Saturday, January 30, 2010
The Remnants.
Popcorn bags, Dorito chips, and wine glasses are strewn about. Cookies sheets set by the sink and more dough is in the freezer. Half-empty mugs of coffee, tea, and hot cocoa polka dot the table. Blankets rest upon the armchairs, nail polish next to magazines, and laptops and a mostly-eaten box of Jelly Bellys. Seasons of the Gilmore Girls loop all hours of the day, along with Julie and Julia, and the pack of deer that continually graze in our yard. Morning glory muffins are wrapped tight on a platter, next to impromptu Italian leftovers. And many sighs, smiles, giggles, and "Oh, how I love to be a girl" trail throughout the day. It is our snow day. It is our day packed away in our nested little house on Hillandale, cozied beneath a white dress of frozen snow.
First Snow.
So I pulled on my boots and tucked my purple pajamas in them. With just a baby T on, I wrapped myself in my Columbia coat and headed outside with my camera. Yes, it's seven am.
But we had our first snow.
I feel like a kid in the mid-winter mix. It's a mixture of sleet and snow and ice and rain, but it looks beautiful covering our backyard porch and swing.
It has regained its nostalgia for me. Beckoning candles glowing and blankets warming and brown bread baking.
When snow is a rarity, it's a special, blissful treat. So this morning, yes, even I, am taken in the beauty of the first snow.
But we had our first snow.
I feel like a kid in the mid-winter mix. It's a mixture of sleet and snow and ice and rain, but it looks beautiful covering our backyard porch and swing.
It has regained its nostalgia for me. Beckoning candles glowing and blankets warming and brown bread baking.
When snow is a rarity, it's a special, blissful treat. So this morning, yes, even I, am taken in the beauty of the first snow.
God Provides.
I have no idea why, but right now, God provides. I don't mean that in the general context, but in the way that last week, a random $300 showed up in my bank account! I looked to see what it was, and some how, I got random money from CMS (where I taught this year). Okay, lets be honest, $300 is A LOT of money! Especially randomly, and for a nanny...
Then, this morning, I checked my account to make sure my deposit of yesterday went in... and you'll never guess... another $600! What?! Where?! Again, from CMS. And I don't know why.
It could be the payout still owed for my Master's degree or whatever, but I had long since given up or thought about that. I was done with CMS for all I knew or cared.
But today, I am giddy. I am surprised. God provides.
Then, this morning, I checked my account to make sure my deposit of yesterday went in... and you'll never guess... another $600! What?! Where?! Again, from CMS. And I don't know why.
It could be the payout still owed for my Master's degree or whatever, but I had long since given up or thought about that. I was done with CMS for all I knew or cared.
But today, I am giddy. I am surprised. God provides.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Letting Me Rest.
I love it when Beth Moore yells at me. I love it when this woman hollars into me so much that my armor cannot stand up to it, and God uses her.
He uses her to remind me:
To Rest.
Today, she was reading from Joshua one, and I continued to search more into this meaningful passage and found something I had never "read" before in all my times of reading this these last few months.
" The Lord your God is giving you rest.... the Lord gives them rest...." Joshua 1: 13, 15
In all my time of reading this passage, I never "read" these words. The Lord let them rest with Moses. Let them rest while taking the conquering land. The Lord let them rest.
The Lord is letting me Rest.
He uses her to remind me:
To Rest.
Today, she was reading from Joshua one, and I continued to search more into this meaningful passage and found something I had never "read" before in all my times of reading this these last few months.
" The Lord your God is giving you rest.... the Lord gives them rest...." Joshua 1: 13, 15
In all my time of reading this passage, I never "read" these words. The Lord let them rest with Moses. Let them rest while taking the conquering land. The Lord let them rest.
The Lord is letting me Rest.
Caught Naked Behind the Trees.
My dear little Garrett pulled an Adam and Eve this week. It was the clearest picture I've seen yet of sin and shame.
I went to throw a few things in the trash, and turned around, and within those 30 seconds, Garrett had hid in the corner behind his art easel. I laughed and told him to come out and play. He walked out with one hand covering the top of the other. I saw a marker lying on the floor beneath the easel and asked him if he wrote on his hand. He said no. I asked him if he was telling the truth, and why he wrote on his hand. He consistently said he did not write on his hand.
This stance proceeded for the next half hour. He walked around with one hand covering the other and tried to play his guitar, open boxes, steer Matchbox cars, and draw all one-handed. He would release the hand if he went behind something that he thought I couldn't see, like his puppet show stand, but then re-cover it when he was back in my line of site.
I just couldn't help but see him act as Adam and Eve. Hiding in the corner with his sin, and then trying to scurry away with his shame, thinking that I couldn't see. Like being caught naked behind the trees.
I went to throw a few things in the trash, and turned around, and within those 30 seconds, Garrett had hid in the corner behind his art easel. I laughed and told him to come out and play. He walked out with one hand covering the top of the other. I saw a marker lying on the floor beneath the easel and asked him if he wrote on his hand. He said no. I asked him if he was telling the truth, and why he wrote on his hand. He consistently said he did not write on his hand.
This stance proceeded for the next half hour. He walked around with one hand covering the other and tried to play his guitar, open boxes, steer Matchbox cars, and draw all one-handed. He would release the hand if he went behind something that he thought I couldn't see, like his puppet show stand, but then re-cover it when he was back in my line of site.
I just couldn't help but see him act as Adam and Eve. Hiding in the corner with his sin, and then trying to scurry away with his shame, thinking that I couldn't see. Like being caught naked behind the trees.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
My Afternoon Tea.
I'm standing here, heating afternoon tea, vanilla comoro, for my tan and cream world mug and lingering over dreams and hope. The tea steams in the cup, reminding me of all things good, and waiting. Waiting for it to cool, waiting for it to be steeped just right to enjoy the luxurious, simple goodness. And it reminds me of one of my all-time favorite songs, which now plays listlessly among me.
Come Build A Home With Me
(BriAnna Eklund)
(lyrics to come)
I drip my tea bag onto the plate and wrap my apron around me, preparing to cut and chop and slice apples onto my tart, creating a family favorite recipe, Taffy Apple Pizza for a dinner party tonight. And I rest here, with the quiet of my dreams and songs and cinnamon and, my afternoon tea.
Come Build A Home With Me
(BriAnna Eklund)
(lyrics to come)
I drip my tea bag onto the plate and wrap my apron around me, preparing to cut and chop and slice apples onto my tart, creating a family favorite recipe, Taffy Apple Pizza for a dinner party tonight. And I rest here, with the quiet of my dreams and songs and cinnamon and, my afternoon tea.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Wouldn't That Just Be God.
So wouldn't that just be God. That I'm sitting here writing about how I can't wait until my 40 days of Faith are up. That it's ridiculous and I can't understand myself and what happened to me, that I'm ready to go back from this. And working over what that actually is saying -- after 40 days of Faith to go back to unbelief? of living with a lesser God? Of easier processes within me?
Then I put in the Beth Moore cd of the day, literally, for her to yell at me. And she is. And God is using here to slap me inside.
Because the opening for today and headline of the section is Joshua.
"Be strong and courageous."
Wouldn't you just know... wouldn't you just know that this is the day, the week, that God would reiterate that growth in my mind. That he would take that passage back out of the Word, and the many cards and words of me and my mom in March, April, and into May, and reclaim me through the yelling at me of her voice. [I wrote on this whole story/idea a lot earlier, perhaps in May or June.]
God, keep slapping me inside. Keep instilling in me your words and wisdom: "Be strong and very courageous." Don't let me give in and sink in to less than this. Build up your shield of faith within me.
Then I put in the Beth Moore cd of the day, literally, for her to yell at me. And she is. And God is using here to slap me inside.
Because the opening for today and headline of the section is Joshua.
"Be strong and courageous."
Wouldn't you just know... wouldn't you just know that this is the day, the week, that God would reiterate that growth in my mind. That he would take that passage back out of the Word, and the many cards and words of me and my mom in March, April, and into May, and reclaim me through the yelling at me of her voice. [I wrote on this whole story/idea a lot earlier, perhaps in May or June.]
God, keep slapping me inside. Keep instilling in me your words and wisdom: "Be strong and very courageous." Don't let me give in and sink in to less than this. Build up your shield of faith within me.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
No More Losses.
No more losses, Lord. No more. No more losing friendships, loosing jobs, loosing homes, loosing lives. No more pulling out the people and things that I love and need, and leaving me with loss.
Soon I will loose my roommates again. And I will loose my home. I love them so dearly, and I love this sense of home. But the loss is going to come. It will and already is. No more loss of them.
No more loss of people I become close to. Of people whose lives I share. For a minute for a weekend for a month for a year. No more loss of my friends spread global, or my friends near. No more losses.
No more loss of center. Of moving, of jobs, of transitions, of routine, of trust, of stability. No more losses, Lord. No more loss of me.
Soon I will loose my roommates again. And I will loose my home. I love them so dearly, and I love this sense of home. But the loss is going to come. It will and already is. No more loss of them.
No more loss of people I become close to. Of people whose lives I share. For a minute for a weekend for a month for a year. No more loss of my friends spread global, or my friends near. No more losses.
No more loss of center. Of moving, of jobs, of transitions, of routine, of trust, of stability. No more losses, Lord. No more loss of me.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Can I...?
Can I simply gloat over my weekend?
Can I mention that I got to stroll along the ocean shore?
Can I boast about seafood pasta on the dock?
Can I capture dawdling at a local cafe?
Can I describe the graze of the kayak amidst the delta?
Can I give ear to the quiet of the Florida palms on a hike?
Can I simply twinkle and sigh and rejoice and enjoy?
Can I mention that I got to stroll along the ocean shore?
Can I boast about seafood pasta on the dock?
Can I capture dawdling at a local cafe?
Can I describe the graze of the kayak amidst the delta?
Can I give ear to the quiet of the Florida palms on a hike?
Can I simply twinkle and sigh and rejoice and enjoy?
Forgive Me.
Forgive me as I'm gushing. I try really hard to guard against writing and blogging and giving commentary to my thoughts and feelings of dating, men, and love. But these rumblings keep ruminating and rolling in me and won't stop roaring until their told. So, make do with me and offer me grace for the next two posts as I download all the gushiness in me, and then I'll sew myself back up. :)
Protect Me in Public.
The words floated through the air in the car:
I'm taking these words out of context, completely, I know. But they cast a spectrum of light and meaning, and unearth a story I dare share. The song is about the bride and Christ, about his pursual of her, and purpose and protection. It's absolutely beautiful and powerful. (The Church, Derek Webb.)
But this one line caught and taught me to ponder. It makes me think of husbands and wives and what it means to love each other in this way. To model this love and pursual and purpose and protection to each other. To give the call, "Husbands, love your wives as Christ loves the church" (Ephesians 5:25), perhaps the highest standard of all.
And reminds me of one of my friends. Her and her husband have made this commitment, to protect each other in public. To not talk bad or down or harshly of each other in social settings, whether in the context of family, girls/guys night, or small group. And now this has worn off and been adapted by other's who have watched them.
This powerful testimony has been embedded in me, and I grasp it close and dear, and share it with others who are in the dating/marriage context and wondering what that looks like. It makes me think of my parents and other couples who have protected themselves and each other by doing the same. Being shelter to each other.
Though I write about this more in the marriage context, I also apply it to others. To my friendships, my roommates, my important people in life. That I cover and protect and shelter them. That I am a safe place for them, to share their life and stories and hardships and fears, and know that it is kept under the seal of me. That they know in public I am with them, I protect them, I love them, and I am proud of them.
And for me, I cherish my friends who do the same. And I am left to pray for one who is willing to "protect me in public."
You cannot care for me, with no regard to her
If you love me, you will love, the Church
I'm taking these words out of context, completely, I know. But they cast a spectrum of light and meaning, and unearth a story I dare share. The song is about the bride and Christ, about his pursual of her, and purpose and protection. It's absolutely beautiful and powerful. (The Church, Derek Webb.)
But this one line caught and taught me to ponder. It makes me think of husbands and wives and what it means to love each other in this way. To model this love and pursual and purpose and protection to each other. To give the call, "Husbands, love your wives as Christ loves the church" (Ephesians 5:25), perhaps the highest standard of all.
And reminds me of one of my friends. Her and her husband have made this commitment, to protect each other in public. To not talk bad or down or harshly of each other in social settings, whether in the context of family, girls/guys night, or small group. And now this has worn off and been adapted by other's who have watched them.
This powerful testimony has been embedded in me, and I grasp it close and dear, and share it with others who are in the dating/marriage context and wondering what that looks like. It makes me think of my parents and other couples who have protected themselves and each other by doing the same. Being shelter to each other.
Though I write about this more in the marriage context, I also apply it to others. To my friendships, my roommates, my important people in life. That I cover and protect and shelter them. That I am a safe place for them, to share their life and stories and hardships and fears, and know that it is kept under the seal of me. That they know in public I am with them, I protect them, I love them, and I am proud of them.
And for me, I cherish my friends who do the same. And I am left to pray for one who is willing to "protect me in public."
Mr. Good Enough.
I was reading a review in a magazine last week that said to "suck it up and settle down with Mr. Good Enough..." [verbatim!] It was about the female life and mind and desire for "Mr. Right" and the author's stance and point and saying: "hey, he's decent, he's stable, he'll give you kids..." and calling that good enough. Now, I should add that the editor commenting on the book in this magazine was a bit skeptical and critical of the whole idea herself, but still...
So we've been talking about it... Completely floored and depressed and angered at the same time. Realizing that "Mr. Perfect" isn't human, but still "Mr. Good Enough" just sounds... well, awful.
So it makes me think about my friends, and their marriages. And wondering if they would agree to the "Mr. Good Enough" statement.
And some of them, sorry to say, would say yes. Just suck it up, nail yourself down, and settle for the mundane because at least it's something. But I look at their faces on their wedding day, or their moments in years after and wonder if that's really all it can be. Then I look at the friends who's marriages I admire, and know they'd completely buck the idea. I look at their husbands (boyfriends, fiances) and think - wow, they married such incredible men and they know it! They take delight and pride in the amazing men that they married -- ups, downs, joys, triumphs, sin, redemption, and all -- and everyone knows they really did get their God-given "Mr. Right."
So to the "Mr. Good Enough" idea, I'll lay the magazine on the table, and let it be.
So we've been talking about it... Completely floored and depressed and angered at the same time. Realizing that "Mr. Perfect" isn't human, but still "Mr. Good Enough" just sounds... well, awful.
So it makes me think about my friends, and their marriages. And wondering if they would agree to the "Mr. Good Enough" statement.
And some of them, sorry to say, would say yes. Just suck it up, nail yourself down, and settle for the mundane because at least it's something. But I look at their faces on their wedding day, or their moments in years after and wonder if that's really all it can be. Then I look at the friends who's marriages I admire, and know they'd completely buck the idea. I look at their husbands (boyfriends, fiances) and think - wow, they married such incredible men and they know it! They take delight and pride in the amazing men that they married -- ups, downs, joys, triumphs, sin, redemption, and all -- and everyone knows they really did get their God-given "Mr. Right."
So to the "Mr. Good Enough" idea, I'll lay the magazine on the table, and let it be.
Giggles & Bibles & Girls.
So I love coming home. No matter if it to someone else's home where I'm staying, or coming home to my own. It could be as result of an hour away, or a week. But there is something special about coming home.
I had my one-liner planned as I drove through the driveway, to summarize my weekend for my roommates, knowing they'd ask and I'd share. And I knew we'd all sit around and divulge our past several days and life and thoughts.
But I didn't expect the beauty of that moment or conversations. That'd I'd walk in and one's boyfriend was helping make salad, and together we'd all sit around the table, the five of us, and eat spinach with goat cheese and roasted chicken and pine nuts and olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and linger over wine. That our discussions would take us from our weekend events, to our perspectives on Biblical suffering, to the role of conflict between men and women, to talks about board games and competition, and life in dating. That "the boyfriend" would laugh and shake his head and join right in with us, sharing his stories and life in the church, but also watching women in glee interact and giggle and share and learn and live as ones who join and care. We taunted and praised him and begged him to stay and come again to share in this women's experience.
All followed by laughter floating from rooms and squeals and giggles and make-up to wear. Guided by more stories and sharing, and hugs and listening.
Or sitting this morning with morning coffee and warm banana bread and fresh thoughts, and rummaging through the feminine role and books and blogs and flights to overseas. Gathered and covered with the glow of sunlight at the table.
I love coming home. But it is a special gift indeed to come home to such a blessing as this.
I had my one-liner planned as I drove through the driveway, to summarize my weekend for my roommates, knowing they'd ask and I'd share. And I knew we'd all sit around and divulge our past several days and life and thoughts.
But I didn't expect the beauty of that moment or conversations. That'd I'd walk in and one's boyfriend was helping make salad, and together we'd all sit around the table, the five of us, and eat spinach with goat cheese and roasted chicken and pine nuts and olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and linger over wine. That our discussions would take us from our weekend events, to our perspectives on Biblical suffering, to the role of conflict between men and women, to talks about board games and competition, and life in dating. That "the boyfriend" would laugh and shake his head and join right in with us, sharing his stories and life in the church, but also watching women in glee interact and giggle and share and learn and live as ones who join and care. We taunted and praised him and begged him to stay and come again to share in this women's experience.
All followed by laughter floating from rooms and squeals and giggles and make-up to wear. Guided by more stories and sharing, and hugs and listening.
Or sitting this morning with morning coffee and warm banana bread and fresh thoughts, and rummaging through the feminine role and books and blogs and flights to overseas. Gathered and covered with the glow of sunlight at the table.
I love coming home. But it is a special gift indeed to come home to such a blessing as this.
Chess Game Of Compare.
They sat there, they compared. They wore everything from Tommy Bahama to Target to Talbots - the labels almost beckoned to be seen. It was the cataclysmic evasion of motherhood.
It was their eyes scanning and roaming the room, looking around and wondering to compare. It was the hushed voices from one mom to the other, casting glances and whispers like a poison, making the rest of us just to sit and wonder.
It was me in the corner, clamoring as I took it in, and crawling on the inside. Watching the art lesson unfold like a junior high hallway experience. Wishing I could just gate Garrett and I in and away from all of it. Sheltering him from their narrowing glances to measure him to the other two-three year olds, and myself from their mommy woes and wishings and seemingly chess game of compare.
I finally needed escape. Claustrophobic and suffocating in the midst of them. Couldn't take my eyes of the scene or peel my reactions away. Or not join them in their comparison pursuits as I was as wide-eyed and gaping as the rest, unaware of playing Garrett because I was caught in their game of chess.
There were fears welled with in, some current, most transposed. Asking and begging God to make me in motherhood more than this. Make me a mother who doesn't join in the games of the these. Who doesn't dawdle or gossip or gather clothes or wealth just to pass the hour. Who chooses to live it purposefully, for me and them and His kingdom. To be more than players in a chess game.
It was their eyes scanning and roaming the room, looking around and wondering to compare. It was the hushed voices from one mom to the other, casting glances and whispers like a poison, making the rest of us just to sit and wonder.
It was me in the corner, clamoring as I took it in, and crawling on the inside. Watching the art lesson unfold like a junior high hallway experience. Wishing I could just gate Garrett and I in and away from all of it. Sheltering him from their narrowing glances to measure him to the other two-three year olds, and myself from their mommy woes and wishings and seemingly chess game of compare.
I finally needed escape. Claustrophobic and suffocating in the midst of them. Couldn't take my eyes of the scene or peel my reactions away. Or not join them in their comparison pursuits as I was as wide-eyed and gaping as the rest, unaware of playing Garrett because I was caught in their game of chess.
There were fears welled with in, some current, most transposed. Asking and begging God to make me in motherhood more than this. Make me a mother who doesn't join in the games of the these. Who doesn't dawdle or gossip or gather clothes or wealth just to pass the hour. Who chooses to live it purposefully, for me and them and His kingdom. To be more than players in a chess game.
Monday, January 18, 2010
A Good Woman.
"What he needs is a good woman." My family often comments and uses this phrase. I always ferociously revolt against it and angrily storm through my own comments of mind. What?! Why can't he be a good man on his own? Why does he need a woman to be great? To be focused? To pull his act together? To be living a life that's enduring? What is wrong with him that he can't find it inside himself to be all of these things? It's ridiculous that he needs a wife in order to gather this sort of strength!
But I was thinking about it today and yesterday and wondering what difference it really does make. What difference does it make if someone is behind you, supporting you and encouraging you? What difference does it make if someone constantly reminds you of the things you don't even see in yourself? What instruments inside you are gathered when a woman intimately believes and propels and thrusts you into being who you really are? What if she sees you for all the great things you really are and can be? What if she inspires you in this? What difference does a really good woman actually make?
I was wondering about these things. I was pondering...
But I was thinking about it today and yesterday and wondering what difference it really does make. What difference does it make if someone is behind you, supporting you and encouraging you? What difference does it make if someone constantly reminds you of the things you don't even see in yourself? What instruments inside you are gathered when a woman intimately believes and propels and thrusts you into being who you really are? What if she sees you for all the great things you really are and can be? What if she inspires you in this? What difference does a really good woman actually make?
I was wondering about these things. I was pondering...
Sunday, January 17, 2010
To Edify.
There is enough of the world against us to tear us down. To call us names, humiliate us, scar our self-confidence, or lead us into embarrassment or hurt.
But to us as Christians, it is our Biblical mandate to cover each other with grace, to lead one another into confidence as image bearers in the Lord, to suppress on one another the names of Christ as He called us. We are His voice to each other, naming and calling: Beloved, Adopted, Redeemed, Purified, Chosen, Gifted, Forgiven, Loved, over another. These are His gifts to us, these are His gifts to us as His people, through the covering of His people.
So let us speak to one another with all savoring of what He means to us, and sees in us. Let us be in the continual work of the gospel to each other, as we seek to edify one another through the kingdom's words. Let our voices be of encouragement, let our words be of sanctification, let our interactions be of affirmation.
But to us as Christians, it is our Biblical mandate to cover each other with grace, to lead one another into confidence as image bearers in the Lord, to suppress on one another the names of Christ as He called us. We are His voice to each other, naming and calling: Beloved, Adopted, Redeemed, Purified, Chosen, Gifted, Forgiven, Loved, over another. These are His gifts to us, these are His gifts to us as His people, through the covering of His people.
So let us speak to one another with all savoring of what He means to us, and sees in us. Let us be in the continual work of the gospel to each other, as we seek to edify one another through the kingdom's words. Let our voices be of encouragement, let our words be of sanctification, let our interactions be of affirmation.
Restored My Soul.
I remember sitting across a friend from college the year after North Carolina (time #1). We were sharing stories and life experiences from the gap since we had seen each other at college. And her words were peppered with God.
I remember thinking the whole time, wow, what it would be to be like that again! God's word just comes right of her tongue like she cares and is in continual knowing of him.
It was this stark contrast to me. Because I was sitting there, seeing her and listening to her speak, and wondering what happened to me. Because I used to be her; I used to know the Lord in that way, to talk about him with complete familiarity, and know and trust him so deeply. To speak of him so fluently was evangelistic, it was simply what was inside of me coming out.
So I sat there and listened to her and marveled at her candid way of seeing Christ in all pieces of life and the touch of the Lord as a continual presence. And I drove home, looking inside myself and peering into the emptiness there. No "the Lord" or "Christ" off my tongue, my life was shallowed and on the rock bottom of even that. All I could see was a God who left me and abandoned me to Charlotte, and I had crawled home for healing.
My mom and I listened to Nicole Sponberg "Resurrection" so many times that year. It was my anthem, my theme.
I'm at a loss for words, there's nothing to say
I sit in silence wondering what led me to this place
How did my heart become so lifeless and cold
Where did the passion go?
When all my efforts seem like chasing wind
I've used up all my strength and there's nothing left to give
I've lost the feeling and I'm numb to the core
I can't fake it anymore.
chorus:
Here I am at the end
I'm in need of resurrection
Only You can take this empty shell
And raise it from the dead
What I've lost to the world
What seems far beyond redemption
You can take the pieces in Your hand
And make me whole again
You speak and all creation falls to its knees
You raise Your hand and calm the waves of the raging sea
You have a way of turning winter to spring
Make something beautiful out of all this suffering
chorus
She said a year or two later, that she couldn't listen to it anymore, because it made her cry. Because every time she heard it, she could only think of me and the hollowness that I was in those days.
But I look at where I am now, and where my words have taken me, even just in these last two days, and I view and marvel that:
He has restored my soul.
Because without knowing it, the Lord has used the women in my life to bring salvation again, through the working of his spirit, to my life. And he has scrubbed and scourged me, grinded me with his Holy Spirit, until what remains is a body and soul restored to Him.
I have become so accustomed to the lingo and labeling of what the Lord is doing, and living as God is teaching me, that I hadn't noticed the significant change until today. Because living with these women, under this roof on Hillandale Street, has become a flower of his love and grace to me. It has redeemed and restored me. It has given me the breathe and depth and love of his character back. Their community and faces and words have all been used by Him to gather me back to himself.
A spotted list of others also are on this pledge of battle, entering into the kingdom work for my soul. Like living and being and breathing with my mom those years in between, or the workings of some really good friends both in Grand Rapids or beyond into all corners of the world. These are those who are diligent in his hands and consistent in the redemption of me.
But as I sit here this weekend, I rise in the morning to marvel at the work that the Lord has done in me.
He Has Restored My Soul.
And now I hear my own words to others peppered with Lord and his workings in me.
I remember thinking the whole time, wow, what it would be to be like that again! God's word just comes right of her tongue like she cares and is in continual knowing of him.
It was this stark contrast to me. Because I was sitting there, seeing her and listening to her speak, and wondering what happened to me. Because I used to be her; I used to know the Lord in that way, to talk about him with complete familiarity, and know and trust him so deeply. To speak of him so fluently was evangelistic, it was simply what was inside of me coming out.
So I sat there and listened to her and marveled at her candid way of seeing Christ in all pieces of life and the touch of the Lord as a continual presence. And I drove home, looking inside myself and peering into the emptiness there. No "the Lord" or "Christ" off my tongue, my life was shallowed and on the rock bottom of even that. All I could see was a God who left me and abandoned me to Charlotte, and I had crawled home for healing.
My mom and I listened to Nicole Sponberg "Resurrection" so many times that year. It was my anthem, my theme.
I'm at a loss for words, there's nothing to say
I sit in silence wondering what led me to this place
How did my heart become so lifeless and cold
Where did the passion go?
When all my efforts seem like chasing wind
I've used up all my strength and there's nothing left to give
I've lost the feeling and I'm numb to the core
I can't fake it anymore.
chorus:
Here I am at the end
I'm in need of resurrection
Only You can take this empty shell
And raise it from the dead
What I've lost to the world
What seems far beyond redemption
You can take the pieces in Your hand
And make me whole again
You speak and all creation falls to its knees
You raise Your hand and calm the waves of the raging sea
You have a way of turning winter to spring
Make something beautiful out of all this suffering
chorus
She said a year or two later, that she couldn't listen to it anymore, because it made her cry. Because every time she heard it, she could only think of me and the hollowness that I was in those days.
But I look at where I am now, and where my words have taken me, even just in these last two days, and I view and marvel that:
He has restored my soul.
Because without knowing it, the Lord has used the women in my life to bring salvation again, through the working of his spirit, to my life. And he has scrubbed and scourged me, grinded me with his Holy Spirit, until what remains is a body and soul restored to Him.
I have become so accustomed to the lingo and labeling of what the Lord is doing, and living as God is teaching me, that I hadn't noticed the significant change until today. Because living with these women, under this roof on Hillandale Street, has become a flower of his love and grace to me. It has redeemed and restored me. It has given me the breathe and depth and love of his character back. Their community and faces and words have all been used by Him to gather me back to himself.
A spotted list of others also are on this pledge of battle, entering into the kingdom work for my soul. Like living and being and breathing with my mom those years in between, or the workings of some really good friends both in Grand Rapids or beyond into all corners of the world. These are those who are diligent in his hands and consistent in the redemption of me.
But as I sit here this weekend, I rise in the morning to marvel at the work that the Lord has done in me.
He Has Restored My Soul.
And now I hear my own words to others peppered with Lord and his workings in me.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Blessed By Boredom.
I am blessed by boredom. I know that sounds weird, strange. But it truly is a BLESSING! Because for nine months now I've been simply on the receiving end, gathering whatever is given and then breathlessly lying around, still trying to gain more of my self. But the air is just beginning to lift, and it is a blessing.
Today, I was bored. And it is a blessing, because it means I am regaining my sense of self, my energy, my ability to care, and... dare I say... passions. I ranted a couple nights ago about the cost of pet care vs. caring for the African orphans, and it blessed me, hearing me speak of such things again. I watched a movie set in Ireland which propelled me to want to travel dearly. And I've been rummaging through my teaching things and wishing so much to put that back into gear. I miss it.
So, today nannying, I was bored. And this, my friends, is a blessing.
Today, I was bored. And it is a blessing, because it means I am regaining my sense of self, my energy, my ability to care, and... dare I say... passions. I ranted a couple nights ago about the cost of pet care vs. caring for the African orphans, and it blessed me, hearing me speak of such things again. I watched a movie set in Ireland which propelled me to want to travel dearly. And I've been rummaging through my teaching things and wishing so much to put that back into gear. I miss it.
So, today nannying, I was bored. And this, my friends, is a blessing.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
40 Days & God.
I have these fantastic friends who know me too much to let me wrestle in my own junk. I've been thinking about them a lot as I broach this new vista of life. And it is because of a challenge they set before me, about four years ago.
We were talking then of Lent, and giving things up for lent. I wasn't raised in a tradition that followed this pattern of discipline, but my friends were having diligent discourse about what it means to take part in this tradition and reminiscent reminder of the season of Lent.
Amidst them, I commented that I could not think of something specific to give up. They listed off a variety of common distractions for humans of God; things like chocolate, exercise, food, television, etc. None of these seemed tragic for me, or formative in my relationship with God. So I made note that it seemed 'giving them up' for Lent didn't seem important because they don't hinder my Christian growth as it is. They're just not a big deal to me.
So they sat back and pondered. And said they would think about it and come back to me with something I could give up.
And days or weeks later, they did.
They came with concern and apprehension, afraid to tell me what they had come up with, but carefully conditioning their suggestion with, "you don't have to..." but then bit their lips and simply said it:
"Doubting God."
I'm not sure what I said, or how I reacted, but I'm sure it was something along the lines of "hmmm..." and asking what that meant and what that would look like for me.
You see, this divine proposition came at a time when I tail pined God with a "sarcastic laugh" and pointing finger, and hollow disposition towards me. It was a time when I came back to live under the shelter of my parents and needed personal relief and resurrection of my dead soul.
So when Laura & Jenny came back to me with this ear-marked statement, it befuddled me and lingered with me for a long time.
And for the forty days that followed, and the four years after that.
This Lenten proposition laid before me challenged my days, my life, and most importantly, my faith. It is a struggle I look back on and see such vibrance given back to me in the challenge of really believing and knowing and claiming back the God of I AM as the God of I Was, I Am, and I Will Be.
My faith was changed by these dear friends. And it continues to be today. Its a marked moment on my script of time, and a legacy that reminds me to continue to take these forty day check points and disciplines and practices and traditions and give them over to God. To let him use his given, holy, divine days and fast in me a new awareness, presence, and belief in him.
We were talking then of Lent, and giving things up for lent. I wasn't raised in a tradition that followed this pattern of discipline, but my friends were having diligent discourse about what it means to take part in this tradition and reminiscent reminder of the season of Lent.
Amidst them, I commented that I could not think of something specific to give up. They listed off a variety of common distractions for humans of God; things like chocolate, exercise, food, television, etc. None of these seemed tragic for me, or formative in my relationship with God. So I made note that it seemed 'giving them up' for Lent didn't seem important because they don't hinder my Christian growth as it is. They're just not a big deal to me.
So they sat back and pondered. And said they would think about it and come back to me with something I could give up.
And days or weeks later, they did.
They came with concern and apprehension, afraid to tell me what they had come up with, but carefully conditioning their suggestion with, "you don't have to..." but then bit their lips and simply said it:
"Doubting God."
I'm not sure what I said, or how I reacted, but I'm sure it was something along the lines of "hmmm..." and asking what that meant and what that would look like for me.
You see, this divine proposition came at a time when I tail pined God with a "sarcastic laugh" and pointing finger, and hollow disposition towards me. It was a time when I came back to live under the shelter of my parents and needed personal relief and resurrection of my dead soul.
So when Laura & Jenny came back to me with this ear-marked statement, it befuddled me and lingered with me for a long time.
And for the forty days that followed, and the four years after that.
This Lenten proposition laid before me challenged my days, my life, and most importantly, my faith. It is a struggle I look back on and see such vibrance given back to me in the challenge of really believing and knowing and claiming back the God of I AM as the God of I Was, I Am, and I Will Be.
My faith was changed by these dear friends. And it continues to be today. Its a marked moment on my script of time, and a legacy that reminds me to continue to take these forty day check points and disciplines and practices and traditions and give them over to God. To let him use his given, holy, divine days and fast in me a new awareness, presence, and belief in him.
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