I don't always know what is best.
My heart belongs to You. And the closer I draw, the nearer I come, the better I can see.
But I still can't see it all.
I hear better than I used to.
And I am able to recognize Your hand at work.
But there are things You keep me in the dark about.
If only so that my prayer will continue to be, "Your kingdom come, Your will be done."
May we never become so accustomed to Your presence, to Your voice, that we fail to admit we are clueless.
Or stop and stand very still in the darkness and call Your name.
"Your will be done," we pray.
We ought to be willing to surrender.
To ask permission. To seek guidance.
Instead of asking for a blessing on a path we've already begun to walk.
Draw us close, keep Your secrets, bestow Your love.
May we be your faithful children.
Your trusting little ones.
May we always feel the need to reach up and grab Your hand.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Tired Heart
My heart is tired.
I realized this today. Was able to verbalize this today.
Emotionally exhausted.
And when you mix emotional exhaustion with physical energy, you get confused.
Very confused.
-
I have been racing.
Moving at a crazy pace - figuring I'd adapt eventually.
That my emotional muscles would get stronger and I'd be able to handle more.
And more.
False.
-
It all became reality today when I turned in all my money for my trip to Ethiopia.
An expensive manilla envelope, let me tell you what.
That stress gone, that preoccupation resolved, that prayer answered.
I got back in my car and turned on Shane and Shane and went to meet my dear friend Jenn.
We caught up over Starbucks and then left.
-
By the time I got home, my emotional fortitude was gone.
All my boldness was melting right there in my hands.
And all I wanted to do was to be wrapped up in someone's arms and just be comforted.
But there was no one.
I was tired of thinking. Of feeling. Of analyzing. Of interpreting.
Of wondering.
Of preparing.
Just for a minute I needed it all to stop.
-
I got home and got a hold of Jenn again.
"My heart is tired," I explained to her.
After talking through it a little bit, I decided to go for a run.
Because even in my emotional state, my legs had a lot of energy to be spent.
I would spend it.
"This is what I want you to do," said Jenn. "While you're running, ask God to reveal what He wants you to know for today. Not for tomorrow. Not about yesterday."
Present truth.
(She's found her calling, this friend of mine.)
-
So I went.
-
"Father God, thank you for the gift of the Holy Spirit that fills us up. May his presence cause our discernment, insight and perception to heighten. Make me familiar with Your voice. Tell what it is you want me to know, right now. Speak truth to me about today. Just today. I'm listening."
Suddenly my ears were filled with David Crowder.
"Can I lie here in Your arms
Can I lie here in Your arms
My only calm is You
Save me"
And then Mat Kearney.
"Do you ever think about me? Do you ever call my name?
Ask me now I'll give you the reasons
My love will not fade
Through the fire and rain, the fire and rain."
And then,
"Where we don't know, though we can't see
Just walk on down this road with me"
I stopped.
Was that my answer?
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest..."
What?
"I will quiet you with my love, rejoice over you with singing."
Oh.
"Is that what You want me to know?" I asked.
"That's what I want you to do," He answered. "I am stronger than you are. I am better at this. I can do immeasurably more. Everything will work out, I promise. Do not be anxious about it. Come, lie in My arms. Rest with me."
-
I didn't run very far.
-
Psalm 62:5 - Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him.
I realized this today. Was able to verbalize this today.
Emotionally exhausted.
And when you mix emotional exhaustion with physical energy, you get confused.
Very confused.
-
I have been racing.
Moving at a crazy pace - figuring I'd adapt eventually.
That my emotional muscles would get stronger and I'd be able to handle more.
And more.
False.
-
It all became reality today when I turned in all my money for my trip to Ethiopia.
An expensive manilla envelope, let me tell you what.
That stress gone, that preoccupation resolved, that prayer answered.
I got back in my car and turned on Shane and Shane and went to meet my dear friend Jenn.
We caught up over Starbucks and then left.
-
By the time I got home, my emotional fortitude was gone.
All my boldness was melting right there in my hands.
And all I wanted to do was to be wrapped up in someone's arms and just be comforted.
But there was no one.
I was tired of thinking. Of feeling. Of analyzing. Of interpreting.
Of wondering.
Of preparing.
Just for a minute I needed it all to stop.
-
I got home and got a hold of Jenn again.
"My heart is tired," I explained to her.
After talking through it a little bit, I decided to go for a run.
Because even in my emotional state, my legs had a lot of energy to be spent.
I would spend it.
"This is what I want you to do," said Jenn. "While you're running, ask God to reveal what He wants you to know for today. Not for tomorrow. Not about yesterday."
Present truth.
(She's found her calling, this friend of mine.)
-
So I went.
-
"Father God, thank you for the gift of the Holy Spirit that fills us up. May his presence cause our discernment, insight and perception to heighten. Make me familiar with Your voice. Tell what it is you want me to know, right now. Speak truth to me about today. Just today. I'm listening."
Suddenly my ears were filled with David Crowder.
"Can I lie here in Your arms
Can I lie here in Your arms
My only calm is You
Save me"
And then Mat Kearney.
"Do you ever think about me? Do you ever call my name?
Ask me now I'll give you the reasons
My love will not fade
Through the fire and rain, the fire and rain."
And then,
"Where we don't know, though we can't see
Just walk on down this road with me"
I stopped.
Was that my answer?
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest..."
What?
"I will quiet you with my love, rejoice over you with singing."
Oh.
"Is that what You want me to know?" I asked.
"That's what I want you to do," He answered. "I am stronger than you are. I am better at this. I can do immeasurably more. Everything will work out, I promise. Do not be anxious about it. Come, lie in My arms. Rest with me."
-
I didn't run very far.
-
Psalm 62:5 - Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Closer than You Think
Something's going on.
Oh please, may this be reality.
May God always be so close.
So evident.
I know that faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we cannot see.
That the Spirit of God is like the wind.
The whole point is that we know Him well enough that when we cannot see Him... we recognize His presence. We can feel His nearness.
-
But He's showing His face right now. Bending low, He's reached for my hand.
I see Him everywhere I go.
I've considered tape recording my prayer time in the morning as I drive to work - just so I have proof of the way He's answered my prayers.
In ways far beyond what I could have asked or imagined.
He's getting creative on me.
-
I feel Him pull away every once in a while, reminding me that I don't know what He's up to all the time.
"Don't even pretend like you understand that, Anna." He'll say to me every once in a while.
And when things get too familiar, He'll shake them up.
He's God.
I am not.
But He has let me familiarize myself with His face.
-
In Ortberg's book "God is Closer than You Think", John compares God to Waldo.
Yes.
As in, "Where's Waldo?"
You open the book and on the first page Waldo is big and obvious.
Get to know him.
The way he dresses, his goofy smile.
Hopefully, you'll get to know him by heart.
Because as the pages turn, you have to do a little looking.
Flip the page.
The closer to the end of the book, the harder he is to locate.
But he is always there.
It is a promise.
The whole point of the book.
Waldo is on every single page.
-
Ortberg tells us that he thinks it is this way with God.
God is everywhere.
On every single page.
But sometimes He is in disguise.
Sometimes, he does not look like we expect Him to.
Sometimes, he is not where we expect to find Him.
Hiding behind things.
Among things.
Our faith, our walk with the Lord, is about learning to recognize His face.
It's about learning to see Him everywhere.
Because He is in all things, which are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, and admirable.
-
God is closer than you think -
He is moving around you.
Maybe He has gone ahead of you and He's asking you to follow.
Maybe He's behind you, giving you a little shove.
Maybe He's beside you, holding your hand.
Maybe He's lifted you up onto His shoulders.
Maybe He's standing right next to you. And you've turned your back to Him.
Wherever He is.
He's close.
Maybe He's quiet.
Maybe He's being very, very still.
Maybe He's laughing out loud, or crying right along with you.
Maybe He's doing a little dance.
-
My prayer is that you would see Him.
That you would know the face of your Father.
You would know the way He moves.
And the way He smells.
You would recognize that rumble of His laughter.
And you would fall still and quiet when He rises.
Never forgetting that He is in all kinds of unexpected places.
Because we are terrible, terrible judges of beauty.
Never forgetting that He moves in all kinds of weird and subtle and chaotic and simple ways.
Ways that are higher than our own.
-
He is in everything.
My prayer for you is that your eyes would be opened.
That your discernment would be heightened so that when you walk into a room, regardless of where "Waldo" is hiding, you might find him.
By the way He moves.
By the way the wind blows as He walks by.
Oh please, may this be reality.
May God always be so close.
So evident.
I know that faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we cannot see.
That the Spirit of God is like the wind.
The whole point is that we know Him well enough that when we cannot see Him... we recognize His presence. We can feel His nearness.
-
But He's showing His face right now. Bending low, He's reached for my hand.
I see Him everywhere I go.
I've considered tape recording my prayer time in the morning as I drive to work - just so I have proof of the way He's answered my prayers.
In ways far beyond what I could have asked or imagined.
He's getting creative on me.
-
I feel Him pull away every once in a while, reminding me that I don't know what He's up to all the time.
"Don't even pretend like you understand that, Anna." He'll say to me every once in a while.
And when things get too familiar, He'll shake them up.
He's God.
I am not.
But He has let me familiarize myself with His face.
-
In Ortberg's book "God is Closer than You Think", John compares God to Waldo.
Yes.
As in, "Where's Waldo?"
You open the book and on the first page Waldo is big and obvious.
Get to know him.
The way he dresses, his goofy smile.
Hopefully, you'll get to know him by heart.
Because as the pages turn, you have to do a little looking.
Flip the page.
The closer to the end of the book, the harder he is to locate.
But he is always there.
It is a promise.
The whole point of the book.
Waldo is on every single page.
-
Ortberg tells us that he thinks it is this way with God.
God is everywhere.
On every single page.
But sometimes He is in disguise.
Sometimes, he does not look like we expect Him to.
Sometimes, he is not where we expect to find Him.
Hiding behind things.
Among things.
Our faith, our walk with the Lord, is about learning to recognize His face.
It's about learning to see Him everywhere.
Because He is in all things, which are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, and admirable.
-
God is closer than you think -
He is moving around you.
Maybe He has gone ahead of you and He's asking you to follow.
Maybe He's behind you, giving you a little shove.
Maybe He's beside you, holding your hand.
Maybe He's lifted you up onto His shoulders.
Maybe He's standing right next to you. And you've turned your back to Him.
Wherever He is.
He's close.
Maybe He's quiet.
Maybe He's being very, very still.
Maybe He's laughing out loud, or crying right along with you.
Maybe He's doing a little dance.
-
My prayer is that you would see Him.
That you would know the face of your Father.
You would know the way He moves.
And the way He smells.
You would recognize that rumble of His laughter.
And you would fall still and quiet when He rises.
Never forgetting that He is in all kinds of unexpected places.
Because we are terrible, terrible judges of beauty.
Never forgetting that He moves in all kinds of weird and subtle and chaotic and simple ways.
Ways that are higher than our own.
-
He is in everything.
My prayer for you is that your eyes would be opened.
That your discernment would be heightened so that when you walk into a room, regardless of where "Waldo" is hiding, you might find him.
By the way He moves.
By the way the wind blows as He walks by.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Faithfulness
Ever since this particular "climb" began with the Father this summer, He has been whispering to me about His faithfulness.
It was a concept that was not fully fleshed out for me. Everywhere I turned I heard Him whisper a new truth. But it had not come full circle. I could not quite grasp the concept.
There is nothing complicated about this.
Nothing absurdly profound.
But tonight I am overwhelmed.
Tonight, it clicked.
Our Father is faithful and just.
My hands are shaking. My heart is so swollen I can barely breathe.
-
Tonight, He has answered prayers ten-fold.
I am swimming in truths about His love.
About His concern for my life - my small, finite life.
How He hears my voice when I call His name.
-
Last night I met my half-way mark for funds for my trip to Ethiopia in two weeks.
Every person that has contributed so far has gone above and beyond - blessing me with their generosity and their thoughtfulness. Bless their hearts, I have been so encouraged.
But as the date grew closer and closer, I began to wonder if I'd raise all $2500.00. Of course I would, I told myself. And I distinctly heard the Father remind me that the closer it gets to February 11th, the more glory He'd get out of providing.
He's dramatic, this God I love.
He likes attention.
So after reaching my half way mark last night I was thoroughly encouraged. This story has been too wonderful, too surreal, for it to be hampered by something as earthly as American dollars.
-
Tonight, exactly the other half of my support money was provided.
Completely unexpectedly.
I was handed an envelope.
And truth exploded inside of me.
He is good, this Father of ours.
"Your love, O LORD, reaches to the heavens, your faithfulness to the skies." (Psalm 37:5)
Because not only was my trip funded in a matter of moments...
but I was reminded of the gift of community I have been given.
I was called a missionary.
I was told I was loved.
And in an instant, had there been any doubt at all, I was sure I had found a place I belonged.
-
All Glory to Him, the Lord of Lords.
-
Upon leaving, one of my best friends hugged me and whispered in my ear "faithful, faithful, faithful".
The tears I had tried to suppress all night long just started falling.
In everything, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, He is faithful.
Whether or not we can see - He is ever faithful.
Something clicked.
-
I believe it.
It was a concept that was not fully fleshed out for me. Everywhere I turned I heard Him whisper a new truth. But it had not come full circle. I could not quite grasp the concept.
There is nothing complicated about this.
Nothing absurdly profound.
But tonight I am overwhelmed.
Tonight, it clicked.
Our Father is faithful and just.
My hands are shaking. My heart is so swollen I can barely breathe.
-
Tonight, He has answered prayers ten-fold.
I am swimming in truths about His love.
About His concern for my life - my small, finite life.
How He hears my voice when I call His name.
-
Last night I met my half-way mark for funds for my trip to Ethiopia in two weeks.
Every person that has contributed so far has gone above and beyond - blessing me with their generosity and their thoughtfulness. Bless their hearts, I have been so encouraged.
But as the date grew closer and closer, I began to wonder if I'd raise all $2500.00. Of course I would, I told myself. And I distinctly heard the Father remind me that the closer it gets to February 11th, the more glory He'd get out of providing.
He's dramatic, this God I love.
He likes attention.
So after reaching my half way mark last night I was thoroughly encouraged. This story has been too wonderful, too surreal, for it to be hampered by something as earthly as American dollars.
-
Tonight, exactly the other half of my support money was provided.
Completely unexpectedly.
I was handed an envelope.
And truth exploded inside of me.
He is good, this Father of ours.
"Your love, O LORD, reaches to the heavens, your faithfulness to the skies." (Psalm 37:5)
Because not only was my trip funded in a matter of moments...
but I was reminded of the gift of community I have been given.
I was called a missionary.
I was told I was loved.
And in an instant, had there been any doubt at all, I was sure I had found a place I belonged.
-
All Glory to Him, the Lord of Lords.
-
Upon leaving, one of my best friends hugged me and whispered in my ear "faithful, faithful, faithful".
The tears I had tried to suppress all night long just started falling.
In everything, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, He is faithful.
Whether or not we can see - He is ever faithful.
Something clicked.
-
I believe it.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Put Me Back Together
I leave in eighteen days.
It is so surreal I'm afraid it's not actually going to happen.
In just a little over two weeks I will be boarding a plane.
Flying over the ocean for the first time.
Embarking on a journey that started at a red light one early Thursday morning.
-
When I started praying Philippians 1:9 over my life and asked God to reveal the risks in my life He wanted me to take.
In a quiet moment, He told me to get my passport.
-
How did I know it was God's voice?
Isn't that what discernment is?
Isn't that what being in love is all about - recognizing the loved one's voice?
But I questioned it.
The randomness. The ambiguity. The vagueness.
I asked what He meant, exactly.
There was some holy laughter as He told me to just do what He said.
He'd explain the rest after that.
-
Circumstances lined up.
I found letters from Africa on my counter.
And heard African drums playing over loudspeakers in coffee shops.
I ran into Andy and he remembered my name.
My dad made plans to get married in the summertime.
-
So after trying to trick God into giving me an answer before dropping $140 on a new passport, I gave in.
And one Wednesday afternoon I went a renewed my passport.
Then went to help ice cakes with my dear friend Jenn.
Who knew nothing about God's voice whispering hints about Africa, about spring time.
I had intentionally not told anyone.
So when Jenn mentioned Southland's trip to Ethiopia in February, my heart stopped.
-
You see?
We listen.
We hear.
But we do not understand.
We sing of His faithfulness.
His goodness.
But do we believe it?
Do we believe that if we surrender to His will that He will continue to get creative with what we've given Him?
I think we forget.
We have an underlying fear that we will hand everything we are over to the Father.
And He'll forget about it.
Let it sit on His shelf and collect dust.
We are afraid He won't have ideas as good as ours, actually.
-
But look.
Examine the life of a person whose life is actually no longer their own.
Who has relinquished the writing utensil.
Who has given up writing their own story and is allowing the author and perfecter of our faith to write them INTO His story.
-
I contacted Andy about going to Africa with the church.
"Why didn't you tell me about this trip before?" I asked him, accusing him of withholding vital information from me.
"The deadline was two weeks ago, Anna." He said. "But we have one spot left. One spot we need to fill. And I've watched you go through this... I've watched you search. And I want you to go. I think you're supposed to go."
The question was no longer whether I was supposed to go to Ethiopia in February or not.
The Father had made Himself abundantly clear.
-
Now, the trip is only eighteen days away.
The first week our small team of 5 will be in Yasow. A village about 16 hours away from the capital city of Addis Ababa. We will be teaching 200 + children how to play sports. Which, in an of itself, is hilarious.
God is just getting a kick out of all of this.
The second week we will be back in Addis. Working in an AIDS orphanage.
Sitting in a coffee shop one day, my friend Liza heard about our plans in Addis.
We joked that the first week, my body is going to break.
And the second week, it's going to be my heart.
And in a moment of despair, I threw my hands up and cried, "I really don't feel like there's anything left in me to break! I feel like all my pieces are already broken!"
Liza, knowing me so well and having walked with me through this past year of my life, got really quiet.
Then she smiled.
"Maybe," she said, " God's going to put you back together then."
-
I leave in eighteen days.
And I've been praying protection over my dreams.
Over my body.
Cautiously taking Psalm 139:23-24 to the throne room.
Wincing, knowing that I may never take that request to the Father and not get a response.
"If you must continue to break me, I pray, do it gently. If the only way for your Spirit to move is to break me further, rearrange my pieces -
please just don't leave me broken."
-
But the beauty of our Father comes in verses 2-6 of that same chapter.
You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel
and when I rest at home.
You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say
even before I say it, Lord.
You go before me and follow me.
You place your hand of blessing on my head.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too great for me to understand!
-
Andy would later tell me that he had been praying that God would fill this open space on the trip with a strong person.
A strong team member.
This terrifies me.
Because I am not strong at all.
But God chose me to fill that spot.
God chose me to whisper to. To test - to see if I would do what He said and ask questions later.
This does not mean I am strong.
No. And this is why I am terrified.
Because this does mean He will make me strong.
And just like patience, loving, and courage - you don't suddenly acquire strength.
You build it.
-
I am not strong.
But God will make me strong.
-
I leave in eighteen days.
God, Abba Father, begin now.
Do what You do.
Please, put me back together.
It is so surreal I'm afraid it's not actually going to happen.
In just a little over two weeks I will be boarding a plane.
Flying over the ocean for the first time.
Embarking on a journey that started at a red light one early Thursday morning.
-
When I started praying Philippians 1:9 over my life and asked God to reveal the risks in my life He wanted me to take.
In a quiet moment, He told me to get my passport.
-
How did I know it was God's voice?
Isn't that what discernment is?
Isn't that what being in love is all about - recognizing the loved one's voice?
But I questioned it.
The randomness. The ambiguity. The vagueness.
I asked what He meant, exactly.
There was some holy laughter as He told me to just do what He said.
He'd explain the rest after that.
-
Circumstances lined up.
I found letters from Africa on my counter.
And heard African drums playing over loudspeakers in coffee shops.
I ran into Andy and he remembered my name.
My dad made plans to get married in the summertime.
-
So after trying to trick God into giving me an answer before dropping $140 on a new passport, I gave in.
And one Wednesday afternoon I went a renewed my passport.
Then went to help ice cakes with my dear friend Jenn.
Who knew nothing about God's voice whispering hints about Africa, about spring time.
I had intentionally not told anyone.
So when Jenn mentioned Southland's trip to Ethiopia in February, my heart stopped.
-
You see?
We listen.
We hear.
But we do not understand.
We sing of His faithfulness.
His goodness.
But do we believe it?
Do we believe that if we surrender to His will that He will continue to get creative with what we've given Him?
I think we forget.
We have an underlying fear that we will hand everything we are over to the Father.
And He'll forget about it.
Let it sit on His shelf and collect dust.
We are afraid He won't have ideas as good as ours, actually.
-
But look.
Examine the life of a person whose life is actually no longer their own.
Who has relinquished the writing utensil.
Who has given up writing their own story and is allowing the author and perfecter of our faith to write them INTO His story.
-
I contacted Andy about going to Africa with the church.
"Why didn't you tell me about this trip before?" I asked him, accusing him of withholding vital information from me.
"The deadline was two weeks ago, Anna." He said. "But we have one spot left. One spot we need to fill. And I've watched you go through this... I've watched you search. And I want you to go. I think you're supposed to go."
The question was no longer whether I was supposed to go to Ethiopia in February or not.
The Father had made Himself abundantly clear.
-
Now, the trip is only eighteen days away.
The first week our small team of 5 will be in Yasow. A village about 16 hours away from the capital city of Addis Ababa. We will be teaching 200 + children how to play sports. Which, in an of itself, is hilarious.
God is just getting a kick out of all of this.
The second week we will be back in Addis. Working in an AIDS orphanage.
Sitting in a coffee shop one day, my friend Liza heard about our plans in Addis.
We joked that the first week, my body is going to break.
And the second week, it's going to be my heart.
And in a moment of despair, I threw my hands up and cried, "I really don't feel like there's anything left in me to break! I feel like all my pieces are already broken!"
Liza, knowing me so well and having walked with me through this past year of my life, got really quiet.
Then she smiled.
"Maybe," she said, " God's going to put you back together then."
-
I leave in eighteen days.
And I've been praying protection over my dreams.
Over my body.
Cautiously taking Psalm 139:23-24 to the throne room.
Wincing, knowing that I may never take that request to the Father and not get a response.
"If you must continue to break me, I pray, do it gently. If the only way for your Spirit to move is to break me further, rearrange my pieces -
please just don't leave me broken."
-
But the beauty of our Father comes in verses 2-6 of that same chapter.
You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel
and when I rest at home.
You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say
even before I say it, Lord.
You go before me and follow me.
You place your hand of blessing on my head.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too great for me to understand!
-
Andy would later tell me that he had been praying that God would fill this open space on the trip with a strong person.
A strong team member.
This terrifies me.
Because I am not strong at all.
But God chose me to fill that spot.
God chose me to whisper to. To test - to see if I would do what He said and ask questions later.
This does not mean I am strong.
No. And this is why I am terrified.
Because this does mean He will make me strong.
And just like patience, loving, and courage - you don't suddenly acquire strength.
You build it.
-
I am not strong.
But God will make me strong.
-
I leave in eighteen days.
God, Abba Father, begin now.
Do what You do.
Please, put me back together.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
How Great
How great is our God?
That He knows our every need, whether we are able to verbalize it or not.
That He knows our hearts, because He designed them to be this way.
"My heart is broken," I tell Him.
"Come close, I can fix that. Remember? I made it."
He orchestrates and designs.
Finding pleasure in our delight and humor in the small things.
How great is our God?
That He created each one of us.
Each one of us who love Him differently.
Who worship Him differently.
Who talk to Him differently.
Who carry Him differently.
So that when we come together, in what we've come to call fellowship, He is manifested in our differences.
Glorified in the many facets of our faces.
How great is our God?
That He wants to be with us even more than we could imagine wanting to be with Him.
That even though we fail Him, He does not falter.
That He loves us enough to let us argue with Him.
And even more so, He loves us enough not to let us stay the way we are.
That when He breaks us, He does not leave us broken.
How great is our God?
That He gave us a choice.
That He doesn't force obedience on us.
Instead, He romances us.
Lavishing us with love and beauty.
Laughing at us sometimes when we think His simplest creations and miracles are His greatest.
How great is our God?
That although we were created just and only to glorify Him,
to praise Him, to worship Him, to serve Him,
He thinks we are incredible.
And He sits on the edge of His seat, waiting for us to do the next incredible thing.
He sits, waiting, for us to call His name.
Because our God is so great, but He would never force His affections on us.
How great is our God?
That even when we plug our ears, turn our faces, sing silly songs to drown out His voice, and run as far as can in the opposite direction ...
He is everywhere.
Subtle.
Blatant.
Exposed.
Hidden.
Intricate.
Simple.
Bold.
Subdued.
Vibrant.
Muted.
He is.
And there is no escaping Him.
How great is our God?
That His heart was filled with joy by His children's jumbled voices.
That when we reach up to Him, His spirit takes hold of ours.
That He did not leave us alone.
That His heart is embodied by a people who call themselves small versions of Him.
So that we can be cradled.
And cared for.
So our scrapes can be kissed and the hair brushed from our eyes.
How great is our God?
That we are the only ones who dare to deny His might.
We are the only ones who dare to suggest He doesn't exist.
Our God is so great,
That He does not need us.
And yet He loves us anyway.
That He knows our every need, whether we are able to verbalize it or not.
That He knows our hearts, because He designed them to be this way.
"My heart is broken," I tell Him.
"Come close, I can fix that. Remember? I made it."
He orchestrates and designs.
Finding pleasure in our delight and humor in the small things.
How great is our God?
That He created each one of us.
Each one of us who love Him differently.
Who worship Him differently.
Who talk to Him differently.
Who carry Him differently.
So that when we come together, in what we've come to call fellowship, He is manifested in our differences.
Glorified in the many facets of our faces.
How great is our God?
That He wants to be with us even more than we could imagine wanting to be with Him.
That even though we fail Him, He does not falter.
That He loves us enough to let us argue with Him.
And even more so, He loves us enough not to let us stay the way we are.
That when He breaks us, He does not leave us broken.
How great is our God?
That He gave us a choice.
That He doesn't force obedience on us.
Instead, He romances us.
Lavishing us with love and beauty.
Laughing at us sometimes when we think His simplest creations and miracles are His greatest.
How great is our God?
That although we were created just and only to glorify Him,
to praise Him, to worship Him, to serve Him,
He thinks we are incredible.
And He sits on the edge of His seat, waiting for us to do the next incredible thing.
He sits, waiting, for us to call His name.
Because our God is so great, but He would never force His affections on us.
How great is our God?
That even when we plug our ears, turn our faces, sing silly songs to drown out His voice, and run as far as can in the opposite direction ...
He is everywhere.
Subtle.
Blatant.
Exposed.
Hidden.
Intricate.
Simple.
Bold.
Subdued.
Vibrant.
Muted.
He is.
And there is no escaping Him.
How great is our God?
That His heart was filled with joy by His children's jumbled voices.
That when we reach up to Him, His spirit takes hold of ours.
That He did not leave us alone.
That His heart is embodied by a people who call themselves small versions of Him.
So that we can be cradled.
And cared for.
So our scrapes can be kissed and the hair brushed from our eyes.
How great is our God?
That we are the only ones who dare to deny His might.
We are the only ones who dare to suggest He doesn't exist.
Our God is so great,
That He does not need us.
And yet He loves us anyway.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Sometimes
Sometimes I wonder why I am still working at my job.
I really hate it. A lot.
I've been there for four and a half years now. And I'm really good at it.
I keep asking if I can leave.
God keeps saying no.
I thought I knew why. I had a pretty good idea as to why He was keeping my butt sitting at that cubicle.
I was wrong.
Well, mostly wrong.
Today, I lost my temper.
She doesn't know that I lost it. She doesn't know the rage that I was feeling. I did a pretty good job at concealing the fact that I wanted to scream at her.
I feel that way a lot.
In my head, I call her ignorant.
I call them racist.
And judgmental.
I count to ten and pick my battles.
But the thoughts in my head, the reaction manifested in my blood pressure...
indicate an issue in my heart.
-
So today, when I turned around and picked a fight with her about racial profiling in the airports, God whispered:
"Anna, baby, why do you think I haven't let you leave here yet? Do ya get it now?"
He's teaching me about patience.
About double standards.
About how to interact and respond to people who think differently than I do.
In a safe environment - where no one's life or well being is on the line.
Before He sends me out to do a job I love.
Because I cannot call her ignorant, I cannot call them judgmental, I cannot accuse them of discriminating - without becoming those very things myself.
I am reminded, yet again, that I am forever a work in progress.
-
My mind has been in deep thought all day long.
Especially since this afternoon.
When my sister called me a Bible-thumper. And I wasn't sure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment.
Because, she's right, I didn't use to be this way.
And now it's kind of ridiculous (maybe even annoying to some) how much my mind lingers on God.
I can't help but think I'm supposed to be this way though. Consumed by Him, obsessed with it, in love with Him.
Part of me is sorry if I wear you out with all of it.
Part of me is not.
-
I know that less than a year ago, I had lost all my joy.
I believed in a God who loved me and a Savior who died on a cross for me.
I loved people, but didn't know them.
I had dreams and no drive.
I was restless and a coward.
And something happened.
Something broke inside of me.
And if you have known me for a while, you remember the mountain I climbed in 2009.
You remember the despair I felt.
I just got lost.
-
But then a savage Jesus came and picked me up in His arms and pulled me out of my own mess.
Through my brokenness He entered and changed everything.
The soil of my heart, the crust of my soul, was broken apart and shaken down and torn loose.
There was pain - like muscles tearing and bones splintering.
Because there was a Spirit outside of me that desperately wanted to join the dormant Spirit inside of me.
And sometimes, healing only comes through breaking.
I really hate it. A lot.
I've been there for four and a half years now. And I'm really good at it.
I keep asking if I can leave.
God keeps saying no.
I thought I knew why. I had a pretty good idea as to why He was keeping my butt sitting at that cubicle.
I was wrong.
Well, mostly wrong.
Today, I lost my temper.
She doesn't know that I lost it. She doesn't know the rage that I was feeling. I did a pretty good job at concealing the fact that I wanted to scream at her.
I feel that way a lot.
In my head, I call her ignorant.
I call them racist.
And judgmental.
I count to ten and pick my battles.
But the thoughts in my head, the reaction manifested in my blood pressure...
indicate an issue in my heart.
-
So today, when I turned around and picked a fight with her about racial profiling in the airports, God whispered:
"Anna, baby, why do you think I haven't let you leave here yet? Do ya get it now?"
He's teaching me about patience.
About double standards.
About how to interact and respond to people who think differently than I do.
In a safe environment - where no one's life or well being is on the line.
Before He sends me out to do a job I love.
Because I cannot call her ignorant, I cannot call them judgmental, I cannot accuse them of discriminating - without becoming those very things myself.
I am reminded, yet again, that I am forever a work in progress.
-
My mind has been in deep thought all day long.
Especially since this afternoon.
When my sister called me a Bible-thumper. And I wasn't sure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment.
Because, she's right, I didn't use to be this way.
And now it's kind of ridiculous (maybe even annoying to some) how much my mind lingers on God.
I can't help but think I'm supposed to be this way though. Consumed by Him, obsessed with it, in love with Him.
Part of me is sorry if I wear you out with all of it.
Part of me is not.
-
I know that less than a year ago, I had lost all my joy.
I believed in a God who loved me and a Savior who died on a cross for me.
I loved people, but didn't know them.
I had dreams and no drive.
I was restless and a coward.
And something happened.
Something broke inside of me.
And if you have known me for a while, you remember the mountain I climbed in 2009.
You remember the despair I felt.
I just got lost.
-
But then a savage Jesus came and picked me up in His arms and pulled me out of my own mess.
Through my brokenness He entered and changed everything.
The soil of my heart, the crust of my soul, was broken apart and shaken down and torn loose.
There was pain - like muscles tearing and bones splintering.
Because there was a Spirit outside of me that desperately wanted to join the dormant Spirit inside of me.
And sometimes, healing only comes through breaking.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Us
His children were dying.
His children were being neglected.
It was not a punishment.
It was not a result of His wrath.
It was not them who needed awakening.
It was not their eyes He wanted to open.
-
It was us.
Our eyes.
Shake us into motion.
We who call ourselves His hands and feet.
We who are filthy rich - prosperous and protected.
-
Get up
His children were being neglected.
It was not a punishment.
It was not a result of His wrath.
It was not them who needed awakening.
It was not their eyes He wanted to open.
-
It was us.
Our eyes.
Shake us into motion.
We who call ourselves His hands and feet.
We who are filthy rich - prosperous and protected.
-
Get up
Monday, January 18, 2010
Tennessee
There is a church on Alumni that puts short quotes on their sign every week. Usually I pay no attention to such signs, but after moving to my new apartment I had to drive past it every single morning on the way to work. I began to notice how each new saying strangely related to my life.
I should have known something was about to happen when on Friday morning, St. Luke's changed their sign.
"God Changes Us".
Oh man.
-
God gave Bonnie a word for me this week.
I had alternate plans for this weekend. But Tuesday rolled around and I got a phone call.
"God wants you in Tennessee this weekend, Anna."
I laughed about this. Because God and I talk all the time. But He hadn't told me that I needed to MAKE a way for myself to get to Gatlinburg.
But He told Bonnie.
Sometimes, the Father uses messengers.
-
It was affirmed in my heart that I was where I needed to be when I walked into the cabin door and was met with cheers and hugs.
The love I have for those people makes my heart swell.
-
I fell asleep last night on a mattress on the floor in the living room.
I woke up occasionally to the sound of my friends laughing as they played cards.
Joy set in.
-
Everyone quietly dispersed to their sleeping spots. Saying goodnight as they passed.
And quietness set in.
But only for a few moments.
Then came the rain.
-
The cabin had a tin roof. So as the fire died in the hearth and I lay half asleep on the floor, I listened as the intensity of the downpour increased and then waned.
Then Bonnie came and laid down on the couch cushions she had fashioned as a cot. And by the light of her headlamp, she read to me before we fell asleep.
"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, ]we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. Everyone who has this hope in him purifies himself, just as he is pure. (1 John 3)
-
But in the middle of the night, I was hit with nightmares.
The first nightmares I've had about my upcoming trip to Ethiopia.
They were dark and quiet and all I remember were severe feelings of loneliness and abandonment.
Only to wake up in the early hours of the morning and find that all the girls who had been sleeping around me on the floor, were gone.
Suddenly those feelings of loneliness and abandonment translated into real life.
However illogical and unfounded... satan had found me in a weak spot. In the vulnerability of my sleeping mind, in the moment when joy had my defenses down, he attacked.
-
But the God we love is more present than any danger (says Charlie Hall), bigger than any fear, stronger than any hurt.
So I pulled out my journal, and in the quietness of the morning, I talked to God about it.
About the way my heart was hurting.
About the things, other than the nightmares, that were burdening me.
-
And suddenly I heard something yelling and heard people running.
"It's a rainbow! Do you see the rainbow?!"
Through the dense fog we could clearly see a rainbow arcing over the cabin.
This brought the tears to my eyes that have been hiding out for months.
-
Because when I saw the rainbow I heard God whisper.
Because I had heard Him talk to me all weekend long and sometimes the words God uses are not easy ones to hear.
But as I looked out the window, He said, "Don't give up hope. I haven't given up on you. This is my blessing on you, my children. I am among you. I condone this fellowship. You are welcome,"
-
The drive home to Kentucky this morning, as well as the afternoon, and then the evening at church, all proved to be conduits of strong emotions. And I had lost all ability to remain stoic.
And for the first time in months, the tears came.
Lots and lots of tears.
-
Because sometimes we cannot see.
Sometimes God chooses not to tell us what comes next in the story.
This develops our faith, our trust in Him. Our lack of vision makes us dependent on Him, the Father. The one who loves us.
Because like Don says, "it is not joy that changes people. Conflict changes people. [We] will be put through hell. [We] will go through hell, and we will change."
I should have known something was about to happen when on Friday morning, St. Luke's changed their sign.
"God Changes Us".
Oh man.
-
God gave Bonnie a word for me this week.
I had alternate plans for this weekend. But Tuesday rolled around and I got a phone call.
"God wants you in Tennessee this weekend, Anna."
I laughed about this. Because God and I talk all the time. But He hadn't told me that I needed to MAKE a way for myself to get to Gatlinburg.
But He told Bonnie.
Sometimes, the Father uses messengers.
-
It was affirmed in my heart that I was where I needed to be when I walked into the cabin door and was met with cheers and hugs.
The love I have for those people makes my heart swell.
-
I fell asleep last night on a mattress on the floor in the living room.
I woke up occasionally to the sound of my friends laughing as they played cards.
Joy set in.
-
Everyone quietly dispersed to their sleeping spots. Saying goodnight as they passed.
And quietness set in.
But only for a few moments.
Then came the rain.
-
The cabin had a tin roof. So as the fire died in the hearth and I lay half asleep on the floor, I listened as the intensity of the downpour increased and then waned.
Then Bonnie came and laid down on the couch cushions she had fashioned as a cot. And by the light of her headlamp, she read to me before we fell asleep.
"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, ]we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. Everyone who has this hope in him purifies himself, just as he is pure. (1 John 3)
-
But in the middle of the night, I was hit with nightmares.
The first nightmares I've had about my upcoming trip to Ethiopia.
They were dark and quiet and all I remember were severe feelings of loneliness and abandonment.
Only to wake up in the early hours of the morning and find that all the girls who had been sleeping around me on the floor, were gone.
Suddenly those feelings of loneliness and abandonment translated into real life.
However illogical and unfounded... satan had found me in a weak spot. In the vulnerability of my sleeping mind, in the moment when joy had my defenses down, he attacked.
-
But the God we love is more present than any danger (says Charlie Hall), bigger than any fear, stronger than any hurt.
So I pulled out my journal, and in the quietness of the morning, I talked to God about it.
About the way my heart was hurting.
About the things, other than the nightmares, that were burdening me.
-
And suddenly I heard something yelling and heard people running.
"It's a rainbow! Do you see the rainbow?!"
Through the dense fog we could clearly see a rainbow arcing over the cabin.
This brought the tears to my eyes that have been hiding out for months.
-
Because when I saw the rainbow I heard God whisper.
Because I had heard Him talk to me all weekend long and sometimes the words God uses are not easy ones to hear.
But as I looked out the window, He said, "Don't give up hope. I haven't given up on you. This is my blessing on you, my children. I am among you. I condone this fellowship. You are welcome,"
-
The drive home to Kentucky this morning, as well as the afternoon, and then the evening at church, all proved to be conduits of strong emotions. And I had lost all ability to remain stoic.
And for the first time in months, the tears came.
Lots and lots of tears.
-
Because sometimes we cannot see.
Sometimes God chooses not to tell us what comes next in the story.
This develops our faith, our trust in Him. Our lack of vision makes us dependent on Him, the Father. The one who loves us.
Because like Don says, "it is not joy that changes people. Conflict changes people. [We] will be put through hell. [We] will go through hell, and we will change."
Friday, January 1, 2010
An End and a Beginning
For last year's words belong to last year's voice. And next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning. -T.S. Eliot
New Years never quite goes as I plan.
And I find myself a little bit restless today.
Some restlessness is good - keeps you moving, striving, trying.
Some restlessness is bad - it comes from the father of lies, demanding you believe falsities and subtle untruths. Causing you to be unable to sit still; which causes you to be unable to hear. This sort of restlessness causes you to be unable to listen.
I am faced with a new decade.
Today is a fresh start. But not really because it is January 1st 2010.
Because today is a new day. A new opportunity. A chance to do better.
And as I sit alone in my apartment, struggling with that second sort of restlessness coursing through my body, I remember something Beth Moore taught me this fall.
We all know God can change our lives. But He also has the ability to change our day.
How often we let ourselves wallow. Let ourselves stew in our own resentment, our own bitterness, our own discontent, our own insecurity. Sometimes we just WANT to be in a bad mood. We actively choose to be hateful, grumpy, sullen, or angry.
So this year, my challenge for myself and for the rest of you, is to let God change your day.
To let yesterday end.
To leave it all there. Whatever happened. Whatever they said. Whoever didn't see you. Whoever rejected you. Whoever offended you. Whatever broke you. Whatever pushed your buttons. Whatever overwhelmed you.
Leave it there.
At the foot of the cross, where the Father God has offered to take it all from us.
I heard on the radio the other day of a group of people who were offered a chance to get rid of all their junk.
An industrial-sized shredder was brought to the site and people lined up for hours to dump their baggage, their junk, and let it be destroyed.
Everything from pictures to scales to credit cards were brought, dumped in the shredder, and the people walked away with a lighter load.
Let 2010 be a year of listening.
Of surrendering.
Of knowing Him better.
Let Him become your delight.
The source of Your joy.
-
So may whatever happened in 2009 have changed you.
May it have catalyzed growth and sparked change and ignited desire.
But everything else, leave it there.
Today, take a step forward.
-
Let Him change your day.
New Years never quite goes as I plan.
And I find myself a little bit restless today.
Some restlessness is good - keeps you moving, striving, trying.
Some restlessness is bad - it comes from the father of lies, demanding you believe falsities and subtle untruths. Causing you to be unable to sit still; which causes you to be unable to hear. This sort of restlessness causes you to be unable to listen.
I am faced with a new decade.
Today is a fresh start. But not really because it is January 1st 2010.
Because today is a new day. A new opportunity. A chance to do better.
And as I sit alone in my apartment, struggling with that second sort of restlessness coursing through my body, I remember something Beth Moore taught me this fall.
We all know God can change our lives. But He also has the ability to change our day.
How often we let ourselves wallow. Let ourselves stew in our own resentment, our own bitterness, our own discontent, our own insecurity. Sometimes we just WANT to be in a bad mood. We actively choose to be hateful, grumpy, sullen, or angry.
So this year, my challenge for myself and for the rest of you, is to let God change your day.
To let yesterday end.
To leave it all there. Whatever happened. Whatever they said. Whoever didn't see you. Whoever rejected you. Whoever offended you. Whatever broke you. Whatever pushed your buttons. Whatever overwhelmed you.
Leave it there.
At the foot of the cross, where the Father God has offered to take it all from us.
I heard on the radio the other day of a group of people who were offered a chance to get rid of all their junk.
An industrial-sized shredder was brought to the site and people lined up for hours to dump their baggage, their junk, and let it be destroyed.
Everything from pictures to scales to credit cards were brought, dumped in the shredder, and the people walked away with a lighter load.
Let 2010 be a year of listening.
Of surrendering.
Of knowing Him better.
Let Him become your delight.
The source of Your joy.
-
So may whatever happened in 2009 have changed you.
May it have catalyzed growth and sparked change and ignited desire.
But everything else, leave it there.
Today, take a step forward.
-
Let Him change your day.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Mission Trip: Ethiopia
Dear Family and Friends,
I am going to Ethiopia!
My heart is full even as I write those words; I am so excited about the story God is letting me be a part of this winter.
Four teammates and I are leaving on February 11th 2010 for Ethiopia. We will be flying into the rural village of Yasow and working with the villagers for one week. The plan is to conduct a sports camp with the local school. There are two tribes who are native to Yasow, and these tribes’ native languages are not written down anywhere. Their religion, their culture, is all a part of an oral tradition. The missionaries who are working with the church in Yasow are teaching the people about Jesus through storytelling. The second week our team will be going to the capital city of Addis Ababa and working at the CMF International (Christian Missionary Fellowship) compound as well as an AIDS orphanage in the city. We will be returning on the 27th.
I am here to ask you for your partnership. I need you to come along beside me as I prepare to leave the country, specifically in prayer. Throughout this entire first part of my journey prayer has been what has guided me. And while God has heard me and blessed my prayers so far, I need you to join in with me. As a team we are going to need great amounts of discernment and courage on this trip; as well as physical and spiritual strength.
Second to my need for your prayerful support, I also need financial support. My individual trip will cost $2500.00, which includes airfare, lodging, and food for two weeks. For those of you who are reading this online, if you choose to support me financially, let me know and I will send you instructions on where and how to send any money. Any donations are tax deductible.
This has been a season in my life of giving up control and letting God write the story of my life for me. He is so much more creative than I am. By partnering with me, you will also play a part in this great story He is writing. Just like a church and a body requires many parts to make it work, so does a missions team.
I have incredible peace about this journey that God has me on today. As this year comes quickly to an end and 2010 approaches, I have only great anticipation about this upcoming trip. I can’t wait to see how God is working in Africa, not to mention how God will work in my own heart.
Grace and peace,
Anna Vaughan
I am going to Ethiopia!
My heart is full even as I write those words; I am so excited about the story God is letting me be a part of this winter.
Four teammates and I are leaving on February 11th 2010 for Ethiopia. We will be flying into the rural village of Yasow and working with the villagers for one week. The plan is to conduct a sports camp with the local school. There are two tribes who are native to Yasow, and these tribes’ native languages are not written down anywhere. Their religion, their culture, is all a part of an oral tradition. The missionaries who are working with the church in Yasow are teaching the people about Jesus through storytelling. The second week our team will be going to the capital city of Addis Ababa and working at the CMF International (Christian Missionary Fellowship) compound as well as an AIDS orphanage in the city. We will be returning on the 27th.
I am here to ask you for your partnership. I need you to come along beside me as I prepare to leave the country, specifically in prayer. Throughout this entire first part of my journey prayer has been what has guided me. And while God has heard me and blessed my prayers so far, I need you to join in with me. As a team we are going to need great amounts of discernment and courage on this trip; as well as physical and spiritual strength.
Second to my need for your prayerful support, I also need financial support. My individual trip will cost $2500.00, which includes airfare, lodging, and food for two weeks. For those of you who are reading this online, if you choose to support me financially, let me know and I will send you instructions on where and how to send any money. Any donations are tax deductible.
This has been a season in my life of giving up control and letting God write the story of my life for me. He is so much more creative than I am. By partnering with me, you will also play a part in this great story He is writing. Just like a church and a body requires many parts to make it work, so does a missions team.
I have incredible peace about this journey that God has me on today. As this year comes quickly to an end and 2010 approaches, I have only great anticipation about this upcoming trip. I can’t wait to see how God is working in Africa, not to mention how God will work in my own heart.
Grace and peace,
Anna Vaughan
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Donuts
God speaks to me through donuts.
Or maybe it is that I see God in ordinary things.
Or He waits to be profound when I'm thinking about something else entirely.
But all the same,
God speaks to me through donuts.
-
I was sitting at my usual Saturday morning bakery, reading John Ortberg's book, "God is closer than you think".
"We may ignore, but we cannot evade, the presence of God. The world is crowded with him. He walks everywhere incognito. And the incognito is not always easy to penetrate. The real labor is to remember to attend." (Nicholi)
People were streaming in and out, families, cyclists, students, and children. I smile, thinking about how breakfast unites people. The lawyer who is a regular just like me walks by, and then here comes the tattooed, thirty-something wearing a zip up hoodie.
I keep reading.
Until a family of three walks in.
Mom, Dad, and a 5 year old son.
They walk up to the counter and buy a dozen donuts. The donuts get packaged in one of those large, flat boxes. Mom heads for the door. Dad grabs the big box and the son follows him.
I watch as, about halfway across the bakery, the son reaches up for the box. "Let me carry it, " he asks his dad, excitedly. He reaches his little arms up and grabs the box and tries to put it under his arm. Sideways.
Dad lets go only momentarily, knowing exactly what is about to happen.
When the box starts to slip from the little boys hands, Dad grabs the box at either end.
Leveling the box of breakfast treats, Dad stands over the son, and together they start walking to the door.
The whole time, Dad is holding the box firmly in his hands. While the son walks underneath the box, his arms stretched up as far as they'll reach, his fingertips pushing on the bottom of the box.
Proudly, they walk out of the bakery together.
-
God snapped His fingers in my ear.
The whole bakery stood still for a minute as I watched this metaphor walk out the door.
"Once you see God in an ordinary moment at an ordinary place, you never know where He'll show up next. (Ortberg)"
He is carrying the weight.
He is controlling what I cannot handle on my own.
I may stretch and reach, He may even let me help, let me walk along with my fingertips brushing against it...
but in the end, He has it in His hands.
-
There is a recurrent theme about the lessons He is teaching me in this season.
He is using donuts to speak to me.
Or maybe it is that I see God in ordinary things.
Or He waits to be profound when I'm thinking about something else entirely.
But all the same,
God speaks to me through donuts.
-
I was sitting at my usual Saturday morning bakery, reading John Ortberg's book, "God is closer than you think".
"We may ignore, but we cannot evade, the presence of God. The world is crowded with him. He walks everywhere incognito. And the incognito is not always easy to penetrate. The real labor is to remember to attend." (Nicholi)
People were streaming in and out, families, cyclists, students, and children. I smile, thinking about how breakfast unites people. The lawyer who is a regular just like me walks by, and then here comes the tattooed, thirty-something wearing a zip up hoodie.
I keep reading.
Until a family of three walks in.
Mom, Dad, and a 5 year old son.
They walk up to the counter and buy a dozen donuts. The donuts get packaged in one of those large, flat boxes. Mom heads for the door. Dad grabs the big box and the son follows him.
I watch as, about halfway across the bakery, the son reaches up for the box. "Let me carry it, " he asks his dad, excitedly. He reaches his little arms up and grabs the box and tries to put it under his arm. Sideways.
Dad lets go only momentarily, knowing exactly what is about to happen.
When the box starts to slip from the little boys hands, Dad grabs the box at either end.
Leveling the box of breakfast treats, Dad stands over the son, and together they start walking to the door.
The whole time, Dad is holding the box firmly in his hands. While the son walks underneath the box, his arms stretched up as far as they'll reach, his fingertips pushing on the bottom of the box.
Proudly, they walk out of the bakery together.
-
God snapped His fingers in my ear.
The whole bakery stood still for a minute as I watched this metaphor walk out the door.
"Once you see God in an ordinary moment at an ordinary place, you never know where He'll show up next. (Ortberg)"
He is carrying the weight.
He is controlling what I cannot handle on my own.
I may stretch and reach, He may even let me help, let me walk along with my fingertips brushing against it...
but in the end, He has it in His hands.
-
There is a recurrent theme about the lessons He is teaching me in this season.
He is using donuts to speak to me.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Running
I have already set a few goals for myself for 2010.
One of them was to run a race. Of any length. Just a race.
For so many reasons. But one of them being because I always thought I couldn't.
Ever since I was thirteen, I told myself that I could not run.
I remember standing on a mountain in Kingdom Come and my entire body shaking because I could not get oxygen in. My lungs would not fill with air.
I remember singing as I hiked the Sheltowee, just trying to catch my breath.
These times are overshadowed every single time I run farther than I thought I could.
And now I've reached a point where my obstacles are all in my head.
-
But I cannot get over them on my own.
I hit my limit and cannot make myself go further.
I dont know how to make myself keep running.
I can't keep running alone.
-
This is the same point I have reached in my own life.
I need someone to "run" with.
Someone who will make me keep going.
To keep breathing.
To quicken or slow my pace.
-
This time, I don't mean a husband.
I don't mean a life partner.
I mean a role model.
A mentor, for a lack of a better word.
-
I have a mother. A wonderful, beautiful one.
I dont need another one of those.
But I need a woman I can look up to.
Someone who has been what I am going through.
And made it out alive.
A woman who can say, "yes, I remember that". Rather than, "oh yes, me too."
Someone I trust.
Someone who will push me to be a godly woman. To write a good story for my life. Who will teach me.
-
I have been talking with God about this a lot lately.
This desire is one of my greatest right now. Mostly because it stems from a great need.
But searching for a woman like that is one of the most difficult things I've ever done.
But God only knows how much I need this right now.
-
Just as much as I need someone who knows how to run.
Who can run farther than I can because they have already done it.
So that when I want to quit - so that when I get tired - there is someone there to tell me to keep going.
One of them was to run a race. Of any length. Just a race.
For so many reasons. But one of them being because I always thought I couldn't.
Ever since I was thirteen, I told myself that I could not run.
I remember standing on a mountain in Kingdom Come and my entire body shaking because I could not get oxygen in. My lungs would not fill with air.
I remember singing as I hiked the Sheltowee, just trying to catch my breath.
These times are overshadowed every single time I run farther than I thought I could.
And now I've reached a point where my obstacles are all in my head.
-
But I cannot get over them on my own.
I hit my limit and cannot make myself go further.
I dont know how to make myself keep running.
I can't keep running alone.
-
This is the same point I have reached in my own life.
I need someone to "run" with.
Someone who will make me keep going.
To keep breathing.
To quicken or slow my pace.
-
This time, I don't mean a husband.
I don't mean a life partner.
I mean a role model.
A mentor, for a lack of a better word.
-
I have a mother. A wonderful, beautiful one.
I dont need another one of those.
But I need a woman I can look up to.
Someone who has been what I am going through.
And made it out alive.
A woman who can say, "yes, I remember that". Rather than, "oh yes, me too."
Someone I trust.
Someone who will push me to be a godly woman. To write a good story for my life. Who will teach me.
-
I have been talking with God about this a lot lately.
This desire is one of my greatest right now. Mostly because it stems from a great need.
But searching for a woman like that is one of the most difficult things I've ever done.
But God only knows how much I need this right now.
-
Just as much as I need someone who knows how to run.
Who can run farther than I can because they have already done it.
So that when I want to quit - so that when I get tired - there is someone there to tell me to keep going.
Treasure
"Here is everything," I whisper. I feel like by the time I've thrown away the things I don't need there's not much left. But what I hand over is heavy.
He gathers it all up in His arms and smiles at me. "Thank you for doing that. I know it was hard for you." He looks down at the load and shakes His head knowingly. "There's a lot we can do with this. Just you wait..."
He sorted through my stuff. Organized. Rearranged. He took a few things apart. Reassembled things I had broken a long time ago. Brushed off the dust. I heard a lot of loud noises. I felt awkward standing there. Empty handed. My shoulders strangely light without the burden.
He turned back around, with a grin on His face that only hinted at how proud He was.
"Come on, let's take a look," He called to me.
And to my surprise, He handed some of my things back.
"I want to see what you'll do with this," He said.
I barely recognized it. But it was mine. And my mind flooded with ideas and a tinge of fear.
He handed me another.
"Get creative with this one," He laughed. Obviously pleased with this new thing He'd made from my old junk.
Before long, He'd handed most of my stuff back to me.
It fit better in my arms this time. Shiny and new and shaped different. I recognized some of it as my own. But He'd done a brand new thing with other pieces.
But something was missing.
I looked around, a bit frantic.
My most precious thing.
The thing I'd had the hardest time handing over in the first place.
"Where is it?" I asked, panicked.
"It's right here, love. Don't worry..." I saw Him cradling it in His arms.
"Can I have it back too?" I was almost willing to drop the other beautiful things onto the floor just to get a hold of that one thing again.
He shook His head slowly. "You gave everything to me, remember? And this is what you love the most. Which is wonderful... I made you to want this. I made you to love this. But, because you do love it so much, I'm going to take care of it for you. Because I can do that better than you can. Trust me. I know how special it is to you."
(Luke 12:34)
He gathers it all up in His arms and smiles at me. "Thank you for doing that. I know it was hard for you." He looks down at the load and shakes His head knowingly. "There's a lot we can do with this. Just you wait..."
He sorted through my stuff. Organized. Rearranged. He took a few things apart. Reassembled things I had broken a long time ago. Brushed off the dust. I heard a lot of loud noises. I felt awkward standing there. Empty handed. My shoulders strangely light without the burden.
He turned back around, with a grin on His face that only hinted at how proud He was.
"Come on, let's take a look," He called to me.
And to my surprise, He handed some of my things back.
"I want to see what you'll do with this," He said.
I barely recognized it. But it was mine. And my mind flooded with ideas and a tinge of fear.
He handed me another.
"Get creative with this one," He laughed. Obviously pleased with this new thing He'd made from my old junk.
Before long, He'd handed most of my stuff back to me.
It fit better in my arms this time. Shiny and new and shaped different. I recognized some of it as my own. But He'd done a brand new thing with other pieces.
But something was missing.
I looked around, a bit frantic.
My most precious thing.
The thing I'd had the hardest time handing over in the first place.
"Where is it?" I asked, panicked.
"It's right here, love. Don't worry..." I saw Him cradling it in His arms.
"Can I have it back too?" I was almost willing to drop the other beautiful things onto the floor just to get a hold of that one thing again.
He shook His head slowly. "You gave everything to me, remember? And this is what you love the most. Which is wonderful... I made you to want this. I made you to love this. But, because you do love it so much, I'm going to take care of it for you. Because I can do that better than you can. Trust me. I know how special it is to you."
(Luke 12:34)
Thursday, December 3, 2009
When We Help Ourselves
ometimes the greatest risk we can take is to sit still.
Sometimes what takes the most courage in our lives is not doing anything at all.
Sometimes the greatest step of faith can be letting God call the shots.
-
I am in awe of the way our memories work. I am capable of absorbing something, but not processing it, only to have it resurface months and months later to teach me a lesson. As if I have a reservoir where God keeps special things: "this will go here for now, until later when I need it."
Back in July I went to New York City for a few days with Southland on a mission trip. To wrap the weekend up, we went to a service at our sister church Forefront, which meets in the Blender Theater That morning, the minister taught using Genesis 16.
About Abram and Sarai, whom God had promised to bless with a child. But they became impatient, or downright doubtful of God's promise (because Sarai was getting very old). In their impatience Abram and Sarai took matters into their own hands.
What happens when we try and help ourselves along, outside of the will of God, is we get results. Things happen, change, and move. But not according to Plan.
So a child was born.
But not the child God had planned - not the child He had promised.
-
I remember sitting in New York and listening to the minister talk about how God's plan is better than ours. That we have to be patient for it to come to fruition. That we can, in fact, expedite things with our own actions.
But sometimes, God calls us to wait.
Sometimes, every fiber of our being is telling us to move. Causing anxiety or an irrational sense of urgency. But the Lord is telling us to be still. To hold on just one minute and let Him do what He does.
You see, God would later give Abram and Sarai (or Abraham and Sarah) a son. Just like He had promised. On His own time, in a way that brought Him glory, despite their laughter and serious doubt. Isaac was born. The child He had promised.
-
I have been praying God would open my eyes to the risks He wants me to take. That He would reveal the first step and give me the courage to take it.
This prayer is why I am going to Ethiopia in February.
Sometimes risks involve action. God-centered, God-driven, God-inspired action. We are required to move, to do, to go.
Sometimes God gives us creative license and He only gives us guidelines. Especially when we have come so far in our faith, our delight truly is in Him. Our hearts really are so close to His they almost cannot be separated.
But nowhere in the His word does our God promise that He will "help those who help themselves".
There is a fine line. As always.
And every day is different.
It requires heightened discernment to tell the difference.
But some days...
The very calling on our life is to sit still.
To hold out our open hands and wait.
This takes more courage than you might know. And this takes more patience than you might have.
This might be the greatest risk of all.
To surrender something in prayer.
And then, with hope...
wait.
Sometimes what takes the most courage in our lives is not doing anything at all.
Sometimes the greatest step of faith can be letting God call the shots.
-
I am in awe of the way our memories work. I am capable of absorbing something, but not processing it, only to have it resurface months and months later to teach me a lesson. As if I have a reservoir where God keeps special things: "this will go here for now, until later when I need it."
Back in July I went to New York City for a few days with Southland on a mission trip. To wrap the weekend up, we went to a service at our sister church Forefront, which meets in the Blender Theater That morning, the minister taught using Genesis 16.
About Abram and Sarai, whom God had promised to bless with a child. But they became impatient, or downright doubtful of God's promise (because Sarai was getting very old). In their impatience Abram and Sarai took matters into their own hands.
What happens when we try and help ourselves along, outside of the will of God, is we get results. Things happen, change, and move. But not according to Plan.
So a child was born.
But not the child God had planned - not the child He had promised.
-
I remember sitting in New York and listening to the minister talk about how God's plan is better than ours. That we have to be patient for it to come to fruition. That we can, in fact, expedite things with our own actions.
But sometimes, God calls us to wait.
Sometimes, every fiber of our being is telling us to move. Causing anxiety or an irrational sense of urgency. But the Lord is telling us to be still. To hold on just one minute and let Him do what He does.
You see, God would later give Abram and Sarai (or Abraham and Sarah) a son. Just like He had promised. On His own time, in a way that brought Him glory, despite their laughter and serious doubt. Isaac was born. The child He had promised.
-
I have been praying God would open my eyes to the risks He wants me to take. That He would reveal the first step and give me the courage to take it.
This prayer is why I am going to Ethiopia in February.
Sometimes risks involve action. God-centered, God-driven, God-inspired action. We are required to move, to do, to go.
Sometimes God gives us creative license and He only gives us guidelines. Especially when we have come so far in our faith, our delight truly is in Him. Our hearts really are so close to His they almost cannot be separated.
But nowhere in the His word does our God promise that He will "help those who help themselves".
There is a fine line. As always.
And every day is different.
It requires heightened discernment to tell the difference.
But some days...
The very calling on our life is to sit still.
To hold out our open hands and wait.
This takes more courage than you might know. And this takes more patience than you might have.
This might be the greatest risk of all.
To surrender something in prayer.
And then, with hope...
wait.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Return to the Mountain
My mind has been racing all day long.
It's been a while since I've been overwhelmed with thoughts like this.
Coming at me from all directions, I cannot make sense of any of them.
I got this crazy idea to go back to school today. Which, isn't really a crazy idea. But it was out of the blue. Kind of irrational. So I did some looking around tonight. And lost all my peace. There was my answer. Even as the stress was rising into my armpits, I knew God was telling me what I needed to know.
I had made the right decision a few months ago when I decided to take a break. Earlier, I had heard correctly. Because of the Spirit inside of me, I was able to discern the will of God. Now, my own flesh tried to get in the way of that plan today. But no. I would return to the peace He had provided. Even now, I am letting Him quiet me with His love. There is a reason for all things. I will wait.
Earlier in the year, I was climbing a mountain. Proverbially speaking - I was not in a valley, I was climbing a mountain. Ever getting closer to God. Muscles tired, out of breath. I prayed for reprieve and finally, He sent it. I've been living in this restful period or on this level trail for a few weeks now.
But today, I felt Him whisper. "Time to get up! Time to keep moving! Up, get up!"
So here we go again. Ever climbing. From glory to glory, we are reaching for the Father.
Climbing up a ladder, only to go back down and start over.
I thought I knew a lot about the character of God. Granted, I know more now than I did six months ago. But I have yet to make a dent in the character of God.
So.
My mind races. A lot of prayers sift through my mind during the day. I don't know when He will let me rest again. But every step brings me closer to Him.
Every crazy idea, every tangent, every scenic overlook... a chance to explore His faithfulness and His will for my life.
One foot in front of the other.
Here I go.
It's been a while since I've been overwhelmed with thoughts like this.
Coming at me from all directions, I cannot make sense of any of them.
I got this crazy idea to go back to school today. Which, isn't really a crazy idea. But it was out of the blue. Kind of irrational. So I did some looking around tonight. And lost all my peace. There was my answer. Even as the stress was rising into my armpits, I knew God was telling me what I needed to know.
I had made the right decision a few months ago when I decided to take a break. Earlier, I had heard correctly. Because of the Spirit inside of me, I was able to discern the will of God. Now, my own flesh tried to get in the way of that plan today. But no. I would return to the peace He had provided. Even now, I am letting Him quiet me with His love. There is a reason for all things. I will wait.
Earlier in the year, I was climbing a mountain. Proverbially speaking - I was not in a valley, I was climbing a mountain. Ever getting closer to God. Muscles tired, out of breath. I prayed for reprieve and finally, He sent it. I've been living in this restful period or on this level trail for a few weeks now.
But today, I felt Him whisper. "Time to get up! Time to keep moving! Up, get up!"
So here we go again. Ever climbing. From glory to glory, we are reaching for the Father.
Climbing up a ladder, only to go back down and start over.
I thought I knew a lot about the character of God. Granted, I know more now than I did six months ago. But I have yet to make a dent in the character of God.
So.
My mind races. A lot of prayers sift through my mind during the day. I don't know when He will let me rest again. But every step brings me closer to Him.
Every crazy idea, every tangent, every scenic overlook... a chance to explore His faithfulness and His will for my life.
One foot in front of the other.
Here I go.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Spiritually Busted
Over the past few weeks, the Sermon on the Mount has been on my heart.
I cling to the understanding that the poor in spirit will inherit the kingdom of Heaven, and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness will be filled.
Not those who have achieved a state of righteousness.
But those who realize how much they lack. How much they fail and fall short, and yet desire so much more.
-
I walked into church this morning to work the cafe and heard Mike say, "blessed are those...."
And my heart burst.
I waited all day to hear the Beatitudes unpacked.
Even as I was passing our bulletins at 608 tonight, I got antsy.
I needed to be in my safe place.
To go and sit with the Father and learn.
I just knew He would meet me.
-
And He did. As He promises He will do when we seek.
I felt the Spirit move.
"My heart turned violently inside of my chest".
-
Mike taught about Matthew 5.
Sharing a lot of insight and wisdom and a lot of humor.
And I gained an understanding using a ladder analogy.
Walking away with a grasp on the concept that we must relive these steps over and over again.
Climb to the top and then return to the bottom to do it again.
Routinely hunger and thirst.
Perpetually give God the bridle to our wild hearts.
Repeatedly empty out our pockets and come up with lint.
-
But it wasn't until I stood in the middle of Fazoli's parking lot tonight, with the last of November rain spitting in my face, that I understood what He wanted me to learn tonight.
The wind blew and blew.
The Spirit moved.
And I recapped the day. Last night. This holiday weekend.
Days filled with community.
With joy and happiness.
With laughter and deep, trusting conversations centered around our Father's work.
-
But when the Spirit moves, satan attacks.
And our spirits were tried and tested today.
We were beaten up.
-
But in the very face of attack, our fellowship strengthened.
Some of us spent the afternoon in a hammock, or on the floor in the hallway, or standing in the rain at Fazolis.
We surrounded one another, pouring love and encouragement into one another's lives.
By this, I believe the Father was glorified.
This was the lesson He wanted me to learn.
-
Tonight, we have won the battle.
The mouths of the lions have been shut.
I cling to the understanding that the poor in spirit will inherit the kingdom of Heaven, and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness will be filled.
Not those who have achieved a state of righteousness.
But those who realize how much they lack. How much they fail and fall short, and yet desire so much more.
-
I walked into church this morning to work the cafe and heard Mike say, "blessed are those...."
And my heart burst.
I waited all day to hear the Beatitudes unpacked.
Even as I was passing our bulletins at 608 tonight, I got antsy.
I needed to be in my safe place.
To go and sit with the Father and learn.
I just knew He would meet me.
-
And He did. As He promises He will do when we seek.
I felt the Spirit move.
"My heart turned violently inside of my chest".
-
Mike taught about Matthew 5.
Sharing a lot of insight and wisdom and a lot of humor.
And I gained an understanding using a ladder analogy.
Walking away with a grasp on the concept that we must relive these steps over and over again.
Climb to the top and then return to the bottom to do it again.
Routinely hunger and thirst.
Perpetually give God the bridle to our wild hearts.
Repeatedly empty out our pockets and come up with lint.
-
But it wasn't until I stood in the middle of Fazoli's parking lot tonight, with the last of November rain spitting in my face, that I understood what He wanted me to learn tonight.
The wind blew and blew.
The Spirit moved.
And I recapped the day. Last night. This holiday weekend.
Days filled with community.
With joy and happiness.
With laughter and deep, trusting conversations centered around our Father's work.
-
But when the Spirit moves, satan attacks.
And our spirits were tried and tested today.
We were beaten up.
-
But in the very face of attack, our fellowship strengthened.
Some of us spent the afternoon in a hammock, or on the floor in the hallway, or standing in the rain at Fazolis.
We surrounded one another, pouring love and encouragement into one another's lives.
By this, I believe the Father was glorified.
This was the lesson He wanted me to learn.
-
Tonight, we have won the battle.
The mouths of the lions have been shut.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Thanksgiving 2009
Things change.
Even as I sit down to write this, my mind is flooded with memories.
It used to snow in Kentucky on Thanksgiving.
And we used to all pile in the mini van and take the "long" way from Long Avenue to Severn Way.
For years and years, things remained the same.
So much the same that I cannot differentiate between the years.
-
Things change.
We tried to keep it from happening for a season.
Tried to pretend that the very make-up of our family dynamic hadn't been shattered.
Tried to pretend like our lives could continue on as they had for decades.
But you can only pretend for so long.
You can only avoid change for a while,
before your very body starts to respond.
-
Things change.
On my own, I began the painful process of untying the binds.
I felt like the only one.
The only one willing to close the door and walk away.
But it needed to happen.
-
Things change.
And I began to realize that one of the greatest signs of maturity, one of the greatest indicators of growing up, was an ability to love the essence of something.
To tell the difference between love of tradition and a love of comfort and normalcy.
As the holiday season approached, I felt an increasing sense of dread rise up in my chest.
This is not how I'm supposed to feel, I kept thinking.
I should be thankful and full of joy.
But we were trying to put new wine in old wineskin.
We were trying so desperately to hold on to something -
for the sake of our own hearts, for the sake of our own comfort.
-
So, with one swift motion, I cut the cord.
The holidays are about you, the people I love.
You, the ones my heart adores.
And I couldn't care less about the china we use, or the time we eat dinner, or what casseroles are served.
-
Things change.
In the past few years, my life has changed drastically.
The lives of the people I love have been dramatically altered.
We could have never known we'd be here, today.
Because we are not that creative.
Because our ideas are not that great.
You see,
You can't make this stuff up.
-
So for the first time ever, I enjoyed multiple Thanksgiving dinners.
On Wednesday I was in Winchester. With additional family members and guests and tables set up in the living room.
On Wednesday night, a question was asked and a promise was made.
Yes. Absolutely. Always.
On Thursday, I went to a new house for Thanksgiving.
And read a book. Which made me cry.
Loved on three little girls.
Before heading to the place that I grew up.
The only place of consistency in my life.
-
And even Severn Way had changed.
-
I was handed a glass of wine.
And we laughed until our sides hurt as Betty raced up the back lawn in her scooter, trying to get up to the second floor for the first time in a year.
We were missing a sister.
And we had added a brother.
Some time in the afternoon, three of my favorite women in the world darkened the door of my childhood for the first time.
Family.
They are my family. They are my loves. They are part of my story.
-
Things change.
But some things do not.
My love for you is one of those things.
-
But my Father in Heaven knows my heart.
And as the evening wound down and we sat with full bellies, laughing in the basement,
I watched as my sister walked upstairs.
In just a moment, I heard her slide the piano stool across the floor.
And I almost cried as she started playing Carol of the Bells.
She'd never been the one to make the music before.
-
"When you tell a story you automatically talk about traditions, but they're never separate from the people, the human implications. You're talking about your connections as a human being." Gayl Jones
Even as I sit down to write this, my mind is flooded with memories.
It used to snow in Kentucky on Thanksgiving.
And we used to all pile in the mini van and take the "long" way from Long Avenue to Severn Way.
For years and years, things remained the same.
So much the same that I cannot differentiate between the years.
-
Things change.
We tried to keep it from happening for a season.
Tried to pretend that the very make-up of our family dynamic hadn't been shattered.
Tried to pretend like our lives could continue on as they had for decades.
But you can only pretend for so long.
You can only avoid change for a while,
before your very body starts to respond.
-
Things change.
On my own, I began the painful process of untying the binds.
I felt like the only one.
The only one willing to close the door and walk away.
But it needed to happen.
-
Things change.
And I began to realize that one of the greatest signs of maturity, one of the greatest indicators of growing up, was an ability to love the essence of something.
To tell the difference between love of tradition and a love of comfort and normalcy.
As the holiday season approached, I felt an increasing sense of dread rise up in my chest.
This is not how I'm supposed to feel, I kept thinking.
I should be thankful and full of joy.
But we were trying to put new wine in old wineskin.
We were trying so desperately to hold on to something -
for the sake of our own hearts, for the sake of our own comfort.
-
So, with one swift motion, I cut the cord.
The holidays are about you, the people I love.
You, the ones my heart adores.
And I couldn't care less about the china we use, or the time we eat dinner, or what casseroles are served.
-
Things change.
In the past few years, my life has changed drastically.
The lives of the people I love have been dramatically altered.
We could have never known we'd be here, today.
Because we are not that creative.
Because our ideas are not that great.
You see,
You can't make this stuff up.
-
So for the first time ever, I enjoyed multiple Thanksgiving dinners.
On Wednesday I was in Winchester. With additional family members and guests and tables set up in the living room.
On Wednesday night, a question was asked and a promise was made.
Yes. Absolutely. Always.
On Thursday, I went to a new house for Thanksgiving.
And read a book. Which made me cry.
Loved on three little girls.
Before heading to the place that I grew up.
The only place of consistency in my life.
-
And even Severn Way had changed.
-
I was handed a glass of wine.
And we laughed until our sides hurt as Betty raced up the back lawn in her scooter, trying to get up to the second floor for the first time in a year.
We were missing a sister.
And we had added a brother.
Some time in the afternoon, three of my favorite women in the world darkened the door of my childhood for the first time.
Family.
They are my family. They are my loves. They are part of my story.
-
Things change.
But some things do not.
My love for you is one of those things.
-
But my Father in Heaven knows my heart.
And as the evening wound down and we sat with full bellies, laughing in the basement,
I watched as my sister walked upstairs.
In just a moment, I heard her slide the piano stool across the floor.
And I almost cried as she started playing Carol of the Bells.
She'd never been the one to make the music before.
-
"When you tell a story you automatically talk about traditions, but they're never separate from the people, the human implications. You're talking about your connections as a human being." Gayl Jones
Goodnight
I am going non-stop.
All the time.
Until it is time to sleep.
There for a while I was staying up past midnight.
Getting up at 5:30 in the morning and wondering why I would almost fall asleep on the way to work.
I had forgotten what it meant, what it felt like, to be rested.
Until one evening I walked into my apartment, plugged my phone into the charger, and immediately crawled into bed.
Almost seven hours of sleep.
I awoke rested and calm and stayed that way almost all day long.
I get more sleep these days. After gaining an understanding that nothing too terribly exciting is going to happen after I close my eyes.
Sleep is not going to deprive me of a great life.
Or cause me to miss incredible opportunities.
I needed rest to function.
-
But even now as I try and get more and more sleep at night, I wake up and find myself in the shower or walking out the door....
and my mind is bouncing around like a pin ball.
Thinking about the conversations I had the night before.
Or the worries from yesterday.
Or the music or movie or television show I watched right before I fell asleep.
I try and pray as I get ready and my mind is just not present.
-
I do pray in the car on the way to work.
God and I have incredible conversations once I get my mind on track.
And I have been asking God the past few days for a new prayer.
If only so that my prayer life does not become stale again.
This morning I realized I want to wake up singing His praises.
I want to roll over in bed and my first thought be of Him.
Not of bills or schedules or It's Always Sunny.
On the way to work this morning, God whispered.
"I am the beginning and the end..."
"It all begins and ends with Me, baby."
-
So I will end each day with Him.
With the Word and with prayer.
And I will see where my thoughts turn after I rest.
I pray for so many others that Jesus would meet them in their dreams...
that in restful, quiet, still times their hearts would find Jesus and be comforted.
Be restored.
I will make that my own prayer.
-
Because the way I end my day determines how I begin my next one.
And the way I begin my days determines how I live my life.
His mercies are new each morning (Lam 3:23).
I want to hear His voice before the rest of the world has a chance to spoil anything.
I want to wake up empty and let Him fill the spots only He can reach.
-
Good morning will take on a whole new meaning if I learn how to say "good night".
All the time.
Until it is time to sleep.
There for a while I was staying up past midnight.
Getting up at 5:30 in the morning and wondering why I would almost fall asleep on the way to work.
I had forgotten what it meant, what it felt like, to be rested.
Until one evening I walked into my apartment, plugged my phone into the charger, and immediately crawled into bed.
Almost seven hours of sleep.
I awoke rested and calm and stayed that way almost all day long.
I get more sleep these days. After gaining an understanding that nothing too terribly exciting is going to happen after I close my eyes.
Sleep is not going to deprive me of a great life.
Or cause me to miss incredible opportunities.
I needed rest to function.
-
But even now as I try and get more and more sleep at night, I wake up and find myself in the shower or walking out the door....
and my mind is bouncing around like a pin ball.
Thinking about the conversations I had the night before.
Or the worries from yesterday.
Or the music or movie or television show I watched right before I fell asleep.
I try and pray as I get ready and my mind is just not present.
-
I do pray in the car on the way to work.
God and I have incredible conversations once I get my mind on track.
And I have been asking God the past few days for a new prayer.
If only so that my prayer life does not become stale again.
This morning I realized I want to wake up singing His praises.
I want to roll over in bed and my first thought be of Him.
Not of bills or schedules or It's Always Sunny.
On the way to work this morning, God whispered.
"I am the beginning and the end..."
"It all begins and ends with Me, baby."
-
So I will end each day with Him.
With the Word and with prayer.
And I will see where my thoughts turn after I rest.
I pray for so many others that Jesus would meet them in their dreams...
that in restful, quiet, still times their hearts would find Jesus and be comforted.
Be restored.
I will make that my own prayer.
-
Because the way I end my day determines how I begin my next one.
And the way I begin my days determines how I live my life.
His mercies are new each morning (Lam 3:23).
I want to hear His voice before the rest of the world has a chance to spoil anything.
I want to wake up empty and let Him fill the spots only He can reach.
-
Good morning will take on a whole new meaning if I learn how to say "good night".
Fight
I am done fighting this fight.
I did not win.
And I did not lose.
But it is over.
And it is time to walk away.
To be done.
There is no shame.
Only growth.
Gained wisdom and character.
I am tired.
From swinging aimlessly.
Exhausted from never making contact.
So I am going to walk away.
Now, with hope.
Knowing this was not defeat.
Aware, painfully, of what has transpired.
Of the hundreds of times I have failed.
Of the laundry list of blunders and missteps.
But with peace,
with promise of healing,
with hope.
I turn my back to the lies.
To the falsities, like arrows, being shot at me.
The misconceptions and the untruths.
I will not linger.
You see, "I don't have time to maintain these regrets".
For I am forever looking forward.
I am forever looking up.
Seeking His hand, His face.
Knowing in His love, I will find such hope.
And in anticipation,
in discernment,
but not in defeat.
I move on.
I did not win.
And I did not lose.
But it is over.
And it is time to walk away.
To be done.
There is no shame.
Only growth.
Gained wisdom and character.
I am tired.
From swinging aimlessly.
Exhausted from never making contact.
So I am going to walk away.
Now, with hope.
Knowing this was not defeat.
Aware, painfully, of what has transpired.
Of the hundreds of times I have failed.
Of the laundry list of blunders and missteps.
But with peace,
with promise of healing,
with hope.
I turn my back to the lies.
To the falsities, like arrows, being shot at me.
The misconceptions and the untruths.
I will not linger.
You see, "I don't have time to maintain these regrets".
For I am forever looking forward.
I am forever looking up.
Seeking His hand, His face.
Knowing in His love, I will find such hope.
And in anticipation,
in discernment,
but not in defeat.
I move on.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
the Created
Wait in anticipation.
Ready at a single utterance.
To rise up.
To move.
To fall still.
To quieten.
To catch fire.
Our watery, salty, gritty, burning eyes search for Him everywhere.
We wait in hopes He will choose us.
To demonstrate His power.
To protect the ones He loves.
To serve His purpose.
All it takes is a soft word.
From Him.
Or from one who loves Him.
And our foundations shift.
Our molecules transform.
Our waves decrease.
Just one word.
Spoken out of authority.
Or one word full of faith in that authority.
We are anxious to do His will.
We crave His bending low.
The kiss of the wind - the wind that blows when we ask Him to come near.
We will hover, poised in the sky.
Our swollen flesh will burst open and pour out rain.
We were created to do His bidding.
To exist in pregnant anticipation.
Expecting Him to command.
Bid us, Creator.
Command us, Your creation.
To crumble our foundations.
To carry Your son.
To roll away.
To rise in the morning.
To be still.
To bear fruit.
For You, we wait.
Ready at a single utterance.
To rise up.
To move.
To fall still.
To quieten.
To catch fire.
Our watery, salty, gritty, burning eyes search for Him everywhere.
We wait in hopes He will choose us.
To demonstrate His power.
To protect the ones He loves.
To serve His purpose.
All it takes is a soft word.
From Him.
Or from one who loves Him.
And our foundations shift.
Our molecules transform.
Our waves decrease.
Just one word.
Spoken out of authority.
Or one word full of faith in that authority.
We are anxious to do His will.
We crave His bending low.
The kiss of the wind - the wind that blows when we ask Him to come near.
We will hover, poised in the sky.
Our swollen flesh will burst open and pour out rain.
We were created to do His bidding.
To exist in pregnant anticipation.
Expecting Him to command.
Bid us, Creator.
Command us, Your creation.
To crumble our foundations.
To carry Your son.
To roll away.
To rise in the morning.
To be still.
To bear fruit.
For You, we wait.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Messy
He sat at the table, legs swinging from the chair.
Milk carton, paper plate.
His mom put his donut in front of him and went to feed his baby brother.
A few minutes went by.
I drank my coffee. Continued to write in my journal.
Until, suddenly, it was as if everything else in the bakery stopped.
The little boy started whining.
I watched him push the donut away, after taking one bite, his hands and mouth covered in chocolate.
"I dont want it," he whimpered.
Mom turned around and pushed the plate back to him.
"Go ahead, try some more."
"But, mooooommmmmm,"
Then Mom turned around and wiped the chocolate off of his face.
"I know you think you don't like it because it is messy. But I promise it is good."
-
The hustle and chaos of the bakery commenced again.
But I sat in awe.
Suddenly, filled with the voice of God.
Feeling Him wipe the chocolate off of my face.
"I know you think you don't like this, Anna. I know you think this is messy and you want something different. But I promise, this is good. Taste it. See?"
Milk carton, paper plate.
His mom put his donut in front of him and went to feed his baby brother.
A few minutes went by.
I drank my coffee. Continued to write in my journal.
Until, suddenly, it was as if everything else in the bakery stopped.
The little boy started whining.
I watched him push the donut away, after taking one bite, his hands and mouth covered in chocolate.
"I dont want it," he whimpered.
Mom turned around and pushed the plate back to him.
"Go ahead, try some more."
"But, mooooommmmmm,"
Then Mom turned around and wiped the chocolate off of his face.
"I know you think you don't like it because it is messy. But I promise it is good."
-
The hustle and chaos of the bakery commenced again.
But I sat in awe.
Suddenly, filled with the voice of God.
Feeling Him wipe the chocolate off of my face.
"I know you think you don't like this, Anna. I know you think this is messy and you want something different. But I promise, this is good. Taste it. See?"
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Winding Path
At the beginning of the summer, I realized I had developed an image of a spiteful God in my mind. I was afraid to voice my hopes, my dreams, for fear that He would make me do the complete opposite.
I remember voicing that fear out loud for the first time. And I remember, even more clearly, the feeling I got that I was talking with a heartbroken God. "Oh why do you think I am that way...?"
It was then my eyes and heart were opened up to the Savior Jesus. The Redeeming Protector who hides us in the cleft of the rock - the One who destroys the enemy at the end of time. The Jesus I could, and would, fall in love with.
A strange thing happens to those of us who have known Jesus all our lives.
At some point along the way, we come head to head with the realization that we don't really know Jesus like we thought we did. And it's about time we made that happen.
This, however, is a lesson I've been learning for years now.
It happened at 13.
At 16.
At 17. 18. 19. And every year since.
No matter how long we know Jesus, we need to know Him more.
-
This is something I don't like to admit. Something I've been struggling with the past few weeks - even as my relationship with Christ has reached new heights.
You see, I don't like to admit that I have traveled a very winding, meandering path.
Retracing steps.
Relearning lessons.
Blinded by curves.
I wish I could tell you that early on God told me what He wanted from me.
That I knew His will and I followed it.
Maybe I did.
Maybe I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
Today, I feel like this is true.
But in the past few weeks, I've felt a certain amount of shame in admitting my ignorance.
In confessing the amount of times I've had to change direction, stop and reassess, change my mind, or gotten off to a false start.
But why do I feel shame about this?
What is it in me that wants to say, "I knew it would happen this way!"
"I knew from the beginning who God wanted me to be!"
Sometimes God whispers secrets to me.
But rarely does He do what I expect Him to.
Or how I expect Him to.
Or for the reasons I assume.
-
Thank God that I have changed direction.
And that this God I love is not a forgetful one.
He remembers His promises.
And had I known where I was headed from the beginning,
the journey would not be an adventure.
My mistakes are my reminders that I am not all knowing.
My shortcomings remind me that I cannot do this on my own.
-
I am on a winding path.
But it is a narrow one.
And there is no shame in the switchbacks.
One foot in front of the other.
Moving from glory to glory.
Telling a better story.
I remember voicing that fear out loud for the first time. And I remember, even more clearly, the feeling I got that I was talking with a heartbroken God. "Oh why do you think I am that way...?"
It was then my eyes and heart were opened up to the Savior Jesus. The Redeeming Protector who hides us in the cleft of the rock - the One who destroys the enemy at the end of time. The Jesus I could, and would, fall in love with.
A strange thing happens to those of us who have known Jesus all our lives.
At some point along the way, we come head to head with the realization that we don't really know Jesus like we thought we did. And it's about time we made that happen.
This, however, is a lesson I've been learning for years now.
It happened at 13.
At 16.
At 17. 18. 19. And every year since.
No matter how long we know Jesus, we need to know Him more.
-
This is something I don't like to admit. Something I've been struggling with the past few weeks - even as my relationship with Christ has reached new heights.
You see, I don't like to admit that I have traveled a very winding, meandering path.
Retracing steps.
Relearning lessons.
Blinded by curves.
I wish I could tell you that early on God told me what He wanted from me.
That I knew His will and I followed it.
Maybe I did.
Maybe I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
Today, I feel like this is true.
But in the past few weeks, I've felt a certain amount of shame in admitting my ignorance.
In confessing the amount of times I've had to change direction, stop and reassess, change my mind, or gotten off to a false start.
But why do I feel shame about this?
What is it in me that wants to say, "I knew it would happen this way!"
"I knew from the beginning who God wanted me to be!"
Sometimes God whispers secrets to me.
But rarely does He do what I expect Him to.
Or how I expect Him to.
Or for the reasons I assume.
-
Thank God that I have changed direction.
And that this God I love is not a forgetful one.
He remembers His promises.
And had I known where I was headed from the beginning,
the journey would not be an adventure.
My mistakes are my reminders that I am not all knowing.
My shortcomings remind me that I cannot do this on my own.
-
I am on a winding path.
But it is a narrow one.
And there is no shame in the switchbacks.
One foot in front of the other.
Moving from glory to glory.
Telling a better story.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Metaphor
It is hard for me to run alone.
My natural pace is too fast.
When I am by myself, I quickly run out of breath and sharp pain shoots through my shins.
I like to run with Larry.
He knows this about me - this tendency to get ahead of myself.
So he starts first.
And I fall in step behind him.
Sometimes, I will run right beside him, matching my step to his.
Heel. Heel. Keeping his rhythm.
Sometimes, I fall behind him.
Following in his steps.
When I run with Larry, I always go farther than I think I can.
When my lungs start to burn or my shins start throbbing, but Larry keeps running, so do I.
As long as he is running, I run.
-
This... is the great metaphor.
My natural pace is too fast.
When I am by myself, I quickly run out of breath and sharp pain shoots through my shins.
I like to run with Larry.
He knows this about me - this tendency to get ahead of myself.
So he starts first.
And I fall in step behind him.
Sometimes, I will run right beside him, matching my step to his.
Heel. Heel. Keeping his rhythm.
Sometimes, I fall behind him.
Following in his steps.
When I run with Larry, I always go farther than I think I can.
When my lungs start to burn or my shins start throbbing, but Larry keeps running, so do I.
As long as he is running, I run.
-
This... is the great metaphor.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
He is Holy
I don't know why the Father hasn't given up on me yet.
Seems like every day I have to re-learn the same lesson.
I make the same mistakes. Or encounter the same problems. Pray the same prayers.
Yet, every single day I seek Him out, He is there.
Steady and consistent.
-
For the first time ever, I cried out to Him, questioning His patience with me.
I don't deserve it, and I finally realized that.
I had always known I was a sinner. That I didn't deserve grace.
But I was mourning my inability to learn. To change.
"But you are changing," He whispered to me.
It doesn't feel like it.
"I am more pleased with you now that I ever have been before..."
How could you be?
"Did you think you were going to get it right the very first time? No. You are growing. Moving from glory to glory..."
My heart was suddenly filled with a peace like I haven't known in ages.
His grace allows us to try again.
-
I don't know when this transformation happened inside of me.
Somewhere along the way, one night in my sleep, or maybe one day during a run...
I don't know when it happened...
but I certainly wasn't paying attention.
Maybe it was when I was faced with disease at the beginning of the summer.
Or when I learned to put my heart in His hands.
Or when I got my first image of a powerful Jesus - and fell in love.
-
Because I've loved all my life, and I've certainly believed.
But I always wondered if I had gotten it right.
No longer.
Now I know I definitely haven't gotten it right!
But the desire is there to recklessly pursue.
There are not enough quiet hours to talk to Him loudly.
And those who pursue righteousness are the ones who are blessed.
-
I've been more in the Bible than ever before.
Seeking answers and truth and just simply studying.
I've transformed my prayer life.
And through prayer, my life has been changed.
I don't hear the audible voice of God. I don't know how to explain it to you.
But I do hear Him. Plain as day sometimes.
He is funny in my mind.
And He rarely ever raises His voice.
He usually hangs out in between my shoulder blades and whispers things in my ears that sound nothing like anything I would ever come up with on my own.
And His voice comes with a peace that is unexplainable.
Not answers.
Not comfort.
Sometimes not even direction.
Just peace.
-
I am learning.
I told you many times over the summer that this was a mountain.
I was seeking a stopping point - a false summit. A resting spot.
This journey has never been a valley.
God has been so present.
Up in my face, under my skin, in my dreams.
I am being pursued by the Lord Almighty ...
-
Which is the thought that stole my heart this summer.
The Creator, the Father, wants us.
He wants to be close to us. To dwell with us.
But He is perfect.
And we are so far from it...
I think, to be in His presence, we have to be striving to be holy.
So a lot of times when God comes near, He is working on making us more holy than we are.
-
Ask.
Seek.
Knock.
You find Him.
But be careful.
Because the Father is everywhere.
And as you grow in Him, you will begin to see His face...
So very often, He will give you exactly what you ask for.
And once you become familiar with His voice,
you will hear Him everywhere you go.
-
I had a quiet feeling the other day that I needed to prepare myself.
Because He will not always be this evident.
And I got sad... wondering what my heart will do the day that He decides to be quiet.
-
But even as things took a change this morning,
I could still hear Him.
Not because I am good.
Or because I am holy.
Or because I've done anything right.
-
But because He is good.
And He is holy.
And He loves us...
Seems like every day I have to re-learn the same lesson.
I make the same mistakes. Or encounter the same problems. Pray the same prayers.
Yet, every single day I seek Him out, He is there.
Steady and consistent.
-
For the first time ever, I cried out to Him, questioning His patience with me.
I don't deserve it, and I finally realized that.
I had always known I was a sinner. That I didn't deserve grace.
But I was mourning my inability to learn. To change.
"But you are changing," He whispered to me.
It doesn't feel like it.
"I am more pleased with you now that I ever have been before..."
How could you be?
"Did you think you were going to get it right the very first time? No. You are growing. Moving from glory to glory..."
My heart was suddenly filled with a peace like I haven't known in ages.
His grace allows us to try again.
-
I don't know when this transformation happened inside of me.
Somewhere along the way, one night in my sleep, or maybe one day during a run...
I don't know when it happened...
but I certainly wasn't paying attention.
Maybe it was when I was faced with disease at the beginning of the summer.
Or when I learned to put my heart in His hands.
Or when I got my first image of a powerful Jesus - and fell in love.
-
Because I've loved all my life, and I've certainly believed.
But I always wondered if I had gotten it right.
No longer.
Now I know I definitely haven't gotten it right!
But the desire is there to recklessly pursue.
There are not enough quiet hours to talk to Him loudly.
And those who pursue righteousness are the ones who are blessed.
-
I've been more in the Bible than ever before.
Seeking answers and truth and just simply studying.
I've transformed my prayer life.
And through prayer, my life has been changed.
I don't hear the audible voice of God. I don't know how to explain it to you.
But I do hear Him. Plain as day sometimes.
He is funny in my mind.
And He rarely ever raises His voice.
He usually hangs out in between my shoulder blades and whispers things in my ears that sound nothing like anything I would ever come up with on my own.
And His voice comes with a peace that is unexplainable.
Not answers.
Not comfort.
Sometimes not even direction.
Just peace.
-
I am learning.
I told you many times over the summer that this was a mountain.
I was seeking a stopping point - a false summit. A resting spot.
This journey has never been a valley.
God has been so present.
Up in my face, under my skin, in my dreams.
I am being pursued by the Lord Almighty ...
-
Which is the thought that stole my heart this summer.
The Creator, the Father, wants us.
He wants to be close to us. To dwell with us.
But He is perfect.
And we are so far from it...
I think, to be in His presence, we have to be striving to be holy.
So a lot of times when God comes near, He is working on making us more holy than we are.
-
Ask.
Seek.
Knock.
You find Him.
But be careful.
Because the Father is everywhere.
And as you grow in Him, you will begin to see His face...
So very often, He will give you exactly what you ask for.
And once you become familiar with His voice,
you will hear Him everywhere you go.
-
I had a quiet feeling the other day that I needed to prepare myself.
Because He will not always be this evident.
And I got sad... wondering what my heart will do the day that He decides to be quiet.
-
But even as things took a change this morning,
I could still hear Him.
Not because I am good.
Or because I am holy.
Or because I've done anything right.
-
But because He is good.
And He is holy.
And He loves us...
Friday, October 30, 2009
One
They said "461" and in my head, I automatically rounded that number down to "460". It's just the way I work. I round numbers.
But as soon as I did so, a face flashed in my head.
Quickly.
Vibrantly.
A glowing smile.
Light-filled eyes.
A full face.
A healthy belly.
And I was hit with the realization that, in my head, I had just eliminated a child.
A life.
And that led to a deeper realization, that I had just helped save that same life.
-
You see, we make it about the numbers.
This many children are starving right now.
This number of people will die every single day.
But numbers are not important to us.
Not really.
Not deep down inside.
-
Faces are important.
-
Little Moses who was found in the bottom of an outhouse and now is over three years old, aspiring to be the president of Haiti.
He is important.
-
We spent two hours, some of us more, last night filling plastic bags with nutrient-rich food.
Food that will be taped up and shipped all around the world.
And if we let it, our engagement, our attachment will stop there.
Stamp licked.
Address written.
Done.
-
But follow that box to Nicaragua.
Follow that box to Haiti.
Do you remember what it felt like to hold your baby sister or brother or son or daughter in your arms for the first time?
What about watching them take their first step.
Or sound-out their first word.
Follow that box to the slums and orphanages and refugee camps.
And you will find children who are alive today.
And children who will be alive tomorrow.
Who will live.
And not only live, but thrive.
-
Because someone was given a vision.
Because people really are good, deep down inside (and I refuse to believe otherwise).
And because we are all yearning for a purpose. To be part of the bigger story.
Because we are not our own. And what we have been given is not ours to keep.
Because what we do for the least of these....
Because seven hundred some odd boxes were packed last night, by seven hundred some volunteers, who suddenly realized.
Who suddenly came to understand.
Last night a little girl in Haiti went to bed with a satisfied belly.
And Jesus felt full.
-
We cannot round these numbers down.
But as soon as I did so, a face flashed in my head.
Quickly.
Vibrantly.
A glowing smile.
Light-filled eyes.
A full face.
A healthy belly.
And I was hit with the realization that, in my head, I had just eliminated a child.
A life.
And that led to a deeper realization, that I had just helped save that same life.
-
You see, we make it about the numbers.
This many children are starving right now.
This number of people will die every single day.
But numbers are not important to us.
Not really.
Not deep down inside.
-
Faces are important.
-
Little Moses who was found in the bottom of an outhouse and now is over three years old, aspiring to be the president of Haiti.
He is important.
-
We spent two hours, some of us more, last night filling plastic bags with nutrient-rich food.
Food that will be taped up and shipped all around the world.
And if we let it, our engagement, our attachment will stop there.
Stamp licked.
Address written.
Done.
-
But follow that box to Nicaragua.
Follow that box to Haiti.
Do you remember what it felt like to hold your baby sister or brother or son or daughter in your arms for the first time?
What about watching them take their first step.
Or sound-out their first word.
Follow that box to the slums and orphanages and refugee camps.
And you will find children who are alive today.
And children who will be alive tomorrow.
Who will live.
And not only live, but thrive.
-
Because someone was given a vision.
Because people really are good, deep down inside (and I refuse to believe otherwise).
And because we are all yearning for a purpose. To be part of the bigger story.
Because we are not our own. And what we have been given is not ours to keep.
Because what we do for the least of these....
Because seven hundred some odd boxes were packed last night, by seven hundred some volunteers, who suddenly realized.
Who suddenly came to understand.
Last night a little girl in Haiti went to bed with a satisfied belly.
And Jesus felt full.
-
We cannot round these numbers down.
Monday, October 19, 2009
heaven
I have always been overwhelmed by the concept of eternity.
Forever and ever.
We live our days here on earth knowing that everything - good and bad - eventually comes to an end.
Days turn into night.
Months, years, decades pass.
It is ingrained in us that we are finite.
Not infinite.
-
So when I would stop to think about Heaven, I could not fathom what forever meant.
Because, in my mind, everything ends.
Not so with what happens after life here on earth.
What comes next... will have no end.
-
I spent yesterday afternoon, last night, and this morning in Tennessee.
My dear friend and I both desperately needed to get away.
So we packed up the Mazda3 and drove dow 75.
We met up with my mom, stepdad, two sisters, and close family friends.
Crashed on their couch beds and ate their food.
Stayed up late watching UK football and eating peanut butter M&Ms and playing Phase10.
-
I woke up this morning to a quiet house.
I am not at home, was my first thought.
-
We bundled up and drove to the trailheads.
Only to hit standstill traffic.
Because the highway was covered in ice and snow.
So we stopped and found a new trail.
And we started hiking.
It was an easy hike. Rough pavement, slightly uphill.
Towards the falls.
My cheeks stung in the cold.
We could see our breath.
The sun would peek out from behind the clouds and we would bask in its warmth.
We were overwhelmed with beauty.
-
After the four mile hike, we climbed back in the car.
Feeling started returning to my fingers.
And I felt like the broken parts of me, the pieces that had been shattered over the past few months, were being pieced back together.
I had forgotten that part of my soul belonged in the mountains.
My eyes see the world through a viewfinder.
My lungs expand with cold, fresh, unprocessed air.
My skin responded to the kiss of a mountain breeze, sunlight cast through trees, and the cool spray from gushing falls.
-
Bonnie and I got home and very quickly unloaded the cars and drove to church.
How much it says about us and our lives that even after an adventure, our hearts long to be with the people we love. And to worship in a place we call home.
-
Jon was talking about Heaven.
About how Heaven is God. And God is in us. And therefore, we are Heaven.
In my mind... that means that Heaven is perfect community.
Jon started talking about what we are going to "do" in Heaven.
None of this mundane, cloud-sitting, hym-singing eternity stuff.
My heart skipped a beat.
-
Jon explained Heaven the way he imagines it.
And I'm not sure I 100% agree. Which makes me happy. And I think it would make him happy too.
I believe that we will feel cold. But no one will die because they didn't have a warm place to sleep.
I believe we will sweat and feel humidity. But no one will ever be far from shade.
I believe we will feel satiated and full.
And that the first time I try to run a marathon in Heaven,
I won't be able to do it.
Because I believe that there is beauty in the extremes.
And that glory is brought to God through our learning process.
That we will spend eternity learning about God.
And exploring the universe with Him.
That He created us to evolve.
But in Heaven, there will be nothing standing in our way.
Only opportunity.
And boredom ... will not be something that exists in the presence of God.
-
I almost cried when I thought about what Jon said.
Because this... I agreed with wholeheartedly.
We will be spending eternity knowing God.
When I get to Heaven, when judgement is over, and a million years have passed...
and I have explored the milky way and ridden the back of a lion and swam with the whales...
I will still be able to walk up to God, who has His feet soaking in a hot spring, and I will reach out...
And I will touch His face.
Forever and ever.
We live our days here on earth knowing that everything - good and bad - eventually comes to an end.
Days turn into night.
Months, years, decades pass.
It is ingrained in us that we are finite.
Not infinite.
-
So when I would stop to think about Heaven, I could not fathom what forever meant.
Because, in my mind, everything ends.
Not so with what happens after life here on earth.
What comes next... will have no end.
-
I spent yesterday afternoon, last night, and this morning in Tennessee.
My dear friend and I both desperately needed to get away.
So we packed up the Mazda3 and drove dow 75.
We met up with my mom, stepdad, two sisters, and close family friends.
Crashed on their couch beds and ate their food.
Stayed up late watching UK football and eating peanut butter M&Ms and playing Phase10.
-
I woke up this morning to a quiet house.
I am not at home, was my first thought.
-
We bundled up and drove to the trailheads.
Only to hit standstill traffic.
Because the highway was covered in ice and snow.
So we stopped and found a new trail.
And we started hiking.
It was an easy hike. Rough pavement, slightly uphill.
Towards the falls.
My cheeks stung in the cold.
We could see our breath.
The sun would peek out from behind the clouds and we would bask in its warmth.
We were overwhelmed with beauty.
-
After the four mile hike, we climbed back in the car.
Feeling started returning to my fingers.
And I felt like the broken parts of me, the pieces that had been shattered over the past few months, were being pieced back together.
I had forgotten that part of my soul belonged in the mountains.
My eyes see the world through a viewfinder.
My lungs expand with cold, fresh, unprocessed air.
My skin responded to the kiss of a mountain breeze, sunlight cast through trees, and the cool spray from gushing falls.
-
Bonnie and I got home and very quickly unloaded the cars and drove to church.
How much it says about us and our lives that even after an adventure, our hearts long to be with the people we love. And to worship in a place we call home.
-
Jon was talking about Heaven.
About how Heaven is God. And God is in us. And therefore, we are Heaven.
In my mind... that means that Heaven is perfect community.
Jon started talking about what we are going to "do" in Heaven.
None of this mundane, cloud-sitting, hym-singing eternity stuff.
My heart skipped a beat.
-
Jon explained Heaven the way he imagines it.
And I'm not sure I 100% agree. Which makes me happy. And I think it would make him happy too.
I believe that we will feel cold. But no one will die because they didn't have a warm place to sleep.
I believe we will sweat and feel humidity. But no one will ever be far from shade.
I believe we will feel satiated and full.
And that the first time I try to run a marathon in Heaven,
I won't be able to do it.
Because I believe that there is beauty in the extremes.
And that glory is brought to God through our learning process.
That we will spend eternity learning about God.
And exploring the universe with Him.
That He created us to evolve.
But in Heaven, there will be nothing standing in our way.
Only opportunity.
And boredom ... will not be something that exists in the presence of God.
-
I almost cried when I thought about what Jon said.
Because this... I agreed with wholeheartedly.
We will be spending eternity knowing God.
When I get to Heaven, when judgement is over, and a million years have passed...
and I have explored the milky way and ridden the back of a lion and swam with the whales...
I will still be able to walk up to God, who has His feet soaking in a hot spring, and I will reach out...
And I will touch His face.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
the spirit
I am filled.
With a desire.
So sharp I cannot adequately express.
So desperate, I don't even know how to ask for it.
I am consumed.
With a love.
A new love I've never really felt before.
For a savior who has put a seal on my forehead and hidden me safely under His wing.
I am understanding.
What it means to struggle.
The pains of experience heal into the strength of wisdom.
Where I have fallen, He has come.
I am overwhelmed.
Filled to my fingertips it feels like, sometimes.
Heavy and raised up.
Tender and exhausted.
I am hopeful.
Knowing I have been emptied.
Only to be filled.
Saturated with the spirit.
With a desire.
So sharp I cannot adequately express.
So desperate, I don't even know how to ask for it.
I am consumed.
With a love.
A new love I've never really felt before.
For a savior who has put a seal on my forehead and hidden me safely under His wing.
I am understanding.
What it means to struggle.
The pains of experience heal into the strength of wisdom.
Where I have fallen, He has come.
I am overwhelmed.
Filled to my fingertips it feels like, sometimes.
Heavy and raised up.
Tender and exhausted.
I am hopeful.
Knowing I have been emptied.
Only to be filled.
Saturated with the spirit.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Seal
Hold on.
This is the message of Revelation.
Hold on, help is on the way.
I am overwhelmed tonight.
I am not sure that words will ever be able to express what my heart saw during worship tonight.
Or the way that my self was filled up.
Or why I cried... thinking about judgement day.
-
I close my eyes.
-
And I am overwhelmed with this mental image of a strong Jesus that the church has forgotten about.
Of a Jesus who is wild.
And strong.
Why do we not teach each other about the protector Jesus?
The one who will mark us.
And hide us safely away while He destroys everything, which has hurt us.
This is the message of Revelation.
Hold on, help is on the way.
I am overwhelmed tonight.
I am not sure that words will ever be able to express what my heart saw during worship tonight.
Or the way that my self was filled up.
Or why I cried... thinking about judgement day.
-
I close my eyes.
-
And I am overwhelmed with this mental image of a strong Jesus that the church has forgotten about.
Of a Jesus who is wild.
And strong.
Why do we not teach each other about the protector Jesus?
The one who will mark us.
And hide us safely away while He destroys everything, which has hurt us.
goodbye
I walked up to our coffee shop one day in September of last year.
He was sitting on the patio with my sister.
He was a boy.
He was a stranger.
We smoked his first cheap cigarette together.
And he became ours.
He taught me how to love unconditionally.
What it meant to have a little brother.
I watched him see the world for the first time.
I woke up on morning to a skinny, long-legged boy walking through my hallway in his boxers.
His smile was just as big then as it is now.
But today, he is full of light.
Happiness once radiated through his inquisitive face.
A handful of years later, it is now joy.
He taught me about plants and the Kingdom of Heaven.
About the sweetness of words and childlike enthusiasm.
-
I did not anticipate shedding any tears when I walked into the house last night.
But as I entered the room and my eyes found you, I realized I was not prepared for this.
For you were no longer a little boy. You were no longer a stranger. You had rubbed up against the world and gained some wisdom. Your face shows it.
In your eyes, I saw some fear. Not the paralyzing fear that inhibits most of us. But the healthy sort that propels you forward, wide-eyed and breathless.
-
Our lives collided.
Intertwined, we have grown.
Gaining and taking and providing.
We have opened each other's eyes to the many dimensions of Heaven, to the thousands of faces of God.
We taught each other what it means to share.
We needed each other.
A family.
Brothers and sisters.
I would not have survived without you.
-
What happens, though, when our growth carries us away.
When what once fit, is now too tight.
-
Last night, it was time to leave.
You were not the only ones leaving.
You see, I was leaving too.
-
So I told you I was proud. Because I am.
And I told you I will always love you. Which I will.
But we don't say goodbye, you and me.
So I walked away - tears were hot and salty.
-
I found you.
And my cracked heart broke into pieces.
Sitting on that sidewalk, I listened as your tears turned back into breathing.
We went to the throne room together.
But the prayer I prayed was just as much for me as it was for you.
I'll call when I need a holiday in Spain.
-
The wind was blowing.
Catching our breaths and the smell of our tears and carrying them away.
I walked away...
But I had to stop at the corner.
Because the wind kept blowing, and the streetlight glowed warm and yellow in the humid night air.
And I turned around and whispered goodbye.
But you didn't hear me.
-
Always before, He's taken away and left me empty for a season.
Teaching me how to love Him with empty hands. To be faithful through loneliness.
This time, He has taken away and handed me something new.
Something unfamiliar.
Something blooming.
Something beautiful.
Because He knew I wouldn't survive this hurt alone.
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