Be Served.

"No," said Peter, "You shall never wash my feet."

I've known many beautiful, servant-hearted people. People who are willing to pay for your meal, give you the shirt off their back, surprise you with gifts for no reason at all. People who are willing to get down on the ground and scrub the scum from beneath your toes so that you don't have to.

But I've noticed something else. Oftentimes, whenever I attempt to serve these dear, dear servant-hearts, I receive a reaction much like Peter's--You shall never! I find my own hope to serve squelched by their unwillingness to accept it.

We imagine that when we refuse someone's service, it is out of love. Oh, allowing them to wash my feet is not a nice thing to do! I would be a much better person if I never let anyone ever make any kind of sacrifice for my sake.

And yet, Jesus said, "Unless I wash you, you have no part with Me."

Jesus' illustration wasn't just about serving; it was also about being served. In fact, the only reason we know how to serve, and more importantly, how to love, is because Jesus first served and loved us. If we don't accept that gift, we are condemned for our pride.

Do we really think that same pride is acceptable among the members of His Body, the Church?

Because that is truly where I believe that refusal comes from--not from love, but from pride. Love is humble, and self-forgetting. Pride keeps tallies, and feels "better than" when at the end of the day, it has given more service than it has received. Pride says, I don't need anyone's help! Not a free meal, not the shirt off your back, and certainly not a feet-washing!

Dear lovelies, do not be deceived. We are a Body, bound by love. We all need each other. To serve, and be served.

So let's lay down our illusions of self-sufficiency, and take our part with Jesus. That we may be washed. That we may be new.

David's Son.

Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me.

For a long time--and by long, I refer to the large majority of my (albeit meager) lifespan--I never really cared that Jesus was David's son.

When people called Him the Son of God, now that was something. That was power and beauty and majesty.

David was a cool guy, sure enough. Man after God's heart, and all that. But in the light of God Himself, David was nothing--a broken, sinful wretch like the rest of us.

Why appeal to Jesus as the Son of Man when you can appeal to Him as the Son of God? It seemed to me, the Son of God would be much stronger to save.

But.

(It's funny how that word changes everything.)

One day I fell, in a way I had never fallen before. I felt the weight of dirt and blood settle on my struggling body and I knew it would crush me. I knew I would lose, and I did, and I lost again and again and I couldn't

look up

anymore. Shame, and fear, smothering me.

I couldn't look at God. I was so far away from holy.

That's when I understood that cry.

Jesus. Son of David. Son of Man. Son of a broken, sinful wretch like me. You who were born into this same mess of a world. You who bore the curse of your flesh and endured every temptation. You who dwelt among us. You who became us. You who understand weakness, who have experienced frailty. Please. 

Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me.

Tidal Wave.

I glimpse their arms parting the sea with solid strokes before I slip back under, a half-gasped breath cradled in my starving lungs, and if I could keep my head above water for just a fraction longer, I might ask how it is they manage not to drown.

(I long ago lost strength to stay afloat.)

...

The world is large and full of shadows. I think the secret is (everyone knows but no one knows), we're all stumbling.

...

I once heard of a believer who built a boat, and though it rained for forty days and and forty nights, the flood could not touch him.

...

I once heard of a people who walked across the dry bed of a sea that was rolled back like a scroll, and made it to the other side.

...

I once heard of a prophet who was tossed into stormy waters, and a great fish swallowed him whole, and later spat him onto a safe shore. 

...

I once heard of a man who told the churning waves to be still, and they obeyed.

...

I once heard of a disciple who stepped on the water's swirling surface, and it held him like solid ground.

...

(I'm only trying to say, these oceans are as inevitable as they are impossible.

But even if we cannot swim, we have a God who can keep us from drowning.)

i hate everything

what if all we needed
was one day
to go absolutely
starkravingmad
knowing
at the end of that day
we would have
(undeserved)
their forgiveness
knowing
at the end of that day
we would
still
be loved

when did love become so weak

when did we learn 

to lock up

the passion when did 

we learn that we could 

never be both

we could never 

be honest if 

we wanted to be loved

For Years I Held the Bottle Upside-Down, but Every Last Drop was Gone.

You cry to me to haul up your rope, but I'm at the end of mine.

My fingernails scrape the bottom of the barrel, searching for something more to give. But all I find are dirt-stained hands.

---

Put your trust in me, and watch how we destroy each other.

(I am drowning, trying to save you.)

Place your hope in me, and we will die together.

(I will hold you close, I will pull you under.)

---

I met a Man and fell in love; His name was Water-Walker.
He told me not to be afraid; He said my name was Daughter. 

He told me things I'd never known; I knew His words were true.
He said He's searching every ocean, dear; He promised me He'd rescue you.