I should truly turn my phone off today
And spend 15 min. with the God who gave me life
Find something to say “thank-you” for
Because for this I was created
I will close my eyes
and call him, “Father”
Because the simple truth that I’m His child
That He loves me
That He loved me enough
To send his son
To die for me
Is enough
It’s....
enough.
I don’t need any extra blessings.
I’m enough.
Me.
Me without anything added
Me, and Jesus, and My Father
with the Holy Spirit
He gave me.
“It is better for me to leave, so that my advocate can come,” He said.
I believe
that God is for me.
I believe
that there is a reason for this day.
I believe
that there is a reason I’m here to live it.
call the sound. bruised. but never buried.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Friday, September 14, 2012
living worshipfully is important
Father, You are my greatest joy. I turn to You, our King of Kings, in this hour to ask You to forgive this day and this upcoming week.
You are my greatest joy.
"I will fall at Your feet. I will worship You here."
I am not an innately worshipful person, but my hope is in a God who calls me to worship, who calls me to love despite my feelings and attitude of the moment. If my life's work does not glorify Him, no amount of money or attention or adoration will matter. Nothing is worth leaving the Lord's presence, and whether I choose to believe that today or tomorrow, it must be something I learn or my life will have no meaning. I have to honor that truth, or my life will be worthless to me.
It all comes back to You, God. It doesn't matter who we ever meet, because we have met You and You have met us, and accepted us, and loved us more than Yourself. When it was nothing for You to save Yourself from pain, to watch us sin without a final escape, while it would have been easy for You, You who are perfect, satisfied by Your trinity, You who isn't bonded by sex, enslaved to money, addicted to fame...
You are only jealous for our attention because You know that only You can satisfy our God-filled hole. Only You can satisfy us- us: we choose our idols and addictions over praising You every single day.
...While it would have been easy for You to keep the system- the system where we had to constantly sacrifice, had to constantly repent, had to constantly give offerings- You gave Your son as THE offering. You broke the chains that we created, because You love us in a way we can never fathom.
You are my greatest joy.
"I will fall at Your feet. I will worship You here."
I am not an innately worshipful person, but my hope is in a God who calls me to worship, who calls me to love despite my feelings and attitude of the moment. If my life's work does not glorify Him, no amount of money or attention or adoration will matter. Nothing is worth leaving the Lord's presence, and whether I choose to believe that today or tomorrow, it must be something I learn or my life will have no meaning. I have to honor that truth, or my life will be worthless to me.
It all comes back to You, God. It doesn't matter who we ever meet, because we have met You and You have met us, and accepted us, and loved us more than Yourself. When it was nothing for You to save Yourself from pain, to watch us sin without a final escape, while it would have been easy for You, You who are perfect, satisfied by Your trinity, You who isn't bonded by sex, enslaved to money, addicted to fame...
You are only jealous for our attention because You know that only You can satisfy our God-filled hole. Only You can satisfy us- us: we choose our idols and addictions over praising You every single day.
...While it would have been easy for You to keep the system- the system where we had to constantly sacrifice, had to constantly repent, had to constantly give offerings- You gave Your son as THE offering. You broke the chains that we created, because You love us in a way we can never fathom.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Crimes Out to Dry
"Do you daydream?", she asked.
Her voice didn't sound like the other women: tired, apathetic, smug, disappointed.
Her eyes didn't provoke war.
Her tone was high, girlish even.
In her fingers, instead of the typical match with the ash-colored tip, held perfectly erect.
Instead of that all-too-familiar sliver of wood, she held a deceased dandelion.
Pinched between her thumb and forefinger, death of a different kind: mysterious and somehow
Full of promise.
The sunlight fell around her pretty but aging features in a way that
Warmed her thinning hair golden, created a sort-of optical illusion, until
You swore there was an actual halo atop her head!
Small, but glowingly real, you swore to yourself you'd seen it.
You'd sworn too many times in your short life.
"Go ahead, tell me."
You didn't want to.
You'd thought about this moment a thousand times. When this saintly lady would hear your crimes.
"I'm listening", she said. She slightly loosened her grip on the dandelion.
You closed your eyes, and forgot to pray. You garnered strength from your own merit, which was nearly enough to
Empower a horsefly.
You opened your eyes, childishly hoping your wish came true.
But she was still sitting there.
Attempting to swallow that immovable lump of guilt,
You remembered everything being a woman had taught you.
You used their passively abusive words
About competition and insecurity
To create a faux backbone for these next few seconds.
"Men are financial providers, women are emotional providers."
But you didn't believe that in this moment.
"God will provide!"
But that, too, was lost in the fear that shook your hands as you tried to hide them under the table.
You opened your mouth. To speak. To confess. To allow
the secret
to tumble
to her.
But the gust of wind was too great.
It blew the decayed seeds from the dandelion, blew the dead flower itself out of her grasp.
"Oh, no!!", she exclaimed as the dandelion flew off with the wind.
And with it, so much of her life.
"Wait, I'll get it!", you yelled, but even as you ran, you knew it was no use.
Returning to the table you'd always shared with the angelic woman, you sat silent,
No apology seemed big enough.
"I'm...I'm so sorry", you murmured.
It is a lame, overused phrase. But it was all you'd got.
Her eyes were so different, though.
She didn't recognize you anymore.
Her voice didn't sound like the other women: tired, apathetic, smug, disappointed.
Her eyes didn't provoke war.
Her tone was high, girlish even.
In her fingers, instead of the typical match with the ash-colored tip, held perfectly erect.
Instead of that all-too-familiar sliver of wood, she held a deceased dandelion.
Pinched between her thumb and forefinger, death of a different kind: mysterious and somehow
Full of promise.
The sunlight fell around her pretty but aging features in a way that
Warmed her thinning hair golden, created a sort-of optical illusion, until
You swore there was an actual halo atop her head!
Small, but glowingly real, you swore to yourself you'd seen it.
You'd sworn too many times in your short life.
"Go ahead, tell me."
You didn't want to.
You'd thought about this moment a thousand times. When this saintly lady would hear your crimes.
"I'm listening", she said. She slightly loosened her grip on the dandelion.
You closed your eyes, and forgot to pray. You garnered strength from your own merit, which was nearly enough to
Empower a horsefly.
You opened your eyes, childishly hoping your wish came true.
But she was still sitting there.
Attempting to swallow that immovable lump of guilt,
You remembered everything being a woman had taught you.
You used their passively abusive words
About competition and insecurity
To create a faux backbone for these next few seconds.
"Men are financial providers, women are emotional providers."
But you didn't believe that in this moment.
"God will provide!"
But that, too, was lost in the fear that shook your hands as you tried to hide them under the table.
You opened your mouth. To speak. To confess. To allow
the secret
to tumble
to her.
But the gust of wind was too great.
It blew the decayed seeds from the dandelion, blew the dead flower itself out of her grasp.
"Oh, no!!", she exclaimed as the dandelion flew off with the wind.
And with it, so much of her life.
"Wait, I'll get it!", you yelled, but even as you ran, you knew it was no use.
Returning to the table you'd always shared with the angelic woman, you sat silent,
No apology seemed big enough.
"I'm...I'm so sorry", you murmured.
It is a lame, overused phrase. But it was all you'd got.
Her eyes were so different, though.
She didn't recognize you anymore.
Monday, July 2, 2012
When Grace Gets Real
Christians who don't live with bars on either side of their eyes,
Who haven't been set rigidly in place,
Who aren't always organized, who mess up sometimes,
I learn the most about grace from those people.
I was in the wedding of my childhood friend, Emily, two weekends ago.
One of the groomsmen, the groom's best friend, drums for the band Twenty One Pilots.
My conversation with Josh truly affirmed what I think I've always known.
It was so interesting, when he asked me, "Why did you want to go to a Christian school?"
I was at a loss for words.
He's standing there, one arm completely covered in a tattoo sleeve of a tree;
And I'm at a loss for words.
And, for a split second, I find myself judging him for that tattoo.
See, the thing about going to a Christian school is,
You might start developing a picture in your mind of what "Christian" looks like.
Even me, who solemnly promised herself
That she would never be like that, would never do that...
...Would not judge the books by their covers, the people by their tattoos, the girls by their hem length,
Suddenly found herself
A professional.
The summer before college, I'm standing in a basement packed full of Believers,
At a church with no worship group, or even church sanctuary,
Who look nothing like this picture in my mind.
And they're there for the free Christian Apologetics class-
On a Sunday morning.
They weren't getting college credit,
but it was packed-
-Wall to Wall.
There was never enough time for all the questions...
And...woah. The questions.
These people were really brave, unabashed to ask what everyone was thinking.
At a Christian college, these people would most likely be considered
Heavily liberal, over-worldly, doubters
They would get demerits for their clothing
And their cussing
And their (not-getting-drunk) drinking
But they're faith is real.
They are alive in God's grace
They are truly unafraid
When I got to college
I missed them
In Old Testament, with engaged-to-be-married boys in my row
And sitting in front of me,
I had to answer the Song of Solomon question
In Politics, I was the lone
Liberally-inclined thinker in the room
People responded to me like I was a feminist lesbian (Heaven forbid!)
But did I care?
Not really.
But it gets kind of lonely, swimming against the current;
Understanding what it means to be
True to who God made you to be,
Not true to how everyone else looks and acts.
My answer to Josh's question?
"I'm a Christian!"
He blank-stared at me,
And it was in that moment that I remembered...
Those bars?
Their self-imposed.
That culture?
Can be crippling.
That fear?
Is worthless.
I'm remembering what it means to live in God's freedom,
Learning how to love those who squander themselves by not asking questions
And trying their damndest to live lives that look like everyone else's.
And please, do yourself a favor and don't care what other people think about you.
Stop censoring yourself, stop second-guessing;
God is bigger, and you don't have to play by rules that don't matter.
Lyrics that inspired this post:
Little Lion Man; Mumford & Sons
Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart
Weep Little Lion Man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start
Rate yourself and rake yourself,
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems
That you made in your own head....
....Your grace is wasted in your face,
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck
Brother; Matt Corby
Wait there
Pull yourself out of this state, dear
Acknowledge you were a fake here
From there on you might just grow
Guns For Hands; Twenty One Pilots
The solution is, I see a whole room of these mutant kids,
Fused at the wrist, I simply tell them they should shoot at this,
Simply suggest my chest and this confused music,
It's obviously best for them to turn their guns to a fist.
I'm trying, I'm trying to sleep,
I'm trying, I'm trying to sleep,
But I can't, but I can't when you all have,
Guns for hands.
Who haven't been set rigidly in place,
Who aren't always organized, who mess up sometimes,
I learn the most about grace from those people.
I was in the wedding of my childhood friend, Emily, two weekends ago.
One of the groomsmen, the groom's best friend, drums for the band Twenty One Pilots.
My conversation with Josh truly affirmed what I think I've always known.
It was so interesting, when he asked me, "Why did you want to go to a Christian school?"
I was at a loss for words.
He's standing there, one arm completely covered in a tattoo sleeve of a tree;
And I'm at a loss for words.
And, for a split second, I find myself judging him for that tattoo.
See, the thing about going to a Christian school is,
You might start developing a picture in your mind of what "Christian" looks like.
Even me, who solemnly promised herself
That she would never be like that, would never do that...
...Would not judge the books by their covers, the people by their tattoos, the girls by their hem length,
Suddenly found herself
A professional.
The summer before college, I'm standing in a basement packed full of Believers,
At a church with no worship group, or even church sanctuary,
Who look nothing like this picture in my mind.
And they're there for the free Christian Apologetics class-
On a Sunday morning.
They weren't getting college credit,
but it was packed-
-Wall to Wall.
There was never enough time for all the questions...
And...woah. The questions.
These people were really brave, unabashed to ask what everyone was thinking.
At a Christian college, these people would most likely be considered
Heavily liberal, over-worldly, doubters
They would get demerits for their clothing
And their cussing
And their (not-getting-drunk) drinking
But they're faith is real.
They are alive in God's grace
They are truly unafraid
When I got to college
I missed them
In Old Testament, with engaged-to-be-married boys in my row
And sitting in front of me,
I had to answer the Song of Solomon question
In Politics, I was the lone
Liberally-inclined thinker in the room
People responded to me like I was a feminist lesbian (Heaven forbid!)
But did I care?
Not really.
But it gets kind of lonely, swimming against the current;
Understanding what it means to be
True to who God made you to be,
Not true to how everyone else looks and acts.
My answer to Josh's question?
"I'm a Christian!"
He blank-stared at me,
And it was in that moment that I remembered...
Those bars?
Their self-imposed.
That culture?
Can be crippling.
That fear?
Is worthless.
I'm remembering what it means to live in God's freedom,
Learning how to love those who squander themselves by not asking questions
And trying their damndest to live lives that look like everyone else's.
And please, do yourself a favor and don't care what other people think about you.
Stop censoring yourself, stop second-guessing;
God is bigger, and you don't have to play by rules that don't matter.
Lyrics that inspired this post:
Little Lion Man; Mumford & Sons
Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart
Weep Little Lion Man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start
Rate yourself and rake yourself,
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems
That you made in your own head....
....Your grace is wasted in your face,
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck
Brother; Matt Corby
Wait there
Pull yourself out of this state, dear
Acknowledge you were a fake here
From there on you might just grow
Guns For Hands; Twenty One Pilots
The solution is, I see a whole room of these mutant kids,
Fused at the wrist, I simply tell them they should shoot at this,
Simply suggest my chest and this confused music,
It's obviously best for them to turn their guns to a fist.
I'm trying, I'm trying to sleep,
I'm trying, I'm trying to sleep,
But I can't, but I can't when you all have,
Guns for hands.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Chosen.
Every woman needs to be chosen
I've come to this conclusion
That it's every woman
All of them
They all are chosen
Once
By He whose crimson grace ran from his wrists
Drips down to our heads beneath
By choice, some come to know Him
Are awaken to being already chosen
Once
Others wait, chosen-less
The ones who live chosen
Are sometimes chosen again
The others don't breathe right
Until that ring is given
I pray for the day
When Earth's rules are broken
When all of us, together
Share the same Selector
I've come to this conclusion
That it's every woman
All of them
They all are chosen
Once
By He whose crimson grace ran from his wrists
Drips down to our heads beneath
By choice, some come to know Him
Are awaken to being already chosen
Once
Others wait, chosen-less
The ones who live chosen
Are sometimes chosen again
The others don't breathe right
Until that ring is given
I pray for the day
When Earth's rules are broken
When all of us, together
Share the same Selector
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Thus is life.
Thus is life,
One long chain of moment-to-moment victories.
This galloping onward despite
Calcaneus screaming for us to stop,
The flesh hangs down in surrender; Bleeding.
We keep on
Suppressing that still, small voice that hungers to
Be still and know.
Oh, this dancing poly-happening...
Multiple sirs owe us!
We bang our fists on the dinner table.
We keep on,
Suppressing that little hungry voice
Catch your breath, wipe away your tears,
Let's go.
One long chain of moment-to-moment victories.
This galloping onward despite
Calcaneus screaming for us to stop,
The flesh hangs down in surrender; Bleeding.
We keep on
Suppressing that still, small voice that hungers to
Be still and know.
Oh, this dancing poly-happening...
Multiple sirs owe us!
We bang our fists on the dinner table.
We keep on,
Suppressing that little hungry voice
Catch your breath, wipe away your tears,
Let's go.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Mentor, Renewer, Friend.
Lurid stain of failure:
My magic marker dug through thin paper,
The visceral covering of my heart.
You knew that color,
Patches of it peeked through your sweatshirt.
My collarbone settled into the curve of your thumb and index finger.
It was like a dream,
Neon gave way to
Pastel harmony.
God was mentioned.
My eyes drew at their corners;
You stared straight inside.
My heartbeat drowned in sobbing noises;
You mentioned Him again,
Admonished to abide in grace, faithfully, again.
When I looked up
Into your eyes,
Your fingers melted through...
This sinking soul; you cradled me.
I felt my hope,
Renewed.
My magic marker dug through thin paper,
The visceral covering of my heart.
You knew that color,
Patches of it peeked through your sweatshirt.
My collarbone settled into the curve of your thumb and index finger.
It was like a dream,
Neon gave way to
Pastel harmony.
God was mentioned.
My eyes drew at their corners;
You stared straight inside.
My heartbeat drowned in sobbing noises;
You mentioned Him again,
Admonished to abide in grace, faithfully, again.
When I looked up
Into your eyes,
Your fingers melted through...
This sinking soul; you cradled me.
I felt my hope,
Renewed.
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