What's in a Word?

What’s your word? As we close another year, I see this question all over social media. How will you enter 2022? What truth will you cling to as you travel once more around the sun? I see choosing a word as a deconstructed not quite as overwhelming way to deal with the looming New Year’s resolution annoyance. Instead of setting a specific goal such as, “I will eat nutritious food for all three meals and eat no sugar,” we may say something like “health.” Instead of saying, “I will not lose my temper” we may say, “patience.” A yearly word can serve as motivation and can cover multiple areas of our lives. 

But humans tend to be creatures of comfort and circumstance. We come to the end of a year, we see where we have failed, where we want to grow, or where we want to step out of our comfort zone, so we set a goal. New Year’s Eve comes, we throw off the encumbrances of the past year as easily as we toss an old coat in the giveaway bag, and we celebrate the coming of something fresh. Perhaps after sleeping in on January 1st, we wake up on the 2nd, and we are ready to go. Maybe we head to an overpacked gym, a nutritionist, a life coach, a financial advisor, or a travel agent. And then the pain of pressing through hits on one side and the pressure of real life squeezes on the other side, and our word or resolution or whatever we want to call it gets dusty in a corner. Of course there are those with the ability to press through. It’s just not common. Comforts wear off and circumstances change. When the idea of a shift no longer brings us happiness or some sense of hope, we wander. We lose track. By June or so, we are positioned for the next New Year’s Eve party. 

The past two years have made me nervous to touch a resolution or a word like 2022 is an electric socket and I’m holding a fork. It has taken two years, but it has finally started to sink in that in reality, no one has any idea what they are talking about as the unknown is vast and in our collective faces. Life is so different from the end of the last decade that I have sadly started to forget what it was like to live in a pre-pandemic world when my kids didn’t wear surgical masks to school and when we didn't stand on big stickers in the grocery store. The invitation to bury my head into the sand of worldwide woe and eat a lot of ice cream is strong. Isolation in the name of health is accepted because we had to, and now it’s hard to tell the difference between those quarantining, living in terror, or sleeping under a heavy blanket of hurt and depression. 

For me, it boils down to a choice. Will I choose not to move in the face of this bear and hope it moves past me while my pile of unfulfilled words lies hidden in the dark, or will I align myself with Galatians 6:9:

And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.

Weariness. That word sums it up for me. Good. The feeling is identified. Now what? Are resolutions what are needed to shake this off or is reformation what has to happen? Change takes grit. And the hard truth is the bettering of ourselves is not for ourselves alone. Greater purpose, calling, and kingdom work await. Choosing a path to become more holy before a holy God as a spouse, a friend, a parent, a worker, and a person has far more to do with pressing through for a greater purpose than for selfish gain. Paul breaks it down in Philippians 3:13-14: 

“Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”  

Choosing comfort over character never shifted a person or a situation. A.W. Tozer delivers a bit of a gut punch on this topic. He says,

“May God deliver us from the easygoing, smooth, comfortable Christianity that never lets the truth in.” 

For whatever reason, we are in a season of heaviness and difficulty. We are all stretched beyond our capacity and it may seem like an “absolutely not” to keep on going into a new year with determination when it is fraught with more sickness and more uncertainty. But this is it. This is where reaching deep, however uncomfortable, and letting God’s strength move through our weakness launches us to the next level. Heaven’s ingenuity can light up in these dark times if we can just have some Godly perseverance.

So maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s my word. And it’s not just for this year. Persevere. There’s something greater. Don’t give up. As Catherine Booth, wife of Salvation Army founder William Booth said, “The waters are rising, but so am I. I am not going under, but over.”

You are not going under. By the grace of God you will overcome. May the God of peace guard you and hold you as you press on.

Happy New Year!

Light in the Darkness

It seems like a strange thing to say at Christmas, but I can’t stop thinking about Jesus. 

Maybe it’s not such a strange thing to say. The normal chaos that surrounds Christmas is intentional in its fervor to distract us from the wonder of incarnation. The past two years of unexpected pandemic panic has served as an irritating and overpowering megaphone to the already intense annual seasonal pandemonium. 

I believe this is why my mind keeps wandering to the night Jesus was born. Everything surrounding his arrival is, in my human eyes, the opposite of how the King of Glory, the one who would overcome sin and death, should come. Royal births should scream opulence and creature comforts. There should be adoration, royal robes, symbols of authority, and admiration and honor for the royal parents. Instead, a teenage girl and her husband who risked his reputation due to her condition, were forced to come to Bethlehem. I have read some scholars believe their journey was during the rainy season. A ride on a donkey in the mud while being close to being full term pregnant had to be…well…nothing short of awful. And to top it off, Bethlehem was filled with exhausted people, ordered to participate in a census by a cruel military leader that would ultimately lead to more taxes, more poverty. Traffic on 495 in the DC area is packed with irritated people, and I avoid it at all costs.. Shopping on December 23rd makes me anxious as last minute shoppers converge. I cannot imagine a city full of smelly donkeys, 9 months pregnant, nowhere to sleep, about to give birth to a baby, the result of immaculate conception: Jesus, the son of God. I cannot wrap my mind around it. 

And the Jewish people…how desperately they needed a rescue. How they longed for deliverance from oppression. They were in fact, under Roman military rule, crushed by the puppet king, Herod. So many questions must have burdened them. Where was he? Where was the one who would overthrow these greedy and hated tyrants who taxed them into oblivion and suppressed their freedom? 400 years of silence from the prophets had passed. There had to be desperation in the air, for the prayers and the cries to heaven to be answered. Anything. A sentence, a phrase, a sign of hope of the surely mighty ruler to come, and then they would have their recompense.

And they were right. That restitution would come. But it would come as a teen mom gave birth without a hospital, nurses, or an epidural. With mayhem all around, a Savior was born. The lamb of God who came to bear the sins of all humanity, was wrapped in cloth like a baby lamb, and he was placed in what historians and scholars believe was not a wood manger, but a manger made from the material surrounding the city: stone. Many years later he would be laid in a stone tomb when He gave his life for us. The angels announced the birth of our Good Shepherd to shepherds first. Peace on earth. Good will to men. God’s people wanted a revolution. God gave us a helpless baby, born in unremarkable yet extraordinary circumstances. Heaven has a way of shattering our expectations and taking our breath away with the unfurling of the scrolls of hope. Perhaps heavenly revolution turns our human ideals of revolution on its head. Power in meekness. Strength in humility. Restoration in obedience. 

Am I listening? Are we?

Here, standing a bit disheveled at the tail end of a year I want to unceremoniously kick out the door, I feel the shaking of the world around me. Who is sick? Who is well? What can the government do? What can they not do? Fingers are pointing, tongues are wagging, and making assumptions and judgements about others seems to have become one of humanity's favorite pastimes. There is a gathering of ideals at this pivotal time and humans have been forced to face losing freedoms to a Caesar that travels in viral form. At times, the lack of answers suffocates the ability to ask questions. And we want the answer to be big: a cure, a charismatic, unifying leader, a massive global kumbaya moment, or maybe a modern big bang to rattle us out of this mess. So we conduct our search for “why” exhausted, and like the shepherds, maybe we are tired, exposed to the elements, and completely unaware of the miracle that is about to happen. Perhaps we stand like Elijah at the entrance to the cave, worn out, scared, and desperate to hear from God. There is wind and noise, but maybe God isn’t in all of that. He’s in the whisper of the truth of his love and power, he’s in the field with tired and isolated people offering shouts of good news that He is here to bring peace on earth. He’s in a stable called rejection with those who have nothing left but a stone cold, empty feeding trough for the birth of hopes and dreams. And it’s just not enough. It’s more than enough. It’s miraculous. As Jesus’ newborn cries pierced the air, those 400 years of silence came to an end out of the lungs of a newborn babe. And now, as the world is shaking in the unknown and grasping in the dark, we listen for heaven’s sound once more, we look for light. We do not have to look far. He has come.  Isaiah 9:2 says, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.” It has shone and it has not stopped shining. Augustine said, “He was created of a mother whom He created. He was carried by hands that He formed. He cried in the manger in wordless infancy, He is the Word, without whom all human eloquence is mute.” The Word made flesh, the one born to be made sacrifice, without whom our words and all of our endless worldwide chatter is useless, has come.

We need not be afraid of the dark. 

Jesus, open our eyes to your light, manifest in the earth, shining ever brighter because of the darkness. Open our ears to the sound of your voice, like roaring waters, bathing us in your love and victory. 

Today and Tomorrow

Right now at this moment
I wish I could stay
In the bubble made of
Christmas lights suspended
in the dreamland of my Living Room.

It’s otherworldly,
full of sentimentality and warmth.
A luminescent cocoon, it
holds me close
like a swaddled infant
who knows nothing

but constant warmth
nourishment
comfort
rest.

The changes of the world
and the expectations of destiny
are putting pressure on
my chrysalis of tinsel and sparkles.
It’s squeezing me
to agree to the change
in new awakening and form.

I can’t stay here forever
but tonight, I don’t want wings.
I want to live hidden in a cave
made of garland and stars.

A tomorrow will come
when beauty that feels like terror
will demand exit
from this cozy cellar with
its walls that embrace,
its ember lights that protect.
And then courage will burst out
in colors that must fly.

A Prayer

When fear’s death grip on my heart shakes me relentlessly out of my 3 am sleep, and when anxiety schemes to capture my mind like a prisoner of war, may my weak and tired legs run….

To still waters

To green pastures

To hope valleys

And to the illumination that your creation robed in majestic beauty does not...

Toil for results

Fight the seasons

Strain for provision 

May every sense, every part of me, respond to darkness shattering light and to Love’s eternal and unconditional embrace.

And then I will feast on Your rest, enclosed under a canopy divine where I will be reminded by endless sweet truth whispers that I am loved.  I will close my eyes as I hear Grace’s lullaby, aware of my liberation from fear’s chains, now bound by cords of peace.

Lighthouse

There are times when I question myself. I question if I should be doing what I am doing with my life, I question whether I made the right decisions. I wonder if life would be different if I did this or that or didn’t do that or this. I’m fairly confident I’m not the only one who feels this way. Movies and novels like to tell the stories of the triumphs of everyday heroes walking into their dreams, but it’s easy to miss this simple fact: the life many thought they would live in pursuit of dreams and destiny looks nothing like the life they are facing. There are moments in time where we stand stunned in brutal disappointment as we realize our reality and our dreams are complete strangers.

There is a woman discussed in 2 Kings 4 who many scholars feel was the widow of a great prophet: a man of God, a man of power, a man of vision. Obadiah had served His God with great fervor. He was an administrator in the palace of wicked King Ahab, husband of evil Queen Jezebel. While this notorious couple aimed to destroy prophets, Obadiah was no sheep. He covertly hid over 100 prophets in caves during Ahab and Jezebel’s reign of terror to protect men of God from the fire and the sword. Obadiah used his own wealth as a sacrifice to support these now cave dwelling prophets until he had nothing and had to borrow money with interest from King Ahab’s son.

And then he died. And like many of us, he had horrendous levels of debt. And this is where the “It’s not fair” siren starts ringing red in my head. Obadiah used all he had and all he borrowed to protect powerless people from a certain, agonizing death. And there is his wife: left alone to beg and borrow, desperately hoping that her sons would not subjected to a life of slavery to pay back their father’s life’s work. And all she had left was oil...a small prophet’s flask of oil. She had nothing else left. There were no containers, there was no furniture, no jewels, nothing of value at all. If I were her, I would wonder where God was. She stood by her husband and saw his laid down life for God’s work and as her reward was about to lose all she had left. The “don’t you see how we served you Lord and where is the reward of serving you and living a life for you?” questions would reverberate through this carnal mind. You can take many things from a woman but threaten to take her children and watch her be earthquake shaken. Elisha had nothing for her. This oil...the oil of anointing, of healing, of resource was almost drained and dry like the dust bowl itself. To find the strength to gather vessels at the prophet’s request and to fill them with oil was as Brennan Manning says, “ruthless trust”  in the face of an “I don’t recognize or want this life moment.”

Instead of falling into the black hole of hopelessness, the widow gave it one more shot. She asked all her neighbors for any of their extra vessels. The prophet had instructed her to gather “not a few.” Do not read this without realizing that the widow’s neighbors most likely knew the state of poverty in which she was living. Sometimes when I read this I wonder if they were muttering about the crazy widow who had nothing to fill the vessels asking for vessels. To walk in obedience, she had to wear her desperation on full display like an evening gown.

She stood there in her house surrounded by this “not a few” level of emptiness waiting for the next move. The prophet told her to start pouring oil from that one remaining flask and to fill the barren jars. And this was the test. Would she believe that God is not bound by the debt of man? In the midnight hour, would God prove Himself extravagant? The oil did not stop. It did not show any indication of slowing down until every vessel was pregnant with priceless oil. It was not just enough. It was MORE than enough. Oil flowed and they no longer had any lack. In a single moment of terrifying obedience, their lives were transformed by the God who makes all things new.

John Piper said, “Occasionally, weep deeply over the life you hoped would be. Grieve the losses. Then wash your face. Trust God. And embrace the life you have.”  Let mourning pour down your face if you must, but embrace your promise wholeheartedly because although life does not often look as we expected, seemingly devastating detours do not surprise God. The path twists and turns and sometimes the boat feels like it’s going to capsize, but the promise is a lighthouse. When we choose to look at the Light when it  feels like we are drowning, we remember there is a place of fulfillment past the wind and the waves. Shake the pain off and let it dissipate in the winds of trust. Press into the sounds of heaven so the pain does not speak louder than the promise. Get into the face, the very presence of God. Do not gather just little faith so that you may know the fullness of the covenant keeping God who has more than enough for every empty space. 

Change

Ringing through the ages is a truth that cannot be denied: change is a given and time marches forward deafly, our cries to stop it, futile. Movements and directions shifting sounds like gentle wind chimes on a summer’s evening to some. To others, transition brings the imminent terror of a tornado alarm. The clock steadily and slowly ticks as life moves forward. The familiar rhythm of the mundane is deceiving. Time somehow moves with precision and yet takes us off guard with its speed. Time’s march resounds with sounds that come and dance into the new and sounds meant to be left in the old. 

It is a marvel to me that as naturally as the winter gives way to spring is as unnaturally as we as humans step into the next rhythm of life. Creation spoken into existence and humanity formed by God’s hand both bear the Creator’s signature. Yet, creation lives and dies and does not fight. Humans tend to struggle, worry, and anticipate the next with dread. Instead of remembering with joy the things that have past, we cling to them and in turn, do not nourish but instead suffocate the new thing. As we try to revive the things of the past that were meant to stay in the past, we allow the new to die, choosing to focus on the winter in what is meant to be a spring. And we hate change instead of hating our lack of trust and our inability to be mobile in the ushering in of seasonal crushing, glorious coloring, planting, dying, and renewing in our lives. 

C.S. Lewis said that “We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.” What seems familiar is comfortable. The unfamiliar requires faith. As uncertain as we may feel we can cling to the promise that, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:17, ESV).

God’s perfect nature is the only thing we can count on never changing. So let the winds blow, let the seed be buried and die, let the new life spring up, and let time march its march. The brilliant composer, the master choreographer, the resplendent artist, the One who made it all stands firm, unchanging in the change, resolute in goodness and faithfulness. 

Immovable

This season of my life has been spent staring into the eye of adversarial forces waiting to see who will blink first. Opposition and conflict have lined up for dispute seemingly every time I’m about to meet that goal, overcome the impossible, or about to win a victory.  

Adversity is a worthy opponent. When exhaustion from endless fighting kicks in, the fear ramps up to another level, and we can feel like our only option is to tap out. Done. I can’t win. I will not make it if I keep going. 

There are times when the unjust must be removed. But there are also times when we must learn to demand justice from the unjust. It’s a bold move that requires lion like faith and unwavering resolve.

There is a widow in the Bible who is one of the few who knew how not to faint when it was hard. 

“There was in a certain city a judge who did not fear God nor regard man. Now there was a widow in that city: and she came to him , saying, “Get justice for me from my adversary. And he would not for a while: but afterwards said within himself, ‘Though I do not fear God nor regard man, yet because this widow troubles me I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she weary me”  (Luke 18:1-5 NKJV).

Vindicate me. Protect me. Defend me. It’s a demand for action from someone whom actually seems a ridiculous person to ask. This is not only a man who appears hard nosed and lacks compassion, but this is a woman without a husband in ancient Israel.  She would have been in a constant battle to survive, fighting to keep from being taken advantage of. 

Why is someone so vulnerable pressing for vengeance from a judge who by his very title and job description is supposed to be just but instead cares nothing for God or for men? 

I believe it is because she had unshakable confidence in what she knew belonged to her. She needed to be avenged and an apathetic person in authority would not stop her. When he would not dispense what she wanted of him for a time, she did not melt into a pool of despair. She stood. The judge saw it, and it annoyed him to no end because he finally had to resign himself to the realization that she would not go away. And though he cared not about justice and definitely not about her, she won against her adversary because it did not matter if the judge was just. It mattered that she knew what was just.

We have to hold on to what we know is true or we will lose the momentum of necessary change. This is the type of faith that Jesus requires of us if we are to overcome the monsters in life. If you know what has been promised to you, stepping into belief and choosing to not back down when your circumstance does not agree with what you know God has given is the ultimate faith.

Jesus goes on to say:

“And shall God not avenge His own who cry out day and night to Him, though He bears long with them? I tell you that He will avenge them speedily. Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will he really find faith on the earth?” (7-8).

You may have cried out for all of the frustration and hurt to end for a long time. It may seem like God is slow and that He is ignoring you. The beauty in spite of the pain is this: He is not deaf. Unlike what the widow had to face, God cares beyond what we with our human comprehension can grasp. Will he find you with the conviction that He is one on whom you can rely? Are you steadfast, unrelenting, and full of confidence? Famous classic author Louisa May Alcott said, “I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.” There is an opportunity to navigate the waves and wind. The storm is not an indicator of lost victory. The victory is on the other side of the storm. 

In my faith, in my pursuit of righteousness, in what I know is right and what belongs to me, I not let my will, my fear, my judgement, or my lack of faith toss me overboard. I will abide in the truth, steadfastly holding on to what God has promised to me, and “let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (Amos 5:23-24), unwavering and in conviction to agree with truth, immovable.

Man Up

There once was a man who was silent. He was not quiet because he was shy. His life had somehow become one of isolation where he groaned under the pressure of mental pain until he felt it in his physical body. It was bone shattering, life suffocating agony. A leader among men, the young man once glowed with the strength of youth and purpose. His vitality was seemingly irrepressible and irresistible. And then it was gone. He went from a life full of green and abundant harvest to a life of barren drought. Day and night, the depression was sucking the life out of him to the point where his dark room was his only home. And he paused because that is all he could do.

Yet, still he is a hero. Everyone knows his name. Those searching for an example of how to live an upright, humble, and heroic life look to him as the ultimate example of how to follow God and truly live as a man of strength and dignity even when reading his desperate words: “When I kept silent, my bones grew old through my groaning all the day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me: My vitality was turned into the drought of summer. Selah.”

There was another man who stood up to injustice like a lion in a furor. He could not tolerate the suffering he saw the people around him bearing. He dedicated his life to God and to challenging the institution that dared to treat his community with such blatant disregard, disrespect, and humiliation. They were starving. They were dying. And he would not take it. He snarled at the pretentious displays of power and he won tremendous victory. And then he crumbled into a thousand pieces. The fear that he had once battled and he thought destroyed came after him. And he ran far away. He thought he had been better than those before him. It wasn’t arrogance. He just wanted to make an impact like others in his line were too cowardly to do. But now. Now was different. He was despondent, and he ran way to be alone in the wilderness to hide. He was suicidal wanting nothing else other than to die.

We study this general of a man. We strive towards moving in the miraculous as he did. He was a man of prayer, a man who was not afraid to mock evil, and a man who God’s power so consumed that he ran faster than chariots on foot. Still, after all the triumph, despair consumed him like flame on oil. “I have had enough Lord, he said. Take my life, I am not better than my ancestors.”

David and Elijah are names that strike images of valor and abandonment to God. It does not seem to phase us in the slightest that at times in their life, they were utterly consumed with death in the grave sorrow and agony of the soul. Overwhelmed by achy bones, anxiety, questions of where God was, and completely paused on life, they were depressed and the thought of dying at times filled their thoughts. In fact, we look their honesty and their raw expressions, and we call them a man after God’s own heart, and the one whose LORD was God.

This then is my question.

Why in the church do we so often treat people who suffer from anxiety and depression as though they were somehow unsurrendered to God and in some kind of state of ingratitude that perhaps brought them to a place where they forgot God? We do it to women, we do it to men. I believe that men feel the brunt of the pressure this mentality.

“Man up.” What in the world does that mean?  David could take down giants with stones and Elijah could destroy prophets of Baal. This seems to fit the description of a strong man: warriors full of bravery and trust in their God. Maybe that is what it means to some people. When life is hard, just “man up.” Be like those men who fought and never gave up.

Yes, I can see this being a deeply ingrained and valid thought process in our culture.

“Man up.” Do we still think it applies to men who were utterly crushed by what we would today call clinical depression and suicide risk? Were they true men when they wept and fell on their faces in complete isolation wishing to breathe their last breath?  Do we say, “You’re hurting. Express it, you’re not soft for feeling and you’re not soft for sharing your struggle. Man up.”

No, not often.  Although we look to men like David and Elijah as heroes, I do not believe the overall culture that I see today includes allowing a part of manhood to be working through emotional trauma without being considered “soft” or away from God, or involved in some kind of egregious sin.

Man up? No. Shame Up.

I believe the consequence of this belief system is an absolutely unbearable burden of shame.

If we want to have heroes, we have to accept them for the fullness of who they were as humans and apply it to our lives. If Jesus could weep with agony until his sweat was blood, we too need to learn to connect with what is really going on inside of our hearts.

We live in a culture where it is possible to be fooled by the beautiful, filtered pictures all over social media with quotes that we take like they are scripture.

Please hear me. Many times, all it is is a filter.

We are a filter impressed society, and we are a filter impressed church. It is no wonder we are shocked by the stories of adultery and suicide. We are way too impressed with a surface idea of beauty and success. We do not know how to get into a safe intimate place with people to really understand what they are going through. Instead, we are shocked by the stories we hear and write all sorts of feedback and response to situations when many of us have never stepped into the dirt with a strong person who is suffering. To hear their heart. To cry with them. To be silent with them. Instead, we wait for them to come to us, or worse, we read about their epic downfall with horror not understanding how it could happen.

There is beautiful opportunity in this time to be hands and feet and ears that actually work and function correctly. Take the time. Ask someone whom you admire how they are doing. And I do not mean a text or a comment on an online platform. I mean a face to face meaningful conversation that demonstrates empathy and true concern for who they are as people. Unless we take the time to do this with the men and women in our lives, we will never know if they are suffering David and Elijah moments until it is too late.

There are heroes in all of our lives.  They are beautiful people who sacrifice, share, smile, fight, and work. They are people who often suffer silently for fear of being looked at as “lacking faith”, “ungodly” or dare I say, “demon possessed.” We need to break the cycle. We need healing and the bravery to step beyond the screens that block reality. It just may be that your hero needs a hand. And it’s ok...it makes them all the more worthy of admiration and trust for them to admit that.

May we all heal, and may we destroy shame with ferocious humility.

An Overcoming Surrender

Walking through valleys is dangerous. This treachery is not the dark places where we grope blindly for the next step. Rocky paths and narrow passageways in the low places fail to be the most dismal danger. Even loneliness that makes your soul ache with fever for companionship is not the deadliest force to battle.  

The danger is a reflection.

It’s you. It’s me.

It is us looking to ourselves in the mirror of self. We give into this fear of the unknown because confusing paths, tough terrain, and the hunger pangs that desire rescue are ravenous and unrelenting. The grief in these moments feels like drowning, and I do not know a human who loves to settle down in this place as their chosen real estate. So we do what we have to do. We power through in our own strength and hustle, or we drown ourselves in misery. We do not want to stay where it’s hard. It’s in our human nature to sink or swim. It’s not in our nature to demonstrate strength through surrender.

I have been walking through circumstances like this for five years. It has been arduous and at times it has been confusing. I do not like to sink, so my tendency has been to push. Hard.

I love how God chooses to speak in what seems, in my human mind, to be the strangest circumstances. I was in frenzied get it done mode one day: chores, phone calls, taking care of husband and kids, trying to find solutions to the many problems ailing our family topped with an extra scoop of exhaustion and anxiety. In the midst of pulling myself up by the bootstraps, I encountered a space of silence...His voice speaking to me:

“Your hustle has become bigger than your faith.”  

Yes, it had. I was hustling until I had bleeding knuckles like that is what God wanted from me.

We live in a culture where hustling has become a value to live by: Sleep when you die. Feel stuck? You have what it takes. Work hard. Things not going right for you? Must be your fault. Strive. Fight. Good things come to those that hustle. If things are not good, you are not hustling enough. Push. You can be a dragon slaying, million dollar maker who can work out like an Olympic champion all while maintaining serenity in your home and remembering to get eight hours of sleep because if you don’t, you may die of some horrible disease. if you just find that inner Viking warrior and kill it, you can conquer and vanquish every arrow with Matrix precision. If that does not work, find someone who is bleeding out just as much as you, who will sit in the muddy disaster of your life and sustain your appetite for agony by feeding you your right to a bad attitude. These friends tell you that you deserve to be a mess. After all, look at how messed up your life is.

The Bible is full of stories of overcomers. Biblical victory looks different than the way culture after culture up to the present perceive the highway to triumph. It does not look like muscle and grit. It does not stake the flag representing the isolated island of self into the ground and declare victory.  

No.

Instead, overcoming looks meek. It is strength that comes by leaning in to one who is stronger. It is might that does not boast or need to be put on display.

Overcoming looks like surrender.

Hannah was suffering. She longed for a child. In a time where not being able to have a child was seen as a curse, she was the object of scrutiny, scorn, and gossip over what sin she must have committed to deserve such a fate. She wept and wept. Her husband, Elkanah loved Hannah. He must have felt such sorrow for her. As Hannah grieved, Elkanah comforted her. But he did not allow her stay weighted down and drown in sorrow. With grace, he took her by the hand to the house of the Lord. He took her to the place where her tears mattered and where her groaning impacted the heart of the Father who hears. We all have choices like this when we suffer.  Do we take our pain to be swallowed up by God’s outrageous and healing love, or do we allow ourselves to be swallowed by our pain? Hannah chose surrender to the one who could fight for her, who could heal her, who heard her. And in due time, a son was born: a prophet, Samuel. God had heard, and He always does. Trusting Him through pain takes a level of faith in his goodness and his power that stretches us beyond the comfort of our own human nature. But in this place, we overcome with a heavenly victory that can only come with the decision to lay it down in the arms of Jesus.

The disciples were stunned by Jesus’ ability to sleep in a torrential storm. The rains and the wind were whipping around and through that wooden fishing boat with fury. The disciples had unified in common fear and had come to a solid consensus that they were all going to die. They were bonded in their mutual terror. In fact, they thought Jesus had lost his mind as he lay there taking a nap in the midst of it all. They shook Him awake with the cry, “We are all going to die!” It seems strange to think you are going to die when the Son of God is riding along in the storm with you. But we are not so unlike the disciples. We forget. We lose track of exactly who it is we love: The one who has sovereignty and might over every tornado life whips our way.  And our memory fails us when we begin to agree with the idea of isolation as if God has even left us, even in stormy times. The disciples were lacking the faith to believe that Jesus was not only able but willing to take care of them in a crisis situation. With a gentle rebuke over his pupils lack of faith, Jesus spoke peace into the storm, “Peace. Be still.” And the waves and the water obeyed just as the torrent in your life is subject to Jesus’ command to be silent.

You don’t have to pretend that you are not hurting. You don’t have to power through and make an idol of your own strength. You need not lay down dead in the dredges of depression thinking that God is no longer with you. It’s not what God wants. It’s not who you were created to be. You were made to get up and lean hard into the arms of your Father. You were made for fellowship with truth and not lies. You were made to be victorious. And your victory is not in the overcoming of self. It is in the laying down of self. It is trusting in Father God. Waiting. Though it may be scary or painful, still waiting, trusting in His goodness. This meekness comes with a promise: the inheritance of the earth. Psalm 33:7 says that the meek shall possess the land and delight themselves in abundant prosperity.  This is a brilliant picture of victory. It is not selfish, raiding conquest. This is victory through the laying down of fear and trust in the goodness of God. This victory is for the building of the Kingdom of God, trusted in the hands of those who patiently bask in his Glory, and though they may hurt, believing in His goodness.

In the hollow echo of pain, we can accept the report of the darkness and allow our light to be buried in a coffin made of lies. But here is the truth: there are no nails in the coffin of your life with Jesus. You do not have to suffer the hammer sealing your final fate. He took the nails in his hands, in his feet. He surrendered to death and overcame. And because of this, when you surrender to Him, you too overcome.  

Welcome to the Neighborhood

I heard you were coming through
You're in the neighborhood
And I so desperately want you.

I want you to come to my house
To sit at my table and eat
To rest in my room
To search out mysteries
To know your secrets
I want this to be your home.

So I look around
I see soft curves and sharp edges
I see dark places.
I can see where bright life can flow
And where the path of crimson red inspiration is blocked.

 I think I know what I have to do.

 I sneak to the deep depths of a dark sharp corner where I put my bed.
It's a mess.
I have to make it so you can rest.
But you're already there waiting for me.
You throw me a blanket and help me clean up and we talk and sleep.
I wake up and I panic.

I remember the curve up top where all the light is supposed to come in.
And I know some things need fixing
And I don't want you to leave.

So I rush up
I want to make sure the highest and prettiest places are perfect for you.

But you're already there when I arrive.
You're beaming on the couch, gazing at me, even with the dust on the coffee table and the skylight that needs cleaning.

Your smile makes all the dirt disappear and your voice washes every dirty mark.

But still I insist on running.
I move quickly from chamber to chamber anxiously.

 I'm desperately trying to fix all things broken and cracked.

And every time, there you are .

I finally stop because I'm breathless.
And there in front of me,
In the middle of my house is a feast.

You made it all and I don't remember ever telling you all of my favorite foods.
And you're holding a book.
I gasp.
My name is on the cover.
And I see the author and weep.

You dreamed this story. Every letter, exclamation point and question mark.

When I go low
When I fly high
When I try to fix the broken lights
You're there.
You had the key the whole time

I have finally opened the door
Here in my heart, your resting place.

Creativity Killers

Recently, I haven’t been able to get past writer’s block mountain. Months like these do a good job of convincing me that digging deep inside my heart is entirely too exhausting, and scaling the heights of inspiration will make breathing itself hurt. 

I envision planting the victory flag at the on top of the rocks and rubble of circumstance and flowing with creative fury as I triumphantly craft words into a masterpiece. 

In reality, I’m still at home base pretending to prepare while I hide. 

And the cycle continues every morning. It’s the same routine. I slyly peek out the window. I squint as I look towards the summit. It’s as beautiful as it is daunting.  I turn around and see my base, my secret hide out where no one will see the colors of my soul. Stunning and scary fight ugly and safe. It’s tug of war with myself. 

The days that I’ve relented to ugly and  shacked up with isolation, I have agreed with deception. There’s more to the process of beauty than lonely, unarmed, tumultuous and tortuous climbs around the edges of internal despair. It’s easy to forget that even in the darkest and most difficult territory, the most important weapon in creativity’s arsenal remains:

Hope.

Hope is many things. It’s a reality check, it’s a motivator, and it’s a wrecking ball. When I shake hands with truth and allow reality to push me, I can tap into the joy of things to come despite the climb. I can see the illusion that I have nothing left disappear like a mirage as the full weight of heavenly promise crushes despair.

And then the words come. They pour out. When fear is kicked out and unbelief is removed, the creative process is uncorked and unleashed. Fake identity is finally exposed as an imposter and the raw materials of the true self emerge.

Catherine Booth, co-founder of the Salvation Army once said, “The waters are rising, but so am I. I am not going under, but over."  Let this resonate. Though the elements rage against your soul, don’t give in. Create. Make an impact. I believe the key to unlocking culture shifting creativity is in identity rooted in truth. As Brennan Manning so eloquently and simply stated, “Define yourself radically as one beloved by God. This is the true self. Every other identity is illusion.” 

New Shelter in the Shadow

This dark cold basement built on aches and pain won’t do

This bed made of anxiety and 3am wake up calls is old

This weight on my chest is a requirement for living here

And I got rid of it. So I can’t stay.

I was looking around for a new place for a while

I was starting to hate my meddling neighbors Pain and Doubt

I was startled to realize I was acting like them

And so I shook it off. I had to go.

I found I was running fast to the wild world outside of my box

I found that it was more frightening than anticipated

I found that obnoxious neighbors follow you around to get you back

And I needed some help. I needed some relief.

And just like that I found this place with a new kind of shade

And it covered me with a heaviness that didn’t break my back

And the anguish and questioning could not get inside my winged home

And they fell all around. Finally,  I stood strong.

The new address was permanent under an Almighty roof

The view of flight and strength captivated my gaze

The image protecting me became my new identity

And I live in the Shelter. My refuge, my Shadow.

Release the Sound

I decided to let fear move in.

My new roommate gave lies  permission to come and build a fortress around my house where all things dark and scary could hide with me.

I thought it was safe. It was far away from wide, open, unknown space.

But bad things grow in the dark, and before I knew it the hide away was an incubator.  It grew:

Sickness

Poverty

Depression

Pain

Fear protected, nurtured, and scared death to grow.  I wanted to get out so badly, but the terror of what was outside was superglue, and I was stuck.

I had to do something, so I sat in the dark and started an excavation of my heart. The rocks and rubble were dry and heavy.  I wanted to quit, but the graveyard stench was overwhelming; I was suffocating so I had to keep going. I dug past the hard soil until I felt the the shovel strike the hidden treasure.  The vibration of the impact created a sound.

The sound formed waves and crashed over me with measure, rhythm and tempo and swelled with glorious melody.  The rising hope ignited and burned the cheap house of lies to the ground.

Can you hear it past the agony and desperation? It's there, the uniquely composed masterpiece of emancipation.  It conducts through the underground and leads the way along the carved path to freedom.

It's the song of longing

The prelude to a miracle.

The Promise of a Laid Down Life

Life can be plain difficult.

Illness sidelines us. Debt tightens its shackles. Loving families morph into enemies.

When our legs are weary from running, and our lungs burn from the pressure, its tempting to pick up the shovel of despair and dig a hole to bury our treasure of hope for someone else to find.

Let's be real. It can be hard to press on. Yet, there's something transformative about facing the battle and giving all of ourselves on terrain where we think we don't own conquering shoes.

God knows something about the trusting sacrifice, and he entrusted Elijah with a nugget of gold truth. If we knew Elijah and learned what he expected out of a poor widow in the name of God, we may have been offended by his audacity.

Elijah was hiding from the wicked rulers of the land in the wilderness. The drought that God had called him to proclaim caused the brook that could have quenched his thirst to dry up. He was parched, hiding in a water barren land looking for a solution. 

So what does Elijah do? Logically thinking, he finds the worst candidate to give him a hand:  A poor suffering widow. He commands her to give him her and her son's last meal before they succumbed to the horrors of famine. It would be the ultimate sacrifice...a mother giving her dying child's last morsel of food to a crazy prophet.

But crazier still is this: She did it. God had already told her to make it happen...against any sound, human reasoning. She took Elijah's word not to be afraid. She stretched herself beyond the pain that she thought was her reality and laid down all she had in the face of death. And the lie that she and her son would perish shattered as her flour jar miraculously never had a bottom and her oil can never ceased to be full. Heaven invaded and made the impossible a reality.

There's revelation here if we could look past our current circumstance.

When our money seems tight, we can give to someone who needs it more. When we are too busy to get anything done, we can sacrifice our time to someone more desperate. When we cry for our dreams to come alive and someone gets what we ached for before us we can rejoice the loudest. Though our wallet may be empty, our own projects appear endless, and it takes everything within us to give voice to someone else's victory, the laying down of ourselves has made a path. It has expanded our capacity to receive beyond our wildest imaginations. When we move out of the way and let God, we stretch and make room for the miracle. 

Like Jacob, many of us are running terrified with a blessing tucked in our back pocket. There is no better time to rest your head on the Rock. Lay all of your weary self under the wide open unknown. Risk everything for a truth you can't see. And soon...very soon the heavens will open, the healing oil will flow over every hard place and Jacob's cry will resound in every aching cavern of your life: "GOD is in this place,- truly. And I didn't even know it!"

New Wardrobe

John 5:24

I tell you the truth, whoever hears my words and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be condemned; he has crossed over from death to life.

I believe You

I have crossed from death to life

The transaction is complete

My wardrobe pieces suggest

I am fully aware of this change

I open the closet, and I no longer choose garments of shame

The wallflower cape

The ugly girl sweater

The scarf of mourning

All dress up clothes I wore

Trying to prove the false perception 

Trying to convince the world that what I felt was true

A fashionista with a flare for despair

But I couldn't convince you

You kept coming home with presents

Boxes of hope wrapped with love bound with bows of truth

I pretended not to want all the attention 

But secretly, I began to look forward to the birthright surprises

The coat the color of joy, the dress that made feel as light as air

 An exuberance that could not be contained exploded

And I ripped into those boxes like a 3 year old on Christmas Eve

What else? Is there more? What else do you have for me?

Gloves strong like faith 

A hat fashioned to rescue me 

A shirt that looks like redemption 

And the gifts keep coming 

I want more and more

Transformation full and complete

Brought from the orphanage to the kingdom

Decked out on the outside

The true reflection of the glow, the flow, the truth on the inside

Goodbye to an Old "Friend"

Perfection, you're not very kind. I will admit you had me fooled for a while. I actually wanted you to be my friend. I mean, who wouldn't? As a child I realized you always had straight A's and your ballet body was a feat to be achieved.  You were the best artist, and you played the piano like a dream.  The prettiest and smartest girls seemed to always have you with them at their lunch tables. When I grew, I saw that you have the most stunning dirt free houses and the cleanest bathrooms. The kids rooms always have folded laundry, and there are no Legos on the floor.  Dinner always tastes like a meal from a 5 star restaurant, and it is always served at 5 sharp...when the children have finished all of their work of course. Perfection, you are a super mom who is never tired and who always has the most wonderful craft ready and the answers for all of the musings of your children and needs of your husband.

One day, I needed you. The exhaustion hit...hard. My body ached from the cleaning and the endless performance without intermission, and my kids looked stressed out because I pushed hard for them to be your friend too. I pleaded with you to make it right. But you crossed your arms and said, "Not good enough....what's wrong with you?" And the lights finally went on. Perfection, you are not perfect. You are destruction masquerading as beautiful excellence. You weave into aching hearts and turn colorful and warm dwellings of creativity into sterile, cold morgues. You distort the word Love to look like the word work and you take freedom and morph it into chains. You rob destiny and you stifle dreams. And I have to say, I'm pretty fed up.

So today, I am kicking you out. You can't come and hang out in the kitchen with my family anymore, and you certainly are not allowed in the God space where all the colors come out of my heart. You have interrupted enough. The rainbow of promise is splattered all over my house and it's a little crazy, it's a little dirty, but it feels like I can relax again because you are not there with Clorox wipes scrubbing everything in sight. A kiss on a forehead instead picking up that crumb, longer moments of holding those I love in the morning instead of doing my makeup, a splash of paint outside the lines, a dissonant chord and a misplaced comma have become lovely to me. I'm not scared  to stretch, to learn, to make mistakes, to grow. It's not a show this life I've been given. It's a wild trip on the oceans of adventure that leads to worlds still undiscovered, and I'm basking in the radiant sun as the paralyzing icicles melt away.