When did this Hope plant its seed in my heart, and grow into my eyes, and my hands, and fill up my lungs?
When did I learn how to breathe in this way?
To look at the world and see hazy pastel sunsets and the soft generous curve of smiles,
and to smell rain, and the breezy kiss of sweet jasmine, and soft vital lavender,
and to become refreshed for no feasible reason?
When did this realization of Love so take me into itself that I woke up realizing that no matter how difficult life is, how flawed I am, how hopeless a situation appears- that I am irrevokably loved, and guided and protected, and met by my Creator?
When did you do this, my Love?
Did you shake me so softly awake that I didn't realize it?
Did you lift the veil from my eyes so slowly that I didn't realize I was blinking in the glow of sunlight streaming?
When I deserved nothing but recrimination, I was met with bewildering kindness.
When I deserved death and judgement, I was given made lovely, washed clean, kept close and safe.
I will not doubt you again.
Keep me upward gazing,my Heartsong. Be my hope planted Forever, Lord.
Amen.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Thursday, March 7, 2013
I wear a white dress, and I dance.
Today was a rough day.
It started off rough. It got rougher, and then when I just felt like giving up and freaking out and sitting down to watch tv and veg out and not give anymore of myself to anyone or anything, I realized the truth of it.
I was created for something more than a sleepless night of TV and the deadening of my heart to the voice of God.
And no matter how hard people, or stuff, or things were on me- nothing is going to drown out the truth that God doesn't think I'm a waste of space. He doesn't think I'm a disappointment. He's not keeping a score of my wrongdoings, my inaccuracies, of the things I've forgotten, or the things I am imcapable of doing. That is the Power of the Cross- when other people are keeping score - God is too busy looking at me- really SEEING me in all of my beauty as his creation- to take tally. Before the Cross- he couldn't even look at me, even when he longed to- I needed a justifier- a redeemer. Thank you Jesus! For that gift.
Because now, like a goldsmith at the fire- God's eye is not on the dross floating through, and out of me. He's keeping an eye on the fire- and on the umblemished beauty of the thing he is creating.
So-Today, when other people were disappointed in me, or wanted me to be more than I am- God wasn't.
And he isn't.
In earthly dad's eyes- I'm a disappointment.
But in my heavenly Father's eyes-I am a girl in a white dress, dancing before Him- imperfect, and stumbling- but trying. Laughing with the Joy of it. Longing for him to dance along side me.
And to God- that's enough. It's sweet to Him.
So, at the end of this day- I can still say that I am not a failure.
Oh no. Not this girl.
I am a fragrance of worship to the Lord.
When I need to be a success, I will be a success. When it glorifies God the most for me to succeed at something, I will shine so bright the stars will fade, dim in deference to sheer beauty of God's creation in me. The lily will blush, and the swan will duck its head. And it won't because of how great I am. It will be because of something unexplainably amazing about what God did in me and through me. People who are disappointed in me now won't know what to do except say "How did SHE do THAT?" And I will say " Yes- somehow, impossibly. And its because I am loved inspite of myself. And because God knew what he was doing in me when he made me. He knew what he was doing when he made you too."
Until then, I am content to raise up this frail little gift I have- to give this falling down broken and stumbling self to God, and say "Lord, make me new today."
Because he does. And he did. And he will again.
Lord- renew a right spirit in me. Clean hands, a pure heart....a humble spirit- keep creating them in me. And until that unknown day at the twilight of my life- when I wake up in your arms, and you smile down at me and say "My love, welcome home."- give me the courage to fight for your love the way you fought for mine.
Amen.
It started off rough. It got rougher, and then when I just felt like giving up and freaking out and sitting down to watch tv and veg out and not give anymore of myself to anyone or anything, I realized the truth of it.
I was created for something more than a sleepless night of TV and the deadening of my heart to the voice of God.
And no matter how hard people, or stuff, or things were on me- nothing is going to drown out the truth that God doesn't think I'm a waste of space. He doesn't think I'm a disappointment. He's not keeping a score of my wrongdoings, my inaccuracies, of the things I've forgotten, or the things I am imcapable of doing. That is the Power of the Cross- when other people are keeping score - God is too busy looking at me- really SEEING me in all of my beauty as his creation- to take tally. Before the Cross- he couldn't even look at me, even when he longed to- I needed a justifier- a redeemer. Thank you Jesus! For that gift.
Because now, like a goldsmith at the fire- God's eye is not on the dross floating through, and out of me. He's keeping an eye on the fire- and on the umblemished beauty of the thing he is creating.
So-Today, when other people were disappointed in me, or wanted me to be more than I am- God wasn't.
And he isn't.
In earthly dad's eyes- I'm a disappointment.
But in my heavenly Father's eyes-I am a girl in a white dress, dancing before Him- imperfect, and stumbling- but trying. Laughing with the Joy of it. Longing for him to dance along side me.
And to God- that's enough. It's sweet to Him.
So, at the end of this day- I can still say that I am not a failure.
Oh no. Not this girl.
I am a fragrance of worship to the Lord.
When I need to be a success, I will be a success. When it glorifies God the most for me to succeed at something, I will shine so bright the stars will fade, dim in deference to sheer beauty of God's creation in me. The lily will blush, and the swan will duck its head. And it won't because of how great I am. It will be because of something unexplainably amazing about what God did in me and through me. People who are disappointed in me now won't know what to do except say "How did SHE do THAT?" And I will say " Yes- somehow, impossibly. And its because I am loved inspite of myself. And because God knew what he was doing in me when he made me. He knew what he was doing when he made you too."
Until then, I am content to raise up this frail little gift I have- to give this falling down broken and stumbling self to God, and say "Lord, make me new today."
Because he does. And he did. And he will again.
Lord- renew a right spirit in me. Clean hands, a pure heart....a humble spirit- keep creating them in me. And until that unknown day at the twilight of my life- when I wake up in your arms, and you smile down at me and say "My love, welcome home."- give me the courage to fight for your love the way you fought for mine.
Amen.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Fragrance and Fire
Okay, so took my first guitar lesson. I forgot how strange and disorienting the first experience with an instrument of any kind is.
My voice was built in- but the process of beginning classical training was so overwhelming- the posture, the breathing, the strange language of music, the soft palate raised, the lip trills and the phonating in registers I didn't think I had.... I remember being so exhausted and exhilarated by the process. Oh the depths of dispair when I realized I would NEVER learn the full extent of my instrument, since the voice is ever evolving, ever changing physiologically, and we ever ever having to readjust, relearn, reinterpret instruction we've already learned. And oh the JOY! When I barrelled through the walls that separated me from the next breathlessly exhilarating musical moment.And Piano was a big flop for me, but it had its sparkle too! I just don't have the fingers for it, I think.
And now guitar- I can't believe how excited I am to just start it, like a little kid. Like my first day of classes as an official music student- I got to make music ALL DAY! And it was my JOB! I skipped to classes LITERALLY for my first semester even though those classes were so freaking hard, and I often left crying my eyes out. I also laughed my way out the any funk in the beginning because I was just so...grateful.
Grateful. To sing, and to make music. I'm making music!
I just get so emotional about this. I don't think people realize why. What it means to me, to know that when I open my mouth, and sing- its the sweet fragrance of worship to God- that he is pleased when I sing! And heaven hears, and the people around me hear- and I know miraculously that I'm not talking to them with my body but with my soul- and their souls are responding. I am the most human, the most me, the most free when I am making music and singing and fighting with myself and looking fear in the eye and moving past it into the music because its so worth that little war within me. Its just...crazy to me. So mind boggling.
And I've taken it for granted the last three years.Yes, I've been singing- but have I been SINGING? Have I worked to challenge myself to become a better singer, a better musician? Have I been willing to suffer to make it happen? I've been so paralyzed by fear- so fixated on my failures as a musician in music school, when all along this music in me has been just simmering under the surface, restless for release. I let the fire die a little- but the embers are still there. I only have to lay wood on the fire, and stoke the flame.
And I am becoming more and more resolved, with each passing day- to let it burn away.
I recently talked to a guy who literally does hard, metal working labor, does every odd gig that comes his way- just to pay rent, just so he can keep music alive in his life. He might have the life of a gypsy- but that gypsy heart is wise, because it knows where to find its nourishment. I listened to him talk, and I felt the twinge of conviction.
What excuse do I have? How can I not let music live in me? How can I not fight to keep this in my life?
Why am I so afraid to work for the one thing I absolutely know I want?
Here is the truth of it. God is not going to hand me the ability to play guitar- its not gonna land in my lap. I have calluses to build onto these abnormally small fingertips- muscle memory to build, guitar theory to learn. I have that terrifying moment of having to play infront of people before I feel like I really sound good- because its good for me to be a little uncomfortable- because it will make me a better musician.
And I have songs to write. In me. I've been afraid- but I think they're there. Who knows if they'll be good enough to let other people hear- but I shouldn't be afraid to write them out, and down, and to sing them. I shouldn't be afraid to enjoy the process, or to offer them up to the Lord as incense.
God is in the sweat, and toil, and tears that are coming. He's there on the other side of the brick walls I'm going to have to break through. He's in every coming success, and every coming failure.
Pray for me friends- because I'm gonna let this fire burn, I'm giving this up to God to release in me, and I don't know what its going to look like - I don't know what any of this means yet, really. I just know God's doing something in me that feels...big.
And I'm SO EXCITED!!!!
My voice was built in- but the process of beginning classical training was so overwhelming- the posture, the breathing, the strange language of music, the soft palate raised, the lip trills and the phonating in registers I didn't think I had.... I remember being so exhausted and exhilarated by the process. Oh the depths of dispair when I realized I would NEVER learn the full extent of my instrument, since the voice is ever evolving, ever changing physiologically, and we ever ever having to readjust, relearn, reinterpret instruction we've already learned. And oh the JOY! When I barrelled through the walls that separated me from the next breathlessly exhilarating musical moment.And Piano was a big flop for me, but it had its sparkle too! I just don't have the fingers for it, I think.
And now guitar- I can't believe how excited I am to just start it, like a little kid. Like my first day of classes as an official music student- I got to make music ALL DAY! And it was my JOB! I skipped to classes LITERALLY for my first semester even though those classes were so freaking hard, and I often left crying my eyes out. I also laughed my way out the any funk in the beginning because I was just so...grateful.
Grateful. To sing, and to make music. I'm making music!
I just get so emotional about this. I don't think people realize why. What it means to me, to know that when I open my mouth, and sing- its the sweet fragrance of worship to God- that he is pleased when I sing! And heaven hears, and the people around me hear- and I know miraculously that I'm not talking to them with my body but with my soul- and their souls are responding. I am the most human, the most me, the most free when I am making music and singing and fighting with myself and looking fear in the eye and moving past it into the music because its so worth that little war within me. Its just...crazy to me. So mind boggling.
And I've taken it for granted the last three years.Yes, I've been singing- but have I been SINGING? Have I worked to challenge myself to become a better singer, a better musician? Have I been willing to suffer to make it happen? I've been so paralyzed by fear- so fixated on my failures as a musician in music school, when all along this music in me has been just simmering under the surface, restless for release. I let the fire die a little- but the embers are still there. I only have to lay wood on the fire, and stoke the flame.
And I am becoming more and more resolved, with each passing day- to let it burn away.
I recently talked to a guy who literally does hard, metal working labor, does every odd gig that comes his way- just to pay rent, just so he can keep music alive in his life. He might have the life of a gypsy- but that gypsy heart is wise, because it knows where to find its nourishment. I listened to him talk, and I felt the twinge of conviction.
What excuse do I have? How can I not let music live in me? How can I not fight to keep this in my life?
Why am I so afraid to work for the one thing I absolutely know I want?
Here is the truth of it. God is not going to hand me the ability to play guitar- its not gonna land in my lap. I have calluses to build onto these abnormally small fingertips- muscle memory to build, guitar theory to learn. I have that terrifying moment of having to play infront of people before I feel like I really sound good- because its good for me to be a little uncomfortable- because it will make me a better musician.
And I have songs to write. In me. I've been afraid- but I think they're there. Who knows if they'll be good enough to let other people hear- but I shouldn't be afraid to write them out, and down, and to sing them. I shouldn't be afraid to enjoy the process, or to offer them up to the Lord as incense.
God is in the sweat, and toil, and tears that are coming. He's there on the other side of the brick walls I'm going to have to break through. He's in every coming success, and every coming failure.
Pray for me friends- because I'm gonna let this fire burn, I'm giving this up to God to release in me, and I don't know what its going to look like - I don't know what any of this means yet, really. I just know God's doing something in me that feels...big.
And I'm SO EXCITED!!!!
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Risk taking! Lets make music...
Hello!
Messing around with this blog today, trying to decide whether to keep it, since I haven't written in it in over a year. But based on a recent decision to make a conscious decision write more often, to allow myself more risks, and be more creative- I've decided to keep this thing going. Why not? The world is full of people not taking risks, sitting around hating themselves for it. I've decided I don't want to be one of them.
Risk number 1- relentlessly pursue music.Art. Life. And gratitude for it all in the midst of everything. I'm going to pursue music for fun, and if it turns into something more- then awesome. The pressure to live up to my talents and gifts has faded- the angst of knowing my own failures as a musician and a singer in comparision to other peopel has faded. The only thing I want to do now is make music because I was created to make music- and to write- and to see the miracle of creation around me, and to want to articulate it by whatever means seems the most natural and worshipful. I create, because I was created. I sing, because I was sung into existence. I dance because joy puts wings on my heart- because I am not alone, and I am loved beyond all measure.
One of the most freeing realizations I've had all week- I was BORN to DO THIS!!!! I was born to be this- to worship, and to sing and to write and to see shape and light and color and to create. This is the best realization ever.
We'll see how this risk will pan out- but for right now, I'm just doing something little everyday and allowing myself to actively dream and sing outloud in strange places again. I can't believe how great this week has been, just doing that.
Every noticed this? that when you open your heart a crack- and the rushing wind of God has this habit of sweeping the door open the rest of the way and causing a beautiful kind of ruckus in your heart?
Oh the gift of it.
Messing around with this blog today, trying to decide whether to keep it, since I haven't written in it in over a year. But based on a recent decision to make a conscious decision write more often, to allow myself more risks, and be more creative- I've decided to keep this thing going. Why not? The world is full of people not taking risks, sitting around hating themselves for it. I've decided I don't want to be one of them.
Risk number 1- relentlessly pursue music.Art. Life. And gratitude for it all in the midst of everything. I'm going to pursue music for fun, and if it turns into something more- then awesome. The pressure to live up to my talents and gifts has faded- the angst of knowing my own failures as a musician and a singer in comparision to other peopel has faded. The only thing I want to do now is make music because I was created to make music- and to write- and to see the miracle of creation around me, and to want to articulate it by whatever means seems the most natural and worshipful. I create, because I was created. I sing, because I was sung into existence. I dance because joy puts wings on my heart- because I am not alone, and I am loved beyond all measure.
One of the most freeing realizations I've had all week- I was BORN to DO THIS!!!! I was born to be this- to worship, and to sing and to write and to see shape and light and color and to create. This is the best realization ever.
We'll see how this risk will pan out- but for right now, I'm just doing something little everyday and allowing myself to actively dream and sing outloud in strange places again. I can't believe how great this week has been, just doing that.
Every noticed this? that when you open your heart a crack- and the rushing wind of God has this habit of sweeping the door open the rest of the way and causing a beautiful kind of ruckus in your heart?
Oh the gift of it.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
The Man on the Train
There are some days, when I wake up, and I think "What is God going to do today? What is his amazing purpose for me today?". And then there are other days, when I wake up and I think to myself (horribly) that I wish God had never given me free will- so that I wouldn't have to choose Him over myself, when all I want to do is go back to bed and put a pillow over my face.
Today, I asked God to take the decision away from me. I simply don't want a choice anymore. I don't want to wander away from Him, and I don't want to constantly struggle with myself, my body, and my mind to serve Him. I feel so tired! I don't want my faith to be some kind of giant hypocrisy!
I'm not sure of the the theological connotations of asking that of God (although I think they're probably negative. After all, what is a relationship with Jesus if you're not willing to "Count it all as loss"?). All I know is that after I woke up way too late, I got in a fight with my Dad, worried anxiously over the status of one of my student loans, and then jumped on the train, listening with irritation to the overly loud chatter of high school students on their way to the Arts school near Cityplace.
I took a seat across from the bathroom, and my mind drifted as I looked at the door with its star-shaped key hole. I remembered hearing about a young person, a few years back, taking their life in a train bathroom. I started thinking about it, imagining what would've happened if I was present for that situation.
Now maybe you're not like this- but I my mind sees everything in scenes- like acts of a play, or moments in a movie script. In my mind I could see the blood seeping underneath the doorway two feet in front of me like it was really there- and in my mind I jumped up, banging on the door, asking someone to go get train personel. But the door was open. Once I figured that out, I tore the door open, and saw a young man slumped on the floor, in a worn poloshirt and faded black jeans, his eyes shut, his wrist bleeding profusely. I ripped a section on his undershirt and tied it around his wrist to staunch the bleeding. In my mind, I'm screaming for someone to stop the train and call 911. I'm thinking "Who is this guy, who decided that he couldn't wait to get home to die? Did he hate himself that much?" That's when I start thinking, as his eyes flutter open, his face perspiring and his eyes dilating as he starts going into shock- that maybe this man isn't going to make it.
And then in the middle of this horrible, detailed, daydream about something I never want to personally experience- I think "What would I say to a strange man I know is about about to die? What would I want him to know? What would the last words he hears on earth be if I spoke them?"
I started tearing up, on the seat across from the bathroom. I know exactly what I'd say. And suddenly I realize that the whole reason my mind is wandering strangely around in this dramatic scene is for this moment. I am conscious of the fact that God is showing me something.
I would say this.
"Jesus loves you. You are the beautiful creation of God, made in his image. He created you with purpose, and with delight.You have been pursued your whole life by that love. Right this minute, God wants you to know what a treasure you are to Him, even as you make this choice. You are a precious gift of the Most High God. Even if you don't get through this- you can still live with Him in eternity. Choose Him now. Choose His Love. Don't drift away without Him."
God often uses my imagination to wreck me. My greatest weakness, and my greatest strength. It makes me empathetic, and it makes me idealistic- but make it harder to bring it into practice. Harder to bring my mind to order and to honor God with my thought-life.
To choose God in my daily life is my greatest struggle. But as I sat on that train, I remembered again why I chose him in the first place. I chose him because the man on the floor of the train bathroom would've been me.
I remember what it was like to hate everything about myself so much that I wanted to die, everyday of my life. I remember what it was to think myself so unworthy of love, that hearing people talk about my value made me angry with them, because it felt like they were lying, or twisting the truth about my petty, lying, innately flawed nature. Thought secretly, that if they really knew me, they couldn't possibly love me. I lived with that darkness most of my childhood, as a teenager. I lived with it as an adult.
But God brought me truth in the form of people who unashamedly loved me. He showed his love to me through people first- and then when he had my heart primed- he showed me his love Himself, in quiet moment on the floor of a dorm common room. I was sitting in front of a mirror, crying for some unremembered reason, when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, all runny nosed and red- and I felt the love of God inexplicably come at me full force, with "I love you. You are my beloved. You are beautiful." Suddenly, God's pursuit of me during the entire extent of my life seemed blatant- everything wonderful and horrible that had happened, seemed both intentional and loving. And the wounds I carried seemed trivial in comparison to that Love. It swallowed me up.
And for the first time in my life, I felt really, truly beautiful. I really believed it of myself in that exact moment- with angry red cheeks, and blood-shot eyes, and tears running down my face. I started laughing, and ...I fell back into the arms of Grace.
That is why I choose Him. That's why I WANT to choose Him.
I don't ever have to worry that God's going to let me walk away from Him. He knows my thought-life- he uses the imagination that I let run away with itself lead me right back to Him. Like a child, he grabs my hand before I run into the street- he leads me back to the safe haven of the front porch. I sit on his lap and watch the cars drive by without fear, anxiety or worry, because I know he's got my hand. and that I am in the palm of His.
I'm glad I'm not some kind of robot. I'm glad I get to choose Him- and experience the tenderness of his well-pleased love in me. I'm glad I get to choose him instead of myself, because it reminds me that my body is formed out of dust. Formed lovingly, as a temporary vessel to possess a soul that is desperately loved, and of use to God.
But truthfully,that daydream also reminded me of something else-
Preparedness. The dying man wasn't just me- He also represents the people around me. There are people I meet on the street, every day of my life, that feel that daily the kind of self- hatred and anger that I felt for myself. They walk across the street when you pass by, avoiding authentic relationships because they think they don't deserve them. They angrily huff past you when don't move fast enough in the narrow aisle of the gas station grocery. They are your anxious coworker. They're your silent mailman. They are your very angry boss.
I need to walk out of my house prepared, with the words ready at my lips. The words I would speak to the dying man- I need to speak to the persnickety members of my home owners association.
I need to live those words into friendships- into interactions with strangers on the street.
I need to take my idealistic ideas, and get out of my head, and bring it the streets.
And through it all... I need to still remember, and continue to be the crying/laughing girl in front of the dorm mirror. Vulnerable and jubilant. In awe. In Love.
Let the dying man live again. I have all the rescue I need.
:) :) :)
Today, I asked God to take the decision away from me. I simply don't want a choice anymore. I don't want to wander away from Him, and I don't want to constantly struggle with myself, my body, and my mind to serve Him. I feel so tired! I don't want my faith to be some kind of giant hypocrisy!
I'm not sure of the the theological connotations of asking that of God (although I think they're probably negative. After all, what is a relationship with Jesus if you're not willing to "Count it all as loss"?). All I know is that after I woke up way too late, I got in a fight with my Dad, worried anxiously over the status of one of my student loans, and then jumped on the train, listening with irritation to the overly loud chatter of high school students on their way to the Arts school near Cityplace.
I took a seat across from the bathroom, and my mind drifted as I looked at the door with its star-shaped key hole. I remembered hearing about a young person, a few years back, taking their life in a train bathroom. I started thinking about it, imagining what would've happened if I was present for that situation.
Now maybe you're not like this- but I my mind sees everything in scenes- like acts of a play, or moments in a movie script. In my mind I could see the blood seeping underneath the doorway two feet in front of me like it was really there- and in my mind I jumped up, banging on the door, asking someone to go get train personel. But the door was open. Once I figured that out, I tore the door open, and saw a young man slumped on the floor, in a worn poloshirt and faded black jeans, his eyes shut, his wrist bleeding profusely. I ripped a section on his undershirt and tied it around his wrist to staunch the bleeding. In my mind, I'm screaming for someone to stop the train and call 911. I'm thinking "Who is this guy, who decided that he couldn't wait to get home to die? Did he hate himself that much?" That's when I start thinking, as his eyes flutter open, his face perspiring and his eyes dilating as he starts going into shock- that maybe this man isn't going to make it.
And then in the middle of this horrible, detailed, daydream about something I never want to personally experience- I think "What would I say to a strange man I know is about about to die? What would I want him to know? What would the last words he hears on earth be if I spoke them?"
I started tearing up, on the seat across from the bathroom. I know exactly what I'd say. And suddenly I realize that the whole reason my mind is wandering strangely around in this dramatic scene is for this moment. I am conscious of the fact that God is showing me something.
I would say this.
"Jesus loves you. You are the beautiful creation of God, made in his image. He created you with purpose, and with delight.You have been pursued your whole life by that love. Right this minute, God wants you to know what a treasure you are to Him, even as you make this choice. You are a precious gift of the Most High God. Even if you don't get through this- you can still live with Him in eternity. Choose Him now. Choose His Love. Don't drift away without Him."
God often uses my imagination to wreck me. My greatest weakness, and my greatest strength. It makes me empathetic, and it makes me idealistic- but make it harder to bring it into practice. Harder to bring my mind to order and to honor God with my thought-life.
To choose God in my daily life is my greatest struggle. But as I sat on that train, I remembered again why I chose him in the first place. I chose him because the man on the floor of the train bathroom would've been me.
I remember what it was like to hate everything about myself so much that I wanted to die, everyday of my life. I remember what it was to think myself so unworthy of love, that hearing people talk about my value made me angry with them, because it felt like they were lying, or twisting the truth about my petty, lying, innately flawed nature. Thought secretly, that if they really knew me, they couldn't possibly love me. I lived with that darkness most of my childhood, as a teenager. I lived with it as an adult.
But God brought me truth in the form of people who unashamedly loved me. He showed his love to me through people first- and then when he had my heart primed- he showed me his love Himself, in quiet moment on the floor of a dorm common room. I was sitting in front of a mirror, crying for some unremembered reason, when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, all runny nosed and red- and I felt the love of God inexplicably come at me full force, with "I love you. You are my beloved. You are beautiful." Suddenly, God's pursuit of me during the entire extent of my life seemed blatant- everything wonderful and horrible that had happened, seemed both intentional and loving. And the wounds I carried seemed trivial in comparison to that Love. It swallowed me up.
And for the first time in my life, I felt really, truly beautiful. I really believed it of myself in that exact moment- with angry red cheeks, and blood-shot eyes, and tears running down my face. I started laughing, and ...I fell back into the arms of Grace.
That is why I choose Him. That's why I WANT to choose Him.
I don't ever have to worry that God's going to let me walk away from Him. He knows my thought-life- he uses the imagination that I let run away with itself lead me right back to Him. Like a child, he grabs my hand before I run into the street- he leads me back to the safe haven of the front porch. I sit on his lap and watch the cars drive by without fear, anxiety or worry, because I know he's got my hand. and that I am in the palm of His.
I'm glad I'm not some kind of robot. I'm glad I get to choose Him- and experience the tenderness of his well-pleased love in me. I'm glad I get to choose him instead of myself, because it reminds me that my body is formed out of dust. Formed lovingly, as a temporary vessel to possess a soul that is desperately loved, and of use to God.
But truthfully,that daydream also reminded me of something else-
Preparedness. The dying man wasn't just me- He also represents the people around me. There are people I meet on the street, every day of my life, that feel that daily the kind of self- hatred and anger that I felt for myself. They walk across the street when you pass by, avoiding authentic relationships because they think they don't deserve them. They angrily huff past you when don't move fast enough in the narrow aisle of the gas station grocery. They are your anxious coworker. They're your silent mailman. They are your very angry boss.
I need to walk out of my house prepared, with the words ready at my lips. The words I would speak to the dying man- I need to speak to the persnickety members of my home owners association.
I need to live those words into friendships- into interactions with strangers on the street.
I need to take my idealistic ideas, and get out of my head, and bring it the streets.
And through it all... I need to still remember, and continue to be the crying/laughing girl in front of the dorm mirror. Vulnerable and jubilant. In awe. In Love.
Let the dying man live again. I have all the rescue I need.
:) :) :)
Monday, August 1, 2011
Pollyanna, and Reality, and Heartsongs.
Recently, I've come onto blogger all of 15 times in the last two weeks to post about thoughts running through my head.
The problem is, that whenever I do that, I start writing, and a kind of mental regurgitation seems to happen- where all the unfinished thought processes my brain has been sorting through appear, and I lose sight of what I originally meant to post about in the first place. It has been a taxing process for me to get through those "thought bunnies"- that are often the product of my inner Negative Nancy. She likes to insert her annoyingly morbid rhetorical questions in the middle of my pursuit of redemption- she's such a freaking jerk.
So....I think its time to let my inner Polyanna talk for a while.
I've always been a bit fixated on movies Pre-1970s. When I was a kid, my mom would let me watch TCM and AMC. I was NOT allowed to watch Nickelodeon. My mom thought it taught kids to be disrespectful, rude, and that farting in public was okay.
So, in addition to Disney movies, my childhood was swept up in the romance of Fred Astaire, and glittering silverscreen starlets. I wanted to be in a movie with Rock Hudson. I thought he looked kind of like Prince Eric in the Little Mermaid- my Quintessential Disney Prince. I wanted to sing in a large field in Oklahoma, and be carried up red carpeted steps- to wear a sweeping dress made out of feathers, and sing with beautiful lips and shining eyes and glossy magnificently waved hair. The stories were timeless, and the music was beautiful, and the dancing was classy, and I, at 12, was more in love with Nancy Drew than I ever could be with the Babysitters Club.
But out of that era of story telling, one of my favourite characters was Pollyanna. She had beautiful blonde hair, and she met adversity with a smile on her face ,and truth on her lips. I did not envy her the catastrophic fall from the tree- but I did envy the love her whole town felt for her. I wanted to be so loved, and honored- to be found special, and lovely, simply for being me.
But childhood wounds aside.....I think that its funny now, to recognize that there is a hidden kind of Polyanna within me now, that I am now recognizing has been smothered by me.
I have wanted to be "A realist'. I've wanted to be honest with msyelf about of the challenges I face in terms of my personality, and the restrictions my world has on it.
I've have strived to be a realist, because I know that within me, is a resolutely deep propensity to dream- to let imagination take over, and allow reality to become blurred. I recognize now that, although it is true that if I let it take over, dreaming could take my life out from under me- I also recognize that stifling it all together- to become so assailed with doubt every time even the simplest dream outside of my "scope of reality" emerges- that it kills that hope all together...is ridiculous. Its not realism. It is fear. And fear will rip my life out from underneath me just as surely as dreaming would.
People make fun of "Polyannas" now. To the world, they are cheesy, unrealistic, and two dimensional. They don't understand Reality- and Reality is that one person can't change the world, and one person can't effect an entire town with their goodness- that one horrible act will carry twice as much impact as one good act. Reality says that Polyanna was overly perfect- no one had the capacity to love as honestly, or as innocently all those strangers. Reality says that Polyanna would probably have grown into cynicism, once she saw the way the world worked. That the hope of a child is tempered by the living Reality of adulthood.
Reality. What is that really anyway? It doesn't work the way people think it does, and should. The world says Reality is that the world is the way the world is, and it is important far more important to be informed, and that you need to know your limitations. Reality is statistics- its not what we know as completely true- its what we know is true MOST of the time. Reality is facts, figures, banks statements, and parking tickets, and water bills. Reality is money. Reality is that you can't spend time with your kids, because you're busy giving them the American Dream. Reality is that you don't want to go on a date with your wife, because you're so tired , you don't know what you'd talk about that wouldn't segue into an arguement. Reality is that you're too fat, or too thin, or too acne prone, or too pretty,or too ugly. Reality says that you're too much but not enough. You don't fit a standard for normal set by statistics like you should.
Reality says you must stay in your box, and live in your small world, and eat healthy, and pay your taxes until you die. Anything else would be a wonderful anomaly that usually only happens in fairy books and disney movies.
Wrong. Reality is WRONG.
Its so wrong it makes my skin crawl. So wrong it makes my heart beat angrily on the cage of my ribs, and my mind scream in outrage, and my spirit threatens to cower until it realizes it has the power to swell rebelliously- to completely obliterate that NOXIOUS LIE with overwhelming, gut wrenching, wonderfully freeing TRUTH.
Pollyanna's going to have her say!
.......Well...maybe I should put aside that reference. It was helpful before....but now Maybe I should just take ownership of what I'm about to say.
That this is ME speaking. Its MY heart (yielded) and My life (*surrendered*), and Polyanna was a children's story, but I have living, breathing proof of God's creative masterpiece.
So-Here's MY reality.
Psalm 3:1-3
"O Lord, how many are my foes! Many are rising against me;
2.Many are saying of my soul,
"there is no salvation for him in God" (How many times have I told myself the same lie?)
3. But you, O Lord, are a shield about me,
my glory, and the lifter of my head."
Every self-destructive cycle I've lived through has convinced me, over time, that I am incapable of not repeating them- and inadvertantly, that God's love and redemption of my life cannot change that. That was my "reality"- that I would keep making the same mistakes until I died- and that at Heaven's gate, I would be rejected because I couldn't live up to "The rules of being a person on fire for God"- a secret code that only the most disciplined ,and naturally beatific of Christ-followers knew, and everything else was just "luke-warm". I have lived believing that I was a bad taste in God's mouth, that just wouldn't go away.
What a hideous lie.
1 Peter 2:4
"As you come to him, a living stone rejected by men, but in the sight of God chosen and precious, you yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ." ..... v.9 "But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own posession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness and into marvelous light."
I was created by the God of Marvelous Light. The God who made me- created the empathy and sensibilities in me that have been perverted by a broken world into something I have been ashamed of. I am "too emotional", and "spazzy", and my vulnerability has become something I want to hide- to keep from the eyes of people who would use it against me. But God created in me, when I surrendered my life to him- a kind of openness of heart that he wants to use. How many times, in the past, did I ask God to make me transparent for his message? How many times did I ask him to make me authentic- to help me be living proof of his love for humanity, and his unfailing mercy? And when he creates in me this softness- in the world this "weakness" and "naivety"- how can then try to shield it? I am a building block for a building- a temple of the living God. Where others are called to be a wall- I am called to be a window. Its time to wake up to that reality, embrace it, and move forward with open hearted discernment and embrace God's brokenhearted, lost little children.
And I can do that because my reality is NOT defined by the my "experience"- by how many times I've been burned or how many time I've been broken or tried and failed. I am DEFINED by my REDEMPTION.
John 14:6
"I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
And that redemption is perfect. Is the person? No. I am constantly swayed by past understandings of who I am and who I was. I fight the quelling knowledge that I am one person in a big world. But that is until I begin to remember that this world is not made up of building or tools. Its not made of the things humanity has created, or the natural, temporal world we can't control despite technology.
This world is full of created, sentient beings who were created with an instinct, and desire to love and be loved. Every act speaks of a desire for love, pure of perverted - that is constantly seeking its fullfillment in the world of buildings around it-
Hebrews 11:1
"Now Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.
For by it the people of old received their commendation.
By faith we understand that the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible."
I was created to love things not seen-to Love God and after filtering my vision of this world through that exceptional love, to then meet humanity, and love the wholeness of a person as I understand it- to love despite perceived flaws and failures - to love beyond race, and class, and creed, and socioeconomic status. I am created to be a window that reflects, and allows light to pass through. To let love pass through.
I am not a failure. I am not an accident, I am not a bad taste in God's mouth, or a liability to his kingdom.
I am beloved.
And SO. ARE. YOU.
THAT is reality.
The problem is, that whenever I do that, I start writing, and a kind of mental regurgitation seems to happen- where all the unfinished thought processes my brain has been sorting through appear, and I lose sight of what I originally meant to post about in the first place. It has been a taxing process for me to get through those "thought bunnies"- that are often the product of my inner Negative Nancy. She likes to insert her annoyingly morbid rhetorical questions in the middle of my pursuit of redemption- she's such a freaking jerk.
So....I think its time to let my inner Polyanna talk for a while.
I've always been a bit fixated on movies Pre-1970s. When I was a kid, my mom would let me watch TCM and AMC. I was NOT allowed to watch Nickelodeon. My mom thought it taught kids to be disrespectful, rude, and that farting in public was okay.
So, in addition to Disney movies, my childhood was swept up in the romance of Fred Astaire, and glittering silverscreen starlets. I wanted to be in a movie with Rock Hudson. I thought he looked kind of like Prince Eric in the Little Mermaid- my Quintessential Disney Prince. I wanted to sing in a large field in Oklahoma, and be carried up red carpeted steps- to wear a sweeping dress made out of feathers, and sing with beautiful lips and shining eyes and glossy magnificently waved hair. The stories were timeless, and the music was beautiful, and the dancing was classy, and I, at 12, was more in love with Nancy Drew than I ever could be with the Babysitters Club.
But out of that era of story telling, one of my favourite characters was Pollyanna. She had beautiful blonde hair, and she met adversity with a smile on her face ,and truth on her lips. I did not envy her the catastrophic fall from the tree- but I did envy the love her whole town felt for her. I wanted to be so loved, and honored- to be found special, and lovely, simply for being me.
But childhood wounds aside.....I think that its funny now, to recognize that there is a hidden kind of Polyanna within me now, that I am now recognizing has been smothered by me.
I have wanted to be "A realist'. I've wanted to be honest with msyelf about of the challenges I face in terms of my personality, and the restrictions my world has on it.
I've have strived to be a realist, because I know that within me, is a resolutely deep propensity to dream- to let imagination take over, and allow reality to become blurred. I recognize now that, although it is true that if I let it take over, dreaming could take my life out from under me- I also recognize that stifling it all together- to become so assailed with doubt every time even the simplest dream outside of my "scope of reality" emerges- that it kills that hope all together...is ridiculous. Its not realism. It is fear. And fear will rip my life out from underneath me just as surely as dreaming would.
People make fun of "Polyannas" now. To the world, they are cheesy, unrealistic, and two dimensional. They don't understand Reality- and Reality is that one person can't change the world, and one person can't effect an entire town with their goodness- that one horrible act will carry twice as much impact as one good act. Reality says that Polyanna was overly perfect- no one had the capacity to love as honestly, or as innocently all those strangers. Reality says that Polyanna would probably have grown into cynicism, once she saw the way the world worked. That the hope of a child is tempered by the living Reality of adulthood.
Reality. What is that really anyway? It doesn't work the way people think it does, and should. The world says Reality is that the world is the way the world is, and it is important far more important to be informed, and that you need to know your limitations. Reality is statistics- its not what we know as completely true- its what we know is true MOST of the time. Reality is facts, figures, banks statements, and parking tickets, and water bills. Reality is money. Reality is that you can't spend time with your kids, because you're busy giving them the American Dream. Reality is that you don't want to go on a date with your wife, because you're so tired , you don't know what you'd talk about that wouldn't segue into an arguement. Reality is that you're too fat, or too thin, or too acne prone, or too pretty,or too ugly. Reality says that you're too much but not enough. You don't fit a standard for normal set by statistics like you should.
Reality says you must stay in your box, and live in your small world, and eat healthy, and pay your taxes until you die. Anything else would be a wonderful anomaly that usually only happens in fairy books and disney movies.
Wrong. Reality is WRONG.
Its so wrong it makes my skin crawl. So wrong it makes my heart beat angrily on the cage of my ribs, and my mind scream in outrage, and my spirit threatens to cower until it realizes it has the power to swell rebelliously- to completely obliterate that NOXIOUS LIE with overwhelming, gut wrenching, wonderfully freeing TRUTH.
Pollyanna's going to have her say!
.......Well...maybe I should put aside that reference. It was helpful before....but now Maybe I should just take ownership of what I'm about to say.
That this is ME speaking. Its MY heart (yielded) and My life (*surrendered*), and Polyanna was a children's story, but I have living, breathing proof of God's creative masterpiece.
So-Here's MY reality.
Psalm 3:1-3
"O Lord, how many are my foes! Many are rising against me;
2.Many are saying of my soul,
"there is no salvation for him in God" (How many times have I told myself the same lie?)
3. But you, O Lord, are a shield about me,
my glory, and the lifter of my head."
Every self-destructive cycle I've lived through has convinced me, over time, that I am incapable of not repeating them- and inadvertantly, that God's love and redemption of my life cannot change that. That was my "reality"- that I would keep making the same mistakes until I died- and that at Heaven's gate, I would be rejected because I couldn't live up to "The rules of being a person on fire for God"- a secret code that only the most disciplined ,and naturally beatific of Christ-followers knew, and everything else was just "luke-warm". I have lived believing that I was a bad taste in God's mouth, that just wouldn't go away.
What a hideous lie.
1 Peter 2:4
"As you come to him, a living stone rejected by men, but in the sight of God chosen and precious, you yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ." ..... v.9 "But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own posession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness and into marvelous light."
I was created by the God of Marvelous Light. The God who made me- created the empathy and sensibilities in me that have been perverted by a broken world into something I have been ashamed of. I am "too emotional", and "spazzy", and my vulnerability has become something I want to hide- to keep from the eyes of people who would use it against me. But God created in me, when I surrendered my life to him- a kind of openness of heart that he wants to use. How many times, in the past, did I ask God to make me transparent for his message? How many times did I ask him to make me authentic- to help me be living proof of his love for humanity, and his unfailing mercy? And when he creates in me this softness- in the world this "weakness" and "naivety"- how can then try to shield it? I am a building block for a building- a temple of the living God. Where others are called to be a wall- I am called to be a window. Its time to wake up to that reality, embrace it, and move forward with open hearted discernment and embrace God's brokenhearted, lost little children.
And I can do that because my reality is NOT defined by the my "experience"- by how many times I've been burned or how many time I've been broken or tried and failed. I am DEFINED by my REDEMPTION.
John 14:6
"I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
And that redemption is perfect. Is the person? No. I am constantly swayed by past understandings of who I am and who I was. I fight the quelling knowledge that I am one person in a big world. But that is until I begin to remember that this world is not made up of building or tools. Its not made of the things humanity has created, or the natural, temporal world we can't control despite technology.
This world is full of created, sentient beings who were created with an instinct, and desire to love and be loved. Every act speaks of a desire for love, pure of perverted - that is constantly seeking its fullfillment in the world of buildings around it-
Hebrews 11:1
"Now Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.
For by it the people of old received their commendation.
By faith we understand that the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible."
I was created to love things not seen-to Love God and after filtering my vision of this world through that exceptional love, to then meet humanity, and love the wholeness of a person as I understand it- to love despite perceived flaws and failures - to love beyond race, and class, and creed, and socioeconomic status. I am created to be a window that reflects, and allows light to pass through. To let love pass through.
I am not a failure. I am not an accident, I am not a bad taste in God's mouth, or a liability to his kingdom.
I am beloved.
And SO. ARE. YOU.
THAT is reality.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Let me introduce myself. Who am I again?
Hi. My name is Amanda. I am a girl who has always struggled to maintain a work ethic that my family could be proud of.
Hi, My name is Amanda. I shirk the mantle of responsibility my family yokes on me unfairly, because I recognize that even if I did something amazing with my life- there would always be something my mom would see in me that needed fixing.
Hi, My name is Amanda. I'm a woman afraid of her own power. I am capable, I am intelligent, I am knowledgeable and artistic, and influential. Yet I am incapacitated by my own fear.
Hi, My name is Amanda. I despise the concept of taking ownership of "my own power"- because I know my own weakness. I refuse to make myself out to be something I'm not simply to acheive goals other people put in front of me, or because I am attempting to cover up some insecurity that I harbor about myself. I don't want to be a millionaire, or a huge success, or make everyone else proud, while I lose myself, lose the chance to do something that makes me a better person. I don't want to climb over other people to make my life better, or to become so abrasive in order to acheive some personal perfection that I can't empathize with other people, and they can't empathize with me.I don't want to become soulless, broken, to become one dimensional, and lost.
Hi, My name is Amanda, secret overachiever. If I can't do it 100 percent well- I struggle to do it at all. I get an A or I get an F. I find it stomach turningly hard to maintain anything in between.
Hi, My name is Amanda. I am lazy. I think about doing things all the time- the laundry, the housework, searching for another job- but I'm tired. I do it for ten minutes, and then I get frustrated, and then I get bored, and then I give up.
Hi, My name is Amanda. I just want to love people. I find joy and enjoyment in watching people grow. The smallest story of redemption brings an upwelling of tears that I have a hard time keeping back. They aren't sad tears. They are very happy tears. Hearing about redemption reminds me of experiencing redemption in my own life- of a God that saves.
Hi, My name is Amanda. I'm not any of these things. I am all of these things. And I am afraid of ALL of these things. I don't know who I am. I know that there are some things I do really really well. And the rest of my life I feel like I don't do well at all.
Hi, I'd like to ...try...this...again. Like an AA meeting. Lets start with the things I know are true, when I break through all the lame psycho babble crap that I inundate life with on a regular basis to try to make sense of how I feel.
Okay. Let me introduce myself again.
.
Hi...I'm Amanda. I'm Amanda Jean Yorke.
I am loved.
I am held
I mean something, because I was made by someone
to be special
to be funny. and quirky
to love a certain way, and be loved in return
to snort a little when I am caught off guard and laugh unexpectedly
to sometimes pretend I am in a music video when I am bored at work, and dance around the store as I put out inventory.
to help people.
to be helped by people in return
to be humbled
to want to keep being humbled.
I am not defined by what people think of me
I am not defined by what I think of myself
I am not defined by my acheievements
I am not defined by my failures
I am was created with purpose.
I was made with delight by a God who cherishes me.
I am defined by his love.
And he defines my practical world.
Hello, I am Amanda and I don't know who I am. I only know that I am loved. I only know that I am Held. I only know that I am His.
I struggle to know more....but maybe the point is, that right now....I am only meant to let THAT define me. To not be
"Amanda, the singer/workerbee/familymember/friend/patronsaintofeveryonebecauseIneedvalidation."
Maybe I just need to be broken down enough to be here, right now, meeting God in this moment.
Maybe he doesn't expect me to change the world, to get an amazing job, and be the modern day mother Teresa.
Maybe he just wants me to be His. To not be sidelined by a goal I'd run 100 percent after if I had one, or the job I'd blow him off for, or the pride I'd feel if I was prettier, or smarter, or more successful- the pride that could separate me from him.
Okay. So here I am. Amanda. Undefined, individual, jobless, dreamless.
Relearning what Hope looks like.
Jesus, keep waking me up. Keep teaching me. Keep me off kilter, until I find my center in you.
I confess that I struggle with my own hypocrisy on a day to day basis- that maybe I'm not representing you truly to the people in my life. Jesus- I thank you that, even though I am imperfect and weak- that you always glorify yourself despite that- you provide hope and redemption through imperfect words, awkward moments, stilted conversation. I pray that I might learn how to operate in a way that defines YOU instead of me. Let me find a reality in you that satisfies my need for an identity by making YOU my indentity. My key stone. My foundation.
Amen.
Hi, My name is Amanda. I shirk the mantle of responsibility my family yokes on me unfairly, because I recognize that even if I did something amazing with my life- there would always be something my mom would see in me that needed fixing.
Hi, My name is Amanda. I'm a woman afraid of her own power. I am capable, I am intelligent, I am knowledgeable and artistic, and influential. Yet I am incapacitated by my own fear.
Hi, My name is Amanda. I despise the concept of taking ownership of "my own power"- because I know my own weakness. I refuse to make myself out to be something I'm not simply to acheive goals other people put in front of me, or because I am attempting to cover up some insecurity that I harbor about myself. I don't want to be a millionaire, or a huge success, or make everyone else proud, while I lose myself, lose the chance to do something that makes me a better person. I don't want to climb over other people to make my life better, or to become so abrasive in order to acheive some personal perfection that I can't empathize with other people, and they can't empathize with me.I don't want to become soulless, broken, to become one dimensional, and lost.
Hi, My name is Amanda, secret overachiever. If I can't do it 100 percent well- I struggle to do it at all. I get an A or I get an F. I find it stomach turningly hard to maintain anything in between.
Hi, My name is Amanda. I am lazy. I think about doing things all the time- the laundry, the housework, searching for another job- but I'm tired. I do it for ten minutes, and then I get frustrated, and then I get bored, and then I give up.
Hi, My name is Amanda. I just want to love people. I find joy and enjoyment in watching people grow. The smallest story of redemption brings an upwelling of tears that I have a hard time keeping back. They aren't sad tears. They are very happy tears. Hearing about redemption reminds me of experiencing redemption in my own life- of a God that saves.
Hi, My name is Amanda. I'm not any of these things. I am all of these things. And I am afraid of ALL of these things. I don't know who I am. I know that there are some things I do really really well. And the rest of my life I feel like I don't do well at all.
Hi, I'd like to ...try...this...again. Like an AA meeting. Lets start with the things I know are true, when I break through all the lame psycho babble crap that I inundate life with on a regular basis to try to make sense of how I feel.
Okay. Let me introduce myself again.
.
Hi...I'm Amanda. I'm Amanda Jean Yorke.
I am loved.
I am held
I mean something, because I was made by someone
to be special
to be funny. and quirky
to love a certain way, and be loved in return
to snort a little when I am caught off guard and laugh unexpectedly
to sometimes pretend I am in a music video when I am bored at work, and dance around the store as I put out inventory.
to help people.
to be helped by people in return
to be humbled
to want to keep being humbled.
I am not defined by what people think of me
I am not defined by what I think of myself
I am not defined by my acheievements
I am not defined by my failures
I am was created with purpose.
I was made with delight by a God who cherishes me.
I am defined by his love.
And he defines my practical world.
Hello, I am Amanda and I don't know who I am. I only know that I am loved. I only know that I am Held. I only know that I am His.
I struggle to know more....but maybe the point is, that right now....I am only meant to let THAT define me. To not be
"Amanda, the singer/workerbee/familymember/friend/patronsaintofeveryonebecauseIneedvalidation."
Maybe I just need to be broken down enough to be here, right now, meeting God in this moment.
Maybe he doesn't expect me to change the world, to get an amazing job, and be the modern day mother Teresa.
Maybe he just wants me to be His. To not be sidelined by a goal I'd run 100 percent after if I had one, or the job I'd blow him off for, or the pride I'd feel if I was prettier, or smarter, or more successful- the pride that could separate me from him.
Okay. So here I am. Amanda. Undefined, individual, jobless, dreamless.
Relearning what Hope looks like.
Jesus, keep waking me up. Keep teaching me. Keep me off kilter, until I find my center in you.
I confess that I struggle with my own hypocrisy on a day to day basis- that maybe I'm not representing you truly to the people in my life. Jesus- I thank you that, even though I am imperfect and weak- that you always glorify yourself despite that- you provide hope and redemption through imperfect words, awkward moments, stilted conversation. I pray that I might learn how to operate in a way that defines YOU instead of me. Let me find a reality in you that satisfies my need for an identity by making YOU my indentity. My key stone. My foundation.
Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)