She fell hard. She said, “I’m sorry daddy, I’m not strong enough. I’m so sorry.” She said it a couple of times, frantic, concerned. She was entirely helpless, her body more than her ankles could bear. Her father held tight, back wrenched over, pulling up with all his strength; holding his little girl, loving her, being what a daddy should be at that moment. We had to call in a couple of nurses to lift her carefully into the bed. She thanked them profusely the entire time. “Thank you so much. Thank you for helping me.” She kept telling me how gracious and wonderful the nurses were, how they were showing her extravagant grace and mercy. I was wrecked on the inside. Had she been a stranger to me, my heart still would have wept to see such a helpless and grateful display, mingled together. I will never forget. I will never forget the way she said, “I’m sorry, daddy;” the way her bare knees hit the cold, hard floor; the heap of weakness she was, apologies flowing out like tears. I will never forget the beauty of that broken woman, so thankful, so sorry, all at once. In that moment I beheld what a repentant heart looks like, when there is nothing but days separating you from heaven.

“I’m sorry, daddy. I’m not strong enough.” It echoes around on the inside, like speaking into a well. She did. She spoke into the well of me in that moment, though she had no idea. These are the simple confessions of a laid-low heart; of a weak one who is unable, appealing to her father and her Father, at the same time. And to watch her daddy hold her, with all of his might, and knowing that he was not strong enough, either. There is only one strong enough and He held them both in that moment because He said that a broken and contrite spirit He will never despise. Where you see suffering, Jesus is near. Where you find sorrow, Jesus is well versed. Where you find pain, He is in the midst of it. He is always so near, with a compassion and concern greater than we can fathom; He is our sympathetic high Priest. He is mercy.

mourning for more

At one point a couple of weeks ago I found myself wanting to write a letter to everybody in my entire life and tell them I'm sorry for everything I've ever done wrong to them, to apologize for what anybody else has ever done to hurt them or misrepresent who Jesus really is. Of course, I’ve done a number of these things over the course of my life, having made many mistakes, having left a handful of messy trails but this was overwhelming, this desire to make all things right on the earth. I wondered about it all and why such a desperate desire. I have to chalk it up to the mourning in my heart for God to set all the wrong things right; for God to make everything bad, good again. There is still pain in my heart to see Jesus work supernaturally as a restorer and repairer of all things broken and torn, for justice and mercy to marry over every circumstance. It is a holy mourning that I realize can only be addressed in prayer with the God of the universe, not in a mass appeal or apology to the entire universe. My consolation is this; blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted. How I mourn for the coming of His kingdom, to bring total redemption to every heart, to even the earth itself. I mourn for my own heart to be enlarged, to love the unlovely and the undeserving, as Jesus does for me. I mourn my inability to be all that He says I am at times and long for eternal resolution. I mourn our love deficits, towards Him and each other. I mourn for a better way to be demonstrated in my own life and for the life of others. I mourn for every divide to be filled by the love of God. I mourn for more of who He is and his promise to me is His comfort, the Comforter. Jesus, I cannot make anything better for anybody. You can go to every hurt; every place of pain in the human heart and you can heal it. When you kiss a wound, it is made better. Lord, would you kiss wounds today? Would you heal hearts today? Would you use me to be your hands to heal, your arms to embrace and your heart to bless? How I mourn for more of who You are and for less of who I am; for more of your Kingdom to come and more of mine to bow.

note to self

A Note to Self:

You don’t have to be afraid. You need not be afraid of anything or anyone here on earth, but only the One in heaven who keeps your soul in perfect Love. You don’t have to be fearful of people or their stuff or poor opinions. You don’t have to be afraid to love messy and unstable people, who may curse you, hurt you, use you, or attempt to manipulate or steal, even kill you. In fact, don’t fear them at all but rather; love them, serve them and do well by them because you need them to work deep meekness and humility in your life. If disappointments, betrayals, and trauma were always side-stepped, you would be a very anemic, inept believer whom would know not of the greater graces in this life. If you never had somebody tell lies about you, or think the worst of you, or bring great loss to you then you would never know the richness of what it means to forgive and bless them as Jesus did while on the cross. You would not have the honor of bestowing upon another, what God has bestowed upon you while even still in your unrepentant enemy-of-God state. You know it is better to give than to receive. You know the blessedness of forgiveness; what it means to have your debt erased and your crimson stain removed. It is joy unspeakable to be free, to be clean, in every way and in every part. And yet, the Word of God says it is more blessed to give than to receive. You are more blessed to give forgiveness, seventy times seven times, than to receive it seventy times seven times. You are more enriched in this life the more you lose, suffer loss. You are credited righteousness every time you choose faith over fear, love over offense and healing over harming. Let the radiant love of Jesus shine in every dark part of your heart. Let it drive out the fear and suspicion for they serve to divide and drive out love. If you choose to honor all others above yourself, God will be honored. If you choose to offer the other cheek for another strike, you are choosing deeper faith in a greater God to keep you, to restore all that man would require of you. If you lay down your life only to be trampled upon, it can never be taken from you. Wisdom will always prove itself and meekness will bear no regret. If ever you feel the temptation to fight for your rights, cling to Jesus, the One who justifies men before God. If ever you feel the finger of men pointed at you in accusation, do not defend yourself. Just love, believe the best always, do not pose any pretense but stay tender and teachable, always. Consider yourself no greater than another, offer yourself as a servant of all, especially those who have done you harm. Love wins. It cannot be injured, it cannot be conquered, and it cannot be trumped. It is the remedy for all things.

“Who would ever know the greater graces of comfort and perserverance, mercy and forgiveness, patience and courage, if no shadows fell over a life?”
― Ann Voskamp

all is loss, to know You

No flesh can boast in His presence.

No man can stand in His glory.

Every knee will bow at His appearing and every heart will be undone before Him.

Oh Lord, that we would rightly number our days, rightly understand that we are but a vapor, here one moment and gone the next. Our vanity, our gross ambitions, the depravity of our condition, our inability to truly love you or one another...all beckon you to come like fire.

How easy it would be to become disillusioned but for the beauty of the cross. There is nowhere else to look to. There is no comfort or consolation for the heart of man but for the bleeding heart of the Man who hung, broken for all. When we squabble as children do, most of us wanting to be praised, justified, vindicated, exalted, the next to the throne, how do you answer so delicately? How in the world do you parent us the way that you do? Oh how you've suffered.

You are most patient, most long-suffering, most unlike anybody I have ever known in all my life. I want to be like You and you alone. There is no ambition in my life to be anything more or anything less than a lover of You. You say that I am and that is more than an opinion. That is the truth and I choose to believe you.

I choose to trust You.

I choose You, Jesus, again and again.

I tell you, it is not elementary, it is the first commandment. The first commandment must never become an elementary thing. It is first place, always. It must never lose it's eternal hold over my life, over my heart.

I trust you to keep me, always.

I trust you to cover me, always.

I trust you to preserve me, always.

I trust who you are, inside of me...

May I never forget that I've not a leg to stand on but for what you've given me, that I would never glory in my flesh. May I never believe that I am more than another, above another, below another but rather believe that as You, I am now a servant of all others. I am forever bound to the cross of Christ in devotion because of His great love for me.

I am what you say I am...I am yours, nothing less, nothing more...

If I never convert another soul, if I never touch another life, if I never see another healing through a prayer I've spoken, you are still good and I am still grateful that a holy God would ever come and call me his Beloved. For Love defines me; it always has and it always will. I will rejoice in this, that my sins are forgiven and that my name is written in the book of life! For the much that has been forgiven, help me to love much.

the truth about pain

We must be very careful to not allow pain to interpret truth. Truth is a hierarchy, more superior than yet foundationally below, pain. Truth does not bend, is not swayed. In our deepest moments of pain, it is most tempting to believe pain's definition of what is happening through the fiery trial, especially for the one who's flesh is on fire. But, there is an eternal reality that is higher than our temporary afflictions and it will not be moved, even when we are seemingly being swept away by the salty waves of suffering.

Pain is a teaching tool and only serves to work as such when we discern it honestly, in light of the truth, when held up next to the light of the Word made flesh. Truth is a Man, and there is a comfort that serves as an anchor for the soul in knowing that Jesus is greater than our pain and emotions, our very best ideologies, reasoning and wisdom. If you have ever suffered under an intense trial, you will understand how vital this is when every nerve ending is raw; spiritual, physical, emotional, and mental. If you have not, it is nothing that I can explain to you, you will simply have to face the furnace one day and prayerfully come forth without the traces of smoke upon your life.

Pain naturally causes the human psyche to grasp for understanding, for a logic beyond itself, just as a drowning person grasps for a life preserver. Truth, in its entirety, will preserve and save you while even a half-truth can bring about spiritual death. While our minds are clouded by pain and when we are in our weakest state, the enemy of our soul offers up half-truths as bait, just as he did to Jesus while in his wilderness season and dark night of the soul. We must look to Truth as we navigate through the miry clay.

At some point in our lives, there is allowed a struggle that is God-inspired, with imagery similar to that of a human being wrestling a crocodile in the muddy waters of the swamp. There comes a violent thrashing while muscling ourselves around something that feels so dangerous, so reckless, that we marvel over how it could ever be safe in the first place, ever be attained. I assure you that Jesus is unsafe in the safest way. He allows just enough pain in our lives that we are left leaning, in awe-struck perplexity, with wide-eyed wonder forcing us to resign in worship to a God who spared not his own son.

If we don't come out of this place with a limp, we were somehow able to shortchange the grace that God has made available to us, to perfect us and establish unshakable truths in our spirit, in our lives. If we must boast, let it be in light of the truth that a perfect God intends to be glorified in our weakness, at our weakest moments. He intends to perfect himself in us, through trial, pain and suffering.

heart on the altar

If my altar before the Lord is clean, my heart is unkempt. If my altar before the Lord is bloody, my heart is kempt.

Good way to measure the heart's condition.

A Journal Entry

Recorded the day before my dear friend Tammy suffered a traumatic seizure which led to the discovery of a cancerous brain tumor. It was my third entry in a new journal, bought for me by my husband on Valentine's day, in honor of our new daughter, Tru. The journal line is from Dayspring and it's called, 'So True.' It seemed fitting for the occasion and was a thoughtful gift. I flipped through it this evening while sitting in the prayer room, not having touched that specific journal since that day. I found it unusual to have left off where it had. I read it and cried through a smile.

I have concluded that when you can look at the earth and it's the size of a green pea on a dinner plate, then it all makes sense. Of course, only the Maker of the universe has this vantage point.

July 5th, 2011

Well ... I feel I am in the midst of many swirling things. When the pressures come from every side, you can either ascend or sink. I am hoping this will all be unto a divine thrust into the next place. It feels like a great big zit, ready to pop! Pain is for sure meant to aid us into a greater place. Tammy calls it the martyr's grace; an ability to rise above the place of earthly pain. What a concept. More than a concept but rather a reality. Is there a grace that is greater, tangibly greater than any pain in this life; emotional, physical, mental and spiritual? That's some manifest grace! I suppose that is why it is called the martyr's grace ... it is transcendent. I have been feeling relational stings as well as the pleasure of deep relationship. I'm working out my dysfunction in it all. I want to be more and more healthy as I move forward. More and more perfected in love. Just to keep the heart open and alive requires so much.

Tru Evelyn

Thanksgiving in August

The weather was not conducive for a full-fledged Thanksgiving dinner but, I was excited to pull it off despite a muggy August Sunday afternoon. I was anxious and giddy inside, having stayed up until early morning the night before preparing a yellow squash and herb *both from the garden* dressing to compliment the bird. I poured my heart into the dishes as I prepared them. I peeled, diced, boiled and whipped potatoes while whispering longings that could only come from the heart of God.

"Lord, let them taste and see that you are good."

The plan was to pick them all up for Sunday morning service and then bring them back to my house for a beautiful banquet around our dining room table, family-style. I had everything ready *but for the gravy* and had already exhausted myself in prayer before 9am. I was hopeful, not having to ask them to come to church with me but instead, they asked me if I would bring them. I thought to myself, 'The fish are practically jumping into the net!' But, this was not my first time entering into this sort of story. I had already written my own with many similar scenes, different characters. I understood the endless internal ache to not do what I despised while feeling entirely powerless to change myself. I knew what it meant to be 'stuck' in my own grime and quicksand. This allowed my arms to reach out and in though I knew they would get very dirty, perhaps even broken.

I was right on time *unusual* and I knocked timid at the door, hoping that I would hear the scurry of bodies anxious to greet me. I heard a dog bark and snarl. I heard a voice I recognized growl louder than the dog. I gave a stout knock and it all repeated itself. Heart sinking, I walked down the dingy corridor with prayers said under breath.

Next stop was to pick up the other family that I was happy and blessed to serve. Needed a fresh start, fled a life of dark shadows but brought their demons with them. I was not afraid, the darkness still having the faintest hint of familiarity. Reminded of how much I loved the light, I found my way to the hotel door which opened before I could knock. Out came an excitable little girl whom I had instantly loved. She jumped up and embraced me, professed openly her heart's thoughts, 'I love you, Tabbitha! I love you so much! I'm so excited to go to church with you!' She was sporting her new haircut, the one I gave in hopes of eliminating at least half of the lice nits. Mom looked confused, eyes glazed over, scratching her head, she led me into her excuse as to why only the two older children could come with me that morning. I nodded my head, happy to have somebody, anybody to carry off to church with me. She said it was one thing but I knew it was another. I knew too well. I was not offended but I felt a sadness settling into me straight away.

On the short ride over to the church the little guy, four short years of who knows what, flipped over my back seat at least 10 times. In the blurry week I had known him, I had yet to accomplish restraining him in a moving vehicle. I tried not to think too long about the lice we were bringing to church. I prayed for grace and confinement. I had tried to rid them of it but it would require a supernatural force working along with us.

I'm sure service was wonderful but I wouldn't remember. I spent most of the morning trying to lure little guy out from underneath the seat of the couple in front of us. He found a small roll of dollar bills and helped himself. Knowing it was some body's offering, I had to convince him somehow to put it back where he had found it. In between what seemed like talking to the floor to the people behind me, I habitually motioned to my girls to not put their heads together while whispering in church. It was all to no avail. We ended up with lice, too. I confess, my skin crawls at the thought of it but I am certain that it is considered 'suffering' for Christ. And how little I have suffered for Him as most of my suffering has been self-inflicted.

After church I try again to extend an invitation to dinner. I had literally cooked for a community. The thought of eating this feast with empty seats intended for the very ones I thought of while preparing it, made tears settle in my jaw. I was pleasantly surprised to find there was one who is willing to come. Having to make a couple of accommodations to do so, we finally make it home where the turkey aroma has taken up every room. Oddly enough, my appetite was now lacking. Tim and the children helped me serve our guest as I began to strike up curious conversation about her life, wondering what she might share with us. It was as I thought, a kind but broken soul in need of direction, in need of divine intervention. How I remember sitting in that very chair, searching for that very thing. I offered myself, again and again. I was anxious to help, eager to serve her and her new family. But I was mostly sad, the symptoms of a fallen world so blatant before me. My heart was perplexed. It grew heavier and heavier as our time carried on.

I eventually closed the door on the day and found a number of things that really stunk, for lack of a better word. One of those things being my vacuum but I would not know this until a week later when we attempted to use it and the room swelled with the smell of urine. Little guy somehow confused the vacuum with the toilet. But what stunk the most was that my home was bursting at the seams with fragrance; the fragrance of food and only a few of the hungry were willing to come and partake. Later that evening the Lord would graciously instruct my heart which was deeply grieved but looking for hope.

He began to speak to me, in my own voice inside my heart and head, about feasts and banquets and suppers. I was reminded of a dinner he shared with some risky men which included the washing of filthy feet, the breaking of humble bread and the pouring out of costly wine. He already knew the knife was at his back but he gave his thanks and shared his food, communion nonetheless. My heart began to understand, barely. He brought to mind the feast to come, the wedding supper of the Lamb. The one you don't want to miss for the world. Oh, my pallet is yet to taste such delicacy! And I picture Him, as the Father of the Bride and Groom, preparing a feast that my finite mind cannot contain. My spirit begins to lift at the mere mention of it. And then...the punchline. The kicker. The painful punt in my gut.

"All are invited but few will come."

I almost instantly feel sick at the thought of it, at the very idea of such a grossly wasted opportunity. There are no practical comparables. Throwing money out the window...casting pearls before swine...selling my birthright for a bowl of stew...nothing can touch the foolishness of refusing to come and eat, to come and partake of what has been freely given. I am cut to the core and begin to weep. Oh God, if we only knew how good you really are. If only we could taste and rightly see. More tears collect on my lap.

All that ache, that sorrow I had felt, the fellowship of his suffering. To know the hurt in his heart when the one does not come to dine, to feast on the bread of life, to drink of living water. Indescribable agony. To know, scarcely, what he has prepared for us and to imagine that one would refuse. The starving, the desolate, the depraved who roam this earth searching, scavenging for nourishment, and yet we choose to eat slop. I remember what slop tastes like. I pray I won't soon forget.

This secret of his heart, not so secret. He cries aloud for the children to come, for the weary to come, for the thirsty to come and for the hungry to dine. It was a holy lesson, the fragrance of Christ, that I pray lingers all the days of my life. Oh, taste and see!