Merry Christmas Eve, readers and friends!
I promise to be short-winded today, really.
I was reading through the Christmas story today. Not out of religious duty, moral obligation, or self-imposed guilt, but simply because I needed the focus. The holidays are lovely and well, but I gotta be honest; they're also demanding, chaotic, and exhausting. I don't want to just survive another holiday this year. I want to really grasp the magic and wonder and joy of the season. I want Christmas in my heart more than I want any Christmas under a tree or in a stocking.
That foundation being laid, I'm going to take you to Luke 1, and we'll start in verse 39:
Now at this time Mary arose and went in a hurry to the hill country, to a city of Judah, and entered the house of Zacharias and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary's greeting, the baby leaped in her womb; and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. And she cried out with a loud voice and said, "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And how has it happened to me, that the mother of my Lord would come to me? For behold, when the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby leaped in my womb for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what had been spoken to her by the Lord."
Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment. Wow.
I'm not going reiterate the miraculous virgin birth for you, or the beauty of a baby that would deliver the world from sin and death. I'm pretty sure that picture has been amply painted. But what about you? What about your Christmas? What about God's promises to you? What heaven-ordained fulfillments are you still waiting on? Do you still believe?
Christmas is the season of believing, and I'm all for it, but December 26 will be here shortly. Don't let the hope of Jesus die with the tree or the lights. His word is full of promises, and the promises are ours for the taking 365 days a year. Elizabeth was old and barren when John was conceived- I would imagine that hope was a far off feeling. God's word may have appeared null and void, but it wasn't. He didn't forget Elizabeth, He didn't forget Israel, and He didn't forget Simeon, just like He hasn't forgotten us. Let that truth sink into your heart. His personal word and promises to you still stand. He hasn't forgotten you.
Merry Christmas, friends. May hope and peace be yours in abundance.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Sunday, December 7, 2014
An afternoon vocabulary lesson
I think Jesus likes vocabulary; or, He knows I'm a giant word nerd and speaks accordingly. Both are win-win scenarios, so I'm not too terribly caught up in trying to decipher truth from perception. Not this time, anyways.
Undone. Have you ever stopped to consider this term? I hadn't...and then, I heard it approximately 15,000 times in a week's span and decided I ought to give it some thought.
Undone: adjective: not fastened or tied, not done, unfinished, defeated or destroyed
I'll be honest. At first glance, that definition did nothing for my life, spirituality, or other common knowledge. It felt like a waste of paper, so why did "undone" keep pervading my language transactions? I had to dig deeper.
By "digging deeper," I mean I was reclining in an over sized chair, soaking in some Arizona sunlight, and attempting to steal a short nap, but my inquisitive nature wouldn't take a break. It just sounded more introspective and scholarly to phrase it, "dig deeper." I guess that cat is out of the bag. It's okay, though, because it goes to the raw honesty of my interactions with the Father and that which I relay to you as a result. I'm not a Bible scholar. I've never been to Bible school, and I don't claim to be a spiritual superstar. I don't spend a trillion hours a day locked away in a study praying and fasting, and after five and a half years of really loving Jesus, I literally just learned that there were two disciples named Simon. That's important for you to grasp because I don't want you to imagine something about me that is over-exaggerated or untrue. God speaks to me very simply, often times in the day-to-day dealings of my commonplace life. If you take nothing else away from this post, be encouraged that if He can speak to and teach me, He'll certainly be able to do the same for you.
But back to undone. What does it really mean to be undone? Undone in the presence of God even? I initially dismissed the defining word "destroyed," because I thought it lacked value. It felt oppressive and undesirable. The mental image I attached to the term gave me anything but a warm fuzzy feeling. However, the longer I sat, my thoughts were rearranged. Maybe destruction is exactly what I (we) need. I won't speak for you, but maybe destruction is exactly what I crave.
Destruction: noun: the act or process of damaging something so badly that it no longer exists or cannot be repaired
So many things within my heart and mind need a final destruction. A destruction I can't carry out in my own strength, intentions, or efforts, but rather a destruction that comes only through the power of Christ. A tearing down of strongholds (sin, fear, doubt, shame, lust, greed, pride, hate, or whatever other stronghold you battle) that we simply can't manage via our own self-sufficiency. I want the strongholds to be utterly destroyed. Yes, I want to be undone.
Undone carries a hopeful tone, too. I want to undo my patterns of thinking, doing, and living. I want to overhaul my viewpoints and get rid of stupid and religious thinking. Such an undoing is inexplicably and powerfully redemptive. See Romans 12:2 if you want proof.
Finally, I am unfinished business, and such a state delights me. I forever want to keep this truth in the forefront of my thinking and living. I always want to hunger and seek after more. I don't want to live satisfied, because if I lack nothing, than I have need of nothing. May it never be.
Undone. Have you ever stopped to consider this term? I hadn't...and then, I heard it approximately 15,000 times in a week's span and decided I ought to give it some thought.
Undone: adjective: not fastened or tied, not done, unfinished, defeated or destroyed
I'll be honest. At first glance, that definition did nothing for my life, spirituality, or other common knowledge. It felt like a waste of paper, so why did "undone" keep pervading my language transactions? I had to dig deeper.
By "digging deeper," I mean I was reclining in an over sized chair, soaking in some Arizona sunlight, and attempting to steal a short nap, but my inquisitive nature wouldn't take a break. It just sounded more introspective and scholarly to phrase it, "dig deeper." I guess that cat is out of the bag. It's okay, though, because it goes to the raw honesty of my interactions with the Father and that which I relay to you as a result. I'm not a Bible scholar. I've never been to Bible school, and I don't claim to be a spiritual superstar. I don't spend a trillion hours a day locked away in a study praying and fasting, and after five and a half years of really loving Jesus, I literally just learned that there were two disciples named Simon. That's important for you to grasp because I don't want you to imagine something about me that is over-exaggerated or untrue. God speaks to me very simply, often times in the day-to-day dealings of my commonplace life. If you take nothing else away from this post, be encouraged that if He can speak to and teach me, He'll certainly be able to do the same for you.
But back to undone. What does it really mean to be undone? Undone in the presence of God even? I initially dismissed the defining word "destroyed," because I thought it lacked value. It felt oppressive and undesirable. The mental image I attached to the term gave me anything but a warm fuzzy feeling. However, the longer I sat, my thoughts were rearranged. Maybe destruction is exactly what I (we) need. I won't speak for you, but maybe destruction is exactly what I crave.
Destruction: noun: the act or process of damaging something so badly that it no longer exists or cannot be repaired
So many things within my heart and mind need a final destruction. A destruction I can't carry out in my own strength, intentions, or efforts, but rather a destruction that comes only through the power of Christ. A tearing down of strongholds (sin, fear, doubt, shame, lust, greed, pride, hate, or whatever other stronghold you battle) that we simply can't manage via our own self-sufficiency. I want the strongholds to be utterly destroyed. Yes, I want to be undone.
Undone carries a hopeful tone, too. I want to undo my patterns of thinking, doing, and living. I want to overhaul my viewpoints and get rid of stupid and religious thinking. Such an undoing is inexplicably and powerfully redemptive. See Romans 12:2 if you want proof.
Finally, I am unfinished business, and such a state delights me. I forever want to keep this truth in the forefront of my thinking and living. I always want to hunger and seek after more. I don't want to live satisfied, because if I lack nothing, than I have need of nothing. May it never be.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
The wins in life
This is, by light years, probably the most awkward post I've ever scribbled, but I think it's worth the write. I'm not exactly the sharing type. Okay, in fact, I'm the polar opposite. Sure, I clutter up the Facebook newsfeed with silly tidbits from my wild and crazy, almost unbelievable, could-easily-be-a-sitcom life, but I keep most of my own true realities off the world wide web...
...until today, because sometimes, good news is worth repeating. Often times we hear of the struggles and the troubles, but the "wins" in life don't always get much of a stage. I have an opinion concerning that scenario, but I'll save it for a rainy day. So without any further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I bring you some really, really good news.
It's been an odd year. Not too many months in, I noticed weird changes in my body. Subtle, at first, and then gradually, more demanding of my attention. Finally one evening I decided my stubbornness would have to resign to the necessity of being fully alive, awake, and aware of my surroundings.
I made an appointment with my doctor, who ordered a batch of tests and sent me on down the hall to the next doctor. That doctor interpreted the results and suggested I see doctor number three, who then wanted her own set of diagnostics. By that point, it was September, the battle had raged for three months, and I was particularly tired of imaging tubes and blood draws. I was weary of the process, and then one morning the doctor walked in the room and said, "I have bad news. You're going to need surgeries."
I'm a, "break it to me gently," type of gal. You know, the type that gradually wakes up to fifteen alarms in the morning and prefers to exchange niceties and small talk before engaging in deep or serious conversations. When the doctor walked in and said, "I have bad news," straight off the cuff, I was caught totally and completely off guard. I hadn't prepared for that type of conversation, and I couldn't bring myself to focus on anything other than her crooked haircut.
She left me with a referral to Barnes Jewish hospital in St. Louis, and finally, in early November, I saw a brain surgeon there. Much to my delight, he gave me the surgical all clear. I could confuse you with a list of long-lettered words, but very simply put, my brain doesn't look like a textbook example. There's some minor discrepancies between the opinions of the neurologist and neurosurgeon, but at the end of the day, my good 'ole thinker doesn't require any surgical intervention, and I am happy about that!
Having cleared the first major hurdle, I starred at the base of mountain number two. All of my treating physicians were in agreement that an appointment with a spinal surgeon was in order. After having a massive spinal fusion in 2007, I was anything but excited about the possibility of additional surgery.
That catches us up to the last ten days. On a whim, I decided to do some investigative research on the whereabouts of my previous spine surgeon, though I was led to believe he was no longer practicing medicine. Thanks to Google and a few keystrokes, I was able to locate him in Denver. I placed a call to his office, and things fell perfectly into place from the first hello. I talked to a receptionist who was very interested in my story. She talked with the doctor, and he offered to review my latest diagnostics and schedule a consultation in December. A trip to the local medical records office and seven bucks later, all of my latest imaging and treatment reports were en route to a doctor who's not only very familiar with my case, but is also rated one of the top surgeons in his field. I wasn't sure what would come of his review, but I trusted his judgment, and with that, the hundredth game of "hurry up and wait" began.
Meanwhile, I had two more doctor appointments and a blood draw. For the first time in seven months, my lab results came back completely normal. I wish I had sufficient verbiage to explain the magnificence or significance of that victory, but 26 letters just isn't enough. I was indeed quite thankful, but little did I know, the best news was yet to come.
I was tying up some odds and ends at the office yesterday afternoon when my phone rang. Much to my surprise, my Denver based surgeon spoke up on the other end. I'll be honest- my heart skipped a few beats. I figured in the world of medicine, a phone call from the doctor himself probably meant anything but good news. We exchanged niceties and I prepared myself for the worst. He asked questions and explained the last seven months of diagnoses better than anyone I've spoken to yet. After our ten minute exchange, his recommendation was as follows:
This (blah, blah, blah, insert formal diagnostic label here) isn't anything new. In fact, it was present eight years ago when we did the first fusion. The other treating physicians probably haven't seen much of it, hence their cause for concern, but being familiar with your case, it's nothing that alarms me. Your latest imaging looks fair. The best thing you can do is stay healthy, stay mobile, incorporate some strength training into your routine, be nice to your body, and let's do anything we can to avoid another fusion.
Doctor, we have a deal!
He gave a few more suggestions, my heart skipped a few more excited beats, we ended our conversation wishing the other a happy holiday season, and just like that, a giant weight was lifted.
Now, of course, none of this is without provision, but we're talking about the difference between mountains and mole hills. Mountains that would have included multiple hospitalizations, surgeries, home health care, an extended recovery period, and a shaved head and ugly scars as the added bonus. Comparatively, everything else is a walk in the park.
I'd be a total and complete liar if I led you to believe I've walked through the last months with this overwhelming peace and righteous attitude about the trials and tribulations, because that was not always the case. However, I can say with complete assurance and total honesty that God proved Himself faithful over and over and over again.
I'm reminded of one particular afternoon that I was stuck at home fighting a case of the blues when a worship song I wasn't familiar with (Breathe You In by Bryan and Katie Torwalt) came across my Pandora station. The whole thing was good, but these particular few lines flooded my heart with sweet invitation:
And when I don't understand, I will choose you.
When I don't understand, I will choose to love you, God.
And you are good, God.
You are good to me.
Choice. Everything boils down to choice, and I want to choose well.
Psalm 27: A Psalm of Fearless Trust in God
The Lord is my light and my salvation;
Whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the defense of my life;
Whom shall I dread?
2 When evildoers came upon me to devour my flesh,
My adversaries and my enemies, they stumbled and fell.
3 Though a host encamp against me,
My heart will not fear;
Though war arise against me,
In spite of this I shall be confident.
...until today, because sometimes, good news is worth repeating. Often times we hear of the struggles and the troubles, but the "wins" in life don't always get much of a stage. I have an opinion concerning that scenario, but I'll save it for a rainy day. So without any further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I bring you some really, really good news.
It's been an odd year. Not too many months in, I noticed weird changes in my body. Subtle, at first, and then gradually, more demanding of my attention. Finally one evening I decided my stubbornness would have to resign to the necessity of being fully alive, awake, and aware of my surroundings.
I made an appointment with my doctor, who ordered a batch of tests and sent me on down the hall to the next doctor. That doctor interpreted the results and suggested I see doctor number three, who then wanted her own set of diagnostics. By that point, it was September, the battle had raged for three months, and I was particularly tired of imaging tubes and blood draws. I was weary of the process, and then one morning the doctor walked in the room and said, "I have bad news. You're going to need surgeries."
I'm a, "break it to me gently," type of gal. You know, the type that gradually wakes up to fifteen alarms in the morning and prefers to exchange niceties and small talk before engaging in deep or serious conversations. When the doctor walked in and said, "I have bad news," straight off the cuff, I was caught totally and completely off guard. I hadn't prepared for that type of conversation, and I couldn't bring myself to focus on anything other than her crooked haircut.
She left me with a referral to Barnes Jewish hospital in St. Louis, and finally, in early November, I saw a brain surgeon there. Much to my delight, he gave me the surgical all clear. I could confuse you with a list of long-lettered words, but very simply put, my brain doesn't look like a textbook example. There's some minor discrepancies between the opinions of the neurologist and neurosurgeon, but at the end of the day, my good 'ole thinker doesn't require any surgical intervention, and I am happy about that!
Having cleared the first major hurdle, I starred at the base of mountain number two. All of my treating physicians were in agreement that an appointment with a spinal surgeon was in order. After having a massive spinal fusion in 2007, I was anything but excited about the possibility of additional surgery.
That catches us up to the last ten days. On a whim, I decided to do some investigative research on the whereabouts of my previous spine surgeon, though I was led to believe he was no longer practicing medicine. Thanks to Google and a few keystrokes, I was able to locate him in Denver. I placed a call to his office, and things fell perfectly into place from the first hello. I talked to a receptionist who was very interested in my story. She talked with the doctor, and he offered to review my latest diagnostics and schedule a consultation in December. A trip to the local medical records office and seven bucks later, all of my latest imaging and treatment reports were en route to a doctor who's not only very familiar with my case, but is also rated one of the top surgeons in his field. I wasn't sure what would come of his review, but I trusted his judgment, and with that, the hundredth game of "hurry up and wait" began.
Meanwhile, I had two more doctor appointments and a blood draw. For the first time in seven months, my lab results came back completely normal. I wish I had sufficient verbiage to explain the magnificence or significance of that victory, but 26 letters just isn't enough. I was indeed quite thankful, but little did I know, the best news was yet to come.
I was tying up some odds and ends at the office yesterday afternoon when my phone rang. Much to my surprise, my Denver based surgeon spoke up on the other end. I'll be honest- my heart skipped a few beats. I figured in the world of medicine, a phone call from the doctor himself probably meant anything but good news. We exchanged niceties and I prepared myself for the worst. He asked questions and explained the last seven months of diagnoses better than anyone I've spoken to yet. After our ten minute exchange, his recommendation was as follows:
This (blah, blah, blah, insert formal diagnostic label here) isn't anything new. In fact, it was present eight years ago when we did the first fusion. The other treating physicians probably haven't seen much of it, hence their cause for concern, but being familiar with your case, it's nothing that alarms me. Your latest imaging looks fair. The best thing you can do is stay healthy, stay mobile, incorporate some strength training into your routine, be nice to your body, and let's do anything we can to avoid another fusion.
Doctor, we have a deal!
He gave a few more suggestions, my heart skipped a few more excited beats, we ended our conversation wishing the other a happy holiday season, and just like that, a giant weight was lifted.
Now, of course, none of this is without provision, but we're talking about the difference between mountains and mole hills. Mountains that would have included multiple hospitalizations, surgeries, home health care, an extended recovery period, and a shaved head and ugly scars as the added bonus. Comparatively, everything else is a walk in the park.
I'd be a total and complete liar if I led you to believe I've walked through the last months with this overwhelming peace and righteous attitude about the trials and tribulations, because that was not always the case. However, I can say with complete assurance and total honesty that God proved Himself faithful over and over and over again.
I'm reminded of one particular afternoon that I was stuck at home fighting a case of the blues when a worship song I wasn't familiar with (Breathe You In by Bryan and Katie Torwalt) came across my Pandora station. The whole thing was good, but these particular few lines flooded my heart with sweet invitation:
And when I don't understand, I will choose you.
When I don't understand, I will choose to love you, God.
And you are good, God.
You are good to me.
Choice. Everything boils down to choice, and I want to choose well.
Psalm 27: A Psalm of Fearless Trust in God
The Lord is my light and my salvation;
Whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the defense of my life;
Whom shall I dread?
2 When evildoers came upon me to devour my flesh,
My adversaries and my enemies, they stumbled and fell.
3 Though a host encamp against me,
My heart will not fear;
Though war arise against me,
In spite of this I shall be confident.
4 One thing I have asked from the Lord, that I shall seek:
That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the Lord
And to meditate in His temple.
5 For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle;
In the secret place of His tent He will hide me;
He will lift me up on a rock.
6 And now my head will be lifted up above my enemies around me,
And I will offer in His tent sacrifices with shouts of joy;
I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to the Lord.
That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the Lord
And to meditate in His temple.
5 For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle;
In the secret place of His tent He will hide me;
He will lift me up on a rock.
6 And now my head will be lifted up above my enemies around me,
And I will offer in His tent sacrifices with shouts of joy;
I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to the Lord.
7 Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice,
And be gracious to me and answer me.
8 When You said, “Seek My face,” my heart said to You,
“Your face, O Lord, I shall seek.”
9 Do not hide Your face from me,
Do not turn Your servant away in anger;
You have been my help;
Do not abandon me nor forsake me,
O God of my salvation!
10 For my father and my mother have forsaken me,
But the Lord will take me up.
And be gracious to me and answer me.
8 When You said, “Seek My face,” my heart said to You,
“Your face, O Lord, I shall seek.”
9 Do not hide Your face from me,
Do not turn Your servant away in anger;
You have been my help;
Do not abandon me nor forsake me,
O God of my salvation!
10 For my father and my mother have forsaken me,
But the Lord will take me up.
11 Teach me Your way, O Lord,
And lead me in a level path
Because of my foes.
12 Do not deliver me over to the desire of my adversaries,
For false witnesses have risen against me,
And such as breathe out violence.
13 I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord
In the land of the living.
14 Wait for the Lord;
Be strong and let your heart take courage;
Yes, wait for the Lord.
And lead me in a level path
Because of my foes.
12 Do not deliver me over to the desire of my adversaries,
For false witnesses have risen against me,
And such as breathe out violence.
13 I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord
In the land of the living.
14 Wait for the Lord;
Be strong and let your heart take courage;
Yes, wait for the Lord.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
A puppy and our hearts: A shared story of relief
I'm a dog lover. If you've ever met me or followed me on
Facebook, this comes as no surprise to you. Quite naturally, then, you might
assume I'm a sucker for strays, and again, you would be absolutely correct.
Yesterday my dad brought me a dumped puppy from his farm,
and as I do, I brought it home to clean it up and love on it a bit before rehoming
the sweet baby. As we processed through the evening, my heart grasped the most
beautiful picture of redemption and restoration. God's timing is indescribably
perfect.
From what I can gather, Mocha (the puppy) was abandoned
and left to die. She came to me starved, sick, shivering, and covered in fleas
and ticks. She didn't know me, but could probably only sense I was much bigger than her,
and resembled that of which previously discarded her. She had no reason to
trust me, and I certainly didn't blame her.
As I placed her in the tub, she didn't initially understand the difference between a
warm bath and a mid-November rain storm. Her previous experiences with water
probably weren't all that great. I knew and well understood the bath was for
her benefit. I had a plan to rid her of the dirt and dust and bugs, but she
only sensed she was about to be wet...again. I literally sat and talked out
loud to this pup about how we were washing away her old life and starting down
a new path. She wasn't trash anymore; she was receiving a new name, a new
identity, and a new start. She was finally going to be clean and warm and wanted. Obviously, she's
a dog, so she didn't comprehend a single word I spoke to her, but her lack of
understanding didn't change the reality of her rescue.
After her bath, I started the seemingly insurmountable
task of debugging her. Some of the ticks were buried so deep that her skin was
tender, swollen, and infected. She whimpered and cried as I dug
the ticks out one by one. Again, she didn't understand my intentions. Yes, I
was inflicting some pain, but it was purposeful. My efforts weren't to cause
her more suffering, but instead to very deliberately take what was hurting,
remove the root cause, and in turn, make her healthy again. It was redemption on a grand
scale, but it didn't come without a price. While she only saw the pain, I saw the payoff.
Finally, I took her through this whole process only
to leave her in the bathroom and turn out the light (she's most likely contagious, and I couldn't risk making the other babies sick). Instinctually, she
probably felt alone and vulnerable...again. What she didn't understand was that
I was just on the other side of that door. She was in my house now, and she was
safe. She could let her guard down. She could rest. She may not have sensed it,
but I was there all the while, listening for her cries. Through her literal,
bathroom light out and door shut darkness, she wasn't alone.
I laid in bed last night overwhelmed at the goodness of God. He knows, and He sees. Wow.
Our lives may often times resemble Mocha's. Maybe we're in need of an obvious rescue from a catastrophic life...or maybe not. Maybe we're just desperate for a less apparent, but equally as profound rescue from our own hearts, minds, or the mundane life. You see, there's this ridiculous misconception that if you're not on drugs, in jail, working the streets, or living under a bridge, that redemption and restoration aren't necessary. I disagree.
Jesus cares about every part of us- even our hearts- our real hearts. Good, bad, pretty, ugly, or indifferent, He's "all in," if you will. We weren't just redeemed once at the cross, though that alone would be sufficient. I truly believe with every ounce and fiber of my being that God is in the business of our continual redemption. Be encouraged by that. Whatever part it is in you that He's calling out, trust Him. He's just on the other side of that door, and I promise you, His intentions are always good.
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the afflicted; He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and freedom to prisoners; to proclaim the favorable year of the Lord and the day of vengeance of our God; To comfort all who mourn, to grant those who mourn in Zion, giving them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting (Isaiah 61:1-3).
I laid in bed last night overwhelmed at the goodness of God. He knows, and He sees. Wow.
Our lives may often times resemble Mocha's. Maybe we're in need of an obvious rescue from a catastrophic life...or maybe not. Maybe we're just desperate for a less apparent, but equally as profound rescue from our own hearts, minds, or the mundane life. You see, there's this ridiculous misconception that if you're not on drugs, in jail, working the streets, or living under a bridge, that redemption and restoration aren't necessary. I disagree.
Jesus cares about every part of us- even our hearts- our real hearts. Good, bad, pretty, ugly, or indifferent, He's "all in," if you will. We weren't just redeemed once at the cross, though that alone would be sufficient. I truly believe with every ounce and fiber of my being that God is in the business of our continual redemption. Be encouraged by that. Whatever part it is in you that He's calling out, trust Him. He's just on the other side of that door, and I promise you, His intentions are always good.
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the afflicted; He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and freedom to prisoners; to proclaim the favorable year of the Lord and the day of vengeance of our God; To comfort all who mourn, to grant those who mourn in Zion, giving them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting (Isaiah 61:1-3).
Thursday, October 30, 2014
A little morning glory
I am, by nature, a planner, a critical thinker, and a big fan of introspection.
I think it's vital to our growth as human beings to pause and take an honest evaluation of where we're at, what it is we're aiming for, and by what methods we live out our daily lives. Today as I watched a breathtaking sunrise, the house was caked in flour (it's a long story) and I was soaking in the giggles of a child. I couldn't help but think maybe some areas of my life are deficient. For instance, my more-frequent-than-I'd-like-to-admit- lack of thankfulness.
I woke up with a beating heart this morning, and sometimes, I forget the sheer triumph it is to be alive. Our bodies are these intricately formed miracles that function without conscious effort or awareness. If we, if I, stopped to consider the majesty of that, our perspectives would undoubtedly improve.
Life is full of trials, but yet it overflows with victories, beauty, and raw wonder. I think when we set our hearts on living appreciative, the small wins will become more visible and the big ones all the more glorious.
I am thankful. I'm thankful to be alive. I'm thankful to be loved. I'm thankful to have eyes that behold the beauty of creation. I'm thankful to have ears that can distinguish laughter. I'm thankful to have arms full of nieces and nephews and siblings and god-children that are happy, healthy, and loved. I'm thankful to live in a country that, despite it's failures, allows me the freedom to be and live and go and do. I'm thankful for solid, unadulterated friendships, for truth, for fun, and for flowers. I'm thankful for macaroni and cheese and chocolate soy milk at 2am. I'm thankful for Jesus. I'm thankful for every road trip, airplane flight, and taxi ride I've ever been afforded. I'm thankful for all life's other little pleasures, and dare I say it, I'm thankful for life's displeasures, too, because they've made the "other side" all the more precious.
And with that, I dare you to nourish a grateful heart today. The end.
I think it's vital to our growth as human beings to pause and take an honest evaluation of where we're at, what it is we're aiming for, and by what methods we live out our daily lives. Today as I watched a breathtaking sunrise, the house was caked in flour (it's a long story) and I was soaking in the giggles of a child. I couldn't help but think maybe some areas of my life are deficient. For instance, my more-frequent-than-I'd-like-to-admit- lack of thankfulness.
I woke up with a beating heart this morning, and sometimes, I forget the sheer triumph it is to be alive. Our bodies are these intricately formed miracles that function without conscious effort or awareness. If we, if I, stopped to consider the majesty of that, our perspectives would undoubtedly improve.
Life is full of trials, but yet it overflows with victories, beauty, and raw wonder. I think when we set our hearts on living appreciative, the small wins will become more visible and the big ones all the more glorious.
I am thankful. I'm thankful to be alive. I'm thankful to be loved. I'm thankful to have eyes that behold the beauty of creation. I'm thankful to have ears that can distinguish laughter. I'm thankful to have arms full of nieces and nephews and siblings and god-children that are happy, healthy, and loved. I'm thankful to live in a country that, despite it's failures, allows me the freedom to be and live and go and do. I'm thankful for solid, unadulterated friendships, for truth, for fun, and for flowers. I'm thankful for macaroni and cheese and chocolate soy milk at 2am. I'm thankful for Jesus. I'm thankful for every road trip, airplane flight, and taxi ride I've ever been afforded. I'm thankful for all life's other little pleasures, and dare I say it, I'm thankful for life's displeasures, too, because they've made the "other side" all the more precious.
And with that, I dare you to nourish a grateful heart today. The end.
Friday, October 17, 2014
Be careful, momma mouth, what you say!
Be careful, little mouth, what you say!
Oh be careful, little mouth, what you say!
There's a Father up above,
And He's looking down in love.
So be careful, little mouth, what you say!
I can't be the only one who sings this song. I don't even remember where I first learned it, or who sang it to me, but it's one of those baby lullabies that's permanently engraved in my brain, and every niece, nephew, and god child I have has to suffer through my less-than-gracious singing abilities while I spit out these words, because "Good night, baby," finally got old. Enough of my story.
I'm flabbergasted.
I just left preschool time at the gym, which is dramatic every other Friday all in its own, but this time, momma was the culprit. She outdid every preschooler in the place, put together, and then multiplied. Literally, it was that bad.
I watched the whole scenario unfold. Kid 1 jumps into the foam pit, followed by Kid 2 who gets a little too anxious and lunges into the foam pit with glee, hitting Kid 1 in the mouth and busting open a lip. Kid 1 screams, Kid 2 looks puzzled, and then the world fell apart. Not the kids' world, mind you, but momma's world. Yes, she was panicked. No, nobody wants to see their toddler in pain. Yes, blood makes everything seem more serious. I get all of that, but her reaction...? Inappropriate, to say the least.
She physically confronts the kid, yanks her bleeding child from the pit, and marches off yelling, "You stupid kid!" Mom 1 then shoves Kid 1 into Mom 2 and says, "Control your monster! He hurt my angel!"
Okay, okay, back up. We're gathered in a small space crammed full of feisty youngsters who are experiencing sensory overload at it's finest. You have to be ready for anything momma, including a busted lip.
Anybody who's spent more than sixty seconds with a child between the stages of crawling and graduating high school knows accidents happen. It's almost like the little aliens are born accident-prone. Why do you think there's fifteen different cartoon band aids lining the Walmart isle? Because kids get hurt...all the time.
Kid 1 has a busted lip, and within a week or so, it will heal. Kid 2 just got publicly humiliated, disgraced, and bullied by someone ten times his age. I don't know how long that wound will take to scab over, much less heal. Death and life are in the power of the tongue; a concept much more hefty to grasp than the manners or patience of a four-year-old child.
Wake up, moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, and caretakers of the world! We have to get a hold on our words, actions, and reactions. Those little eyes and ears are watching us, ever so closely, and they will repeat everything we teach them. Let's be gentle in our correction, kind in our chaos, and never ever demeaning or cruel in our words. After all, this big bad world is mean enough, and I think we ought not raise more bullies, yeah?
Oh be careful, little mouth, what you say!
There's a Father up above,
And He's looking down in love.
So be careful, little mouth, what you say!
I can't be the only one who sings this song. I don't even remember where I first learned it, or who sang it to me, but it's one of those baby lullabies that's permanently engraved in my brain, and every niece, nephew, and god child I have has to suffer through my less-than-gracious singing abilities while I spit out these words, because "Good night, baby," finally got old. Enough of my story.
I'm flabbergasted.
I just left preschool time at the gym, which is dramatic every other Friday all in its own, but this time, momma was the culprit. She outdid every preschooler in the place, put together, and then multiplied. Literally, it was that bad.
I watched the whole scenario unfold. Kid 1 jumps into the foam pit, followed by Kid 2 who gets a little too anxious and lunges into the foam pit with glee, hitting Kid 1 in the mouth and busting open a lip. Kid 1 screams, Kid 2 looks puzzled, and then the world fell apart. Not the kids' world, mind you, but momma's world. Yes, she was panicked. No, nobody wants to see their toddler in pain. Yes, blood makes everything seem more serious. I get all of that, but her reaction...? Inappropriate, to say the least.
She physically confronts the kid, yanks her bleeding child from the pit, and marches off yelling, "You stupid kid!" Mom 1 then shoves Kid 1 into Mom 2 and says, "Control your monster! He hurt my angel!"
Okay, okay, back up. We're gathered in a small space crammed full of feisty youngsters who are experiencing sensory overload at it's finest. You have to be ready for anything momma, including a busted lip.
Anybody who's spent more than sixty seconds with a child between the stages of crawling and graduating high school knows accidents happen. It's almost like the little aliens are born accident-prone. Why do you think there's fifteen different cartoon band aids lining the Walmart isle? Because kids get hurt...all the time.
Kid 1 has a busted lip, and within a week or so, it will heal. Kid 2 just got publicly humiliated, disgraced, and bullied by someone ten times his age. I don't know how long that wound will take to scab over, much less heal. Death and life are in the power of the tongue; a concept much more hefty to grasp than the manners or patience of a four-year-old child.
Wake up, moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, and caretakers of the world! We have to get a hold on our words, actions, and reactions. Those little eyes and ears are watching us, ever so closely, and they will repeat everything we teach them. Let's be gentle in our correction, kind in our chaos, and never ever demeaning or cruel in our words. After all, this big bad world is mean enough, and I think we ought not raise more bullies, yeah?
Sunday, October 12, 2014
The great wager
I feel compelled to start this post off with a truthful disclosure: I have absolutely no idea where or how this writing is going to end. My heart is full, but my words are tangled in the spider web of complication. I think they've termed this syndrome "writer's block," but I can't make a definite diagnosis. Anyways, consider yourselves warned.
If I had to adequately describe the last twelve months of my life in ten seconds or less, I would tell you that it was like riding the world's tallest roller coaster backwards and blindfolded after eating cheese tots and winning the lottery, to which you might be compelled to ask, "What does that mean?", and I would further clarify by telling you I have no idea. Our exchange would be among the top ten most sincere conversations I've ever had.
Life is weird (or, at least mine is, anyways). My cousin and I were recently discussing our lives and all the triumphs, struggles, complications, and victories in our journeys. Our ramblings escorted me all the way down memory lane, and I can safely say that life is surprising. Believe it or not, I think that's a good thing.
I am so thankful. In fact, I don't even like the word thankful because it feels overused, cheap, and devoid of value, but Webster's pocket dictionary only offered me blissful, chuffed, delighted, gratified, happy, joyful, joyous, pleased, satisfied, glad, or tickled as synonyms, and none of those fit. I am hugely, extraordinarily, and exceedingly grateful for the daily opportunity to breathe fresh air.
The places God has brought me to and through and around and under are crazy good, to the point of being unbelievable. The paths I've meandered on and down and around are breath-taking and maybe a bit frightening. The sights and sounds and smells along the way are almost too much for human language. This whole being alive thing, it's just really, really, really marvelous. Sometimes I'm afraid we take that for granted.
I don't know what's next. My perfectly laid out, neatly ordered, and firmly established life plan gets jumbled out of order unexpectedly at approximately hourly intervals, so I've pretty much given up on the whole trying to figure out what's behind the next curve thing. Maybe I'll visit the moon, or Paris, or my next door neighbor (that last one is highly unlikely). Or maybe I'll take an early retirement and stay home and write novels while drinking excessive amounts of chocolate soy milk and eating honey nut cheerios with my puppies. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll run an orphan village and turn out like the little old lady who lived in a shoe, except I won't be whipping kids before bed, and we won't actually live in a worn out shoe. The truth is, I don't know about tomorrow, or next week, or a year from now, but I'm all-in. I want to love large and lead people to Jesus. It's really just that simple.
If I had to adequately describe the last twelve months of my life in ten seconds or less, I would tell you that it was like riding the world's tallest roller coaster backwards and blindfolded after eating cheese tots and winning the lottery, to which you might be compelled to ask, "What does that mean?", and I would further clarify by telling you I have no idea. Our exchange would be among the top ten most sincere conversations I've ever had.
Life is weird (or, at least mine is, anyways). My cousin and I were recently discussing our lives and all the triumphs, struggles, complications, and victories in our journeys. Our ramblings escorted me all the way down memory lane, and I can safely say that life is surprising. Believe it or not, I think that's a good thing.
I am so thankful. In fact, I don't even like the word thankful because it feels overused, cheap, and devoid of value, but Webster's pocket dictionary only offered me blissful, chuffed, delighted, gratified, happy, joyful, joyous, pleased, satisfied, glad, or tickled as synonyms, and none of those fit. I am hugely, extraordinarily, and exceedingly grateful for the daily opportunity to breathe fresh air.
The places God has brought me to and through and around and under are crazy good, to the point of being unbelievable. The paths I've meandered on and down and around are breath-taking and maybe a bit frightening. The sights and sounds and smells along the way are almost too much for human language. This whole being alive thing, it's just really, really, really marvelous. Sometimes I'm afraid we take that for granted.
I don't know what's next. My perfectly laid out, neatly ordered, and firmly established life plan gets jumbled out of order unexpectedly at approximately hourly intervals, so I've pretty much given up on the whole trying to figure out what's behind the next curve thing. Maybe I'll visit the moon, or Paris, or my next door neighbor (that last one is highly unlikely). Or maybe I'll take an early retirement and stay home and write novels while drinking excessive amounts of chocolate soy milk and eating honey nut cheerios with my puppies. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll run an orphan village and turn out like the little old lady who lived in a shoe, except I won't be whipping kids before bed, and we won't actually live in a worn out shoe. The truth is, I don't know about tomorrow, or next week, or a year from now, but I'm all-in. I want to love large and lead people to Jesus. It's really just that simple.
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