The one answer when things don't seem to line up...

I stop on a Saturday morning and breathe it deep.  I'm up way earlier than I would like to be.  Nothing can stop the internal clock.  Still it feels good to not wake up to an alarm.  The roommate was up before me and the dishes are clean and the kitchen shines.  Tiny Companion and I head out for an adventure... because I have time!  And the gift list grows.

Dew dampened grass
Clearest blue sky

Golden light that hints of coming autumn

Asia exploring freely

And a perfect cool morning

So I breathe it all deep.  Not preparing and bracing myself for the day.  Just smiling long and breathing deep.  I settle in with pages and am reminded that life is dessert and I've forgotten, but God created life with this gracious rhythm of work and rest so we might remember.  I exhale thanks for all this and life slows beautifully down.  

And then in the same day, there is the moment where you go to zip up your dress and you realize that it doesn't fit, and you have gained so much more weight than you thought (or lost so much less?) and a woman's sense of her own beauty is often so fleeting.  And you wonder if there's even a point to all the working out and watching what you eat and everything in you starts screaming (again) that familiar chorus of "Not Enough!" And you can feel the insecurity rising and the leaning toward the rushing and the noise and you wonder what the answer is and if the battle will ever end.  And the gift list is still sitting on the table and just turn a page back in the journal to find words about thanksgiving and the graciously good heart of Father God.  And it's not that life and God are not good... just maybe I'm not good?  

And I sigh frustrated.  Always the forgetter.  And the battle against that inner monologue is fierce.  I thought I had long conquered the demons of perfectionism, but then they rear their ugly heads again and I am bound tight.  The words escape my lips before I have time to think about it and censor them:  All I want is to be perfect - the perfect teacher, the perfect co-worker, the perfect friend, the perfect woman for him, the perfect Christian - is that really so much to ask?

You have my full permission to laugh.  It's good medicine.  It helps us to see how tightly the fists have been clenched.  Laughing at ourselves forces us to exhale and see the lies for what they are.  So there is this:  I am weak.  I will never be perfect.  But I'm asking this: Can I, like Paul, look at my weakness and call it grace?  Can I boast in weakness and thank God for the thorn in the flesh and these messengers of Satan who speak lies but drive me back to seek Truth?  

In a way I haven't in a long time, I am wrestling with grace and freedom and God's heart toward me.  I love to talk about it.  God's love and goodness and faithfulness.  But to try and line that up with the weakness I feel in my heart and see in the mirror?  So hard!  Can He really look on this mess and see beauty?  Can He really walk with me day by day and not grow weary?  And my heart leaps within and praise dances behind my lips because the answer is - and in Christ ALWAYS is - YES!  He is God.  He can do that!  And it's back to the Sanity Manifesto again - marveling in the mystery of a freedom and love and grace and redemptive work I can't even wrap my mind around. And my response is "amen" to His glory.

Waking up with your eyes closed - How to find enough when you only have a little.

Some days I just feel like I woke up with my eyes closed.  It's like I get so absorbed, preoccupied, anxious that I manage to walk through this life and not see a thing.  And there is almost this instant atrophy of the heart.  I "shuffle along, eyes to the ground" (Col. 3:1-2, MSG) and I don't see or feel a thing, and it starves my soul because, from the very depth of my being, I long to See.  There is something about living with eyes closed that goes against the very grain of who we were created to be.

So I'm walking into church one week, and it was one of those days.  I had woken up with my eyes closed.  I would have walked right by one of my favorite families if the friend with me hadn't called out to them.  And there's my precious girl with her standard cry of "Miss Stephanie!" as she scrambles to get around her father to me.  She hands me this as if she knew how much my heart needed a touch of Beauty and color that day:

An oil jar traced over and over and over because Elisha told the widow to gather every jar she could find and take her "Nothing... well a little bit of oil..." and pour it out and the oil just kept coming and coming! (2 Kings 4)  

And I am flashing back to the time I sat next to this little girl's mother (my professor at the time) during a chapel service.  Two sisters trying desperately to learn how to live like all we have really is enough, and suddenly we're listening to this story of a prophet, a widow, and a little bit of oil that just kept coming.  But this time it's Elijah and he's asking the woman for a piece of bread.  She replies that she has just enough flour and oil to make one last meal that she and her son "may eat it - and die."  (1 Kings 17:7-16)  We all know how the story ends.  She bakes some bread for Elijah first and then keeps baking day after day and finds that "the jar of flour was not used up and the jug of oil did not run dry." It was enough!  

That was the first and only time a professor ever elbowed me in the ribs, and I'm glad she did because I've never forgotten that.  But here's where I bring all my musings full circle.  In between the widow declaring how little she has and the moment she realizes God can make it enough, Elijah says three words that once again elbow me in the ribs: Don't be afraid.  A prophet echoing the command God gives His people more than any other.  Don't be afraid.  And I can see these two widows who think they have nothing.  They think they have been utterly defeated.  Sure, the one calls out to Elisha, but her words are dripping with fear and defeat and hopelessness.  Both women are convinced that because they only have a little, they have nothing.  Been there?  Yeah, me too.  And in those times I walk the way I picture those women walking, "shuffling along, eyes to the ground" afraid and ashamed because I am convinced I have nothing.  No strength.  No hope.  No patience.  No energy.  I don't have enough, and I am afraid!  It is fear that makes us blind.  It is fear that causes us to live with eyes to the ground and fists clenched.  And that is why God is so serious about us not being afraid.  

So as I, along with so many others, dive headlong into a new school year this is what's spinning on the brain:  Don't be afraid.  Live with your eyes open.  A little bit is a far cry from nothing, and God is all about multiplication.  It really is enough.

       

Even Here, Even Now - One at a Time

So I am packing my bag, preparing for a week of camp.  I'm reading updates on Ann's Uganda trip.  #FarmgirlsinAfrica  I've got China spinning in the brain and beating in the heart.  And these cries to pour out this one life and live selflessly.  And the weight of this next week is not lost on me.  Loaves and fishes for such a time as this.  And yes.  I would like to live big, to write a book, for thousands to know my name, to fly across the globe and have people say I am reshaping culture.  Who doesn't dream of fame? Of being noticed and known?  Who hasn't, at least for a moment, thought that would just be so cool to sign books and speak truth in front of thousands and shape history? (Or maybe it really is just me....)

But as loud as the dreams may call, there is the call to live small.  So I am humbled, deeply humbled tonight as I consider that maybe... maybe God might choose me to be a vessel.  Such an honor!  A vessel for the week to love high school students.  Training me over the next three weeks to become a better teacher to serve children, and by doing that, to glorify Him.  She wrote it in her card to me, soon after I had said my goodbyes at my first school, "By serving students, you glorify God."  Ah.  Yes.

By serving _______, you glorify God! Right where you are.  For such a time as this.

One at a time.  One child.  One person.  One day.  One task.  One moment at a time, I could be an instrument of Grace... Now.

I am blessed.  I can bless.  One at a time.

When I am overwhelmed by dreams I wish I could accomplish and by the reality of all that I must do, I can only live One. At. A. Time.

The delusions of grandeur fade quickly, and my one wild life grows small in His hands.  And it is small things with great love.  Yes, even here, even now, my life can mean something.  If I listen and live one at a time.

Above the Noise - Sing Out Loud

I struggle so much to believe some days.  To believe that all the things I long to hear, God is speaking over me.  That I am loved and desirable and enough and beautiful. That who I am is worthy and I needn't be afraid of losing.  I. Am. The beloved.  And that is enough.

How hard it is to believe and live in that!  To really walk in that security.  And I feel like I need a break through, like I am trapped by my own thoughts and the voices in my head.  The voices that say "It's only a matter of time before you mess this up."  "You'll never be good enough."  "You'll never be wanted."  "Your heart will be broken again... and you will never recover."  SO MANY LIES!

And I know the Truth.  And it's a part of my morning routine.  Coffee in the cup holder, key in the ignition, radio on.  And I sing all my favorite songs on the way to work.  And when I hit that left hand exit that takes me off I20, I turn the radio down and I start quoting those Scriptures one by one by one.  And I have found it to be the best way to prepare for the day.  But it's so easy to forget.  The Sanity Manifesto tends to go out the window when the noise is so insane, and it's so easy to stop rehearsing the refrain when you're struggling to believe... when the route and the routine have changed.  And I have a choice to make.

Will I let the voices drown out the song?  Will I choose fear?  Will I let anxiety sweep me off my feet?

Or will I choose Truth and Life and Joy? I have this Song - will sing it?

YES!  I will sing.  Right here, right now, out loud. Because the enemy is vanquished by a hymn.  And when it is hardest, that is when we sing loudest.  If we are to rise above the noise in victory, we must sing out loud! So I pull out the journal, and I scrawl it in ink right under where I've written about the lies that haunt me... and I read it over and over out loud:

I am complete in Christ.  I have been made whole.  His grace makes my loaves and fishes life enough.  He is in control and redeems even my failures.  He holds my heart, even when it breaks.  He is a comforter and a healer.  I. AM. LOVED!  The Cross screams it across time and history.  He sings it over me as He rejoices.  I will allow this God, so mighty to save, to quiet me with His love, and I will believe that He delights in me.  ALWAYS.  

And I breathe Grace in deep, open the hands to Peace, as I opened the mouth to speak Victory Truth out loud.  Because to rise above the noise, I must sing out loud.

Tissues, Tears, and Altar Moments - Given up, Given Over

So I have this package of tissues that I keep in my purse at all times.

They're from China.  Given to me by a friend as a "just in case" as I ran out the door of her flat to explore The Forbidden City.

I never opened them... That is until the day I left and my heart broke.  The day I sat in the back seat of an old car, windows rolled all the way down, and listened to the cries of "Zàijiàn, stef-ah-nyay! Wǒ ài nǐ!" I don't know much Chinese, but those are two phrases I never have forgotten: Goodbye and I love you!  And the tears fell freely, even as I laughed at those precious little bodies stuck half way out the second story windows, arms waving wildly.

Those tissues have lasted me this long because that's the only time I use them: when tears fall and my heart breaks.  I only use them during the "I give up" moments.  The "I'd like to plan my own way, thanks, but I am called to be a follower, not a planner" moments.  The wrestling with God moments.  The "Peniel - I have seen God face-to-face" moments.  They only come out in those moments when I realize in a deep way that the cost of love is grief, but love is always worth the price.

And there are moments - altar moments - when the call of God and the weight of His glory make it all too clear how much of a failure I am.  How weak and deeply human.  How prone to fear and idolatry, especially the idol of control.  And it doesn't get me very far.  And in those altar moments, the grace-filled call to surrender all is so clear, yet so painful to heed because, while I want the Lord to have all of me fully given over, the Lord does give and take away and to bless His name can be hard.  But I need to get to that heart-place daily.  Because "He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also graciously give us all things?"  (Romans 8:32)

All.  Things.  Maybe it won't look exactly like I imagine, but He will not withhold the desires of my heart.  This good God who loves me so deeply will hold nothing back.  So moment by moment, I need to practice giving up this trying to make things happen and giving over my heart and my life to Him to refine and reshape my desires and dreams.

And that is so. much. harder. than it sounds.  But I long to live that way... Given up and given over.

When your world is shaking - Breath Prayers

I've felt it all day, that inability to catch my breath.  My life is in transition again, and changes, even the little ones, even the ones we know will be just fine... changes shake up our worlds.  And when my world is shaking, I'd like to sing with JJ Heller that Heaven stands and I stay secure in His hands (because that is Truth).  But the reality is when my world shakes I shake and anxiety kicks in and I can't catch my breath.  So I wind up and run, because effectiveness and efficiency have always been my answer to anxiety in the transitions, but that's not a good answer!

I learned about this spiritual discipline when I was in a prep class for my trip to China in 2011.  It comes from the story Jesus tells about the tax collector who went the temple to pray.  "But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’" (Luke 18:13)  Breathe in: Lord Jesus, Son of God.  Breathe out: Have mercy on me, a sinner.  This idea eventually became part of the mass.  In the Latin it is Kyrie Eleison.  In: Kyrie (Lord).  Out: Eleison (Have mercy).  Lord, have mercy.  And yes.  It says so much because I need mercy.  I am so, so human.  I sin.  I try to run my own life.  I grow fearful instead of trusting.  When my world is shaking, I need mercy to steady me.  

And I always find it.  I count gifts I never deserved.  I wake up and hear Him call me Beloved before I do a thing.  

Oh, He shows mercy to this sinner moment by moment, breath by breath.  And that's the discipline of breath prayers.  I inhale Jesus and exhale a plea for mercy, then repeat and find the prayer answered, because only mercy keeps us breathing, and only Christ keeps us steady when our changing worlds are shaking

Stop, Stoop, and Scoop - Gather the Manna

Sometimes I just don't know how to walk this life.  I pretend I do... with my big talk and pretty words.  I try to... by writing gifts and writing Word on the walls of the mind, hoping it will sink into my heart, travel that farthest distance.  Sometimes though, life gets blurry and foggy and I am tired and worn and I'm good at forgetting and getting distracted and bad at the discipline of stopping and giving it over and putting one foot in front of the other.  And it all goes over my head and I can't get it to sink in and anxiety and anger come easier than patience and joy.

And maybe what I need is to step out of my tent, out of this flesh in this everyday life, and gather the manna. I need to get down on my knees and scoop it up, breathe His Spirit deep.  Because I can see it, this mysterious providence I don't deserve, and I can even be thankful for it, marvel at the gift, hear how this "What is it?" speaks of deep, deep love... I can see it and still walk by it, still hunger deep until I stop, fully stop, stoop down in humility and gather the manna.  God can provide, but I will not be sustained until I drop down to my knees, scoop it up and put it to my lips.  God can provide, but I must GATHER and EAT.  God fulfills, but I must drink.  Oh Lord, let me scoop and gather and not walk by!

A Mother's Day Story - Marvel in the Mystery

I never would have expected it.  I just wanted to take the Montana roommate out for some good Mexican food.  I've been to that restaurant dozens of times, ordered the same thing, never even bothered to look at a menu, and I am caught completely by surprise.  I don't even remember how it started, just the poignant joy.  My mother telling stories fifty years old, stories I've never heard before, dripping rich with heritage and history.  Stories of growing up in Mexico, living with her grandparents while her widowed  mother works cleaning houses for those living the American dream, trying to provide, and her siblings go to school.

We laugh at the stories of a frizzy-haired girl, skin sun-darkened, running around the dirt roads of Mexico in nothing but a pair of ruffled underwear, sipping tea and munching on cookies while her grandfather hangs out with his buddies.  We laugh until we cry as she tells us how she and her cousins made mud pies decorated with bottle caps and rocks and actually sold them to neighbors.. until those kind souls began locking them out because they had enough bottle cap pies to last a lifetime.

And when we get to the part where I'm picturing that five year old girl who would one day become my mother standing in line at the mill with her bucket of maiz boiled with cilantro and lime clad, as usual, only in her ruffled underwear and faithfully waiting to take masa home so her grandmother - my great-grandmother - can make the day's tortillas... When we get to that part, I see my mother is really crying as she remembers how happy those days were when all she had was all she needed.  And I have never loved her more, this woman who has loved me and hurt with me and raised me.  Her pictures are still so vivid and I can see her pulling them up in the theater of her mind.  Grandfather, the Spaniard with khaki shirt and pants, straw hat and ankle-high boots.  Grandmother with her mantilla around her head, floor-length skirt encircling her as she sits by the fire cooking tortillas - hand molding them and placing them on the comal one by one.  My mother counting and recounting the gifts.  And I feel the prickling sting of conviction for the number of times I have cried out that it is not enough when it is and it always will be.

And I marvel in the mystery of stories written on hearts.  Generations forming and reforming.  Good always outweighing bad.  Joy transcending.  God always present, even if unknown or unnoticed.  And truly it doesn't make sense.  How the messiness of life can somehow be forgotten in light of the joyful memories.  How, when all we have is all we need, it is enough.  And there is this mystery to it.  A mystery to love transcending.  A mystery to every relationship in our lives.  A mystery to how a life begins and where a life can lead.  And I marvel in it each day.  Ecclesiastes says it this way, "Just as you do not know how the breath enters the bones in a mother's womb, so you do not know the work of God who makes everything." (11:5)  Ah yes.  A mother's story.  A life's beginning.  A life's living.  God's work.  Every one, every day, a mystery in which to marvel.

A Lifeline for the Worn - What the Heart Knows by Heart...

I click on the video and it makes me smile.  Big.  These two sisters whose words have changed lives, laughing as they stumble through this Word that gives Life.  And I am reminded.  It's the joy in their words and faces, the way they can't stop themselves from injecting "Wow!" and "I love this!" and "This is my favorite part!" between every single verse.  The way she punctuates the phrases with her hands and closes her eyes as if savoring each syllable.

She says it in a way this musician can understand: "Your life can't sing unless you play... and you can't really play unless you know how to play through the hard parts... but if you want to make music through the hard parts - play the left hand alone... because when you can really write out the left hand from memory, you can really play!"

These Words I am learning to write out by heart are Life.  They are a Lifeline.  They are rich and sweet, like honey on the lips.  It is the Word of God, and I need it desperately.   I am reminded of how much I long for the Truth of God to abide in me.  I long for it to change and transform me.  And it's not just memorization for religion's sake.  It's not memorization because it's right or expected.  It's like inhaling, learning a new language, a heart language.

And it's this: What the heart knows by heart is what the heart knows, and I want my heart to know God is perfect and worthy of all my trust and thanks in all things.  I want my heart to know this jar of clay holds a treasure, that God loves ALWAYS, that He is my source of peace and joy and... all.  And so I memorize and learn His words by heart so I might know.  So I might LIVE.

When there's no new song - Rehearse the Refrain

Some days it's harder to put on the lenses.  The flame just doesn't want to light.  I listen for the whisper but my ears seem deaf.  And so I put one foot in front of the other, let dog out, brush teeth, make bed, change clothes, then sit before the mirror to do hair and makeup... and sometimes that's the hardest, best moment.  The hair won't lay right and the makeup just won't cover it all and I have to look weakness herself straight in the eye.  And I don't know how to pray or what today holds, and it's hard to remember why I'm getting up and doing it all again.  So I force my lips to form those same ancient words, the ones I've been repeating daily for months, the ones Jesus taught us to pray two thousand and some years ago, because I am a woman in deep need.

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...

I say the words slowly, try to savor them, and after that final "forever," I keep going and I feel like a broken record, crying out for eyes to see and for daily bread and I'm begging God to redeem my brokenness and bless those I love and meet their needs and I've been here before... yesterday, last year... and I've said the same words and I'm here again.  And I long for a new song and, without a doubt, there is a place in this Becoming life for just that, but today... today I have nothing new to offer.  Just the same life that I placed on the altar yesterday and keep taking back up and giving back over, hoping I'll leave it there longer this time.

Today, and maybe everyday, I just need to be reminded.

I look in the mirror and I wonder if people see in me something I don't or if I see things in myself they don't, I feel the fear of being exposed rising, I ask the "What's next?" question... I need to be reminded.  So I rehearse the refrain, the part of the song that keeps returning, that we always come back to.  And it's the first part of the song we learn by heart and the last part we forget.  I rehearse the refrain...

God is always good and I am always loved.

Great is Thy faithfulness!  Great is Thy faithfulness!  Morning by morning new mercies I see!  Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not.  Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me!

With all creation I sing, praise to the King of Kings.  You are my everything and I will adore you, because the answer to anxiety is the adoration of Christ!

This God, His way is perfect! (Psalm 18:30)

And of course, always coming back to that one word - I wear it around my neck now, a counterweight to keep me balanced - Eucharisteo.  Grace. Joy. Thanks. Grace. Joy. Thanks.  And again, and again it rises.  When circumstances change.  When I grieve (and I always will for it is the reverse side of that treasured coin, Love).  When I'm at a loss again, I do this with lips, with heart, with tears, with guttural groans.  I sit, just like I tell my babies to do at the keyboard, and I practice.  I rehearse the refrain.

Why Seeing IS Believing - Count Gifts

I need to confess something.  I am deeply afraid of being alone.  I am afraid that those I love and am coming to depend on will leave, walk away, grow tired of me.  I'm afraid I'll never find the Adam to my Eve, that help-meet.  I'm afraid I'll prove not good enough to be loved and cared for, not good enough to build lasting relationships and find people who want to walk life with me.  And as I write these things down, I feel almost foolish, because hasn't God proven over and over that He is faithful and never leaves and His timing perfect?

But the fear is real because faith and love, as Luci Shaw says, are intangible and unseen and I can move in that direction but never achieve full certainty.  "God Himself, a Spirit real but invisible calls [me] to live this Adventure guided by a hand and an arm that [I] cannot see or prove in irrefutable terms."  So how then, do I follow?  And perhaps Ann is right.  I feel it deep now, deeper than the beauty of the words on the page: If perfect love casts out fear, let me count the ways He loves!

I can't see this God or the arm that guides, but I can see 1,000 and more gifts.  All around, 1,000 reminders that He loves.  Oh how He loves!  My heart sings.  And so I count the gifts and I whisper thanks and I recite Psalm 18:30, "This God - His way is perfect, the words of the Lord proves true, He is a shield for all those who take refuge in Him."  And I believe.

And this is what it all comes down to: Eucharisteo, this trifecta of joy and grace and thanksgiving, is all about love.  Call it what it is! Because it's not enough to keep a list or give thanks or name graces or seek joy.  I must call it what it is!  Because ultimately what we are thankful for, what grace is, why we have joy, the Eucharist itself comes down to love.  Why did Jesus, when facing death and unrelenting suffering, betrayal and rejection, give thanks?  Because of God's deep love for us!  The breaking of the body, the drinking of the vine comes down to love.  And this isn't  new; it's just finally clicking.  And if I am to LIVE, I must live in light of this:  God loves deep and real.

And it is not the trite "God will never leave you" that gets me through.  It is the fact that God loves deep and relentless and shows it 1,000 ways.  And if we who are evil know how to give good gifts, how much better are His?  And I can even suffer broken like Jesus, like Job, and still give thanks, thanks in the brokenness because HE LOVES!

Lord, teach me to live this language of love, to use Eucharisteo to lead me back to your arms, time and again.

The Art of Remembering - Light a Candle

What if I could get back to a place where I fully believed that I am taken care of?  What if I once again started living, as Sarah Young suggests in Jesus Calling, as if God had written out in careful detail every aspect of my story, laid out a path of purpose before me.  What if I truly believed - and lived like I believed - that this God, his way is perfect and his word proves true and he is a shield for all those who take refuge in him? What if I lived as if He takes me by the hand step by step and I am eternally loved and secure regardless?  What if I approached each day looking for ways to respond to God at work, instead of thinking the day is a blank page that I need to fill myself?  What if I viewed it as a new piece of music ready to be played one breath, one phrase at a time, or a book to be read one sentence at a time?  What if it's already there before me and I need only to trust?  Can I?  Please?

Yes.  Yes.  Yes!

And here it is: light a candle.  When darkness closes in and fear grips strong and you feel like the next step will lead you off the edge of a cliff, when you forget (like I am so, so good at doing), light a candle.  Light a candle and remember that His word is a light to your path, and you are the light of the world, and his way is perfect and he will light the way one step at a time, just like he always has, and all those things you heart longs to believe and you spirit longs to live... they're all true!  Light a candle and remember this!

Enough light for now, for today.  Enough hope to get through the night without fear.

It. Is. Taken. Care of.

Live like you believe it and when you need to be reminded... Light a candle!

Stirrings of the Heart - Faithful Today

There's something stirring in my heart these days. God at work, I know. Sanctifying through and through. And questions rise to the surface. So many questions. They threaten to drown me. I know the feeling too well. Anxiety and panic. It's hard to catch a breath. But maybe it's not what I think it is. Maybe it's not fear reaching to clutch at my throat and strangle. Maybe it's just me trembling at His touch, at the intimacy, the mystery of love, the adventure of a life together, a life I can't fully understand, a life of deep and complete trust. 

How can this small life amount to anything? How do I pour out every ounce of this one life when my heart is so selfish some days? What of the failure days? What of the running on empty days? What of the 20% days? And here it is: faithful today. 

Here and now, faithful. 

When I am not, He is. 

He never runs out. 

I do. He doesn't. 

And I ask Him to make me faithful. To help me to live dedicated to that which He has placed before me today so that which does not look like much might amount to much in His hands. 

There's something stirring in my heart these days. My breath catches like when the stars catch my eye and stop me in my tracks. It is mysterious and I want to clothe it all in words, but I can't. It is God at work, I know. And I am thankful.

A Whisper for the Weak - Beloved Before the First Step

Live for today.  Hear the whisper again and feel the assurance: you are My Beloved.  Don't take a step until you've heard it, felt it deep.  You are My Beloved and you always will be.  Before you do anything, I love you.  Be faithful today.  Be full of the kind of faith that trusts enough to walk one step at a time and gathers manna, relishing the "what is it"s.

********

The way she said it rings in my ears.  It came in response to my anguished question, a question too big for me, too big for now, about this life I'm trying so hard to live daily... "What IS it?!"  Her laughter, an upside-down kind of laughter, one of joyful surrender, it rang warm.  "That is manna. You just said manna!"  And I feel pressed for time as I try to clothe it all in words.  I'm about to be swept into the swift current of the day, but right now I'm thinking about manna, listening for the Whisper.  I forget my need sometimes, or I just get it wrong.  I don't need the answer... I need the mystery.  "What is it?" sustains because He whispers that I am His Beloved (And what a mystery it is!  God loves me?!).  Sovereign God, has chosen it to be so.  When I give up the clawing for the answer, I find that the mystery - that which God always, faithfully provides out of His love, the manna - it sustains.  And I don't know how or why, but I am filled.  Beloved before the first step.  If I have nothing else, it is enough.

French Press, China, and the Flow of Influence

She left my favorite cup full of fresh french press coffee sitting on the table before she rushed out the door.  I see it and the tears start to flow.  Those five letters scrawled in red that grab my heart - C-H-I-N-A.  I pour the cream and the memories and the heart cries pour forth.  One Thousand Gifts words come like a flood. "I am blessed.  I can bless."  I missed it the first time, but it's so clear today.  And sometimes we need to read things twice, thrice, or more.  Read our lives over and over again, praying that we will see.  What miracle is this!  I am blessed, and I can bless.  And it is not for me to manipulate and strive, for God, never-ending God, makes a way... always a way.  So I pray, and I trust that He will use me to bless just like He uses the pianist, and the roommates, and the dear friends, and the children, and the colleagues, and the boss. The flow in my life becomes clear before my eyes.  I would hear the words later and they would ring true and help shape my Sanity Manifesto.  Influence (and that's precisely what I am praying for... for influence, to bless) is just that, the flowing in.  And I look at what's flowing into my life.  So many blessings!  And I wonder what's flowing out?  Could I be the blessing?

And the Spirit warms more than the coffee, and she may never realize how God used that simple action.  And maybe I... maybe I don't want to know how I'm blessing because pride creeps so near, a constant companion.  Perhaps God hides some things from us to save us from ourselves.  I long to stay humble, to savor the miracle, to call it that, because I am a mess.  One blessed mess!  And tomorrow I will be impatient and I will grow angry and I will forget to be thankful and He will love anyway and grant me the grace of two.  Such glory I am allowed to walk in!  Such glory flowing all around, flowing in, influencing my every move.  And I thirst for it.  I long for His Spirit to flow into me.  I long to see the blessings flowing in and to call them what they are: miracles! And I long to remember that my life can influence too.  Blessings can flow on through me because He lives in me, just like He lives in each of them.  So I ask myself: What's flowing?  And I open hands and heart that it may flow on.

Learning How to Live - My Own Sanity Manifesto

For over a month now, I have been meditating on Ann Voskamp's Sanity Manifesto, trying to live it, to absorb it, to make it my own, to let God use it in my life.  But when I fell back into a battle with that old foe, thorn in my side, anxiety, God began to work and here are some elements that I pray God will use to transform me.  These are the 15 phrases that make up my own Sanity Manifesto, the thoughts that drive me back to the throne of grace, keep my feet grounded, let my heart soar, remind me of the eternal, of the divine, of the full life that I am trying so hard to find, and of the gracious God who loves deep and constant.  These are 15 prayers of transformation and sanctification, and the next many posts will be my story, plain and simple, as I try to learn to fully live here, because it looks good on a page and it sounds good the way she clothes it all in poetic language, but to live it... to live it is hard.  To believe it is hard.  And I am so thankful for the way the Spirit moves and provides insight and precious companions to walk by my side.  Perhaps this will inspire you... I pray it does.  But if nothing else, it is teaching me to listen, to fight, to choose life and trust and daily bread.

1) Rehearse the refrain - Repeat the things you know.  Sing them over and over.  God is good and faithful.  His loving kindness endures forever.  He calls you to purpose and He will do it!
2)  Gather the Manna - It's all about DAILY bread.  Look and see what God is providing because He does and He will every single day.
3) Beloved before the first step - Before you make your first move, listen for the gentle whisper of God calling you His Beloved.  Find your center, your identity in this: you are His beloved son or daughter before you do anything.
4) Faithful today - Don't worry about tomorrow.  Be faithful in all things, especially the small things, today.  Devote yourself to prayer being watchful and thankful.
5) One at a time - Focus your attention on one thing at a time.  Build one brick at a time.  Love one person at a time.  Don't give in to the temptation to multitask.  Live one thing at a time.
6) Sing your song out loud - It's just cathartic to sing the songs you love, that refresh your soul with beauty and truth.  Sing them out loud.
7) Influence: What's flowing? - What's flowing into your life?  What's flowing out?  What influence are you having that you may not even realize?
8) Marvel in the mystery - The things of God are beyond our ability to grasp.  Mystery makes them God-things and they are good.  Marvel at it.  Let it drive you to worship.  Surrender your need for control so you might enjoy it.
9) Give it up, Give it over - Could've, should've, would've, what if, if only, am I enough?  Give it up.  Give it all over and lay it on the altar.
10) Count gifts - The little, beautiful reminders of God's love.  Set a goal for the number of gifts you'll thank God for each day.  Look for three things a day that stir your soul to thank God.  Stay thankful, stay joyful, find grace.
11) Breath prayers: Kyrie Eleison - Make "Lord have mercy" a prayer you breathe.  Center yourself on it.  Remember your need, your weakness, and let it keep you humble, for God draws near to the humble.
12) What the heart knows by heart, the heart knows - This is Ann's, not mine, but it is so crucial.  Memorize scripture, let the truth sink in, meditate on it day and night.  What the heart knows, you can stand firm on, no matter what challenges may come, or how your mind might rebel.
13) Questions sustain - Manna literally means "What is it?"  Don't strive for answers in this life.  They may never come this side of eternity.  By the grace of God, we can eat the questions, the mystery, and find nourishment for our souls.
14) Give bad days to the Redeemer - Some days are rough.  Happens.  Give them to Jesus and let Him redeem them.  It's what He does.
15) Light a candle - Feel the weight of darkness closing in?  Light a candle, remember you are the light of the world and He is the light in you and He will light your way.

Christmas Carols and Funeral Marches

I got behind in my Bible study, Jesus the One and Only, so today, just 10 days before Christmas, I am reading about the Betrayal, the Last Supper, and the Crucifixion.  It's a little bit strange, and yet the news reminds me that this is life.  Christmas carols and funeral marches playing in counterpoint.  Bitter herbs and sweet wine.  Tears and thanksgiving.  Redemption and waiting.  And I feel like I've written all this before.  And I have.  But it's just becoming more and more real to me.  27 dead in Connecticut shooting, most of them children.  What a broken, crazy world we live in!  Bitter herbs reminding us of the bondage and the fall and the need for a savior.  And in some strange way, the joy of Christmas shines a little brighter against the darkness for me today.

I was singing "O Christmas Tree" to my kindergartners yesterday and we were talking about evergreens and how people began decorating these trees during the winter to remind them of hope and the fact that spring was coming.  Though it gets too cold for many of the trees to keep their leaves, the leaves of evergreen trees stay green and never fall.  They don't know the depth of it all, but someday they will.  I grieve today for families who have lost so much and children whose innocence has been so badly marred.  Yet by some miracle, I find my heart rejoicing because Christ has come and He has redeemed us.  The Lamb of God fulfilled the plan of redemption, and he has saved and is transforming and sanctifying all those who are willing to accept His gift.  No matter how bitter cold evil makes this world, that Tree stands as a reminder of hope.  Spring is coming.  Maranatha.  The Lord comes.  The Lord came on Christmas, the cross in clear view, and He is coming again.  We, His Body, live as a reminder.

And I ask the questions too.  If you are with us, God, and you heal wounds and bind up the brokenhearted, if you win, what keeps you from ending all of this?  If you came to redeem the world, why are you waiting so long to come again?  I don't have answers and I wouldn't dare try to give one, but I know God is good because He came and saved us, and He will come again.  So I cry, "Lord, come quickly.  Your kingdom come. Your will be done on earth and it is in Heaven."  And I cry, "How long, O Sovereign Lord?!"  But amid the cries, I hear the call: Child of God, rise up!  Live love, and live slow.  Watching all this through the eyes of one called to teach humbles me.  These precious lives God has entrusted me with!  I will have an impact on them whether I like it or not, and I pray that God will equip me and the Holy Spirit will fill me and that no matter how crazy life gets, I won't miss it.  I don't want to miss looking into the eyes of those precious little ones and loving them and nurturing them into the people they will become.  I don't want to miss it with my kids; I don't want to miss it with anyone I come in contact with!

Let the redeemed of the Lord say so.  Let us live pure religion by remaining unpolluted in this broken world.  Let us not forget the things these days are stirring in us, the desire to hold our children tighter and recognize the value of life, the desire to be more like Jesus.  He came.  He showed us how to Live.  He died.  He set us free to Live.  He rose again.  He showed us we would Live forever.  He is coming again.  He gave us hope to Live.  Let us Live!

Advent: A Celebration of Waiting

Today marks the first day of Advent, a time when we remember the wait for a coming King.  I find myself wondering what it must have been like waiting for the Messiah.  Four hundred years of silence and waiting for the Promised One who would come and save.  I think of the words of my favorite Christmas carol: O come, o come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel who mourns in lonely exile here until the Son of God appears. Oh, but Rejoice!  Rejoice!  Emmanuel has come to thee oh Israel!  And it is true.  Emmanuel, God with us, the with of God, the presence of God, the walk with you, live with you, pitch my tent among you God is here.  He has come, and we rejoice!  God is with us.  Grace is everywhere because God is with us.

And yet we still wait.  We wait for the second coming.  We wait for tears to be no more.  We wait for the full redemption of this broken world when Christ comes in a flash of power and glory.  Because life is tragic at times, frail and unpredictable.  It is that strange ugly-beautiful.  What is grace?  What is grace is a broken, waiting world?  What is grace in the passing of a 10-year-old from cancer?  In the mother of four who may live paralyzed?  What is grace in the silence, in the waiting, in the darkness, depression, and anxiety?  Where is grace in the promises yet to be fulfilled?  I wonder.  I Know of grace.  I believe in grace, but what is it?

Is it in God on the other side?  I think so.  I think it is knowing that at the end of the road of pain and sorrow God is and has been with us.  And I don't mean it in that cliche "footprints in the sand" kind of way.  Because when you walk the long, hard path of captivity, mourning in lonely exile and brokenness, it doesn't feel like grace.  Advent is not so clear, or worth celebrating.  Who celebrates the waiting, really?  But we live.  Through all of it, we live and God comes.  God is on the other side.  We have the Body and the Blood and the Resurrection and the God who dove into the mess of it all just to be with us.  Just to be with us!  Emmanuel.

So rejoice!  Rejoice!  God has come to thee.  I feel the question rising.  How?  Rejoice always.  How?  What is rejoicing wrapped in pain?  Rejoicing wrapped in pain is hope that opens the heart to a peace beyond understanding.  Rejoicing wrapped in pain looks no more like rejoicing than God wrapped in the skin of a newborn baby looks like God.  When it's time to mourn, it is time to mourn but there is still the gentle glow of a heart that can rejoice because Emmanuel has come to them and He is coming again.  God is on the other side.  And I pray it's written on my heart today for that moment when the darkness falls: rejoice, oh my soul, though the world around you crumbles and your heart with it, rejoice, for God With Us has come to thee!

Jesus said to the Pharisees in Luke 17, "The coming of the kingdom of God is not something that can be observed, nor will people say 'Here it is,' or 'There it is,' because the kingdom of God is within you."  Yes!  Our pastor said it this morning and how true it is.  Emmanuel, the with of God, did not just come for the broken, He comes through the deeply broken.  He is not just with us; He is within us.  And often, that makes the Kingdom hard to observe.  As hard as finding a King sleeping within a baby in a manger in a small town in Israel.

The Ugly-Beautiful - Music that preaches the gospel

I just came home from the recital of a former professor and very dear friend.  I am simply trying to process it all.  There is so much.  It was so deep.  I mean the programming was exquisite.  This poignant, powerful, almost brooding music and then closing with the second movement of a Schubert sonata... Hope.  The music itself was the cross.  Sorrow and beauty colliding.  The gospel, where light meets dark and death meets life and tears meet joyful hope.  It was the beauty of the broken.  Not the beauty in the broken.  The beauty of the broken.  And there was this moment in the Chopin she played where the funeral march gives way to this poignant lyrical section, and I could sense every soul in the room reaching.  It's as if I held my heart in my hand, like I held the breath in my lungs, and just lifted it, reaching to place my broken mess in God's hands and eternity washed over me anew.  And the Schubert was the smile through the tears.  The moment when the prodigal son lays his head on the Father's chest (like the beloved disciple reclined against Jesus at the last supper) and the Father whispers, "You were dead, but now you are alive again." And the son hears the beat of a heart so full of love it aches.

Then there's the pianist and how her performance is how I long to live: given over, holding nothing back, heart laid bare on the altar, no fear of the depths.  Could we ever live every day like that, believing that God is so glorious and good and holy that the broken is beautiful in His presence, when given over completely to Him?  Let it be so, Lord!  Let it be so! And the contrast of the words I wrote in my journal yesterday ("There are no fancy words tonight.  I am simply in pain.") with what I write tonight is not lost on me.  There is so much pain, so many wounds that need healing, but the miracle of God is that, while we may need to wait for pain to be soothed and wounds to be healed, we do not need to wait for beauty and joy.  I think I'm starting to get it now: the ugly-beautiful.  It's a funeral march that captures you.  It's the longings that will never be fulfilled that stir your passion. It's a Father running to meet his filthy, straight-from-the-pig-pen son and covering him in kisses.  It's Peter denying Jesus and still be entrusted by the Savior Himself to feed His sheep.  It's the way God uses pain to shape us into who we really are: His image-bearers.  It's the unfailing love that causes a prophet to buy back a wife from prostitution.  The ugly-beautiful.  And it exists only because of the greatness of our God.

The More - Why art is a necessity

Why art?  As we place one foot before the other treading this earth, our hearts declare within us that there is More.  As a culture, we tend to respond by trying to obtain more.  We move faster to do more to earn more to spend more to gain more.  But the More to which our hearts call us cannot be obtained.  It simply is.  And if the veil of blue sky and clouds which separates us from Heaven were to be torn, we would see the More, though only for an instant before we were blinded by its brilliance... by His brilliance, for the More is His Glory. 

And so in our humanity we created ones marvel at the intricacy of the veil, Knowing in our souls the More that lies beyond this reflection.  From where I sit I can admire the golden sunlight of an autumn afternoon and listen intently to a symphony as the gentle breathing of my tiny companion plays counterpoint to the birds' chirped melodies.  My eyes linger on the blue of the sky, which is so impossible to reproduce.  My thoughts wander to the human minds which created the shelters in which we dwell, strong enough to keep us safe and warm through the storms.  And like breath fills my lungs, glory fills my heart, and in my very limited way, I imitate my creator by putting pen to page, or by lifting voice in song, or by touching fingers to keys.  Redeemed, created one meets Holy, Uncreated One and we fellowship, and the brilliance of His glory warms me rather than blinds me.  The artist in the thin place.

In the moments of creation and imagination, the More is evident and the veil between Heaven and earth is no thicker than the flesh that separates my hand from touching my own heart as it pumps life blood through my body.  The Life Source is untouchable, but oh so near!  Imagination and the act of creation remind us of this fact.  In the writing, the music, the movement, the sculpting, the painting, we realize the More, the Glory by which and for which we were created.  We then find ourselves driven to places of communal enjoyment, worship services, coffee shops, living rooms, dinner tables, concert halls, art galleries, and why?  Because in sharing art we tear down walls, open ourselves to vulnerability, and give each other wings to fly, eyes to see, ears to hear, hearts to grasp the More, the Eternal.  We artists, co-creators or sub-creators with God, guide each other to the thin places.  That is why art.  It is the map, the guide, the bridge, the key to the More - the transformative Glory of God whose image we cannot grasp, and yet in which we are made.

Inspired by discussion questions in Luci Shaw's Breath for the Bones - Art, Imagination, and Spirit: Reflections on Creativity and Faith