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On Salt, Streets, and September

They danced across the asphalt as I drove home last week. Swirling, spinning, lifting, dipping, in and around tires and up and over the sidewalk curb. I didn’t feel a strong wind, and yet the leaves responded to something unseen, something that couldn’t be felt within the enclosed space of my once-white Corolla. Fall has not yet come to North Carolina, but the leaves are already rehearsing their autumn dances in the streets. Autumn always takes me off guard. It moves in quietly, lights the world on fire for a few short weeks, then gracefully releases it’s hold as the trees trade robes of red for veils of white.

September has only just begun, but I am ready for it. My boots have been pulled to the front of the closet. I consider donning a knit sweater every morning. I drink tea in anticipation of cold afternoons, only to find they are still warm and humid. I have prepared for change, but everything still seems to be stuck in a stagnant summer.

Plenty of change has transpired since last fall, but not the kind I had hoped for. A dream died and I found myself in a place I never expected to be with a heart that I never expected to hurt like it did. A heavy weight of disappointment pressed into my gut like a cold brick. I grew disillusioned and numb, not knowing how to process the hurt. My external world carried on in a state of average status quo, but my internal world was often painless, void and empty. Disconnected and afraid to ask real questions because of what the answers might mean, I just tried to keep going. Keep going. Just keep going.

Yet as hard as I fought to stay in a place of hopefulness, it never seemed like enough. Joy drained from me almost as quickly as it entered and I found myself on a wild roller coaster ride of emotion. I hardly trusted myself on the good days because a lingering dread of the all-too-frequent bad ones never seemed to dissipate. Sometimes, it seemed easier to just not hope anymore. I knew that wasn’t the answer, but sometimes the only thing I could pray was “JUST MAKE IT STOP.’ Make it stop hurting. Make it stop bleeding. God, do something, anything, to make it better. At times like this, hope feels like salt on an open wound. Irritating and uncomfortable, it reminds you that something is wrong. Pain sends a message that something isn’t right. That something needs healing. Salt is painful, but salt also heals, mends and reduces the chance of infection.

So I am learning to let my heart do what it needs to. To let it hurt when it hurts and feel when it feels. To even let the hope hurt, and let it lead me to a place of healing. To offer sacrifices of praise when I feel unable to dream. To be willing to ask the hard questions, bravely welcoming the answer of truth even if it strips away all my external supports and forces me to lean into Jesus like never before. I have chosen to let my heart feel the ache of disappointment in the depth of my belly. I have chosen to let myself be ‘not-okay’ for a season rather than avoid the awkwardness that comes with real process.

As I have opened up the bandages long enough to let them breathe, rinse them clean with salt and water and and wrap them up again the right way, I have begun to heal. And as healing comes, I have begun to see beauty again. It was like my heart was closed not only to pain, but also to beauty. I couldn’t feel love because I couldn’t feel sorrow. But now that my heart is healing, it is also feeling. I once again notice the beauty of the leaves as they spin in the streets. I see the beauty of the sky as colors become perceptible with the approach of dawn and forms starts to take shape with the growing light. My heart sings with the rush of the wind as the first faint scents of fall form an invisible river of currents.

And this beauty is reminding me of how it feels to hope. It is reminding me of what I believe, which is anchored upon higher truths than my present experience. I am finding myself blessing heaven for the gift of faith that is being strengthened by adversity. I am thankful for the heat of the summer, and the way it is teaching me to press past my last threshold of endurance and find myself suddenly in the realm of grace. And like I said, the summer isn’t over. I am still pressing, believing and leaning into not what my eyes can see, but what the Spirit of the Living God has spoken. I am learning hope.

I guess it doesn’t make sense to see hope in Autumn. Leaves are dying and falling away. Color is fading and light grows dimmer. But isn’t that just like Jesus to bring the breakthrough just when hope seems lost? When I cannot move, I am beckoned to rest. When I cannot fight, I am reminded that He is fighting for me. When I have nothing left, I am invited into a place of provision that is beyond my natural understanding or capacity.

Autumn is a time to rest. To remember. To be restored. To be carried into places of intimacy. To let the Lord lead our hearts beside quiet waters in the cool of the day. So let the leaves dance and swirl and let the trees burn on the roadsides. I’m trusting my God for the breakthrough and believing that His hope will never disappoint.

Help send our Antioch team to Fullerton, CA to serve a new church plant and spread the gospel of Jesus Christ! We will be sharing some fun original music and covers as we raise support for our upcoming missions trip in August. So come with a friend, a lawn chair or blanket and some extra cash for snacks, games and crafty creations. See you there!! 417 W Park St. Cary 6:30-8:30pm $5 cover charge

Gold in the Water

Today I am writing. I am not trying to be profound or gain a following. I am not writing for anyone’s eyes but those that smile from heaven. I am simply writing. I am expressing. I am living, breathing, and almost feeling. I don’t know where the words got clogged up. Somewhere along the way they became back-logged and my emotional cisterns peaked at max capacity. In the swirl, my heart was filled with silt and sand--painful memories from the recesses of my history.

But today I’m pumping this well of words, if for no other reason than to exercise the muscles that hold the handle. This might appear meaningless to any who have taken time to read these words. But for me, it is a statement of perseverance. I am not giving up and I am not quitting. Somewhere underneath the murkiness of a hectic season, there is gold that lies at the bottom of my heart, washed in clean water, waiting to be pulled from the depths and up to the surface. I know it’s there. I can feel its weight pressing into my spirit. So I’ll keep pumping. I’ll keep digging. I’ll keep trusting that my Father’s thoughts are higher than mine and His ways are so much better. He is really good at pulling beauty from ashes and gold from fire. He sees me and my history through the redemption of the cross and He is pulling me into a glorious future with Himself.

And so I’ll write. Just to write. And maybe in so doing, the Word who spoke the world into being will speak through my mouth and flow through my pen, communicating truth and love to human hearts--starting with my own. That’s a good reason to write. So I’ll keep writing until the words flow freely again and the gold inside has been molded and refined into something beautiful.

Perspective

Elevation brings perspective, and every time I travel to the mountains I remember things my spirit knows, but my heart has forgotten. And this time, as hills gently spill into the valley, I remember that I love to write.

I love to paint pictures with language. The pen is my brush and the page is my canvas. The words I choose must be just the right hues to render the image exquisite. Impressionistic. What I will say and what you derive may coincide or perhaps… Perhaps you will reach beyond the black and the white. Because eyes must remain fixed on a page, but the heart is not so confined. It can read between the lines. The spirit perceives where the body is blind.

And now as I drive, the sky is awash in castles of color. I savor the splendor. Here we are present. We are full. We are complete. We are whole. To my right, the sun weaves through a tangle of green— in and back out, over and around, under and through. And I am renewed, woven into Light's perfect design. All my intricacies known, and fully embraced. All my weakness exposed and covered in strength. Here I find grace and the space to just be. And to breathe. And to see.

I remember and rest even as I descend because perspective builds faith, or maybe faith builds perspective. But either way, I cannot stay the same.

My perspective has changed.

Plumbing

Backlogged. Like the 405 at rush hour.

Congested. Like my sinuses in springtime.

Clogged up. Like a pipe that needs to be cleared.

These are my only excuses for the long interval between posts. I love to write, but there have been too many thoughts, too many musings, too many unanswered questions that spin in circles waiting for some kind of resolution. When none come, at least for the present, one is left with nothing coherent to write about. Sometimes life must be lived before stories can be written. One could pull a story out of thin air, I suppose. But it's the ones that are bloodied and raw, the ones that have been through the war but lived to tell about it, the ones that know reward only because they have endured risk-- those are the stories that press themselves into the substance of our hearts, molding us into something different than we were before. We are changed, hopefully for the better.

So I decided to just live for awhile before I try to write about it. But naturally, as a writer, I must write about not writing. So here we go…

I haven't yet found answers to my questions. In fact, somewhere along the way, I think I forgot what the questions even were. Or perhaps they just didn't seem to matter anymore. Some things are far more important than finding periods to follow my question marks. And sometimes God is answering a different question than I am asking. At that point, the only real question is whether or not I have drawn close enough to hear what He is whispering. Anyone can hear a shout. What really gets me excited is when God trusts me enough to catch the whispers. It's not so much about getting every thing perfectly right as much as it is about simply being with Jesus. Moment by moment. Breath by breath. Day in. Day out. Jesus. Wake up. Fall asleep. Jesus. Clock in. Clock out. Jesus.

"In Him we live and move and have our being."

He wants to be invited into every moment; especially the mundane ones. It could be, and often is, exactly those moments when He wants to bring that deep revelation of His nearness. My destiny is not waiting for me somewhere out there in the vague, cosmic future. I am living my destiny now. My destiny is intimacy and my portion is Jesus. He is my treasure and my reward and in Christ, I have full access to heaven. I am His and He is mine. With this in view, I can thrive anywhere.

And somehow, in a round-about way, this kind of intimacy with Jesus seems to make room for fresh life to flow. It de-clogs the pathways of our hearts and minds, not necessarily by clearing out the old pipes with some kind of spiritual Drain-O, but rather by replacing the whole plumbing system with new hardware.

"But we have the mind of Christ."

Maybe you've got this down already. But I'm going to stop stressing and just focus on living well and put my whole heart into what's in front of me. The story will write itself if we just learn to love like Jesus. And as we draw near to God and He draws near to us, we will feel our hearts becoming like His. And when we find ourselves moved by the passions of God, amazing things will begin to happen. The world will be changed as people fall in love with Jesus and then we will all have stories to tell.

Maybe I'll write a book. Or you will.

A Lesson from the Autumn Leaves

I recently travelled to North Carolina. Fall came as I arrived; the leaves began their subtle shift in color, the wind darkened and most days the rain hung in pregnant clouds over the Wilmington shoreline. My eyes drank in the beauty of this altogether different kind of coastland. My west-coast experience could never have prepared me for the beauty I have consistently found with each successive trip to the east. On one of these days, I sat alone with my journal, talking to the Lord. I was rather frustrated with myself and I couldn't understand why it felt like I was dying again. I had learned that lesson already... or so I thought. But this resurgence of an old theme made me wonder if I had learned anything at all or if I was just so slow that I was being led in circles around the same old stumbling block.

It was then that I looked to see a tree standing in front of me. At this time, most trees in North Carolina are just beginning to trade their rich greens for browns and reds. I can only imagine what it must look like when Autumn sets fire to the woodlands and every branch drips with ruby, carnelian and gold. Most trees have not yet reached this stage by mid-October, however this brave little one in front of me seemed to have rushed ahead of the rest. Unlike most, it did not call attention to itself with loud colors or a grand display. Instead, it had quietly passed from summer to winter without fanfare. Its leaves were grey and dropped as silently as the raindrops which fell from the sky. Its branches were almost completely bare as the leaves relinquished their hold without protest or struggle.

In a strange way, I identified with the tree. As I watched the leaves continue to loosen their grip and come to rest on the ground below, I heard the Lord ask me a question:

"Will you let me strip you completely?"

I recoiled at this. And even now, if I'm honest, it still doesn't bring me warm feelings. Hadn't I already been stripped enough? Hadn't I already laid down enough? Surrendered my hopes, dreams and ideals on the alter of obedience and chosen to wait on Him rather than push things along on my own? Hadn't I just recently learned the lesson of dying to my flesh in order that the power of Christ might be shown all the more clearly in me? Hadn't I learned those lessons well? If so, why would He want to strip me again? Was I really all that thick-headed? His next words comforted me somewhat,

"It's a matter of pruning, not punishment," He said.

It was then that I realized that just like the world around us, the human heart moves in seasons. We each have experienced times of joy and newness when Spring breathes its life over everything and we are restored. Likewise, we have tasted of Summer's rich abundance and rejoiced as we realized our storehouses were too small for all we have been given. We have also seen Autumn: a time of preparation as well as surrender. As with the tree, each year of the heart brings us to a new place of growth and strength. Just because Winter comes again doesn't mean the tree did something wrong to lose its richly colored garments. Rather, the tree must be stripped bare in order for it to grow taller and stronger, fuller and brighter in the months to come. It is in the Winter season that intimacy is cultivated because nothing now veils the tree's limbs from heaven and what was built during Spring and Summer is seen for what it is. The tree no longer has any vestige to hide behind, so with courage and abandon it reaches its arms as high as they will go. There is no more pretense. No more show. Only pure, unadulterated worship. It is in these times that the roots sink their deepest into the frozen wilderness. No amount of striving could have produced this kind of strengthening in any other season. Intimacy cannot be bought with money or manipulated with reasoning. It can only be grown through the covenant of sacrificial love displayed on a canvas of honest vulnerability, which results in the deepest kind of trust. And this tree, which in this moment has the appearance of death, has actually never been more alive.

I want to be like this tree. I want to surrender my leaves without protest or struggle, trusting the wisdom of the Season-Shifter and His immeasurable love for me. Even the Winter season belongs to the Lord. And if I find myself once again being stripped of all my fine adornments, I will rejoice that I am being clothed in Christ. If all other supports I lean upon are removed, I will rejoice that I will soon be seen coming up from the wilderness leaning on my Beloved. If I once again have the privilege of offering my very self upon the alter of worship, then I will praise Him all the more because I have died with Christ in order that I might also be raised with Him. This is the lesson of Autumn's leaves. In this process of pruning, I choose to rest in the security of the Father's love since I know that His discipline is a direct result of His delight. And I know that even when my heart is frosted over and Winter's rigid grasp feels cold and unyielding, even then I can rest in hope because there never was a Winter that the Sun couldn't soften into the most glorious of Springs.

"When Christ, who is [my] life, appears, [I] also will appear with Him in glory." Colossians 3:4

Grave Digger

(This is the story of a recent encounter with Jesus that changed my life. It is not a theological treatise or a precise timeline of Biblical events. It describes a unique and creative way the Lord communicated with me in order to bring my heart to a deeper level of surrender and relationship with Him. I hope in some way it encourages you as we all continually seek to offer ourselves as living sacrifices to the One who alone is worthy.)

The grave He dug was dark and frightening. I could feel the cold of it wrap around my ankles as the blood-red shovel cut deep into the earth. I knew this grave was mine and I understood that to step inside was to lay down my life, my dreams, and my rights in complete surrender, even as He did for me.

"I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God. who loved me and gave himself for me." Gal. 2:20

I remembered how He had given it all for me and I knew that this grave was His too. Crucified, buried, and risen on the third day, Christ had done these things to save my sinful soul. Conceptually, my mind understood. All my life I'd known these truths as I worked diligently to honor God. But that was the problem-- I worked. Rather than receive His gift of grace through faith, I worked as hard as I could to earn my place in His family. I even worked to try to learn how to not work, which is almost funny because daughters don't work for their father's love. They are born into it. Yet without an experiential, heart-rending understanding of my need for Jesus, without a deep awareness of my sheer depravity apart from His saving grace, I was fundamentally unable to understand the gift I had been given. Yet I desperately wanted to. And so I prayed. I prayed for a salvation experience, even though I knew I was already saved. I prayed for that revelation of grace and for an understanding of how to live in it.

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith-- not by works, so that no one can boast.” Eph. 2:8-9

So there we were, Jesus and I, at the graveside. I had tried to lay down my dreams, my desires and my rights many times before, but there still seemed to be something missing. As much as I thought I trusted Him, when it came down to it, I really couldn't stand the thought of getting into that lonely earthen tomb. I knew He would be with me, but even that knowledge didn’t bring consolation. I had given Him my life before, but never like this. What would become of the dreams, the promises, the hopes that had been given to me by God Himself? How could I completely relinquish control of the very things God had taught me to believe for? I wanted to be willing to lay it all down, to climb inside this darkened resting place without hesitation, but fear held my feet in place with an iron grip.

“What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God--through Jesus Christ our Lord!” Rom. 7:24-25

After this, He took me to the courtroom of heaven and I saw the Father seated on the throne. The Righteous Judge. Holy and Just. Faithful and True. Yahweh. I stood before Him, feeling the weight of my sin. It was more than I could bear but I knew the case against me was just. I knew I deserved to be punished. The time came for the Father to determine the verdict as all of heaven looked on. I was guilty and the penalty was death. The gavel would have nailed my sentence to the walls of eternity, but though I could barely bring myself to do it, I finally asked Jesus to plead my case.

“…‘Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!’” John 1:29

He stepped in front me. The spotless One. The beautiful One. He stepped before me and in doing so volunteered Himself as a holy sacrifice for my sin. I could hardly believe it-- how could He do it? He was the beloved Son and I was the dirty harlot. He was radiant and stainless. I was ashamed and defiled. I couldn’t stand the thought of it, much less believe He would actually take the punishment that was rightfully mine. As I looked across the courtroom, my eyes rested upon the Father and I'll never forget what I saw. Etched plainly across his face was the pain of sacrifice because He knew what it would require of His beloved, perfect Son. Yet as He looked at us there, I saw no judgement, no condemnation, only a deep and enduring love. I asked the verdict. "You are clean," He said, and I was undone. In that moment, years of fear, shame, and condemnation seemed to break away and my spirit flew out like a boat freed of its moorings, pulled to sea by currents of emotion that swelled from within. My striving ceased and I was at rest. Peace came as a healing balm and chased away lies that have bound me for as long as I can remember. My heart had never felt more humbled by the sacrifice that my sin had demanded, yet never so enraptured by the Man who had paid it all just to be with me. Oh my Jesus, my precious Jesus!

“Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died--more than that, who was raised to life--is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us.” Rom. 8:33-34

I suddenly realized that I wanted nothing more than to give Him everything. My very life, should He desire it. He gave it all for me so how could I not freely give it all for Him? I am finally beginning to understand how countless saints throughout the ages have given their lives for the name of Jesus. They surrendered the breath in their lungs for the deepest kind of love, understanding that though men may kill the body, they cannot touch a soul that has been infused with the resurrection power of Jesus Christ. We with them have been adopted, saved, freed, chosen and empowered. We have been pulled close to God's heart in order that we might be with Him for eternity. Then I remembered the grave. My grave. And I realized I was finally ready.

“… All of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death… We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.” Rom. 6:3-4

But before we returned to the grave site, He had promises and gifts to give. He exchanged my fear for faith. He removed the burdens from my back and traded my despair for hope. He showed me the lands that were waiting to be conquered and gave such great promises that I had trouble believing Him. We reveled in the moment, enjoying one another’s company. But I knew I had to get back to that grave. I wanted in.

“Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God--this is your spiritual act of worship.” Rom. 12:1

This time, the grave didn’t look so frightening. In fact, I was truly excited. I knew Jesus wanted me to climb inside but I had no doubt that He would be with me, and this time, that assurance was more than enough. Always together, never alone. So I climbed in. Hopeful. Joyful. Expectant. Trusting that His promises are real, alive and powerful. Knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Man who holds my life in His hands loves me more than I could ever dare to imagine. So there I lay as my eyes grew dim and He closed the grave above me. And it was done.

“But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions--it is by grace you have been saved. And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with Him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus.” Eph. 2:4-7

This is where my story ends... for now. You see, for some, this would be a dreary ending. But I know how the rest of the story goes. I know that Jesus is alive. I know that His grave is empty and that His resurrection power brings the dead to life. Here in this moment, I sit in darkness. I cannot see past this moment or beyond the shroud that envelops me. But in spite of my present blindness I choose this place with Him because I know that it is only by His resurrection life that I will ever be able to truly live. It is only by giving back the dreams He gave me that they will ever find fulfillment. Because He is a greater dream than any other and to be with Him is more satisfying than the best of achievements.

He lifted me up from the dust and gave me a crown. Yet as soon as it touched my head, I realized that all I wanted was throw it back at His feet. I no longer live, but Christ in me is more alive than ever. And the future has never looked more hopeful.

Identity Check

The world defines you by your actions and labels you based on what you have done.

Thief. Murderer. Dirty whore. Failure. Disappointing.

Sometimes it even defines you based on what another has done to you.

Slave. Bastard. Orphan. Victim.

But either way, we have been born into a world of sin and our debt cries out against us.

Sinners.

But.....

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time... Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls." - 1 Peter 1:3-5, 8-9

The Father defines you by His actions and names you based on who He sees that you can become.

Giver. Lover. Virgin bride. Successful. Favored.

His love for you not based on anything you could do, but only on what He has already done on the cross.

Free. Approved. Adopted. Powerful.

He looks at you the same way He looks at His Son, Jesus. He doesn't see your blemishes. He doesn't see your failures. Through Him and through faith in Him, we enter into the same reward intended for Jesus. We have been brought near and nothing can separate us any longer.

Saints.

When He looks at you, He sees a son that He dearly loves. He gave everything to be near you. Let Him love you today.

He Came. Again.

He came again today.... Like He does.

I feel like I've written those words so many times. And yet each time is unique and fresh. Each time we come to Him, we have the opportunity to experience Him in a new way. Never before have we encountered this moment in time, with this particular set of circumstances. Never before have we been exactly this age in exactly this location with exactly these relationships. Never before and never again will we have the opportunity to meet God in exactly the same way we can meet him right now.

And He desperately wants to meet with us. He wants it more than we want it. And when He comes, everything changes. A mountain is just a mountain most of the time. But when the burning sun descends from heaven and sinks beneath its peaks, setting them on fire and turning the horizon into liquid gold, they are no longer just mountains. They bear more resemblance to some otherworldly portal than a pile of rock and rubble. The beauty of Jesus has a way of shifting our perception of what at first seems ordinary by not only transforming whatever it touches, but also by giving us eyes to see it as He does.

The devil wants our attention and he stoops so low to try to get it. He tries to distract us with lots of noise and loves to clog the spiritual airways with lies and manipulative half-truths. But Father God isn't the least bit intimidated by all that. And plus, through Jesus Christ, He has given us the authority to "change the channel," as it were. There is no reason for us to listen to that garbage anymore because Jesus cancelled the charge against us and He, Himself, is our peace. I wonder if sometimes Jesus just watches us spinning in circles, waiting for us to realize that He is there. He has been there all along, we just couldn't seem to focus on Him while we were making ourselves so dizzy from all the spinning. It is our Father's delight to speak to us when we quiet our hearts to listen. He could definitely speak up if He wanted to, and He does sometimes. He did, after all, invent the loudest things like waterfalls and windstorms. But He chooses to withhold His power in order to allow us to draw near to Him. Anyone can hear a shout. But only a friend can hear a whisper.

When He comes, it undoes me. Especially when He whispers and I find I am close enough to hear it. It is my greatest honor to treasure His whispers. His loving voice unties the knots I somehow seem to work myself into. He always seems to be much less concerned about my self-perceived "issues" than I am, probably because He knows that they are all already paid for and I am much more secure in His love than I have ever thought I could be.

So this probably won't be the last time I will say it, but I love it when He comes. I am thankful for the moments when I don't know where He is because it builds faith and trust. But I am even more grateful for how He comes... again, and again, and again.

To the Thirsty

If you’re anything like me (that is, if you are human), I imagine you have found yourself at one point or another in that place between promise and fulfillment. Somewhere between hope and certainty lie the flatlands and desert plains where we learn to trust. Sometimes we wander there by mistake and sometimes we are led there by the Spirit. But either way, there is much to be learned in the desert. This is not a theology discussion of what God teaches us in those times or how and why we go through them. There are plenty of sermons to be found on those subjects. Instead I simply invite you into one of my desert moments. It’s a funny things to be transparent with an invisible audience, but hopefully my vulnerability will encourage someone somewhere that God has not forgotten and He is truly faithful. Before you know it, people will look at you and say, “Who is this coming up from the wilderness leaning on her beloved?” (Song of Sol. 8:5).

There’s nothing glamorous about this. Nothing worthy of the history books. It’s one of those hazy moments after the moon sets and before the sun rises. There’s nothing very noteworthy about it, and as such, it would be easy to pass over. But there’s something learned here. I pray God will help me see it.

He who has ears to hear, let him hear.

Dirt cakes under my fingernails. Dust fills my nostrils. My back burns, scorched by the sun and burdened by a weight I have carried for too long. I scrape the ground with bare hands. Each handful of sand feels heavier than the last. I hardly remember a home before this desert. Voices of complaint burn the back of my throat and threaten to take my tongue hostage. Why did You bring me here, Lord? Did You lead me out here to die? Are You actually who You say You are? Why do Your other children pass me by with jars brimming with water and I am left digging here in the dust?

Blessed are those who are not offended because of Me.

I cannot. I will not. I must not let bitterness take root. If I do, it will be the end of me. I’ve seen it’s deadly work. It spreads like a poison, contaminating a heart like toxic waste. Oh Father, I will trust You. I will believe You. Overcome my unbelief. I will surrender my understanding, admit my immaturity, and rest in the “humility of ignorance,” as someone once called it. You are faithful. You will do it. You will finish what You started. This is, after all, Your kingdom. Not mine. May You get the glory. Oh, how I love You.

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name.

The is water here. It must be. Somewhere beneath the sand and sediments lies a reservoir deep enough to quench the thirst of an army. I must find it, or die trying. For better or worse, this has become my all-consuming obsession. Desperation has won over reason. All my sensibilities have tried to convince me I am ridiculous to dig in this manner-- with only my two hands and a fervor that provokes even my own mind to discomfort. Outside voices join with my own. ‘Overreacting,’ they call it. Perhaps I should just tone it down. Perhaps it isn’t quite as important as all that. Other people in harder situations have license for such intensity, but I probably don’t quite meet the hardship quota to qualify for this level of desperation. Yet still...

My heart and flesh cry out for the living God.

I don’t know that I can explain it, even to myself. I don’t even fully remember why I’m digging sometimes. But I I’ve tasted a drop and now I long for the oceans. I have been so blessed, but even in the abundance before me, both spiritually and physically, I cannot stop until I am completely consumed, possessed, overtaken by the waves of Your presence.

As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for You, my God.

So I dig. I pray for strength. I pray for hope to not lose heart. I pray for wisdom to know what I should do. But until You show me another way, I’ll do the only thing I know to do, and that is to dig. Deeper, deeper, deeper still. Your deep has called unto mine and it beckons me back to the waters from which it first came. I came from You and to You I belong. Nothing and no one can satisfy, except You alone. I can almost feel the undercurrents of the deep rising to meet me. Perhaps there is a long way to go yet. But maybe this next handful I scrape from the earth will bring me to the breaking point. The fountains of the deep will be unleashed, flooding this land with Your presence, watering the fields that have lain dry and dormant for decades.

Deep calls to deep in the roar of Your waterfalls; all Your waves and Your breakers have swept over me.

Perhaps while we are looking to the sky for rain, a flood is rising up from the deep places of intimacy and encounter. God always does seem to like the back door...

Come Lord Jesus. You’re already here, but come even more. However You want to do it. Come and make springs in our deserts and streams in our wastelands. We need You, Jesus. You are all we are longing for.

Songs of the Morning

The night is ending.

Ghosts of darkness shrink and shudder, suddenly terrified. The songs we sang through the night give way to the sounds of the morning. Prayers whispered in hidden corners find their fulfillment in the coming dawn. Peace prevails and evil fails. It’s grasp grows steadily weaker as shadow after shadow runs from the horizon.

“Awake, my soul! Awake, harp and lyre! I will awaken the dawn,” declares the psalmist. If one wishes to awaken something, the waking usually must begin while the sleeping thing still sleeps. This song begins in darkness ends in daylight. It calls things that are not as though they were and sings of truths that have yet to become experience. But they will. And as we wait the Sun to rise, we are invited into a partnership with God to bring about His purposes on the earth. He could do it without us, and when we get a little confused, He still accomplishes what He set out to do, working all things for our good. But because He loves to share His joy with His children, He pulls us into the process of bringing His kingdom to earth. The Sun is surely rising and there is nothing any demon of the night can do to stop it. There are battles to be fought, but the war is won. How blessed are we to be able stand and sing the victory song in the presence of our enemies.

There is a song to be sung in the night season. It’s strains penetrate deep into the caverns of the human spirit and carve out room for hope to dwell. They pour out a unique sacrifice of praise that is sweetened by suffering in a way it never will be in heaven. The night song is precious. It cultivates intimacy prepares the heart to receive the gifts of the daytime. However, there comes a time to shift our song to sing the songs of the morning. So as the darkness dies, let the city cry, “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!”

In just a very little while, between our love songs and victory shouts, I imagine all creation falling silent. Just before dawn, in the hushed half-light I see us standing--breathless.

Hello, Sun.

Not in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine You would be so beautiful. And what a gentleman You are, coming slowly at first to let our eyes adjust to the growing brightness. Coming gently for now so as not to overwhelm us with Your beauty. Wooing us from the shadows so as not to force Your love upon us. You want a love that is chosen. You want our hearts.

And all at once, creation will take up the anthem together. The waters will rush, the breezes will brush and every creature under heaven will sing at the top of their lungs. I see myself there and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I don’t know whether to kneel or dance but how can I do either when this love lifts me straight off the ground.

The overture has begun. There are plenty of other movements we will join to play in the symphony of eternity. But right now it is time for the opening moment. The stage is set. The curtain is lifting. All creation waits in eager expectation for King to take His place at center stage and it yearns for His sons and daughters to be revealed. In the morning, every wrong will be made right because Sun of righteousness comes with healing in His wings.

Let’s take up the song of the morning. Let’s sing in faith, trusting the trueness of His words and the goodness of His character. He will do all He promised. He will complete all He started. He is faithful and He will do it.

“Awake, my soul! Awake, harp and lyre! I will awaken the dawn.” Psalm 57:8

Open Wide

Tonight, I was headed straight to bed after a painfully long day. Before turning out the light, which I was very excited to do, I decided to pick up my Bible and read for just a couple minutes. I was very tired, so I chose Psalm 81 because it is relatively short (let’s be honest... you know you do it too). But God is good and He loves me and spoke to me anyways. In verse 10, I noticed a phrase that I’ve spotted before, but it stood out again tonight. “I am the Lord your God,” the verse says, “who brought you up out of Egypt. Open wide your mouth and I will fill it.”

What a promise! Our job is to open up wide, to stretch out the tent pegs, to ready the nets, to prepare our hearts. His job is to come and do practically everything else. Even our very first assignment to love God with all our heart, mind, soul and strength is only possible because He loved us first (not to mention the second commandment, which is totally crazy without the first). And yet we are invited into a partnership with the God of the universe. He wins the war, yet entrusts us with the battle. He fights the enemy, yet lets us hold the sword. He paints the canvas, yet allows us to play with the brushes and gives us much more credit than we deserve. And as we mature, He holds our hands, teaching us to stay in the lines He has sketched, eventually releasing us dream and create on our own within the boundaries of His delight in us.

“Open wide your mouth and I will fill it.”

I hear a challenge in this verse, but mainly, I hear a promise. And I wonder, to what degree is our experience of God’s character linked to our willingness to open our hearts to Him in faith? I say “our experience” because who He actually is never changes. He is the same yesterday, today and forever. Yet our experience of Him can be limited by our willingness to come under His perfect leadership. Later in the chapter, He says, “If my people would but listen to me, if Israel would follow my ways, how quickly would I subdue their enemies and turn my hand against their foes.... you would be fed with the finest of wheat; with honey from the rock I would satisfy you” (Ps. 81:13-14, 16). Personally, I want to experience all of God that there is, which is an awful lot. I want to be one who does listen and who does follow His ways, not merely because of the things God give to His people but for who the Father is to His children.

I am excited and expectant. I’ll open my mouth, spread my tent pegs and cast out my nets. I’ll plow my field, sharpen my sword and ready my canvas. I’ll spin a million metaphors into one thought just to say I’m ready to partner with You, Father. Your mission is my passion and I delight to do Your will.

And now that I have spilled my thoughts onto the page, I can finally turn off that light. Till the next late night inspiration....

Stormy Seas

Someone asked me the other day what it was I dreamed of doing. I found myself at a surprising loss for words even though at one time I could have responded quickly and eloquently. Even now I could probably fish for something in my sea of hopes and desires and come up with something that sounds at least halfway coherent. But storms have stirred up this sea in recent weeks. The water has been churning and the rain has been falling making one wave almost indistinguishable from another. Something is happening here, I just can't quite see it through the swirl of wind and waves. I don't think it's an entirely bad storm. It just makes me uncomfortable to have the deepest, most vulnerable parts of me suddenly pulled up to the surface. I was content to leave them down at the bottom, but I guess stagnant waters never did anyone much good.

My heart knows these waves will one day slide up onto the land. They will find their shape and the churning will subside into a rhythmic roll as the waters dance in synchronized movements. They will wash over the sand and gently transform the shoreline. They may even move with enough force to form dramatic cliffs and majestic outcroppings of rock. I look forward to those times, but for now, my sea of desire turns and twists as it seeks to find definition and substance.

I wrestled with these waves today, trying to tame them myself, convinced that if I could just tell one wave from another, I would somehow be better off. But God doesn't just want me to give Him my scientific assessment of the water depth or a wave log or a weather report. He wants my entire ocean. He wants the depths of me poured out before Him. He wants the places so hidden that only He remembers they are there. He wants it before I have learned to tame it. He wants it alive, even if it is messy. I couldn't tame it anyways, even if I tried, because only He is peace in the storm. At His word, the waves are stilled. At His voice, the winds cease. Under His feet, the water molecules rush to carry Him. How they must delight to do so.

And it is also by His hand that these waters of hope and desire were created in the first place. I started out with nothing. Just an empty basin of a heart. But out of His own oceans, He filled up my own little sea with living affection. And yet even so, what greater honor could there be than to pour it right back out before Him? I could strive and strain to try to make something of these shifting currents. But how much greater an honor would it be to wash His feet with the waters I have been given, to spill my sea of dreams back into the ocean from which it first came.

I want to be fascinated with His character more than I am fascinated by the things He gives. He is a greater treasure than my dreams, even the God-given ones. So I lay them down again. Let me be wasted before You, Father, because a 'waste' here in Your presence is better than a 'use' anywhere else.

So once again, I surrender.

As simple as that.

"It's just so confusing." The words came out of my mouth again tonight. I've spoken them often, right along with "I just don't understand," and "It's complicated."

But is it?

If I have truly locked into the goodness of God toward me and if I have recognized His faithfulness and sovereignty in every area of my life, if I have embraced the truth that His love for me is expressed not only in the gift of freewill but also in His promise to make all things work for my good, then why do I still say it's complicated?

I have hidden behind these self-imposted 'complications' and worried about "what if's." But I want to step past the threshold of sight and into the lands of faith. I don't want to try to answer my own questions anymore for fear of appearing messy. I don't want to mask vulnerability with pretense for fear that what's real and honest could be rejected. I don't want to say that it's confusing or complicated when really, it isn't. I want to simply trust the grace of God to accomplish His purposes in my life and in the world around me. His river flows with unmatched momentum and there is nothing I can do to stop its movements. In fact, by striving and thrashing about, searching for answers God isn't yet answering, I am probably hindering more than helping. My heart yearns to move from the shallows to the deep places. I want to go where the currents are wild and free, to the place where they empty into the sea. I want to be lost in it. Consumed by it. But that requires that I stop my striving and surrender to the flow. It's time to let go.

Surrender isn't nearly as terrifying if you know the character of the One you are surrendering to. It's only scary if you don't know the Father's deep, throbbing, aching love. But one glimpse of the look in His eyes and all that is quickly brought into perspective.

A man giving me a prophetic word the other day began to speak of 'authentic beauty." He said that the beauty of a woman is that she has no fear in love. This is the kind of beauty I want to live in. When I am an old woman and my wrinkles tell tales of time, when my hair is gray and my tummy is flabby, I want my children to say this of me: that I was a woman who loved without fear, who walked in faith and courage, submission and authority. A woman who took risks because she knew that she was safe. Covered. Accepted. Beautiful.

It's time to stop letting fear dictate my actions and emotions. I will walk by faith not by sight because my Father loves me. It's as simple as that.

Things I Like

I like the way the bark wrinkles

around the trunk of an old tree

Ancient lines and tell-tale signs

of early struggle.

I like the way clouds come to blanket

the shoreline. Misty shrouds protect

the moment from any other before

Or any other after.

I like the way paint pulls from a window pane

twisting, curling, peeling, revealing

gray wood, weather worn and tired

yet standing sturdy still.

I like the way green grows up through the sidewalk

Some would call its bravery obstinance

Yet undeterred, it presses past cemented streets

to color our world.

I like the way the strains of a cello pull one’s heart

in ways I cannot even begin to describe

An invitation. A beckoning from spirit to soul to leave

one’s body for just a moment.

I like the way a bridge ties one place to another

and provides passage over troubled waters

A servant, a mediator, making paths accessible

which before seemed impossible.

Outside the Lines

This post isn't for you. It's for me.

I've been living in a shell. A crusty skin of a person that wasn't really living and certainly wasn't me. A suit that didn't fit. Like a hippie standing stiff in a tux. Or an indian princess in a clumsy ball gown. Like trying to fit a circle in a square hole or trying to paint a masterpiece within the confines of a pie chart. Someone once told me that he knew he was in a new season because the old way God had previously related to him wasn't working anymore. I couldn't figure out why I was so frustrated and stressed out until I began to realize the same thing must have happened to me. I thought I must be doing something wrong when I couldn't hear God telling me what to do anymore. There were no step-by-step instructions coming from heaven, and it scared me half to death. But now I see that I wasn't missing it. God has simply brought me into a new season and the way He is now speaking to me has changed.

I am free and it's time to start living like it. I am not meant to stay in the lines anymore or live life like a paint by number. Michelangelo wouldn't have finished the Sistine Chapel if he had stayed within the confines of his studio, or if he had constrained his creative genius to a simple canvas. Degas and Monet would never have left such indelible marks on the artistic world if they had not ventured beyond the boundaries of classical methods to sail the wild seas of impressionism.

I feel like I am finally understanding the simple truth of the gospel.

I am free. And Jesus likes me. Just me. Nothing added or subtracted. Not yet. Jesus has dismantled the heavy yoke of religion and all the weight it carried. It is a burden I was never meant to bear. But His yoke is easy and His burden is so much lighter than I ever dreamed. It's time to discover who I am. In Christ. What I like, what I don't like. I don't even know because I've been so busy trying to figure out what I should like. No more "should's". Only love. No more pressure. Only desire. No more burdens. Only passion.

This daughter is free. And how wonderful it feels.

Patience, Process and Dancefloors

I don't know if anyone else has had this same experience, but in my personal walk with the Lord, I find that God typically whispers. Sometimes I really wish He would shout. It would be awfully helpful.

It seems that instead of jolting my sensibilities with a blast from heaven, He would rather build my trust and deepen the intimacy we share as He leans into my world with a soft whisper.Sometimes I would still very much like a blast. Or a trumpet. Or a visit from an angel. I hear they're nothing like the whimpy cherubs on Valentine's Day cards. I would very much like to see one.

But even in the most intense encounters I've had with God, He still has never completely overpowered my will, even though that's what I was waiting for. He has always been gentle, kind and inviting. He could push His will on me in a moment, and He would have every right to. And it wouldn't even require any extra effort on His part. All it would take is one little glimpse of the glory that surrounds Him and I'd be on my face, probably unable to stand, move or speak anything other than "HOLY!"

It's crazy because I think I used to subconsciously think I was doing something wrong if I wasn't constantly experiencing Him in that way. First of all, I think He knows that would completely wear me out. But secondly, I'm slowly learning that He would rather wait and let me consciously choose to surrender myself to Him. To give my heart as a treasure. A gift. A freewill offering. He would rather wait and woo me into His arms than force me into submission. He wants me to bind myself to Him of my own accord because He loves me, not because I fear His punishment.

And the wonderful thing is, even if I started serving Him in fear, He loves me too much to leave me there. Love will find me. Every time. The very floors I scrubbed as a servant will be the ones I dance on with the King.

I have been walking through some interesting things with Papa God the last few weeks. I don't have time to share the details of what I've been processing, nor do I even know what's going on fully enough to write of it. But suffice it to say, it would be so much easier, and quicker, for Him to snap His fingers and have it done in a moment. But He is much, much more interested in relationship than in results. How opposite to my natural mindset, and yet how thankful I am for it.

So Father, come renew my mind and help me rest in the discomfort of unresolved questions. Because You're waiting there with answers to better questions I haven't even learned to ask yet. Thanks for Your patience.

Here's to the dances that may make clean floors dirty again, but are so lovely, it no longer matters if I am in a ballroom or a barn. Love makes it beautiful. And that's where I want to be.

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