Letting My Words Speak.

I've been waiting, wondering when the time would come to end this blog, this chapter of stories. Remarkable, the Lord completed it for me. You see, this blog captures the heart of a lot of things, but also the deeply personal stories of grief and loss and hurt. Stories only shared and related to the closest of friends. But a new chapter is beginning for me. A new series of stories to be shared. God is prodding my heart to share at a broader level, to unearth himself in me and bear it as a book to be seen. So this, my friends, ends my first chapters of blogging, my first portrayl of hardship and hurt, hunger and happiness. I look through these posts and seegrowth and complication and stirring and good things. I am thankful that by the use of a blog, he is Letting My Words Speak.

Stories to be shared will now be able to be found here; chapter two of: Letting My Words Speak.

My good friend Trish printed my blog out as a beautiful book.

The Separate Life.

I've been having conversations recently with a few people about texting, tweeting, Gchat, smart phones, etc. In most of my friendships, I'm not overly concerned about their/our use of these technology tools, because they really are tools to help us connect, relate, network. Not distractions or illusions.

Yet, I am weary of overuse of these instruments of communication. Because some relationships seem to formulate through emails and Facebook messages, but then fall flat face-to-face. Yet the human heart, is lured and drawn and comforted most fully, face-to-face. It is expressed in the twinge of the lips, the curl of lash, the crinkle in the brow.

What I am more fearful for, is how sometimes the use of these resources lend to a 'separate life.' For example, you can text one guy for a week, multiple times a day, and no one else would know you're even friends with him. Or, you can text comments to a co-worker, that you know if his wife saw it, she would be mortified. Or, you can do the same with Gchat, FB messages, etc... formulate relationships that almost appear secretive, and some purposefully are.

I have a few friends who have said so, about themselves. I have others, who I know if someone checked their computers or phones, that person would be ashamed, defensive, and/or humiliated.

The definition of integrity is "adherence to moral and ethical principles; soundness of moral character; honesty" and "the state of being whole, entire, or undiminished." (dictionary.reference.com)

In your use of technology tools, live, act, and communicate with integrity. Create and sustain a whole life; one that weaves in and out of these interments as methods, but that still measure your character with respect and your relationships with reality.

Seed on Thorns.

"The one who received the seed that fell among the thorns is the man who hears the word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke it, making it unfruitful." (Matthew 13: 22).

Unfruitful faith is the result of distracted hearts. Choked by the things of this word, by the daily, the mundane. Distracted by our fears, worries, concerns. Knotted by our introspection which stare us focusing at ourselves. Mounded by lies. Lies of words -- the worries that wrench at us like a gnarled witch's and twist into our thoughts and hearts until we no longer see out of them -- and lies of worldly things. That heaping desire to acquire and appear and attain.

This verse is a good reminder for my conversations as of late.

Worries. Worries kill faith, kill fruitfulness. I wrote a statement down several years and resonates with me weekly and I pledge it over my heart: Fear is the opposite of faith. Worry is fear. We become so consumed in ourself, our plans, our ideas, our thoughts, our busyness that the running keeps us from using that energy to build the Kingdom and grow closer to the Father (The Chase). If a we are consumed inwardly, it is difficult to grow and bud outwardly.

Secondly, wealth in itself isn't bad. It is the deceitfulness of wealth that kills the fruitfulness of faith, thus the fruitfulness of the gospel, of the heart. Jesus knew many wealthy, they were the Lydia's that spun cloth, the Nicodeamus' that sat at the city gate, the Simons who welcomed him in. He did not question their wealth. He loved them, deeply. And was blessed by their use of wealth -- providing meals for him and his disciples, home to sleep in at night, and secure Senators even who believed his Truth.

Jesus' problem is wealth is a heart matter. It's like reading about David, "The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearances, but the Lord looks at the heart" (I Samuel 16:7). Christians can have wealth, as long as it is not their idol (Matthew 6:24). The Lord cares about generosity, integrity, character, serving. Dollar signs are indifferent in his book. He can use us with little, lots, or none. But for the gospel to be alive and prospering in us, it is important that our heart (perspective and financial use) is not deceived by the lure of wealth, but rather is trained to use it to honor truth, life, and the Kingdom.

Gone Before.

"The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." (Deuteronomy 31:8 NIV)

Driving to Porter Ridge my first days in October, this verses was my mantra. The sun rising over 485 going eastward to Lawyers Road, my heart pumping and mind racing with anxious thoughts all blurred into one big, daily episode of fear, overwhelm, and insecurity. Everything in me became constrained and swirling, my composure fighting for dignity and strength, my head immersed in lies of self-defeating prophesies.

Then my friend Amy lent me these words:

"The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you;

he will never leave you nor forsake you.

Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." (Deuteronomy 31:8 NIV)

This truth over me prevailed. It receded the angst and inabilities and questions and fears. It set HIM above all, through all, and with all. With me. Truth that lighted my path, cleared my way, and postered divine purpose to Porter Ridge.

This summer, I've had 'little' ways which the Lord has gone before. Trish and I are both reading this phenomenal book, A Praying Life by Paul Miller. (I'll write about this another day, but it's an instant classic on my shelf and in my heart.) It has opened the curls of my lashes to the presence of the Lord preparing the way in my life.

Let me expound a bit. He's so intensely showing up in the little things, that I can't help but lean over and say, "Did you pray for that?"

Like providing me with a free cup of coffee on a delighted day post-Marie Catribs where I craved one so bad, but couldn't get myself to fork over the $2.59.

Or praying one night about how to "end well" with friends and family yet torn between times and schedules and places... which turned into Trish & I opting out of the beach which allowed good time with Bekah, and our Grand Haven day turning to rain, which sat us at my sisters table with tea and then laying later on tubes with ice cream and book covers and conversations...

Or accidentally reserving only one night in Nashville, amidst our many tries to expand our stay, which found us then along Main Street Franklin with shops closed and driving home that day anyway...

Or standing outside of Church At Charlotte with my friend Katherine, asking her to water my flowers for a day or two while I was gone (after endless and anxious reorganizing of how I was going to try to get my flowers watered while I was gone; trying to take the burden off any one person). Her reply instead being, "Why don't I just live there!?" in exclamation and expectation, full eyes brimmed with enthusiasm. So, sure enough, she moved in for a month and watered my flowers which thus bloomed with boasting hydrangea blues and spurning hosta stalks.

Like sprinkles atop frosting, God has gone before me. These little clippets declare Him like testimonies along the way. I see his hand marking my steps, his palms clearing the way, his heart setting a stable path for my feet. He knows me, he loves me, he claims he, he proves himself through me. Whether anxious worries or coffee cravings, the verse collaborates with the common pronouncing that the Lord has gone before.

Morning at Barlow.

A slight breeze brings morning across my face. A taste of freshness mixed with warmth and dew. A trolling fisherman lazes beyond the shoreline, skiers arising from their harvest beds. White mugs cup Starbucks coffee, breakfast blend, sweet and khaki. Clicking keys with wandering thoughts. Brewing blog concepts, sparkles for vacation plans, and the quiet hum of boat motors mix with the sounds of delighted birds.

We are quiet now in our state, of writing and thinking. Sitting next to each other in white adirondack chairs on the front porch, surrounded by billowing hostas and pink hydrangeas and grasses green. Cropped shorts and cozy sweatshirts, glasses and clipped hair. Our books on prayer and weathered journals lay at our feet, by Nalgene bottles and beach towels and acorns askew.

It's morning at the lake. Quiet. Restful. Renewed. Fullness of good.

One of my favorite books is a quaint little wrapping of stories and thoughts and lessons from Margaret Becker, With New Eyes. She writes, "I vow to take in every sunrise, and every sunset..." as she stretches towards strength and calmness and understanding and soul. Sabbatical.

It's morning on Barlow Lake. I am quiet, relaxing, writing, reading, conversing. Being. Breathing it in.

Holding Homes, Holding Hearts.

"I don't want to leave here

I don't want to stay..."

~ Sara Groves

Painting Pictures of Egypt

A single tear slides down my cheek. Saying good-bye. Long-held hug, startled heart.

Hellos and good-byes. Hugs and cheers. Gaps in between.

Garden growth between fingers. Kettle and cooking pans in hand. Books on shelves. Piano waiting. Crisp and Vivace and Lawsons and enclosed porches.

Lego garages. Sand in hair. Cottage lawns filled. Maries and Roses and Applebees and backyard fire.

"I don't want to leave here

I don't want to stay..."

I am a woman in both. The same, and different. Loved and loving. Hurting and healing. Saying good-byes, but also hellos. Holding both places as home and humans in heart. Repeating once again, the Good and the Hard.

Intentional.

There are people in my mind and heart that make me step back, watch, learn, listen, wonder... It's as if I see them sometime through a looking glass, or spectrums of a prism, trying to glean and understand, gather, how they "do it well." In their perceptions, I'm sure, they feel the tugs of life not the grandeur held in my eyes... but nonetheless stand as people I honor, admire, wonder. Like a child squinting into a door ajar, wondering whats inside... Wondering how it's done, what it's like, and who they are...

Laura

Laura, Jenny, and Missy. Let me just name all three of my "short blonde friends" as I so affectionately name them... And let you into the wonder of how intentionally they live, and how I'll never understand it. (They'll HATE that I'm posting this!) But these women have shown me Jesus. I don't know how they love, or how they know how to do so, so intentionally... but they babysit children, clean for widows, foster friendships... They took me in when I was broken that year post NC, stood at the funeral home, saw me off at 6am, sent cards and packages, and rearranged their schedules to see me while I'm home... They love the people they love, well. Immerse in their lives. On Laura's wall is a chalkboard of words, quotes, scripture, sermon lines... I always walk in, pause, read, ponder... On my wall now, will be a chalkboard sign of the same, to pause and read and wonder... Just as I do, when I watch them live life, well.

Adam & Erin

I talked to Erin a few weeks ago, a random phone call to an old church friend... and found out her and her husband and their young family, took in a seventeen year old... to give him a foot-up in the world. This kind of living, making space, making room in your heart, your home, your life, for someone unknown and unrelated to you, marks intention. Marks gospel. I left that phone call, staring. Wondering. How. Why. Where they created space in their heart, and how they sacrifice so intentionally... And was so challenged, inspired, intrigued, wondering...

Lynda

I love talking to this friend of mine, and hearing her heart for where Christ is and wanting to be there. How she sews cloth and yarn and love into intention. Into heart for those doing it with her, and who she creates each act of love for. How she works forward in life at church and work, pushing for ideas and active gospel and gifts. How she is reaching into new avenues and thoughts and prisons and hopes... Listening and wondering with her...

Sandy & J.D.

They make it look so easy. They cook Wednesday night feasts, drive people to appointments, serve endlessly at the church, and deeply care. Something about their heart is unyeilding to personal gain when it encounters another's personal pain. It's a mystery to me, how they love so many, so well, so deeply. I love to watch and wonder...

Crossroads Church

I look around the plastic chairs, and see people. "Transforming followers" of Christ Jesus, whose stories are true testimonies of being stretched and living hard and fully... Of creating and living intentional "street corner" gospel... From moving to the Westside, to Prayer House, to Kevin & Marcy Smith, to Erin & Adam, and Lynda... to South Africa and India connections, to Abba's Answer Adoption, to a teacher who prays with her student's parents to guys like Ryan Waalkes... the list goes on. I miss the weekly testimonials of what God is doing in his kingdom, in his people... Listening, watching, wondering....