I stand before my God, witnessing the infinite glory of His purity and holiness, the shining beauty of His majestic being. I stand before Him breathless, awestruck by His blinding righteousness, His consuming power, His encompassing presence. My omniscient God, my ever-present Father, the Almighty Creator looks directly at me and knows.

I crumble at His feet, ashamed and disgusted. He knows my heart, every thought, vile and wicked, every action, desperate and dirty. He sees everything I’ve tried to hide, every fallen choice that has damaged, every decision that has desecrated. His eyes penetrate and the utter shame I’m faced with consumes me. My trembling hands cover my face as my head bows to the ground, desiring to disappear, to hide my humiliation. My knees buckle with the grief of my failure, the complete recognition of the darkness, the dirtiness of who I am. Fingers grasp my hair, pulling, fists slam my chest, beating, tears fall down my face, mourning. I despise the sinfulness I cannot deny, the blackness that oozes from my pores. I am nothing. I am worse than nothing as I lie broken before my Holy God.

I cower beneath the tender touch that suddenly appears from behind me, nail-scarred hands grasping my arms, pulling me into His embrace. Undeserving and unworthy, a part of me wants to resist this excruciating love. I feel the solidness of His chest as He wraps Himself around my brokenness. The warmth of His adoration comforts my shaken, frightened heart. His robes enfold me, covering my exposed sin, sheltering my stained soul, healing my scorched flesh. I feel His lips brush my cheeks, wiping the tears from my face as He whispers grace over me.

“I’ve got you.” My muscles instantly release the tension and shame. The strength of His voice permeates and banishes the darkness. “You are mine, Beloved.” His words illuminate the purity He offers me, the cleansing power of His blood infusing my soul. Comfort engulfs my spirit, soothing every fear. The demands of doubt and shame cannot form words any longer. Efforts made to pronounce my self hate are swallowed up in His beauty. Arguments lost the ability to be voiced with the Master’s gentle touch.

I kneel before my God, held up by the arms of my Savior. Looking in His glorious face, I see His knowing eyes once again. This time I take in His whole, radiant face, and am in awe of the smile beginning to spread. His wisdom shines. He knows my struggle. Oh, He sees it all, the weight of shame that collapses, the totality of grief that envelops, and the finality of His Son’s sacrifice that annihilates the darkness. Love, pierces through humanity and fills the atmosphere with healing grace.

I stand before my God, made whole by the precious blood of Jesus, by His gift of righteousness, by salvation’s grace filled plan.
I am His Beloved.
And He is mine.

Don't Stop Pursuing

9-18-11
God is calling to me today. He wants to come in to the deepest hurts. He wants to embrace the things I hide, to bring to life things that were dead. I’ve told him no all morning.

“Yes, I love you, but I don’t want this. Yes, I want you, but not in there.”
It is the hidden hurt that I wasn’t loved. It is the dead hopes that anyone could.

“I don’t know how to explore this, God. You pursue. I feel the depth of you calling me Beloved, knocking at my window, inviting me into your perfect love. But the fear of experiencing those emotions holds me back. Is this where your journey of forgiveness is traveling? I don’t want that. But you continue to call with your generous love.”

Song of Songs 1:6b My mother’s sons were angry with me
and made me take care of the vineyards; my own vineyard I had to neglect.
Others around me were angry and chose to force me to take care of them and their shame. I neglected myself. I let them convince me that my flaws were deep and that I had to accept responsibility for it all. I didn’t protect myself. I struggled picking up their burdens and carrying them on my weary back.

Song of Songs 2:2 Like a lily among thorns is my darling among the young women.
But the truth is, I am cherished above others. God speaks to me because I am His Beloved. I am chosen. I am treasured. I am loved. Shame does not belong on this heart. Jesus destroyed shame for me and poured grace over me. People in my past, who allowed their own wounds to rule their choices, who were soaked in their own ugly shame, too big to take, and who made those cruel, surviving decision… were wrong. I am a lily among thorns.

Song of Songs 2:4 Let him lead me to the banquet hall, and let his banner over me be love.
In response to His adoration, I willingly open myself to his leading, dancing under His loving eye. I spin with delight at the burdens lifted off my back. I twirl and jump with the freedom of His salvation. I feast at the table lavishly set for me. I close my eyes and breathe in the declarations He speaks. I am his and his banner over me is love.

Song of Songs 2:8-13 Listen! My beloved! Look! Here he comes, leaping across the mountains, bounding over the hills. My beloved is like a gazelle or a young stag. Look! There he stands behind our wall, gazing through the windows,
peering through the lattice. My beloved spoke and said to me, “Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me.”
He is calling to me, “Arise, Come.” Winter, the time of grief, hurt, and loneliness is past. He has broken down the walls of my guarded heart. His hands have reached in a healed years of pain and heartbreak. I am alone no longer. I am burdened no more. The time of singing and joy is here. Satisfaction, nourishment, growth is waiting. Flowers of love are blooming around me, spreading fragrance so intoxicating. Warm breezes comfort me and the sunshine pours it‘s glories on my head. He is here to love me. He is calling my name. “Arise, Come.”

Song of Songs 2:14-15 My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hiding places on the mountainside, show me your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely. Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards, our vineyards that are in bloom.
“Show me your face. No more hiding. Let me embrace you. It is time that your heart feels the full beauty of being loved.”

I’m told that it will happen, that I will see God. Sitting on the grass this morning, outside of the church building where people were listening and worshipping, I did see Him. Between the thin pages of my Bible, in the Song of Songs, I heard His love.
And as much as the morning’s calling rings purely in my heart, I still reply, “I don’t want it.” I don’t even know if I am capable of finding and uncovering such death and hurt. “I hear you speaking, it is you that will reveal, it is you that quickens, it is you that heals. Give me the space, Lord. Surround me with the safety I desire when you do your work. I don’t want this, but I choose to say yes now, knowing that I will say no again and again, and asking you, trusting you to do what you will.”

Where is God?

“Do you feel God?”
“No.” She whispered quietly.
“Do you want me to tell you where He is?” My body cradled her, my hand rubbing her arm. I held my hand out in front of her and wiggled my fingers just slightly. “He’s right here.” I whispered excitedly, with childlike awe at this incredible truth. “He’s right here.” I told her, wanting her to feel the joy along with me. “Do you understand?” I asked.
She shook her head no.
“His Spirit is in me. He’s right here, in me. God sent you me.” Tears began to roll with my humility and gratefulness that God would allow me to honor and adore my child in such a way. Tears gathered and spilled over as understanding dawned for her.
“He sent you Nick. He sent you Jordan. And Merridee. He sent you me.”
She heard me. She understood.
“You know in those dark times when I couldn’t feel God," I started. "Do you know where He was?”
I held up her hand, pointing at the small, delicate fingers. “He was right here. He was in my children; you, and Nick, and Jordan.”
Oh Jesus, you were right there, with tiny smiles that filled my heart, you were in those sweet, little hands patting my arm. You were right there in their beautiful voices calling “Mommy.”
Thank you.

Where is God when you are alone? When you’re lying in the back seat of your car, crippled by the heartbreaking disappointments of being alive? When there are no hands to cover yours, no voices to speak comfort?
He is in the breeze that lifts the heaviness of air.
He is in the tear that traces down your cheek.
He is standing beside you, weeping with your pain.
He is here.
He is here.

Even When There's Pain in the Offering

Lord, what do I do? Why did I get this information? This one, unexpected phone call has created so much turmoil, anger, hurt, and fear. The reminder of manipulations, the devastation at new lies discovered, the foolishness I feel, the insecurity and safety removed once again. What did I do to be so disrespected, treated so unimportantly?

I see the churning that’s happening in me and can even understand that anything that comes along and softens the soil ultimately means growth is coming. I believe part of that growth is in the space of my relationship; the leading, the following, the dependence and open hearts towards you. I believe even the perception of my pain is part of the growth. He loves me in a healing way. You have given me this. Opportunity is here for acceptance of such healing love and I am grateful for that.

So my question now is, what do I do with this story? Do I let it go? Do I take it to the source? I believe we both heard your guidance that day in the idea that this is a journey of forgiveness. It’s what I want. The release of your pure forgiveness. A part of me wanted the right to be angry, wanted to hold on to hate, wanted the old protections those feelings afforded me. But the healing of forgiveness that you have showed me in the past, and the healing of love that you are showing me now is much more inviting.

He quotes 1 Corinthians 13, how love endures, bears, hopes, and I hear leading from him to love, I feel the leading from you to share that love. It is your grace that freely pours that love on the undeserving. I want to be a part of that flowing glory. Just a few days ago, with my world rocked by revelations I wasn’t prepared for, I felt pride lead me to thoughts of revenge and hurt lead me to anger and desires to strike back. You spoke to me through love and led me here to the beginnings of grace.

If this is an opportunity to show your beautiful spirit, your powerful love, then I am willing. I stand with your servants proclaiming, “Here am I, send me.” Use me to offer mercy. Guide me in whatever path will bring people closer to your light. Allow me to be your embrace and acceptance. Jeremiah 31:31-34 spoke to us this morning, that we belong to you, that you have made a way for all of us. Let me proclaim your message. To all of us who stand unworthy, broken, scarred by our mistakes, use me God, to honor your gift of love beyond words, to offer the truth that sets us free.

Flying Free by Crystal Beard

My daughter wrote this peice and as I first read it, I had to slow myself down to take in every syllable carefully, savor every image completely. I saw this immediately as a meditation of sorts, a piece that could take different people to different places... an offering of deep emotions and spirit.
Enjoy...

You’re running as fast as you can. The knee length, soft, cotton white dress trails behind you, as does your long brown hair. Your powerful legs sprint and fly over the ground.
Your feet barely touch the dry dirt, and though they are bare, you feel no pain from rocks or uneven earth.
Tall yellow grass stretches to your waist, and the blades rustle softly as you move through them.
Nothing can catch you, not even the wind.
The sky is impossibly blue, the grass the color of golden honey. A warm, earthy smell fills your nostrils as you move. Each breath you take fills your lungs with crisp, clean air, with sweet, fresh life.
You keep running, you don’t ever want to stop.
The scene changes.
The earth is void of grass, and you are now running on soft, dark brown soil that leaves faint footprints where your feather light feet have trod.
Tall, chocolate colored trees stretch and form a colorful archway around your path. The thick branches are full of autumn colored leaves. Sunlight filters through the branches, illuminating the scarlet, orange, and yellow leaves, looking just like stained glass.
You never tire, your body is light as a cloud, and you keep running through the warm forest. Golden light is ahead. The trees grow thick together, forming a vast wall around the soft path. Reds and golds filter onto your white dress.
A soft, cool breeze soothes your skin as you fly through the trees.
You keep running, you don’t ever want to stop.
You blink, and your feet sink into light, khaki colored sand. An endless blue horizon stands before you. The waves of the dark, deep ocean crash against rising black rocks. Grey clouds cover the vast sky, and a powerful, chilled wind whips your hair and dress around you. Your feet stop and slow, sinking in the cool, dry sand.
You breath in the salty air, but you are not tired. You stare at the water, which stretches as far as you can see. It is quiet, it is loud. You take a deep breath...
You’re running as fast as you can. Tall yellow grass stretches to your waist, and the blades rustle softly as you move through them.
You keep running, you don’t ever want to stop

Starless Moments

Romans 8:28 And we know that all things work together for good to them that love the Lord, who are the called according to His purpose.

You, Lord, are tremendous.
I was retelling the story of a painful time in my family, an experience where everyone felt the gauging of falsehoods, the shredding of peace, the disappearance of joy. It was a time where lies stole our joy and where doubts crippled our ability to support and love each other. A five year journey through some of the coldest and stormiest waters we had ever trekked.

I was retelling the terrifying details, the horrific choices, while tears streamed down my face. Trying to put into words pain that is too deep to truly be expressed, I vulnerably shared my own guilt and confusion. It was a family history that none of us were proud of, that all of us wanted to hide or forget. Our children were adversely affected, even those too young to know what was happening. They felt the thickness of pain in the air that they breathed. They took in our family’s story to be integrated as part of their own.

I was retelling the impossible corners that each of us were forced into. The defenses that rose up, the guilt and regret that was swallowed and the ensuing consequences of bitterness both emotionally and physically. There were secrets revealed and devastation at each disclosure. We disappeared in different ways, drinking, working, burying, sleeping. We disappeared nonetheless.

I was retelling what I witnessed, the judgments made, condemnation passed down. I saw “Christians” attack mercilessly and “lost” souls threaten and abuse. Leaders isolated and assaulted broken people, while loved ones cowered and prayed for reconciliation. Betrayal and abandonment spread like disease, weakening faith, dissolving joy. I felt helpless and angry. I searched the faces around me, those that I depended on, those that I believed in, those that I loved, and I saw distortions of guilt, anger, fear, and resignation.

Today, as I was retelling the story, words were whispered into my ear,
“This is where you learned grace.”

How does grace fit into this picture of pain? It wasn’t in examples of love and kindness. There weren’t many moments of compassion or mercy. I witnessed anger spewing from one side of their mouths, while sermons were preached on forgiveness from the other side. Where was grace in the attacks, the accusations, the condemnations passed down?

It was in the arms of my Father.
Grace was in the beauty of his gaze, looking at each of us with love and tenderness, seeing into the deepest parts of the pain that influenced choices and weeping with compassion for our brokenness. Grace was shown to me in the realizations of where I did not want to go, who I did not want to become as I watched with childlike disbelief. I felt grace in God’s hands of protection around my heart, telling me that this wasn’t what He wanted either.

Grace was revealed to me in the middle of black nights. When I couldn’t see ahead past the excruciating weight sitting on my chest, in those starless moments when I couldn’t breathe and escape was hidden, God wrapped me up in His tight embrace and showed me grace. When grief was so large that I felt it swallowing every hope of light, when my legs refused to carry me any further down a road that seemed endless, God whispered to my spirit.

Grace was in the lesson, in the waiting, in the enduring.
When I couldn’t feel God’s presence, grace was in the allowing of experiencing the darkness so that my heart would know the true beauty of the light.
Grace was in the tender teaching of judgments I didn’t want to make, of ugliness I never wanted to be a part of.

Grace was giving room to heartache so that I could understand joy.
Grace was the destruction of one dream to allow for His new vision.
Grace was witnessing anger so that I could offer forgiveness.
Grace was experiencing loss to taste gain.

Grace is sitting here years later, bathed in tears, washed in sorrows, feeling the light of his presence finally breaking through, and knowing that He was right beside me the whole time.

Our Safe Place

Wrap me in your sweet gaze.
Hold me close with alluring eyes.
Entrance me with prolonged ease.
Comfort given between our hearts.

Fill me with your words of love.
Show me the depth of your heart.
My soul is fettered to yours.
A connection never depleted.

Let my song soothe and embrace,
Our feeble worries turned to strength.
Let my music blot and abolish,
Our pain escaped, Our joy tarry.

You are the dream of my youth.
You are the flourishing emotions,
Treasured and bubbling from my core.
You are my fledgling contentment.

I will wrap you in my sweet gaze.
I will hold you with alluring eyes.
Ours is a safe place to cherish,
To shout, to weep, to love.

Letting Go, Grabbing Hold

Thursday I cleaned house. I accepted the painful job of erasing old life lines, unhealthy anchors, and with every sweep of my hand, brushing away remnants of old dependencies, my heart beat a little bit faster. I felt God sitting next to me, encouraging me to take each step. I hesitated a few times, wanting to hold onto those soothing places, those reassuring moments, but God whispered to me, "Go on. You can do this."

I was surprised at the lack of panic I felt when I was done. There were a few tears, a visibly shaken hand. For all the years I had held on to these unhealthy ways of coping, letting go of them now wasn't as hard as I had thought it would be. I sighed deeply, got out my abnormal psychology school book, and focused my energy elsewhere. I was ok. I was successful. Job done.

Later that night while watching the movie SIGNS I felt the tremors start. I felt the anxiety pulsing through my arms and legs. My breathing quickened, my heart pounded, and nausea squeezed at my guts. I looked around wondering where this was coming from. My mind raced, picking up peices of my life as suggestions of the cause. The unknown future looming? The new life changes and responsibilities coming? Old hurts defending or old scripts rehearsing?

"I'm not good enough for these beautiful things God is bringing into my life. I'm gonna mess this up. I'm gonna make decisions that will cripple people I love. God can't mean for me to have these new and incredible blessings. This is me taking whatever I want. This is me selfishly running ahead of His plan. This is my foolishness, my overly emotional heart, not discerning truth, not using wisdom. I am making terrible mistakes in every direction."

Tears rushed down my face as I sat in the middle of my panic. My body shook with the pain of nerves exposed, raw and aching doubts. I wanted to believe in Ephesians 2:10...that I was God's "workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God has prepared in advance for us to do." I desperately wanted to hold on to the hope that God was answering years of longing, that He was taking my pain and using it for good. But in that moment, I felt like a six year old girl, afraid to speak the questions, unable to express the fear, trembling in her insecurities.

There was no Ativan to run to, no ease to grab. Instead, I held tight to trust and love, and allowed the panic to race. I wanted to hide in sleep. I wanted to run, lock myself in my room alone. I wanted to let shame win, swallow me up and be done with it. But even more, I wanted to be seen, known, accepted, exposed, held, loved.

Then the realization exploded in my mind: Just that morning, I had let go of a source of great comfort, a taste of desperately needed importance, an addiction of missing attention. I was shaking from the act of releasing these false fulfillments, shivering with the emptiness of my bleeding heart. It was a pretend world. It was a fake pleasure. But it was what I had held on to for years alone.

That morning my heart's desire was to follow my Lord's leading, open myself to his amazing future plan, let go of the past and grab on to the real and beautiful things in my present. I wasn't prepared to face the panicked feeling of loss, the terror of missing safety, of being set afloat in unknown, wild seas. The sobs escaping proclaimed the desperation in knowing that I had nothing more to grasp without risks, nothing more to soothe me without cost. I was opening myself to the forward motion God had in mind for me, but I was also facing the destruction and loss of my broken shelter of the past.

The trembling didn't stop with the admission. It increased. I felt foolish in my insistence to grow. I felt angry at my determination to erase. I felt completely panicked with the inability to go back and undo it all. I cried out to my God in frustration and anger for leading me in a direction that was healthy yes, but that was ripping open needs and fears I desperately did not want to face. What would happen now? Where would I hide? Where would I comfort myself?

"You don't need to hide anymore, Jenny. I have better, abundantly better things in store for you. I will heal this. I will hold you through the panic and I will bring you to the other side. I will restore lost years and lavish my grace on your tender heart. You don't need distractions or tastes of love. I will fill your cup to overflowing with pure and beautiful gifts of authentic love. I will never leave your side. Nothing can separate our hearts. You are mine. I have called you by name, My Dear Jenny. Let me heal this. Hide in my everlasting arms. Lean on my strength, my hope. Let me be your refuge, a strong tower to hide within. Your weeping may endure for this night, but Jenny, I will bring you joy in the morning..."

I fell asleep restless and raw, lying in the palm of His hand. I tossed and turned throughout the night fighting off the darkness that threatened with the glory that my Lord surrounded me with. I woke up to the sunrise of His reassurances, His salvation, ready to face the battles with the strong and sure Anchor of my God.

Call Me By Name

All these tumultuous thoughts were making my stomach ache: fears of future choices and the effects on those I loved, present busyness that pulled me in different directions and exhausted me, the loneliness and stress that were eating holes in my stomach, the what if questions about finances and health. Laying on the massage table, receiving my weekly, therapeutic gift of touch, I couldn’t calm my tense body or my aching spirit.
“Just be with me.” I felt Jesus whisper in my soul. His still, small voice gracefully pulled my attention away from my issues and on to Him, the Lover of my soul. “Jenny,” His whisper of my name drew me with instant consolation. I felt my focus being absorbed by His grace, His presence. My breath slowed, my muscles relaxed, and my heart felt joy like nothing else can bring.
Letting go of every stressful image or palpitating fear seemed easier in this moment as my heart was surrounded by God’s desire to love me. His ache to have me by His side, to hold me, to love me. Oh how desperate my heart was to feel such importance! To be wanted by the One who knew every single moment of my past, present, and future. I let this thought permeate through my skin, warming my blood, filling every cell. He wants me. I am His.
No matter how big the problems I was facing seemed, no matter how much change was needed in my attitudes and actions, I heard the insistent reminder to quiet my soul and just be with the One who was in control of everything. In that moment, it wasn’t as important for me to figure out how to change my world or how to expand my influence, as it was to feel God’s comforting arms wrap around me and allow room for His love to assure me of my place in His heart.
His embrace was warm and tender. I felt surrounded by peace in the middle of the raging river of chaos that was my world. I stood soaked in life’s demands, but warmed by the strong chest I leaned on and the solid arms that held me. I felt scripture come alive. It was possible that whatever circumstances I found myself in, past, present, or future, I could quiet my soul and meditate on the joy of His abiding presence. I could heal from life’s pressures in the shadow of His wings, in the tenderness of His embrace. And I could flourish by His works to the place where I could shine His light and embrace others with His beautiful, unconditional love.
The next morning, sitting on the quiet street in front of the school I worked at, I thought about the intimacy of having my name known, being called by name. It’s a simple and yet intimate acknowledgment when you are called by name, when a friend or lover is completely focused on you and your name graces their lips. There’s importance shown, attention drawn. I don’t know how else to explain it. Hearing my name spoken out loud even in the morning coffee shop by the barista who has memorized more than just my order, brings a smile to my face and a sense of being important enough to know, to see. I randomly opened my Bible to the book of Isaiah.
Isaiah 43:1b “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name. You are mine.”
I closed my eyes and remembered the summoning of my name from the day before. Jesus knows my name. My eyes closed, the deep sigh released. He loves me enough to know exactly who I am. The single tear rolled down my cheek. He personally calls me His own.

Flowing Glory

We’re sitting here having these conversations, my little girl and I. My eighteen year old, grown up daughter who absolutely amazes me with her grace, depth, and beauty. We spend an hour looking over her art pieces, diving into the meanings and the stories and the exposure some pieces force on her. I see the tears well in her eyes as she experiences the nakedness of having her work observed, as she imagines a stranger’s eyes perusing what she has poured into her art. I am so proud of the readiness, the willingness in her to step out, to find courage and be seen. I hear her speak of the soulful strokes of her hands on the page and the depth of emotion that was released. She is my precious daughter, the woman I adore, and I am stunned by the capacities of her heart.

The next night we sit at the kitchen table sharing faith. Instead of seeing scripture through the eyes of a strict, condemning God, we talked about the revelation of the past four or five years in seeing through the compassionate eyes of Jesus. I hear the freedom in her voice, the excitement at being able to hear a verse spoken and instantly to pick up on the tone of grace. How habit that used to draw a straight, narrow minded line of disappointment and disgust into the words of Christ, are now abolished, replaced with the flowing glory of love’s tender words in scripture.

She shares her heart with me, entrusting more and more in the solid ties that bind us. I see the tears she’s often tried to hold back, now releasing in the safe place she is starting to trust. I hear her vulnerability being offered to me as equals, she as my little girl who has become this incredible young woman. I hear her wisdom. I feel her compassion. I taste her joy. I witness her honor. And I am blessed beyond all measure by her presence.

I Am With You

You fill me with hope. Every threat of inadequacy is destroyed by your power and love. The beautiful breeze you sent me this morning, simply blew away every “I’m not good enough” thought. You amaze me.

Thank you for clarity, for the knowledge that rings clear and true in the deepest parts of my heart. Thank you for courage, for the strength to be rooted in your power and your everlasting love. Thank you for willingness, for pushing me out the front door, for showing me over and over that every step on the journey is worth it. Thank you for cleansing, for every outpouring of grace that washes over me and heals me. Thank you for freedom, for awareness, and for joy.

Under a thin layer of skin, beats a jubilant heart. I feel it under the palm of my hand laying against my chest. Peaceful rhythm, tender smiles, gentle excitement. You have shown me the sunshine. I adore you.

Never stop teaching me. Never allow me to stand still. No matter how torrential the future storms look, how threatening the risks loom, push me forward into growth. Show me your power. You have built trust in my once crippled heart, and now I am jumping into your arms with surety that you will not only catch me, but that you will look at me with that beautiful, adoring gaze and hold me tighter and more secure than ever dreamed possible.
You fill me with hope.

I wrote this yesterday. Today I am being conquered by doubt. I have issues with being seen as “the bad guy.” Totally admitting that. The impending doom sits like a rock in my gut that I will be seen this way. It is a young emotion that I wonder if it will ever be done with me. Maybe God had me write this yesterday so I could reread it today. I need it today.
“Take My Hand” expresses everything I want to be. I want to love, not injure. I want to reach out, not push away. I want to comfort, not destroy. The little girl in me desperately wants to please. She wants someone to see the big hearted, playful girl. She wants to be known and adored no matter her mistakes. She wants to be valued just for being her. She wants to be loved.
The grown woman says it’s time to take care of myself. She gathers up every bit of courage to do what’s right even when it could hurt others. She struggles to keep hold of the freedom to laugh and to give. She stares at her reflection repeating over and over that she is valued and accepted by herself and by the God who created her.
It is one deep,frustrating conflict!

I Caught A Glimpse

I experienced my first glimpse of God using my past for His glory. I sat with two beautiful women, broken wide open, wounds both fresh and old. They shared stories with me as well as tears. And I was asked to share my victories, the God given healing I have and am still experiencing. There was a bit of hesitation in me, wondering if what I had to say would be too much for a stranger to hear. But in the eyes of this authentic woman who sat across from me, I felt a connection of heartache, and a desire to offer her encouragement in the witness of God’s mighty hand working through my life.

As I walked through my God story of trying to earn His favor to giving up in my disappointment to hearing His voice calling me back, I saw recognition in their eyes. God’s persistent beckoning when I was dirty, broken, with nothing to offer Him, was my heart’s undoing. He wanted me. He was pursuing me, and His tender voice never stopped calling, His hands constantly were held out to me, His arms wide open and ready to embrace me. The hope bloomed there, in speaking out loud His abiding love and desire for my heart. The hope bloomed as they listened to me and saw the genuine joy in my eyes, the glistening gratefulness in my tears.

I wanted to shout out how amazing He is, as I told them of the way He built trust in me so that He could do His miraculous and heart wrenching work of healing. In the middle of the painful exposure of my old wounds, I wondered when I would find peace. When He allowed ripping away of old protective covers, I panicked and wept fiercely over the heartache. For the first time ever, I told these two women about one instance where I was pushed and crippled by the process. I spoke out loud the powerful scene and broke down in tears with them at the admission of such rawness. And then God did it. Clarity. I saw His hand at work, I saw His incredible love for me and His wisdom in knowing exactly where I had to be taken emotionally to be able to face the reality of my past.

So many times we’re in the middle of the turmoil wondering where the end of the road is, where the other side of the crossing is. So often it takes years before we can look back and see the trail of God’s intervention. I saw it, sitting at my dining room table with my friends, willingly opening up to the possibility that God can use my story to bless another. I saw it in the abandonment of fear and the witness of what God can bring us through. I caught a glimpse of His power in my past, and a glimpse of His plans for my future.

My Tears Are Falling

As I am invited to step in, immersing myself in the mind, slowly examining the depths of our brokenness and the capability to find healing, I am overwhelmed with God’s outpouring of grace. I have cried everyday staring into our dark places, knowing personally the intricacies wounds create. Grieving the pain of losses, I stand in awe at the resilience, the strength, the determination of the human spirit. I shed tears for the stigmas and fears that hold us back from offering what’s needed: acceptance, significance, love.
God is creating in me new wells of understanding and compassion. He is filling me with desires to hold open my arms to those who have suffered rejection and heartbreak. God is teaching me to see, truly see for the first time the beautiful complications of the soul. I am afraid of what this all means, I am afraid of what my capacities are, I am afraid that I will not live up to the purposes He is leading me towards.
I am also willing to take the risk.

A basic question deep in Christianity asks if good behavior, hard work, and following the laws earn acceptance from God. Is it possible that righteous living and a charitable heart can earn a position of good standing with a holy God? Or does the destined breaking of such moral standards leave people hopelessly disconnected from God? How can a fallible human race, inevitably doomed to make bad choices throughout life, connect with a perfect God?

The answer Christianity offers is grace, a small, overly used word that has lost much of its meaning. This word proclaimed in countless sermons and declared through innumerable songs holds a deeper meaning that most comprehend. The most well known definition for grace is unmerited favor of God. It is also called “the root of salvation” (Cloud, 1993), the “opposite of what we deserve” (Cloud, 1993), the “great, central theme of the Bible” (Rohr, June 2002), and “not only the lack of merit, but the presence of demerit” (Bridges, Fall 1998).

Grace is God offering to us what we clearly don’t deserve. Grace is God making a way through Jesus so that we can be saved from hopelessness. Grace is the perfect, righteous, holy God looking at a depraved, sinful, destructive man and adoring His creation, loving him enough to sacrifice everything for him, treasuring his everyday journey and his infallible core being. “Grace is God’s favor through Christ to people who deserve His wrath” (Bridges, Fall 1998).

Trying to earn this favor from God is a hopeless endeavor. Author, Bill Giovannetti says “the abundant Christian life decomposed into white-knuckled determination and duty” that ultimately felt like repeated failure. Believing that acceptance from God can be earned by following commands, obeying laws, and practicing generosity leads us to one of two places: feeling worthless and guilty, or arrogant and superior. We will either feel our failure deep in our bones and collapse from the weight of expectations to be good enough, or we will swell with false pride, holding our heads high above others in an attitude of elitism. Pictured in Luke 18:9-14, the Pharisee stands and publicly announces himself as superior, praying words of thanks that he is better than the people around him, bragging about his service and dedication. Then the focus falls on the humble tax collector who knows his depraved state and cherishes God’s gift of grace as he begs God for mercy. This biblical portrayal shows the opposing attitudes of works versus grace.

According to Dean Halverson, author of The Compact Guide to World Religions, “The language of grace cannot be mixed with the language of merit.” If one works to earn something, than it is a contradiction of terms to say it is of grace. Romans 11:6 supports this standing. “And if by grace, then it is no longer by works; if it were, grace would no longer be grace.” People tend to try and own good behavior, to take credit for hard work done, and to feel pride in the ability to please God themselves. Humility and admittance of ineptness in reaching God is resisted in the independent mind set of the world. The simple fact is that if it counts for something, then it is not grace. When the false teachers in Galatia tried to mix works and grace, Paul, the apostle and author of Galations argued this fact: “Does God give you His Spirit and work miracles among you because you observe the law, or because you believe what you heard?” Paul continues by preaching that we are saved by faith, not by works.

Matthew 20:1-16 tells the story of a vineyard owner and his employees. One of his workers was out in the fields laboring all day for his wages, while another worker only spent half a day in the fields, and another worked for only one hour. When they lined up to receive payment, each was given the exact same amount. This goes strongly against our sense of fairness, and “our familiar accounting system based on merit,“ but “God’s love is determined by God’s goodness, and is in no way dependent upon us” (Rohr, June 2002). Grace does not count hours or earnings. It does not weigh worth or measure merit. The beauty of grace is found not in the employee’s earnings, but in the vineyard owner’s holiness and mercy.

The failing of humanity to be good enough is declared through Old Testament law. Romans 5:20 and Galations 3:21,22 both state that the law leads people to recognize their shortcomings with the purpose of dependency on God to follow. It is in this process that one can begin to feel the fullness of grace’s affects. Imperfection and irresponsibility are two words that define “sin,” the breaking of God’s laws. “It is aggravated assault upon the infinite dignity of His person” (Bridges, Fall 1998). The authority and power is God’s and God’s alone to punish sin, and yet He pours out his grace instead. Through Jesus’ perfect life, death, and resurrection, He earned this gift of grace for us. Ephesians 1:7 tells us that it is through His blood that we receive forgiveness and grace. Colossians 2:13,14 say that through the cross all of our trespasses are forgiven. “Jesus satisfied God’s justice and turned away God’s wrath from us by bearing it Himself on our behalf. Now God can extend mercy to us without subverting His justice. Mercy and justice meet together at the cross” (Bridges, Fall 1998)

As a little girl I believed in Jesus, and that He died for my sins. I trusted that if I asked, He would come into my heart and save me. Praying, I relied on His promise and crawled into His welcoming embrace. My eight year old heart felt secure in the arms of God, and listened closely to the stories of His power told in Sunday School. I watched my father preach every week and hung on his strong presence as he reached out to everyone at all hours. I witnessed both of my parent’s dedication to our church and accepted the need to strictly adhere to the traditions there. My desire to please influenced the direction of growth in my faith.

As an adult, I became a work horse for God: pianist, interpreter, Sunday School teacher, youth leader, church secretary along with trying to pray and study at home, teach my children, and honor my husband like I was supposed to. If I followed the rules, obeyed and served willingly, then God would bless me, make my marriage beautiful, and lift me out of the gloom that was increasing in my life, but the more I struggled to do the right thing, the more exhausted I became. Depressions worsened and walls seemed to close in on me. I persisted because I believed in what I had heard all my life at church. I sunk deeper. I can't express how overwhelmed I felt.
The holes in my heart were many. A shotgun had blasted hundreds of raw spaces and no one and nothing had healed those gaping wounds. Abuses, betrayals, disappointment, and abandonment left weeping scars. My efforts to fill them in over my whole lifetime with years of dedicated service in my traditional church were wasted and left me with more aching areas. Loneliness, rejections, and a sense of never being good enough influenced a cyclic mess of desperate actions. Healing was elusive.

At the age of 32, I purposed in my heart to erase all the suffocating rules of church, all the lessons learned from birth about God's weighty expectations of me. Every time guilt assaulted me, I would forcibly pull my attention elsewhere and demand the pressures out. I didn't know if I was permanently excluding religion from my life or just making room for new, enlightened thoughts. All I knew was that there was a need for cleaning up inside my house and I started off trying to sweep out the shame of my failures.

I went to Women of Faith for the first time two years later and experienced the strength of God calling. I was terrified to open that door to Him. All my work towards deserving a blessing, all the efforts piled up to present to God as proof that I was living righteously, were drained and washed away by my reckless behavior. The choices I had made were in direct opposition to a godly lifestyle and if I was going to approach God now, respond to His call, I would be coming forward empty handed. My built up, Christian persona was crumbled in chunks around my feet and I stood naked and vulnerable in front of a God that I thought was demanding of perfection. I felt goose bumps on my exposure. I felt humiliation in my lacking. I felt confirmed in my worthlessness and questioned why He would bother calling me back at all. I was dirty, soiled by my choices. I was too tired and too angry to change. If God really wanted me, would He take me with nothing to offer Him?

I opened my heart to Him cautiously, and began attending Neighborhood Church.
I felt cleansed and renewed by lessons of grace and how God accepts us because of what Jesus did, not because of any works we do. I heard God's Spirit comforting me with proof of my true identity having accepted Christ as a young girl and the endless ripples that this gift provided. God tenderly worked piece by piece to tear down my 30 year old walls. His truths conquered my doubts and fears, claiming freedom for my exhausted soul. I felt His presence like never before.

I began living with new purpose, to live with my arms wide open, soaking in these new revelations about who God was and how much He adored me. I devoured books about how precious I was to God, how shame didn't belong on my shoulders, and how to pour that healing love on myself. Those old wounds had to be cleaned out and nursed. I was up for the work because I had God sitting there next to me, wiping the tears and holding me close. God rebuilt trust in me, He restored relationship with Him, He filled in every wound with His being, His love.
I stand in services now with my arms raised high, praising God who saw me through all of those tumultuous years, and who brought me to the other side where I could clear away those expectations and works, and see how He loved me for me, because of His great goodness. It's when I was naked and poor that I truly felt the richness of God surging in my heart.


God is not flexible with His standards or lenient in overlooking humanity’s faults.
He is full of grace. Propitiation means that Jesus paid in full every moral and legal debt owed. Humanity is not saved by works, neither do we earn good standing in the eyes of God. It is only through His Son that we are given “every spiritual blessing” (Ephesians 1:4-6). This is grace. This is the free gift of God to his creation.

Titus 3:4-7 reads “But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, He saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of His mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whole He poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that having been justified by His grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life.”

“Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are -- chaff and grain together -- certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away."
-- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Honesty at the Reins

As the words slowly made their way out of my mouth, the understanding bloomed in my heart. In the process of forming sentences to share with my friend, my mind finally found the understanding it had been in need of. It amazes me still. When I held all of my thoughts and emotions tightly in my chest, frustration bubbled, knots formed, confusion raced. When I mustered the courage to allow vulnerability in sharing them out loud, clarity was mine.

How many times will I have to experience this lesson before I trust it? I strive to keep honesty at the top of my list of values, and am surprised still at its power. I heard the whispers of that still, small voice, telling me to keep any kind of blame out of my words, to look inside and express the soft spots of my own making. I listened, struggling to find sense in my disappointments, fighting to clear the vision of what was causing it all. The wisdom in acknowledging that this was about me, my expectations, my insecurities, and my emerging needs freed me to share without casting unnecessary and unfounded fault.

My heart, both confidant and insecure, is gingerly treading the new freedoms around me. Such unknown paths, fun and frightening to explore! I am constantly in states of discovery and growth and it is the most exhilarating journey. At times I feel like a sixteen year old girl, hormones in full swing, drama zipping through me. It’s like I’m growing up at 38, finding giggly dreams and stifling fears inside me. I’m told to protect my heart, to move slowly, to tread carefully. I know I hesitate to trust, fear exposure, ache to be pursued. Above all, I will fight to keep honesty at the reins, steering my authenticity, leading me in growth, navigating my thriving heart.

Sacred Space

We formed a tight circle, clasped hands, and bowed our heads. Words gently lifted up from their mouths, praising, thanking, honoring our God together. My tears flowed freely with the intimate exchange of gratefulness, this sharing of honest hearts. In the dark privacy of my closed eyes, I felt the slow release of locked doors being opened, my raw heart peeking around the corner, spying out safety. The soft lilt of women's voices comforted. The tender admissions of authentic need encouraged. The warmth and solidity of enclosed hands soothed.

In the silence between, my desire to declare love for my Father prodded my voice to lead out. Nervous of stumbling, afraid of words running dry, I began. A flow of words rushed, thanking God for His presence, the real connection of His Spirit with ours. Vulnerable and genuine, I confessed the current heartaches of my losses, I begged for His mercy to be lavished on those I loved, and I held tightly to the hem of His robe with my sisters in Christ.

The main focus of prayer isn't the eloquent words or heart piercing messages. The spotlight shouldn't be on fancy phrasing or highly spiritual requests. The power is in the intimacy of two or three gathering together, boldly approaching His throne of mercy, and pausing long enough to feel His power. When I listen to heartfelt prayers, beauty is in their willingness to share with me that scared space between their spirit and the heart of God. Honor is in the authentic soul that stands exposed and vulnerable. Connection is built in this most intimate confessions of our deepest faith.

Bowing before my gracious God, I know that He sees ALL of me. I smile at the reflection in my heart of His adoring love. It's in the knowledge that I am completely exposed and utterly cherished that I unload every burden, each worry and fear. I feel His tender gaze on me and I tell Him over and over again how much I love Him, how precious His grace is to me, and how much I treasure having a relationship with the Creator of the universe, and the Lover of my soul. I am in awe of Him. Tears of joy and gratitude flow freely down my cheeks. He is mine and I am His.

So often we hesitate to be vulnerable with those we love. We hold back just enough to create a perceived safety. We reign in emotions so as not to put ourselves out there too much. We control our tears, hide what frightens us, and turn away from sharing those deep stories that make us who we are. When communing with God there is a stripping away of those denials and hesitations. He understands everything about us, in much deeper ways than we even understand ourselves. He knows every story, every script written across hearts. There is where that sacred space is found.

Choosing to entrust that kind of holiness with another can make us anxious, can fill us with dread as we try to work up the courage to speak, can blow us away with the fear of our words just not being good enough! But praise God that's not what prayer is about!! Praise God we have an intercessor, we have someone speaking all the things we can't utter, we have our incredible Father cherishing our fumbling inadequacies, adoring our honest offering. And we have opportunities to connect in one of the most intimate ways with fellow travelers, grasping hands, speaking truth, sharing holiness in prayer.

The Crossing

I want to picture you and I diving in the dark waters together, coming up with our hair slicked back, our clothes soaked and stuck tight to us. And we’re holding hands, pulling each other along when one gets tired. We’re keeping each other laughing and we’re offering one another strength. We are living hope for each other. So many times we feel like we are standing alone. We feel the frigid coldness of the world around us, the increasing danger of being swept under. There have been desperate times in my life where I wondered “Where is God taking me?”, and frankly, “Where is God?” I wrote this piece during one of those times…

Her small arms are outstretched, fingers trailing the surface of the chilly water, leaving tendrils in each wake. The hip deep water rises slightly with every struggled pull of her right leg and then her left. Eyes are searching, desperate and weary for the land where she can crawl out and finally rest. But it is no where in sight. Fog covers her view with hopeless knowledge that here, where she stands, is her choice; trudge on further with faith in her power, faith in her God, or lie down and let the water roll it’s way over her mouth, filling her nostrils, taking her in it’s cold embrace.

The weight of the water seems to pull at her. Tender and fragile, how long can she last? How much more can she endure? She can feel the tingles in her limbs, the numbness growing stronger. Shivers come and go, leaving exhaustion behind. The coldness bites, a gnawing that never seems to stop. Mud slurps at her toes, sucking them deeper, making each step more difficult. It’s starting to feel like surrendering is the better way.

“I could just relax for a moment, let my fatigued muscles find some respite. My calves are cramping, my knees buckling and I am losing hope. I don’t want to be in this frustration. I don’t want to even try anymore! How do I know land even exists? Maybe there is no way out of this. If I am destined to wander in pain, then I would rather lie down and accept my fate. I’m too weak. This is too much.”

Alone in her crossing, she is likely to fall. If only one could stand by her side, hold her trembling fingers and smile some encouragement her way. How would it feel to know that a fellow traveler was there to reach out to, someone to trade hope with, to propel forward in the necessary steps? “God, Father, give me something. I beg you.” The words rip open admission of her wavering but persistent faith. It lies on the shores where she courageously stepped off to begin this rebirth. Far, far behind her.

Where was God when this journey began? When the peace spread warmly in her chest and she sunk that first toe in the water, she had no idea how treacherous this would be. Where was the God who protects and guides? Why didn’t He sweep in and pull her away from this dangerous current? Her faith is as tattered and ruined as the Bible she got when she was nine years old, the one she carried around for most of her life, the one that sits silent and dusty on her bookshelf at home.

This is the dark and desolate place of crossing. This is the test of her endurance, of her core offerings. Whether the water rises or falls she must persevere in her attempt to enlarge her coasts. Suffering is inevitable. Clarity is her strength. Success is never guaranteed But the journey, the growth achieved is immeasurable in it’s worth. She is stronger with each crossing. She is purer in spirit, holier in the beauty of who she is.

In James 1: 2-4, it says “Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.”

Those dark waters are everywhere. They are part of the journey. They are treacherous and painful. Anxiety fills us when we stand alone. The beautiful truth is that we are never alone. We can look out over every river of change and see the opportunities, the chances to grow. Wading together through the pain of losses, kids growing up, heartaches, new loves, relationships, fears, family expectations, career adventures, growth in our spirits, searching for God and learning to love God within us, we can hold on to the beauty of companionship with each other and with our beautiful God. This is our time. This is our crossing…

I wrote this in 2007, posted it here in April 2011. Recently, a song came out entitled OCEANS by Hillsong. These words seem like a God sent response to the brokenness I expressed years ago. I listen to this song and feel so overwhelmed with God's love for me, for His patience and His presence through my crossing, through times of painful doubts, through rebellion and anger. He called me back. He held me tight. He showered me with grace...

Verse #1
You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown, where feet may fail
And there I find You in the mystery
In oceans deep, my faith will stand

Chorus:
And I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours, and You are mine

Verse #2
Your grace abounds in deepest waters
Your sovereign hand will be my guide
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me
You've never failed, and You won't start now

Chorus

Bridge:
Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior x 3

Ending:
I will call upon Your name
Keep my eyes above the waves
My soul will rest in Your embrace
I am Yours, and You are mine
I am Yours, and You are mine
I am Yours, and You are mine
I am Yours, and You are mine

Here's a video link to this amazing song.
http://video.search.yahoo.com/video/play;_ylt=A2KIo9ih3qRSaggA.6T7w8QF;_ylu=X3oDMTB2bWx0ZzE4BHNlYwNzcgRzbGsDdmlkBHZ0aWQDVjExNgRncG9zAzQ-?p=oceans+hillsong+lyrics&vid=374473d056eb0508a65d7e73200ec0f8&l=8%3A59&turl=http%3A%2F%2Fts2.mm.bing.net%2Fth%3Fid%3DV.4621789755671041%26pid%3D15.1&rurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DxoZE2RsthRg&tit=Oceans+%28Where+Feet+May+Fail%29+-+Hillsong+United+-+with+Lyrics&c=3&sigr=11aa780u0&sigt=11sinuoad&age=0&&tt=b

 

Take My Hand

     Take my hand. I will hold onto yours with strength and calm. I won't let go when trouble comes, when heartaches threaten, when tear drops fall. My head will bow to weep with you. My hand will grasp tighter, and we will walk together through it all.

      I want to offer you, with the grip of my fingers, endurance, companionship, comfort, courage. Anything can be faced by two. Everything can be walked through with someone at your side. I will not abandon you when wounds need healing. I will love you with grace.

      I offer you my outstretched hand, a friend who sees you and accepts you just for who you are. Without judgment, without rejection, I will listen to your open heart and love you for the beautiful creation you have always been. I won't try to carry you. Do not worry about burdening me. I can stand beside you without taking responsibility for your pain. I can journey next to you without dependence.

     Our entangled fingers prove the consistent presence of our bond. With safety between us, we can travel together, blocking fear with love, soothing insecurities with honesty, crushing hesitancy with trust.

      I am here, holding your hand to honor you. If you choose to let go, if you release my hand to follow your own path alone, I will smile in remembrance of my season with you. I will encourage your steps no matter how much distance they create. I will celebrate the growth we were allowed to share, and I will offer you the vision in my heart for your joy and peace. Grief may come, I will feel your absence, but mingled with my tears will be warmth residing in the palm of my hand.