The Law of Love

"You never start living until you stop fearing."  - Ann Voskamp

There has been much to fear in this year.  And no doubt, there will be much to fear in the year to come.  Because evil is on the loose in this world.  Lurking behind bushes, prowling the open plains, waiting to devour the weak. 

But take courage because there is One. 

He has overcome this world.

He reigns victorious over this evil. 

Jesus. At His name, the darkness flees.

Do not be afraid.

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." (John 10:10)

Love wins in this epic story.  Love always wins.  And until the day when every knee will bow and tongue confess that Love has won, may the church unite to speak Truth and mourn with those who mourn.  No more. No less. No arguments that will solve nothing. No blame to be tossed. No criticizing of the laws and control or lack thereof. 

When four foot caskets are buried six feet under, I just don't understand how more laws or less laws will cure the human heart responsible for this kind of graveyard.  And I think deep down we all know laws can't prevent evil.  Isn't this why Jesus came?  To fulfill the law that was impossible to keep, to save and redeem His family of sinners, to claim victory over this unbeatable evil that beats in us all? To transform us and send us out as sheep among wolves, not lawmakers among the lawless?

There is only one cure for the wickedness of earth and that is the love of God. 

When Jesus came, He didn't draft new laws.  He loved. And He reminded us what the two most important commands were:

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul, strength. (Deut 6:5, Matt 22:37)
Love your neighbor as yourself. (Lev 19:18, Matt 22:39)

It seems so simple. But even these I cannot keep without Him. I cannot even love without His power and presence in my life.  Not selflessly, not extravagantly, not in a way that exposes Love to a barren, bankrupt heart.  It starts with me. My heart. My circle of influence.  Not with a lawmaking frenzy of pharisaical proportions.

Laws made by man - they are made out of fear.  But perfect love casts out fear.  That's the law of Love.

A Disciple, a Boy and the Multitudes

I’m not exactly sure how many times I’ve collectively heard or read the story but it’s been at least a million. A little boy.  A simple lunch.  And five thousand men to feed.  And my favorite part – they ate until they were satisfied and had twelve baskets of leftovers because the Messiah took what was offered and gave thanks. 

 

 

But this part I noticed just recently. 

 

“Philip answered him, ‘Eight months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each one to have a bite!’ Another of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, spoke up. ‘Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?’”  (John 6:7-9) 

I think I have always focused on the boy.  Everyone says offer what you have.  Give Jesus your bread and fish and he will feed the multitudes. I’ve said that!  And I believe it. Completely.  Give what you have to give. Give thanks.  And watch how He can make it enough. See how He feeds the multitudes.

But the part I missed was Andrew, the disciple who recognized the gift and spoke up.  The boy was young.  And he humbly offered what he had with a childlike faith. And, I have a feeling if the boy offered it to Philip, Phillip would have scoffed and not seen it as enough and walked on by without saying one word to Jesus.

 

Andrew didn’t know if it would be enough. But he knew enough about Jesus to call attention to the boy’s gift.  In this passage of Scripture we see a stark contrast.  One disciple who sees the impossible and another who sees Jesus.  Phillip, who sees an insurmountable task and Andrew, who sees a boy with a gift to offer to the One who cares for the birds of the air and the flowers of the field, so how much more will he care for us? One disciple who cannot fathom feeding five thousand men plus their families and another who dares to imagine what Jesus can do with 5 small loaves and 2 small fish.  Andrew, himself, had empty pockets. Nothing to offer in this moment.  But, his eyes fell on one small boy while his heart was wrapped around the One who made all things possible.

I wonder… which disciple am I more like? Do I see in others, in my children, what they have to offer and encourage them in it?  Do I build others up so THEY  believe their gift is not too small or their talent too insignificant or that they are too small or insignificant for Jesus to use them, to multiply their offering?  Am I missing the beautiful landscape of gifts that completely surround me?

You know… sometimes… I just don’t have anything to offer.  Sometimes, my act of worship is to look for the best gift to present to the Lord - whether my pockets are full or empty - believing that the multitudes can be fed. 

 

“Jesus, we have a boy here with a small lunch.  What can you do?”

 

“Jesus, this little girl with an amazing artistic gift. How can you use her?"

 

“Jesus, this boy with a wild sense of adventure. What are the possibilities?”

Sometimes, I am the one with the offering.  But, sometimes I am the one who sees the boy and calls out his gift to Jesus. And sometimes, I am the multitudes being fed.  So often, I think I’m the one who needs to offer something.  Always digging deep and searching hard for what it is I think the Lord is asking me to give. Typical really.  This self-centered view.  Because I’m not always going to be the one.  I can't be... And does it really matter who does the offering as long as the multitudes are fed on the feast of the Lord?

 

We are the body of Christ, disciples of the One who makes all things possible.  And we live to breathe in His grace and breathe out His praise - together -  and that looks like encouraging each other, moving together, calling out each others gifts before Him – all for Him – in the shadow of the cross, where the ground is level and the glory is all His.

The Last is Closer

He climbed in my lap again this morning.  Eyes half open and hair untamed, he came straight for me. They say the days are long but the years are short.  And I feel every ounce of that truth as he folds into me.  He’s content in my lap. Quiet. Still. And I notice how his toes dangle a little farther this morning and his weight presses in a little firmer and I wonder how this happened and if this is the last time we enjoy a morning snuggle together.  Maybe not.  But I know it is coming.  The last is closer than the first.  And that’s how I should see everything.  With every tick, the last is closer.  So many firsts have come and gone and been celebrated to the full but it’s the lasts that come unnoticed… only visible in a rear view mirror.  And these are the things I want to savor with all five senses – the things that will never come again. And this could be every moment.  Every moment of living could be a last - worth savoring.

In the midst of heaping laundry piles and dead car batteries, driving thousands of miles within a ten mile radius and dirty dishes, being the only one who knows how to change the cotton-pickin' toilet paper roll and perpetually picking up socks that belong to children who never wear them, the mundane and the routine, it's hard to savor the present.  But they won’t be here forever.  He won’t fit in my lap forever, though I tell him I’ll always scoop him and snuggle him close even when he’s sixteen, thirty-six.  He thinks it’s funny and giggles that giggle that pierces my mama heart and I wonder… is that the last little boy giggle?  Someday it will be a manly chuckle or an embarrassed scoff.  The little boy will fade into the man God is building and I'm completely frozen at the thought.  God is building a man before my very eyes.  

I have this idea of the man I want him to be – courageous and compassionate, bold and humble, loving and honest.  And so much more. And in many ways, he already is these things. But simply, I want him to be a man with a reckless faith. A man who worships his God with abandon and serves Him with wholehearted devotion. I want him to be godly. And there is only one way to godliness... and it's not through me.

 

I heard someone say once that if your children can fall in love with Jesus, this world doesn't stand a chance.  Yes.  That is what I want.  For this world to not stand a chance.  I want his courage that today carries him on his bike down the steepest terrain in the hands of Jesus to carry hope to the hopeless in the darkest corners of the earth.  I want his strong will iron-clad resolve that today fights for the sake of fighting in the hands of Jesus to fight the good fight for the sake of righteousness.  I don't want the world to consume my son but the Son through him to consume the world. 
 

I can be Type A about discipleship and list out a thousand ways to show my children who God is... but really it comes down to letting Jesus show Himself through me.  That's how they will fall in love with Him.  Not because of some grand activity complete with an inspiring bible lesson that I planned.  Only by His plan will they see who He is.  And it happens in the least expected moments of the day. Usually after the worst moments of the day.  When we need Jesus the most.  And He shows up.  Right then. When my children have failed and the Holy Spirit guides me to show them the grace I have been given.  When my children have disobeyed and the Holy Spirit guides me to show them the mercy that I have been given.  When my children ache and the Holy Spirit guides me to show them the comfort I have been given.   When I have failed and the Holy Spirit strengthens me to bend at their feet and ask for the forgiveness they have been given.

 

The Bible has made it clear.  Nobody is good.  Not even one.  So how can I, a downright mess, do anything apart from Jesus? Especially something as good as impacting a generation for the glory of Christ? 

He climbs out of my lap and scurries off upstairs.  And I close my eyes and utter silently in thanksgiving and desperation and surrender: 

Lord, the last is closer than the first.  Thank you for this gift.  May I choose the things that are everlasting.  Every moment. May I choose You. Every moment. Shine through me today Lord.  May they see You. Only You. And may we all fall in love with You so this world doesn't stand a chance.

I open my eyes and I see Baby Girl peacefully gazing at me with a hint of a smile.  And I feel it all over again.  The last is closer than the first.

 

Reborn.

I just got home from a night of worship.  A celebratory night of singing praises and worshiping the God who calls the wretch by name, who calls the wretch beloved.  As part of the celebration, there are people baptized into new life at the side of the stage. As the congregation sings His praises, we rejoice along with the angels in heaven at each rebirth. 

Tonight, I paid closer attention than usual to the baptismal. Our friends were baptizing their three children and I didn’t want to miss them, so I noticed nearly every person that approached the promise of new life.  

There was one woman who was baptized in jeans.  Jeans.  I guess she didn’t expect to accept such an invitation tonight.  But she couldn’t refuse.  And maybe she understands something most of us are still trying to wrap our hearts around.  Jesus says come as you are.

There was a gray-haired woman who was baptized too.  Because it’s never too late.  Just ask the sinner that hung next to Jesus.  As long as you can confess with your mouth and believe in your heart, there is a place for you in Paradise.  But the clock is ticking...

There were children and teens and adults.  There were families and singles, men and women, young and old.  And tonight they said yes to Jesus.  All of them.

It was a vivid display of the good news that brought great joy for ALL the people – from the city of David to the ends of the earth.

And it was a good reminder, too.  There are many more who need this message of hope.  And they are closer than I think.

 

Bare.

That’s how we start.  Bare before a holy God.  It’s how He created us.  And He said it was good.  Then, “Don’t eat from this tree”, God says.  But the nature of the human heart desires the forbidden fruit.  Bare and in His presence wasn’t enough.  We were easily convinced there could be more. Only after the tasty morsel is digested do we realize it wasn’t worth it.  And we are left sewing fig leaves and longing to be bare again, whole, holy.  And it doesn’t make sense.  This tension between wanting more and needing only Him. 

We are wretches but we are also chosen, a royal priesthood.  So this holy God who is love had a solution before there was ever a problem. He had a plan all along.  Because He saw it coming.  The bittersweet juice drips down our chins from that sinful bite and it is more than we were made to chew.  So His plan starts to unfold. But it’s going to hurt.  Him. Us.  We go about collecting more so He spends time stripping us bare.  We are ensnared by more.  We need Him alone and more jeopardizes everything.  

But the excess is painful to remove.  And Paul and Peter, they tell us to rejoice.  Rejoice in the suffering.  It’s pure joy. Because it’s the suffering orchestrated by His sovereign hand that is making us bare, more like His Son. The road to bare is marked with suffering but it is the hope of glory. And it’s the only way. 

Our God, He sees us bare already, even as we knit together our coverings, but He wants us to see ourselves that way, living in freedom.  We clench fists and hold tight to more so He pries open fingers, gently.  And nails palms to trees, sorrowfully.  Die to more.  We don’t need it.  Live for Him.  More than we deserve.

And when He strips it all away, layer by layer, we see.  We see Him and we see each other as God truly made us.  No masks.  No fig leaves.  Just a broken, busted people that needs less than we thought but more than we could ever possibly hold with our hands.  What we truly need can only be held by our hearts.  And as we stand bare before Him, we realize how this really is more.  So. much. more.

And just when I think I’m standing bare, I glimpse my reflection. I'm still covered and full of more.  Bow. Pray. This is going to hurt. 

 

Lord, bare and in Your presence is my soul's cry.  I will do anything.

 

“Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners--of whom I am the worst.”  (1 Timothy 1:15)

The Year of Courage

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”  Joshua 1:9 

The year of COURAGE.  I was afraid of my word at first.  Why do I need to focus on courage.  It’s probably natural for the human mind to find all the scary scenarios that would require this word for a year.  Divorce. Death. Sickness.  Just to name a few big ones.

But homeschooling?  Ok. Honestly?  Did. not. see. that. coming.  And yes, much courage is needed for this adventure.

 

 

When the Chef and I made the decision randomly in our kitchen just days after the Lord gave me this anxiety-ridden word, I was delighted, elated, walking on cloud nine.  Because I’d been praying for an educational direction for our children, asking the Lord to work out all these convictions I had.  I was okay either way but He had convicted me so strongly about homeschooling and I didn’t know what to do with it at the time.  And I had prayer warriors approaching His throne of grace with me.  Helping me to work this out with the Lord.  To hear clearly. To wait patiently.

But when the Chef and I agreed to move forward with homeschooling, I had some hard decisions to make.  You can’t pick up something like homeschooling without setting a few things down first.  And besides discerning the things that needed to be left behind for this new season, Bubbs was getting ready to go off to kindergarten.  And I was looking at 3 hours to myself, five days a week!  That’s 15 hours of alone time.  And for some reason, the Lord made me to need an inordinate amount of me-time.  So while I was surrendering my heart and dreaming of how I’d spend my 15 hours, the Lord was moving mountains… crushing my fifteen hours to pieces.

COURAGE.  To lay down my vision of what the year ahead would look like.  And take hold of His.

 

 

So, here I am at the end of my year of COURAGE.  It followed the year of RELATIONSHIP.  And I find it absolutely incredible how this God of song and science strings these things together so meticulously, not skipping a beat, a detail, a heartstring.  Because I needed to dwell in relationships to understand the courage I would need to invest in them. 

 

 

 

This year of COURAGE has been multi-faceted.  There are many reasons He has shown me, asked me to take His courage.

Courage to surrender my days and open my hands and bend in humility to educate the next generation for the glory of Christ.  Courage to walk away from things and say no to things that my soul yearns to participate in.  Courage to isolate myself to the company of children, with little to no adult interaction in hopes that He can shape these little sticks into mighty arrows for His kingdom.  Courage to hope and trust in God’s plan.  Not only for my life but for theirs. 

This isn’t a small task He has called me to.  Yet this is the work He has given me.  And there is always a need for courage to step into His calling.  And for me, my personality, I need a ridiculous amount of courage to do this.  And, I don’t know about next year.  I can only see right now. Right here.  This is what I need to focus on.  The courage needed for this moment.  The courage to focus on Him alone. 

 

Now, I feel behind the scenes. On the bench.  Sitting in the front row of my children’s lives, investing in our relationships.  Why?  Because He has called me to do this.  And He knew I could do this no other way.  I’m not a multi-tasker.  Well, not a good one.  And this… this raising the next generation, these two children that are on fire for Him, that have gifts and talents beyond my comprehension, that are a well of compassion for His people and His creation, that have wills as strong as an ox, He knows it will take focus, all hands on deck, all eyes on Him. 

 

 

“Follow Me. Just Me.”   

This is my God-sized task.   And it requires more courage than I can fathom. I will need to take it.  Take Jesus’ courage.  No. other. way. Because God-sized courage does not dwell within me, without Him.  Apart from Him I can do nothing.

That’s the obvious application of courage.  Some insurmountable task that is full of unknowns and challenges our capabilities.

There is another courage I’ve learned much about this year.  The courage to be quiet. To be silent.  Held. Sometimes when I hurt, when I ache, I want to groan… to people.  But there is a quiet courage in taking refuge in the Lord.  Maybe that is an oxymoron.  Having courage to take refuge. 

 

This season, this year has presented a multitude of opportunities to cry out… to whoever will listen.  To complain.  To ache.  A large part of my first few months of homeschooling have been lived in isolation.  I’ve dropped everything because I just did not know what our days would look like.  And as I’ve nestled back in the dark corners, still dreaming my dreams, I’ve watched others, those I love, living a reality that is only painted on the walls of my imagination, the curves of my heart.  And I dream on while those around me are moving on.  And it takes courage to stay. To be quiet.  To stay focused on what the Lord has for me.  To cry out to Him alone.  And to keep dreaming.

 

The courage it has required surprised me.  I learned I am afraid of being left behind.  Being left on the bench.  But God has been very clear.  He does not waste one moment.  Not. One.  And this time, this season… it is preparing me.  It is part of my sanctification process.  It is what I need to be more like Him. And there will be a day that this season will be the foundation of the work He has prepared in advance for me to do.  And He will use this time in my children’s lives, too.  Mightily. Not because of what I’ve done, but because of who He is. 

“And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” Colossians 3:17

Thank you Father, for this work You’ve so graciously given.  For this opportunity to serve You, to present You in the lives of my children. For Your courage in this assignment. For never leaving me or forsaking me.  For Your unfailing love, your unfathomable peace, Your unmatched patience.  You are amazing.  Thank you for holding me, guiding me, covering me in wild grace.  May this year to come not be a new beginning but an opportunity for You to finish the work you have started.  Not to us but to Your name be the glory, Jesus! Amen.

Happy Anniversary!

A year ago today I started this blog.  The vision I had for it has morphed and changed over the last 365 days and I certainly haven’t been able to write as much as I have wanted but I am so grateful for this space that has allowed me to practice this craft of writing for the glory of God alone.  And as this anniversary has approached it has made me ask myself whether to continue this blog, whether to continue practicing this craft of writing.  But the bigger pondering has been this:

 

Why do I write?  Me.  Why do I spill the words in this space, any space?  So I’ve pondered this question with myself and my God in the quiet places trying to be as real as I can be in His presence.  Because He knows before I speak what my real looks like.  Here are some thoughts as I’ve tussled through this question: Should I keep going?

 

I write to dream big and hope long, and to wrestle through my mess with God, with myself… put my untamed emotions on the table and claim them, own them, surrender them.  I write to give my heart a space to cry and dance. Because when I write, honest and brave, I can see the true condition of my heart.  When I let the real words, the bare-boned truth collect on a page, I see the unsightly, the raw and repulsive, how ungodly I really am as my very nature and how much I desperately need Him and His Son and His grace.  Soul saving, life changing, heart transforming grace.  And how I really don’t need anything else. 

And I can take hold of humility when I am staring at this destructive inner beast that is my very own creation.

 

That’s a big part of why I write… to stare my ugly in the face and hope in the stark beautiful that is God.  To reconcile what I know in my head and what I believe in my heart because sometimes it’s so hard to believe. 

When I read the Bible, when I read about David and Moses and Abraham, when I read about the Pharisees and the many people Jesus encountered, when I read about Peter’s hat trick denial, I see.  It’s so easy. It’s so obvious.  Trust God.  Believe! Don’t you see what He is doing?  He’s. right. there! 

 

The God of the Bible is still right here, breathing warm right next to me.  He is still doing things that are so obvious if I would just archive the story and I have much to say on story.  Mostly, that I want a great one.  One that can only be explained by God’s power and sovereignty, His beauty and grace.  One that makes Him so recognizable because I am just, well, human. A wretch.

 

So I write.  Because the story, it unfolds slowly over time.  And chapter 38 reveals God so obviously because of the first 37 chapters that only whispered His presence.  

 

As I bleed my heart in to this space, I take hold of God alone.  And in my bleeding out, I pray He is lifted up.  And so I write.  As an act of worship. 

 

I hit publish because I pray others will see Him too. I want you to see the first 37 chapters so we can all stand in awe of Him as we read Chapter 38 together.  And I want you to be encouraged when you see my messy and this God that reaches down from the Heavens to transform me by His love.  This God who doesn’t step into my story but writes me into His as the object of His affection. Because that’s the only way my story can really be great. And that’s not even the amazing part.  The amazing part is He is doing the same for you. 

Sharing stories is such a powerful way to see this God who is immutable, unchangeable, changing us all.  This extraordinary God in the ordinary moments of life.  So, yes, I think I will continue to write.  Imperfectly. Randomly.  As He gives the words.  Slowly revealing His story.   

Over the past year, I’ve put up posts here and there and you, friends, have encouraged me every step of the way with your grace-filled selves!  Thank you so much.  I am so grateful for you.  I wouldn’t have the courage to do this without you cheering me on and joining me on this adventure.  You each are counted as gifts!

Here were some of my favorite posts over the year: 

Welcome Home, Child

Sea of Brokenness

A Bargain Purchase

A Field of Sweet Boys

Limitless

Reading, Writing and Arithmetic

Dream Big

The Only Thing

 

Dance with Me

I pray for us all that we would find the courage to take hold of what God gives us and do everything for His glory! I'm looking forward to what He has for us here in the year to come.

Happy Anniversary!

Fear.

Sometimes, I try this idea of writing simply to spill thoughts on a page, for love of the written word, using a prompt from various sources. How? I start and end a post in 15 minutes. The professionals, they do five minutes. I do fifteen.And then I share what fifteen minutes gets me. Just fifteen minutes. Unscripted. Unedited. Real.I thank you in advance for enfolding me in your crazy grace.

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Today's Prompt:  FEAR

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I lay next to him in the dark because my presence is still enough to conquer his fears.  I’m squeezed next to his tiny body on a twin-sized bed that swallows his frame and I think how big he seems when he’s moving at the speed of life.  But in the silence, surrounded by his fear, I realize how small he really is and how this spinning sphere stands still when we are trembling in the shadows. And I whisper thanks that I’m the first soldier he calls to the battlefield and I pray that I am teaching him well about the One who comes with me, the One who goes ahead of us both.  The One who lights up a room because in Him there is no darkness.

Fear… it starts small in a child’s bedroom with the nocturnal sounds and the long shadows and the dark of night. 

Over time, it grows into adult-sized worry, or even full-on paralysis, keeping God-sized dreams in the shadows of our anxiety.  As I lay there, he has no idea I’m battling fears of my own.  He called on me because he thinks I’m courageous.  He called on me because He knew I’d come. 

As we nestle together and dream our what-ifs right there in the dark where danger lurks, I start to hear Jesus’ words in his deep, tiny boy voice sharing wishes that are bigger than both of us.  A child doesn’t know how to think within walls or dream with rules and boundaries or put limits on possibilities.  A child believes all things are possible as long as you have a Friend to walk with through the darkness, past your circumstances.  

“With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” (Matthew 19:26)

He finally lets go, exhales his fears to the ground as his eyelids close soft.  I watch him breathe for a minute before I get up.  As I walk the steps from his bed to the door in quiet darkness, I smile knowing I’m in the presence of a great Friend, both in the darkness and the light.  And I pray that when the darkness closes in, suffocating my dreams, I can muster the courage to speak one word.

Jesus.

 

 

The Lord is my light and my salvation - 

  whom shall I fear?

The Lord is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid?

 

One thing I ask of the Lord, this is what I seek:

  that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,

  to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple.

 

Hear my voice when I call, O Lord;

  be merciful to me and answer me.

 

My heart says of you, "Seek his face!"

  Your face, Lord, I will seek. 

 

(Psalm 27:1, 4, 7-8)

Teaching IS NOT My Gift

I taught my first bible lesson yesterday.  I was nervous.  And though I had prepared I felt completely unprepared.  But I knew I couldn’t delay any longer.  God was asking me to train them in this way.  To deliver His message.  So I took His courage. 

Then at the last minute I had an unexpected guest.  Obviously, an unexpected student only made me more nervous so when the invitation escaped my very own mouth, I almost turned around to ask, "Who said that?".

 

 

Well okay, courage, put your faith where your mouth is. 

 

 

And I did it.  I delivered the message.  It may not have been perfect but I know God’s grace covers the things I forgot to say or the things I said imperfectly.  The seed was spread, the ground watered.  By the Gardener alone.

 

Teaching is not my gift and I'm certain God wants me at the epicenter of my weaknesses. No wandering off.  So here I am teaching.  In more ways than I could have possibly dreamed.  And yesterday, with three sets of eyes focused straight on me, ears atuned to my words, I felt Him.  I know He was driving the train.  Because after all, teaching is not my gift yet I had a captive audience.

 

And His message fell the way He planned, on the ears He had intended all along, even if it wasn’t the way I planned.  And I almost heard Him whisper, "Well done good and faithful servant." Not because anything I said or did was done well, but because I (finally) offered Him my bread and fish.  All I had. Me.

Oh, did I mention the oldest was 9.  Yeah, that age makes me sweat bullets.  But God’s grace made me as cool as a cucumber.  And no, I didn’t use any cheesy metaphors and similes when I delivered my message.  Well, I don't think I did...

And my unexpected guest?  He asked if he could come back again tomorrow.  Well, buddy, tomorrow is Halloween.  How about the next day. 

 

 

So on the day after Halloween, I am expecting three bible study students.  I wonder how many will show up.

Stretch.

Sometimes, I try this idea of writing simply to spill thoughts on a page, for love of the written word, using a prompt from various sources. How? I start and end a post in 15 minutes. The professionals, they do five minutes. I do fifteen. And then I share what fifteen minutes gets me. Just fifteen minutes. Unscripted. Unedited. Real. I thank you in advance for enfolding me in your crazy grace.

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Today's Prompt:  STRETCH

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Photo Credit

This is what I asked for.  This is what God laid on my heart and I prayed about for over two years.  And then, randomly one day in the kitchen, the Chef and I made the decision. 

And for months, I’ve been riding on the euphoric cloud that God has answered my prayers and I can officially call myself a homeschooler.

And then books started to arrive.

 

And more books.

 

With “Teacher’s Manuals”.  For the teacher.  Me, apparently.  Because I had faith to pray to a God who listens.

And the calendar started to clear.  And more room appeared in those little white squares that count off a life. 

 

More space… to teach.  Less time… for me or fellowship or ministry.  Because THIS is my ministry. And this is where I will find fellowship.  With my own flesh and blood.

So now I sit in my house full of books staring at a blank calendar wondering what my life will look like and how I will emotionally put one foot in front of the other, how I will let those books build a bridge between us, not a wall.  

 

And I strike up the thought that sometimes our prayers are answered because He needs us to remember how much we need Him.  And in a quiet house, stocked and ready to learn, I feel incapable and alone.  So. very. alone. And I desperately need Him, the Teacher.

 

I am emotionally stretched.  Completely.

 

I have so many books to educate.  But they only give me the educational facts to communicate.  And my student closes her heart tight and these manuals don’t say anything about how to break open the heart seams, how to gently walk in and catch a glimpse, how to take note of its condition and saturate it with love and grace.  Tender love and wild grace.

 

And the kids have been acting up.  Fighting without ceasing and I want to pray without ceasing and the books, the ones for the teacher don’t say anything about this. 

 

And this is only the beginning.

 

And I’m stretched.  Beyond my ability.  Straight to my weaknesses.   And I see how this is what He intended all along.  What He always intends.  To stretch me straight to the cross.   Because without Him I can do nothing (John 15:5).  And without Him, hearts don’t change and weaknesses are not folded up into His strength so He may be glorified. 

Stretched to the cross I must lay myself down.  Because everything that is stretching me has one purpose.  To destroy my flesh.   Because my flesh will not educate any of us.    

 

So I reach for the only teacher’s manual I really need.  And I soak up every life-giving word from the Word.  And I pray for this year to come.  And I know.  The Teacher and His manual, they will take us to new heights and we will most certainly learn a thing or two.

A Good Friday Rambling (on a random Wednesday)

I stood there raising my hands, hanging my head as the music resounded and my heart pounded because I am so unworthy to stand behind this name… and yet I can.  And I do. With all I’ve got.

“All condemned, feel no shame at the sound of Your great name. (Romans 8:1)

Every fear has no place at the sound of Your great name. (1 John 4:18)

The enemy, he has to leave at the sound of Your great name. (James 4:7)”

On Good Friday, I worshipped the God who rescued me, His Son who bled for me, just like I do on any given Sunday, every given day.  I stood on shaking legs, singing praises, shouting His great name, drowning in His goodness when there is nothing good in me.  And I realized how so very far I am from understanding the work He did at Calvary, from understanding His great name, His greater love that surrendered His sinless life to hang on a tree. A death we can scarcely fathom.  All so our souls could stand… free.

“Jesus, worthy is the Lamb that was slain for us. Son of God and man You are high and lifted up. That all the world will praise Your great name.”

The name of Jesus… one day every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord.  But, not today.  Today, the battle rages on… even on Good Friday.  Even within my own heart.  Even when I call on this name, Jesus, I still battle to take hold of what it means to me here and now. That I am free.  That the cross was enough. There are no chains on me.  I am free of shame, free of condemnation, free in Christ.  And, I can barely grasp it. Because the enemy, he’s clamoring my broken chains behind me and whispering his lies and worse… his half-truths.  His sole purpose?  To keep me from mine.  And some days, it’s all so easy to believe and the familiar sounds from those shackles of my yesterdays, they can drag me down to a darkness I remember all too well. And I start believing things will never change.  All this following hard after Jesus just makes the enemy more persistent with his lies.

But this name…

Jesus.  He puts the enemy at my feet. His name comes with power, declaring my freedom.  And, it is enough.  More than enough.   Because, “It is finished.”  There is nothing I can do.  There never was. The veil is torn and I can freely delight in the presence of God again, the very thing I was made to do.  Jesus drank from this cup of suffering when I was His enemy, in direct opposition to the Father, stained and unclean.   And He was nailed to a tree and spilled innocent blood just longing for the day I could turn around and call Him friend. So this carpenter’s son who was God’s Son built a bridge from my stubborn heart to the very heart of God.   

All this and yet, I still hang my head on Good Friday.  And I bend over in shame and wrap my heart in the torn veil scraps as I wonder how to take hold of this freedom, how to stand tall. Unashamed.  Because, just like Adam and Eve in the garden, I’m hiding behind the bushes in my shame, a victim of my own humanness that believes there is work to do to earn my grace.    

“Hungry souls receive grace at the sound of Your great name. (Psalm 107:9)”

God, He has forgiven me one crown of thorns, a bloody beating and three nails over. And, He asks us to forgive as He has forgiven. But the well of grace is dry within me when it comes to my own soul. Why is His grace washing so hard to accept, believe, claim?  Because I know my whole truth so breathing grace over myself?  How could I? 

But God, He knows the whole truth too.   He knows every thought I hold. He sees all the things I do in the quiet places just as clearly as the open places.  He hears every word that rolls off my tongue.  Every. Single. One. And still, He whispers love straight through the veil and calls my heart out of hiding. 

He exhales grace all over me at the slightest whisper of this name. Jesus.  The things I’ve done, they had no power over the grave.   All my words, all my thoughts, all my yesterdays, they hold no power still.  Because God the Father, He can’t take back the cross. He can’t fill the grave, replace the stone and take away the victory.  It. Is. Finished.  This sovereign God, He doesn’t make mistakes.  He saw from the cross what I see in my yesterdays.   And He’s continually raining down grace because we continually need it.  Open hands, bent knees, humble hearts receive grace.  Not shame.

My chains are broken, my heart free, my soul dancing in His healing rain. And the reality of my freedom swells a burning desire within me to join my Redeemer in setting the capitves free... all in the power of this name. Jesus.

"The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners." (Isaiah 61:1-2)

song lyrics from "Your Great Name" by Natalie Grant