Broken Birdsong

You won't relent until You have it all.  my heart is Yours. I set You as a seal, upon my heart as a seal upon my arm for there is love, that is strong as death jealousy demanding as the grave and many waters can not quench this love come be the fire inside of me come be the flame upon my heart come be the fire inside of me until You and I are one. //"You Won't Relent" by Jesus Culture// He wants my heart. All of it. Every beat. Every desire. Every longing. He calls after me, naming me Beloved, asking for this: a sacrifice worthy of Him. How could I hold anything back from such a Love? It's sinking in now, what it means to give everything to Him. It means that if I never travel outside of my country again, I still love Him. I still trust Him. If the tests come back, and I have this disease, I still believe that He is in control; that He knows best. If they give no answers, and I continue to wonder in vain what is wrong

(Photo by Tara Gourley ) It's been a blare-my-music kind of week. I have these emotions that I can't justify, and so I listen to songs that deal with feelings, and I listen to them loudly. I find some sort of insight from their lyrics oftentimes. They aren't always the good-girl worship songs, either. I have discovered profound thought beneath the layers of secular music. Even if it only shows me the reality of my life, if I do not have Christ. Thank God, I do. But still, I am confused by myself; puzzled at my trembling and tears. If you were to look at the pages of my journal from this week, you would be as perplexed as I. "What a great day ... It was so happy and wonderful ... I laughed until I cried." Can so much good cause such emotional struggle? No, I do not think it is the cause. I am frustrated with myself for being upset. God is good. My family members are in relatively good health. My needs are provided for. I got my hair trimmed, and those spli

I have flaws. I have shortcomings. I've failed over and over again. I have nasty habits. I do things I'm far from proud of. Funny how Someone dares love me anyway. Always. Despite. Because of. Whether I feel it or not. Those who know me know . I can be hard to love.  I'll accept a compliment, then replay its opposite in my head for days. I can say what I mean ... shatter hope with stabbing words. When I treat others like I treat myself, it gets ugly.  Still He persists. "Worth it," He calls me. Beloved. Redeemed. Dead to self. I have wished my-self dead. Dead to the world. Dead to the pain. But I live on. Maybe that's my problem. Lydia, you just haven't died yet. Is that really it? I have become alive to Him But have I died to me yet? Truly? Answer that in the negative. No way, Jose. I keep my-self in my pocket Stroking it gently as I pray nobody sees that I yet live. Seriously, I've p

I crave the simple life. I want to wake up and watch the sunrise, just in awe of my Lord and His beauty. I am tempted to belt out hymns as I take my morning shower. You'll find me sometime with a baby on my hip and a smile on my lips. I want to be able to quote poetry with the finesse of Anne and Gilbert Blythe. I long for Scripture to be so ingrained in my mind that every other sentence I speak is unintentionally or purposefully founded in Biblical truth. Give me a mouth like that . I hope to someday be that friend that sews gifts for your littles, and makes her own clothes. The one that gardens and cans; cooks and bakes; knits and makes a killer cuppa tea. Give me a life that is a gift to others. I want that . Please and thank you. I want to breathe in grace so deeply that it is all I exhale; so it becomes a new sort of oxygen for those around me. I don't need a Pinterest-perfect life. We all know I don't come near perfection on a webpage. Let my life be a

(Photo by Tara Gourley ) I have seen daffodils break through the ground after one of the longest winters I have known. I've seen sunshine after the rainstorm. I've witnessed forgiveness that followed murder and lies. I have heard the stories of lives transformed from sin and shadows into light and love. I've seen the change firsthand. I've watched hard hearts melt at the strains of a song and the smile of a child. I've wondered at how the sun still rises brilliantly after the hardest of days. I have seen the brightest smiles come from dark, impoverished places. I've been loved at my ugliest. I've looked at lives reconstructed from disaster. I have cried tears of joy after sobbing those of anguish. I have heard a poor little boy pray in Spanish, accepting Christ into his life. The most beautiful face I know has a scar. The loveliest hands have them too, from where they were pierced by nails ... Those hands have held me; they hold

My apparel didn't suit the day. I wore mascara that wasn't waterproof ... and boy, did I cry. I skipped all other makeup, because I wasn't up for pretending. My far from practical hat nigh fell off with every hug I received that I desperately needed. My bright dress hardly matched my spirits. It was too hot for my tights. Thank God, I didn't wear heels. I could never have pictured how lovely the day would end up being. Sure, I cried, sweated, and clung to my hat, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. My day had begun in an acute state of grief. And it wasn't the first day of this. It was not the death of a person that I grieved ... but, perhaps the death of who I thought they were; who they used to be. The news of this loss came after one of the hardest days of my life, physically. I was not in any shape to bear this, so I was crushed beneath the weight. I didn't expect to ever be lifted. I couldn't think straight. I lost my appetite. I couldn'

Noise, noise -- constant noise. Sometimes it can be deafening. Other times, it inspires ... such a sensory overload can drive one's mind and heart. It's a rush, in a sense. A steady, pounding noise can move us to action. Maybe this is why many runners blare pulsating music as they push themselves ever harder. Faster. That used to be me. Music pounding, driving my feet to a stronger pace. I could never keep up, and part of me liked that ... the part of me that thought I needed punished. I'm not proud of that part of myself. Recently, I had a strange notion: what if I slowed down? ... I'm a runner ... Can I do that, on purpose, and still maintain my dignity? I'm not sure, but does it matter? So I slowed down. I put my headphones in and played music that calmed me. Then I ran. Not constantly worrying if I would ever be fast enough. I only worried if I was pacing myself enough. I should probably mention that it had been awhile since I had done the whole running

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. I had expected this season of my life to be decisive. I'd seen those around me come to the same crossroads and just linger. And linger. Maybe buy a t-shirt at a nearby shop that says "I don't know what to do next" or "Tomorrow, I'll do something." It's not that extreme, but it feels like that. It looks like that. We can't see what other people are thinking, praying, struggling with on the inside. We can only see their action. So that is why I had decided I would move forward, in clear, distinct action. It's a pride issue, I'm well aware. And here I am, sitting. Wearing the t-shirt. I have a lot more thoughts to think than I expected to. I thought I would be all gung ho on this thing, rushing forward with little attention to details, yet somehow making perfect decisions and getting from point A to point B. But where is God in a life like that? So I abandoned Plan A. Which wasn't very well-planned, adm

(Photo by Anna Hart ) (Linking up with  Holley  Gerth  here ) Tears fall steadily after the trauma If you came to grips with it, at least Those around you whisper things like "drama" Each of us faces a diff'rent beast You didn't expect it to hurt so bad Or you did and you wanted proved wrong Lost are the logical thoughts you once had Something so simple lasts for so long Mascara lines down paling cheeks Trembling hands clutch bathroom sink How long since you have felt this weak? "Give her water," drink, drink, drink --Inhale Exhale-- Coherent thoughts Routine and necessity numbing the pain You are responsible - think of the gain This too shall pass And it does You do not have to tell yourself to breathe But you do and it's steady; a habit Discover the feeling of sweet relief Tell people it was hard, but you made it But you don't talk about that first moment Five minutes, maybe? Or longer Are we counting th

(Photo by Tara Gourley ) This will be my final hymn study. Well, the final one in this series. There are three questions left to answer, but I felt two of these were more personal, and I've already answered them in my heart and mind. So that leaves just one. Now you can see why I've been putting this off. Things end. Such is life. "When peace like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll-- Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, 'It is well, it is well with my soul.'" Notice something about this: it doesn't say "though sorrows," or "if sorrows," it says, "when sorrows." Peace is next to me in the sorrows that seem to overtake me. They are separated by a single comma. I think of God's names: Emmanuel, God With Us. Prince of Peace. With us . Peace with us . No matter what trial the world has thrown our way; maybe even because of the trial, peace is with us. So why not invite it in? We have a

(Photo by Anna Hart ) Today, I am doing a lot of multitasking. Right now, I'm watching a health video, writing this post (obviously), and sipping the cup of tea I promised myself today. It's dawning on me that the simple pleasures I put on my to-do list aren't as effective if I do things like this. But today, I sort of have an excuse. My schedule got cramped from two directions. I overslept, and my evening plan got moved to an hour earlier, and it probably will end at the usual time, so I'm sitting here, thinking "how in the world am I going to get everything done?" So I multitask. I'm not proud of it, but somehow, all the things on my list must be done. This is a quirk of mine. If I put it on the list, it must be checked off, or else I shame myself for hours and pretty much shoot my self-esteem. I don't like the unproductive me. We're not friends. But I'm learning something ... I'm learning it slowly, even as I write, but I'm lea