Dear,

I know your thoughts; I can hear them. (...engagements, graduate school, weddings, pregnancies, careers, babies, statuses upon statuses and photos upon photos, with hundreds of likes and congratulations and thanks-I-have-the-best-job/husband/kid-ever!, strung across Facebook like lights on an over-decorated Christmas tree, everyone smiling, happy, and living, everyone but...) 

You believe everyone else moves forward while you stand still. Your greatest fear is being left behind. But this is not a race, My love, and you are not losing.

I gave her those words because you needed to hear them. I gave her those words because they are true. Where you are is where you're supposed to be. You are not a late bloomer, dear one--just a different kind of bloom. You're not behind schedule--you're just on a different timeline. I have never been in the business of cookie-cutter lives. I value creativity over efficiency, for Time means naught to Me. Your story is as unique as the soul I fashioned to live it.

If you spend your life wrapped up in jealousy over everyone else's story, you will miss the beauty of your own. Don't be concerned if the plot looks nothing like the stories around you. Don't be afraid if it takes an unexpected twist. For I am the Author of this story, and I hold your best interest at heart.

You are exactly who I made you to be, Beloved. And you are right on time.

Dear God,

All I want for Christmas is You.

My Christmas List.

The glow of Christmas lights. Hot chocolate. The thought of snow, and fireplaces. Writing Christmas cards to dear loved ones while listening to familiar (or new!) Christmas melodies on my Pandora station. The smell of pine. Family traditions. Christmas movies. Decorating the tree with childhood ornaments. Apple cider. Snowflake earrings, penguin pajamas, and snowman socks. Caroling. Scarves. Baking cookies. Christmas pageants and live nativities. Making a list and checking it twice. Finding the perfect gift for someone. Wrapping those gifts in bright-colored paper (still listening to Christmas music). Christmas Eve service. Sparkling grape juice. Reading the story of Baby Jesus. Taking a ridiculous amount of pictures. Setting the table with fancy dishes. Cold weather. Snuggling under soft blankets. Being near the ones I love and holding them close--whether it be in my arms, or in my heart.

This is my list of things I love about Christmas. These are the reasons why I refuse to be jaded by commercialism, made cynical by all the ridiculous advertisements on television. Because those things don't matter, and they are by no means strong enough to overpower the things that really do--loving what is beautiful, and believing in miracles, and gazing with wonder, and letting the joy spill over, and thanking God for moments like these.

All The Children of the World.

Let the little children come to Me, and I will sing lullabies into the smooth hollows of their ears, Baby, my hands are full of birds that sing and diamond rings, until they breathe easy and slip into dreams, away from the ugliness that is the world, their innocence lost the first time they opened their eyes, for I put them in your charge, and you are a shedder of blood and a spreader of hate.

Let the little children come to Me, for you will brand them with your prejudice, you will fill the beautiful ears of My precious ones with noise that drowns out My cries, I love you, I love you, I love you. You will watch them starve and let them die, you will throw them to the flames for the sake of the ideologies you serve. In times of tragedy, you will grieve their loss and then forget, but I will not forget, for there are not enough sparrows in the world to account for their worth.

Let the little children come to Me, for they are the ones who will lead you when you have lost your way. Take their hands in yours. Feed them when they are hungry. Give them a cup of cold water when they are thirsty. Children are dying every day, and if you let them, you will sink to the bottom of the sea with a millstone 'round your neck. But if you hold them close, if you cradle them in your lap, there you will discover My heart. There, you will learn to love.

Let the little children come to Me, and I will wrap their broken bodies in light. I will hush their crying, catch their tears in my fingertips. They will be birthed into innocence for the very first time, and to them I will give My Kingdom. Come, little children. Come.

And He Came.

I've been searching for a job for months. Filling out application after application, reworking my resume innumerable times, writing eloquent cover letters, taking personality surveys, pestering potential employers with phone calls every few days, reciting the answers to interview questions in my head. Months of this routine, and nothing, absolutely nothing, to show for it.

A week ago, I reached my breaking point. The volcanic emotional sludge that had slowly been encasing my heart was on the verge of a destructive explosion that would most likely wipe out all life within a ten-mile radius. It took all the self-control I possessed (and probably a large portion I didn't) to keep the roiling emotions contained. 

But the containment couldn't last forever. And that's when things began to happen very quickly.

Thursday: That evening, I went to a Bible study. Being around fellow Jesus-lovers alleviated my dark mood, calming me enough to hear God speak. He told me I had been selfish. He told me that it was time to stop justifying my misery, as if I deserved to wallow in self-pity just because life wasn't panning out exactly the way I wanted. So, I took His hand and left the idols of my future expectations broken on the ground. In return, He gave me peace.

Friday: A friend informed me about a job opening, and I applied. 

Monday: I received a call to come in for an interview. 

Tuesday: After writing in my prayer journal and placing everything in God's hands, I went to the interview. 

Wednesday (today): I was offered the job. I accepted. I may also have jumped around in a circle in excitement. 

Months and months of searching and striving and dumping in my human efforts, when all along, He was just waiting for me to give it to Him. To acknowledge my own weakness so He could meet me there. He accomplished in a week what I could not do in six months. 

Tell me there is no God; your words will never be enough to convince me. For I see His hand everywhere I go.

What Grandpa Taught.

As my grandma wheeled him to bed, he reached over the top of the couch and patted me on the head. "I love you, Sweetheart."

I turned toward him and smiled, a smile that always came easily when he was near. "I love you too, Grandpa!" 

They were the last words we would speak to each other. It was fitting, for that brief exchange essentially encompassed the entirety of our relationship. Grandpa and I adored each other. Simple as that. We never had deep discussions about the intricacies of life. He never told me stories about his childhood. We just loved to be together, whether it was sitting at the table sipping coffee in the morning, or eating ice cream on the couch while watching Jeopardy at night.

My love for Grandpa was partly selfish, I'll admit. It was easy to love him, because he loved me. It was a love I never questioned. I just knew--I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. I don't recall him ever speaking an unkind word to me. He was by no means a perfect man, but so secure was I in his love and so completely did I love him in return, I was willing to overlook every fault of his in an instant.

Since Grandpa died, I've been spending a lot of time considering what exactly made me feel so close to him, though we only saw each other once a year. And I realized that for me, Grandpa mirrored an essential aspect of God's love. 1 John 4:19 declares, "We love because he first loved us." I loved Grandpa because he loved me first, from the time I was a child. The knowledge that he loved me, the security I felt in that, fueled my love for him.

God loves us more completely and fiercely than any human ever could. If we could grasp that truth, or even a meager portion of it, our lives would be utterly changed. It's not a striving kind of love. It's not an always-trying-to-be-good-enough kind of love. It's a climb-up-in-His-lap-and-simply-enjoy-being-with-Him kind of love.

When someone loves us like that, it's an easy thing to love in return. In being loved, we learn how to love. I know, because Grandpa helped teach me.

While Visions of Axe Murderers Dance in My Head.

It was late, the fog nearly thick as the dark, smearing the trees on either side of the road into milky oblivion. My headlights granted me a small patch of visibility just ahead, and I fixed my eyes on the double yellow lines with the desperation of a child at sea clinging to a life preserver.

I knew the road well, but in the murk, it had suddenly morphed into a different creature entirely, eerily strange and impossibly long. I strained my eyes for the blinking yellow traffic-light that should be appearing at any moment, but only darkness filled my vision. The frantic thought even entered my head that perhaps I was on the wrong road, though I knew this was untrue. I had driven this road hundreds of times. I knew exactly where I was going. Still, I held my breath until that familiar yellow light winked lazily through the haze.

Only a few scenarios would have made that situation more terrifying. Scenario #1: An axe murderer appears on the side of the road. Scenario #2: My car breaks down. Scenario #3: The road is one I have never driven before.

The effect the dark and fog had on me that night, though it was really only a mild bout of paranoid anxiety, made me realize why I'm so terrified of life at this point in my journey. Because the road I'm on now is one I've never been on before--this highway of growing up, adulthood, independence, whatever you'd like to call it. I can barely see the ground before my feet. I'm driving painfully slow, afraid a sharp curve will suddenly appear, or the edge of a cliff. All I've got is my little square of light, and what if the next object it illuminates is an axe murderer? I'm blocked on all sides by the unknown, and this road never seems to end. I keep thinking, soon, soon, soon, but my headlights only reveal another empty stretch of road.

But the thing is, if I spend all my time looking at the shadows, I will inevitably crash. I do have a light source, small as it may seem in my own warped perspective. That light is guiding me, foot by foot, mile by mile. It pierces the darkness just enough to tunnel me through it, if I will but watch where it leads me. I may only see it glimpse by glimpse, but I trust that I am on the right road. And somewhere in the night ahead, a brighter light beckons, calling me home.

Forgive Me, Father, For I Have Sinned.

I have been selfish. I have watched my idols, so lovingly crafted, topple, splinter their brittle glass bones upon the floor, shards that brought my skin to bleeding. I have wept for them. I have cradled their lifeless faces in my arms, faces I formed by my own hand, their eyes empty, like me. I have been angry as they crumbled back to dust, for deep in the corners of my unacknowledged subconscious, I believed they were strong enough to save me.

I have watered the mud-hole of my self-pity, drowned all seeds of life in the sorrow I claimed as my right. I have coveted the blessings of others while neglecting my own. I have thrown temper tantrums. I have whined and complained and stomped my feet. I have ridden the winds of my emotions and used my pain to excuse it.

I wanted a part to play that was beautiful and grand. I wanted to travel overseas and offer bowls of rice to orphans, or move across the country and settle deep into the heart of a great revival. But I did not want it for His glory; I wanted it for mine. Not for love, but to assuage the guilt of my blackened heart. And being given no clear and magnificent purpose, I have doubted that I was made for any use at all, and buried my talents in the dirt.

These are my confessions, and they are only a few. I do not fear them, anymore. They may war against me, but they do not define me. No failure of mine can overshadow my identity, the new name given to me on the day God looked down and called me daughter. But I do ask forgiveness, for I have sinned. And this is the place where I drop the tattered remains of who I used to be, into the abyss that stretches ever on, far away from me.

For Those Days.

There will be days when you reach the point of breaking.

There will be days when the smile refuses to come.

There will be days when the cliches cannot sooth you.

There will be days when your skin itches with anger.

There will be days when your insides are screaming.

There will be days when the words will come out.

There will be people who judge you by those words.

There will be people who are offended by your honesty.

(But those people, are only cymbals, clanging.)

There will be people who understand your desperation.

There will be people who love you at your messiest.

There will be people who see you through the eyes of God.

There will be people who recognize that they are the same.

And those people, will make those days, a little easier to bear.

Epic Win: Addendum.

"This day is like the time of Noah to me. I promised then that I would never flood the world again. In the same way, I promise I will not be angry with you or punish you again. The mountains may disappear, and the hills may come to an end, but my love will never disappear; my promise of peace will not come to an end.

"You poor city. Storms have hurt you, and you have not been comforted. But I will rebuild you with turquoise stones, and I will build your foundations with sapphires. I will use rubies to build your walls and shining jewels for the gates and precious jewels for all your outer walls. I will build you using fairness. You will be safe from those who would hurt you, so you will have nothing to fear. Nothing will come to make you afraid.

"No weapon that is used against you will defeat you. You will show that those who speak against you are wrong. These are the good things my servants receive. Their victory comes from me."

-God, as recorded in Isaiah 54:9-12, 14, and 17

Epic Win.

I pondered the question long and hard, searching for the answer. What does the cross mean to me? What does it symbolize? The discussion had already moved on by the time I reached a word that satisfied me: Victory.

While on that cross, Jesus seemed a picture of defeat, cloaked in suffering and shame. His disciples believed Him to be defeated and scattered. The crowd believed Him to be defeated and mocked him. The demons believed Him to be defeated and erupted into cackles and grins.

And I think many times, when we imagine the cross, that is what we see. The Lamb being led to the slaughter. The pain and suffering and darkness. The shame, the despair.

But though these are essential aspects of the cross, and it is absolutely vital that we (do our best to) grasp the price that Jesus paid that day, it is not the end of the story.

Newsflash: He's not on that cross anymore. The cross is empty; He conquered it, along with death and the grave, swallowing up the darkness in victory. He brought back the keys of Hell and handed them to us, saying, Go. I have given all authority to you. Open blinded eyes. Raise the dead. Set the prisoners free. 

I have heard it said we often think in terms of either/or when God says both. The cross was shame and victory, suffering and glory. Don't stop at one and forget the other. Jesus may have died like a criminal, but His life was not taken from Him; He gave it freely. And though we have our own crosses to bear, our burden is light--for He already bore it. We are more than conquerors, for we won long before we ever stepped onto the battlefield. No attacks that rise against us can quench the new life we've been given. We live in resurrection power. And the joy set before us from that knowledge gives us more than enough strength to endure.

Dear God,

On New Year's Day of 2012, I dedicated this year to You. I told You to break me, mess me up, lead me wherever You would. I told You I wasn't asking for an easy year, or a comfortable one. What I was asking for was a year of beautiful things.

The year is nearly over, and I have never been more miserable. I have been searching for a job for months with no success. I'm living at home when I yearn to be on my own. I've watched new relationships pop up on Facebook like daisies in springtime while cradling my own broken heart. I've said goodbye to friends who moved much too far away. I'm trapped in the town where I've spent my last eleven years, and I'm beginning to fear I'll never escape. My grandpa, whom I adored, died.

And it's all because of You. Maybe if You had warned me, I would never have prayed that prayer. But I did pray it, and You took me at my word. You broke me, messed me up, led me in circles. You didn't give me an easy year, or a comfortable one.

But, my God! You gave me a year of beautiful things. You upheld me through my final semester of college. You brought my entire family together for my graduation, from across oceans and over thousands of miles, and because of that, we could all have wonderful memories with Grandpa, one last time. Even without a job, You provided me with just enough money at exactly the right times to pay my bills. You allowed me to travel, to North Carolina and Alabama and California. You gave me the opportunity to be in a dear friend's wedding, and witness a union between two people who love You and love each other more than words can adequately describe. You orchestrated events so that I could be with Grandpa during his last days on Earth, giving me more precious memories to cling to, and giving me the chance to say goodbye.

It has been a year of goodbyes. And changes, and uncertainty. And I have hated so much of it. But even in my darkest moments, I knew this could only be You. I could see Your hand at work, glimpse traces of Your goodness, the cracks I thought might shatter me forming into the beautiful instead.

Yes, if You had warned me, I might have been too afraid to dedicate this year to You. But I'm glad You didn't. Because I don't regret that prayer. Not for a second.

Don't Count on Me.

I hope you don't count on me to say something profound. I hope you don't count on me to have the perfect words. I hope you don't count on me to bring you comfort.

God knows, I'll try. But I hope you don't count on me. Because I'm bound to fail.

It's my responsibility to be honest. It's my responsibility to love. It's my responsibility to write, because these words are gifts, given to me for a reason. These things I know, I know. But it's not my responsibility to save you. I feel the pressure, sometimes. But it's not my yoke to bear. If you put it on me, my spine will snap, and you will be alone.

I know because too often, I put that burden on myself. And I come so close to breaking.

We are fragile creatures, all of us. Every day we are catching cold and sinking into depression and losing our sanity and dying. I'm not saying there is no goodness or beauty left. I'm not saying we are without hope. I am only saying, it is a dangerous thing to count on me, or any of them, to save you.

Because we all need saving. And I've only ever met one Man who was strong enough to do it.

Goin' to the Chapel of Love.

Chaos (noun) - a state of utter confusion or disorder; a total lack of organization or order, e.g., the week preceding a wedding.

I drove to Alabama on a Monday, happily exchanging the palm trees of the coast for the kaleidoscoped colors of the autumn-cloaked mountains. My college roommate and dear friend, Kayla, was to be married the following weekend, and I was arriving early to offer whatever assistance I could during the final preparations.  

In the midst of mass chaos, the line between tragedy and comedy is often a fine one. It's as if you have been inserted into one of those disaster movies where everything goes wrong, and though even hearing the two words "tablecloth" and "crisis" strung together might be hilarious from the other side of a television screen, the dilemma of a tablecloth shortage suddenly seems more serious when you're the one who has to fix it. Especially when a new dilemma is certain to arise the next time the phone rings, which is apparently about every fifteen minutes for a bride-to-be.

As the week progressed, we were late for nearly everything. Decorating the reception, the rehearsal, the bachelorette party, the pictures. But somehow, at 3:47pm on October 27, 2012, a gray, windy day that was kind enough to withhold the rain, all the pieces came together as if drawn by an unseen force (let's just call it God), and the rest of the week melted away into the single moment that mattered, the moment that all the week's craziness had been leading toward.

Kayla entered the aisle from the basement stairs, veiled and radiant in white, her mother by her side. I ventured a glance at the groom. The expression on Daniel's face was one I had seen before. It meant the woman he loved had entered the room. 

Kayla and her mother walked slowly, to the rhythm of the gentle music. When they reached the front of the church, Kayla's mom lifted the veil to give her daughter a kiss before taking her seat. The preacher, who also happened to be Daniel's grandfather, said a few words, but the words didn't seem as important as the people standing there, they couldn't encompass the meaning that those two lives did.

Then came the vows. These promises they had written themselves, and Daniel went first. I smiled while he spoke and tried to keep the tears at bay, for I had no doubt that he meant every word of love and devotion he uttered. When he finished, it was Kayla's turn. As she read her vows, her voice began to shake--not with fear or nervousness, but with the strength of her emotion. And I started to cry, because I knew the stories behind the words, the stories that had led Kayla and Daniel here. I knew the roads they had traveled to stand before us that day were not easy ones. But I also knew, as the bride and groom looked into each other's eyes, and the joy lit their faces in a way that words simply cannot do justice, that it had all been worth it, for the sake of this moment.

They lit the unity candle, were pronounced husband and wife, kissed. Walked down the aisle as Relient K's "Must Have Done Something Right" played in the background. We followed them outside, where hugs and congratulations were exchanged. We shivered in weather that had dropped twenty degrees since the previous day, but we were happy, because they were happy, and because their love was beautiful.

The reception was perfect. Lasagna for dinner, followed by a speech by the Best Man, which celebrated the occasion as a truly momentous one. The cake was cut, and a second speech was given, this time by the Maid of Honor, Kayla's little sister. The speeches were so filled with genuine love for both the bride and groom, I was fighting tears again. They danced their first dance as a married couple to the song "Kiss Me," by Sixpence None the Richer. Afterwards, we joined them on the dance floor, and the rest of the time was a blur of music and movement, broken only momentarily as the floor was cleared for the mother-daughter dance to Lee Ann Womack's "I Hope You Dance." The Maid of Honor also sang a gorgeous rendition in French of "The Music of the Night" from The Phantom of the Opera, though I've already forgotten where exactly in the order of events it was placed.

As the bride and groom prepared to leave, those of us who were left crowded them with goodbyes. We ran out ahead into the frigid night air, lining the path on either side and blowing bubbles over them as they walked to their car. Daniel helped Kayla into her seat. I waved goodbye and blew kisses at Kayla until they drove away.

It is awe-inspiring to witness something as God intended it to be. It is the feeling of watching the sun bleed over the horizon on a clear day, or snowflakes swirling down and blanketing the world in white, or standing on a mountaintop and seeing the world spread out below like a patchwork quilt, almost as if you are flying. It is a moment in which you know everything is beautiful and right, and you forget for an instant that the world is broken, as you see a vision of the world as it is supposed to be. 

Kayla and Daniel's love is like that. Yes, it has its imperfections. But if you spend any length of time with the two of them, you come across moments in which you see love exactly as God created it to be. A love like theirs is rare, but it is real, and when you see it, you can feel it in your bones. And I thank God for it, for I know these things are miracles, brief glimpses into heaven.

The Secret Place.

My gaze on the ground, He tucks a finger beneath my chin and gently lifts my head. When I meet His eyes, I am startled, trapped by the intensity of His love, for it burns with a power that makes my head spin, and its weight causes my knees to give way and sinks my body to the floor.

Still I can see His face. The whole world reflected in His eyes. And me, at its center, a child staring wide-eyed. He smiles, a contagious smile. Every feature of His countenance filled with light, my vision spilling over liquid gold, smearing the details. Joy pressing down like a thick blanket, I cannot move, I do not wish to.

There is no other moment. There is no past or future. Only this. He is, He is, He is. Everything else faded into nonexistence, mirages that vanish as reality pulls into focus. Thousand upon thousands of angels in the peripheral, white-robed singing Holy, and I can almost grasp what it means. His voice, calling me daughter, a whisper breaking through.

(This moment does not end. It goes on forever.)

Rant.

(Originally written March 17, 2010. I discovered this piece among my many random Word documents. It's much more raw than most of what I post--but probably more honest because of it. I considered switching the capitalized letters to italics so you wouldn't feel yelled at, but I decided to keep the original emotion intact--the original emotion being, mostly, anger.)

I am just in one of those moods, you know. One of those moods with too many thoughts, thoughts that need an outlet, some grand weaving that glues the puzzle pieces together--do you mind if I mix metaphors? I thought about writing poetry, as it would be the most responsible use of my time. But my mind couldn't stand the thought of organizing at the moment. Even these sentences are a bit much. Reading stream of consciousness can be a pain, but it's an awful lot of fun to write. Already I'm hitting a dead end, though. It's so difficult to catch a wave, they just keep rolling over the shore, and as soon as you cup it in your hands, the water is seeping back to the sea. Another metaphor, you see. I love metaphors, but again, only if I am the one writing them. Metaphors are a tricky business. Because I wasn't really talking about waves at all, but my thoughts. Perhaps I've lost you already.

Hypocrisy is one of the things that has been on my mind lately. I wish I could rid the world of it. Starting with myself. I mean, really. We are so selfish, and on top of that are pretentious enough to lie about it. I have heard INCREDIBLE words spurt out of people's mouths. Naturally, I thought to myself: wow, what an incredible person. One day, I'd like to meet the person who actually believes the words coming out of their mouth. It's true, I'm being cynical. Yet another habit I swore I would break. I have met people who really seem to live out what they believe. And I'm not judging; like I said, when it comes to being hypocritical, I want to start with myself. Dear God, I believe...help me overcome my unbelief! I have been praying that prayer for a long time. I CLAIM to serve a God whom I SAY that I believe has the power to do the impossible. So my question is: what the crap am I doing?

My second question is: how? How do I love others? Or for that matter, how do I love myself? When I do the things I do not want to do, when I say I believe something yet don't live like it...how can I love a creature like that? Dear God, HOW?! How much longer must I tarry with myself? O unbelieving generation! All the words Jesus spoke to his disciples, I cry aloud to myself.

Daddy, you promised. Without you, I have nothing. Without you, I am nothing. Dear God, RAIN! YOUR DAUGHTER NEEDS YOU! DON'T YOU, A GOOD GOD, KNOW HOW TO GIVE GOOD GIFTS TO YOUR CHILDREN?! I BELIEVE O LORD, I BELIEVE, IN THE WORD THAT YOU PROMISED, IN THE WORD THAT YOU PROMISED...HELP ME OVERCOME MY UNBELIEF! I CANNOT COME UNLESS YOU DRAW ME IN! I CANNOT BE FILLED UNLESS YOU SEND YOUR HOLY FIRE DOWN! PROVE YOUR WORD O GOD! BRING IT OUT AS GOLD IN THESE FIRES! TRUTH, TRUTH, IF IT IS TRUTH, IF YOU ARE TRUTH...then I am safe. I don't have the right words to say. God. Jesus. You are the only word I have left.

The Last Stroke of Twelve.

Scenario: A great enemy has captured the hero's beloved. The beloved is bound in chains, and is most likely being lowered slowly into a pit of lava or a lake infested with ravenous crocodiles. The enemy is delivering a speech declaring that the hero is dead, or soon will be. In this moment of what should logically be utter despair, the beloved instead looks resolutely at the enemy and says, "My hero will come for me." The enemy laughs and continues to lower the beloved towards certain death. Then! At the last possible moment, in the final seconds of the final hour, the hero arrives, rescuing the beloved and defeating the enemy (as epic music plays triumphantly in the background, of course). And the beloved gazes into the eyes of the hero and whispers, "I knew you would come for me."

Sound familiar? So many films have used some version of this plot line, we can walk into a movie theater and within ten minutes, predict the story's outcome. It has become so common, in fact, that we rarely stop to consider what a truly remarkable scenario it is.

Seriously. How can the beloved have that much faith that her hero will come to her rescue? A split second away from death. Every visible circumstance contrary to the belief in a happy ending. Yet the beloved still has complete confidence in the hero. Complete assurance of the story's end. We accept it because it's "just a movie," but if you were actually in that scenario--if you could feel the heat from the lava scorching your toes, or the crocodiles' sharp teeth grazing your ankles--who would you bet on? The enemy, who has you in his clutches? Or the hero, who once gave you a promise of love, but is now nowhere to be found?

This scenario is something we all experience, you know. Probably not literally. But spiritually speaking, it happens all the time. For our God has a great Enemy. And just like in the movies, the Enemy is well aware that the quickest way to break the heart of the Hero is to capture the Beloved--to capture us. He is always seeking to devour. And we are all too-easily lured into traps and tricked by lies.

The question is: When the Enemy has us at the end of our rope, inches away from death, with no escape in sight, do we have the faith to say, "My Hero will come for me"? Because the Hero is coming, beloved. He is already on His way. The hour is late, but not too late. The ending has already been written: He will reach you just in time.

Psalm 42: The AR Translation.

Like the deer thirsts for a cool drink of water in the heat of the day, so I long for You, my God. I'm desperate for a touch from the living God, my Source of renewal, the Well that never runs dry. Where can I go to find Him? Day after day I've searched, but the only sustenance I've had are my tears. Everyone keeps saying, "Where is your God? You claim He loves you, so why can't you find Him?" These thoughts break my heart. And to think that once, I used to walk among my brothers and sisters in Christ, full of joy and confidence, leading them into the very Presence of God by my proclamation of His goodness in my life.

But why am I so depressed? Why am I so bitter and angry? No matter what troubles I face, no matter what pain I feel, I need to put my hope in God again and continue to glorify His name, for He is the one who saves me--He is still my God.

When the sadness comes, I will remember the Jordan River, the place where You made Your great promises to me, near the peaks of Hermon and Mount Mizar, the mountaintops where You filled me with Your Spirit and lit my face with Your beauty. Troubles keep rushing over me, again, and again, and again, roaring like a waterfall in my ears; Your waves crash over me, drowning my vision. But even in the midst of this, the LORD reveals His unconditional love for me every day. At night, He fills my heart with a gentle song, and I pray to Him, for I know that He is alive and hears me, even when I can't feel Him. I speak to God, my strong Foundation, in the midst of my weakness, crying, "Why have you forgotten me? Why have you allowed this depression to take over, and the demons to torment me?" The enemies' lies sap my strength; it feels like they are snapping my bones in two. They keep taunting me, saying, "Where is your God?"

But why am I so depressed? Why am I so bitter and angry? No matter what troubles I face, no matter what pain I feel, I need to put my hope in God again and continue to glorify His name, for He is the one who saves me--He is still my God.

Dear God,

Thank you for morning, new colors bleeding into the sky, into my eyes. The days die and die again, but always, there is new life. (And) though I die a thousand times, I discover suddenly my lungs filled up with breath. My spirit wallowing in dust, You dress me in bone and flesh and sing over me until my heart is beating again.

I despise words, how they cannot describe these miracles: (such as) the way sorrow and smiles can spring simultaneously in the soul--it is a paradox, but both can be honest. Emotions, thoughts, contradictory, coexisting. And I want to fully explain where they flow from, for them, (for me). I want to understand (myself?), but I am at a loss.

Abba, what am I saying? Do You hear Your daughter when I am nonsensical? Can Your Spirit interpret what I cannot?

I know the answers to these questions. But I like to hear You tell me. It reminds me that You are listening. Maybe it's just between You and me today, Daddy. A secret, and I catch glimpses, but never quite reach its end (sometimes I spend hours spinning deep into frustration, in my attempts to unravel). Still. You are making me new, just like the morning. A shapeless smear of colors, but, oh--how the light breaks through beautifully. 

Desperate Times.

No where in the Bible does God promise that He will not give us more than we can handle. I think the misconception comes from a distorted reading of 1 Corinthians 10:13, which says that God will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you can bear. But while you may suffer while you are tempted, there are many kinds of suffering that have nothing to do with temptation.

I believe that God very often overwhelms us with much more than we can handle. Paul seemed to think so, too:

"We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death," (2 Corinthians 1:8-9, emphasis added).

Sounds like David, who was anointed as the future king, but for years lived in caves in exile, running in fear from murderous Saul. Sounds like Job, who served and honored God wholeheartedly, and yet in a single day lost everything. Sounds like Jesus, who lived a sinless life, pleading that the cup might be passed from him as he wept tears of blood in the Garden of Gethsemane. I'll bet that they, as well as the vast majority of other characters we meet in Scripture, would say God gave them way more than they could handle.

And in the midst of our sorrows, the question that pounds us over and over is: Why? What happened to the God who claimed to love us? Where do we turn to for hope? Well, keep reading. Paul has an answer.

"But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us," (2 Corinthians 1:9-10).

Don't you see, beloved? God didn't promise that He would never give us more than we could handle. He promised that He would never give us more than He could handle. And His power is infinite. It's okay to feel inadequate, and overwhelmed. It's okay to realize that you can't do this. It's okay to admit impossibilities. He knew you couldn't do this in your own strength; He never expected you to. All along, He's been waiting for you to give your burden to Him. He doesn't want you to carry it anymore. He wants to give you the yoke that is easy, and light. And then, we may join Paul in saying:

"This all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting way, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all," (2 Corinthians 4:7-8; 16-17).

The Trouble With Tails & Wild Geese.

Our world is fueled by the something more. There must be, there must be, there must be. We are always running. Tally up the competition, mourn every setback and struggle as an unfair disadvantage. This is the pursuit of we were promised. We no longer believe in enough.

The source of our discontentment is this: we accept the lie that we are entitled to something. That as "decent" human beings, we deserve to have lives defined by our own happiness. We forget that EVERY blessing is a gift, not a right, given to us by a God who lavishes His mercies upon us. That is why Job, in the midst of utter devastation, was able to say:

"The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised." -Job 1:21

Don't you remember what you were when He found you? Feeble and crying and covered in blood. Abandoned and naked, with absolutely nothing to offer but stained and sodden rags. Children of darkness, born into the womb of death. A pitiful sight, to be sure. But it was only as our natures deserved.

(Yet, God...)

"I led them with cords of human kindness, with ties of love; I lifted the yoke from their neck and bent down to feed them." -Hosea 11:4

"No longer will they call you Deserted, or name your land Desolate. The LORD will take delight in you, and your land will be married. You will be called Sought After, the City No Longer Deserted." -Isaiah 62:4, 12 

There is nothing God could take from us that would be unjust. Everything we have, everything we are, belongs to Him. Every breath. Every heartbeat. Every love. Every hope. They are His gifts to us, for He is a Father who loves to give good gifts to His children. And if all else is taken away, there yet remains reason to celebrate, because we have already received the greatest gift we can ever be given, the only gift that truly makes us whole--the gift of Himself.

It's time to stop chasing what can never satisfy. It's time to stop pretending that this race can make us whole.

Deceitful, Above All Things.

My heart, too heavy to float, sinks to the bottom of the sea. It is calmer, here--the waves only crash on the surface. Yet the pressure is enormous, the dark thick and boundless. There is no easy way to drown.

(Fickle feelings are quick to construct the alternate realities we lose ourselves in, dead-end branches of a tangled maze, we spend our lives wandering. The exit sign flashes red, but we are easily distracted, by so many illusions, insubstantial as smoke. We believe it when we see it, though we spend our whole lives stumbling through mirages. Our world tethered to what we feel--this is real, this is true, this is touch and taste and smell.)

Follow your heart. Over the cliff, straight to the bottom of the sea--right here next to me. We will lament the lives that led us here, recite the cruelties of fate. Curl into the dead-end and say, to die here is a beautiful irony.

(As water fills our lungs, we have no ears left to hear, how our hearts induced hallucinations--all we had to do was breathe.)

Good Morning, October.

Leaves curdle, green to gold, and fall. It's a long way down, from tree to ground. The world seems so much bigger from here, they think to themselves, as the sky overhead arches its gray, damp back behind the delicate net of branches they once called home, those bark-bound fingers now bare as bone. The wind scoops up the leaves' brittle bodies, the whisper of their haphazard flight like the murmured rustle of turned pages. The world spins in an ocean churning with faded color, mixing into muddied brown.

The leaves build piles like wishes build regrets, gathering together for solace the way dust motes do, an altar to memory, to what once-was. They cover the sidewalks and line the gutters, and soon feet will trample their bodies and snap their spines, but they do not complain. They tasted sky, once. The earth is not too much to bear.

Life is a circle, of cycles, of seasons, of repetitions, of nothing-new-under-the-suns. We are not leaves, but we know well the sensation of falling. The heartbeat of the seasons is a clockwork we cannot control, yet we are always fighting, even as we watch the colors bleed into gray--there is nothing we can do to staunch it. Only mourn, and wait for morning. Sweep away the regrets so you can breathe again, and beware the backward glance, lest you miss: the way the autumnal sun paints everything in gold.

You'll Never Know, Dear, How Much I Love You.

(This much.) I brought the world into being for you. Birthed from my words: sun and moon, sky and sea, planets and atoms. But you, beloved--you I formed with my breath. I called you by name. I gave you the beautiful kingdom I had created, and we walked together on its garden-woven ground.

(This much.) It broke my heart, the day you abandoned me. When you drank the poison that would cause all you touched to wither and warp, when I felt your spirit tear away from mine, I grieved as I had never grieved before, for I knew then that you were lost to me--but not forever, little one. I loved you too much to give you over to Death, in spite of your betrayal.

(This much.) I sent my son, spirit of my spirit, to the crumbling kingdom. He wrapped his spirit in flesh, and entered the binds of Time. The poison tried to enter him, but his spirit was too strong, for he was yet one with me. Because the poison could not enter his spirit, it stripped him of his flesh, and his blood ran down in thick rivers. But this was not the end. For my son sucked the poison of the broken kingdom into himself, and in that instant, my only son was torn from me; he cried, but I could not hear. We had never known such pain, and the sky turned black and the earth trembled with my sorrow, but we endured it, for you. That was the day of the greatest sacrifice. That was the day we snatched you back from Death.

(This much.) When my son had wrestled Death and returned to me, we sent our spirit back down to the bleeding kingdom. I searched for you, in the deepest crevices and farthest corners of the earth, that I might share this gift, this gift that would bring you back to me. I asked you to join me in the restoration of the kingdom. Though you rejected me again and again, living as though the poison still held you, I would not relent. You were my chosen one, your name written on the palm of my hand, and I longed to heal you.

(This much.) The day you came to me, I danced over you, so filled I was with joy. You put your hand in mine, just like it was at first, as if the poison had never come to you. But the memories of the poison yet cloud your mind, and sometimes you choose to live under the illusion of its power. You find it difficult to believe when I say you are lovely, when I tell you I have marked you with my spirit and made you new. But you are learning, and I am always giving you new reasons to help you believe.

(This much.) No matter where you wander, my love, I will find you. I will bring you safely home.

But Now My Eyes Have Seen.

One of my favorite moments in all of Scripture is undoubtedly Job's proclamation, spoken after a period of suffering greater than most of us will endure in a lifetime: My ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you. 

We've heard a lot about God in this country. We have access to His written Word, and many commentaries on it besides, through books, sermons, music, and movies. Many of us were raised in church and memorized the answers that were fed to us, answers that addressed almost every question about God imaginable.

But there is a vast chasm of difference between an abstract concept and a tangible reality. You can research the Grand Canyon all day long--read detailed descriptions of it, look at pictures, videos--but to go there and see it for yourself is a completely new and profound experience that no amount of head-knowledge can ever give you. And I can assure you with the utmost confidence: what is true of the Grand Canyon is true of the Creator of the universe.

An encounter with God changes everything. In learning about Him, we pour all our energy into finding the "right answers." And when He doesn't work according to our understanding, when there are no answers to be found, we (like Job) become confused and disheartened.

But when we see God for who He is, when our knees bend under the weight of His glory, when we hear that quiet whisper of His voice--knowing all the answers doesn't matter anymore. Caught up in the midst of His Presence, we now not only know the truth, but can believe it. It is the place where faith is born.

It's going to be worth it in the end. Every struggle we endure, every sorrow we bear, every sacrifice we make. When we stand in the Presence of the King, all the rest will seem like so much dust, insignificant and soon swept away. Tears wiped from our face, eyes wide open. We will see like never before.

Baby, Sleep in Peace Tonight.

I've had trouble sleeping lately. More trouble than usual, that is. Exhausted all day, wide awake as soon as the lights go out. Staring up at ceiling, crying out, God, You said You grant sleep to those You love. Don't You love me?

(I tend to be overly dramatic when sleep-deprived; however, in my defense, the scripture my complaint was based upon is real--Psalm 127:2.)

But last night was different. Because last night, God spoke. In an instant, His murmur swept away the swift torrent of thoughts that constantly plague me, and I found myself in The Secret Place. Looking back, I can't fully decipher all the things He said to me; it was too much for me to grasp.

Still, part of it, I know, was a glimpse of the answer to my why. He said:

I love you--yes, even at what you perceive to be your lowest, when you feel that you are doing almost nothing of worth. This is a testimony to My promise--that I do not love you for the things you do, but for who you are--who I have made you to be. Your works are not your identity--My love is. You strive so hard to define yourself, to prove who you are, but your attempts are vain, all. You must let go--this image you desire to create. This is what I meant when I said you must lose yourself to find yourself. When you give up trying to make an identity, you will suddenly be free to discover it.

His words, another piece to the puzzle. During this season of my life, God is teaching me how to be loved. For it is only in learning how to be loved, unreservedly and without condition, that we can learn how to truly love in that same way. If we feel we must somehow "earn" God's love, we will require others to earn ours. But this is not love at all; it is mere selfishness. And without love, all the rest--the faith that moves mountains, the tongue that speaks with the eloquence of angels--is empty.

When God had spoken these things, and I, as far as I could, understood them, He tucked a blanket of peace around me, such as I have not felt in what seems a long time. And I slept.

Ready? Set:

There. I have broken the blank of the page. The rest will come easier.

That's the most terrifying place, isn't it? The moment just before a beginning. All the uncertainty, foreboding, a vast space of emptiness that must be filled with your footsteps, and the end impossibly far off, and too many thoughts of what may-be flood the brain until you are drowning.

But once that first word is written, that first step taken, when living replaces imagining, the journey ahead suddenly seems more manageable. Your concentration turns from intangible, oppressive fears to the reality of  what is before you, and you discover (with some surprise) that you have just enough strength for this.

There will certainly be moments of doubt, of excruciating pain, and you will wish for nothing more than to curl up and sleep for the rest of eternity, shut your eyes against the vicious kaleidoscope of colors and noise and shards of light that bleed into your vision. But remember how far you have come, the page behind you strewn with letters, and what a wonderful story they will speak when you have reached the end. Remember this, and you will find yourself standing again, you will find yourself moving again.

In the beginning, however--that is the most difficult part. Ears straining for a gunshot that exists only in the mind. Eyes staring wide at the empty that screams impossible. There is no stopwatch; time is always ticking away. You cannot wait forever. Go.

My One & Only Political Post.

Though I am reluctant to come within one hundred miles of the realm of politics, I feel like the issue has reached a point of unavoidability in my heart. Facebook is exploding with passionate statuses, pictures, articles, and videos from both sides, a shouting match for the eyes that leaves my head spinning.

That being said, I'm not going to delve into any of the strictly-political issues here, because honestly, I don't follow politics. At all. I have a surface-level knowledge of what each political party stands for. I agree and disagree with certain aspects of both sides. And I don't think I will ever bring myself to choose a side, since when I do attempt to follow what's going on, everything I read and hear I consider suspect. Because, as a writer, I know how easy it is to twist words to accomplish your agenda. And in politics (as in life), there is always an agenda. Propaganda, plain and simple, and I don't trust it. 

What I am going to delve into, however, is a spiritual issue that is related to this sudden outpouring of political opinion. In the midst of this war, watching people tear at each other's throats hasn't made me want to join a cause and fight; it's made me incredibly sad. Because in fighting for our cause, whatever that might be, we have forgotten what is most important.

Honestly (and hey, maybe I'm wrong, but), I don't think God is going to be upset about whether we voted for Obama or Romney, or whether we chose not to vote at all. What I do think He is upset about is the way His people have conducted themselves during this election year--the way we speak out of anger and the need to be "right" rather than listening and communicating out of love, the way we instigate division through an "us vs. them" mentality, the way we use His name to bolster our own opinions and assumptions, the way we bash people with blanket statements instead of putting ourselves in their place and respecting them as fellow human beings--these are the things I believe truly break the heart of God.

If Jesus had come down to Earth in this moment of our history, would He be leading the charge for a political campaign? No. He said give to Caesar what is Caesar's, and give to God what is God's. The government can have our obedience, but our hearts should belong to God, not a political party. Because no matter how great you think this country is, how "pure" its founding and Constitution, the truth is, our government was built by people, and people are flawed. Yes, even our Founding Fathers. And if you put your hope in America, you will be disappointed, regardless of who sits in the White House.

I'm not saying it's wrong to fight for what you believe in. I'm not saying it's wrong to share your political opinions. What I am saying is: while you do, don't forget what's most important. Because I promise you, it's not who's going to win the election in November.

If we put half as much passion into loving God and serving others as many of us put into furthering the cause of our political preference, the world would be a very different place. I'd like to see that world. If we work together, maybe one day we can build it.

Relapse.

Even feathers feel like bricks these days--the slightest contrary motion enough to send me spinning suddenly out of control.

I attribute it to fickleness rather than hypocrisy. It is not that I say one thing and do another. It is that I say one thing in a moment of peace, and then in another moment, when some hitch in my thoughts or plans brings the pain flooding back in, I am saying something else. I am the doubter, bobbing on a storm-tossed sea. One step forward, two steps back--I spend hours struggling up the slime-encrusted pit, and in a split second, I have slipped back down to the very bottom.

This is the part where words seem empty. Even the true ones. Because sometimes, the knowledge that God is with me, that He is my strength in times of weakness, that He makes everything beautiful in its time--along with a thousand other good and marvelous promises that are engraved on my heart--all seem incredibly distant, as I shiver in the dark, coated in mud, angry and sick of the feeble and failed attempts at escape that brought me right back to the place where I swore I would never return.

What, then? When feelings turn against you and words fail to comfort?

It begins with standing. Lodging your foot into the dirt, hands gripping rock or root, and you take a step upwards, head tilted toward light. Maybe you will fall again, but don't you dare look down. Not even a glance. You might not have the strength to believe right now, but you do have the strength to live this next moment--it has been given to you, your manna from heaven. So live it. Don't give up until you taste blue sky.

After the Fall.

Confession: I've been prideful. I used to think to myself, I'll never become one of those jaded, miserable people who go on about how their college years were the best of their life, and how everything else afterward is all downhill, and on and on and on.

In the four months that have passed since graduation, it is alarming how quickly I became that person.

Working hard, being friendly, talking to God, and doing my best to look for the good in everything had gotten me through life fairly smoothly until that point; I guess, deep down in that piece of my subconscious that is still as naive as a newborn babe, I imagined that if I simply continued doing all the "right" things, my future would be handed to me on a silver platter. After all, I was willing to put in the effort, and I had God on my side, right?

Problem is, that piece of my subconscious neglected to remember that God is far more concerned with my ultimate good than He is with my immediate happiness. And that ultimate good means dealing with my pride, along with a host of other issues that have latched onto my heart and sap my spirit, issues that have been developing for years, stitching themselves into the fabric of my being. As can be imagined, the process of their removal is inevitably a painful one.

But as much as this sucks, I have been learning. And though God has remained silent through much of it, I know that He has been with me, and will not leave me. With each day that passes, more of my self-confidence drains away, granting me the opportunity to place my confidence in Him.

I haven't given up. I still refuse to believe my best years are behind me, even on the days when my sarcasm emerges and my words say otherwise. Whatever the struggles ahead, I will continue to look for the beautiful. There is a purpose for every season. These things, I pray I will always be naive enough to believe.

Dear God,

Sometimes I wish we could get a pass on a day. Today feels pretty lousy, so I'll just skip it and move on to tomorrow, You know? Haha. But I know that's not the way You work. You prefer to take a day that seems lousy and turn it into something beautiful, just to show how awesome You are. So, here. I'm handing this day over to You. Even at my best, there's not much I can do with it on my own--and today is definitely not my best. So take it out of my hands and do with it what You will. Keep me trusting You for a positive outcome, regardless of how I might feel. Keep my attitude in check. My focus on You. Because with You, Daddy, every day is a good day.

The Whole World, We Strive to Gain.

Be careful with your promises. When you say at any cost, it may just cost you everything. That is the price that love demands.

But when you love, the stripping of yourself feels much less like sacrifice. The pain sears white-hot, smears of darkness across your vision--still, in love, it seems an easy burden to bear. What we love makes us, breaks us, and it is the depths of our belief in its value that decide whether we will hold on until the end or turn away and curse it as false.

There are many false loves, we spend ourselves upon. For how many things in life are worth the price of your soul?

Just one. The great tragedy is, how we curse it as false and walk away.

These Lives, Measured in Moments.

This moment will not last forever. If it is a beautiful moment, cherish it. If it is a painful moment, take heart--another blink, another breath, will turn the darkness into dawn. Do not grieve the moment that slips away, or fear the moment that is to come. For every grief and  fear means another moment gone.

To remember is to regret and to imagine is to fear, but to live--that is not such a terrible thing.

There, do you see? Already, this moment, folding into another. Let go, and let the current take you. It will bring you safely to tomorrow. You will reach it just in time.

The Verge of Beautiful.

This land is flat, and naked. Riddled with a thousand fissures, branching out like roots, tangled and deep. Dust rises with every step, the dissipated bodies of too many souls. Now clinging to my skin, desperate to be alive again. Now seeping into my lungs, jealous of my breath.

This desert goes on for miles. But the horizon shimmers, dances at the edge of my vision. It is my dream, my hope, my promise. The reason behind each step. Trick of the eyes, the sun cackles, but I keep on walking. From overhead, the sky stares, that lidless blue eye. It will not weep over me.

This body is so heavy. I want to curl into my shadow and disappear. I want to diminish into dust and float away upon the breeze. I want to dig down into the heart of the earth and bury my body there. I want, I want, I want. I am always wanting.

This is the verge. I cannot see the other side. I only hear whispers, but I am still confident. I will see, I will see, I will see. (That day, my words, will echo: my ears had heard, but now my eyes have seen...) The goodness. In the land (this land) of the living.

Word.

Observation: We have this odd tendency to translate the phrase "Word of God" as "Bible." For instance, in this often-quoted verse, Hebrews 4:12: "For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart." In every sermon I've ever heard, the speaker inevitably uses this verse to talk about the power of Scripture.

Which isn't a bad thing. The words recorded in the Bible do have the potential to have immense power in our lives, as we learn and obey and allow the truth of the message to align us with God's heart. After all, the Bible certainly fits into the category of God's Word. But what I'm trying to wrestle with is this: there's a lot more to God's Word than just the Bible.

(Now before you call me a heathen and burn me at the stake, give me a chance to explain.)

The Bible wasn't always around, you know. God's Word, however, was (John 1:1). God spoke the world into existence with His words. Jesus healed the sick, cast out demons, and forgave sin with His words. And His followers did they same, commissioned by the words of their teacher long before those words were recorded in what we now call the New Testament.

And God is still speaking today. He is still speaking to and through His people, with the same power that we read about in Scripture. That is why many Christians who live in countries without access to the Bible remain strong in the faith, far stronger than us. They are listening to the words of God. They are speaking the words of God with power. And though we, here in America, have access to a vast store of His words through the Bible, through books, through sermons--we have stopped listening. We have stopped speaking. We may read God's Word, but we do not experience it.

It's time that we get desperate to hear God's voice. To pray, "Speak, for your servant is listening," (1 Samuel 3:10). To remember that as His children, He has called us to be the vessel through which His words are proclaimed.

Maybe it does mean taking some time to spend in Scripture, digging down deep until it soaks into our Spirit. Or maybe it means sitting in the quiet, waiting for Him to speak to us directly and specifically, believing that He will. In whatever form it takes, His Word is powerful and true. It will change us. And through us, the world.

Let there be light. 

Dear God,

Thank You for the successes of my brothers and sisters. The human heart has a tendency to resent the happiness of others, especially when it is bound in its own moment of unhappiness. But You have shown me something beautiful: The fulfillment of Your promises to them, the outpouring of Your goodness in their lives, is confirmation that one day, my own promises will be fulfilled.

We are all children of trials, of suffering and pain. When someone shines in the light of victory, we do not always know the battle of sorrows that led them there. And because of this, Father, I believe the stories that should bolster our faith instead cripple it.

Won't You open our hearts, to mourn with those who mourn, and rejoice with those who rejoice? Rip out this bitterness that churns up our soil like so many weeds, the selfishness that assumes our problems are deeper and our victories fewer than everyone else's. This is not a body, working together. This is not love. It is a single, and fatal, insistence on loneliness. Give us the strength to fight it, a vision that encompasses so much more than these specks of dust transfixing our focus.

God, thank You for a world that is bigger than me. Thank You for the constant reminder that I am not at the center of it.

Mirror, Mirror.

I once read a quote from a woman who had been blind her entire life. She stated that she was grateful for her blindness, because it allowed her to focus on God rather than her outer appearance. When I read it, I thought to myself: Dang. She's way more spiritual than I will ever be.

But really, what she said is true. More than ever, we live in a culture of the self-obsessed. Mirrors, mirrors, everywhere. And I'm not just talking about the one over your bathroom sink.

A mirror is anything that keeps us so focused on ourselves, we are oblivious to the world--and even more tragically, to the people--around us. Caught in the reflection, we work, work, work to make the image staring back at us as pretty as possible.

My latest distraction of the sort? Facebook. It's taken me a long time to confront the issue head-on, but there can be no denying that Facebook is all about appearances. Uploading the right photos, posting the right statuses, judging by the likes and comments which parts of your life to adjust to maintain the best image. We spend so much time making our lives look good, we fail to stop and consider whether or not our lives are good.

I don't know about the rest of you, but my happiest times are the times when I am out living life, not posting statuses about it. We could be using Facebook, and all the other mess of social networks out there, to impact the lives of others, encouraging them, loving them. Instead, all too often, we're too worried about coming up with our next witty status to even consider what we might do for someone else who is struggling.

Believe me, I'm more guilty than anyone in this area. I'm still trying to work this out. All I know is, the only time I'm a decent human being is when my focus is outside of myself. When I'm loving others, or resting in the beauty of the world around me, or worshiping the God who created it.

This is why we were instructed to lose ourselves, dear children; for there is something so much greater left to find.

Game Over.

We say letting go instead of giving up to provide the illusion of control. So afraid of defeat, we pretend we have a choice. But sometimes, we simply don't. The cards face-up on the table, our choices at an end, this is the place where we have lost.

Our dreams bleed American, tinged the red-white-blue of competitive individualism, Puritanical roots that crave work like alcohol, because work means success and success means better than. The most toys wins, only choose your brand name: career, marriage, academic standing, house square-footage, community volunteer hours--we are all collecting, our own marks of significance.

We use different coins, but we stack them up just the same. These are our towers to heaven, we build and babble like idiots. Stack stone upon stone, but there is no one left to live there. Our castles stand, beautiful and empty and waiting to rot.

If we are lucky, the castles will fall in time for us to realize the game is up. Did you know that it's okay to lose? That flash across the screen, GAME OVER, in bright red.

Thank God. I'm so sick of playing games. Outside these walls, life is waiting to be lived.

Life: A Bridged Version.

It happened yesterday, on my morning run. I was crossing a bridge, mentally promising myself that once I reached the other side, I would slow down the pace and take a breather. That was when God spoke to me, with words startlingly clear and profound. This is what He said:

You're on a bridge.

(…Thank you, Captain Obvious?)

The thing is, He wasn't talking about the literal bridge beneath my feet. After years upon years of lessons, I’ve learned that God is a big fan of metaphor.

So when He told me I was on a bridge, I knew exactly what He was talking about: this place I'm at in my life right now. This frustrating, confusing, suffocating place. This waiting room that I've been whining about for months. 

It's a bridge, linking the past I loved to the destiny God promised. 

I have this impulse. To run away, to escape. To jump off the bridge and swim, doggie-paddle until I reach the shore, or drown. It is because I am impatient. It is because I fear this bridge has no end. It is because I cannot see the other shore. It is because most days, I don't even feel like I'm moving at all. But, I’m learning: the impulse isn’t the answer.

I've had a lot of people tell me that after college, life is all downhill, but I refuse to believe it. I've still got plenty of mountains left to climb. I'm not ready to set up camp and spend the rest of my life wasting away in the valley. No. This is not the end. It is only a bridge. And by the grace of my Father, I'm going to reach the other side.

This is Me, Free.

Happy and knowin' it is not a matter of hand-clapping or foot-stomping; it's a matter of fight. Fight against the lies that bind, anxious thoughts like the angry buzz of bees, spinning always. Their honey is poison, I will not drink deep, anymore.

They say happiness is circumstantial, but I don't believe, that it is so far gone from self-control. Our happiness does not sit on a set of circumstances carved in stone, but on our perception of that writing on the wall, the fix of our focus. It comes down to a choice, it comes down to a will, it comes down to which detail we exalt above the rest.

That is why I [am learning] to be satisfied with the things I have and with everything that happens. I [am learning] the secret of being happy at any time and in everything that happens, when I have enough to eat and when I go hungry, when I have more than I need and when I do not have enough. [The secret is this:] I can do all things through Christ, because he gives me strength (Phil. 4:11-13). 

Sorry, pity. The party's over.

The Day I Lost My Identity.

May 5, 2012. This was the day I became a college graduate. Walking across that stage, taking that diploma in hand, I only saw the gain. Months would pass before I'd realize what I had lost.

Our identities are fragmented and malleable. We construct them from a vast scrap-pile of various factors, weighing the importance of each as we see fit: gender, religion, ethnicity, social position, favorite color, and the like. This is how we define who we are.

For the past 17 years, a huge portion of my identity had been allotted to the category of good student. When I walked into a classroom, I knew who I was. I knew what I was fighting for. I knew that I could succeed. I wish I could tell you that all that mattered to me was doing my best, or learning as much as possible simply for the sake of learning. But if I'm being completely honest--I wanted the grade. It was the proof that I mattered, confirmation that I was somebody.

Then, in an instant, that identity was gone. And suddenly, the other pieces of my self seemed so inadequate. I thought the transition from good student to good worker would be a relatively easy one, but months after graduation, I'm still in the pit of jobless. My single relationship status certainly does nothing to boost my self-esteem; without schoolwork to keep me occupied, it suddenly became impossible to block out the fact that everyone else is settling into their role of boyfriend/girlfriend, fiance, husband/wife, or parent, while I am well on my way to becoming the crazy old cat lady (when someone looks you in the face and tells you that's what you're going to be someday, the fear never really leaves you, even years later). And with my friends scattered across the countryside, I don't even have the title of best friend to cling to.

It's only recently that I've begun to truly grasp how this has affected me these past few months. I've always had a lot of insecurities, but the struggle with self-loathing lately has been vicious. Not to mention more than a little ridiculous.

But now, I know. Exactly why I'm going through this. For so long, I have founded my identity on the shifting sand of how well I can perform, on the accolades I get from those accomplishments. This identity I've poured so much time and energy into creating--it's just a mask. It's not me at all. As if an identity I can salvage from the broken bits of this world could ever be greater than the identity I already have; I'm a superhero hiding behind every false identity I can find, afraid I won't have what it takes to fly, when that power is already a part of me.

Because I am a daughter of the King. The One who holds the stars in the palm of His hand. It is the only identity that matters. It is the only identity I need.

Lately.

I've been tired. I've been depressed. I've been irritable. I've been whiny. I've been self-deprecating. I've been jealous. I've been bitter. I've been cynical. I've been selfish.

Basically: I have once again shifted myself into the center of the universe.

And it's exhausting. Constantly trying to protect myself, ensure my own happiness, figure out my future. Worrying about the hundred thousand things that could go wrong every second of the day, spinning my life even further from my control. On, and on, and on.

You know something? I don't think I've ever felt peace when my focus has been on myself.

Peace comes when my eyes are filled up to overflowing with the vastness of God, when I'm singing to Him or serving Him or remembering His promises. Peace comes when my self fades away into insignificance. When I trust God so completely with my life and am so secure in who I am as His daughter, I don't have to spend all my time dwelling on it, stressing and striving and doubting.

Trust. It's what my life keeps coming back to, lately. Pulling me in like gravity. Reminding me: It's time to turn my face to Him again.

Dark Circles Shadow the Eyes.

I am not strong enough for this. The pressure too much, splitting the seams, quickly I am draining. Only a few drops--left (drip, drip), not enough to scream. But I want to (scream). To shove up through the concrete cracks, a flimsy blade of grass, I can almost reach the--sun, I do not care if I--burn. If I can only see that spear-shaft of light, one last time is enough. The good fight is worth fighting, my blood is not too high a price, it does not belong to me. That is why, I stretch my brittle body from these fissures, (a body) pale brown with drought. (And) I will wait (for rain) to coax me into breathing, or I will turn (to dust).

Old News.

Some days, I really feel the weight of Solomon's revelation, There is nothing new under the sun. Today is one of those days.

All these words. Arranged and rearranged in variations less infinite than we'd like to believe. And most of the arrangements that mean something to people have been branded cliché, and among writers, clichés are a crime at least as heinous as poor grammar.

Yes, today is one of those days. When cynicism is winning.

You realize, however, I can never end on that note. To end on that note would mean giving up, admitting defeat. And regardless of how I feel, I know that surrendering is not an option for me. Partially because I'm much too competitive to go down without a fight. But mostly because my victory has already been assured.

Sure, you've heard all these words before. They are nothing new. Cliché, even. But they are true. And the thing about truth is, no matter how many times we've heard it, I think we can always use a little reminding.

Still Learning.

(These roots can go on for miles). Another paradox.

Lesson #2: It is in the midst of your greatest vulnerability that you discover your deepest strength.

We are raised with the lie, and we believe it. That invulnerability is strength. The tough outer shell, the impenetrable exterior armor. I'm only telling you this because I don't want you to get hurt. That is why we wear the mask. Razor-edged laughter instead of tears, crack the smile that splits your insides into so many shards swept under the rug, this cynicism, this apathy, deflection, protection, play the broken-record to forget we've lost reasons to in- or exhale, I-don't-care, I-don't-care, I-don't-care.

We are raised with the lie, but the truth is: This is not strength, but only fear.

Strength is the strip down to the bone. You don't need a vest if you can take the bullets. To be bare, to be honest, to cut your own heart out on that platter, to fight with the last that you have, to fight with the best that you have, to care enough to risk everything, to break, to bleed, to die.

Right here. At the end of the road. This place you call weakness. When you reach this place, you will find what it means to be strong. And you will marvel at how it feels to be alive.

Dear God,

You knew exactly what I needed. It shouldn't surprise me, the way You always come through. But I find myself amazed, every single time, that You can be so faithful, so good.

Every time I've turned around these past few months, You've been reminding to trust You, regardless of my circumstances. Over, and over, and over again. And to make sure I get the message not just in my head, but also in my heart, You've been making me wait. You're still making me wait.

And I can't pretend that I'm okay. The truth is, I'm a mess. But deep down, I know something, and it's like the anchor that keeps pulling me back, time after time, regardless of the emotional currents I ride. I know, down deep in the center of my being, with a childish certainty I can't explain, that everything's going to be okay. The waves shove me this way and that on the surface, but in the depths, I feel Your Spirit holding me, and I am not afraid.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: Thank You, Daddy. As frustrated as I am in this place, as much as I would rather be anywhere else, I know that You have not abandoned me. In fact, You're transforming me in ways that will impact my life more than I can even imagine right now. So in the meantime, while I wait, my soul will bless Your name.

Easy as 1-2-3.

It really is that simple. He is our God. And our God never fails. His plan is perfect, every time, down to the most minute ripple that stirs the waters of our lives. We flatter ourselves into thinking we have the power to dismantle His Kingdom with a single mistake or wrong turn on our part, but it isn’t true. Because even our blunders serve to reveal the true genius of His artistry. Jonah thought He was running away from God’s plan, but he ran (or swam, to be more specific) straight into it—“it” being the shadowed, rank belly of a whale, which became a vivid portrait of grace and forgiveness and love.

I am often so paranoid about taking a wrong step, I am afraid to move. How faithless am I to live as if God would desert me if I made a mistake? How arrogant am I to live as if I could find a place to fall where God couldn’t catch me? How ridiculous am I to live as if God’s goodness was dependent on my own?

I pretend like I’m being spiritual, figuring out exactly what God wants me to do before making a move. But in reality, I’m still making myself the center of the universe. Acting as though the fate of the world rests in my ability to read the signs and choose the correct door. Forgetting that while I’m off making plans (and questioning myself every minute along the way), God is determining my steps.

So. Here’s to moving. Here’s to life-altering decisions and irreversible steps. Here's to making mistakes. There’s no reason to be afraid; my God has promised to be with me wherever I go.

Note to Self:

Your value has already been determined, established by the highest bidder. It was a price beyond measure.

You think by these things you will be made whole: success in your career, intellectual pursuits, good deeds, falling in love, changing the world. You think by these things you can increase your worth. Polish away the flaws and insecurities until you shine.

Value, however, does not come from the quality of the product, but from the price that someone is willing to pay. And there is no price greater than blood. You were paid for in blood.

All these pursuits, you never stop chasing. But you cannot increase your worth, or decrease it. Regardless of what you accomplish, the price placed on you by others, whose approval and love you so crave, will always fall far short of the price that's already been paid.

Your value has already been determined. You have been declared of immeasurable worth.

Don't Stop Believing.

Fun fact about me: I have a bit of a stubborn streak.

Here's a brief story from my childhood to illustrate. Once upon a time, when I was somewhere between the ages of four and six, there was a scary waterslide at a pool we often visited. One day, my parents decided that I needed to conquer my fears, and thus began bribing me to go down the slide. I refused. The more I resisted, the more extravagant the bribes became: ice cream, money, a kitten, a puppy, a pony. Still, I would not yield. 

A week later, I chose to go down the slide all on my own, with no incentive whatsoever. Looking back, I kinda wish I had chosen the pony.

I usually view my stubbornness as a fault of mine that needs working on. It doesn't always work to my benefit. Being stubborn can be costly. If you don't believe me, just ask Jonah.

But that's not really what I want to focus on today. Because there's a flip side to this issue--a way to use the powers of stubbornness for good instead of evil. 

In my devotional this morning, I came across a curious phrase: "a stubborn insistence on acknowledging that God is good." I love that. It makes me think of a little kid, stamping his foot, believing against all odds that he is right, and challenging anyone to disagree. 

Stubbornness is irrational. It clings to what it knows or wants or believes regardless of the evidence presented against it. It might be called naive, ignorant, or narrow-minded. It isn't swayed by the opinions of others; in fact, the more pressure that is placed upon it, the deeper it digs in.

Obviously, I'm not saying we approach all of life this way. Some Christians do, and because of it, I think many of them miss out on the rule-defying, box-breaking intricacies and mysteries of God.

But. What if we put on this attitude towards the Enemy, about the things we knew to be true? Like the fact that God is good. What if, in the midst of the darkest of circumstances, we stubbornly refused to believe Satan's lies that our God has abandoned us? What if we were like Job, who stubbornly praised his Maker even when his own wife told him to curse God and die? What if, against all odds, against all the impossibilities that rise up against us, we chose to stubbornly cling to the promises of God, refusing to let go, defying the Enemy to break the faith we have in the One who rescues us?

C'mon, kids. I think it's time to put our stubbornness to good use. It's time to put up a fight for what we believe in.

This Mysterious Way.

God moves in a mysterious way,

His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unsearchable mines
Of never-failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sov’reign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow’r.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

In His own time, in His own way.
In His own time, in His own way.

Gaps in the Puzzle.

I don't have any answers today. It's never really been about answers, anyway. Truth is a mystery; we pick up a few fragments, here and there, but the picture in its entirety is still distorted and incomplete--especially when half the time, the pieces we're trying so desperately to make fit are lies in the first place.

Sometimes, I wish I had all the answers. Looking someone in the face and admitting, "I don't know," feels like admitting defeat.

But most of the time, I'm glad. I'm glad there's always room for deeper explorations and new discoveries. I'm glad that the God who hand-spun the universe doesn't fit inside my brain. I'm glad I don't have to have everything figured out. I'm glad that the gaps in the puzzle can be filled in by faith.

We can't always make sense of it all, these bright bursts of color and light. And I'm learning that it's okay.

Heart Transplant.

I was singing along to Gungor's song  "Vous etes mon coeur (You Are My Heart)" in my car the other day. Here, have a listen:

Towards the end of the song, as I repeated the words You are my heart out loud, the wording suddenly struck me.

I have often sung or said the words "You have my heart" to God. But to say to God, "You are my heart" is an entirely different kind of revelation. God is my heart. The old heart has been carved out, and a brand-new, Spirit-filled heart is pumping holy blood through my veins.

You know, in order for someone to get a heart transplant, someone else has to give up their heart. Someone else has to die. Are you following me? That someone was Jesus. He was our organ donor.

(Of course, it's not quite a perfect analogy--under normal circumstances, the organ donor doesn't conquer death, come back to life, and ascend into heaven...but just go with it).

And really, it's not just a new heart we've been given. It's a new identity. The old patterns of thought and action do not define us anymore. We may slip up and sin, but we are not sinners. We may fail, but we are not failures. Because when we are in Jesus, the old has passed away, and the new has come. We are sons and daughters of the King, a holy and dearly-loved people. That is who we are and always will be.

Sin was once part of our DNA, but now it is just a parasite, clinging to us desperately, hoping we don't realize we have the power to pluck it off and flush it down the toilet.

So when temptations arise, remind yourself: this is not who I am anymore. When impatient or judgmental or cowardly thoughts enter your mind, remind yourself: this is not who I am anymore. And when you do make mistakes, and Satan tries to define you by it, tell him to shut up. Then remind yourself: that is not who I am anymore.

Because we have a new heart. God's heart. And nothing can take that away from us.