Monday, July 3, 2017

Wake, O Sleepers

Teachers and parents alike will often tell of the “light switch” or “light bulb” moment that they take great joy in.

Some say it's the moment when everything seems worth it.

When they can see the light switch get turned on in a child.

There's a look in a child's eyes when understanding dawns, and something isn't pointless anymore.

Words cease to be a string of letters. Abraham Lincoln is no longer just a solid name. A rule is not in place to inflict harm. The words of C.S. Lewis come alive. The variables x and y are no longer seen as letters that came in to screw math up.

I work with children, and I love that moment. No matter how small, I love that moment.

I love watching minds grow, and personalities take shape.

Even better is when that moment becomes a turning point. Not only do letters become words, but words become what dreams are made of. Behold, the next great author or orator.

I know God invented that look; that spark in us. I believe that wonder touches on some of the most core parts of our being.

I think He put it in us just to watch us come alive.

Imagine with me the pleasure God feels in seeing that spark awaken in us.

When we realize something about His nature.

When we decide to jump into something new and it makes us feel alive.

When we find a new way to show love to those around us.

When we step into more of our calling and we feel as though we've taken flight.

I think that's so much of what He desires for His children.

Over and over again in Scripture, He tells us of delight. The Psalmist tells us that when we delight ourselves in the Lord, He will give us the desire of our hearts (37:4).

I think it's because He put it there! And He also created us with this innate need for Him. When we are satisfied in Him; fully delighted with Who He is, we are the truest, fullest versions of ourselves.

And we walk delighted.

When our spirits come into alignment and we just want Him, He shows us who we truly are in Him.

We were not created for a bored, passive existence. We were created to wake up, and to come alive.

Monday, June 26, 2017

Love Comes Running

I have a plant on my bedside table that makes me jealous. 

This plant seems to have achieved more growth in the past four months than I have in the past year. 

It's delicate, strong, and challenging all at once. 

It's defying the boundaries I gave it, and thriving despite the fact that I didn't pot it properly. 

I named it after Ella Fitzgerald, and honestly, it's hard to sit next to the pretty, successful thing. 

I've felt this way next to people. Next to stories. 

I've wanted to make myself smaller, invisible. Just because I felt I was coming up short, and ::ahem:: THIS IS WRONG, THESE ARE LIES. ::excuse me::

I keep on crawling deeper into myself, as if I'll find meaning or comfort there, and all I find is humanity, in all its lack; all its depravity. 

Now, what to do, what to do? Where to go with all this need? 



I have Someone safe in my corner who always wants to help me up, help me out. 

So He meets me halfway every time. 

More than halfway, really. 

I take a step towards Jesus, and like, Boop! He's there. 

Heaven touches earth in the blink of an eye because my Savior knows how much I need saving. 

And I write these words to remind us both, on either end of this strange internet contraption, that all it takes is that small choice. 

When we come to the end of the depths of ourselves. 

When we realize our need, and our finite nature. 

We can take one step. Maybe just that one that turns us around so that we're looking for God again. 

And the Lord, in His infinite grace, will come running. 

He's not waiting for us to cross this magical line that says we're back in holy territory. He removed such barriers when He died. 

He just calls us to turn around. 

I picture Him seeing my tentative turn and rejoicing. "She's looking for Me! She realized she needs Me! I'm gonna go get her!" 

That's the kind of gracious, radical, jubilant love that comes running after the wanderers. 

Turn around and look for Him today. I dare you. 

Sunday, June 25, 2017

if you're listening

This is a funny sort of place to speak my heart now.

I haven't done it consistently in a long time.

It's something I want to change.

I need to process in a healthy, productive way.

But lately this blog has felt a little like a white wall.

I know that's flawed thinking, but I could do with a show of hands.

If you're out there, quietly receiving these words in your email

If you check back once in awhile for new posts

If you read my blog when I share it on other social medias

If you're listening ...

Click the title, open the webpage, get over here.

And leave me a comment to give faces to this white wall.

Maybe tell me when/why you read this? Share what you'd like to read more?

Thank you in advance.

Sunday, April 23, 2017

One Year Later

This time last year ... exactly this time last year, I didn't see the sun.

I can't remember it shining, even now, unless I force my mind to realize, that logically, it must have. The sun must have been shining almost every day as my heart hemorrhaged.

The days bled into one another like the soggy mascara I eventually gave up on.

I bit at my lip and pulled at my hair as I tried desperately to fix my eyes on truth; tried desperately not to let everything be pulled into and tainted by my sorrow.

The sun is shining now and I wrestle with it.

This shining has significant implications. I have to admit, the sun must have been shining then, too.

If it sounds like my mind is spinning in circles, I apologize. It is.

My heart aches as I let my memories of a year ago resurface. The series of events that felt like a thousand good things withering away in my hands.

I let go of dreams, let go of plans, let go of hands I thought were mine to hold forever.

My pastor said something today ... "It seems scarier to hope for the second time than it is to hope for the first time."

I was petrified to hope in the first place.

But I don't want to close myself off [anymore. I must allow that I have quietly closed myself off in many ways this past year.]

In order to open up to the reality of the Lord's presence in this moment, though, I have to open my eyes to His presence in every hard moment of my past - including, and maybe even especially, last year.

The sun was shining. There was light in that darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. No, the light shines still.

One of my favorite songs (by Steffany Gretzinger) repeats over and over, these same words:

"Open up, let the light in."