Journey

I believed

I fiercely depended on

I knew

I had confidence in

I carried severe hope in

I intimately conversed with

HIM.

My faith was strong.

It really is that simple.

I believed nothing could rock my faith, let alone shatter it.

I was wrong.

Crushing words, rejection, devastation

Things that smother life

Wither and decay hope

They came at me...hard.

I became tired and discouraged. I was rocked to my core.

I lost my north, was left spinning and confused in my heart.

How does faith become cracked?

I am blindsided by these feelings.

This is not a choice. I found myself here. I didn't walk here. I didn't do this to myself any more than a person with disease brings illness upon themselves.

I truly don't know what happened to my heart.

I feel angry, misunderstood, judged that I did something wrong. But just as we might find ourselves sitting next to the hospice bed of a person who inhabits a place in our heart, someone who believed, depended, hoped, prayed they would be healed, we don't always choose our journey. Are they weaker than the one who was healed? Did they stray "too far" this time? Do we pity them because they just couldn't find their strength to heal? I cringe at that belief.

The truth about me is, I just can't find my strength. I can't find my God, my hope.

But there is a faint light. I can feel it at times. This is not in vain. I'm not lost. My God is right here, and He will bring me through

Stronger because of my weakness

Understanding more because I was misunderstood.

I will have hope again.

I will feel faith like I once did.

And who knows, maybe this journey, this time of my life, I've been charging toward His throne all along, not lost but found.

More pieces of my heart glued together to make a more beautiful me...

Ripple

A blink
A moment
That is all we were to you
There are others just like us
Walking wounded
Sliced and diced
We are not unique

So cold you are
Casting your ripple upon this earth
No care to who is wounded by it
You stay the center
Living in your counterfeit pleasure 

Ashes you've left 
Blown to where is not your concern
You took what you could
Left the wounded dangling
Grasping to find their bearings

As you sit on the cold stone do you care
Or is that indifference in those eyes
Indifference for the lifetimes needed to find healing for the pain
Indifference for the innocence stolen
How do you live locked in your shell
How do you rob so casually

But the forgotten
The abandoned
The ones with scars cut into their flesh
Into their hearts
We have hope
Beauty can come from these ashes
We can be free from you

But you
Will you ever be free from the things that haunt you in the dark
The faces that whisper for you to stop in your dreams
Or do you even sleep
Where is your hope now that someone has noticed your cruelty.

Indifference

Emotions

One minute I feel peaceful, the next regretful.

Sometimes horrific familiar indifference seeps in.

I feel it crowd me.

It causes things to go dark.

I hide.

I avoid.

I don't like hanging out with it, but it is a very real thing for me sometimes.

Maybe it is from exhaustion.

Maybe it is allowing myself to get worked up over things that may or may not matter so I shut down.

Maybe it is frustration that most of the time it feels hard to walk this out.

But I don't like myself when I feel this way.

I long to be fearless.

but

I fight difficult.

I avoid it.

I am tired from difficult.

The bottom line...

I don't want to be hurt by the world I live in, but I don't want to live numb either.

Numb is ugly.

I need to feel.

I need to be still.

I need to breathe.

Strength

I was praying for a friend this morning. I was praying she would have the strength to get through the day while exhausted and having no choice but to keep on moving.

This lead me to think about strength. As I was praying and thinking, "Is this what I should be praying for her", I remember strength is what we all need because we are not very strong on our own. I have to feel His strength because life is a challenge. I am just being real. There may be people out there who breeze on through, but I doubt it, and if there are, I am not one of them. Everyday I face my weaknesses. Some days are harder than others obviously, but the truth is, I battle depression, fear, anxiety and some days they slap me around and win for a moment or two. These weaknesses lie to me, cause me to give up, defeat me. I can't conquer them on my own. The phrases "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" or "God helps those who help themselves" are well intended, but are they really the truth?

I don't think so. From what I can tell, He helps the desperate, blind, poor, lame, sick, broken of this world. Spiritually and emotionally I have...or still do...fit into all the "weak" categories. But let me say, I have one powerful God who loves to gently and patiently pick me up and set me back on my feet when I have had no sleep, have had an argument with someone whose heart I adore, there are too many things to do or face in a day, and I am just plain weak, exhausted, sad, angry, or all of the above. In my weakness, I am made strong because of Him. I would love to say that I take my limitations in stride and with good cheer, but I fight them...frequently. But, I do know that without them, I would not be the person I am today. I would not have the compassion that I have toward others. I would be judgmental if I was able to rescue myself. He has put in me the strength to put one foot in front of the other, and He has given me the assurance that I am being made into what he wants me to be because of my weaknesses. Nothing is wasted with Him. He never gives up on me, never throws me into the junk pile and thinks He needs to start over. He just keeps plugging along with me, picking me up when I stumble over the chair in the middle of the floor or that dust mite that seems to get me once in awhile...flattening me like a little one. I wish I didn't fall, but I love what this says. "My weaknesses push me to my knees and there is no danger then of walking around high and mighty." I am aware of my need for Him, and I am grateful that the things of this world drive me to Him. I know full well that without Him...I can really screw things up and be trampled. I can rest down here on my knees.

2 Corinthians 12:9
The Message (MSG)
7-10Because of the extravagance of those revelations, and so I wouldn't get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan's angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn't think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me,

My grace is enough; it's all you need.
My strength comes into its own in your weakness.
Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ's strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.

Humility

It is easier when I am on my knees. Nothing can knock me down when I am there, but when I stand up...the world hits, and it can hit hard. How do I stay, become, humble on my feet? Humility is not humiliation. I can't get this mixed up. Humility is quiet. Humiliation is loud and ugly and leaves you naked, a martyr to an unworthy cause. Humility covers you with a blanket of peace.

Maybe the basic ingredient of humility is thankfulness, being small enough to see what we've been given by the God who makes button noses, little toes, fingerprints on tiny fingers, turns death into life in each seed, restores minds, and heals shattered hearts. Humility must be to acknowledge the God who knit all of this together perfectly. Humility must be the act of stopping, looking, and asking to see so that a good can grow in the wounded human heart.

Maybe humility is an act that magnifies my need for Him. Without him, I would not be. Simple, organic, basic truth. If He knit me together in my mother's womb, watched me form cell by cell, had a purpose for ME before the foundation of the earth was even laid, then what am I ...original, valuable, significant?

I want to see more clearly the reflection of His goodness, of His gifts, of His ultimate act of humility. It is a reflection that while I was still lost, He hung, was crushed, became sin so that I could stand here today with the opportunity to be humble, thankful, without despair!

Oh God, don't let me miss your reflection. Take off the scales that keep me blind to who you are. Let me fall to my knees not out of desperation, but out of being small, safe, tucked away like a child under your greatness.

Truth

The revealing of truth to the heart is an amazing thing. Truth has always been truth. It is like an atom. It cannot be made or destroyed...just revealed. I have phrased things, "I have discovered...," but I have been given clarity. I have no power over the truth, but it has significant power over me. The power to break and heal, bring sorrow and joy, repentance and grace. Truth can be ugly and beautiful, but I cannot argue with the simple fact that it will set me free from the lies that are screamed in my face. Lies that bring self-doubt and the lies that bring pride, lies that cause my reality to look beautiful when I need to look at the ugly, and the lies that shadow beauty with evil.

I lean from side to side. It would almost seem less ugly if I leaned towards self-doubt more than pride, but that makes me roll my eyes at myself. Who am I kidding? I am equally prideful and full of self-doubt. Both keep me locked in a cage. I want to let the truth scream louder to my soul than the lies that have infected me,* left me swollen with ugliness. Infected...I am such a visual person, and this is a nasty thing I see. I want the infection out! I want to be healthy and whole...at least I want that most days...or maybe the truth is, not very many days do I feel like facing these lies that haunt me because it will hurt to have the infection removed, lanced, cleansed, the dead cut away.

The process to replace one lie with truth, point by point, pen to paper, words from mouth...it feels long, but allowing myself to be drug through the mud of ugly lies...that is exhausting, unsure. I want to have the courage to acknowledge the truth more and more each day, to live the way I was designed to live, to feel the cool green grass of truth more often as I walk this journey. If I face the lies, turn and look at them in the eye, examine them, compare them to what HE says about me, and if I choose for a split second to believe, one more flaming arrow will be quenched, one less weapon formed against me will prosper.

Moment by moment...freedom will fill my heart.

Less oozing lies, more fresh clean truth.

Step-by-step closer to being fully alive.


*“We're going to have to let truth scream louder to our souls than the lies that have infected us.”
― Beth Moore, So Long, Insecurity: You've Been a Bad Friend to Us

John 3:9-21 (Messaga) "This is the crisis we're in: God-light streamed into the world, but men and women everywhere ran for the darkness. They went for the darkness because they were not really interested in pleasing God. Everyone who makes a practice of doing evil, addicted to denial and illusion, hates God-light and won't come near it, fearing a painful exposure. But anyone working and living in truth and reality welcomes God-light so the work can be seen for the God-work it is."

John 8:31-32 (Message) Then Jesus turned to the Jews who had claimed to believe in him. "If you stick with this, living out what I tell you, you are my disciples for sure. Then you will experience for yourselves the truth, and the truth will free you."

Broken

I wake, and I am still broken. My whole face and Evan's hair damp with my tears. He asks me why I have a tear. He only seems to notice the one sliding down my cheek.

"Because I love you so much," I whisper, half-moon quotation marks around my words, just like I taught him. I look into his green eyes, and the dam breaks again, He struggles to stay...struggles to leave and play with his brother. He slips the soft cream blanket on my lap and slips off my lap, smiles at me, and runs off to play.

My tears aren't sadness. I have no idea why I am crying, why I feel broken. I guess sometimes the body just needs to release, and I don't need to make a list of reasons. They are there. No one can debate that, but rather than list them, I will let the whys slip from eyes to be held by the one who treasures them, holds them safe, doesn't let them dry to salt in vain. The one who understands the cracks so I don't have to.

And I smile. Thankful that the pressure-cooker valve has not exploded to scald and harm but that there is peace that comes from the slow, calm release that happens when a heart is open enough to be cleansed by tears. It is beautiful day. My heart feels and is fully alive.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Matthew 5:4

Because...without mourning, there is no comfort.