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.

When All Hell Breaks Loose.

You are not alone.

Chances are, I have no idea what you're going through. You could explain it to me, and maybe I'd get a glimpse of the pain you're experiencing. I could hold and comfort you, but unless I had experienced your exact set of circumstances, I wouldn't understand. Not really. 

But there's a God who I does. I know you've heard it all before, but please. Just listen. I'm talking about a God who understands exactly what you're going through. A God who has experienced it for Himself. 

Suffering is the result of living in a world broken by sin. And Jesus bore the punishment of sin. On that cross, He experienced every kind of suffering a human being could possibly go through. That pain you feel right now, He's already felt it--on the day He died to save you.

The Enemy has spent a lot of time convincing you that you're alone. Because alone, we are powerless. He's messed with your emotions, whispering that God is distant and no one understands. It's a lie. 

God moved Heaven and Earth so He could be beside you right now. And He knows. He knows how much it hurts. He knows your weakness. He knows your fears. He's not gonna leave. His arms are wrapped tight around you. 

Take heart, Beloved. He's already defeated this. The victory is yours.

Reset.

One of my life verses is Psalm 51:10. It begins with this plea: Create in me a pure heart, O God.

This prayer is such a comfort to me, because I know how often my motivations are screwy. People look at the outward appearance: They see me going to church, posting Bible verses on my Facebook status, writing blogs about Jesus, and the like. But God looks at my heart; He knows when my actions spring from the self-centered desire to feel better about myself or impress people rather than from his Spirit. 

That's why I love this verse so much. It's like my reset button. When I feel like my focus has gone off-kilter, I pray these words. It's the only way I know how to set myself straight--crying out for help from my Father. 

I can't purify my motivations on my own. Truth be told, most of the time I can't even sort out my motivations on my own. My thought process goes something like this: Wait. Why do you really want to do this? Because God told you to? Or do you just want people to think you're doing something great for the Kingdom of God? Maybe He's called you to do something "behind the scenes" to keep you from becoming prideful. Or is that just an excuse you're using because you're afraid?

I usually continue in this line of thinking until I am utterly frustrated and confused, and eventually it occurs to me that I'm getting nowhere. That's when I realize (again) that I can't fix the inner-workings of my heart on my own. My only hope is to rely on God's mercy. Create in me a pure heart, O God.

Then the relief comes. The problem is out of my hands. The thoughts ping-ponging through my brain go quiet. The muck hidden in the deepest places of my heart is washed away. And I am at peace.

Dear God,

I've been seesawing a lot lately. A kind of calm one minute, then an overwhelming stress-attack the next.

This morning, I'm okay. On the couch, sipping my vanilla cappuccino. It's sunny outside. A plane is flying by overhead. The only other sounds are the rhythmic heartbeat of the clock on the wall and the constant whir of the ceiling fan.

Thank You for being God no matter which way the seesaw tips. You remain faithful, in spite of the fickleness of my focus. You are here now. And You will still be here when I am distracted by the stormy waters churning at my feet. You will take my hand and lift me up.

Daddy, You are so good. I wish we could grasp it, just a little bit more. It is unbelievable, how much we take You for granted; I suppose it is only Your great mercy that keeps You from obliterating our arrogant and thankless hearts.

This love is ridiculous. This relentless, all-consuming love, showered on a people so mired in apathy, we are clueless of its immeasurable worth. God, save us! Open our eyes to the beauty of who You are again. Draw us back to our first love. The only love that has ever really mattered.

My God, do whatever it takes. I am lost without You.

(Happy?) Father's Day.

Realization: We attach "happy" to holidays much too thoughtlessly.

I understand there's not really any way around it. We all mean well. We're only trying to be friendly, to spread the spirit of warmth and cheer that's supposed to be the prerequisite for celebrations like today.

But the truth is, not everyone is having a happy Father's Day.

I've heard a lot of stories. Many from people I know personally, and care about deeply. People whose dads are gone--physically, spiritually, emotionally. People whose dads hurt them. People with scars. People who never experienced what a father is supposed to be. People who feel like they're missing a piece of themselves.

There's nothing I can say to these people. I see the advertisements plastered throughout Walmart, and I listen to the constant stream of television commercials, Father's Day, Father's Day, Father's Day, and the only ones I can think about are the ones who are fatherless. And there's nothing I can say.

But I'm stubborn enough to try anyway. As an imperfect daughter with an imperfect father, living in an imperfect world, I'd like you to know, whether your Father's Day is a happy one or not--we all have pieces missing. Maybe it's the piece where our father should be. Or our mother. Or our courage. Or our peace. Or our compassion. Not a single one of us is whole. That's why we're all trying to fix ourselves, in our own way.

It won't work, you know. In case you haven't noticed, we suck at filling in the gaps. The pieces never quite fit. They always end up falling through.

But guess what? Yeah, you knew this would come back to Him. The Father of the fatherless. The Healer who fills in every misshapen hole with perfectly-shaped pieces of Himself. It won't necessarily be easy, or quick, or without pain. Because though the truth behind these words is simple, living it out rarely is.

Don't give up. For our Father's promise is sure: His children will be made whole.

Tell Me What You Want. What You Really, Really Want.

A man once asked my youth group a question that would forever change how I thought about Christianity.


If there was no Heaven or Hell, would you still follow God?

It floored me. All my life, I had been asked if I was a follower of Christ, but never before had anyone asked me why I was a follower of Christ.

Why did I follow Him? What was my goal? To ensure that I had my "get out of Hell free" card? Or was it for Himself?

Fast-forward to the present. Because these questions never really go away; they just crop up again in different forms. I came across a verse the other day, one of those verses that I've heard so often that most of the time, I hardly pay much attention to it anymore. It was Jeremiah 29:13:

And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.

It got me thinking. God said to seek Him. Yes, I would say that I'm a seeker--but am I really seeking Him? Or am I seeking other things? For instance: Brownie points for doing good things. Easy formulas to implement into my life instead of dealing with the sticky mess that comes with any relationship. Spiritual gifts, not for His glory, but so that I feel better about myself through my contributions to the Kingdom of God.

If I'm being honest with myself, and with you, I'd have to admit that all too often I'm not searching for God. I may trick myself into believing my motivations are pure, but what I really want are His goodies. Forgetting His promise that when I seek first His Kingdom and His righteousness, everything else will be added (Mat. 6:33).

Yes, He has promised us good things. And yes, the hope of Heaven is a bright light ahead when all else around us is darkness. But the best thing, the greatest hope in Heaven, won't be the sparkling seas of crystal or the gold-paved streets. It won't even be the long-missed faces of our loved ones who have reached the gates before us. The true prize of our soul has always been the marvelous and holy Presence of our Father and King. When He is the one we search for, we will never be disappointed.

Psalm 126: Extended Edition.

When You brought the prisoners back to Jerusalem, the holy city of redemption where Your people dwell, it seemed as if we were dreaming. It seemed too good, too impossible to be true--that the blood of Jesus could cover all our failure and weakness, setting us free and empowering us with a supernatural Spirit that makes the mountains move. Your grace was so much more beautiful than any reality we had ever known, we found it difficult to believe it was reality at all.

Then we were filled with laughter, and we sang happy songs. When the truth of Your freedom began to set in, joy bubbled up and spilled over in our hearts. We just wanted to sing Your praises all day long, proclaiming to Heaven and Earth the riches of Your glorious salvation, telling the story over and over again of how You had rescued us. "Oh, happy day, happy day, You washed our sin away!"

Then the other nations said, "The LORD has done great things for them." People began to notice how oddly we were behaving. They saw our joy, but didn't understand it. They thought it was strange and beautiful. They were jealous of our happiness (even if they did think we were stark, raving mad). They didn't realize that You could do great things for them, as well. So they watched us as outsiders.

Yes, it's true. You have done great things for us, Your children, and we are very glad. We can never thank You enough. For that matter, we cannot even fully grasp the immensity of all that we have to thank You for. Still, when we dwell on all the past promises You have kept, all the miracles You have performed, all the deep waters You have walked us through, it makes us smile.

LORD, return our prisoners again, as You bring streams to the desert. But God, our struggle is not over. We have gotten distracted. We have allowed ourselves to become slaves again. Set us free from our complacency. Reveal Your greatness to us again. Bring a flood to our parched land. We are scanning the sky for a cloud, Father. We are asking for water, we're asking for You. Rain down.

Those who cry as they plant crops will sing at harvest time. Those who cry as they carry seeds will return singing and carrying bundles of grain. No matter what sorrows try to tear us down, we will not give up. Right now it seems ridiculous, that pushing these tiny seeds in the dirt will ever amount to anything. Especially in the middle of this drought. But You have promised us a harvest, God. You have promised that those who weep in the night will have joy in the morning. So we won't quit, though it may seem like the fulfillment of Your promise is long in coming. Because we know that You will come through just in time, and our songs will rise once more.

(Spoiler Alert.)

My God is freaking AMAZING.

I know I whine a lot. I'm easily distracted. I blow up my problems way out of proportion.

But I wanted to let you know that, no matter how much I obsess about my shortcomings and sufferings, pulling them to the forefront and magnifying them a thousandfold--my God is so much bigger. I don't care how many times you've heard it, or how cliche it sounds. Because it's true. And if you're anything like me, you could probably use the reminder.

My God is the Maker of Heaven and Earth, and He keeps every single one of His promises. He fought for me and called me His own, and He's not giving up on me. He is going to come through for me in my life in ways my brain can't even comprehend right now. He is on my side; nothing can stand against me. That is the reality of the situation. Of every situation.

Him. Not me. He's the Hero of this story. And although I usually hate to ruin endings, here's a hint: He wins.

The Trouble With Pot-Watching.

I just want to keep driving, sometimes. Follow the road until the horizon swallows me whole.

Impatience is the desire for movement, restrained. The racehorse, throwing its body against the starting gate, eyes rolling upward, praying for gunfire. It is a moment, stretching into eternity.

How much strength does it take to restrain a movement? More than the strength required for the movement itself. The dam must be stronger than the river.

Maybe that is why I am so tired. Maybe that is why I feel like screaming.

Oh, God. All this attention to feelings, but one thought of You, and the world contracts to simplicity. I know that I am safe. I know that this moment is beautiful and good. And when it passes, the gate will spring open, the dam will crumble, and together we will reach for that horizon.

The Waiting Game.

It suddenly struck me yesterday that in nearly every aspect of my life right now, I am waiting for something. From the big things like waiting on a job, to the small things like waiting for a chance to pass the ridiculously slow car chugging along in front of me (you have NO idea how many times that has happened to me lately), God has been placing me in situations in which my only option is to wait.

Which made me realize. He's not teaching me to wait. At this point, it's the only choice I have. What He's teaching me is how to wait.

Here's my natural tendency when it comes to waiting: be impatient, stressed out, worried, depressed, afraid, and just about every other harbinger of unhappiness you can think of, until whatever I'm waiting for finally comes along. For those of you who are more visually inclined, I basically sit down in a mud puddle of self-pity and count the days as they creep past.

So you can understand why this period of waiting has left me miserable. You can also understand why God might've seen this recurring attitude as a problem and decided to put me in circumstances that force me to wait. A lot.

This revelation both relieves and terrifies me. It's a relief because I now recognize the purpose behind my pain, and it gives me something to fight for. And it terrifies me because, there's a part of me that isn't sure I can learn this lesson. I'll be stuck behind ridiculously slow cars forever.

Luckily, God's agenda for waiting is much simpler than mine. It consists of a single word.

Trust.

When we are trusting in Him, we have peace, security, and rest. We may not know exactly how our situation will turn out. We may have to wait a long time before our question is answered. Tomorrow is always another step away. But when we are trusting in the goodness of our Father, none of it really matters. Because we know that ultimately, whatever happens next, He will turn it into something beautiful.

Twinkle, Little Star.

"Do everything without complaining or arguing." -Philippians 2:14

This is my goal for the summer. Normally, I shoot for things that seem a little more spiritual and important--faith, wisdom, peace--those sorts of things. But I stumbled across this verse the other day, and it suddenly struck me (especially now that I am once again living under my parents' roof) how whiny and lazy I am.

And when I continued reading, I discovered that this command that we often conveniently overlook comes with a pretty  incredible claim attached. Verse 15: "Then you will be innocent and without any wrong. You will be God's children without fault...You shine like stars in the dark world."

Innocent? Without any wrong? Shining like stars? All because we don't complain or argue?

Here's the problem. Complaining and arguing are rooted in hearts of ingratitude and selfishness, causing dissension in a Body that God has called to unity. We're not talking about small, insignificant sins here. They may seem small at the time--a barely audible grumble under our breath, or even just an invisible thought churning in our mind--but these "small" complaints are indicators of a much larger, skewed attitude that has corrupted what should be a servant's heart.

So fight with me. Pay attention the next time your boss, or your teacher, or your mother, or your friend, or your enemy, or whoever, asks (or demands) that you do something. When you open your mouth to argue that it's unfair, remember that it's not about you anyway. When the complaints start rolling through your head like over-played advertisements, bring to mind instead all the mercies God has shown you.

It's not going to be easy. But it's a part of being free.

Failing at Life.

Confession: I'm not very good at this.

And when I say "this," what I'm referring to is life.

I blame it on my people-pleasing nature, the intense fear I have of screwing up. So many expectations thrusting me up much higher than I ever cared to go, and now that I stand on this precarious tower, feeling the brittle boards beneath me bend, I am absolutely certain I am going to fall.

(Sorry, I have a tendency to slip into metaphor when things get too personal.)

What I'm trying to say is, my pride has spent a lot of time crafting an image of myself as someone who "has it all together" (I still haven't figured out what that means), and thus my pride is rather unhappy with the idea of that image being toppled, revealing that in actuality I am a messed-up person with major issues and insecurities who has no clue what the heck she's doing.

This being said, I'm almost positive that I am on the verge of the most massive, epic fail of my life.

I don't know what it is yet. What I do know is that God must be getting pretty sick and tired of my pride, and my fear. I know I am. I also know that as I slug through these days of change and uncertainty, I'm beginning to realize (again) how truly helpless I am. Which, I've heard, tends to open the door for God to move in a powerful way.

Yes. It's painful, and will continue to be painful, having my weakness on display for the world to see. But it is through my weakness that His strength will be revealed. And this, thank God, has always been about Him.

And when I say "this," what I'm referring to is life.