I don't think I will ever grow weary of writing and pondering or meditating on the subject of love. There truly is no end to its depth. I find that every day I learn more, I dive deeper into the endless, all-encompassing warmth and reality of the abyss that love is.
When I wake in the morning, I wake to the face of love, kissing me out of grogginess into new light, with coffee in his hand for me. I get to see bright, sunshiney faces in mine that have somehow forgotten all of the strained endings of yesterday, and are exceedingly glad to see me again. As I go about my day, I randomly receive love through texts on my phone, and little lifts in my spirit, knowing my husband, family, or friends are thinking of me fondly. And this gives me strength. What if we came to the very real epiphany that we are a thousand (or more) times more loved even than the strongest of loves experienced here on earth, at all times, every second of each and every day?
Because we are.
By God.
I feel lately like the Grinch, when his heart grows three sizes.... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGSs33DQ1F0
Our hearts are capable of stretching. Of expanding to contain more, and more, and more. LOVE.
Love for people near us, love for the kids our children bring home, love for the neighbor child who drops in 100 times a day, love for the homeless person spewing hateful words as you walk by, love for the family member you simply cannot understand, love for yourself.
We humans are among the most incredible life form there is, period. We are able to do things no other life form can. One of the most amazing things is that we can have passions like nothing else. It may sometimes be fun to compare our passions to that of nature: the unyielding, stormy sea; the wind at work on trees; rainbows in all of their color-displaying glory; waterfalls at full-force; a mother lioness with her baby cub; eagles soaring together in harmony.
But we humans are the only ones that I believe feel this fiercely about others. We were created for this, to love and love well.
Then why do we not wield this weapon of grace and eccentric beauty more proudly and with more purpose? Why do we often sigh and walk in lonely, stewing silence, scrutinizing, sizing up, and generally judging every figure we come across in swift, precisely painful strides of eye-sweepings and casting away those who could be our companions, friends, targets of said fierce love?
I think we do not know, perhaps, the power of this love within us, we are probably often not able to see past the short-sightedness of our own insecurities and self-loathing and fears of rejection in order to love.
So, this is the key: We love not to get love back. We love because we are gifted at it, and it is a skill to be fine-tuned and perfected daily, without fear of failing, because there is tomorrow to learn more, to get up and be filled and to pour out more of this luscious, liquid, cleansing, treasure of love.
If we assess a person that we come across, and immediately, rather than thinking: If I show this person affection or kindness, maybe they will think I'm weird and forward, and they will walk away, creeped out by me, what if we threw away those measly thoughts, and we just loved like Pollyanna loved? I have been thinking about that silly movie a lot lately, mainly her character, because so many of the townspeople were total assholes, and undeserving, of her pure, un-jaded, forthcoming love that she directed on those folks who either laid in bed sick and bitter, or enclosed in their houses behind windows, casting silent stones.
Undeserving...
Aren't all of us undeserving, really, but some of us just disguise it better than others?
When people push us away because they are angry or they seem to hate us, what if we kept coming back, with good intentions, to make sure that that person knew...they deserved love just as much as anyone?
What if we loved without expecting anything, ANYTHING, in return. Simply making it our mission to lift people up with unwarranted smiles, a hug, an actual listening ear, a coffee brought to a friend, flowers to a stranger, cookies to our neighbor?
Okay, okay, I know..... It's uncomfortable, and I am just baby-stepping into this strange, unknown territory of all of this love stuff, because honestly, I have really been held back by MAJOR issues with self-scrutinizing insecurities and fears of rejection. If I tried to be nice to someone, and they were in a bad mood that day and snapped at me, I would recoil for, like, months. Judging them as a jerk and hiding myself away from them so that I didn't have to feel the painful, searing loss of rejection the next time I saw them. But then it occured to me: Be nice again. Try again to smile and be friendly. And you know what? If they are crabby and rude again, try again the next time you see them. I have tried this, very slowly and with apprehension and falling on my hard head many a time, in my life, and I have seen nothing but good results. People want, NEED, to be loved. To feel wanted, listened to, heard, thought of, endeared to, LOVED.
If you say you don't, you're lying.
SO go. Get out there, and love the ones you got, the ones you don't, strangers, stray cats, mother-in-laws, irritating figures in your life who offended you in the past. Life is too damn short to hold grudges and be petty. Quit it. Go love.
Okay, I'm going to go take my own advice now.
I want to hear reports back. :)
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Friday, September 12, 2014
A Proposal Story
I was thinking last night about mine and Chris's beginning. Sometimes, to remember important things in life, you have to go back to the beginning. Not like living in the past, just recalling the things that first gave you joy and sprung up in your heart like a summer rainfall. (Something I miss, living here in California).
Our engagement didn't begin with flowers, a fancy restaurant, a moonlit walk, or anything well-planned and concocted in Chris's mind. It didn't even begin with a ring.
When he proposed to me, spontaneously in my room with the faded rose wallpaper at my father's house one evening, he sat with me on the edge of my bed, just talking as friends and totally in love, his arm protectively around me. He had his old, worn leather Bible in his other hand, and he opened it to the Psalms. He started to read to me from Psalm 37. When he got to the part that reads, "Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart." He stopped and said that that was what we had found in each other. We had been doing just that: simply delighting in God. Being totally fixed on worshiping God in our lives.
You see, we both had led very messy lives previously. He had gotten a girl pregnant and married her at the age of fifteen, and I was partying hard and living chaotically, in a hellish relationship. We both seemed to be damaged goods, so to speak, until we found Jesus. Our lives transformed drastically when we began to walk that out in our separate lives. I had a child at age nineteen, which changed the course of my life, and he went off to rehab in San Diego.
When we met, things were not perfect. We both had a lot of baggage. Many said we would not last.
But we knew what we had found in each other. A friend, and more than that, surprisingly, a soul mate. It sounds gushy to say that, but it's true.
We just got each other, entirely. We still do.
Right after he read that verse to me, he dropped down to his knee on the wooden floor, and, looking me in the eye, my hands in his, he asked me if I would be his wife. I said yes. There was no ring, he said, we could pick it out together. It was not an important thing to either of us in that moment. When we were talking about that last night, we realized that the object of a ring becomes such a central thing in the beginning of engagement, whether it's due to tradition or symbolism. It becomes the centerpiece sometimes. But we talked about how our love was the centerpiece. It was the thing we glorified and danced around, celebrating, showing off to our friends and family. I had no ring, it was of no matter, until we got one, of course. Don't get me wrong, I was tremendously elated when we did get the ring, and I wore it proudly, and still do. But I am glad that our story is so simple in the beginning that it didn't need any frills or anything added to the simplicity that we were head over heels for each other and that was all we needed, and all we still need.
Our engagement didn't begin with flowers, a fancy restaurant, a moonlit walk, or anything well-planned and concocted in Chris's mind. It didn't even begin with a ring.
When he proposed to me, spontaneously in my room with the faded rose wallpaper at my father's house one evening, he sat with me on the edge of my bed, just talking as friends and totally in love, his arm protectively around me. He had his old, worn leather Bible in his other hand, and he opened it to the Psalms. He started to read to me from Psalm 37. When he got to the part that reads, "Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart." He stopped and said that that was what we had found in each other. We had been doing just that: simply delighting in God. Being totally fixed on worshiping God in our lives.
You see, we both had led very messy lives previously. He had gotten a girl pregnant and married her at the age of fifteen, and I was partying hard and living chaotically, in a hellish relationship. We both seemed to be damaged goods, so to speak, until we found Jesus. Our lives transformed drastically when we began to walk that out in our separate lives. I had a child at age nineteen, which changed the course of my life, and he went off to rehab in San Diego.
When we met, things were not perfect. We both had a lot of baggage. Many said we would not last.
But we knew what we had found in each other. A friend, and more than that, surprisingly, a soul mate. It sounds gushy to say that, but it's true.
We just got each other, entirely. We still do.
Right after he read that verse to me, he dropped down to his knee on the wooden floor, and, looking me in the eye, my hands in his, he asked me if I would be his wife. I said yes. There was no ring, he said, we could pick it out together. It was not an important thing to either of us in that moment. When we were talking about that last night, we realized that the object of a ring becomes such a central thing in the beginning of engagement, whether it's due to tradition or symbolism. It becomes the centerpiece sometimes. But we talked about how our love was the centerpiece. It was the thing we glorified and danced around, celebrating, showing off to our friends and family. I had no ring, it was of no matter, until we got one, of course. Don't get me wrong, I was tremendously elated when we did get the ring, and I wore it proudly, and still do. But I am glad that our story is so simple in the beginning that it didn't need any frills or anything added to the simplicity that we were head over heels for each other and that was all we needed, and all we still need.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Bird Rescue
I think I've mentioned before the active bird life of our current dwelling place. There are many mature trees in our neighborhood, and they house anything from owls, hummingbirds, mockingbirds, to our beloved cooing mourning dove that we wake to each dawn and hear each evening from either our backyard telephone pole, or the lines directly in front of our house. It is a sound both soothing and routine now.
The other evening, the children and I were listening to music in my bedroom while Chris was away at one of his music engagements, when a tap came at the window and a whistle. I opened the shades to find our rough around the edges next door neighbor, Stan. He was wide-eyed and excitedly telling us about a scuffle with our dove (which Harmony, my daughter, has lovingly named Mac) and a red-tailed hawk. I ran out, and found Mac hiding himself within a thorned bush a couple houses away. The hawk waited on the branch of a nearby tree for his moment to swoop down once again and finish the job he had begun on it's prey.
I couldn't let nature take it's course this time. Mac was our friend! I reached into the bush, and took Mac gently out and placed him in a shoe box that I had told Jude to run and get. When I looked down at my hands, there was blood on them.
We brought the shoe box with the wounded dove into our house and I called my mom, the advanced bird-savior expert (ha), I call her Saint Franci of Assisi, because she has the tenderest heart towards nature and animals, and because her name is Franci. She advised to get a dropper, fill it with water and attempt to bring the poor hurt thing out of its shock by giving it water.
We also read that putting some apple cider vinegar in the water can be antibiotic for birds, so later I did that as well. I texted my husband about what had happened, knowing his heart towards creatures of the air as well. There happened to be, at his gig, an animal doctor who, when he read my text aloud to his small crowd, told him to tell me, put the thing back outside because it's cruel to interfere with the circle of life, both to the dove and the hawk. I responded that there was no possible way I could do that, after all, it was MAC!
I peeked at the wound, under Mac's wing, a wound which looked pretty bad to me. I put some Neosporin on it and gently rubbed it in, and wrapped the bird in a cloth. We left him alone to recuperate. Chris got home around 10pm, and the children were in bed by then. We sat on the front porch sipping wine and wondering what to do, discussing if we should try to take him to an emergency vet, or what the animal doctor had said, or what, we did not know. All along, I was praying, and hoping the dove would make a full recovery and not die from shock or the wound.
We put on dove sounds on youtube, wondering if it would encourage the little creature. He looked all about, searching for his mate, and then suddenly! Fluttered up to the tree in our front yard, sat there a moment, and promptly plopped to the grassy ground below. It was crazy! We looked at each other amazed at how it could have been so driven to find its love, even being so hurt.
We finally placed Mac back in the shoe box, open, but gently wrapped in the towel, so if he lived, he could fly easily away without being stuck. We went inside, me crying, at the beauty and sadness of it all, and went to bed.
The next morning, Sunday, I awoke to Chris throwing on clothes, and I was confused as it was his only day to sleep in. "What are you doing, honey?!" I asked. "I got a song in my dream, it was about my dad. I have to... write it down before I lose it." Ahh. I understood his cryptic message perfectly, he gets dreams with songs in them....it is a type of lovely gift he has.
As I lay there waiting to hear for the dove to coo or not, Harmony came into my room and asked about "Birdie"..."Is birdie okay?" "I don't know, but we can't disturb daddy to see right now. Let's look out the blinds." So, right as I opened the blinds, we saw an amazing sight! One dove was flying from the direction of the tree, the other the telephone pole, and they met in the air, and flew on top of each other for a moment, and landed. Harmony and I looked at each other in awe, then I flew out to the living room, half doubting what I'd seen, and wondering if there was some slim chance that there were more than just Mac and his mate in this neighborhood. I walked slowly up to the shoe box, which had the cloth poking all about, and I couldn't tell if there was anything in it or not."Please let it be empty." I prayed. I pulled back the cloth, and sure enough..empty! Chris came up behind me and with moist eyes, we said,"That's a miracle." He was so hurt! And there he was, above us, with his mate, cooing his tranquil sound. We stood mesmerized.
It just all seemed so symbolic somehow. The hawk, representing war. The dove, standing for peace. Driven by love. And life, all winning. It was too much for these green, tender hearts to bear without tears and sighs of awe.
Chris's song lyrics intertwine the story of the dove with the injured wing, and rising from darkness into light and life.
I cannot tell you how grateful I am for such an amazingly artistic and sensitive musician I happened to fall into love with, and am living my life with! It's all, just, almost too much goodness to bear. The lines have truly fallen for us in pleasant places. Psalm 16
The other evening, the children and I were listening to music in my bedroom while Chris was away at one of his music engagements, when a tap came at the window and a whistle. I opened the shades to find our rough around the edges next door neighbor, Stan. He was wide-eyed and excitedly telling us about a scuffle with our dove (which Harmony, my daughter, has lovingly named Mac) and a red-tailed hawk. I ran out, and found Mac hiding himself within a thorned bush a couple houses away. The hawk waited on the branch of a nearby tree for his moment to swoop down once again and finish the job he had begun on it's prey.
I couldn't let nature take it's course this time. Mac was our friend! I reached into the bush, and took Mac gently out and placed him in a shoe box that I had told Jude to run and get. When I looked down at my hands, there was blood on them.
We brought the shoe box with the wounded dove into our house and I called my mom, the advanced bird-savior expert (ha), I call her Saint Franci of Assisi, because she has the tenderest heart towards nature and animals, and because her name is Franci. She advised to get a dropper, fill it with water and attempt to bring the poor hurt thing out of its shock by giving it water.
We also read that putting some apple cider vinegar in the water can be antibiotic for birds, so later I did that as well. I texted my husband about what had happened, knowing his heart towards creatures of the air as well. There happened to be, at his gig, an animal doctor who, when he read my text aloud to his small crowd, told him to tell me, put the thing back outside because it's cruel to interfere with the circle of life, both to the dove and the hawk. I responded that there was no possible way I could do that, after all, it was MAC!
I peeked at the wound, under Mac's wing, a wound which looked pretty bad to me. I put some Neosporin on it and gently rubbed it in, and wrapped the bird in a cloth. We left him alone to recuperate. Chris got home around 10pm, and the children were in bed by then. We sat on the front porch sipping wine and wondering what to do, discussing if we should try to take him to an emergency vet, or what the animal doctor had said, or what, we did not know. All along, I was praying, and hoping the dove would make a full recovery and not die from shock or the wound.
We put on dove sounds on youtube, wondering if it would encourage the little creature. He looked all about, searching for his mate, and then suddenly! Fluttered up to the tree in our front yard, sat there a moment, and promptly plopped to the grassy ground below. It was crazy! We looked at each other amazed at how it could have been so driven to find its love, even being so hurt.
We finally placed Mac back in the shoe box, open, but gently wrapped in the towel, so if he lived, he could fly easily away without being stuck. We went inside, me crying, at the beauty and sadness of it all, and went to bed.
The next morning, Sunday, I awoke to Chris throwing on clothes, and I was confused as it was his only day to sleep in. "What are you doing, honey?!" I asked. "I got a song in my dream, it was about my dad. I have to... write it down before I lose it." Ahh. I understood his cryptic message perfectly, he gets dreams with songs in them....it is a type of lovely gift he has.
As I lay there waiting to hear for the dove to coo or not, Harmony came into my room and asked about "Birdie"..."Is birdie okay?" "I don't know, but we can't disturb daddy to see right now. Let's look out the blinds." So, right as I opened the blinds, we saw an amazing sight! One dove was flying from the direction of the tree, the other the telephone pole, and they met in the air, and flew on top of each other for a moment, and landed. Harmony and I looked at each other in awe, then I flew out to the living room, half doubting what I'd seen, and wondering if there was some slim chance that there were more than just Mac and his mate in this neighborhood. I walked slowly up to the shoe box, which had the cloth poking all about, and I couldn't tell if there was anything in it or not."Please let it be empty." I prayed. I pulled back the cloth, and sure enough..empty! Chris came up behind me and with moist eyes, we said,"That's a miracle." He was so hurt! And there he was, above us, with his mate, cooing his tranquil sound. We stood mesmerized.
It just all seemed so symbolic somehow. The hawk, representing war. The dove, standing for peace. Driven by love. And life, all winning. It was too much for these green, tender hearts to bear without tears and sighs of awe.
Chris's song lyrics intertwine the story of the dove with the injured wing, and rising from darkness into light and life.
I cannot tell you how grateful I am for such an amazingly artistic and sensitive musician I happened to fall into love with, and am living my life with! It's all, just, almost too much goodness to bear. The lines have truly fallen for us in pleasant places. Psalm 16
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Bed
The bed symbolizes a place of nurturing, a place where dreams are hatched and good things are able to thrive. It's a place where things flourish and we pour into richly. It can even be a sanctuary.
It's a place of sanctification, or where dark motives lie. We can tenderly partake of intimacy there, or we can tap into the lusts of our depraved minds. We can rest, or we can toss and turn.
The mind either spirals down into a soft slumber or spins into a whirling dervish of thoughts we cannot seem to turn off. Minds that spew accusations of previous affairs or carelessly uttered words; Hurt and things we could have done instead.
My mind goes down a staircase when I lie my head on cushioned pillow, one of the unfolding of events from my day, my life, my hidden self. Who I truly am is exposed to me and the undulating cover of night. Visions, pictures, voices, all heard with sharper clarity, in the curve of the mattress and shield of quilt.
Many a day spent toiling or attempting to figure out my next move was calculated effortlessly under a ceiling sheathed by stars and crescent moon hovering just outside my window. It is where peace can fall on our hearts like veils of satin on closed lids or where the poisoned daggers of wrongs done and secrets withheld can pierce painfully.
It is my opinion that dreams can be quite meaningful and telling of what we are experiencing internally as well as externally. They can refresh, excite, inspire or petrify. In the dark, with the dim glow of streetlights illuminating shadows on the walls, our imaginations are at their finest. But also, the silence that surrounds us is a potential birthing place of magical imagery. Clarity stems from the river of REM.
I am not a slothful person by trait, I do not spend longer hours than necessary under bed sheets lazing about, but when I am there, in the solace of my bed, next to my quietly snoozing soul mate, I fully soak in the sweetness of all that dances around me. Especially the prayers sent up into galaxies beyond our own, being inevitably listened to by angels' ears and a thoughtful god.
The bed is a place of poetry, written in the forgetful pages of my subconscious but engraved on the essence of who I am and what I do. It's where meditation can be most astutely applied in the recesses of my mind.
Garden Bed: A place where one plants their seeds, waters, weeds, prunes, gathers the growth and feasts. Digging hands like shovels into dark, fertile soil. Therapy in the green vitality of life.
Marriage Bed: A sacred place of intimacy, rest, and tranquility. Where one lays solitary repose, or entangles limbs and hearts with somebody.
It's a place of sanctification, or where dark motives lie. We can tenderly partake of intimacy there, or we can tap into the lusts of our depraved minds. We can rest, or we can toss and turn.
The mind either spirals down into a soft slumber or spins into a whirling dervish of thoughts we cannot seem to turn off. Minds that spew accusations of previous affairs or carelessly uttered words; Hurt and things we could have done instead.
My mind goes down a staircase when I lie my head on cushioned pillow, one of the unfolding of events from my day, my life, my hidden self. Who I truly am is exposed to me and the undulating cover of night. Visions, pictures, voices, all heard with sharper clarity, in the curve of the mattress and shield of quilt.
Many a day spent toiling or attempting to figure out my next move was calculated effortlessly under a ceiling sheathed by stars and crescent moon hovering just outside my window. It is where peace can fall on our hearts like veils of satin on closed lids or where the poisoned daggers of wrongs done and secrets withheld can pierce painfully.
It is my opinion that dreams can be quite meaningful and telling of what we are experiencing internally as well as externally. They can refresh, excite, inspire or petrify. In the dark, with the dim glow of streetlights illuminating shadows on the walls, our imaginations are at their finest. But also, the silence that surrounds us is a potential birthing place of magical imagery. Clarity stems from the river of REM.
I am not a slothful person by trait, I do not spend longer hours than necessary under bed sheets lazing about, but when I am there, in the solace of my bed, next to my quietly snoozing soul mate, I fully soak in the sweetness of all that dances around me. Especially the prayers sent up into galaxies beyond our own, being inevitably listened to by angels' ears and a thoughtful god.
The bed is a place of poetry, written in the forgetful pages of my subconscious but engraved on the essence of who I am and what I do. It's where meditation can be most astutely applied in the recesses of my mind.
Garden Bed: A place where one plants their seeds, waters, weeds, prunes, gathers the growth and feasts. Digging hands like shovels into dark, fertile soil. Therapy in the green vitality of life.
Marriage Bed: A sacred place of intimacy, rest, and tranquility. Where one lays solitary repose, or entangles limbs and hearts with somebody.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Monday, June 9, 2014
Hiding Place
I just finished reading The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom once again, and it never ceases to jar me from whatever downcast state I found myself in circumstantially to thankfulness. I especially admire Betsi. She is so faithfully constant in persevering through the direst of situations in prayer and joy throughout their journey. In the end of her life on earth, God crowns her with a beautiful mask of pleasantry on her face. If you haven't read it, I admonish you to do so, because it is so very inspiring. It is a story of divine intervention, survival, and eventual forgiveness towards her offenders on Corrie's behalf. It's amazing, gritty, soul-wrenching, and turns my eyes towards the intricate care God takes for us in our fallen world.
Maybe some people wouldn't see it that way.
I have been surrounded lately by people who are jaded and have lost their faith. Some days, it certainly wears on me and causes my mind to question and to doubt His goodness.
And then I remember: Things are not always as they seem. One day we will see clearly, but now we see as in a mirror, clouded perceptions of reality. My questions are then, in some way, thwarted by my faith. I choose to believe in God's ultimate goodness and I trust that He is going to transform every sorrow into beauty in His way, and I am looking forward to that, while being refined by my difficulties here, which are temporary, thankfully.
Faith is weird. It seems backwards to the scientific eye and the mind of "reason". Though I may be looked upon in my childlike faith as ridiculous or imaginative, I would not exchange this gift for anything. I know it in my core to be truth. And it gives me so much delight! I have seen a day filled with angst and swirling with trouble turn to absolute peace in the blink of an eye with prayer. I have seen and felt the atmosphere around me go from chaos to order after I have offered it all to God in surrender and petition. I have seen it and so I know it. I could not be convinced, no matter how tight the argument, to walk away from the faith I have found to be my foundation and hope.
"In this world you will have trouble, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world." John 16:33
Though we walk a darkened path, He is with us.
Though we lose a child and have no idea why this could have happened, He is with us.
Though we get cancer, or illnesses that keep us in the recesses of shadowy rooms, He is with us.
In our suffering, He is with us.
In our temptations and sins, and fallings away, and strayings, He is with us.
When we are lonely, He is with us.
When we feel abandoned by every earthly friend and family member, He is nearer than our own breath and simply a whispered prayer away from taking away all of the mourning if we will simply allow Him entrance.
I say this because I have experienced His touch in the midst of sorrow, His peace calming the storm raging inside of me. It is magic. It is a miracle. I believe because I see my life, my testimony of what was, to what is.
I was broken, I was dark, I was angry and hateful and selfish. I was all that mattered. Now, God willing, I place my needs last. This may be some strong power of the will, or, as I believe, it may be God's intervention in my life.
I was addicted, I was afraid to be alone with my thoughts, and empty.
Now I am free, I am confident in my God, and peaceful in my mind, and full of His vigor and joy for life. I have been given so many things I thought I'd never had, nor wanted (children, husband, quietude).
God is my hiding place. An ever-accessible refuge for body, mind, soul, heart.
And we know that, through testimony such as Corrie ten Boom's, He doesn't leave us no matter what.
He is not daunted by our doubts and questions. My children are full of curiosity and tough questions that I sometimes cannot answer. I don't shun them or shush them, but I try to wrestle out the answers with them, how much more does God long to answer our hard questions, and give us the faith to see past the things that seem impossible.
Maybe some people wouldn't see it that way.
I have been surrounded lately by people who are jaded and have lost their faith. Some days, it certainly wears on me and causes my mind to question and to doubt His goodness.
And then I remember: Things are not always as they seem. One day we will see clearly, but now we see as in a mirror, clouded perceptions of reality. My questions are then, in some way, thwarted by my faith. I choose to believe in God's ultimate goodness and I trust that He is going to transform every sorrow into beauty in His way, and I am looking forward to that, while being refined by my difficulties here, which are temporary, thankfully.
Faith is weird. It seems backwards to the scientific eye and the mind of "reason". Though I may be looked upon in my childlike faith as ridiculous or imaginative, I would not exchange this gift for anything. I know it in my core to be truth. And it gives me so much delight! I have seen a day filled with angst and swirling with trouble turn to absolute peace in the blink of an eye with prayer. I have seen and felt the atmosphere around me go from chaos to order after I have offered it all to God in surrender and petition. I have seen it and so I know it. I could not be convinced, no matter how tight the argument, to walk away from the faith I have found to be my foundation and hope.
"In this world you will have trouble, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world." John 16:33
Though we walk a darkened path, He is with us.
Though we lose a child and have no idea why this could have happened, He is with us.
Though we get cancer, or illnesses that keep us in the recesses of shadowy rooms, He is with us.
In our suffering, He is with us.
In our temptations and sins, and fallings away, and strayings, He is with us.
When we are lonely, He is with us.
When we feel abandoned by every earthly friend and family member, He is nearer than our own breath and simply a whispered prayer away from taking away all of the mourning if we will simply allow Him entrance.
I say this because I have experienced His touch in the midst of sorrow, His peace calming the storm raging inside of me. It is magic. It is a miracle. I believe because I see my life, my testimony of what was, to what is.
I was broken, I was dark, I was angry and hateful and selfish. I was all that mattered. Now, God willing, I place my needs last. This may be some strong power of the will, or, as I believe, it may be God's intervention in my life.
I was addicted, I was afraid to be alone with my thoughts, and empty.
Now I am free, I am confident in my God, and peaceful in my mind, and full of His vigor and joy for life. I have been given so many things I thought I'd never had, nor wanted (children, husband, quietude).
God is my hiding place. An ever-accessible refuge for body, mind, soul, heart.
And we know that, through testimony such as Corrie ten Boom's, He doesn't leave us no matter what.
He is not daunted by our doubts and questions. My children are full of curiosity and tough questions that I sometimes cannot answer. I don't shun them or shush them, but I try to wrestle out the answers with them, how much more does God long to answer our hard questions, and give us the faith to see past the things that seem impossible.
Friday, May 23, 2014
Re-Birth
I have been gazing out my window these past few weeks, and it keeps occurring to me the correlation between the seasons in nature and the seasons of our lives.
Mainly I have been meditating on Spring since we are in that season currently. My family and I moved into the house we now live in in the first week of February, after a hard season of co-living, then moving in with my dad for a little over a month. When we moved into this house, there was this tree across the street from us that, in my opinion, was an ugly eyesore, and I said to myself, 'They really should chop that thing down.' It just looked like it had lived its life and needed to be bundled up for the fire.
About a week ago, I looked out my window and in shock, saw that the dead, ugly tree was now alive with a plenteous crowning of green leaves that were softly blowing in the breeze. I mean...more leaves than many trees have. It has spoken to my soul so much! It goes hand in hand with the dry bones of Ezekiel, being breathed on by the very life of God, and coming together in wholeness once again. It is astonishing how if we prune back a rose bush until it is mere stubs, it flourishes even greater the next year with fragrant blooms. Or grape vines, cutting them down to nubs and then a few years later having the greatest harvest of juicy grapes you've ever seen. It seems to be true then that: Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed, but if it dies, it produces many seeds. John 12:24. The seeming death of things often brings abundant life.
One of my most favorite parts in scripture is Song of songs 2:10-13. It was read at my wedding, and has been prophetic in my life. It says,"Arise my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. See? The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come my darling; my beautiful one, come with me."
What a poetic and lovely expression of love.
My life has been a series of up's and down's, as many of your lives have been and continue to be. I am no longer in denial that that is unfair or not how it is supposed to be. I am riding it out, like a whale in the waves. Sometimes the water is smooth and I am at peace, total tranquility. The water is clear and all makes sense. Other times I am caught up in the throes of a mighty storm that appears to have no end. And I freak out, and I weep, and I am at a loss, at wit's end. But as it is said, 'Morning brings word of Your unfailing love.' His mercies truly are new every morning. I am in awe at the comparison of life's crooked, unexpected turns in the road to the seasons, summer, where all is warm and soft and bathed in light, to fall where leaves come to the ground in mounds of color, then die and the chill of winter where all seems barren and harsh, then spring with new life, fresh hope, sharp colors blooming on full, green leaves; a cycle that continues faithfully. Sunrise, sunset.
I believe where things have seemed long dead or lain dormant for years, re-birth is coming. It is just around the corner, and will shock us just as the millions of green leaves springing out on the dead, ugly tree pleasantly surprised me. One morning, spring will have sprung, and butterflies will float by on the soft warm breeze, kissing flowers with their wings, baby birds will hatch and test their wings on the heights. The scent of roses will refresh us and we will be invigorated and renewed like the world seems to be in those moments. It will be, because it must. Just like winter must, or fall. Like night that comes and with it the glittering stars. And morning with dew that is pooled on the stalks of grass. We need only embrace the seasons of life just as we acclimate to the seasons in nature, donning a coat when it's chilly or a hat when the sun is hot. Sadness is inevitable in this life, if we knew only joy we would be stunted in shallow waters, because sorrow digs a cistern of deeper, bluer waters than ease in the caverns of our hearts. Also, happiness is inevitable, if we allow it to find us. Let us not become hardened as to not have eyes to see the things meant to deliver us joy and goodwill. So many aspects of nature are able to give us contentment. The singing of birds and chattering, the thousands of different shades of color in the flowers, fauna and flora. The soft swirling inner chambers of seashells, gently lapping waves. I could go on and on. I simply want to have new eyes today to SEE the goodness of the Lord in this land of the living. And to show it to my children. That is all.
Mainly I have been meditating on Spring since we are in that season currently. My family and I moved into the house we now live in in the first week of February, after a hard season of co-living, then moving in with my dad for a little over a month. When we moved into this house, there was this tree across the street from us that, in my opinion, was an ugly eyesore, and I said to myself, 'They really should chop that thing down.' It just looked like it had lived its life and needed to be bundled up for the fire.
About a week ago, I looked out my window and in shock, saw that the dead, ugly tree was now alive with a plenteous crowning of green leaves that were softly blowing in the breeze. I mean...more leaves than many trees have. It has spoken to my soul so much! It goes hand in hand with the dry bones of Ezekiel, being breathed on by the very life of God, and coming together in wholeness once again. It is astonishing how if we prune back a rose bush until it is mere stubs, it flourishes even greater the next year with fragrant blooms. Or grape vines, cutting them down to nubs and then a few years later having the greatest harvest of juicy grapes you've ever seen. It seems to be true then that: Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed, but if it dies, it produces many seeds. John 12:24. The seeming death of things often brings abundant life.
One of my most favorite parts in scripture is Song of songs 2:10-13. It was read at my wedding, and has been prophetic in my life. It says,"Arise my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. See? The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come my darling; my beautiful one, come with me."
What a poetic and lovely expression of love.
My life has been a series of up's and down's, as many of your lives have been and continue to be. I am no longer in denial that that is unfair or not how it is supposed to be. I am riding it out, like a whale in the waves. Sometimes the water is smooth and I am at peace, total tranquility. The water is clear and all makes sense. Other times I am caught up in the throes of a mighty storm that appears to have no end. And I freak out, and I weep, and I am at a loss, at wit's end. But as it is said, 'Morning brings word of Your unfailing love.' His mercies truly are new every morning. I am in awe at the comparison of life's crooked, unexpected turns in the road to the seasons, summer, where all is warm and soft and bathed in light, to fall where leaves come to the ground in mounds of color, then die and the chill of winter where all seems barren and harsh, then spring with new life, fresh hope, sharp colors blooming on full, green leaves; a cycle that continues faithfully. Sunrise, sunset.
I believe where things have seemed long dead or lain dormant for years, re-birth is coming. It is just around the corner, and will shock us just as the millions of green leaves springing out on the dead, ugly tree pleasantly surprised me. One morning, spring will have sprung, and butterflies will float by on the soft warm breeze, kissing flowers with their wings, baby birds will hatch and test their wings on the heights. The scent of roses will refresh us and we will be invigorated and renewed like the world seems to be in those moments. It will be, because it must. Just like winter must, or fall. Like night that comes and with it the glittering stars. And morning with dew that is pooled on the stalks of grass. We need only embrace the seasons of life just as we acclimate to the seasons in nature, donning a coat when it's chilly or a hat when the sun is hot. Sadness is inevitable in this life, if we knew only joy we would be stunted in shallow waters, because sorrow digs a cistern of deeper, bluer waters than ease in the caverns of our hearts. Also, happiness is inevitable, if we allow it to find us. Let us not become hardened as to not have eyes to see the things meant to deliver us joy and goodwill. So many aspects of nature are able to give us contentment. The singing of birds and chattering, the thousands of different shades of color in the flowers, fauna and flora. The soft swirling inner chambers of seashells, gently lapping waves. I could go on and on. I simply want to have new eyes today to SEE the goodness of the Lord in this land of the living. And to show it to my children. That is all.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Sandcastle
Am I a writer or do I just enjoy scribbling my thoughts on paper as a form of feeling real? Am I good enough as a mom and a wife, or do I have to find some other passion so that I am better in this life? I have been asking myself this question: Why do we as humans NEED to have titles to feel accomplished and a sense of belonging to one group or another? It is curious. My husband has been going from Spirit-filled worship leader to doubting to atheist to questioning to?? For years now, as I ride the roller coaster of his mind wanderings and sometimes mockeries on my steadfast faith in God I have had time to wonder about many things and why we do certain things, and if it is indeed healthy or not. I have observed as he lamented over feeling dis-included from certain groups of friends and invitations merely because of his unbelief. At first I was hurt and aimed my hurt at him. After all, HE was the one who was making these decisions and making them so very public, right? But then I grew curious. WHY? Why, if we call ourselves TRUE friends would we stop associating with someone who was either questioning or hurting or even striking out? Are we not to befriend and remain? I want answers. I suppose we are all people who want to be with others who believe just like us, because it makes us feel safe. We can reside in padded little bubbles of our own associations, affirmed and reaffirmed that we are in the right and everyone on the outside of our belief system is incorrect. Maybe we don't even realize we are doing it. I know I didn't until my husband began this journey. I have gone through every emotion a human can possibly experience in this situation. It may not seem like a big deal to some but to me it has been the most difficult thing I have ever gone through. And also the best.
I have felt betrayal, intense anger, sorrow to the point of despair at the brokenness of no longer being able to connect on a spiritual level with my best friend. I've felt like giving up and throwing in the towel in the hopes that that would give me reprieve. And then realized that more than anything would kill me. I had to bury the man I thought I loved and re-ignite a fire of love for the man I am now married to. This may sound dramatic, but it has been true. It would not be fair to expect him, if I truly loved him for life, to be the man he once was when it was entirely impossible. It's more than a choice, these life changes are inevitable, just maybe not always to this degree... At first it started with me choosing to keep the vow. The vow I made at an altar where I promised to love him in good times and bad. In sickness and in health. Til death do us part. I took and take these promises very seriously, in a world where these fragmented sentences are used flippantly by people who try to make things work but give up when it gets hard. Things have gotten more than hard in our marriage. They've gotten downright constricting. And don't get me wrong, I have considered and weighed all alternatives. I could say that it's a good thing we are both very stubborn people who came from broken families, and our willpower alone has been the driving force to keep us together when it would seem there is nothing to talk about, or that the awkwardness of not seeing eye to eye on huge issues attempted to tear us apart, and almost did many times. I feel it is something even more. I feel powerful that against all odds, we remain, and have gotten to a place through the opposition and defensive emotions, where we can almost talk about anything candidly without getting too bent out of shape. The storms have swept over us, over this castle we have built with our own hands, out of love and memories and shared likes and concerns and passions, and we stand.
It is no small thing in this day when a marriage remains when everyone or everything tells you to flee, and longtime friends desert you, or stray from your daily life because it's too uncomfortable for them to bend or change or try to see things from someone else's point of view. I am so thankful that we have experienced all that we have. Because it has proven to me that I am strong. Yes, God in me is strong. I have stood still when everything within me instinctively wanted to take flight and run to the furthest corners of the earth at what I could not comprehend. It has also taught me to question the titles and stereotypes that we place ourselves under like a shield. Yes, I call myself a Christian, I do not deny this. I call myself married. I call myself many things that I guess one cannot help but call oneself in an attempt to define who I am. But the things like not feeling good enough unless I'm accomplished as a "something" such as writer, artist, etc. I won't do anymore. The other day my husband said to me,"I don't know what I am." and everything within me just thought,"You don't have to! Just BE. You are perfect, and there is more to be revealed." What a wild journey we are on, to learn to love..Unconditionally (what does THAT mean? without condition...no matter what). To befriend..Steadfastly. That means when things get rough or those you love grow confused or change or drift or strike out in hurt, you don't leave. You dig in your heals, you push back your sleeves, and you embrace. You get closer, so that that person who is searching for the answers to mysterious questions that none of us have solid answers to feel the warmth of our presence and know in some small way that they are not alone. That's all we really want anyways, is not to feel alone. Not to be deserted when we differ from the crowd. Not to be ostracized when we straggle from some path of assurance. It's hard to see God. He's invisible. But it's easy to see people. And we can show God to people who have had temporary blindness. We show them with our kindness. With our friendship. With talking and not growing angry when they don't come to the same conclusions. By extending our hand and holding theirs. This is love that covers and unites and sees past titles to faces and to hearts. This is love like Jesus loves.
After thought: I just want to add that though it may sound like I am trying to trump my wifely accomplishments in "Remaining" in my marriage as though it is a duty, that is the farthest thing from the truth. It is a joy and an honor to be Chris's wife. He is an amazingly sensitive, talented, deep human who still "gets me" more than anyone else on this earth. He is my best friend and it is easy and a delight being by his side in this world no matter our differences. I am grateful, in all ways that he has also remained with me though I am not always a picnic to be married to. It is such a privilege to be chosen not just once, enough to be proposed to, or to be vowed to on our wedding day, but the fact that he picks me every day to love and be with astounds me. If you read this, my love, this is what I want you to know: Thank you. For being mine and letting me remain yours. x
After thought: I just want to add that though it may sound like I am trying to trump my wifely accomplishments in "Remaining" in my marriage as though it is a duty, that is the farthest thing from the truth. It is a joy and an honor to be Chris's wife. He is an amazingly sensitive, talented, deep human who still "gets me" more than anyone else on this earth. He is my best friend and it is easy and a delight being by his side in this world no matter our differences. I am grateful, in all ways that he has also remained with me though I am not always a picnic to be married to. It is such a privilege to be chosen not just once, enough to be proposed to, or to be vowed to on our wedding day, but the fact that he picks me every day to love and be with astounds me. If you read this, my love, this is what I want you to know: Thank you. For being mine and letting me remain yours. x
Friday, February 28, 2014
Wanderlust
The rain and thick gray sky brings many thoughts, many forlorn or melancholy sometimes. Especially when one is stuck at home with no car and a back that has somehow gone out once again. It has become very frustrating that every time I get motivated to exercise I end up hurting my back no matter how gently I resume the activity. I suppose I will be stuck with this spare tire around my stomach for the rest of my life at this rate! Agh, but how petty is this concern. It is reasonably easy to hide under flowy shirts and sweaters in this type of weather. It's the summer that really poses the vanity issue. I haven't worn a bathing suit in years. I am found donning shorts once every two months maybe. What silliness. Who cares anyway? It's ridiculous. I wish I was more uninhibited about small things. Why do I have to be so insecure, analytical and overly-observant about the little things? I would rather suffer in squelching heat by wearing long-sleeved shirts and pants than wear shorts or a skirt and be comfortable with my extreme paleness and bit of extra love. What a silly girl.
Enough about that. Many things are overcome late in life, and that is one thing on my list to get over.
Besides, currently it's raining and windy and I am holed up on a cozy bed in a cozy house in sweats, doing my favorite thing. Writing.
I was in the shower (where all of my most profound revelations seem to be birthed, must have something to do with the nudity or something, and when I say profound I mean completely useless observations usually, but occasionally a brilliant thought might be lit,) and began to think about death. Okay, yes, on dreary days I do lean towards being a tad sulky and perhaps even depressed, but I don't think this thought really came from a dark place in the recesses of my brain, just, there have been so many strange, sudden deaths lately. Then I thought to myself, no, that's wrong, it's not LATELY, it's always been. People go along thinking they will live forever, or that they will somehow have fair warning of it, or that it will be in old age, but then tomorrow never comes for so many. There is no time to say goodbye to your loved ones and estranged friends or family. All we have is this moment, right here. Right now. Even knowing this fact, yes, FACT. That death is imminent, and none of usually know the day it will occur, we plod along complaining and not looking around at the world around us, except for the bubble we live in, putting our hand to the plow, one foot before the other, not loving the people nearest to us well enough, not noticing them how they are today, looking at our reflections in the bathroom mirror and only seeing the flaws and not the beauty, breathing, but not really, living, but really not truly living. I know this may not be true of many, but it is certainly true of some, and when we see someone break out of that mold, we are INSPIRED in the deepest parts of our being, and we say to ourselves,"I want THAT. I want to be something. I want to live and reach and leap and believe, and LOVE and see, really see." Take the movie The Secret Life of Walter Mitty for instance. Normal, almost boring, average guy with a knack for daydreaming. He gets that extra little push he needs to go from ordinary to living freely and taking chances. I think it takes something different for us to decide to take that leap of faith and live life more loudly. Some don't want that, and that's okay too. I am mainly addressing myself and the untapped dreams lying dormant in my soul. Also, others who maybe read my little blog who might feel the same. Like there are so many things we could do to challenge ourselves, to go beyond the norm of what we have grown so accustomed to..But we remain planted in our safe little spot, in our safe little bubble, not wanting to take the chance that we might fall, or fail, or get hurt, or realize the things we loved the most or were most passionate about actually suck too. We are afraid to live because we're afraid to die. Whether inwardly, outwardly, or realistically. My dream, my passion, is to travel, to see Europe in full, to go places, and to write about it. To sample the foods, to smell the different aromas each new place is bathed in, to take beautiful photographs of these places, not to brag or boast or have notches on my belt, but because I want to learn, and I know people are the best teachers, also, experiencing new things is the key to never growing stagnant. I want to raise my children to be free and filled with wanderlust, and extremely comfortable in their own perfectly flawed skin. I wish to give them the room to ask crazy questions that may not be answered in this lifetime, fuel for their imaginations, while still guiding their way as best I can as a mother. I want to be the friend my husband deserves in a wife.
I say this often in my bloggings, I know, that I want to dream and be as carefree as a child. But still embrace the beauty of being an adult who has gone through trials and lived, and has the scars, wrinkles, battle wounds to prove it. After all, there is no regret in getting out there and trying and doing and seeing if the wings we hear so much about (in our souls of course) are real, if they really work when we leap out of the nest. If death IS indeed imminent, why should we hold back from being adventurers and experiencers, for living ridiculously, unabashedly(perhaps foolishly at times, while still implicating God-given wisdom) free? For taking the seeds of dreams inside us that are maybe pushed so far down in unwatered soil that they lie forgotten and passed over, and cultivating them so tenderly and meticulously that they spring to the surface once more and expose themselves to the world in rainbow shades of originality and eccentricity. How? I don't know. I have yet to find out the extra push in my case, but I intend to give a fierce effort if given the chance. This pathetically aged baby bird intends to roll myself, if need be, from the soft warm nest of my safe borders and into dangerous territory where my underused wings may or may not work properly. But I do intend to try. I suggest you do as well.
Enough about that. Many things are overcome late in life, and that is one thing on my list to get over.
Besides, currently it's raining and windy and I am holed up on a cozy bed in a cozy house in sweats, doing my favorite thing. Writing.
I was in the shower (where all of my most profound revelations seem to be birthed, must have something to do with the nudity or something, and when I say profound I mean completely useless observations usually, but occasionally a brilliant thought might be lit,) and began to think about death. Okay, yes, on dreary days I do lean towards being a tad sulky and perhaps even depressed, but I don't think this thought really came from a dark place in the recesses of my brain, just, there have been so many strange, sudden deaths lately. Then I thought to myself, no, that's wrong, it's not LATELY, it's always been. People go along thinking they will live forever, or that they will somehow have fair warning of it, or that it will be in old age, but then tomorrow never comes for so many. There is no time to say goodbye to your loved ones and estranged friends or family. All we have is this moment, right here. Right now. Even knowing this fact, yes, FACT. That death is imminent, and none of usually know the day it will occur, we plod along complaining and not looking around at the world around us, except for the bubble we live in, putting our hand to the plow, one foot before the other, not loving the people nearest to us well enough, not noticing them how they are today, looking at our reflections in the bathroom mirror and only seeing the flaws and not the beauty, breathing, but not really, living, but really not truly living. I know this may not be true of many, but it is certainly true of some, and when we see someone break out of that mold, we are INSPIRED in the deepest parts of our being, and we say to ourselves,"I want THAT. I want to be something. I want to live and reach and leap and believe, and LOVE and see, really see." Take the movie The Secret Life of Walter Mitty for instance. Normal, almost boring, average guy with a knack for daydreaming. He gets that extra little push he needs to go from ordinary to living freely and taking chances. I think it takes something different for us to decide to take that leap of faith and live life more loudly. Some don't want that, and that's okay too. I am mainly addressing myself and the untapped dreams lying dormant in my soul. Also, others who maybe read my little blog who might feel the same. Like there are so many things we could do to challenge ourselves, to go beyond the norm of what we have grown so accustomed to..But we remain planted in our safe little spot, in our safe little bubble, not wanting to take the chance that we might fall, or fail, or get hurt, or realize the things we loved the most or were most passionate about actually suck too. We are afraid to live because we're afraid to die. Whether inwardly, outwardly, or realistically. My dream, my passion, is to travel, to see Europe in full, to go places, and to write about it. To sample the foods, to smell the different aromas each new place is bathed in, to take beautiful photographs of these places, not to brag or boast or have notches on my belt, but because I want to learn, and I know people are the best teachers, also, experiencing new things is the key to never growing stagnant. I want to raise my children to be free and filled with wanderlust, and extremely comfortable in their own perfectly flawed skin. I wish to give them the room to ask crazy questions that may not be answered in this lifetime, fuel for their imaginations, while still guiding their way as best I can as a mother. I want to be the friend my husband deserves in a wife.
I say this often in my bloggings, I know, that I want to dream and be as carefree as a child. But still embrace the beauty of being an adult who has gone through trials and lived, and has the scars, wrinkles, battle wounds to prove it. After all, there is no regret in getting out there and trying and doing and seeing if the wings we hear so much about (in our souls of course) are real, if they really work when we leap out of the nest. If death IS indeed imminent, why should we hold back from being adventurers and experiencers, for living ridiculously, unabashedly(perhaps foolishly at times, while still implicating God-given wisdom) free? For taking the seeds of dreams inside us that are maybe pushed so far down in unwatered soil that they lie forgotten and passed over, and cultivating them so tenderly and meticulously that they spring to the surface once more and expose themselves to the world in rainbow shades of originality and eccentricity. How? I don't know. I have yet to find out the extra push in my case, but I intend to give a fierce effort if given the chance. This pathetically aged baby bird intends to roll myself, if need be, from the soft warm nest of my safe borders and into dangerous territory where my underused wings may or may not work properly. But I do intend to try. I suggest you do as well.
Friday, January 24, 2014
A Fresh Day
Today is a fresh, new day. Yesterday's hardship and tears are washed away in the light of a new dawn. Thankfully.
I am reminded of my need to be more vigilant in the season I am in to cultivate my faith like a mother bird spreading her wings over her newly-birthed babies. I need to pursue peace, and to keep my mind focused on Jesus and His goodness and faithfulness, His largeness of power and presence, to keep a mindset of purity, prayerful in belief, my heart pressing into love, moment by moment if need be.
TRUST: not in any human, not in myself, especially not my feelings, which dictate so much of what I do, but in God alone.
REMEMBER: His unfailing, tender guidance of my life thus far, and my path led by His light. I can let go and be filled with a complete sense of tranquility even in the midst of confusion, uncertainty and turmoil.
PRESS ON: you cannot go back and live in past triumphs (though they encourage and build up from what they did for me in that time), nor can I dream incessantly of what if's and maybe's of the future- but I have control only over what my attitude, choice of thoughts and mindset will be, and my response to life's up's and down's in a spirit of love are. I embrace His grace in my weaknesses, which are constant. I will bless the Lord at all times, choosing obedience to Him even when it is painful or humiliating. I will love fiercely those dear humans who He has entrusted to my care, trying to keep at bay offense, anger, and complaints so that instead I uplift, bless and elevate them to higher places.
I choose to be free like a child. A child does not analyze everything seemingly suspicious in a deceptive effort to self-protect. They entrust themselves fully to the mature adults in their lives. How much more, if I really believe God is good and He is for me, can I submit myself with abandon to His loving care and keep the hope alive that He will do what He has promised and work all of these "impossible" kinks out to His great glory?
He keeps reminding me of how much bigger He is than any of the obstacles or losses this world present. He holds Chris in His hand still, His love pouring out on the lost ones, the wanderers, seekers,sleeping amnesiacs, and the ones He calls His own, and He will have the final word. And it will be great indeed!
Here is a paragraph that has given me a lot of comfort and joy today and in my past:
Delayed answers to prayer are not refusals. Many prayers are received and recorded, yet underneath are the words,"My time has not yet come." God has a fixed time and an ordained purpose, and He who controls the limits of our lives also determines the time of our deliverance."
There is no guilt or shame when you are His. When you know Him, you start to know this fully. That the more you think you know of Him, the more mystery seems to evolve. But there He is, in between every thought and pressing against our hearts gently, no further than the echo our heartbeats make as they thud on the inside of our chests. He is there in the breath, in the tears, and in the gasps we make while laughter fills our mouths. Closer still than any friend or any THING. I am so thankful that He never leaves me.
I am reminded of my need to be more vigilant in the season I am in to cultivate my faith like a mother bird spreading her wings over her newly-birthed babies. I need to pursue peace, and to keep my mind focused on Jesus and His goodness and faithfulness, His largeness of power and presence, to keep a mindset of purity, prayerful in belief, my heart pressing into love, moment by moment if need be.
TRUST: not in any human, not in myself, especially not my feelings, which dictate so much of what I do, but in God alone.
REMEMBER: His unfailing, tender guidance of my life thus far, and my path led by His light. I can let go and be filled with a complete sense of tranquility even in the midst of confusion, uncertainty and turmoil.
PRESS ON: you cannot go back and live in past triumphs (though they encourage and build up from what they did for me in that time), nor can I dream incessantly of what if's and maybe's of the future- but I have control only over what my attitude, choice of thoughts and mindset will be, and my response to life's up's and down's in a spirit of love are. I embrace His grace in my weaknesses, which are constant. I will bless the Lord at all times, choosing obedience to Him even when it is painful or humiliating. I will love fiercely those dear humans who He has entrusted to my care, trying to keep at bay offense, anger, and complaints so that instead I uplift, bless and elevate them to higher places.
I choose to be free like a child. A child does not analyze everything seemingly suspicious in a deceptive effort to self-protect. They entrust themselves fully to the mature adults in their lives. How much more, if I really believe God is good and He is for me, can I submit myself with abandon to His loving care and keep the hope alive that He will do what He has promised and work all of these "impossible" kinks out to His great glory?
He keeps reminding me of how much bigger He is than any of the obstacles or losses this world present. He holds Chris in His hand still, His love pouring out on the lost ones, the wanderers, seekers,sleeping amnesiacs, and the ones He calls His own, and He will have the final word. And it will be great indeed!
Here is a paragraph that has given me a lot of comfort and joy today and in my past:
Delayed answers to prayer are not refusals. Many prayers are received and recorded, yet underneath are the words,"My time has not yet come." God has a fixed time and an ordained purpose, and He who controls the limits of our lives also determines the time of our deliverance."
There is no guilt or shame when you are His. When you know Him, you start to know this fully. That the more you think you know of Him, the more mystery seems to evolve. But there He is, in between every thought and pressing against our hearts gently, no further than the echo our heartbeats make as they thud on the inside of our chests. He is there in the breath, in the tears, and in the gasps we make while laughter fills our mouths. Closer still than any friend or any THING. I am so thankful that He never leaves me.
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