Me

One of my favorite movies of my youth had to be Princess Diaries. The odd, quirky teen meeting her royal grandmother and takes "princess" lessons much to her dismay. My grandmother was a San Franciscan debutante from the mid 30s, her single mother worked multiple jobs to provide her that access into society and it paid off when she'd marry my grandfather, the son of a prestigious dental family in Santa Cruz. My only memory of my grandfather was him making me sit at another table at a nice restaurant when I used my hand to get a piece of ice rather than a spoon - I was three. My grandmother and I would become very close and she'd often call me her favorite, but that relationship wasn't without consistent comments, decorum checks, and manners analysis. Unfortunately when Princess Diaries  came out I had started my teenage "I don't care about you, I'm drowning in my teenage depression" phase. By the time I'd get out of that, she'd be gone and I'd be here wishing I could take back that "me" phase.

There is a scene towards the end of the film, where Mia gives her speech. Everyone is expecting her to turn down the crown, but when she gets up - disheveled by the rain and running to get there - something else happens entirely. She talks about how many times she talks about "i", how every thought she has is for herself and what would happen if she took that towards the other, towards the people of Genovia. Her speech is clumsy, and in classic teenager fashion she goes down too many rabbit trails, but the point is made - what difference can I  make if I'm not just about me?

When I sat down to write this morning this scene played in my head. The awkward stumbling over words, the sincere determination in her act, and the warm approval found in the faces of those that loved her. I've lived pretty well in a "me" state, where even in the good acts for the other the thought of "me" flood them. To think of yourself is not a sin in itself, but when your loving others in the confines of what fits you, how it makes you feel, and how it affects you - then yes the second greatest commandment can not be fulfilled and you are walking in sin. I've been walking in good intentioned sin for so long. Cutting  off those parts that are hard to deal with, minimizing the memories, and holding onto what feels good to me. Like an addict facing the scope of their drugs affect, but uncertain of the ability to quit or not even sure if they truly want to - so to I sit here, pondering what the other side looks like, what does dying to myself really mean in the daily grind of parenthood, of marriage, of work, of family, of life? Is the cost worth the prize?

I think it's like the prodigal, for all the times he didn't come back - perhaps it was the uncertainty of what it would like that kept him away. Thus it wasn't until the circumstances were passed the point of any good thing, that the decision to go home was able to happen because nothing worse could happen. If wasn't a change in his heart that caused him to go home, not a sudden realization of the goodness of his Father, no it was that the circumstances could not get more dire, so would not his father care for him at least as poorly as these strangers. This is the view that keeps us away from the Lord, this is the posture of our hearts that prevent us from seeing the goodness of our Father. He is a foreboding deity, a righteous king, who's much like us demanding for us to be clean before entering into his gates. And we stand outside the Holy of holies, scrubbing the stains on our skin, trying to cover the wounds across our bodies, so that we may enter. But the water is as mud, and the soap a dye so permanent we can never scrub hard enough to rid us of its mark. Thus we stand outside the throne room, longing to go inside but believing only our clean hearts will be welcomed. But the king sits inside, awaiting in anxious excitement for his children. He sent out messengers for them to come as they are. As they don't arrive the King himself goes out, but in more  common clothes as to prevent shock, but his children don't recognize his face, and they spit at his declaration to come ad they are. He sees their scrubbing and offers them clean pools of Holy light in which they could bath and be made pure. But they sit in the mud, scrubbing with no end in sight - outside the gates....

For many years this is how I envisioned the Lord. He is a good king for He invited me to his home, but I must make myself good to go before him. I had to scrub off the dirt, and sometimes or even often times it seemed to work. But it would take days, or even weeks before I'd enter I to His presence when He would've taken me just as I am, right then. In recent years instead if looking at my own dirt, I've restricted His grace, limited His reach and said "he can not take me here, he can not wipe away these sins, they are the death of me." It's amazing how when you believe something how much the world seems to change to fit that belief, hence my worldview became one of action, and little space for a Spirit's move. It was one of consequence, and grace was only for the internal sins, not those worldly vices like money.

Perhaps then we are doomed to live bound by the chains we put on ourselves, to drown in the mud we swore was healing water... We can put on blinders so tight than even light cannot enter in. But that presumes a passive God, a Spirit that cannot reach, a Son whose sacrifice could only go so far. Yes I can ignore the Light, I can deny the flame in front of my eyes but that doesn't stop the Lord from being present. My denial does not restrict the I Am, so He is so much more than I.

Lord help me to see you.
To take down that which blocks me from you.
To not fear the unknown for you are ever present, and we are not alone.
Abba, good Father, intimate King, forgive this foolish girl.
Pride, fear, strength, and control are my vices, that which I hold so dear.
Manipulation, rebellion, anger and hate these are the monsters that have taken up room in my heart.
Righteous warrior, serving soldier, daughter of grace, and of joy, these are my names and I claim them.
Spirit convict in me Truth righteousness, love and sacrifice. Help me to love because You loved first, not for my own gain.
Forgive me Father for I have sinned, cleanse my lips, purge my broken sight and make me new, precious Jesus.

I(n) justice

Of late the news has been overflowing with updates of the latest injustice. Living wage. Women matter. Black lives matter. War spreading. Disease killing lives and economies. Bigotry. Biased.

To be honest it can be overwhelming. But as I felt the Spirit tell me months ago, She holds all causes within the Godhead - I am called to obey and follow where God leads me and pray for all.

I have spent the last four and half years dedicated to a job. While other parts of my life have been important, when I rise and when I lay my head to rest the responsibilities of Sodexo have been in my heart. In many ways I feel like I've given my best to this place. They have given me in return as well, I've been given opportunities, education, experience and training that is invaluable. But it's not been without blood, sweat and tears.

My father has often reminded me of my name, Traci and it's meaning. Demanding on the origin it can mean industrious, determined or warrior. I have lived these all in my job, often forgetting the grace that flows from the Spirit and God knew when my parents  gave me the middle name Anne.

Last night at our corporate Christmas party, I wept. I wept for the injustices. Of the world. Of the wage gap. Of the fact that if I live in poverty then how much more do my counterparts earning almost half of what I do. I sinned in my weeping as I directed my pain to man rather than the principalities and powers of injustice, and then lamenting to the Lord. This is why I see that often times I respond to injustice as more my interpretation of justice or I (n)justice. I wept, my heart still is heavy - I may never recover. But I hope the Lord will tighten my lips, soften my heart and ready my knees to pray like I've never prayed before..

To be honest.

I'm not sure what to say.
I don't understand why you do what you do.
I know you've been hurt,
And life has been hard.
But the past can only go so far.

You and he, makes no sense to me.
Heart longings, and dissatisfaction.
Maybe it's alright.
Maybe it's not.

When time stops,
will we ever catch up?
Days, weeks, Summer, fall.
I've yet to say how I feel.

I'm done.
Protecting.
Correcting.
Trying to heal.
Don't put me in the middle of this.
I'm sorry I turned away.
But it wasn't for me anyway.
I can only carry so much,
before what's said breaks me.

I love you.
I always will.
But I need some space.
Some time to recover peace.
Because I want to cry,
when I think of your face.
And that's too much,
for a good daughter to feel.

Love deep.
Hope long.
Act faithful.
Dream beyond.
Inspire love.
Give hope.
Faithfully pursue.
Beyond all hurts -
I believe, but it's up to you.

The yell

Why?
Are you silent...
Are you still...
Are you distant...

Why?
Do you tarry?
Do you seem cold?
Do you wait?

I want to yell, scream, shout, fall on the floor and weep. You seem so far away from those who need you so near. Your timing is obscure, your action feels intermittent and our hearts grow heavy.

Act!
Speak!
Heal!
Why do you withold the bread? And leave us to feel like we are with the snake?
... Oh God....
What can we do?
What sacrifice can we bring?
What act must we obey?
What prayer must we pray?

To see you....
To feel you...
To know you...
And be whole in your promises...

Forgive me but I grow weary, I know you aren't intimidated by my doubts, but they drown me Lord. They feel heavier than life or hope, especially today. Precious Jesus I just want peace... To see the lame walk. To know the blind see. To see the depressed sing with joy. I know you want this too, for it is your heart I carry within me. But Lord, why?

Please, please for Your goodness, for the glory of Your name, please act soon and swiftly - our hearts are broken, our bodies perishing, and our songs fade.

For the glory of your name.
For the glory of Your good, good name.
Abba
Lord
I Am
Savior
Creator
King

Be all these and more in us today...

When running comes to an end...

Most who know me, know that I am constantly on the go. Like Wile E. Coyote chasing the Roadrunner I am constantly seeking after the task ahead of me. As the anvil falls on my head, or as I run off a cliff - nothing will detour me from that Roadrunner. The voices around me tell me to stop, slow down, enjoy that which is around you but like an addict - I can't seem to stop chasing after the task.

But death.....

Death stops any soul - at least for a moment. And death has been more in my life the last 10 days than it has appeared in almost a decade. Death of an employee, death of a distant friend, death of a father's dream - death is an enemy and has shown itself so this season. But everything keeps moving. Like a hamster stuck in it's wheel - I've tried to stop moving and the wheel won't stop spinning, and it's leaving me dizzy and disoriented.

The voices have been true. Friends encouraging to be, pastors saying to stay, lovers wanting just to know. I laid on my husband's chest, as he read Angelina Ballerina and I cried.

I want to be eloquent.
I want to write something beautiful.
But my ability to speak is all I have now.

Why?
Why Jesus?
Why don't you come?
Why is death winning?
I thought you destroyed this enemy.
I thought you made a better way.
You spoke of resurrection, of new life,
of being with You.
But I am left here wondering why...*
Friends die,
Friends aren't healed,
why the system wins.
Why dreams never come to pass.
Why disappoint seems to hold the keys for each our lives?
Why am I drowning, when those around me have such bigger burdens to bear?

Spirit speak.
Move,
Breathe,
Change this very space.
These tattered bodies can't take much more.
Lazarus is in his tomb, Jesus tarry not much more.
I wish there was a formula,
a prayer we could say to see You in the ways we want.
Jesus, you know we are barely breathing.
God! Is breathe enough for you?
I never knew.

Our Father,
who are in Heaven and everywhere,
Holy, sacred, blessed is your name.
Your purpose, your justice, Your kingdom come,
Your will be done
Here in my life, on earth and everywhere
as it is in heaven.
Give us today our daily bread.
The sustenance of life, bring forth in us this day.
Forgive my sins, my doubts, my failings,
as I too forgive those that fail, wrong and hurt me.
Lead me not into deception, temptation,
But deliver me from this evil, this distrust of You.
Amen.

*Check out Wondering by the Doodads and Don'ts (really check out their whole album Changing Your Habits as it played during this blog writing.)

...We Wait

You the know the story of Jonah, right? That prophet from the Old Testament who in hearing the new word of the Lord ran away to Tarshish, almost killed all that were with him (innocent bystanders), swallowed by a fish, preached repentance to Nineveh, and then waited for God to destroy the sinners. But when God heard their cries, Jonah cursed God and wished he could die - but not over the city but over the shelter of a plant that God caused to bring forth and then a caterpillar ate away.

If you are like me, you do a double take at that end statement. He cursed God and wished he could die, over a plant. Don't think about Nineveh for a second, think about the fact that something so small could cause such grief, how it could overwhelm his soul unto death....
Jonah certainly had trust issues. Even though he had been saved from a storm, and delivered from the stomach of the fish - and that he had even heard the words of God and shared them a responsive people. Nope, the plant dying was the thing that showed that his heart was in distress. For this God who he thought he knew was not the God who would've saved Nineveh. His entire worldview, his faithful interpretation of God was crumbling around him and at that moment the only rational thing was to curse, wail, and mourn the loss of temporary shelter.

Ouch....

I mean really, ouch...

I've heard God speak, acted as His mouthpiece, witnessed healing, heard His call and here in this moment an employee walking out without any notice was that which I doubted God and cursed His name. Yeah Jonah my friend, I fear you and I would've been kindred souls in that moment.

It was a year ago when life took another turn, where everything began to change, when the word pastor was first uttered from my mouth. It was like speaking in an unknown language - it's very tone seemed unfamiliar and foreign from my lips. But there it was, and for a while I walked in it. I wrestled, and I cried, a lot. I spoke in energetic hope, my character was changing, my family growing but then the walls started to come down. You see that unfamiliar word would do more than leave my lips, they would crash down all my nice sets, the cracked foundations would be made barren and even then we'd have to start over. The clay would have to sit, the cement turn and dry - the season of dry, painful tearing down had begun and I didn't have a clue till I was sitting in its rubble.

In the autumn once again, and no new word has been uttered. Rather I've asked to give up the word given. I've ask to return the gift, to let this pass. Had I known what it would cost in my own soul, well I don't know if I would have opened my mouth. The world is good, my family great, my friends closer than a brother but I see now. All that I assumed I knew, well it wasn't all I thought it was. Each part of what I built upon has been taken a part and now I wait there. Looking around at this empty shell of a house, wondering if a home will take place here again. Please know, this is all internal. There have been no living altering outside changes, but rather a complete deconstruction inside.

As I wept in church Wednesday night, sobbing in the midst of my pastor's preaching, I heard I had not failed. That God did not see my four years of work as a failure. Then a new and dear friend sat next to me and prayed. She held me as I wept and said this year would be a year of healing. The look in her eyes, I knew it was God. The Spirit was there in her words, and I hoped.

But still as the plant was eaten this week, I laid on the ground and wished for death. I've locked myself away from everyone, shut out my heart and hoped to avoid emotional intimacy. Because the truth hurts, and I know you'd see it written on my face.

For who knows what is good for man while he lives the few days of his vain life, which he passes like a shadow? For who can tell man what will be after him under the sun? Ecclesiastes 6:12

Can you imagine being the disciples? Seeing their friend, their teacher, their Lord, the one who embodied all their hope and vision of the future - dead, dying on a cross meant for the vilest of men? Reading John 16, I can only imagine the grief Jesus held for his brothers - they had no idea. Not because he didn't tell them, but because they thought they heard Him but really only heard what He said through their preconceived notions of reality. They too had to have everything taken apart, in the most literal and painful way - all they had known was stripped away and they were left once again fishermen lost without a way to go.

But then in their waiting, in their doing, in their distress Jesus came. He was new, He was familiar, He was different, He embodied all that was meant to be but not what they had expected Him to be. For some the difference was too radical, they could walk and talk with Him but not recognize their Lord, for others they had to touch in order to believe, and still yet for others it was in the breaking of bread they knew it was their Lord and they could hope again.

I haven't seen Jesus rise yet. The deaths of what I thought, how I thought I knew things worked are still dead in the grave. It may be day one, two or the rising of the third day - all I know is that right here it feels dead and gone. But I have nothing else to do but continue to be, to rise and wait. Will I run out when a whisper of hope comes? Will I walk with my Lord and not even know Him? Will I reject the knowledge and testimony of those around me, having to wait till He appears to me and be humbled?

Oh God let me see You.
Precious Jesus, in the early morning,
as my grief seems overwhelming,
and the darkness so strong,
let me rise and run to You.
At the whisper of dawn,
at the call of life,
Let me have faith to come.
But if I don't dear Lord,
Don't give up on me,
Let me walk with You,
Talk with You,
Break bread,
touch You,
hear testimony of You,
however I can heard Lord, speak
and save this wretched one.
But let me not curse You and wish for death.
Sustain me Spirit in this barren land.
In the wasteland of death,
be the Breathe of Life to me.
Because hope is found in just breathing.
So Spirit breathe over me.
Until the building begins,
till this cement dries,
till the frame is seen,
sustain me.

And Then...

It was this time two years ago when things started to change....

Autumn has that ability to bring on nostalgia, the recollecting of times gone by. It seems like yesterday where we gathered round, discussing the future and the hope we longed to see. Not intimate, but honest were our reflections and we all had searched for a church to call home, to call "family".

Thank you for inviting us to New Covenant, saying your children enjoyed it. While it wasn't your home, it became ours and we are eternally marked by Her.

It was the Christmas dinner, and feeling awkward as it was our first meal at the Seminary. As you walked past us, you grabbed my arm and said You are a part of us. I've heard you say these words to several people since then. But their power has not diminished - your touch pulled us in and I knew I had to be home.

In the cold of Winter and the New Year, after the joy of Advent, the sorrow of Lent began. I still remember walking into the sanctuary that first night, you with me not knowing fully that this one night would mark a new stage in life. This Lenten season, would make way for many more seasons in these Wednesday night prayer services. I was changed by their intimacy. One night another spoke in languages unknown and her tone brought my heart joy, it sounded like the tongue of a land I longed to be in. You reminded me of the other, and you shaped me to see more.

The Spring came forth and life began, meeting, knowing, gathering and falling in love. You were foreign to me, honestly your handicap at first intimidated me - but your hospitality was compelling and drew me in. Our first outing was magnificent, seeing creation, talking, and making memories. You would say I was a blessing, but it is you who made me see what family beyond blood could be.

Linear is how I've always thought.

Gaining.
Growing.
Changing.
Moving on.
Forward motion.

Circular is how you spoke.

Seasons.
Growth.
Maturity.
Brokenness.
Will of God.

This is a thank you.

For you've become family. Some members I know better than myself. Others still have depths I have yet to see. Most I've not spent as much as I'd like to get to know. You've marked me. You've made me. You've welcomed me. You've driven me crazy. I've cried, cursed, screamed, and sat in silence. I have spoken in joy, prophetic longing, imagination, and hope. I have sung songs for your present, and declared songs of your future fulfillment. I've been accepted, misunderstood, rejected and warmed. I guess this is family beyond name. I thank you. No matter where we go from here, I know I will thank the Lord for you and pray that the Spirit who brought us together will continue the good work She has started.

Hope through prayer and action

My husband and I help teach the kids of our local congregation almost every week. We (rather he) teaches Sunday School Preschool every Sunday we are there. But for the last two weeks he hasn't been in town or has been ill, which left me to teach them. Following our pastors human development stages we focus on stories for the preschoolers. Phil choose to read through 1 and 2 Kings with the kids, having PlayMobil act out the verses then have the kids retell it - so we know they heard the story. He doesn't moralize, he rarely paraphrases - he just reads God's Word and let's the children hear and interpret as they will. If they get the retelling wrong, we will go over it again to ensure that they are not wrongly hearing. That is especially crucial in these books of wars, violence and prophets. It's been really fun, teaching the kids and hoping that some part of them remembers these stories. As adults we've been blown away by the stories, having our own faith shaken and strengthen sometimes at the same time.

Well the week I was supposed to lead I had 2 Kings 6. Beautiful stories! God's caring of the ax head of the servant of Elisha, and then miraculous action leading to the ultimate hospitality of one's enemy! Great stories, and so I read ahead to see if I could add a third story for the children, but as I read I decided to leave this difficult passage to my beloved.

28 And the king asked her, “What is your trouble?” She answered, “This woman said to me, ‘Give your son, that we may eat him today, and we will eat my son tomorrow.’ 29 So we boiled my son and ate him. And on the next day I said to her, ‘Give your son, that we may eat him.’ But she has hidden her son.” 30 When the king heard the words of the woman, he tore his clothes—now he was passing by on the wall—and the people looked, and behold, he had sackcloth beneath on his body.

My stomach ached, and my body hurt - the image burned into my mind. Having seen the 2014 movie Noah, where we saw this implied on screen. I felt like Noah in the streams of blood and violence and grew angry with God for His inaction.

Yet in the text there is no reference of prayer, or asking to be delivered from their enemies until this point. There is no longing for God until the worse has come, we've resorted to killing our children so we may live. Then in pain the king tears his clothes - but rather than turning to God, he also resorts to violence and seeks out Elisha, "May God do so to me and more also, if the head of Elisha the son of Shaphat remains on his shoulders today.” Rather than seeking the Lord himself, or even asking Elisha to bring salvation - he will take out his own inner hatred and pain for his people through this prophet.

The Lord (like He has in many other passages with Elisha) warns the prophet ahead of time that they are set to murder him. But when the messenger arrives he says "This trouble is from the Lord! Why should I wait for the Lord any longer?” If you read my previous post you will understand how much I relate to this. Why should I wait for the Lord? He is capable of acting, He has shown Himself time and time again but here in our most deepest of despair He is silent....

Then Elisha speaks of God's abundance, saying that this time tomorrow wheat and barley will be so abundant a whole bushel will sell for a few shekels. Then the captain, the right hand of the king speaks, "If the Lord himself should make windows in heaven, could this thing be?” He probably had firsthand experience of God's saving the king through Elisha's words but here he doubted. But it was not Elisha he doubted, it was God - His glory, His goodness, His capacity were in question and found wanting by the captain. So Elisha pronounced to him, "You shall see it with your own eyes, but you shall not eat of it.”

Then the scene switches, to four diseased men, the outcast thrown out of the city for their disease. They debated on action, to go in the city they'd be killed, but to sit they would starve so they risk going into the enemies camp and seek refuge.

5 So they arose at twilight to go to the camp of the Syrians. But when they came to the edge of the camp of the Syrians, behold, there was no one there. 6 For the Lord had made the army of the Syrians hear the sound of chariots and of horses, the sound of a great army, so that they said to one another, “Behold, the king of Israel has hired against us the kings of the Hittites and the kings of Egypt to come against us.” 7 So they fled away in the twilight and abandoned their tents, their horses, and their donkeys, leaving the camp as it was, and fled for their lives. 

Then the outcast ones, the rejects of the city began to eat and drink. They gathered linen, silver and gold from tent to tent, until they said to one another, "We are not doing right. This day is a day of good news. If we are silent and wait until the morning light, punishment will overtake us. Now therefore come; let us go and tell the king's household." They did not keep this good news to themselves, the salvation of the city was found and they went to share it though they had not been welcome into the city. When they came to the city the king doubted, but through persistence of his servants said risk five men and horses and the king did. When they found the camps empty the people came out and plundered and food was again in abundance. The captain was trampled by the people and died just as Elisha had said but the people were preserved.

Will I be the captain, unwilling to believe God's ability?
Will I be the king and not lower my face even in the midst of the people's utter loss, and instead respond in anger?
Or will I be like the messenger, throwing myself at the feet of the prophet confessing my doubt but willing to hear the truth?
Will we embrace the outcast, the diseased for through them our salvation may be found?
Will we be like the diseased and share the abundance of the Lord once we receive it, though we had been rejected?

“If the Lord himself should make windows in heaven, could such a thing be?"
Let me be like the messenger, the outcast, or like the prophet - let me doubt but doubt believing in hope, being honest with the Lord but trusting when He speaks through His people.

The one where we knew ourselves

I woke up from an "overwhelmed" nap.

Emotionally I'm much like a toddler. When I get overwhelmed I either scream and yell, having to have a short temper tantrum. Or I shut down and have to sleep, or rather I choose to sleep than face the sea in front of me. I don't have to sleep, but I shutdown and choose the soothing quiet of nothingness than face the overflow of confusion and feelings.

I said once I wanted to be a vet.
Then God broke in, and I wept - and I called myself a missionary to be.
In these years the call is what I've use define myself.
The utter entirety of my identity was wrapped in the calling of what will be, not what was presently.
I fell in deep like, questioned, and chose the call than another.
Instead of parties, I'd sit and pray.
Then the call hurt, I was rejected by those who are called the Body.
I ran towards another role that could fulfill, giving heart to country.
But in God's intervention I met my love and found the call again.
Marriage, birth, moves, college, and adulthood.
They smacked us in the face, and I wrestled - how would these fit?
Then seasons of Selah, and sense of knowing gave us direction and peace again - across the pond perhaps.
Yet I found myself somewhere else, in the structure of business.
I thrived, I died, I've wept, laughed, cursed, and loved it.
The chaos was addictive, the respect refreshing, and the growth tangible and real.
Being good at something and having others see it - well it's wonderful.
Where does that leave us now?
The call, the definition confusing....
Then a knock on my heart awoke me, pastor.
I ran with it, or so I thought, but when those who knew me best didn't believe neither did I.
I thrive here, but I hate here.
When looked at, when asked I can't answer who God even is.
When sought too, I can't even recite the most basic of truths - because I don't believe them here.
Maybe out there, perhaps in a world of theology, a place of worship, a life of ministry.
But here, in the nitty gritty, where people lie, cheat, die, and hurt us - where is He then?
When I don't know how to be a light, because I'm so pissed off at how things are going.
When I don't have enough energy to make it through the day, and yet I do because I love it - I just don't know.
When my best friend may never know God in the way she could,
When my best friend's body remains broken,
When my best friend's tongue still longs for unknown language...
I don't know.
Growing up doesn't look like anything I thought it would.
The problems don't go away, the linger...for days, months, years, decades...all of our life.
A God so great should be better.
A Creator so imaginative should know better.
A people in His image should see better.
But we don't and He doesn't...
And so when you ask me do I believe in God... Well in my own self no.
In your face, I have to.
In the tender look of our daughter, of course I do.
In the broken Body that gathers on Sunday morning - the Spirit resounds.
But Jesus, where is He? Why does He tarry?
You say believe, but I ask believe in what?
Believe in who? Why does He wait?!?!?!?!
I hear the responses in my head, "it's my interpretation", "He does act but not always how we want"...
A dozen other quips of honest and authentic faith.
But right now, in this moment I don't believe them.
I'm tired of waiting, my heart is sick of hope unfulfilled and honestly I don't care.
The faith isn't in the sign, but it reminds us that He is present.
So yes I'm angry, I'm lost and dang it I'm hurt.

I feel let down, washed up and forgotten.
I know my twenty five years are a cliche of crisis in this day,
But it's all I have, and it's all I've known.
I want to say His name with belief.
I want to sing with hope.
I want to believe.
But I just don't...
It hurts too much.

But in our hoping against hope,
like Abraham "In hope he believed against hope"
So as I dream tonight, and sleep from necessity of rest rather than running from pain,
Holy Spirit help me to hope.

I don't know

Maybe I don't know as well as I thought.

I know it's cliche,
You've heard it a thousand times.
A millenial standing here,
wondering what's real.

I don't doubt the skies,
though it's crashing in the night.
I don't doubt the writings,
for their comfort is tangible.

I don't doubt the Son,
for His name brought peace.
I don't the Spirit,
for She's moved my hard heart.
I don't doubt the Father,
for I know all Creation speaks the Creator.

But it's myself I'm beginning to doubt.
Maybe I don't know me at all.

This point of view,
This interpretation of things,
this state I'm in..
Maybe I don't see true,
Maybe my construct isn't faithful,
Maybe my being is askew.

So where do we go from here?
When the fragile pieces of our soul,
are left in a box held in our own hands?
We know the answer.
But is the water deep enough?

Can I jump into these waters?
Will I wade deep enough to drown into You?
The places I met You before leave me hollow now.
The words I've said before feel less faithful than silence.
The chaos surrounding numbing our hearts till we're overcome.
Will You bring in the waves of all You are?
Washing us away in the deepness of You.
Will You draw us in, letting all we are be expressed in You?
For no love is wider.
No justice farther,
No beauty more lasting,
No thought more creative,
No song more melodic,
No longing is left wanting in You.

For Your love is endless,
Your justice whole,
Your beauty engulfing,
Your very Word creates life,
Your song sustaining all we are,
And our heart's desire is made & found in You.

I don't know,
Don't know when I will.
But I'll keep moving forward,
Tumbling, falling, hurting, bruising along the way.
God keep my hands from hurting,
My words silenced when I feel like bruising.
Let me tumble, fumble and fall - but keep me from striking my brother,
Keep me from wounding my sister.
I need Your Holy Spirit to sustain me,
for I feel less and act more, or feel much and act little.
Jesus, keep me in line with all You are -
Cause my thoughts to wander towards Your direction.
And I will find peace.
I will one day yet know more faithfully than I know now.

A rant

What do I say....
Are there words adequate enough to express this turbulence? How life wasn't what I expected and I'm still gaining my sea legs. How we lose touch with each other, though we swore we'd never. How our daily talks are more like monthly phone tags. How it all seems to be crashing like the waves on the shore because family doesn't fit or work like I'd always seen. Perhaps I was blind then, I fear I'm blind now - will I ever see?
God do you even matter? What do you change? Do You make a difference? Because sometimes I wonder. Today when I'm angry, I doubt Your touch means anything at all. I know that it's foolish. And the night before I felt Your hand. But today's darkness blinds me.

God.
God.
God.
Each utterance of who You are speaks another part of who You are. Please change me. I know in my head, I need to know in all my being. In my veins, my heart, my voice, my spirit, my very core must reflect You.

My mom.
My dad.
My daughter.
My husband.
My sisters.
My brothers.
My in-laws.
My friends.

These, these chosen few that you've brought in my life and me into theirs - awaken me to be grace, to be light, to be Truth. Because honestly I suck. I suck the life rather than breathing life in. So help me God. I don't understand. I don't even know what to ask, but I'm wrong and You're the only one who is completely right so change me.

The paralytic and her friends.

Dear one,

I write this song of our journey, your story, to tell you that to have carried you isn't/wasn't/won't ever be a burden, rather it is a joy. I write to tell of the journey of hope, what has been, or what will be - so that your faith would be encouraged, and that hope would burn ever brightly. For all that you are, you've changed us - each one who has encountered your path has left a better self.

Thank you for letting us along your journey.

Your four friends

----------------------------------------------------

We've 'walked' this road for a while together now.

Your face is a light in my life, and I hope mine is to yours.

The dirt on my feet, the sweat in my brow,

the sores on my hand, from pulling your mat -

it's nothing compared to the weight you carry.

The Savior has come, they say even His cloak brings wholeness.

We've traveled far,

but the crowds overflow,

and there's no place to go.

We've pressed in, with no avail.

We've waited, with no success.

We've exchanged looks, our hearts ever burdened.

It's unorthodox, it's unruly, but it's all we have left.

We look to you, 'Friend, I know you can't hold on,

so we're taking you through the roof.'

We've tied you down, so our hands won't fail.

We've picked you up, on our backs we will make it.

Up to the roof, so precarious, so foolish.

But you've given up the fight, and we won't,

You may prefer to be safe, but we've come for Jesus.

We've wrenched the door open, with force beyond our own.

We've taken out the frame, because you can't even sit up anymore.

The tiles are no match for the love we feel for you.

This is our last chance, our last hope,

so we lay you on the bed, and tie the ropes to each corner.

Our eyes meet, us, we, all those that have carried you,

for the decades, for the moments here -

we have faith, because that's all we can do.

In the face of the hopelessness in your heart,

we have faith, we have carried the promise, so we lower you.

To the Savior, the Messiah, the one who speaks of life.

I know not what the Savior will do,

But we hope, pray, and believe....

As we lower you, and you come to rest,

He looks up to us, we four that carried you here,

and we tremble with fear, anguish and hope.

Friend, you may have lost hope, but our faith burns even ever so lightly.

We then hear Jesus voice, like calming waters,

He calls you "daughter, friend";

He had seen the faith.

He looks to you and says,

"your sins are forgiven you".

We know He is not pronouncing judgement,

rather speaking the freedom He has already given.

Jesus sees the fear of unworthiness,

the wonder of some sin that may have been committed,

the some thing to explain the loss you've endured...

Many have spoken, assumed it was a wrongdoing that you carry these pains.

Perhaps a disobedience, or pride that's made you fall.

But He declares "your sins are forgiven you".

You are free, you are loved,

You are accepted, the ailments, the paralysis is not a cause of sin,

of unworthiness or any action of your own.

Before your body is whole, He wants you to know,

"your sins are forgiven"; freedom.

I see your face,

you are grateful for the freedom.

They've said since that day, that you, the sufferer,

alone knew how that the great burden which pressed on your soul

and how it was removed at the Master's word.

But we know your heart hurts - you thought there would be more.

Don't give up yet.

I hear grumbling, the Pharisees again,

speaking what they think they know - but don't.

Accusing, blind, not too far from what we used to be.

I hear Jesus speak to them, and then again to you,

We press in to hear through the hole we laid you through,

He speaks:

"I say to you, rise, pick up your bed and go home.”

Our hearts stop.

Our faith holds on, but barely,

We wait to see - will you have faith to stand?

Will His words heal like we've seen before?

Half a breath passes, and our hearts leap at the sight.

Before everyone can respond,

we are running off the roof, heading towards the door.

We don't care if it's unruly, unorthodox, or any other matter -

we are pushing everyone out of the way, to the door.

There you are, standing in the doorway.

STANDING.

The mat - the place of your affliction now in your hand.

The feet that had once held horror to you, now beautiful.

The back that held you bound, holds you up straight.

The glow in you eyes like heavens first song.

The glory of God pouring through your very skin.

The people gasp, and point in awe.

We run to you in intimate embrace,

seeing our faith come to pass.

Many speak of the healing,

many have been brought to the Truth because of you.

It is a beautiful thing, a treasure to behold.

We dance in your dancing,

Just as we mourned in your weeping.

We laugh in the rejoicing,

Just as we held to faith in the sorrows.

To those that have lost hope,

we gather round and say "sister, the faith in your brother is strong enough to carry you".

To those that have faith,

we gather them up and encourage them to act, to believe, to pray.

The faith in my sister is stronger than my own,

and if tomorrow I too can not walk, I know -

You'd carry me in faith to salvation's place.

Give us, Lord, the same kind of faith with respect to thy ability and willingness to heal our souls. Give us to desire the pardon of sin more than any earthly blessing, or life itself. Enable us to believe thy power to forgive sins; then will our souls cheerfully arise and go where thou pleases.

(Matthew Henry's Concise Commentary)

Inspired by my best friends - don't forget your name.

And by Teddy Hart's sermons at Renovatus Church in North Carolina - check them out here:

"Seeing Strange Things"

http://renovatuschurch.com/media.php?pageID=5

Moving

Sometimes the song comes forth intentional, fully planned, executed in perfect melody; other times however the song appears, the notes leaving your lips as honestly spills forth from your heart. This is what prayer is for me - a song.
I pray other ways of course - in writing, in silent words, in Spirit led groans, and a in covering meditation. But I am still caught by the wonder of praying in song. Yesterday I was driving, on my way to get my husband for the 4th Celebration after spending all afternoon help cleaning out my parents house. The last couple of weeks, and really months have been very traumatic emotionally for me - and it's not because of other's actions, but because of deep reflection. I've screamed, I've cursed, I've cried in a depth that is beyond me, I've laid at the altar as hands of love keep my soul at rest, I've gotten angry - so angry I'm scared by the pain inside and I've laughed freely. My heart is a worn mess and this move has brought it all up.

As I drove I sang various melodies, trying to express my heart, all of a sudden tears were falling and I was catching my breath - I was singing my heart to God. Anger, confusion, lost, frustration, hopelessness, deep hope, anger, and fear. A mangled prayer as I could barely get the notes out, but it was true - and I asked God why.

The answer well, is still waiting. But my heart rested after its brutal expression of pain to the Lord, and the Spirit in Her tenderness and strength reassured my heart that I was not forgotten.

I'm still angry. I feel the wrath inside - but the God of the heavens is not shaken by my anger, but invites me to let it go and find rest.

I'm still confused. The questions, the doubts, I don't understand anything of the last few months.

I'm still hurting. The tears can bubble in a moment, that place of wrestling is sore, and I don't know who won.

But I am not forgotten. There is a part of me that doubts that, a part that wants to yell to the heavens and say "You lied, You are dead to me as I am dead to You!" But there is my head, and the depth of my spirit that knows that this too shall pass, and His Light brought into eternal glory of my life.

Moving turns a home back into a house, and puts the heart looking for it's home. But where the Spirit of the Lord is there is freedom, where the Body is there is Love, and Truth is now a person to know and we are not forgotten.

Standing

Here we are standing.
Holding on and letting go,
Living in the ebb and  flow.
Spirit of God speak.
Revealed in the Word,
lived in the Incarnate.

Today and yesterday, tomorrow and forever.
These emotions change and it drives me insane.
Yesternight was a lifetime ago, and today feels like a daze.
But my witness can't depend in these fleeting feelings, these residues if dreams.
So Jesus come, help me. Because I can't help myself.

Meet the mom.
Sing life over her and make her whole.
Meet the dad.
As life has crumbled give new sight, restore the broken and be there. 
Meet the daughter,
Continue to give her strength to bear the loads and make clear her path.
Meet the son,
Whose tasks overwhelm and distractions hold him, give freedom and clarity.

For You are father, mother, sister, neither and in You we find peace.

I wish

Friend, I write this for you.

I wish.
I wish I could make the time turn back,
and restore all you've lost.
I wish I could quicken our Savior's steps,
and bring the restoration now.

I wish I could carry this for you instead,
and know you'd carry me too.
I wish the smallest part to be renewed,
and hope to grow and grow.

I scream, I cry, I am worn,
yet your strength pushes me forward.
I sing, I dance, I am joyful,
as you've brought a light into my life.

I wish, oh dear one I wish.

I wish to make the stars align,
and for you to meet the one.
I wish to make the pain cease,
and all the tears seem distant.

I wish that the voices would be silenced,
and you'd know your worth.
I wish your heart to speak languages unknown,
and you'd know your feet are beautiful.

Dear one I wish....
But in this fragile body you are here.
We can scream at God together, it's okay.
I won't run away, and He is not offended.

I wish I understood the mind of God,
the tarrying Father of Lights.
I wish I could explain the Spirit's move,
or our elder brother, Christ's love.

You scream, you sit, you are worn,
the tears just don't work anymore.
You walk, you move, you speak,
and you cause new life all around you.

So dear one, while I will wish and forever pray,
You are a light.
You are a song.
We all dance in the symphony of who you are.
I wish you could hear it's melody.

Please know, I know you will be whole.
A day will come that your heart will rest.
Where wishing will be for petty things,
like books and earrings.
Until that day I will never give up,
and neither should you -
Because hope arises in the morning,
and we too can be made new.
I love you.
I wish you to know how deep that love is - for it is not me alone.

A prayer

Sometimes I am going my prayers, sometimes I live my prayers and then like today I write the words I can - hoping  the Spirit will respond to the things I can express.

Growing up... God I never thought we'd get this far. My heart breaks in my chest. I desperately long for us to be all together. For my sisters, brother, and I to live life together. To experience everything like the best of friends. But God its not happening like that. God we all seem so far apart and it kills me...
Is this what is meant to be? Are we born into these family units only to depart after their years of investing into us? It doesn't seem fair.
Hold steady my heart. Let me hear You, through the madness, through the chaos, through the insanity help me.
As I lack understanding and as my heart hurts, I will trust You. I don't know anything anymore but I know You. Jesus, my elder brother speak truth to me. God my Father, I will trust Your call. Holy Spirit, my mother and sister, sing over me songs of love and peace in this insanity.
Amen.

Drowning in the silences, Swimming in the dawn

I believe in a theology that is rich, full and beautiful.

I believe in a Holy Spirit, whose beautiful dance within the Trinity causes us to sing into Pentecost.

I believe that rain will cause us to grow, but the sun proves our perseverance.

I feel a failure in so many different ways.

While your words say otherwise, I feel I have broken your heart.

What I believe doesn't seem to connect with what I feel.

What I live is so different from what I know.

The darkness came, the Spirit spoke, and the dragon died.

But will I last....

I can't explain to you the intricacies, the connected reasons of why and why not,

these complexities are beyond my words to articulate.

But the melding between us has caused a rift, a void I can't express.

I don't want these demons, I don't want these blessings,

I just don't want to let go.

What I feel is screaming, and the voice of condemnation whispers my sins as I confess.

So I say all I know, because what I feel is too much for me.

You are God, You are a good, good God.

A father, a mother, sister, brother - You are.

All good things I have, all love I know is from You.

Three in One, a dance I am invited to witness, to join in by even the smallest part.

Will we wade into these waters, the oceans that have no end?

For You oh God are limitless, endless in character, love, and person.

I can spend my entire life seeking You, and a thousand eternities thereafter and I will know a simple drop.

But seek I must.

You know. Bring peace. Prayers of the Saints lift me up.

Cause these conflictions to speak true of who You are Lord.

For You are I AM - unchanging, unwavering in all You are. 

Living, breathing, present, past and all that will be.

In You all was made, in all You will be, and in You all will end.

I will be in You, and trust that You can, will and have spoken to me.

That's all I have left.

Selah.

I used to

I used to believe in capital punishment.
I used to believe in systems.
I used to believe I knew what justice was.

But two twelve year old girls being imprisoned till they are 77, that's not justice.
Us overtly avoiding the mental health issue while hyper focusing on gender, that's not justice.

I used to believe in black and white lines.
I used to believe everyone thought like me.
I used to believe I could transcend this insanity.

But a young girl laying in a hospital bed recovering from wounds inflicted by her "friends", that's not sane.
A young man hands wet with blood, shooters on campuses, schools, homes, and no trace of the Body, that's not sane.

I used to believe the prayers of the saints were superfluous.
I used to believe old men's longing for Christ's return to be demonstrative.
I used to believe we could make this right on our own.

But my heart yearns for peace, as the whole world groans in angst, tearing itself apart.
Our feeble hands unable to accomplish, yet we can do more than we are, and most of all we need to seek His face.

I used to believe I knew much more than I do.
I used to speak in certainty I can't hold anymore.
I used to be safe in the place of reason and knowledge.

But like my peers, like the masses surrounding me, my own unraveling is parallel to the world's failing.
Yet as the Creator takes me apart piece by piece, I will not be left an empty canvas but will be made into a new masterpiece - one that shines, that includes, that invites, and gives space.

Let us speak no more of "I used to". But let us join in the joyful sound of "I am becoming", "Christ is changing me", "I am not, but I trust in the one who IS."
These are not cliche quips, they are not simple answers to simple questions. These are the results of deep wrestling, of sleepless nights, of tears and groans only the Spirit can express. Yes, it may seem like all hell is breaking forth in this land and in our own hearts - but that is a glimmer, the Light can not die, and He who was before, is now and will be again....so let us run into Him.

Waters of gold I have drunk

Let Me speak who you are.
Stop searching for the voices,
The masses reassurance;
For the quiet leader's affirmation.
Seek Me, let Me speak life.

For I know you.
Your innermost parts are known by Me.
I can equip you.
I can call you.
Stop seeking the calf, the mediator between us.
Stop putting forth your "Moses",
Don't stop at the foot of this mountain.
I have called you to know Me.
To seek Me, to love Me.
Not My representation,
Not only My Body,
Not an idol you've formed in your pain.
I have called you to know Me.
Not as a fact, but true yada.
For I am the I am,
The inexpressible
The unknowable
The mysterious ever reaching God.
But I am not unreachable,
Nor am I unavailable.
I am present in your restlessness,
I am here in your silence,
In your movement I reside still.

Lay down your idols,
Quit finding My replacement.
Don't stop at the foot of this mount.
Come up my child.
In the waiting, don't fall asleep.
In the waiting, don't give up.
I am preparing a place for you.
It is here with Me.
Wait, and you will see Me.

---------------
Oh, I am afraid.
You are a mighty and terrible God.
Your love is not contained, and Your beauty wholly other.
How can I know a God so holy?
How can I trust a man, a Spirit, a God, who is three in one?
Father, Brother, Sister, Mother:
You are.

I hear Your beckon and it frightens me.
It shakes my very core and I am frozen.
You speak, and I turn.
It's hard.
It's unbecoming.
All consuming.
I can't speak what I do not know.
Yet You call me to open my mouth.

I am sick in anxiety.
The nights no longer bring peace.
The precious lay waste at the war inside.
So arrest me Lord.
Capture all I am, and call me to holiness.
Sanctify these burning embers of shame.
Make clean these whitewashed tombs.
I will seek You.
Though I barely know You.
I will go up the mountain,
into the fire, the glory, the unseen.
I will not make these idols again,
the calf has melted away into the waters I have drank.
In this waiting help me not slumber through,
ignoring the call to wait here with You.
Let me not take my sword and cut,
blinded by my own insecure truths.
I will run into You.
We can never go back.
I can't get away from You.
Don't let me go.
For I am nothing without You.
All I am is found in You,
All the good I do is only from You.
All I seek is known in You.
All I am made for is in You, Your Body, Your Heart, Your creation.
Into Your glory I will go.

A Moment of Honesty

There may be a vacuum, a hole left.
There may be avoidance, & denial.
Perhaps there may be liberty, like a bird set free from its cage...

Only God can answer, and the wrestling is deep enough to leave me hanging in desperate please of other's approval. I'm floundering and I can't stand. The depth is consuming, and anger spills over spewing loathing fire all over.
I know this isn't good. I know this isn't right. But I can't even express what IT IS let alone speak it rightly.

Ignore, distract, run, and it'll all be okay.
Face, stand, be and I don't know if it will.

Can I sit here in the silence?
Or do I let the noise take over and busy my hands with the work of man?

Only You know.
Only You see.
So Holy Spirit....
Come.

Praying in songs

I don't handle silence well. I never have. I've gotten better at stillness and silence as an adult but only because if the necessity of it as a spiritual discipline. Trust me if God didn't show up in the silence I wouldn't go there!

In prayer this gets odd in corporate settings. If I'm silent my mind runs a million miles. If I talk i sound a bit like a mad man. Normally I write or sing my prayers to God as way to keep focused. Until recently the singing of my prayers felt too intimate to have in corporate settings. But I've found the last 6 weeks God has called me to sing over people, to sing my prayers to His throne, and to confess my own self through song.

At our weekly prayer and praise at Church I felt compelled to combine the two. I wrote and sung simultaneous. This is the result. (note I've done no editing since I originally sung/prayed this.)

Help us be transparent and holy.
If we are a family then let us be real.
Pull us, don't let go of us.
Lord would You bring revival?
Cause us to speak the words that need to be spoken.
Cause us to lay down these heavy burdens.
Pull us, don't let us go.
Lord would You bring revival.
Revival.
Bring these dead bones, bring dead hearts, bring our weary souls back to life.
You are good and Your mercy endures forever and I  know You.. Oh,
Won't let us go. You've never failed.
And as we rise up, You are with us.
Hold us, together. Hold us as one.
And we will find You, in one another.
So take my hands bind them together with my sister and my brother and we will move more more into You.

I can be, who I am.
They can be, who they are.
But we are being made new in You and everything will change, and all will rearrange and we'll have hope.

So praise the Lord. Praise the Lord.
For You are good, for You are good.

Your voice tied to words my mind can understand.

When you think you know it all

Humility a creature unbecoming
Silence the movement of unbearable weight
These are my crosses

Love a becoming I'm not accustom
Sacrifice the words I know in head, not heart
These are my losses

Anger a custom I've adopted too well
Reaction the time grows shorter each & every time
These are my sins

If you knew me
Would you love me still?
If this demon-dragon showed itself,
Would You stick around?

Please teach me what is right.
I forgot it a long time ago.

Meek a phrase I am seeking
Thirst the taste of righteousness I've been given
These are my callings

Mercy a sought out name I long to know
Peacemaking the way of Christ, making the way of us
These are my joys

Insults a lack of knowing, unafraid
Obedience: waiting, following, the act of being
These are my gifts

Forgive this foolish pride
Assumptions of knowledge
Forgive acting before I am being
Running before I learned to stand

You know me
Yet You do not walk away
Your Spirit ever present
Simply my absence causing the drift

Please Lord help me,
Humility I seek
Slow to speak
Slow to anger
Respect
Deference
Love
Joy
Patience

I need You
For this shallow frame knows all
I need You
This soul knows not its own name

I am in desperate need of Your vastness, Your Holy wholly otherness is my salvation.
Adsorbing all I am into the expanse of You, undiluted
I will seek Your face and be changed by the touch of Your cloak
Thank You, meet me here in the weakness of me.

All Good Things Must Come to an End - A cup of tea reflection

The cinnamon left a tart feeling on my taste-buds, the black tea rich in flavor subdued by the soft soy milk frothy and full, and just a hint of sweet - a cup of tea like none other. 

For a few moments in time it was the most delicious creation....

Then the cup was empty.

Foamed soy milk rings were left around the cup, and the tea bag lay soggy in it's bottom. As I grasped the cup, tipping it as far as it would go without splashing my face - longing for the last drops of the delicious tea, my moment of liquid heaven was over.

It felt like it barely began.

I guess I often see life through these tea fashioned rings. Romantic, exotic, sweet but terribly too short.

I should be honest, I'm currently being deconstructed and am reaching for anything that makes sense - any little Lincoln Log I can grab to build something out of the nothing I am falling in.

I don't know why I dread so much the deconstruction, it's not like the building is falling on its own. Rather each piece, each construct of my life is being taken apart intricately and specifically by the illustrious, and good Creator. The hands pulling at my seems are not harsh or cruel - but are loving and holy hands, ones that carry holes in their palms as they have deconstructed the cruel world before and brought life never before imagined.

So why wouldn't these hands bring new life again?
Why be so afraid of the unknown, when it's in the exact place of absence & lack of knowing that Truth bursts forth and moves mountains?

I guess it's about trust.

In one of our many conversations about faith and identity, my husband was reflecting that while my wounds don't define me I've had instances of wounds that have shaped how I see things - God, myself, the world, purpose etc. As a recent professor reflected - we are living in our interpretations of our experiences not necessarily the experiences themselves. That is the beauty of what another professor friend called "God redeeming our memories" - He isn't changing the events themselves, but He is changing our interpretation of them.

But to allow a Holy God to shape us, requires abandonment, full and entire emptying - for this wicked frame cannot hold Him. Every part of my humanity must be made clean, pure, and right before the Almighty.

So Lord, make me renewed.

This Martha.
This part-time Mary.

The industrious one.
The administrator.

Eldest child.
First fruit sacrifice.

Authority challenged.
Wishful feminist.

Secret worshipper.
Loud talker.

The longings.
The dreams.

Pastor.
Missionary.
Mother.
Speaker.
Teacher.
Boss.
Wife.
Friend.

World changer.
Game player.


Take these definitions of me - the titles I wear proudly or in secret, and show me who You say that I am. Conform my memories of those defining moments to the truth of Your Spirit. Lead me into all righteousness. Laying down my expectations but giving into Your will - for all of forever.

I can't say anymore - this is who I am.
For who I am was left at the altar. Who I was given as a burnt offering of obedience.
Rather let me explore the depths of Love, the trenches of hope in the seas of the Unending Known God.
Help me not limit myself, but trust in Your breadth of love to sustain me.

I can't but that's okay. All I know is changing, and I can't control a thing. The waters are calling, help me dive deep. Let me wrestle You Lord, I will not leave You until I have a new name. One given by You not by man's desires or expectations - but a name given expressing who I truly am in You.

As in the words of C.S. Lewis
"There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind..."
Even the best cup of tea, in its most exotic and rich of flavor must end - but tomorrow brings an unexpected opportunity to discover its wonder again.

The things I didn't want to write

This Easter was perfect.

Growing up in a conservative Evangelical Charismatic non-denominational home, my father out of the Episcopal tradition, and my mom from the cultish World Wide Church of God - well let's just say all religious holidays had extensive discussions of their place in our family. My grandmother was a rich, retired Californian Episcopalian, so you can bet we went to the Country Club every year, wore matching dresses and was among the masses of grandchildren being bragged about among the residents. Church had little place in our Easter tradition. We had done the Good Friday or Saturday services - but they lacked the Resurrection and Sunday morning was dedicated to Egg Hunts and Luncheons so after a while my dad felt that only having the death of Christ wasn't beneficial. After my grandmother passed away I have no memories of Easter, the day of our Lord's Resurrection held little importance to me. Then when my husband and I got married we spent most of these times with my in-laws. They pastor a good Mid-West Christian Church, which means little liturgy, low emotion, and lots of specials. A good, calm Sunday service with breakfast fellowship beforehand (oh the bacon!) and a ham lunch afterwards.

This year was different, we weren't going to Illinois we had to choose our own tradition.
God spoke to my husband as we went to see the Disney Nature documentary Bears - yes God speaks to my husband often in Disney movies (Frozen was a life changer, no joke). Anyway Phil felt the unction of the Spirit to let me chose our Easter plans. He didn't want to, because he knew what that intended.

A sunrise service.
Going to our normal church family.
A picnic, with my family.
Following the whims of me.

Honestly I can't blame the man, both he and my daughter hadn't seen the light of a 6am hour in a long time. But they were troupers and got up with me to go the Charismatic Anglican service at the Lee University Chapel at 7am. I wanted our daughter to experience the liturgy of the Church of England, but with livelihood of the Spirit's ways -Emmanuel Fellowship offered both. We read aloud Scripture, responded to Fr. Baker, and sang beautiful songs - then as we were to partake of the Eucharist the sun began to fully rise. As the light streamed through the stained glass we stood in line awaiting the Body and the Blood. As Fr. Baker looked at me, asking if my five year old daughter took of the Lord's Table, my heart leapt as he prayed a special blessing over when I said yes. He touched her forehead, and she took the wafer. Then the next brother dipped it into the wine and put it in my daughter's mouth. I still remember to this day my first taste of communion wine, its odd flavor ruminating on my tongue as the wafer faded from my mouth. As we walked back to our pew, I sat and cried - the Lord knew my desires. My husband sitting next to me also wept for the impact of the Eucharist.

It wasn't Adelaide's first communion, and we are blessed to be in a congregation that weekly joins in the Lord's Supper but there was something there, in the blessings, in the waiting, in the emerging sun - the rejoicing of Christ is Risen that moved us both so deeply. Our darling Addie loved the songs, and sat so still even during the long readings and the homily. She watched as the Father crossed his chest, bowed to the Word and carried the cross out the door. She was joining in an ancient tradition, that I had been sprinkled into, a place that God had originally called me and I was now able to share with her.

The rest of the day was good as well. It was without drama (if you know us Blisses this is a huge feat) and was wonderfully relaxing. We were able to invite those who had no one else for our Easter picnic, and God showed us His heart for children during our service time at our normal congregation. God cared about my desires on Easter - even as the day was all about His Son's sacrifice, He still met me.

This sounds like a good, a great thing really. But as I woke up this morning there was a dead weight in my chest, a silent rock moving the blood through my veins as a living necessity rather than from passion or desire. I had a great day, enjoying the presence of my family - just us three. But as Phil poked at me, like he often does, he noticed I was not all right. I was resigned to a future I felt God wanted, but I never asked Him. I was being responsible making the pragmatic decisions for my family, sacrificing my hopes and dreams - but no one asked me to. I was a lonely martyr for a cause no one needed.

It's funny how we can make a decision by ourselves, run with it alone, and then wonder why it backfired? I think of Judas. I imagine him a pragmatic character, yes Matthew was the tax collector, but with a hothead like Peter, someone had to be the administrator, someone had to keep them on the right track. The beloved disciple was a bit self-absorbed, and the brothers fought or fished. But Judas - he had a clear head, and was following the Lord. When he saw the future king get off track, distracted by Samaritan women, or silly children - well he could ignore that if only to get him to the right path of overthrowing the Romans. But once Jesus started talking about dying, being the sacrificial Lamb, and them eating His Body - Judas knew things were too off target and action had to be taken. Whether he sold out Jesus to get out of this vagabond group of doomed misfits, or as a tactic to get Jesus to act according to his own plan - we will never know. But Judas did what was pragmatic, he made a decision and went with it - better than the floundering fool of a Peter or the sleeping chosen ones.

Man, how much I sound like that Judas. Doing what's right, at least by what's on paper; making sure we get to point z by properly following points b through y. Deciding what was best for the whole, without ever consulting another, going out, taking a risk in the name of the "plan" just to find out that that "plan" never existed. There was much more at work than a simple revolution - the Son of God and of man was about to change the entire game, not just shake a few Romans. But how could Judas know? He was just a man, but so were the rest of the disciples and while none of them handled the arrest of Jesus well none of them handed Him over either. Judas acted alone, doing what he thought was right by his own ideas.

Yeah, we have a lot in common. As soon as the plan seems to be failing I'm sitting back analyzing my next move. I'd be that Levite who'd die as they touched the Ark to keep it from falling - I assume my ways are the highest ways. I forget I can only see what is in my direct sight - and there is so much more at play than that. I can sacrifice my call for a future no one planned, lay my life down for a job that wasn't necessary, or lose my family as I assume roles never designed for me. Hearing the echoing words of my pastor I think I need to do something drastic to die to me and live for Christ - to follow Him wholeheartedly.

My husband said it starts in simply and sincerely praying - God please show me Your will and help me follow it. Lent is over, the waiting for the Resurrection has ended but still we await.
We wait for His Ascension, the relationship the disciples had with their Lord before has died and Jesus seems almost allusive but still so loving. Until the Ascension they will learn from Him, but it won't be the intimate times they had had once before. But there is coming a day, when the wind will blow and the flame arise as the Spirit will fall upon the people in ways much more intimate than God could've been before. The Spirit that will never leave them, nor forsake them, the Trinity residing upon their very beings. This is where I will wait as well. Knowing Jesus and I will never be the same, but that's okay - I sucked at playing god. But I will be marked to follow Him and it will cost me everything, and yet I will never be alone. Unlike Judas I will not have to fear my worthless coins as I lay in utter ruin of my plans being a lie - I can rest in the Spirit's voice changing me, directing me, and speaking to me. I am not alone, making pragmatic decisions as a selfish martyr - rather I am a bondservant of Christ, a coheir of the Son and He won't let me go.

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Listening to Jon Bryant's "What Takes You"
Hear it at http://jonbryant.bandcamp.com/album/what-takes-you
Inspired by Cheryl Bridges Johns' Sermon "Red Cord of Redemption"
Hear it at http://www.buzzsprout.com/7977/166808

Remembering Dust

I hear Your voice whisper

"I am not forgotten"

Do not forget the dust you were formed from

But it was not the dust alone, but My breathe that gave life

My breath is still in your lungs.

My image still carried in you.

Every step you take, I am there.

Every move in the chaos, I am present.

Not at a distance, but intimately there, aware.

So run into Me.

Look up and see My face

As I walk by grab My cloak

For I am not afraid of you.

Your depths don’t overwhelm me

Your neediness is not a burden

No need to shelter your words

For I know them already

Your very most being is understood by Me.

Don’t be afraid.

Don’t put on the mask

Abandon yourself completely to Me

For I do not grow weary

I am not tired of your voice

For I revel in all you are

For you are My beloved.

I never grow tired of you

I never want to take a break

I never leave you alone

I never tune you out

I hold fast to you all the days of your life

In the stillness I am here.

In the waves I hold you.

For you are Mine.

Touch My cloak

Run into Me

Grab My hand

Don’t look away for I am here

Forgetting the Dust

There isn't much need for eloquence this morning. The rain has done that already.

I woke up early to spend time with God, but found myself incredibly unfamiliar with Him. Sitting on the couch trying to figure out how to exit myself and enter into His Holiness - I was uncomfortable and uncertain. When you don't know what to do, do what you've done before I guess. I grabbed a book that encouraged me throughout the last year, Defiant Daughters: Christian Women of Conscience. Its a compilation of stories from the famous Joan of Arc, to lesser known saints or activists - women whose faith compelled them to action. Today I went to the women of dedication and St. Teresa of Avila.

It is not necessary for me to go through her story, though it is lovely, intriguing and challenging. But rather I felt the need to say I relate. In some small way her story echoed a longing in mine. As a child she longed to be a martyr (as did I), as an adult she chose to follow the way of Christ but got comfortable by the luxurious of this world (as I have), and then she grew in her longings for God and His visions, words and peace challenged her to move (as I hope to be).

I am at a place I don't know where to go next. The fear to disappoint and fail is high. I know it's silly but failure sounds similar to death but perhaps more permanent. I have so much transition around me I feel unable to enter its season -rather I feel to be a necessary rock for the storms around me. I can't make Jericho fall, I had my armor ready and the Lord said lay it down, grab your horn but walk in silence with Me.

I may be on day one around Jericho, or day six - I do not know, but I am walking in silence around these fortified walls. Knowing that inside is all I've been promised, much of what I long for but I cannot cease it, nor shall I make it mine - it is the Lord's. I will wait in active silence. Until the day of triumph arrives and I shout for His name sake.

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Psalms 16

Protect me, God, for I take refuge in You.
2 I said to Yahweh, “You are my Lord;
I have nothing good besides You.”
3 As for the holy people who are in the land,
they are the noble ones.
All my delight is in them.
4 The sorrows of those who take another god
for themselves will multiply;
I will not pour out their drink offerings of blood,
and I will not speak their names with my lips.

5 Lord, You are my portion
and my cup of blessing;
You hold my future.
6 The boundary lines have fallen for me
in pleasant places;
indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.

7 I will praise the Lord who counsels me—
even at night my conscience instructs me.
8 I keep the Lord in mind always.
Because He is at my right hand,
I will not be shaken.

9 Therefore my heart is glad
and my spirit rejoices;
my body also rests securely.
10 For You will not abandon me to Sheol;
You will not allow Your Faithful One to see decay.
11 You reveal the path of life to me;
in Your presence is abundant joy;
in Your right hand are eternal pleasures.