I'm tired.
Tired of conversations.
Specifically, tired of conversations that revolve around stuff.
The new car. The new furniture. The new house.
I'm tired of the new and the price tag attached.
This morning, sitting with my babes, we talked about how much we have and how much others don't have, and that we were using some money to shop for others.
We have long been a part of a fabulous organization called Compassion International and every year for Christmas they send out their catalogue of gifts.
We scrolled through the array of gifts and I got stuck. Stuck in a couldn't-breathe-sobbing-puddle-of-tears way. They looked at me. They've learned that when mama cries, just hold on and don't speak.
Once I caught my breath, I explained the reality of what we were looking at, what we were "buying." How it was so beyond anything my boys have ever known here in our American culture where the world is at our fingertips.
For $14 a month, a month, you can provide food for a momma and her baby.
You know what that means?
That means the momma can't feed her baby. Not that she won't, but she can't and unless someone steps in and does something, her sweet babe will pass by the time he is 5.
I was overcome with pain. That has not ever been my story.
We've been low before, on governmental assistance before, and while my boys may despise peanut butter sandwiches now, at least there was food.
.
And for one month, that same $14 nourishes, enriches, and sustains a dear momma and her weepy baby.
Shamefully, I'll spend $14 grabbing coffee with a friend. I'll spend $14 to get a sweet treat at the store for dessert that night. Heck, I'll spend $14 to get my eyebrows waxed
Ya'll. What are we doing? And by we, I mean I.
I'm sick of it. Beyond sick of it. Wondering how many of us are on the wide path heading straight to hell as we sip our no-fat, double-shot, pumpkin spice soy latte all because we've turned the other way.
I'm not saying the latte is bad. I'm not saying the $200,000 house is bad.
What I am saying is bad is this:
What are all those things costing you?
Are you giving for the gospel, all you have, or do you take care of yourself first and then others get the leftovers if there happen to be any?
If so... you have it backwards.
The pride in possessions and desires of the flesh and desires of the eyes are from the world. And to love the world and the things in the world makes me an enemy from the God who has pursued me, loved me, redeemed me, changed me, and given lavishly unto me.
I want to cling tightly to the fact that one day I'll stand before the throne. I want my hands empty and my stomach hungry. I want to know that I gave it all to a worthy cause, a cause far beyond my 15 minutes of fame here.
So take a look: at yourself, at the possessions around you. You, my friend are beyond rich.
Go and see how you can make a difference to those who are the have-not's or those who have all ready given it for the cause.
Here are just a few causes that our family is a part of. We pray deeply for these causes and have seen firsthand the beautiful fruit they bear:
Hands and Feet Orphanage
- Dear friends, Jen and Sean and their 3 beautiful babes, up and left to start a new life in Haiti. At the orphanage, they oversee the transitional kids and have opportunity to share the gospel and prepare them for life on their own.
Sower of Seeds
- Oh, the beautiful work of SOS. Just go take a look at what they do globally and locally in North Texas. Seriously. Do it.
Gospel for Asia
- I can't say enough about GFA. The people, the love for Jesus, the purpose. If you want to pick up a good book to read, order a free copy of KP Yohannan's book, Revolution in World Mission. You will be convicted and encouraged.
Noonday Collection
- The purpose and vision of Noonday is beyond reason. Read their story and you'll be hooked. And then purchase some amazing one-of-a-kind gifts. And become an Ambassador.
Mission Church
- We call it home. Or rather, our home away from home. At some point during the holiday season, everyone is giving to something. Look at giving to a gospel-centered church plant. You'll be glad you did.
I hope these give you a starting point. Giving for the gospel is the best thing you can ever do.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Adultery
A distasteful word.
A painful word.
A word I have had experience with in a multitude of ways.
Grieviously and unfortunately, I have, over the last couple of years, held the hands of four different women as they confessed this.
Three that have been committed against.
One that has done the committing.
Last week found me meeting with two different women - one a new aquaintance and the other a dear friend.
Both of them having the same word applied. Different usages but the same end result. Their worlds ripped apart, making them question everything they thought they knew.
As I laid my hands on them, as they poured out their heart, as I wept with them, my prayer was the same:
"God, would you show them your goodness? Would they know that you are good and you do good?" (Psalm 119:68)
Yet, even uttering the words made me feel as though I was a liar.
How can you, in the midst of such heartache, such despair, such heaviness, even think of what "good" is? How can you see a God who is sovereign, that could have stopped this with a word, as doing good?
I believe, help my unbelief! (Mark 9:24)
The days have you in a fog, simply surviving, trying to make it through, knowing you have to do it all over again tomorrow.
It is relentless. And to have someone tell you that God is good, even in this ugliness, can deepen the pain rather than lessen it.
But here is what I know:
Hope awaits.
Restoration is coming.
Redemption is rising.
Those verses that are simply head knowledge right now will sink deep in your heart one day and the truth that you know right now will be something you convictingly feel later.
So take heart dear one. He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world and he has all ready overcome. (John 16:33 and 1 John 4:4)
A painful word.
A word I have had experience with in a multitude of ways.
Grieviously and unfortunately, I have, over the last couple of years, held the hands of four different women as they confessed this.
Three that have been committed against.
One that has done the committing.
Last week found me meeting with two different women - one a new aquaintance and the other a dear friend.
Both of them having the same word applied. Different usages but the same end result. Their worlds ripped apart, making them question everything they thought they knew.
As I laid my hands on them, as they poured out their heart, as I wept with them, my prayer was the same:
"God, would you show them your goodness? Would they know that you are good and you do good?" (Psalm 119:68)
Yet, even uttering the words made me feel as though I was a liar.
How can you, in the midst of such heartache, such despair, such heaviness, even think of what "good" is? How can you see a God who is sovereign, that could have stopped this with a word, as doing good?
I believe, help my unbelief! (Mark 9:24)
The days have you in a fog, simply surviving, trying to make it through, knowing you have to do it all over again tomorrow.
It is relentless. And to have someone tell you that God is good, even in this ugliness, can deepen the pain rather than lessen it.
But here is what I know:
Hope awaits.
Restoration is coming.
Redemption is rising.
Those verses that are simply head knowledge right now will sink deep in your heart one day and the truth that you know right now will be something you convictingly feel later.
So take heart dear one. He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world and he has all ready overcome. (John 16:33 and 1 John 4:4)
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Intimacy, hijacked
I find myself struggling.
Some days I handle the pictures and posts well.
Other days, I'm left shaking my head.
Social media has done its work on me. I realize the line between personal and public has so been eroded that the discernment is gone and every moment is fair game.
Intimacy: (noun)
1) the state of being intimate: Familiarity
2) something of a personal or private matter
For something to be personal or private - to me - means it is not put on display for tens or hundreds to see. Yet, here's where the path turns:
We are so used to having tens or hundreds or even thousands of people know our business, that we now have to put on display the good, the bad and the ugly. We thrive off the feedback, the "likes", the comments and opinions.
I'm not saying vulnerability or transparency is a bad thing. Confessing our sin, our struggles, those days we can't get it together, is a good thing. Sharing in our victories and successes make them so much sweeter.
But what is the good we are hoping will come out of it? And if we haven't shared the highs and lows and everything in-between, does that mean we are really living life?
In the wake of her father's death, she says it well to the naysayers who didn't like how privately she lived:
I will be leaving this account for a bit while I heal and decide if I'll be deleting it or not," she wrote. "In this difficult time, please try to be respectful of the accounts of myself, my family and my friends. Mining our accounts for photos of dad, or judging me on the number of them is cruel and unnecessary. There are a couple throughout, but the real private moments I shared with him were precious, quiet, and believe it or not, not full of photos or 'selfies'. I shared him with a world where everyone was taking their photo with him, but I was lucky enough to spend time with him without cameras too. That was more than enough, and I'm grateful for what little time I had. My favorite photos of family are framed in my house, not posted on social media, and they 'll remain there. They would've wound up on the news or blogs then, and they certainly would now. That's not what I want for our memories together..."
Zelda Williams writes this of her time with her daddy, Robin Williams.
If her relationship is anything with him like mine was/is with my daddy these are some things they shared: he's the first man that ever held open a door for her, took her on jet-ski rides and surprised her with Broadway tickets. He was the loudest yeller at her basketball games (not necessarily a good thing), stayed up late when she had ear infections, bought her her first diamonds, and loves it when she calls him since distance makes personal visits few and far between. She watched him battle through cancer and had painful discussions about what could happen. He has been at the birth of all four of her boys and he loves mailing them "treats" in the mail.
Those pictures, those memories, those conversations are precious to me. Those are discussions stored in my heart and pictures on the refrigerator.
They aren't posted all over social media and unless you've sat around my table, you won't know the depths of many things alluded to in many of my posts and pictures. Because of the intimate nature of those those very things.
Unfortunately, I still struggle. I find myself battling just being in the moment rather than posting about the moment. Wanting to snap a picture and post it on Instagram rather than soak in the dinner with good friends gathered leaves me distracted. In the end, I want to be fully here, rather than there -checking to seeing how many people like what I've shared - with those near and dear to my heart. Real, personal relationship rather than one filled with wires and screens.
What if, instead of trying to share all the intimate, personal details and make life look amazingly glossy, we simply did life with a handful of real lives. People who are invested in us and walk with us and have seen us cry (not just read about it)? People that bring you lunch just a few short hours after you arrived home from the hospital after your son fell from a tree? Those that have seen you break down as you deal with sin and drop everything to bring you sweet tea? A woman who knows you well from your foolish days and sits and stops conversation to simply pray and ask the Lord to restore? A man, exhausted and weary from stressful days at work, that supports you and loves you and when you arrive home late from orientation, he cooks for you since you didn't have a chance to eat? Kids that want nothing more than their mommy to stop doing and just sit so they can continue The Voyage of the Dawn Treader? Family that comes and gathers round the table, sipping glasses of wine, and just talking about nothing in particular, just talking and enjoying the intimacy of being family?
This is life. Lived out in breaths and actions and impatience and desire and awe and frustration and so many other things that could never be captured in an image or blog. But I want to live it well, not have other people like it well.
Some days I handle the pictures and posts well.
Other days, I'm left shaking my head.
Social media has done its work on me. I realize the line between personal and public has so been eroded that the discernment is gone and every moment is fair game.
Intimacy: (noun)
1) the state of being intimate: Familiarity
2) something of a personal or private matter
For something to be personal or private - to me - means it is not put on display for tens or hundreds to see. Yet, here's where the path turns:
We are so used to having tens or hundreds or even thousands of people know our business, that we now have to put on display the good, the bad and the ugly. We thrive off the feedback, the "likes", the comments and opinions.
I'm not saying vulnerability or transparency is a bad thing. Confessing our sin, our struggles, those days we can't get it together, is a good thing. Sharing in our victories and successes make them so much sweeter.
But what is the good we are hoping will come out of it? And if we haven't shared the highs and lows and everything in-between, does that mean we are really living life?
In the wake of her father's death, she says it well to the naysayers who didn't like how privately she lived:
I will be leaving this account for a bit while I heal and decide if I'll be deleting it or not," she wrote. "In this difficult time, please try to be respectful of the accounts of myself, my family and my friends. Mining our accounts for photos of dad, or judging me on the number of them is cruel and unnecessary. There are a couple throughout, but the real private moments I shared with him were precious, quiet, and believe it or not, not full of photos or 'selfies'. I shared him with a world where everyone was taking their photo with him, but I was lucky enough to spend time with him without cameras too. That was more than enough, and I'm grateful for what little time I had. My favorite photos of family are framed in my house, not posted on social media, and they 'll remain there. They would've wound up on the news or blogs then, and they certainly would now. That's not what I want for our memories together..."
Zelda Williams writes this of her time with her daddy, Robin Williams.
If her relationship is anything with him like mine was/is with my daddy these are some things they shared: he's the first man that ever held open a door for her, took her on jet-ski rides and surprised her with Broadway tickets. He was the loudest yeller at her basketball games (not necessarily a good thing), stayed up late when she had ear infections, bought her her first diamonds, and loves it when she calls him since distance makes personal visits few and far between. She watched him battle through cancer and had painful discussions about what could happen. He has been at the birth of all four of her boys and he loves mailing them "treats" in the mail.
Those pictures, those memories, those conversations are precious to me. Those are discussions stored in my heart and pictures on the refrigerator.
They aren't posted all over social media and unless you've sat around my table, you won't know the depths of many things alluded to in many of my posts and pictures. Because of the intimate nature of those those very things.
Unfortunately, I still struggle. I find myself battling just being in the moment rather than posting about the moment. Wanting to snap a picture and post it on Instagram rather than soak in the dinner with good friends gathered leaves me distracted. In the end, I want to be fully here, rather than there -checking to seeing how many people like what I've shared - with those near and dear to my heart. Real, personal relationship rather than one filled with wires and screens.
What if, instead of trying to share all the intimate, personal details and make life look amazingly glossy, we simply did life with a handful of real lives. People who are invested in us and walk with us and have seen us cry (not just read about it)? People that bring you lunch just a few short hours after you arrived home from the hospital after your son fell from a tree? Those that have seen you break down as you deal with sin and drop everything to bring you sweet tea? A woman who knows you well from your foolish days and sits and stops conversation to simply pray and ask the Lord to restore? A man, exhausted and weary from stressful days at work, that supports you and loves you and when you arrive home late from orientation, he cooks for you since you didn't have a chance to eat? Kids that want nothing more than their mommy to stop doing and just sit so they can continue The Voyage of the Dawn Treader? Family that comes and gathers round the table, sipping glasses of wine, and just talking about nothing in particular, just talking and enjoying the intimacy of being family?
This is life. Lived out in breaths and actions and impatience and desire and awe and frustration and so many other things that could never be captured in an image or blog. But I want to live it well, not have other people like it well.
I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.
John 10:10
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Milestone
When we celebrated our first year of marriage, we were giddy and marveled over the fact that we had all ready been married one whole year.
We made grand plans for our tenth anniversary, wondering where we would be and what life would look like.
This day, this very moment, we celebrate that milestone.
Ten years has seen growth that I never imagined nor knew I needed.
A dear friend wisely told me you can't measure sanctification in days or weeks or even months, but rather years.
During this ten years, there has been the growth that is tangible, measurable - kids, jobs, moves, trips... ebenezers to mark the years passing and progressing.
Yet far more than what the eye can see, there has been the intangible. Those things you can't put into words yet you know.
And how to express any of it, much less all of it?
He has loved me with a relentless love. He has shown me unending grace. He has been steadfast in pursuit of me, bearing with me in his quietly patient way.
He has let me struggle - he has let me push him away - and then gently pulled me in, wrapped his arms around me and prayed for me.
If ever there was a picture of Christ and his bride, it would be this husband to his wife.
I've learned he's not going anywhere. I've learned nothing will come to light that will make him walk away. I've learned his hope is in something far greater than me being a "good" wife and I need to walk in the freedom that allows me.
The struggles still come, some days harder than others. But what I remember when the days are long and the enemy deceives is the grass is always greener on the other side but it's all in perspective, or rather, the filter that has been placed over it.
Those that have walked with us and know the hardships and successes and failures and fights and confessions and victories remind us that these ten years are but a picture of God's grace and mercy and the next ten will only bring so much more.
Amen.
We made grand plans for our tenth anniversary, wondering where we would be and what life would look like.
This day, this very moment, we celebrate that milestone.
Ten years has seen growth that I never imagined nor knew I needed.
A dear friend wisely told me you can't measure sanctification in days or weeks or even months, but rather years.
During this ten years, there has been the growth that is tangible, measurable - kids, jobs, moves, trips... ebenezers to mark the years passing and progressing.
Yet far more than what the eye can see, there has been the intangible. Those things you can't put into words yet you know.
And how to express any of it, much less all of it?
He has loved me with a relentless love. He has shown me unending grace. He has been steadfast in pursuit of me, bearing with me in his quietly patient way.
He has let me struggle - he has let me push him away - and then gently pulled me in, wrapped his arms around me and prayed for me.
If ever there was a picture of Christ and his bride, it would be this husband to his wife.
I've learned he's not going anywhere. I've learned nothing will come to light that will make him walk away. I've learned his hope is in something far greater than me being a "good" wife and I need to walk in the freedom that allows me.
The struggles still come, some days harder than others. But what I remember when the days are long and the enemy deceives is the grass is always greener on the other side but it's all in perspective, or rather, the filter that has been placed over it.
Those that have walked with us and know the hardships and successes and failures and fights and confessions and victories remind us that these ten years are but a picture of God's grace and mercy and the next ten will only bring so much more.
Amen.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Onward and Upward
These past weeks I was stuck - mired in the bog of shame and regret.
Sinking quick in the muck of sorrow and regret.
The sting of sin hit and I was left grasping the reality that the consequences for a hardened heart have a far-reaching effect... years later.
Here's what I learned:
Focusing on what is behind me leaves me in the past.
I hurt for what was instead of finding joy in what is.
My eyes become blind to the here and now and I simply can't see the goodnes of the Lord.
I found myself coming to Paul's idea in his letter to the church in Phillipi. He had written to them while imprisoned, exhorting them to a deeper faith made manifest that was not based on their circumstances.
Strive:
1) struggle
2) try hard
The NIV uses "strain."
Strain: to exert to the utmost
I'll be honest.
In my focusing on my "could have, should have, if only's" I was deep in darkness wondering, "how long, O Lord?"
How long until the hurt is gone?
How long until I see the goodness in this?
How long until the pain is not so bitter?
That part was easy. There is not much exertion when it comes to wallowing in self-pity.
Where I struggled was turning my eyes outward instead of inward. Finding joy in what I have instead of what I wanted took great strength.
But in fixing my eyes outward and forward and upward, I found the beauty of what Paul was conveying to his flock.
This life is but a breath. One day I'll fade away and that will be it.
So why keep looking back on the brokenness and what lies in ruins?
I need to press onward, running headlong with abandonment into eternity.
Jesus is there. And he has already cried, "It is finished."
Victory is mine.
Sinking quick in the muck of sorrow and regret.
The sting of sin hit and I was left grasping the reality that the consequences for a hardened heart have a far-reaching effect... years later.
Here's what I learned:
Focusing on what is behind me leaves me in the past.
I hurt for what was instead of finding joy in what is.
My eyes become blind to the here and now and I simply can't see the goodnes of the Lord.
I found myself coming to Paul's idea in his letter to the church in Phillipi. He had written to them while imprisoned, exhorting them to a deeper faith made manifest that was not based on their circumstances.
"But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind
and straining forward to what lies ahead.
I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call
of God in Christ Jesus."
(Phillipians 3:13-14)
Strive:
1) struggle
2) try hard
The NIV uses "strain."
Strain: to exert to the utmost
I'll be honest.
In my focusing on my "could have, should have, if only's" I was deep in darkness wondering, "how long, O Lord?"
How long until the hurt is gone?
How long until I see the goodness in this?
How long until the pain is not so bitter?
That part was easy. There is not much exertion when it comes to wallowing in self-pity.
Where I struggled was turning my eyes outward instead of inward. Finding joy in what I have instead of what I wanted took great strength.
But in fixing my eyes outward and forward and upward, I found the beauty of what Paul was conveying to his flock.
This life is but a breath. One day I'll fade away and that will be it.
So why keep looking back on the brokenness and what lies in ruins?
I need to press onward, running headlong with abandonment into eternity.
Jesus is there. And he has already cried, "It is finished."
Victory is mine.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
An Unknown Doer
Sunday night found me breaking literal bread with a group of beautiful friends, doubled over with laughter as we played the most ridiculous game ever. Ever.
Monday found me driving back to my old hometown to spend the night with a dear friend where time had passed too quickly in between visits. We sat until 2:30 in the morning, sharing and laughing, confessing and encouraging.
Tuesday found me lakeside with a precious woman who has faith that puts me to shame and always spurs me on to live life now.
Wednesday found me back home, sitting with a woman and marching our way through Acts as we both learn. Her hungry to learn more of God and me aching to just get more.
Community. Fellowship.
And a complete accident.
As I've been wrestling these past couple of weeks with sin and regret, I've pleaded with the Lord to give me joy in the here and now. Now. With nothing changed and no promise that it will get better.
And true to form, he did.
Bittersweet, as I'm still wrestling. As I'm fighting hard to not let my heart become so. As I'm putting my nose to the grind and my hands to the wheel, determined to not give up on this race.
But he gave me a glimpse of what life is if I would stop focusing on what it isn't.
He alone has alotted my times and boundaries and seasons.
He alone is good and does good.
He alone is my Sustainer.
It has gotten me far more of him than I thought I could have right now. It has had me far more joyful than I thought possible right now.
And for that, I lift my hands and give him back all that he has given.
Monday found me driving back to my old hometown to spend the night with a dear friend where time had passed too quickly in between visits. We sat until 2:30 in the morning, sharing and laughing, confessing and encouraging.
Tuesday found me lakeside with a precious woman who has faith that puts me to shame and always spurs me on to live life now.
Wednesday found me back home, sitting with a woman and marching our way through Acts as we both learn. Her hungry to learn more of God and me aching to just get more.
Community. Fellowship.
And a complete accident.
As I've been wrestling these past couple of weeks with sin and regret, I've pleaded with the Lord to give me joy in the here and now. Now. With nothing changed and no promise that it will get better.
And true to form, he did.
Bittersweet, as I'm still wrestling. As I'm fighting hard to not let my heart become so. As I'm putting my nose to the grind and my hands to the wheel, determined to not give up on this race.
But he gave me a glimpse of what life is if I would stop focusing on what it isn't.
He alone has alotted my times and boundaries and seasons.
He alone is good and does good.
He alone is my Sustainer.
It has gotten me far more of him than I thought I could have right now. It has had me far more joyful than I thought possible right now.
And for that, I lift my hands and give him back all that he has given.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Psalm
Psalm 3:3
But you, O Lord, are a shield about me,
my glory,
and the lifter of my head.
The Lord is my shield.
The Lord is my shield.
The Lord is my shield.
The Lord is my shield.
When my knees have been knocked out from under me.
When I can't seem to catch my breath.
When I literally can't fix what is broken...
I have only to be still.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Far Reaching
It hits hard. Some days more than others.
The regrets. The shame. The "if only's."
Yesterday I felt the weight, the burden, the reality of sin.
The sting of sin. The consequences of sin. The fact that there are no do-overs.
It had me on the floor, grieving in such a way I couldn't catch my breath. The cry that you don't want anyone to see.
I sat in the reality that we sinned, regretted it, and still face the consequences years later.
We looked at each other this morning - one weary with crying and one just weary.
So many things, we said. So many things that we wish could be undone.
And yet, they can't. It has rightly been said, "It is what it is."
Yes and no.
It is what it is because of sin, because of the brokenness that has existed from the first disobedience.
It is not what it should be but shall one day be again. Jesus comes back.
All ready he has risen victorious. All ready he has defeated sin and the grave.
He has bore my shame and iniquity.
There are no do-overs in this thing called life. That hurts more than you can imagine at this moment.
Yet, I have to put my focus on the Lord and speak his truth to my broken heart.
The regrets. The shame. The "if only's."
Yesterday I felt the weight, the burden, the reality of sin.
The sting of sin. The consequences of sin. The fact that there are no do-overs.
It had me on the floor, grieving in such a way I couldn't catch my breath. The cry that you don't want anyone to see.
I sat in the reality that we sinned, regretted it, and still face the consequences years later.
We looked at each other this morning - one weary with crying and one just weary.
So many things, we said. So many things that we wish could be undone.
And yet, they can't. It has rightly been said, "It is what it is."
Yes and no.
It is what it is because of sin, because of the brokenness that has existed from the first disobedience.
It is not what it should be but shall one day be again. Jesus comes back.
All ready he has risen victorious. All ready he has defeated sin and the grave.
He has bore my shame and iniquity.
There are no do-overs in this thing called life. That hurts more than you can imagine at this moment.
Yet, I have to put my focus on the Lord and speak his truth to my broken heart.
Psalm 119:68
For you, O God, are good and you do good.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Pain, Still
It's been 4 years.
4 years of grieving.
4 years of hurting.
4 years of much sorrow.
Mother's Day came and went with reminders of what has been taken. What has been lost.
A season of sin led to a decision that has birthed many regrets.
Asked by our pastor - in the midst of teaching through Ephesians - what do we need to be reminded of that Jesus is over.
Ephesians 1:21 reads, "far above all rule and authority and power and dominion..."
He asked us to write down the words, "Jesus is over."
He then asked asked us to list underneath what it is we're struggling with and to see that Jesus is over it all.
I want to say I'm healed. I want to say it doesn't affect me.
4 years is 4 years is 4 years and it's time to move on.
Yet...
Today, writing my list, good things, hard things and just plain painful things led me to write longing.
A longing that has not been realized and won't be realized.
A longing that is putting distance between the very relationship that needs healing.
I'm grateful that in the midst of the sorrow, there is joy. Deep-rooted joy that is steadfast and unwavering.
Grateful that I have a high priest who sympathizes with me and gives me grace and mercy in my time of need.
Because, God knows, I am desperately needy. And he alone can fill the need.
4 years of grieving.
4 years of hurting.
4 years of much sorrow.
Mother's Day came and went with reminders of what has been taken. What has been lost.
A season of sin led to a decision that has birthed many regrets.
Asked by our pastor - in the midst of teaching through Ephesians - what do we need to be reminded of that Jesus is over.
Ephesians 1:21 reads, "far above all rule and authority and power and dominion..."
He asked us to write down the words, "Jesus is over."
He then asked asked us to list underneath what it is we're struggling with and to see that Jesus is over it all.
I want to say I'm healed. I want to say it doesn't affect me.
4 years is 4 years is 4 years and it's time to move on.
Yet...
Today, writing my list, good things, hard things and just plain painful things led me to write longing.
A longing that has not been realized and won't be realized.
A longing that is putting distance between the very relationship that needs healing.
I'm grateful that in the midst of the sorrow, there is joy. Deep-rooted joy that is steadfast and unwavering.
Grateful that I have a high priest who sympathizes with me and gives me grace and mercy in my time of need.
Because, God knows, I am desperately needy. And he alone can fill the need.
Hebrews 4:16
Since then we have a great high priest has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence, draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Weary Rejoicing
Last night at dinner, my little one ddn't like what was presented.
He said his piece was "too burnt."
The husband, in an act of compassion, got up to get him another piece.
After literally turning up his nose at what his father gave him, my sweet six year old "harumphed" and turned the other way.
Jesus spoke to my convicted heart.
I'm in a season of abundance.
I'm learning.
I'm growing.
I'm being stretched.
I'm writing.
I'm teaching.
I'm forming new relationships.
I'm seeing massive changes through the works of my hands.
And yet... some days I'm turning up my nose and walking away.
I'm tired of the meetings.
I'm tired of the trainings.
I'm tired of standing up in front of people.
I'm tired of the to-do lists about what I have to-do.
I'm tired of having to respond to people on a daily basis.
In this, the Lord reminds me he gave me a gift. He has knitted in me talents. He has bestowed upon me abilities. He has answered many cries, prayers and pleadings.
Why, then, do I turn up my nose at these things, and ultimately... him?
As I reminded my boy, the Lord was reminding me:
Rejoice! Again, I will say it, rejoice.
Receive this gift, sweetheart and tell your daddy thank-you.
Even if it's not what you think you want.
He said his piece was "too burnt."
The husband, in an act of compassion, got up to get him another piece.
After literally turning up his nose at what his father gave him, my sweet six year old "harumphed" and turned the other way.
Jesus spoke to my convicted heart.
I'm in a season of abundance.
I'm learning.
I'm growing.
I'm being stretched.
I'm writing.
I'm teaching.
I'm forming new relationships.
I'm seeing massive changes through the works of my hands.
And yet... some days I'm turning up my nose and walking away.
I'm tired of the meetings.
I'm tired of the trainings.
I'm tired of standing up in front of people.
I'm tired of the to-do lists about what I have to-do.
I'm tired of having to respond to people on a daily basis.
In this, the Lord reminds me he gave me a gift. He has knitted in me talents. He has bestowed upon me abilities. He has answered many cries, prayers and pleadings.
Why, then, do I turn up my nose at these things, and ultimately... him?
As I reminded my boy, the Lord was reminding me:
Rejoice! Again, I will say it, rejoice.
Receive this gift, sweetheart and tell your daddy thank-you.
Even if it's not what you think you want.
Monday, January 13, 2014
The Road
This road I travel. Week after week. Mile after mile.
The bridge that links our town to the next... Where our church exists, where our community is.
Yet the drive has become far more than my foot pushing the pedal and staying the line.
At the bend, not one, but two signs glare against the East Texas sky, marring the beauty of the ribbon that lays before me.
Simple. And so gut-wrenchingly complex.
XXX.
Two. As though one were not enough to contain enough darkness to soothe the soul that trucks by.
Realizing this would be the path I would take over and over, I have asked the Lord over and over to strike them down. To render them useless. To heal the brokenness that exists within the walls. To have beauty come from ashes.
One night... One is unlit. No lights within. The darkness had fully take it over, yet it was a victorious darkness. No more business, no more lostness except innocence.
The other, I still pass. Asking the Lord what I might do besides plead with him.
He answered, but unexpectedly so.
A man, hauling out the trash. Pressed slacks, ironed button up. The keeper.
Does he know Jesus? Has he ever heard the gospel? Oh, how beautiful the feet of those who bring good news!
And to bring the good news to him would take entering in. Lowering. To cross the threshold that so deeply divides my world from his. To literally put myself in the middle of black-hearted filth so that he might hear of a glorious light.
I wrestle with this. Could I? Should I? But if not I, who?
And the Lord whispers... Jesus.
To bring the glorious light, he left the heavenly for the dastardly.
Not only for me, but for him.
Jesus entered my world. Saw my hardened heart. Knew my wicked thoughts.
How can I not, knowing what all he has done for me?
The bridge that links our town to the next... Where our church exists, where our community is.
Yet the drive has become far more than my foot pushing the pedal and staying the line.
At the bend, not one, but two signs glare against the East Texas sky, marring the beauty of the ribbon that lays before me.
Simple. And so gut-wrenchingly complex.
XXX.
Two. As though one were not enough to contain enough darkness to soothe the soul that trucks by.
Realizing this would be the path I would take over and over, I have asked the Lord over and over to strike them down. To render them useless. To heal the brokenness that exists within the walls. To have beauty come from ashes.
One night... One is unlit. No lights within. The darkness had fully take it over, yet it was a victorious darkness. No more business, no more lostness except innocence.
The other, I still pass. Asking the Lord what I might do besides plead with him.
He answered, but unexpectedly so.
A man, hauling out the trash. Pressed slacks, ironed button up. The keeper.
Does he know Jesus? Has he ever heard the gospel? Oh, how beautiful the feet of those who bring good news!
And to bring the good news to him would take entering in. Lowering. To cross the threshold that so deeply divides my world from his. To literally put myself in the middle of black-hearted filth so that he might hear of a glorious light.
I wrestle with this. Could I? Should I? But if not I, who?
And the Lord whispers... Jesus.
To bring the glorious light, he left the heavenly for the dastardly.
Not only for me, but for him.
Jesus entered my world. Saw my hardened heart. Knew my wicked thoughts.
How can I not, knowing what all he has done for me?
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