Apple Eyes

God often surprises me. Tonight was no exception. Here I am reading in the Psalms, all kinds of great stuff about God hearing, and listening, and trusting in God's justice and protection and then I read this...

"...Keep me as the apple of your eye..."

I stopped and literally out loud said "what?!" I couldn't believe a phrase of such endearment would be right there in scripture and that David (the one who wrote it) would have the boldness to ask God for that kind of affection. It's amazing.

So of course I prayed it for myself. "God, I want to be the apple of your eye too!" (I figure if David is allowed to ask, I might as well take advantage of the offer). Here's the amazing part...I think God delights to answer prayers like this.

The thing about me, is I'd pretty much rather slink around in the shadows, content to grab a table scrap or two off God's banquet when others are finished, but this is absolutely not the life of faith He has called me to. He calls me daughter, apple of his eye. Do you know what that phrase means? It is literally translated something like "Little man of the eye", and conveys the idea of the reflection of yourself that you can see in other people's pupils.

It dawns on me slowly, like molasses, that this is the same thing my little ones see when they are close enough for me to give them hugs, or tickles, or love. I can be that way with God. But the most amazing part, is that it is something we ask God for. In my own pride I'd be tempted to think I could somehow muster up enough "good" or enough perseverance in my own strength to stay right there as the apple of God's eye, but at the end of the day it's just not true. I'll slink back to the shadows any chance I get. But God (which happen to be my two favorite words in history), CAN keep us as the apple of his eye if we only ask.

So, I'm asking. "God keep me as the apple of your eye, your daughter, the one you are looking at, face turned toward, attention on. Cause I just need you! And as long as I know you've got your eye on me, I can go anywhere, and give up anything. Brave the iciest storms, the deepest valleys, apple of your eye. I could never deserve it, but that's the best part about you...you just give it anyways. Not because of who I am, but because of who you are, unfathomably loving, unendingly generous, apple-eyed God of the universe."

Everything from Nothing

Just beginning a study of Genesis this year, and was reading through some notes about it. I have to admit, I was struggling to "get into it". I've been feeling pretty run down lately from so much that's going on in my life and some more bronchitis etc, so I'm just feeling a little underwhelmed.

I was walking through the motions because I realize that sometimes thats what we have to do and then I began to see seeds of faith sprout in my heart. There is a unique word used in Genesis 1 for what God created. This word can only be used when it applies to God because, while all the other terms mean that existing materials were used to create something, this word means something was created from nothing.

Did you get that or did you just breeze past it? When I read that God has unique power to create something from nothing, something inside me started wanting to jump up and down.

I asked God "why is that such a cool thing to me", and it was like God said "because there are lots of areas in your life right now where you just feel like you've got nothing." BOOM! Then the tears came. Cause I saw my nothing. Relationships, my mothering, my energy to even go to the grocery, life in general--I got n o t h i n g.

I was overflowing with excitement, relief, awestruck humility to know that I am loved by a God who is not limited by my limitations. He sees me and knows exactly what I bring to the table--not a damn thing. But does that stop Him? Does He look at me and say "hey girl, come back when you've got something to offer?", or "why don't you go muster up some scraps and bring them back here so I've got something to work with?" No! He's in the business of taking nothing and making everything, in fact--it's kind of His thing. He takes all my desert, all my empty, all my crumbles, all my nothing, and with it makes gardens, rainbows, fruit trees, and waterfalls.

So bring Him all your nothing. Add a little faith, watch what happens.

Messages from Daddy

My sweet daughter is so much like me. This theory has many implications. For example, she can be crying one minute and laughing out loud the next. She loves to make people smile and occasionally goes into a solo performance in the middle of the living room. Unfortunately it also has some negatives, like having a temper, making impulsive (and often downright dumb) choices, and (as we discovered tonight) can be sent into a hopeless downward spiral over a bad haircut. Let me back up a little...

I got this idea tonight, during our little toenail painting, girls night, pretty party, that I should cut Ellie's bangs. She's never had bangs before, and in fact has only had very minor, and very infrequent haircuts. Well tonight, as she was happily playing games on my phone, I started snipping away. As soon as she set the phone down and her eyes locked on the scissors, she launched into a fit to make any angry politician on the senate floor or colicky baby look like an amateur. I was totally shell shocked and caught off guard. When I finally settled her down enough to talk to her she looked at me with her giant, blue, tear-filled eyes and said "Daddy won't think I'm beautiful anymore." I stared at her in disbelief for a moment, and I'm not sure if it was because I could so plainly see the plight of every little girl's heart (including my own) or that she would be so insecure to think that her Daddy's affection would ever be lost but my heart fell to the bathroom tile and shattered for her.

I immediately texted John (who couldn't answer his phone at the moment) and he responded by sending her a voice text. After 10 minutes straight of crying I got her to listen to it. There were many sweet little sentiments in the message but the one that was most significant was "Ellie you are so pretty." After listening to it 5 times (I'm not exaggerating) she settled down. I was able to hold her and pray for her and encourage her and all was well...then she looked in the mirror again...and on it went.

I had to let her listen to the message over and over again for her to finally settle down and go to sleep (after ferociously telling me she did not like her hair and I could never cut it again).

Now sometimes watching these little moments in our lives play out seems significant for reasons we can't yet decode, and other times the parallels to our own hurts and hang ups are so obvious that we're dumbfounded at their lack of subtlety. See I think a lot of really ugly things about myself, and (if I'm being honest) about what God thinks of me. I know the Bible says God loves me, and Jesus died for me, the only problem is that doesn't intersect with my identity very often sometimes. You know how I can tell? I start getting really hung up about things like my saddle bags, and how clean my house is. I might be able to settle myself down enough to listen to a message from God "you are mine, you are beautiful because you're mine" long enough to stop freaking out, but soon enough I'm looking back in the mirror and I'm screaming.

It's as I'm watching my daughter press the play button over and over on that sweet message from her Daddy that I realize, I need messages from my Heavenly Daddy on repeat over and over again, not just once or twice, incessantly,relentlessly, perpetually echoing in my ear:

"John 1:12 I am a child of God"; "John 15:15 I am Christ's friend"; "Romans 6:7 I have been freed from sin's power over me."; "Romans 15:7 Christ has accepted me." And on and on and on (click here for an amazing list of messages from your Daddy).

I must be ever vigilant to remind myself of His words, His truth about me. I must be so ridiculously dependent on them that without them I scramble to get that phone back to my ear, listening to his voice, and his truth. Otherwise, I'm just a sad little girl, crippled by my own fears and lies, staring in the mirror focusing on all I lack.

Martin Luther once said, "entertain no doubt of God's love and kindness", I'm learning...moment by moment, to live this as reality. So tomorrow morning, when she looks in the mirror and remembers she has bangs, I'll begin pressing the play button on my phone for her again and again, all the while pressing the play button in my own mind...for myself.

That darn cat

Remember that sweet little kitten that found us by crawling out from under a dumpster? (Read the story here) Remember how she entrusted herself to us, and it was like she knew that day that we were her only hope of making it so she became part of our family. Remember how helpless and sweet she was? Turns out she's terrible. She just is. She looks mean. She exudes meanness. You'll be walking around and all of the sudden she just bites the heck out of your feet. She'll bite your face, your hand. She'll bite you when you're petting her and when you look at her funny. She refuses to stay off the counters, and she knocks my favorite vintage glass strawberry on the floor (and I just know it's in hopes of breaking it). I can't stand her really. So I tried this thing "Project Nessa" to turn her nice. I thought, "if we are so super kind to her, and just show her love eventually she'll come around and start being a sweet ridiculously cuddly cat." Wrong! She's just as awful as ever. So here I am one day lamenting to my husband about it. Telling him "how did we get stuck with this waste of a pet?", and "She's the meanest living thing I've ever met, it's ridiculous." Then I mention to him something to the effect of "and to think we thought God was using her to teach us about him." Then John says something insanely (and characteristically) smart, "she still is." "OH yeah!", I start, "not a chance." And John, in typical fashion responds again, "Well, no matter how bad we are, God never gives up on us." I staggered mentally for a moment, realizing the perfection of the illustration. This helpless little thing, rescued from certain peril, only to turn into the kind of creature who would bite (quite literally) the hand that feeds her. And I realize, he's exactly right. Am I not like this with God...and, isn't everyone? Isn't that the whole point of Israel's story? Rescued from Egypt only to complain to God in the wilderness about the manna they were sick of, build a golden calf, forget Him and turn back to Him again and again? And how often do I take for granted the amazing salvation and love I've been shown by the Creator of the universe and bite at his hands in my life? But the point isn't my awfulness, or repeated failures. The point is God's love. See, the depth of the sin only makes the measure of the love greater. If I could love this cat...this mean-as-hell animal, wouldn't the love be greater because of her awfulness? Because of the fact that she never could be the kind of animal who "deserves" it? And wouldn't my love seem that much more amazing because of her terrible-ness? I remember Hosea, you know the prophet God told to marry a prostitute just so he could be a living illustration that no matter how many times we wander, he always accepts us back. Then I'm humbled. "The Lord said to me, “Go, show your love to your wife again, though she is loved by another man and is an adulteress. Love her as the Lord loves the Israelites, though they turn to other gods and love the sacred raisin cakes.” -Hosea 3:1 And I'm comforted again that God never stops loving. "His love never fails. Never gives up. Never runs out on me." (Jesus Culture, "One thing remains") And as my awareness of my sin increases, so does my appreciation for a God of infinite capacity. I guess I won't give up on her just yet...who knows what metaphor God may be teaching next.

Fight.

I was sitting at my kitchen table this morning, journaling about life, and my heart. Telling God all the yuck. How I felt like I couldn't do it, couldn't muster enough anything to keep going. How if I was to keep pressing on I needed to know He was there, would hear me, was listening, and would give me what I need. Telling Him how defeated and discouraged I was and how I didn't know what it would take to get me going again but I needed it. I read this verse:

"Those who hope in the LORD
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint." Isaiah 40:31

...and I needed that, to soar, to run, to not be faint. And I thought about how easily we give up sometimes. That when things can't be done perfectly, instead of pressing, fighting the fight of faith and refusing to give up on God's goodness, we stare at the challenge and whine (I do). Often I think of the Christian's walk as one that looks easy, effortless, but it's never painted that way in the Bible. It's always painted as a war, a race, a challenge, a fight to the death. And we have what we need, but we must fight. Fight to believe. To always remember our hero will not be conquered...cause He won't.


And then this video popped in my head, of my friend Lyndsey. (click the words "this video" to watch) She just accomplished maybe one of the hardest things she's ever had to do physically, and it's such an amazing story of triumph...of choosing to move forward when everything in us screams "QUIT!" She just had this crazy workout to do in the competitive workouts she's started, it included rounds and rounds of things that would make you want to die and all along the one goal she had was to get to the end and get one "muscle up" (which is where you pull yourself up on the rings from a position of standing under it.) So she finished the workout with ten seconds left on the clock...ten, runs over to the rings and goes for it.

Having that image in my head inspired me to fight the same way, for belief that God is there, and will never leave or fail me. There I am, hanging on the rings, arms burning, everything in me screaming, "Give up!", "Let Go!", and I have a choice, to press up, or let go. The angels in the heavenly cheering just as loudly as those in the video around Lynds, saying "Go for it!", "Don't give up!" and with even more at stake, I choose to fight again.

What about you? The next time there are ten seconds left on the clock and the odds are stacked against you will you press up to victory with muscles aching and exhausted, or will you stand under the rings defeated, while the angels cheer for your hero to be recognized? I'll never forget this.

". . . be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life." [Revelations 2:10]

Love Story

We were, each one of us made for love. Thankfully, God provides that love. I hate the impersonal nature of a blog post to share something so huge, but I wanted to include the most simple, concise, basic way of stating the message of the Bible, and what I believe, because it is, a love story of epic proportions.

We have each at some point, broken God's rules. At least once (though if you're like me, daily). This breaking of rules (called sin) separates us from God. Like a giant chasm between us and God, our choosing to disobey stretches between us.



This chasm could never be bridged by one of us by doing enough good stuff. In fact, the wages (or what we get) for any sin (even one) is death. Death that finally separates us from him and gives us over to what we chose, separation from God.

BUT (and this is a game changer) God sent Jesus, to come to earth. To live a life totally perfect, never sinning once, and then to choose to die a death he didn't deserve. When he was dying, God took every sin ever committed in the past, present, or future, and placed the punishment for it on that perfect son, Jesus. Then took all the great stuff that comes from Jesus' life, and gave it to us. So when God sees us (those who believe) he doesn't see our sin (it's already been on the cross) he sees Jesus' perfection. It's called grace (getting what we didn't deserve). He became the bridge.



Then, Jesus didn't stay dead. He came back to life (seriously) showing that he had taken all the junk (sin) that was put on him, and beaten it once and for all.

That means that anyone who believes that he did that (died, taking on all of their sin, and coming back to life) will live forever with him in heaven, and is welcomed into his family. Called daughter or son, brought near. The chasm caused by our sin is forever bridged by Jesus. That's it. Believing. Any good stuff you do from there you don't do to get nearer to God (you already are, and could never get more near), you just do cause you love him, and you're thankful.



That's it. The story. It's what I believe and why I do everything I do. It's that simple, even though people try to make it so complicated. He loves us. More than we could ever know. And wrote the best love story we could dream.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Full at the Empty Place

Sitting in my mom's house, giggles ringing through the vaulted ceilings, it's impossible not to feel a continual pang of sadness on the day we will drive to the place with airplane carpet and fly away. Like feeling gravity for the first time, it's always pulling you back down--"you have to leave this." I remember 7 years ago, this first leaving, this same month, how it felt. Like everything I wanted, all I knew was being ripped from my hands.
I remember driving through a grid of streets I now navigate with ease, as if I was trapped in a bitter jungle that I never would have chosen for myself, crying and crying wondering "why?". I remember that first tiny apartment, that felt like the emptiest place in the world. Small, sad and full of bugs. Friends that I was inheriting that felt nothing like my own. A life, that felt like someone else's. Empty all over the place.
And now, I sit here and begin to realize how full it's become. I texted friends last night and asked them to remind me of why coming home to Colorado is good, and was flooded with one text whistle after another of sunshine, and love, and family, and running, and Christmas lights, and laughter, and slumber parties, and being on my knees. And I started to realize. It's overflowing there.
I read this:
"And emptiness itself can birth the fullness of grace because in the emptiness we have the opportunity to turn to God, the only begetter of grace, and there find all the fullness of joy." (Ann Voskamp)
And I realize that emptying of my hands 7 years ago, created a place for God to swoop in. And I think back on all the recent emptying, again and again, where there's been hardship and pain and suffering, and the only things that have come from it over and over are not bitterness and strife, but joy. And peace. Because our God is infinitely resourceful with our emptiness. And he never leaves the empty places that way. He just fills them with the right things.
I realize anew that He is good. His ways are perfect. And he never. Never abandons his children.

And I look down, and see full hands.

Pause

I'm learning. A lot lately. A lot about becoming a big girl. And it feels good.

Maybe you're like me and you rush around from moment to moment, I wonder if you are but I know the answer because we all find ourselves chained to thoughts 5 minutes ahead of us, never realizing when we're actually living them. I can think and think for weeks about Christmas and our trip to Ohio, and before we have even boarded a plane to go will feel sad and distraught at the thought of saying goodbye to our loved ones again and how I'm going to lift a 70 pound Christmas tree to the crawl space when I get home. I'm realizing, when I live in the future, I miss God in the present.

I'm reading a book called One Thousand Gifts, and the idea is that we have been given gifts each moment, each day, no matter how trivial they seem and we can choose to receive with thankfulness the carefully wrapped gifts of comfy socks, and birds chirping, or throw the entire package in the trash. I'm learning to live in right now, the only moment I've been given grace enough for and to slow down long enough to experience God's grace right now, where it's offered to me.

"On every level of life, from housework to heights of prayer, in all judgment and efforts to get things done, hurry and impatience are sure marks of the amateur." -Evelyn Underhill

So I'm trying, to stop in the moments, and realize. To slow down and look around. To take in 360 degrees of my life one moment at a time. And today, I caught a glimpse of the gift.

It was wrapped in the package of my little daughter. Falling asleep in my arms long enough for me to witness road maps on her eyelids, and to trace the ski slope that swoops down her nose. When the little girl ceased from singing and hitting, dancing and dress-up long enough for me to sing to her, brush her hair from her sleepy face and whisper to her how fast she's growing up.
I realize that just (what likely seemed like) yesterday a mother held my same sleeping self, and traced my young face with the same panicked desire to stop time long enough to absorb a moment. And there, in that chair, holding my bundle of 3-year-old, slipping my finger into her hand and listening to her slow breath, picturing someday in the near future how she'll be too old, and too smart to let me steal those moments, I received gift upon gift of the moment as the clock moved from 2:16 to 2:15.

I know the next moment after I shut the door would quickly start the sand falling through hourglass life I lead again, but I had a moment to realize what I have, to appreciate, and to thank God. You see, I can spend so much time seeing what I lack, that I fail to realize how full my hands are. So much time wasted with thoughts of calories and checklists, split ends and menus that I blur right past a God with outstretched hands, leaving tire tracks over gift upon gift. Voskamp writes in her book: "Do we truly stumble so blind that we must be affronted with blinding magnificence for our blurry soul-sight to recognize grandeur? The very same surging magnificence that cascades over our every day here. Who has time or eyes to notice?"

Today, thank God, I did.

Where to look

It seems like lately everywhere I look is a metaphor for being stuck. I'm driving the other day and a bird is flying suspended in one place in mid-air. The wind was blowing so hard against him that he looked like he couldn't move forward at all.

Stuck.

Then last night John and I are in an appointment and the clock was stopped, but not dead....you know where the second hand just ticks in place again and again and never moves forward.

Stuck.

And that's how I've felt in my life lately, just stuck. In the same old stuff, only with a worse attitude. Stuck in the same patterns, and cycles. Cause let's face it, sometimes life's junk is super sticky.

So I'm on my run this morning, and the winds are terrible. I came home and looked up the weather and it said 15-20 mph winds, and there I am running in them. And I feel just like that bird when the wind is at my face, s t u c k. Running my butt off and going no where. Well here I come on the trail and round a corner and just as the song comes on my Pandora with the words about looking to the cross I see a field of little crosses (literally) with the sun rising behind them. We live by a nursery, so they apparently use these devices to grow something on in the spring, but here they are, plain as can be-crosses with the sun rising behind them. I stop, dumbfounded at the reality of the timing and stare...and then take a picture (see above) so I can tell people and remember. And continue on my run.

As I continue to run it dawns on me that I've never seen them before and I loop back on the trail to scope out why. When I get closer to the crosses it dawns on me that on the exact opposite side of the trail is a snake. The people that live there have a decoy snake in their garden to ward off bunnies, or whatever, and it looks real. Seriously scares me. Everytime I come around this bend in the trail I'm so focused on the snake, and how much it freaks me out that I never even noticed the other side. And that's when I start thinking about my life.

You see, I always have a choice where I look. To the cross, or to the snake. It's inevitable, as long as I'm alive on this earth they will both be there, but I have the choice to look at one and turn from the other. I have a choice to look away from the shame, guilt, temptation and condemnation. And look toward the hope, victory, triumph and truth. To look away from the defeat, and toward the promise. To look away from the temporary and look toward the eternal. As a believer in that cross, it's power is completely available to me. The power that my sin is dead, the power that my Savior is available and able. The power that turned away pointed fingers and instead opened arms. But there is also one who seeks to destroy me. To take me feet right out from under me, and I feel the struggle. But the struggle is not mine, it's for one stronger than me. And it will end well.

So today, despite the 20 mph winds, and the snake, and the stuck, I will run. Looking to the cross. With the wind in my face, and the snake right next to me, I will look. To the triumph. To the empty cross, that means a Savior is in heaven sitting, work completed. To the victory, that is mine. And I won't turn back.

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart."
Hebrew 12:1-3

Tempted to despair....

Dear Readers,

I know most of you and this is a letter written individually to you and you alone.

You who are overwhelmed by the prospect of raising children who love the Lord, when the road seems long...
You who battle an illness too great to overcome in your own strength...
You who are weary of struggling the same ways with the same things....
You who fear the future....
You who dread the present....
and to me.

We must not allow ourselves to weary. There is a promise that is as much ours to grab as a glass of water on a table right in front of us. That promise says that to us, who do not become weary doing good in the name of Christ, we will be rewarded. We will reap.
Do not allow yourself to become defeated in the thoughts that tempt you to despair.
Do not allow yourself to believe that you are downcast, put off, less-than or not enough.
Do not allow yourself to settle for being a slave when you have the right....the right....to be called daughter or son.
Do not settle for the mundane, with your children, your job, your life, your marriage, your battles, when you were called to the epoch climax. The ultimate victory. The triumphant procession when the walls of Jericho tumble and fall...crashing down into heaps at the feet of those who merely followed.

You are more than a conquerer and it's about time we started acting like it. We need a backbone. We need some truth. We need a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, cause you better believe that those things that seek to tear you down have got theirs.

Talk to yourself. Remind yoruself of the victory that awaits you. Remind yourself of the prize you run for. Remind yourself of the harvest...then do all you can to fling your seeds of faith all over the place you are standing.

And after you do, be still and wait. You may not see the seedlings at first...or ever. You may never know the depth of the roots those trees delve to, or the heights of their leaves....but a harvest is assured. And it will be glorious.

Oswald Chambers said, "Tenacity is more than hanging on, which may be but the weakness of being too afraid to fall off. Tenacity is the supreme effort of a man refusing to believe that his hero is going to be conquered...Remain spiritually tenacious."

Refuse to believe your hero will be conquered. Because he never has been...not even by death...

Sincerely,
Your fellow Soldier

*Read Psalm 125, Galatians 6:8-10, Ephesians 6:10-18

Nessa's Story

Sometimes life can seem really hopeless. It swirls and rises over your head till you can't seem to remember why you're swimming in the first place. Then--every now and then you're thrown a little life raft (or told to learn to swim...fast). It might seem like nothing first. Might even confuse us, but soon enough we'll understand it's a little paper airplane from a God who sees us, and loves us, and then...it becomes a treasure.


I realize this post will put me in direct danger of being labeled a "cat lady"...but I think the story is strong and beautiful enough to take that risk...so I proceed, fully acknowledging the risk I face. A few weeks ago, John mentions that there are kittens at work. They've been abandoned by their mother, and they are tiny and helpless. But they are black (and John prefers black cats last on his list). Also, he mentions, "I don't want a cat right now." Fine...I haven't seen the kittens so my heart is not officially broken, and we move on. Until last weekend. It's Memorial Day weekend, and we are buzzing through our family time just fine when a friend randomly and at the last minute asks John to come meet him at work to let him in (he's forgotten his code or something). So John goes, in the rain and tries a door (a door that always works) that doesn't work. Aside from the quick observation that this is a little strange, the guys go to another door and it opens right away. Then they hear a tiny noise from under the shed.

This is the point when John remembers the litter of kittens, and how for the weekend the majority of them had been coaxed out of hiding to go to someone's house and be cared for, out of the rain and cold. All of them...but one. One stayed behind...either too afraid to come out and be taken away...or aware of a bigger command. John goes over and leans down and out runs this tiny, scared, wet little kitten who quickly climbs up his leg, into his heart, and then immediately after that into our homes before we could say, "Bob's your uncle."


After a call from John explaining, "I'm bringing her home", he walks in the door holding said baby cat and a plate of diced hot dogs which he tried to feed her (note: kittens do not eat hot dog circles). He also has tears in his eyes, and so do I. It's hard to explain what happens then, as we begin exchanging shock over the details and wondering why everything happened the way it did. Because at this point it seems perfectly clear to us that God wants this little addition in our home, and at the same time ridiculous that God would want a kitten in our home. It seems both clear that this is no accident, and weird that it would be anything less.

(This is John with the hot dog circles, picture courtesy of our 2 year-old.)

Then I started thinking about the parallels. Here was a kitten, alone, weak, unable to do anything for itself, and God set her in a family where she is wanted and rejoiced over.
"God sets the lonely in families"- Psalm 68:6

Here is one that could have been overlooked and forgotten by the world, that could have been left behind, but was--instead--saved.
"Our God is a God who saves; from the Sovereign LORD comes escape from death."- Psalm 68:20

Here is one who was impossibly weak. With nothing to do for herself, nothing to add to her condition. She could not get food, build shelter, nothing. Just sit...and wait to be rescued.
"God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong." - 1 Corinthians 1:27
"He will take pity on the weak and the needy and save the needy from death."- Psalm 72:13


And slowly, the more we think of it, the more we understand these little messages wrapped up in the life of this little ball of fur. We are not unlike her. We face our struggles, many seem insurmountable. John has been struggling particularly with some health issues that have seemed overwhelming for about two years now, and I am facing the craziest month (possibly in my life). And in the midst of this hardship, comes our little message from God to remind us, we are weak, but he is strong. We are helpless, he will provide. He sees us, even when we feel forgotten and left behind, and we will receive whatever we need from Him.

Her name is Nessa (with variations of "Ness Ness", "Nessie" and "Nessa-doodle" from various family members). It means "miracle" in Hebrew. Because to us, that's exactly what all of this is.

It's a miracle that the God of the universe looks down on all creation, and takes the time to remind his children that he loves them, and they can trust him. But that's exactly the kind of God I know.

Ohio

As I type, I am sitting on my mom's front porch in Ohio. There are huge stretches of green rolling hills, birds chirping and fluttering around like I'm Snow White herself, hummingbirds buzzing around and pausing (but not really pausing) to refill their sugar supply, and the smell of peonies form a giant bouquet (I can never spell that word right the first time) twirling around my head. As I lift my head to stare out at the long ribbon of white fence that lines the country road her house perches aside, I think there may be no place on earth I feel more peaceful than right here.

That's the thing about Ohio for me, that most people can't seem to understand. To me, it has so much depth, so much sentimentality, that I love it, like no place I've known. It's weird how a place can do that really. Weird how just the sight of the city posing before me as we drive in from the airport on that stretch of highway in Kentucky, makes me feel both like I'm finally there and I've been punched in the stomach. Weird how the curve of road that goes in front of the city and leads to where we lived when we were first married makes me ache for those days. And totally weird how things like driving down a windy road with hills at dusk, windows down, music loud, and a canopy of green all around me catapults me right back to age 18 (which, admittedly was not that long ago...though it is getting further).

This is the place I fell in love, with Jesus, and my husband, figured out who I was, grew up, rebelled, learned to drive, walk, dance and spell. And it holds more memories for me than a high school yearbook. Admittedly, it is beautiful. There is a history here (especially along the river) that supercedes any of my own and tells stories of slaves escaping to freedom, and settlers learning how to live. And I love that part, the part that is laced through everything from the architecture to the trees. And speaking of the trees, there is air here that is so thick with the smell of green, that makes me claim (on poor authority) that this must be exactly the way Ireland looks and smells.

But of course all of that just bolsters the ache in my heart that remembers the early days of falling in love, and twists to know what my life would be like if it were in the cards for me to live here.
And I do wonder that....all. the. time.

This is how I feel, and then I think of God.

C.S. Lewis said this:
"These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited. "
He describes how all those longings, those sentimental feelings of days gone by, are really just our homesickness for heaven, for nearness to the God we were created to love and be with, and that if we were to actually go back, relive, or have those things that create that heartsick homesick feeling, we would find they really don't satisfy the way we imagined them to.

So when I think about those days, or this place, and feel that ache, I know it is not the reality of what I'm longing for, that it could never really satisfy me...it is only a shadow.

As I type, the lightning bugs are starting to light up the trees like late May's Christmas lights, the peonies still smell amazing, and there is a quiet all around that makes me feel like I'm submerged underwater. Tomorrow I will get on a plane, and end up in Colorado.
Where it is another kind of beautiful.
And while I'd really want to live here, the irony of the fact that someday I will think of Colorado with similar fondness and ache is not lost on me. That's the thing about this homesick feeling...it is always elusive. It will always evade us until that day when we are at home, with our Father...
...right where we belong, until then, I'll wait.

Daughter

There's a song I love. I listen to it when I run and often start crying, sometimes I run with my hand lifted up in the air like a moron. It just stirs something in my heart so intense, and I recently realized why.

It's' called Amos Story by Aaron Ivey, you an watch it here, and it's a beautiful song, and video. You should stop reading this...and go watch that, then come back here.

Okay, finished? Here's why it's beautiful to me. It's the song of this father, who is nations and oceans away from his son, separated. He is far off, and the father longs to bring him near. It's an adoption story, and it's so glorious because I too, am adopted.
"But when the set time had fully come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those under the law, that we might receive adoption to sonship." Galatians 4:4-5

I am adopted by God. Over and over the Bible says it. So when I hear these lyrics:
"I’ll find a way to get you here
If it takes my fleeting breath"

My heart rejoices, not because he can't or didn't...but because he did. It took every breath, he gave the last breath all to bring the world near.


"Lightyears away I hope you know
There is somebody searching
For the way to get you here"

He waited...years, thousands of years to be more specific to come to earth ,not to live and gain earthly treasures, but to die and gain a heavenly prize. He found the way, to get us there. And he took it. I get this picture in my mind of Jesus, watching next to the Father, waiting eagerly and anxiously, with bated breath to rush forward and grab us again, to bring us near.

He loves us so so so. Not because we are worthy or exceptional, but because he is love.

"For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God. The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.” The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children." Romans 8:14-16

Are you getting this?

We were adopted. Not bought on Easter Sunday all those years ago to be slaves, living in constant fear of death, bought back to be sons and daughters.
I was bought to live as a daughter. You were bought, to live as a child of God.



And as we wait here, we are not only waiting. We owe a debt to the world to tell them of the same adoption call on their lives. Would it be kind, fair, or just for an orphan to be lovingly snatched from an orphanage to live with a father who loved so intensely and so perfectly, and not feel some sense of loss for those who were left behind. Would it be loving for the same orphan (now an adopted daughter) to hear her now Father look at her and say, "Go! Tell the other orphans, I want them too! Bring them here." and instead sit where she is in comfort, refusing to share--relegating her life to some self-indulgent, entitled existence.

No, we long for heaven, we groan waiting for it. But we press on, thinking of that same eternity to show others the adoption.

"So dream, dream, dream my child
Hear the whisperings of hope"

I will dream. I will dream huge dreams that tell others of this love. I will dream dreams that do not limit the power of a mighty God working through the life of his now daughter. I will dream and hear the whisperings of hope for those who are still orphans. And I will surrender my time, resources, and every breath, to point others back to my Father.

It's Easter. It's adoption. It's ours.

Not Conviction

I almost titled this post Conviction, because I've recently been totally convicted about something that I'm pursuing...then I looked up the definition...here's what it said:
Conviction: a fixed or firm belief

I'm not sure I could in good conscience use that term...as I'm not too convinced that I live like this is a firm belief in my life, yet.

So there's this really awful little feature that I just discovered on my blog and that is the "stats" feature. This is where you can track how many people look at your blog, how many have looked at which post, how many from other websites, which websites...it's (as I mentioned) terrible.

But I'm obsessed.

I check it...a.....lot.

And I'm vowing to stop. Completely--to not even look (I'm cringing as I type) because it puts all the focus on me, and my endeavors. If I start looking there, I'm not really writing for the right reasons (to bring glory to God, and what he's teaching me)...I'm writing to try and get more peeks at my posts.


I'm reading the book Radical by David Platt, and he spends a lot of time talking about what we do in our own strength, and how (long story short) it's a waste of our life. There's this thought he shares:

"This, after all, is the goal of the American dream: to make much of ourselves. But here the gospel and the American dream are clearly and ultimately antithetical to each other. While the goal of the American dream is to make much of us, the goal of the gospel is to make much of God."

So there's this stuff going into my brain...reminding me that the why is always more important than the what. Then there's this whole other stream of thoughts also going on that I am learning, and that is...I love to write. I love to act. I love to be in large groups of women, and love to make them laugh.

Now originally, I thought these two things were opposing forces. One was selfish, me wanting to pursue my dreams and my goals, and my desires to get attention, and the other was a crucifying of myself and a dying to myself, and living miserably, but in a way that exalts God.

I'm realizing that the to work in perfect tandem with each other. That they are both possibly from God. That it is good for me to love to write, be funny, and act. Those are blessings when they are done to make much of the gospel.


I'm sure the rest of you have realized this, but it's been beautiful for me to wake up to (honestly, I can feel a weight coming off my chest even writing this post).
And I'm ecstatic about living this adventure he has. One that will be marked with suffering and hardship (I am sure) but that holds the potential to make much of a God who is ultimately satisfying to all who find him.


I want to live in that kind of way. Surrendering everything I have, gifts, resources, time, and breath and steps and energy. All for the glory of God. I want every post to make much of him, every choice in how I spend my time to make much of him.

Think of how big I can dream if I'm relying on the power of an infinite God. Think of how much God will be able to do now that I'm trying (moment by moment) to get out of the way.

and

Think of how small it is to only live to make much of ourselves. To live day in and out pursuing the goal of making wonderful grandiose praises for my own little kingdom that will last sixty some more years at most.



That's the beauty of living for the gospel--one day I will not be remembered, but my God will still be known, better to give my life up pointing others toward him.

Live like we're dying...cause we are.

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time I was talking to a woman about being transparent.
Once upon a time I told her about how it needed to happen in our church walls....needed to be breathed out. Needed to break the porcelain molds that hold us in, and needed to shatter the "churchy-ness" that American Christianity perpetuates.

Once upon a time...she asked me why.

This woman I trust....I respect, this wonderfully wise, calm, yoda-esque woman.
And then began my journey....cause I just wasn't sure why all of the sudden.

Thankfully she took the time to help me understand why.

And here was her advice....go right to that place where I feel most anxious. The thing that makes me clamor and stress. I could list a variety of them, her advice was to go to the thing that pops first in my mind, I'd know what it was.

For me it was when I send an email (especially on a vulnerable subject) or put myself out there somehow and then hear nothing. You know when you were younger and you used to get called to talk to the principal....that feeling of impending doom? That feeling that comes up when your mom used to say "We need to talk?".....no? You must've been a better kid than me.

It might sound silly but it sends me into a panic. She then encouraged me to follow that rabbit trail all the way to the end...asking myself all the hard questions that come with that fear.


Here's what it looked like for me:
What if I don't hear anything? What if they think I'm an idiot? What if they're judging me? What if I was too harsh? What if I shouldn't have said anything? What if they don't like me? What if they don't talk to me anymore? What if I've lost my good standing in their eyes?

There were many more "what ifs", and each one fired off a sensor in my mind that made me terrified.
This woman's advice to me was that if you follow it long enough you'll understand what you're believing about yourself that is not true.

For me it was this:
I am believing that if others don't like/accept/appreciate/affirm me...it means I am not worth much.

And that's obviously a lie.

It starts with being transparent with ourselves. With our God.
"God. I am scared. I am scared I might be right about myself. Scared they might be right about me. Scared of what will happen if I'm not accepted."


That beginning thought to transparency, agreement to tell the truth about where we are, honesty with ourselves and God puts us in the best position to hear truth.
Truth about ourselves. Our worth. Mainly our God--because hearing the truth about ourselves and our worth are really just stories about what he's done to declare wonderful things about who we are in him.

I'm trying to learn to start there. So I can finish well with him.

Reckless Abandon: A story about Stephanie

Skipping the small stuff, getting to the point.


Stephanie used to be a self-proclaimed lesbian.

Now, you can read her amazing, Christ-celebratory story here.. But that's not as much what I'm writing about.

I'm writing about the way she lives now.
She lives bravely.

Bravely aware of her identity in Christ. Bravely surrendered to the Savior who laid claim on her life. Bravely humble about what he's done for her.

Stephanie is not afraid of sharing her story, what she's been through and even the really really vulnerable parts of her story, because she recognizes there is nothing she could gain from coming across as having it together. Nothing significant she could hold onto from not telling people. But there is glory in dying to herself. There is a beautiful abandon that comes from not trying to make a name for ourself, not trying to sustain an image that isn't ours to claim in the first place.

Steph has shared her story with multitudes of people. She boasts of her lowly place because she recognizes there is nothing to be lost for her. She cannot lose her standing, she cannot lose her worth or value. It is secure. And she can live recklessly for the gospel (and does) because she's not holding on to those attempts.

When I asked her if I could share her story, she not only responded with an immediate "yes" but also allowed me to share as much of her sin as I wanted....amazing how surrendered this girl is.
She also shared with me two verses that are so liberating:

"And I heard a loud voice in heaven, saying, "Now the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God and the authority of his Christ have come, for the accuser of our brothers has been thrown down, who accuses them day and night before our God. And they have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives even unto death." Revelation 12:10-11

"But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God." Acts 20:24

Thanks Steffers. For being open. For being a little more out there than some might be comfortable with. For living a brave life for the gospel.

The way you live showed me how to not count my life as precious to myself.

Fake it till...

Consider yourself warned...


You'd think, for an actress, I'd be better at pretending. Pretending to like people, pretending to be in a good mood, pretending to have it together.
But I'm not.
In fact, one of the hardest things for me is being something I'm not.
Mainly because I'm selfish...I recognize that. But I'm thinking some of it is good.

Here's the thing. Our culture is centered around being fake. Fake boobs, fake hair color, fake teeth, botox, spanx, makeup. All to make us look better than we are. You'd think with all the recent hype about using "real sugar" vs. high fructose corn syrup, and blah blah blah, we'd be trending in a different direction. We're not.

And all that stuff is fine, to a degree....

But there's one place I can't stand it. One place I'm learning to be completely authentic, because it's what I want from others.

Relationships.
See, no one benefits from another female relationship where we have it together. The person faking it doesn't benefit, the person observing the fake-ness doesn't. It's destructive.

And I won't stand for it.
At least not in my own life.
I'm learning a lot about authenticity...about transparency. What it looks like--what it doesn't look like. And why it's significant.
Here's what I'm learning...in list form.

What it isn't:
1. Saying whatever you think. This is different. This is called pride. While I am also terribly guilty of this...it's a different evil. This one says "My opinion is there, I'll tell it to you, you deal with it, I don't care if it hurts your feelings."
2. Airing of grievances. It's not a license to say everything that bothers you about someone. (See number one). I am also guilty of this.
3. Confession. There's this bad tendency when it comes to being authentic. It can lean a different direction. One that is more religious than resting in the gospel. When my goal is to confess something so I don't feel bad about it anymore, it's wrong. It's penance--dare I say- it's sin. I am also guilty of this.


What it is:
1. Vulnerability.
2. A rejection of self-protection.
3. The ability to rest in an identity that is given us in Christ, that is not founded on a facade we fabricate.
4. The acceptance of being right where we are, exactly who we are, and relinquishing the desire to cover-up, get our act together, or appear to be something we're not.
5. A chance to be real before others, and be accepted for being that way. Not mocked, belittled, condescended or gossiped about.

Why it's crucial (I deleted the word "important"):
1. We are all flawed, each one of us. And as long as we're encouraged to cover that up and pretend we have it together--we're just propagating the pride that keeps us from God. Once we realize we can be loved and accepted with others right where we are, we'll recognize we can be the same way with God. (Obviously God does not love or accept our sin, but he sees our Savior's record when he looks at us)
2. A need to cover-up, pretend, be fake, just facilitates comparing, cattiness, and gossip. As long as "someone else looks worse than me" then I don't have to be afraid of being found out. Is this making sense? When I throw someone else under the bus, then I'm not afraid of the bus hitting me. If I'm not trying to "self-protect" everyone is allowed and encouraged to be jsut as screwed up as they are right now, because I'm just as screwed up as I am.
3. It rests in the gospel. Self-protection...pretending....faking it...does not.
Faking it rests in the image of myself I've crafted. The one where I don't look so bad. Being authentic, vulnerable, transparent, rests in Christ. When I understand that "we are more wicked than we ever dared believe, but more loved and accepted in Christ than we ever dared hope" (Tim Keller) I am able to rest, and be real.
4. I don't need one more person in my life who has it together.

At this point I was going to wax eloquent a disclaimer about how it is never acceptable to be complacent with sin, and "let it all hang out"....but I'm not even going to do that. If you think that's where I am, and I need to explain myself, you should go back and read any of my previous posts.

In the weeks to come, I'll be sharing stories. Stories of what this has looked like in my life (most if not all of them will make me look terrible, which I'm okay with). I'm learning too much about relationships to not share. I'm learning how to be a Christian. I'm learning how to be a real woman, in a real world, saved by a real Savior. I'm learning that it's good to tell the truth, especially when it makes you look bad. I'm learning what it looks like to rest in the gospel. I'm learning how to fail gracefully, what's important, and what I want my daughter to learn.

Mainly I'm learning how little I've learned.

But I will say this, the more I learn how to be okay with messing up, and okay with others doing the same...
the more free I am.
And that's just the way I want to live.

Inexplicable

The other day we were walking out of the restaurant part of Cracker Barrel and Ellie was probably 10 steps ahead of me (running out), an old man (maybe 90? definitely over 80) was walking in super slowly--like it was hard for him to walk. On her way out Ellie ran right up to him and grabbed his hand, like she'd known him her whole life. He looked down at her and squeezed her hand and they had the weirdest little interchange with no words.

I felt in an instant like I was out of the loop. Like my two year old and that man knew something that I had no idea about. It was so bizarre. All the tables around them stopped what they were doing and watched. We all paused and the world stood still while we witnessed a moment that none of us seemed to understand and then Ellie let go and ran off. A moment that felt pregnant with importance, but was completely nonchalant for the two involved.



I can't stop thinking about this. Maybe because I couldn't fit it into a place in my brain, because I just couldn't understand or explain away why it happened. And I couldn't attach a nice little story to it. It simply stood alone, punctuated my mundane day with a moment that inspired me for reasons I don't know. But I wonder if trying to explain it, trying to figure it out dumbs down the significance of it--washes away some of the mystery that makes it remarkable and beautiful.

And so I've decided I can be okay with not knowing, with never knowing.

I can let God be God, and have the secret things for himself. He can know. I won't.
In the meantime, I get to witness things that I can't explain.
And the song I'm listening to says:

"Sometimes things aren't always what they seem, words fall short in times like these."

(credits to Sandra with "Imperfect Melodies" for making the beautiful soundtrack to my blog,to Lynds for taking beautiful pictures, and to Courtney, for her good advice)

Fig Leaves

How much time do you spend crafting an identity you want to hide behind? You know, working on being skinny, funny, pretty, crafty, wise, spiritual? (those are mine) How much effort is given to those things? How much effort given to hiding? I'm taking a cue from my new favorite blogger Courtney and including tons of pictures that I illegally snag off the internet (she has rights to hers).

How much time to hiding behind an identity that is fabricated to make you look like you're not as messed up as you are? Like Eve hiding behind the hand-sewn fig-leaves in the garden, wondering who would see.

John and I were talking last night, about how much I've been struggling lately since I've been sick, and I'm not able to get out of bed early, read my Bible and exercise. It came down to me saying this very bluntly (please don't email me about eating disorders or I will egg your car):
"I have to be skinny"
....and him poignantly asking:
"Why do you have to be skinny?"



This completely disarmed me. I was ill prepared to answer such a direct question and all the things I could think I wanted to say to defend myself ("Because it's healthier", "So I'll feel good about myself", "So I can be more confident") Really boiled down to nothing and sounded so fake...cause I knew the truth.
I laid in bed, thinking about the real answer, and this blog post and struggled to sleep.

The real answer is (it's hard to be this transparent)...I want people to worship me.

Let me follow that up with the fact that I sat here and stared at the computer screen wondering if I really had the audacity to type what I felt in my heart. Wondering if I could somehow soften the blow of that truth by saying something like "think I'm great" instead of using the word "worship"...but I just couldn't do it justice.

I am guilty of the same sin that caused Lucifer to fall like lightning from heaven. And it's dreadful.

Now before you all start telling me how much I beat myself up, or downplaying what I just said let me also say that I am completely aware of the fact that my Savior died for that, it is finished, and I am forgiven.

But let me explain what I'm learning about this.
We are all in desperate need of being real. Putting it on the line. I don't mean in a sort of "I'm going to expose what I want you to see enough so it looks like I'm really honest but I'm really just using even that to craft my own image" kind of real. I'm talking about, "this makes me uncomfortable" kind of real.

A woman I really look up to just did something that I know makes her feel utterly exposed, and then made the comment to me about how that is her place of faith, because if we're not there, learning how to be comfortable in the place we're least comfortable, we are hiding.

God has recently been sparing me from hiding by stripping away the things I want to hide behind.
Well-behaved kids? Good luck forcing that one.
Spiritual bible verse wisdom? Not until I can read my Bible again.
Great muscles? How about you sleep in until 8am.
Good mothering? Well we watched 3 hours of television yesterday.

It's all this glorious thing, that was originally making me so miserable, but I'm learning now to find great rest in.

"I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." John 12:46
We can bring our entire selves, completely real and exposed to the light. We can stand unashamed once more, in all our awful glory, with every truth we are ashamed to admit, because we have been granted a new identity.
We can be comfortable when we are anything but comfortable because we don't find our rest in what we do, or how we look, but in our Savior.

"The LORD sets prisoners free" Psalm 146:7
We have no reason to hide, no cause to find something to cover us...we are covered!
Behind every awful moment of being exposed is a chance to find rest in the gospel.
On the other side of every colossal "failure" is a God waiting with open arms to hold the daughter he already knew was a screw up.
And on the outside of every comfort zone, is a liberty that would never have been realized had we not ventured out.

What he sees

The above picture was drawn by my son. He is 4 and a half.
Tonight I'm looking at the picture and talking it over with my husband. How sweet it was that he wanted to draw a picture of me, how sweet that he wrote me a note. How (if you could see the rest of the picture) he drew himself with hair sticking up and his sister with pigtails. Then it dawned on me what I'm wearing in the picture. Look at it. There is a dress, floor-length, with those little sweepy things that Cinderella has on her gown, and circley puffy sleeves (I'm getting really technical with my fashion lingo here). He drew me in a princess dress. We started discussing it, and all the pictures my son draws of me, and I realized...he always draws me in a princess dress.
Mind you, I never have ever walked around the house wearing a princess dress (a wedding dress? yes...once, but princess dress? never). I walk around the house wearing jeans, or sweats, or a bathrobe...not a ball gown. Still, when my son is asked to draw a picture of me...I am a princess (a princess with no arms usually, but a princess nonetheless).
It started me thinking about God. And how this is true of our relationship with him as well. If God were to draw my picture, what would he draw? A prideful woman, who constantly demands her own way? A gossip? Maybe the incredible hulk (thinking of my propensity for anger)? No, none of those things. I'm convinced that if God were to sit down and draw a picture of me (I'd have arms) and would also look like a princess. Not because I am worthy. Not because I am smart enough, funny enough, skinny enough, patient enough, or deserving enough. But because I am his. A daughter of the king. Because his Son died for me and now, because of the righteousness that was won on my behalf, I am near, and rejoiced over.

I am a princess.

And I don't know about you, but someone thinking I'm a princess, makes me a lot more likely to act like one.