Keep it Simple
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 simple reflection of my Lord; let me hold up the mirror until self is lost behind it, and all are caught up in the glory that replaces me.
My name is I Am Not, and I serve the Great I AM.
When this is true, who needs worldly perfections?
Can the song of my days be simply "This is the day the Lord has made; We will rejoice and be glad in it." (Psalm 118:24)
So what if my nails and makeup are left undone?
Who cares if my room is not themed, polished, or organized?
May my soul be His reflection, and may my actions be His masterpiece; every movement a stroke from His paintbrush.
What beauty can come of this odd pairing ... this Divine and this mere mortal. A love that stretches that far ... blood-drenched arms held open on a cross.
You don't get much simpler than a naked man strung on two planks of wood. His crown was less than extravagant. The sign that bore His name was far from elegant. The nails that held Him there weren't Home Depot quality.
My life has been one of those nails. Driving into His flesh until He cries in sheer agony. And now He penetrates me, instead. His is a wound of love; removing my infected heart and transplanting it with His own.
And I lie here, bloodied and loved. Still prone to sin in the worst ways, but trained to run back to the donor of my heart.
Oh infinite God.
Only He could give one human His entire heart, and still live; still have more love left over to give equally to every other broken mess that needs it. His body is broken for us daily.
Broken, and yet whole. Battered, and still beautiful.
Take my life and let it be ...
I don't need marble halls. I don't need a fairy tale life. I don't need to reach for the moon.
I just daily need to reach for Him. Daily I am broken. Daily He is willing to heal and restore. And so I run to Him.
Let this be my simple way of life, following after His leading, loving those that are in my path.