You Are Good...

Have you ever unexpectedly stepped into something new... some clean and pulsatingly alive?

How did you stumble onto holy ground without even a whisper?

And now that you are here... how do you NOT take off your shoes, halt your long journey for awhile, and crumble in the presence of Life itself?

Everything stands still and Rita Springer sings into the silence...

Your mercy goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on... You just go on and on and on and on and on and on and on... You are good! Oh my God, you are GOOD!

You can only tremble. Shake. Fall back into unseen arms of grace.

Battles are won in small victories... and it seems that God has had enough of the enemy that plagues me.

It seems that he has heard me and is rising to my defense.

For months, years really, I have been crying out for a Deliverer.

I've seen him on the fringes of the battlefield, sword arcing through the air.

But these days he is close enough for me to feel his breath. He is standing over me fighting FOR me.

And the timing couldn't be better.

Because I am WEAK.

Small spiritual victories.... but the battle WILL be won.

Jesus. You are good. You are good. And you go on and on and on and on and on and on and on...

Reclaimed

I faced something today.

I stood in the direct blast of something painful, hateful, and full of sorrow.

I stood and I reclaimed something.

In a conversation with someone who has been hurting me for a long time I finally said what I've been wanting to say, but haven't been able to put to words.

I was suddenly so aware of how crafty the enemy is. I am constantly battling my own self loathing, and here it was again - that evil lie creeping up and threatening my fragile sense of balance.

This person is more important to me than I could ever express... and he is always making me feel like I am unacceptable - like if we weren't related he would have nothing to do with me - like he would never CHOOSE to have me in his life. (Small disclaimer: I'm not talking about my husband this time)

I know that it's not a matter of whether or not he loves me. Somehow he DOES... he just doesn't always seem to LIKE me. I keep waiting for him to make things right - to make me feel acceptable again - to reaffirm my worth.

But today I had this sudden "aha" moment and found myself drawing a line in the sand of my own soul.

I am worth choosing. And I'm not going to keep waiting for him to tell me that i AM worth it.

I have enough self loathing for the both of us. Either he chooses me or not, but whether or not he does... I am worth the choice.

I'm telling you, something profound shifted for me.

Maybe because it's been going on so long - sinking in like little needles, injecting their poison and leaving me weak.

Maybe because I have grieved the loss of what was so deep and sweet.

Maybe because he has exposed my failures as a human being and left me feeling shamed and small.

But my God wastes nothing.

And whatever it was that has wounded me for so long....

Doesn't seem so looming anymore.

Because I saw worth in myself for the first time in a long time. I saw Jesus settled on the throne of my heart, radiating. I felt the Spirit of God pulsating like adrenaline - "you ARE worth the choice."

I said it out loud...

And a shaft of light pierced the dark cloud over me...

A small moment maybe...

But joy is certainly pushing against the darkness.

We Are That Woman

I've been thinking a lot about the story of Hannah. I just keep thinking about what it would be like to be her.

I went back to re-read 1 Samuel and realized that Hannah was Elkanah's first wife. The other woman - the one who had many children while Hannah had none - was his second wife.

Which meant that Hannah was meant to produce an heir.

At some point it was just Elkanah and Hannah. Just the two of them in love. It says that Elkanah loved Hannah. She was the woman he had every intention of growing old with.

I picture the shame that Hannah must have felt as years passed without ever becoming pregnant.

And the sorrow she must have felt when Elkanah took another wife to do what she could not do.

And the humiliation when that second wife became pregnant.

Hannah's position as wife was stripped from her. She was inadequate. She was not enough.

I can feel her distress as she cries out to God, "If only you would remove the thing that has made me inadequate! If only you would take away my shame by changing me - changing the condition of my body!"

Ah Hannah. Most women, most wives, have felt your sorrow.

If we are honest we will admit that we have been replaced by SOMETHING. We have been set aside and we have carried the shame of being not enough.

I remember a woman, who had served her husband faithfully and fully, saying to me once, "I was never anyone's favorite. My sisters were favored over me. And now, I'm still nobody's favorite. My husband loves golf more than me."

And, with a great exhale, we all say... "I know how you feel..."

I have lived in Hannah's hell. I have spent my energy on trying to be different. I have allowed the taunting voice of my husband's distractions to define me and break me. But I have also cried out to God.

I have come in deep distress to the throne of the Living God.

And I'm not done yet.

Let me tell you - you are not your partners failures.

You are not a product of their distraction or of their divided heart.

Whether or not you are their favorite...

You are worth it. You ARE enough.

Because God has not formed a single human being who was worth nothing - who was only destined for sorrow and rejection.

Everything hinges on the love of God.

Even a distraught woman's soulful scream.

Maybe, in some ways, we're all Hannah at some point...

The Solid Rock

Solitude can go one of two ways.

Solitude can be holy (even painfully holy). It can be a secluded inner space of stillness and reflection; a time of confession and deep, thorough change.

Solitude can also be selfish and poisonous. It can center on a desire to hide and be hidden; to shut God and others out and be given over to your sin.

I guess the first would be called Solitude....

The second would be called Bondage.

I've been stuck somewhere in between Solitude and Bondage.

Some days I am so aware of the solitude that consumes me; it is holy and I am filled with reverence.

But there have been dark days too. Days that I am hiding and giving in to the lies that keep brushing their sticky little fingers all over my heart.

Today I woke up dark.

I told Joe that I was going to stay home from church and be alone. I just wanted to escape... something. I don't even know what I'm running from really. But I do know that I really just felt too fat to be seen in public. And that is what was keeping me from church with my family.

As Joe and the kids were walking out the door the Spirit gripped me and I knew I had to break out of the darkness and just go with them. So, at the last minute I went to church.

Sure enough, God had something profound waiting for me.

This message was almost certainly spoken to me alone.

The story was about Hannah (1 Samuel). She was the 2nd wife of a man named Elkanah. Elkanah's other wife had lots of children and Hannah had none. But Elkanah loved Hannah and showed her favoritism. The first wife hated Hannah for this and used every opportunity to mock Hannah. She was a rejected woman who projected her hurt on the other woman in her husband's life.

Having a son wasn't just a satisfying thing for a woman in those days, it was security. When Hannah was old her son would provide for her - making sure she had a home and food to eat. He would be her security. It was also a social requirement. The more sons a woman had the more she contributed to the army, which made her a blessed woman.

Again, Hannah had no children. Not one.

When Elkanah took his family to Jerusalem to celebrate and give an offering to the Lord Hannah was so distraught she could not even eat. Her husband was clueless and couldn't understand why HE wasn't enough for Hannah. So she pulled herself together and went to the Temple to cry out to God.

Hannah was so passionate in her heart's cry that she wept and her lips moved although she made no sounds.

When Eli the Priest saw her he assumed she was drunk and admonished her for coming to the Temple while intoxicated. But Hannah explained that she was a woman in distress and was pouring out her heart to God.

Eli blessed her and said, "Go and peace and may the God of Israel give you what you have asked of him."

She went back to her husband, ate heartily and her face was radiant.

She wasn't magically pregnant. There was no promise of a baby. There was only the blessing of a Priest... only "I hope you get what you want."

But something changed for Hannah. She went away with a full appetite and a radiant face.

And she DID eventually have a baby. A son. A man who would become the same prophet to rule Israel before they demanded a King.

He would anoint a shepherd named David. He would hear God call his name when he was only a boy.

Her prayers were answered.

The speaker compared Hannah's social pressure to the pressure placed on women in our culture. Not a pressure of having babies, but of being outwardly perfect. He spoke to the insane amount of visual expectation placed on every woman in our nation. If a woman doesn't have sex appeal, she has nothing. The value of a woman is placed on her body and her face.

And there is the darkness. There is the hiding place I have been cowering in. Called to light in one almost skipped message.

He goes on to say that sometimes our desires can become our idols. The things we are crying out for can become the shifting sand we stand on.

But ...

On Christ the solid rock I stand... all other ground is sinking sand.

If we are rooted on the rock of Jesus we can cry out, processing our grief and desire before the throne of God. We can wrestle and strain before him. We can beg him to hear us and answer!

And all that shifting sand on every side will have no effect. We will not sink because we are not rooted on idols.

Here it is. My sinking sand is my husband.

I keep praying, hoping, expecting him to change. To turn and LOVE me. To respect me.

And this man is wrestling with God. He is always always always crying out. But sometimes he stands on shifting sand. And if I stand on him, I will sink too.

If he never changes there will always be dark days. There will always be times of immense sadness and rejection. I will live parts of my life in sorrow.

But if I stand on Jesus, I will never be consumed. I will always stay afloat.

Will it change how I see myself? Will I go away with a full appetite and a radiant face?

Oh Jesus, I hope so.

All I know is that, for today, Jesus has called me out of darkness. I've stepped a single foot into some brilliant light.

So, for today, I can exhale. Like Hannah, I am free to pour my anguished soul out. And like Hannah, God WILL hear me.

The God Who Wastes Nothing

I went to Rob Bell's Drops Like Stars on Friday in Tempe. I've heard almost every sermon, I've read every book... but this was the first time I've seen him on one of his tours.

Very artistic. Which I guess is not for everyone, but i LOVED it. Loved it.

There were a few things that keep coming back to me...

1. The God Who Wastes Nothing.

The God Who Wastes Nothing...

Nothing.

Not a single failure is wasted.

Not a single fleshy moment is wasted.

Not one "wasted" day is wasted.

The God who wastes nothing.

It is almost impossible to grasp, since we act like we can run away from God. We make it out like there are those wasted years behind us that we will never get back.

They're just gone and we'd better hope we get it together this time. We'd better hope we don't waste another second on ANYTHING.

Ah. Joel had another idea...

"I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten-- the great locust and the young locust, the other locusts and the locust swarm - my great army that I sent among you. You will have plenty to eat, until you are full, and you will praise the name of the Lord your God, who has worked wonders for you; never again will my people be shamed. (Joel 2:25&26)

I will repay you for the years the locust have eaten.

I will make what was lost come alive again.

I will make what was taken from you return again.

I will make what was wronged right again.

And you will never be ashamed again.

The God Who Wastes Nothing.



2. I. Miss. Her.

He asked everyone who had ever been affected by cancer to stand up. More than half of the room came to their feet. He asked us to look around and identify what it felt like to see so many people affected by the same disaster standing with us. People called out answers like, "wow!", "there shouldn't be so many", "good to know I'm not alone".

But then he told us that, in one city, a man from the back said, loud enough for everyone to hear...

"I. Miss. Her."

Exhale.

Still. The God Who Wastes Nothing. The God who knows the deepest, distressed spaces of our existence and still chooses to birth light through our suffering.

It's hard to hold out hope for light to push out through the constant sorrow of a selfish world.

It's hard to feel anything but despair sometimes.

But God... if you waste nothing....

Then help me to endure everything.

Take A Stand

I've been taking my kids to the park every afternoon, after naps. It's been LOVELY.

Our neighborhood park is just around the corner. Aravis rides her bike, helmet firmly in place. Judah catches a ride in the stroller, giant dump truck on his lap. We travel the same way every day, each of us excited for the beautiful fresh air and super fun playground.

Yesterday Aravis and Judah were playing with a 5 year old boy and his little sister. We've seen them before and Aravis was SO excited to play with her "friend" again.

Things were going along fine... Aravis had invented a pirate game and had every kid on the playground playing with her... when her "friend" ran up to Judah and tried to rip his car from his hands.

I watched the injustice, waiting to see if the boy's mother would intervene... since she was watching the whole thing.

She said nothing and I moved to put an end to the bullying of my two year old...

And then something amazing happened.

Judah dug his sturdy little tree trunks into the sand, bolstered his arms against his thick little chest and clung to that beloved car. He set his jaw and refused to be bullied.

My kid stood his ground.

And he won.

The big boy looked surprised and wrestled even harder.

And THEN I told that kid to back off and leave Judah alone.

I was defensive for my son.

But I was PROUD.

I am well aware that Judah has a will of steel. I encounter it every day.

But I've never seen him so determined against a stranger.

Ah, to be like Judah. To plant my feet in the sand and wrestle against my enemy. To set my jaw and refuse to be wronged. To stand my ground.

Judah is the epitome of Ephesians six...

"When all else fails, stand..."

He's not quick. He could never outrun the bully. Although he does throw a good punch...

But, somehow, my little man knew that the best way to keep possession of what was his was to stand firm. Cling to what is good. Don't cower or let go because the enemy is bigger than you.

I'm learning from my babies every day.

Thank you Judah. Yesterday you were a giant in a land of bullies.

A New Practice

I've added a new practice to my Holy Yoga practice.

It's the practice of acceptance.

Due to the twisting, folding, lifting, and compressing nature of yoga I am almost ALWAYS looking straight at the things about my body that i despise.

It's actually pretty horrible.

Especially when it's a particularly "sick" day for me.

So, I've started pushing against the flow of my own nature.

Instead of rejecting these offensive body parts and making a plan of how to obliterate them, I'm speaking acceptance to them.

For example: when I look at my stomach I tell myself, "This belly has housed children. It has been a space of nourishment and life. And my kids were built strong and holy inside of this belly. It is sacred - used by God himself to create new life."

And I love my children. How could I NOT love what carried them, what protected them?

Let me be even MORE honest...

It's not really working yet.

It DOES keep my self hatred at bay. But do I feel joy when I look straight at the parts of my body that haunt and shame me? Not yet.

Will I?

I hope so. It is my true and full desire to be at peace within myself.

I offer those distorted self images to Jesus every single day.

I battle them more often than not.

I rejoice in "skinny" days and would be lost without my push up bra.

But this IS my body. This is how God has formed me.

I am healthy. I am strong. I am intentional about how I live.

And my daily offering must always be ME.

So, in Holy Yoga and in life, I am practicing acceptance.

Maybe if I can learn to accept myself as the CREATION, then I can learn to accept the CREATOR. Can I trust that he didn't make a mistake? He didn't slip up when piecing me together.

Although Paul meant something completely different, I am living his words today....

By the grace of God, I am what I am. He grace did not pass by me.

Heaven

I have been spending a lot of time outside this week. The season has turned and Phoenix is glorying in her beautiful spring.

It's been about 75 degrees outside all week.

Every day is filled with warm and embracing sunshine.

This is heaven for me. I lay on the ground and stare at the blue blue sky, the spotless white clouds, and the still bare tree branches. All I can think about is what life will be like when everything is restored. What will the new Jerusalem be like?

I imagine fresh, clean, abundant air.

Never too hot. Never too cold.

Open windows filled with the smell of lilac and lavender.

Bare feet on soft green grass.

No one is crippled, disfigured, broken, or tormented.

Just free, joyful, alive people filling the streets, the fields, their homes with beauty and laughter.

Jesus, our King, walking the streets. He knows us all and stops to talk and laugh.

Celebrations every day. Peace and stillness in the solitude of the surrounding hills.

But we're never really alone. We never need to get away.

Yoga without sore or tired limbs.

Singing and music filling the air.

Fresh food overflowing from tables and trees and hillsides.

Never a sad or distressed moment.

Only joy. The kind of joy we cannot even begin to describe.

And we have nothing to compare it to. We think that too much happiness, too much peace, would overwhelm us.

We have never existed without sorrow, without sadness.

But we will be free. We will run and never grow weary.

We will soar.

Jesus will be the light that fills our every moment. His powerful act of Rescue will have been finally, completely fulfilled.

Heaven. The new Jerusalem. The new earth.

I want to soak in it. I want to swim in the expectation of what is ahead.

And I want to remember to live it now. Live in the full hope of what is prepared for us.

It's easy to do when there are weeks like this...

Clinging to Hope

....then you will lift up your face without shame; you will stand firm and without
fear. You will surely forget your trouble, recalling it only as waters
gone by. Life will be brighter than noonday, and darkness will become
like morning. You will be secure, because there is hope; you will look
about you and take your rest in safety. You will lie down, with no one
to make you afraid, and many will court your favor.

Job 11:15-19

Fearless

In Holy Yoga we practice several Mudras. A mudra is a positioning of the hands used to direct the flow of energy.

Mudras are significant...

Because the hands are the last thing anyone is thinking about. Everyone focuses first on the positioning of the body, on the breath, and on the intention of the practice.

The hands are forgotten. And the posture is left unfinished. The fingertips hang without any attention given to them at all.

But, when we place our awareness on something so small, yet so powerful, it changes our practice. Mudras really do change the energy of the posture. There is a sense of power, of fire, of upward lifting, of encouragement - in simply extending your fingertips.

And are we ever really aware of what our hands are doing?

We wander around on our giant planet, living our individual lives, dumping our energy into nothingness.

We don't give much attention to where we direct our energy. We just get the job done. We just DO.

And all that energy is pouring out of us all of the time.

We position ourselves to run the race... but we don't have any energy left.

If you're anything like me, you are often clenching your fists tight; refusing to relinquish control.

The mudra of my life is often one of retaining. I am too afraid to stretch my fingers open...

To let go of the things I love.

I hold my kids, my marriage, my friendships, my holy yoga practice, my position in holy yoga - ALL of it - in the tight grip of my closed fists.

God has been using sorrow to pry my fingers apart. He has been gently and firmly asking me to let go.

And it is only in brokenness that I can even consider another life mudra.

I really don't want to resist God. I really don't want to try to control, or hold, everything so tightly.

I want to be King David - when someone moves against me to take something I love...

Can I say, "God gave it to me. He can take it away if he wants. It's not mine to fight for."

Can I spread my fingers wide, press my palms to the sun, savor the feeling of those tiny grains of sand spilling through my fingers?

Can I bring my awareness to my hands?

Can I stand with a fearless mudra, radiating surrender... peace from every single fingertip?

Tonight someone quoted St Augustine...

"God is always trying to give good things to us, but our hands are too full to receive them."

My hands are overflowing.

And, everywhere I turn, I can hear God offering me something better.

I just have to open my hands. I have to be intentional.

A person of intention.

So.

Fearless hands. Fearless, open, brilliant hands.

And back to the original calling.

Be free.

Deep Exhale...

I made You promises a thousand times
I tried to hear from Heaven
But I talked the whole time
I think I made You too small
I never feared You at all No
If You touched my face would I know You?
Looked into my eyes could I behold You?


What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

I guess I thought that I had figured You out
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were mighty to save
Those were only empty words on a page
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees


What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?


What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life "its" name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
On earth and heaven above
What do I know of this love?


What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?


What Do I Know of Holy? Addison Road

The Little Way

It is becoming more and more clear that God has led me, not only to this practice of spiritual disciplines, but also to the order in which to practice them.

As I've come to this aching brokenness, so aware of what I have tried to hide from God, I can finally see this simple truth - he must become more; i must become less.

How do you strangle selfishness?

I guess by choosing a life of selflessness.

How do you shift your inner gaze away from self loathing?

By eating the Word of God - consuming it until it nourishes every cell, every atom of your existence.

How do you replace an idol of self?

By stepping aside so God can take his rightful place on the throne of your life.

He must become more. I must become less.

And this week I've started the practice of The Little Way. If you have never heard of St Therese of Lisieux, now is the time to find her.

Her short life was startlingly, boldly small. She chose the way of a child in everything she did.

She chose to be less, to take The Little Way.

She chose Jesus before her own comfort or desire.

And she lived free, with an immense sense of the great grace of God. She was determined that she would have been just as consumed by his saturating grace if she had ever fallen into a horrible sin and been rescued from it.

She knew God as a father.

She chose his way. Always his way.

I choose my own way more often than not.

And my flesh is chafing at this sudden change. God's way is stretched out before me, requiring everything. Everything.

I am choosing his way. I don't want to be mastered by my bondage anymore. I don't want to give in to behavior that keeps me spiraling into self loathing.

I want to eat some damn food without seeing it's effect in my body. I want to see my passing reflection without cringing. I want to put my husband's addictions outside of what defines me. I want to be free. Free. So free.

Abundantly free.

Jesus, take me on the Little Way.

Make me small. Make me less.

May freedom explode all around me, blazing with sunlight, filling my lungs with clean air.

Knead out every toxin, everything that contaminates me. Do the work.

And as *Much Afraid said, "Bind me to the altar. I don't want to be found struggling against the work of my Shepherd."


*Hind's Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard

God Alone

I've been anguishing all day. I'm still running from God. STILL running.

I went for a walk in the desert before dinner. I went alone and found a trail that led off of the main trail, through a little valley.

In the very center of these two small mountains was a chair made of stones. I guess someone thought it was a good place to just sit.

So I sat. Alone.

And I wrestled with God. I kept heaving this unbelievably overwhelming burden towards him. All of my loneliness; all of my despair; all of my inner sickness; all of my disappointed hopes... everything.

I sat very still and listened to my own breath. I listened to the wind falling into the same rhythm as my heartbeat. I listened to other people passing me by. I listened and I waited.

I kept asking God for SOMETHING. I need a message... a single word. Anything.

And the entire time I felt the immense weight of my idolatry. Is it enough to WANT to be free?

Is it enough?

At the end of my few moments alone all I could ask for is for help. I am too weak. I may get a single breath of free air, but I will fall back into my behavior the moment I feel my own insignificance growing again.

And it is growing. It just keeps growing.

I guess that is what happens when you finally look that demon in the eye. It all becomes so clear. My entire life has been permeated by the lie... it MUST be a lie.

Because I know that God says that I am HIS. I am clean. I am free. I am forgiven. I am worth more than his own comfort. I am a price worth paying. I am sculpted by his own hand.

So, this voice that keeps telling me how distorted, forgotten, and hopeless I am HAS to be the voice of my enemy. My only enemy. That old snake.

I came home broken. So, so broken.

And then I talked to my girlfriend. We talked about where she is... it was startlingly familiar. How can two people be experiencing the same exact circumstances?

Our battle is the same. What introduced that sticky lie is different, but the result is the same. And I realized, while listening to her heart cry out like mine has been and hearing what God has spoken to her, that God was responding to my hungering for a message. He was answering me through her mirroring anguish. He spoke hope to her. She spoke hope to me.

So God hasn't forgotten.

And, somehow, freedom must be an option. It must be true.

What is required of me is a true death. A death for that looming idol of self. A death of my self destructive behavior and of the lie that has rooted itself into the very center of my life.

I must get off that throne.

God MUST sit there, firm and rooted.

God alone.

God alone...

Shame

Yesterday Alisa told the first story like this:

"Adam and Eve sinned. They realized they were naked and they were ashamed. So they hid. God called to them, 'Adam, where are you?' God knew where they were. He was asking if THEY knew where they were."

I've been thinking about this since she said it.

Because sin, selfishness, has exposed me.

And shame has forced me to hide.

I've been hiding from God all day. And how ridiculous is that?

Where could I ever go to hide from God? I could never go far enough.

Yet, I still try.

I'm hiding because I have become aware of the great effect shame has had on my life. Shame shapes my actions, my words, my thoughts.

I am ashamed of who I am so I choose not to eat.

I am ashamed of who I am not so I judge the first person I lay eyes on.

And I am ashamed of being ashamed.

Shame makes me impatient, unkind, ungenerous, fearful.... shame makes me lost.

Today I heard God call out to me, "Stephanie, where are you?"

Not because God doesn't know where I am.

But because God wants ME to know where I am.

He wants me to say it out loud. Confess my debilitating shame. Release the idol of self that has been in my firm grip since the first time I bowed down to my own flesh. Let go. Acknowledge that I am exposed and naked. Admit that sin is crouching at my door.

Sin desires to master me, the way it did Adam and Eve. The way it did Cain. The way it did King David.

Sin is my enemy. Because sin makes me hide, foolishly, from my only hope of Rescue.

So, tonight, I'm saying out loud over and over again. "I'm here, God. Naked and ashamed. I'm stuck in a deep, thick mess. Clothe me again. Wash me and I will be clean."

It really, truly is a choice. What will master me? What will I bow my heart to?

....then you will lift up your face without shame; you will stand firm and without fear. You will surely forget your trouble, recalling it only as waters gone by. Life will be brighter than noonday, and darkness will become like morning. You will be secure, because there is hope; you will look about you and take your rest in safety. You will lie down, with no one to make you afraid, and many will court your favor.
Job 11:15-19

The Altar

Today is an anniversary for me. It's my seven-years-of-life mark.

I try to remember to celebrate life on February 8th. I try to remember to look back on the life I've led since that day with honesty and reflection.

February 8th is my altar. I pass this way every year and take time to stop and remember that God holds my life in his hands. In my darkest, most sin-encrusted moment, he stooped down to lift me up. He entered my world of blackest night. He soothed away the pain and self-destructive anguish to lead me into blinding light.

Jesus is my rescuer. Jesus is the only one who sat with me during that long, tortured day. He is the only one who heard the wailing of my heart. He knows every thought, every wound, and every broken moment that led me there.

And he is merciful enough to whisper hope to a dead heart.

It seems significant to me that I am in the middle of a week of intentional communion.

Since communion is really about a life lived in the center of God's unforsaking love.

It's about knowing him. It's about being known.

For the last seven years I have been leaving new stones on this old altar. I've been reliving the sorrow and the joy of that day.

I hope I never forget. I hope February 8th never passes me by without me stilling my heart and remembering, with deep reverence, the King who saved me.

The King who is holy.

God's love makes me holy and whole.

His words evoke my beauty. Everything he says and does is designed to bring the best out of me. He dresses me in radiant white.

And Jesus loves me, this I know...

You Can Trust Me...

Seriously people, if you haven't discovered yoga yet I wonder how you stay sane!! Without yoga I would never catch my breath, never be released from my stressful depression, never enjoy the big and small movements of my own body, and never function as a human being.

Yoga is God's gift to my frail human life.

Holy Yoga in particular.

I took a class at a local studio this morning (not Holy Yoga, but ALL yoga is holy when Jesus is in your heart) and it was better than being medicated. :)

I walked in tense, overwhelmed, needy, and depressed. I walked out free, light, calm, and reminded AGAIN of who God is.

This is the theme of my life these days - remembrance. It is so easy for me to forget who God has been and what he has done. I am so selfishly forgetful. It's actually pretty annoying.

When I look back and see the trail of new life that has followed my chaotic footsteps I am so ashamed that I have forgotten him already. I would hate it if someone I loved regularly forgot about me. In fact, I have an idea what that feels like.

After my fabulous yoga class I went to church with my family, the words of my Jesus ringing in my heart, "You can trust me."

Trust is becoming my mantra. I can trust him. I can trust him. I can trust him.

Because I forget that too.

We run out of money, we can't pay our bills, we need a new car, etc.

Why are these things sitting on that holy throne in my life? Isn't that place already occupied?

Why do I obsess as if God has never provided money, food, cars, clothes... everything we have EVER needed?

Are we hungry? Are we homeless? Are we lacking in ANYTHING?

Seriously, I annoy the crap out of myself sometimes. Looking at my foolishness I am so aware that, if it were someone else, I would be preaching a message of trust to their face. But trust alludes me.

So, like I said, trust has become my mantra. I hear God reminding me all day long. I CAN trust him.

One thing Joe and I have been called to that requires an immense amount of trust is tithing. We haven't tithed in years. We haven't felt convicted about it. In fact it seems like, in some ways, God was teaching us to give from the heart. Every time we have ever tithed in the past it was from a space of obligation or guilt.

But we read Malachi the other day and were so challenged to give everything to the storehouse of God's kingdom. Would he not open the floodgates and pour out more than we could hold?

So, in church this morning I felt that same tugging, "You can trust me..." and I put in every dollar I had in my wallet. Fifty eight dollars. And it felt really good. Not guilt. Not obligation. Not pride. Just good. I felt expectant.

We came home from church still broke, still without enough money to cover our bills and our rent, but trusting.

And then someone came to buy the Durango. We've been trying to sell it so that we can use the money to fix Joe's work truck and then trade our other vehicle with my brother. Long story, but this is something I have struggled with trusting God for. And it happened today, when we've decided to trust God.

Even better, when cleaning out the Durango, I found a deposit envelope with seventy dollars cash in it. I don't really know where it came from, but there it was. More than I had put into the offering plate.

Jesus is doing something merciful, deep, and so, so powerful in me. My flesh is still there, fighting for control, but I've realized that communion is so freeing because it is Jesus' broken flesh that conquers mine. It is his spilled blood that keeps me from hemorrhaging when sin guts me.

And victory is this: I can trust him...

"God, make a fresh start in me, shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life."
Psalm 51:10

The Week of Struggle

I would really like to believe that, in this holy pursuit, I would be holier. I'd like to feel kinder. I'd like to say that my flesh is dying away without a fight.

But that would all be a big, fat, nasty lie.

Because my flesh is thrashing around in an angry fight for survival.

I am testier. I am meaner. I am less patient. I am angry.

I feel rejected by everyone. I feel almost hopeless.

And I KNOW that my only option is fight it out; get to the end of this battle. Maybe there I will find some peace.

This is the hardest part - my only hope for freedom is to continually step away from that raging self-love and cling to the God who stands ON TOP of the crazy-ass waters.

So, in an effort to strangle my desire to let my selfish behavior reign again, I am writing this post. Because, if I put it out there with bold words, then the funky cloud that I am shrinking behind will dissipate. I will be forced to stop obsessing over my foolish behavior, my Popeye-strong desire to defend myself, and my equally strong desire to crawl under the covers and stay there.

This week is about communion.

This week is about the One who was broken, hidden away, and found again.

This week is about the old rituals that become the new celebrations.

This week is about remembering who I am.

This week is about remembering who GOD is.

And this week is, for whatever reason, is the week of my great struggle.

I am trusting that this week will also prove to be the week of my great encounter.

I am, without a doubt, still a big, fleshy mess, but I am setting my gaze on the Father...

My hope in his son...

My life in his spirit...

Help me, Jesus. You are the only Way....

Light

It's Thursday again. I really wanted to spread the last week out into this week. I didn't want to give up the meditation... the heyschasm.

But I've decided to not grip the good thing so tightly that I strangle it.

So, on to communion.

And, hopefully, I will find that fasting, prayer and meditation follow me here.

Because, shouldn't they all fit together? Shouldn't they all be a part of every day of our lives?

I am experiencing so much brokenness today. These spiritual practices are opening up a desperately hungry hole inside of me. I am becoming so much more aware of my incredible need.

I am a needy person. Needier than I want to admit.

And, this morning in yoga, I found myself in that breath prayer of the desert fathers...

"Jesus, have mercy on me."

In a glorious, freeing, sharp and wounding moment the Light of God burst out over my life and I was horrified at what it exposed. In that one moment I saw who I have been. Beneath all of my yearning, longing, studying, hoping, tears and obedience to God runs a grotesquely pulsating vein of self love.

Duh.

I'm human, I know. It shouldn't be such a shock to see such selfishness alive in me.

But I do SO MUCH for others....

I make GOOD decisions....

I say HOLY things....

I always ask God to humble me...

Ick.

In that one, startling moment it became so very clear to me that I do what I want to do. I ultimately serve me. I think of what I need and if someone steps on my toes I flare up and walk away.

I want to live a free life. I really, really do.

But I chafe at change. I get angry when others are inconsiderate of me.

I live in my flesh and scramble for the spirit.

I realize too that God didn't reveal this in me to shame me. This wasn't to put me in my place.

Because I can TRUST God.

I am being reminded of who God is; of what he has done for me.

And, like a friend I've abandoned, my true friend is only showing me how far I've wandered.

I've been looking for God. I've been fasting and praying and meditating. I've been returning to the roots of my faith. I've been reliving what drew me to him in the first place.

Love. Ah, love.

And, in my longing for holy fear, I've found it.

Love resting in the folds of reverence.

Love blended into every color of my world.

It's his love that brought the sunshine back into my soul.

It's his love that exposed what lurked there.

And it is his love, his rescuing love, that will heal the brokenness I have inflicted.

I can trust his love.

The Other Kind of Fear

I'm thinking a lot about the fear of the Lord lately.

I think that this is one of those things most often mis-interpreted. I remember hearing Oprah say once that she stopped putting her faith solely in God because her pastor said that God is a jealous God... and she thought, "God is jealous of ME?!" For whatever reason it never occurred to her that God was jealous FOR her.... and she lost faith.

This is like that.

We could lose faith over that word... fear.

It sounds disturbing. Why does God wants us to be afraid of him? How do you fear someone you are supposed to love? It just doesn't seems like pieces to the same puzzle.

Fear?

But, for whatever reason, I've been thinking about it all the time. I'm even finding myself hungry for it... whatever it is.

I've discovered that this kind of fear is not the kind of fear that makes you run screaming from the big, scary monster hunting you. It isn't the kind of fear that sells horror movies. It isn't the kind of fear you feel when you know that your boss doesn't really like you and might fire you, or make you look bad, at any moment. And it isn't the kind of fear you feel when you know that other people don't like what you are doing...

This kind of fear is better known as reverence.

And reverence isn't an often used word in every day life. Reverence seems to fit in better with stained glass windows and hymnals.

When I was younger I was very judgemental of other Christian beliefs. I said I wasn't, but I was. I thought that the best way to worship God was with loud music, dancing in the aisle and boisterous praying. I had no interest whatsoever in worship services where people read out loud or sang old, old songs. They were boring and dated. God had moved on. I was sure of it.

And then I lost myself a little bit. I ended a very bad relationship and moved far away from my entire community to a little island in the Puget Sound. I lived with my aunt, uncle and cousin. Basically I was home by myself all day. Most days I took long walks, sat out by the water, or just sat in the living room, looking out over the water, and trying to process my broken heart. I cried a lot.

And I forgot how to pray. I just couldn't recall how to get passionate enough.

I tried to go to church at the small community church on the island. It was, after all, the kind of service God liked best. But I felt emptier when I left than I had when I entered.

So, I started going to church with my aunt and my cousin. They were Episcopalian. Their church was nestled into lots of soft, green trees just off the highway. It had wooden pews, big open windows and hymnals for every worshipper. I found Jesus there.

There was something so moving about those old prayers. When I read them out loud, along with everyone else, I was so taken with the realization that people had been praying these words for hundreds of years. I didn't need to remember how to pray. They had left me a trail to follow. There was mercy for me in that church with their dated worship.

I found reverence for God in those beautiful services. Communion came alive. Silence bloomed underneath me like new and fresh earth. It was the beginning of my conversion to true faith, deep hope, and absolute longing for more than what I had left behind me with my broken heart.

So, ten years later I'm wondering, again, about reverence.

Which takes me to 2 Corinthians 7:1

"Since we have these promises, dear friends, let us purify ourselves from everything that contaminates body and spirit, perfecting holiness out of reverence for God."

I always have to know what the Message version says...

"With promises like this to pull us on, dear friends, let's make a clean break with everything that defiles or distracts us, both within and without. Let's make our entire lives fit and holy temples for the worship of God. More Passionate, More Responsible."

Let's make a clean break with everything that defiles or distracts us, both within and without...

This, to me, is the definition of reverence.

This is the fear of the Lord.

May nothing distract us. May nothing stand in the way of our clear focus. Our true love. Our heart's desire. Our holy hope. Our perfect Redeemer.

My husband read this to me from Malachi the other day,

"Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this," says the Lord Almighty, "and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have room enough for it....Then those who feared the Lord talked with each other, and the Lord listened and heard. A scroll of remembrance was written in his presence concerning those who feared the Lord and honored his name."They will be mine," says the Lord Almighty, "in the day when I make up my treasured possession. I will spare them, just as in compassion a man spares his son who serves him. And you will again see the distinction between the righteous and the wicked, between those who serve God and those who do not. "

It's got me thinking.

What do I have to give to God?

My time. My children. My skill. My holy yoga practice. My marriage. My home. My money. My work. My hope.

What would happen if I brought it all into the storehouse?

And what would convince me to bring it ALL?

"And you will again see the distinction between the righteous and the wicked, between those who serve God and those who do not. "

What makes the righteous and the wicked different? What separates them?

Is it the fear of the Lord?

Because isn't fearing God really just about having a powerful hope that he is BIG enough, STRONG enough, WHOLE enough to be trustworthy?

Isn't fearing God really just a matter of putting everything I have into him and trusting that even more will be poured out again... more than I have room for?

I want to throw it all in. Every single tiny grain of my life.

And I want to trust that he will respond as he has every time I have been empty. With an overflowing response to my need.

Because the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. The fear of the Lord demands that we no longer care what other people think about us.

We have given everything to one storehouse. There is nothing of our own strength, skill, or desire to be found in us. It has been freely surrendered.

And we can wait with a never - disappointed hope for the floodgates to open.

I Don't Like Rules

I'll admit something.

I'm really bad at any kind of discipline.

I don't like rules. I don't like expectations. I don't like guilt.

I've spent enough time in a world where rules abound. Grace was a word we used, but rarely practiced. Shame was a motivator and people were only as acceptable as they were useful.

If you didn't have special "gifts" or "callings" then you were ignored. So, people made stuff up. I don't think they actually thought they were making it up. I think they just hungered for it so deeply that, at some point, it became reality.

Since my slow movement away from that world I've become more and more disgusted by rules. You will often hear me swear.

Because I'm seeing that sometimes you have to cross the line of what is seemingly appropriate to make a point. I think I'm in good company with this, seeing as how Paul made reference to "filthy rags", i.e. menstrual rags... kind of a big, offensive deal in those days.

This might be offensive to you. There was a time it would have been offensive to me. I would have been horrified at the use of scripture to justify something so against the rules. I would have looked down on the perpetrator and, later on, use their unholiness as an example of what happens when we distort the truth.

Did you catch that?

I would have looked down on them....

Gross.

I read a story about a guy who traveled around speaking at christian events. He would always talk about the horrific amount of people who are starving to death everyday. And then he would always say, "...and no one gives a shit." He would end his talk by pointing out that almost everyone in that room was more offended that he had used a swear word than the face that people were starving to death. His point was always proven right when he received a letter in the mail protesting his "foul language" and never once mentioning world hunger.

This makes me sad.

Why do we care?

I get it that CURSING someone is a bad idea. I don't condone that (although I will tell you that, in my flesh, I've done it many times - most times without using a single swear word).

But really the point I am making tonight, is that it just doesn't matter.

The rules don't matter.

Holiness isn't about rules. It is 100% about the heart.

Righteousness isn't about rules. It is 100% about the heart.

Why do we make so many rules that only give us the power to condemn other people? As if judging other people according to our rules is what makes them worthy of life or not.

Why can't we choose to love people that offend us?

Why can't we open ourselves up to the idea of grace?

Grace that saved a wretch like ME.

There are no barriers to grace. Grace allows us to freely love the people we think are nuts. And, most importantly, grace allows us to let God do God's job.

This is a hard thing to swallow. Sometimes it makes me sick to my stomach... cause I know that I am a big, fat judger.

But my hope is that, in extending mercy to the people that piss me off, I will receive the mercy that I did not deserve.

I happen to know that I have pissed off quite a few people off in my lifetime. Almost every time, it was unintentional, misguided and regrettable.

So, if I start showing undeserved mercy to people that do things I don't like... like making rules that give me the heebie-jeebies, maybe they'll show me mercy when I do things that they don't like ... like swear...

Just a thought.

If I Never See Another Jesus Painting Again...

Can someone please paint an authentic portrait of Jesus?

Can we bring to life the image of Jesus that is lost in the pious, bored, cold and distant man staring blandly at human life as if it disgusts him?

Cause I am very tired of seeing Jesus gently tiptoeing around the trashy humans. I am tired of seeing his blue eyes gazing off into the distance as humanity wails and anguishes all around him. I am tired of seeing the one clean hand extended while his body posture suggests he is completely disinterested.

How about the burly carpenter with dirt under his nails and tangles in his beard; with deep chocolate eyes and dark skin; with a broad, engaging smile on his face; down in the dirt with the blind man making mud out of earth and spit to smear on his damaged eyes?

THIS Jesus has children pouring into his lap, women laughing at his stories, men lounging next to him and hanging onto his every word. He sits in the dirt with the poor. He rubs elbows with the whores and cheats. He bends down to look into the eyes of the adulteress and speaks to her soul in a way no one else would. He wraps his arms around the contagious and stops a pulsing crowd to connect with one faith-filled, hungry, desolate woman.

Where is this Jesus in our holy paintings? Where did he go? Why do we paint him as something he isn't? And does that reflect the way that we paint him into our lives?

Distant.

Segregated.

Pious.

Uninterested.

British.

Can someone courageously throw some paint over this towering image? Can someone start over again? Can this whole Body of Christ paint just ONE piece of him at a time?

A dark, rough hand.

A heavy, weathered brow.

Thick, smiling lips.

A strong, dusty back.

A long, crooked nose.

Can we picture him roaring with laughter, celebrating with his beautiful creation?

Can we see him reaching down to sweep a little girl onto his shoulders, whispering to her that she is the crown of all of creation?

Can we allow him to be real? Flesh and blood. Divine, yet filled with breath?

Can we never set eyes on a distorted image of our Jesus again? Can we set them aside....

Can we start over?