Project 52: Morning

Quick Note: Project 52 is a one year photography challenge. I love photography, adventures, and challenges, so naturally, I fell in love with this idea! As I looked over the list of topics for the year, I felt inspired to write a bit as well on each of the topics. It's been awhile since I've put much on paper, but I assure you my desire to write authentically and live boldly for Christ are just as much a part of me as always. Week two's topic: Morning

"Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His mercies never
fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness". Lam. 3:22-23

I love lazy clouds lingering at the tops of bare trees and sunbeams fighting to display their radiance in the dim morning light. I love the reassurance of life as I feel my lungs fill with cool, sharp air and my skin prickle with goose bumps while exhaling prayers of thanksgiving for yet another day, which on their own, resemble hazy rain clouds drifting heavenward in the early winter mornings.  I love clear, dark mornings when stars still dot the sky, reminding me my God is so much bigger than I, so much more in control that I, so much more powerful and all-knowing than I. It’s exciting to embark on day where promises will be fulfilled, hopes will be dreamed, and new mercies will be gifted.

I’ve always associated mornings with mercy. I’m pretty sure it’s because when I was a wee girl growing up in a small Baptist church, we sung a hymn inspired by Lamentations 3:22-23, which speaks about God’s mercies being new every morning. We sung this hymn so often, seemingly every. single. Sunday, that I can still hear the slow, and I do mean s-l-o-w, organ’s vibrato in the back of my mind to this day. It wasn’t a song I particularly liked (can you tell?), however, the words acted as a key ingredient in the foundation on which I’ve built my now 43 years upon. I am not a glass-half-full kind of girl by chance. I am a glass-half-full kind of girl because mercy was planted and nurtured throughout my entire life.

Mercy is often misunderstood. When it isn’t overlooked, it’s taken for granted or confused with something it is not. And what I mean by that is that we often believe we deserve more or better or something other than what we have received. And although that maybe true, when we look for what we DON’T have, we miss what we DO have. And that’s exactly my point. Remember the story of the Israelites and how even though the Lord daily provided manna (bread) for them, they still cried out for meat? Remember how God eventually gave into their pleas and in the end they realized that they really had no desire for it after all? (Exodus 15-16) I think we’re a little like that too. We want all that Christ offers in addition to the perks of the world. Thinking about this, I wonder just how much we miss of God’s glory when we are searching for something we have assigned more significance to?

Robert Gelinas points out in his book, “The Mercy Prayer”, that mercy is “compassionate, gracious, slow to anger, steadfast love, unfailing love, goodness, generous love, and loving kindness”. You may read that list and quickly make the connection that those are attributes of Christ; and you would be correct! Mercy is at the core of Who Christ is! (Psalm 103). I feel it important to note here that mercy is for everyone; the loveable and unlovable alike. We are all sinners and fall ridiculously short of God’s glory (Romans 3:23); and if we consider that the wages of sin is death (Romans 6:23), we know we have been gifted an abundance of mercy when we receive His gracious, sacrificial gift of salvation. Mercy assumes we’re going to sin and He loves us anyway; He supplies our needs anyway. Mercy doesn’t alleviate our pain or suffering, but does act like an ointment to our wounds. It’s not based on anything we do or don’t do. On that note, I think it’s equally important to understand that God doesn’t dole out mercy with reluctance, or weighing the pros and cons of doing so, or even anticipating some form of repayment (not that we could!). He has no ulterior motive. He simply loves to love and He does that by gifting us His mercy each and every day, starting first thing in the morning. Micah 7:18 tells us that “God delights to show mercy”. Delights! Can you picture His face? Do you get a sense of His heart?

Perhaps the best definition I’ve heard is “Mercy is God’s grace in action”.

Going back to the story of the Israelites for a minute, it’s important to remember that God didn’t just place His provisions in their laps. They actually had to go out and gather the manna. When they saw the abundance of manna, they were so excited; so excited that they gathered far more than they needed in hopes to save some for the next day. Do you remember what happened? It rotted. God provides what we need for this day and only for this day. I love how Beth Moore, in her Bible Study: A Woman’s Heart, God’s Dwelling Place” points out that “our ratio of mercy matches our present need. When the time arises and the need escalates, so does the grace required for us to make it. God is always sufficient in perfect proportion to our need”.  We always have what we need. Nothing more, nothing less for today. We cannot store up or use up God’s mercies. It’s impossible. And every day, we will learn to rely on Him to meet our needs.

This morning I thank the Lord for another day, another opportunity to see Him and to reflect His love to the world. I challenge you to do the same. I am pretty sure that if we can practice having a thankful heart for what we already have, we will be transformed from the inside out. This happens when we trade our agenda for His; when we trade our shame, regrets, fears, etc. for His mercy. What a way to begin each morning!

Chapter Two

Below is a talk, a testimony of sorts. I had the privilege to share about an amazing, life-giving ranch in my area, Raven Rock Ranch. Though I gave this talk about 6 months ago, I was recently asked to publish it here. Seems silly that it is here where I am most vulnerable and did not think to share this with you. I'm calling it my Chapter Two. If you've followed me long enough, you'll understand. If not, "Chapter One" is in my archives to the right. Thank you for asking, whoever you are!

Meg and her Rusty

Raven Rock Ranch Testimony

When I was 26, I was raped. Nine months later I gave birth to a biracial baby girl. She had the daintiest, doll-like features: petite dark chocolate eyes, petal pink lips, and a head full of black hair---though I did not know that right away. She cried and cried until she was placed into my arms for the first time and instinctively I cradled her tiny six pound body into the crook of my neck and without a thought, whispered the words of my heart over and over again, “I love you, I love you, I love you”. Her crying soothed and I kissed her head and then her cheeks and then each of her ten fingers and each of her ten toes. In that moment, I knew she was mine. I knew in that moment I would do anything for her. The trauma we endured together over the last nine months seemed a mere memory. I chose to look forward, not back. Dennis and I named her Megyn, the most beautiful name we could find, which means pearl---and as you know pearls come from oysters, which are ugly, battered, weathered, but the pearls themselves are priceless, a genuine treasure. The same is true with my Meg. I loved her before she was born. I loved her more upon holding her in my arms and now, 15 years later, I love her more than I ever could have imagined.

I knew raising a biracial daughter in our predominately white community and home would be challenging for a multitude of reasons, but in my worst of nightmares I couldn’t have imagined all that my Meg would endure or that we would ever need a place like Raven Rock Ranch; a place for broken souls---some struggling with substance abuse, physical abuse, identity crisis, etc. the list goes on.  But in order to get to the story of how we ended up at Raven Rock Ranch, I need to back up a dozen or so years ago to the time when Megyn was about 3-4 years old---about preschool age, when she was just learning her colors.

At this time, it was part of Dennis and my routine to take one of each of our two girls upstairs to tuck them in bed at night. We’d snuggle under the covers and listen as they would share one good thing about the day and one thing that bugged them. We would listen as they’d say their nightly prayers and then we would pray over them as well. I loved this time---not because my energetic girls were going to bed after a loooong day, but because there was something sacred/special in this quiet time, where tender words of the heart are shared, where cuddles seem softer, and peace feels like my daughter’s small hands reaching around my neck and slobbery kisses that drool down my check. Dennis usually tucked our oldest daughter, Abigail, in and I usually tucked in Megyn. I remember the day when her nightly prayers began to shift from a heart of gratitude, where she prayed, “Dear God, thank you for butter and mayonnaise and cookies”  (not kidding) to a deep agonizing plea that I never would have imagined possible for a child of that age, if I had not heard it myself. “Dear God, please make me pink, like my mommy. God, why won’t you make me pink like my mommy? Can’t you do it, can’t you do it?” And she would sob, tears staining her plump cheeks. And so would I because I knew that the Lord was not going to change the color of her skin. It was then that I knew the struggled I feared for her was taking root.

By the time she was in elementary school, the name calling had begun. Names like “Afro-naut, Sausage lips, Blackie”. And by the time she was in the sixth grade, those hateful words became physical violence. I witnessed with my own eyes seven sixth grade girls circling my daughter kicking and hitting her as they called her these names, in addition to calling her a monster. As I rushed to my daughter, I noticed her disposition. She just stood there; her head hung low, her arms to her sides. She did not try to defend herself in words or actions. She--just—stood--there. Later when I asked why she didn’t try to defend herself, she said, “Because I’m not worth it. They said I’m a monster. I came from a monster. They must be right”.  (Sigh) I knew she was struggling with her identity and with bullying, but I did not realize that she believed that she was a monster because of how she came into the world. Children so easily believe the lies they’re told, even ones they have told themselves…

Dennis and I have raised her like our older daughter, in a house of love and acceptance. Contrary to many people’s fears/beliefs about giving birth and raising a child of rape, she is not a reminder of my attacker and though I will not take the time now to share a lot about that, I will say she is more of a reminder of the sovereignty of Christ in our lives. We do not love her differently than our other daughter. We have spent her entire life speaking and living out the truth of the value and gift of her life has brought to our family. Still, she cannot accept it. She rarely showed emotions, no smiles, no tears. She just existed-- withdrawn, isolating herself more and more, talking only when necessary, only interacting with others on a as needed basis.

Well, it was about this same time frame, sixth-grade, when I had gone upstairs to put clean sheets on her bed, when I accidently knocked over a bench in her room. It was one of those benches, with the top that opens and you can store things inside. Out fell a couple of knives, a runaway list, and her journal. You can imagine my surprise, I’m sure. Her thoughts of running away were not even on my radar. I never expected that, even with all of her struggles. That, in combination with the knives… you bet I broke that mom code about respecting my daughter’s boundaries and I read her journal cover to cover. What I discovered caused such a deep hurt within my soul and questions upon questions piled up---questions like, “How did she get to this point, where she glorified death?” She wrote about it in vivid detail.  And “Cutting? She became addicted to cutting in an attempt to feel?” I knew nothing of cutting. This scared me immensely. And “If love isn’t enough to save my daughter, to show her her worth, what is?”

 I confronted her about what I had read and she confessed all of her written words to be true and pulled up her sleeves up to show me the hundreds, literally hundreds of scars that ran up and down the length of her arms. I had never seen anything like it. When I asked her, “Why”, she said, “Mom, you have no idea what it’s like to live in my skin. I can’t escape it no matter what I do. I need to have control over something. I need it!”. I had no idea the importance of those words until much later.

I knew Meg needed something that Dennis and I could not provide. Really, if love had been enough, she would have been a well-adjusted, typical kid; she was anything but. I refused to leave her alone. I bent-over backwards, compensating for the wrong doings of the kids at school. Really, I was completely terrified that we would lose her to suicide. I made an appointment with her pediatrician and shared what we discovered and immediately he sent us to have further testing done, which revealed a hodge-podge of things: biological depression, anxiety, sensory issues, ADD and the list goes on. Meg was put on medication, which led to a two year roller coaster ride with several different medications and varying degrees of doses being administered every couple of months. Every—single---one---of ---them led her to have hallucinations and hear voices (which by the way where telling her to, “Kill herself”)! Though we did not have our doctor’s “blessing” we weaned her off all medication, feeling completely frustrated because we knew she desperately needed help, but not knowing where to find it.

We eventually found a reputable child counselor and I got a long with her great. Meg, on the other hand, struggled to answer questions or even to open up about the inner struggle she was having regarding her identity and the hatred acts repeatedly done against her. After a few weeks, Meg refused to go. When I asked why, she said, “I feel like I’m in trouble when I go. I feel like all we do is talk about the bad things. It makes me feel worse”. I understood that completely.

Don’t misunderstand me; I am not against medication or counseling. Both play a vital role in so many people’s road to healing/recovery. However, it is not always the best or right fit for some. Meg needed something different; though I didn’t know what. We needed something that she would be receptive to, something that would minister/speak to her tender heart and meet her where she was: a broken place.

By God’s grace and I do mean by God’s grace, we found Raven Rock Ranch.

I called Sandy, shared our story, and asked her if Raven Rock Ranch would be a good fit for my girl. She said, “Yes”. We arranged to meet the following week, which felt like an eternity as my heart beat wildly in anticipation the entire time. Upon arriving, she gave us the tour of the ranch, introducing us to each of the six horses and shared their stories. Each of their stories was of varying degrees of abuse. They were all rescued and given a new life, a new purpose.

As we moseyed through the ranch in our barn boots and heavy fall jackets, I leaned over to Sandy and asked, “So which horse will Meg work with?” She said, “I don’t know”. Looking confused, she responded by saying that she lets the horse choose the child. My smile masked my disbelief, but I agreed to play along.  Arriving at the last horse, Rusty, a beautiful copper colored quarter horse about 12 years old at that time, the same age as my Meg, he was out under a cluster of trees eating his morning hay when we approached the fence. We did not call out to him, we did not bribe him with carrots; we simply stood there watching him. And in that moment, he stopped, looked up, turned, and ran to us, stopping just short of the fence directly in front of Meg and lowered his head. In that moment, he had chosen Meg. Meg instinctively held her hand out to his muzzle and let out the softest giggle. My girl who had not shown any emotion in years---literally years, was not only smiling, but giggling! I knew in that moment that equine therapy was different than anything else we had tried. Meg was receptive. Rusty met her where she was and she embraced the idea of helping him heal. She did not realize that in her brokenness, Rusty would also speak life and value and purpose into her life.

A beautiful bud had blossomed between Meg and Rusty and continued to bloom during their time in the aisle of the stable, where Meg spent a good share of her 90 minutes a week brushing and caring for him and learning to tack. She clearly was in no hurry to ride. She found value in just being together. She gave more hugs and kisses to Rusty than any other horse has ever received---I am certain. She nuzzled noses and whispered secrets that I will never know. She would lay her head on the nape of his neck and just rest. It was enough for her to just be---  So many times I had to bite my lip to keep the tears from falling because what I witnessed time after time was my daughter who could not show herself care, love, acceptance, and grace or allow herself permission to fail or have the ability to forgive herself so easily show that to Rusty. As they worked together, anyone watching could clearly see this attitude of “I know you’re broken, I’m broken too. Let’s work together”. It was something that surpassed respect. It was a genuine friendship.

 Every week I saw smiles. Every week I heard laughter. Meg would go to the ranch no matter the weather---snow, rain---it didn’t matter. If she was sick, she went anyway because she didn’t want to let Rusty down. She couldn’t live without him. He had become her security. She was learning to accept herself--- as she was--- and find her identity in him through caring for him in his brokenness. She realized she was important to Rusty. He needed her. And whether or not she knew it yet, she needed him.

The time spent in the aisle way built a relationship of friendship and trust, which became apparent in the round pen, where Sandy would often teach the kids to ride or become leaders or whatever she foresaw that they might need to work on. Meg enjoyed riding, but could have cared less about it. She just wanted to be with Rusty. Sandy saw this in Meg and had her begin with what she calls “ground work”. The first day she tried this, she had Meg lead Rusty around the round pen and then just drop the lead and slowly start to walk away stopping  20 or so feet away. She believed Rusty would follow Meg because he wanted to, because she was his leader, because he trusted her. Meg desperately needed this assurance---and often.  Meg stood there and Rusty stood there. It seemed an eternity. I watched from the other side of the fence and prayed that she would not feel rejected again. I feared if he didn’t walk towards her, she might lose the glimmer of hope I had seen in her eyes, that maybe she would even give up on Rusty. I hoped and prayed that the Lord would do a mighty work, that He would show my daughter His love for her through the only thing that seemed to be able to communicate with her. In that moment, Rusty lowered his head, snorted and walked to her, he lowered his head again to her hanging hand and nuzzled it. The smile on her face---priceless! She’d rub his forehead and walk on. And he followed. He chose her over and over again. She didn’t have to change anything about herself for Rusty to accept her or to trust her. He just did. When she said stop, most of the time he stopped. When she signaled to back up, he backed up. She was learning that her words have value, that her words mean something---and not just to Rusty, but to those she interacted with. She was learning that if she could be bold with a horse, she could be bold for herself, stand up for herself, and believe in herself.

Not that Raven Rock Ranch is about riding. It’s not, but a measure of the change taking place in Meg could be seen in her riding. When she first began, she rode with her back hunched over as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. And when she gave directions, her small, timid voice was barely audible. In fact, I remember the first time she wanted Rusty to do something, she said, “If you wouldn’t mind, could you please…”. I am not exaggerating when I say; she had no confidence in herself whatsoever!  By the time she graduated the program, a year and a half later, she was riding well; her posture was tall and confident. Her voice: certain. She was no longer cutting. She learned how to take control. She learned to be a leader.

There was evidence outside the ranch as well. She is gifted musically and writes music as away to process her emotions and struggles. Many of her songs are filled with encouragement and hope for others. When I see her in social situations talking and laughing, she exudes a genuine joy she did not have before. She has learned to accept herself as she is. She is not perfect by any means. There are still days when people’s judgment about her skin color and/or how she came into the world get to her, but for the most part, she has made peace with it.

She graduated from the program a year a ago and another healthy milestone happens tonight, when she attends her first formal school dance. My girl is going to a dance! My girl is choosing to go to a dance!

I am indebted to Raven Rock Ranch for the hope they so freely give and the heart in which they give to each and every child as if they were the only one on earth that mattered. Without a doubt, my Meg is not who she once was, she is living life and life to the full. I could never thank them enough!

Project 52: Who Are You?

A note before diving in: Project 52 is a photography challenge that I have accepted for 2016, but because I love exploring and learning more about both photography and writing, I am combining the two with each week's theme here.

Week One: Who Are You?

I cannot sum who I am up in just a few words or merely a few sentences. I am complex, yet simple. I might resemble the made famous quote by actor Tom Hanks in his role as Forrest Gump, I’m “…like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re gonna get”. I don’t mean to imply I’m mysterious, on the contrary; I’m an open book.  I like who I am though. I’ve worked hard to become the woman I am today. Everything you see of me on the outside has a story of hard work, fight, determination, and ultimately of love for myself because I have always known to some degree I am worth fighting for. I am better than the circumstances that have surrounded me or have threatened to take me captive, trying mightily to rob me of joy. I am not what happens to me. I am not my environment. I chose joy a long time ago. It resides deeply in my soul and escapes through my smile. I think I might even smile in my sleep most nights---not because my life is easy. Lord, knows it is anything but. I think I smile because I am secure in my faith. I am a glass half-full kind of girl.

I’ve been broken. Some of that brokenness has been done to me, while a good deal more I have done to myself. I am not broken now. Chipped and fractured in some places and certainly scarred in others. And I treasure each of those chinks in my armor because I have learned more about who I am and who I was always made to be. I am whole. I am complete. My identity is not in my scars, but more so in the One who bore them for me so that I might have life to the full---if I would choose it. And I did.

I am:

Loved
Treasured
Delighted in
Fought for
Protected
Cherished
Forgiven
Called
Comforted
Held
Led
Whole
Transformed
Redeemed
Free from condemnation
Sanctified
Saved
God’s workmanship
Anointed
Free
Blessed
Graced
Empowered
Equipped
Promised


As I sit here typing out these characteristics, it dawns on me that these point more to Christ and all that He is able to do in a surrendered heart who desires to learn and love. I guess that’s who I am then. A heart surrendered.

I have several life verses; verses I hold close to my heart; that I pray repeatedly as I ask the Lord to continue to refine me—at any cost---to mold me into His likeness. One of my favorites: Colossians 3:4 “I am an expression of the life of Christ because He is my life”. It is my prayer that when people see me, they first see Christ. He is my life, my love, my everything. It’s who I am!

Dear Beloved

My Dearest Beloved,

I am writing because I cannot look at you without seeing a searing pain just below the surface of your hollow eyes. When I listen to you, your words seem tainted with bitterness and your heart seems distant not just from me, but everyone. You are living in the shadow of the very life promised to you and though you are not content, you live as if you have accepted this as your lot in life, that you deserve nothing better, that this life can offer you nothing more. My prayers for you contain few words; instead I fall prostrate, begging the Lord through heavy sobs to rescue you, to reveal Himself to you, to speak to you. When I think of you throughout my day, I am paralyzed with a bottomless sadness for you. I am grieved, so deeply grieved for you.

I have been in the dark, where I cannot see, hear, or feel God. I have felt as if I had to make my own way through this life and have bent over backwards attempting to find happiness and fulfillment through the ways of this world: work, education, friends, and hobbies.  I would seemingly make headway, only to be setback by an unforeseen circumstance.  Life promises contentment if we would just do…. however, it was always just out of reach, which caused me to keep striving and continue to put off everyone and anything that got in my way. I came to a place where I didn’t need anyone, believing that people will always let me down. I became self-sufficient and though I didn’t realize it at the time, I was seeking out a life that was sad and lonely. I see this in you as well.

God got my attention many years ago, thankfully. Nothing inspires prayer and draws us closer to the Lord like adversity, sorrow, and humiliation. I got to the place where I realized I can do nothing without God (Phil. 4:13). I desperately needed Him, His love, and mercy and with that, my self-sufficiency went out the window.  So as I share with you some things I have learned along the way, I want you to know I have had to do most things twice---at least---the wrong way and then the right way. I don’t write from a place of being arrogance, but from a humbled place--- a place that wants so much for you to embrace the beautiful gift that is yours for the taking. I write from a place of deep seeded love and respect for you. I write as your friend.

First, I want to remind you that living for God is not going to feel like a mountain-top experience all the time. For some reason, we have come to believe that our faith, our walk with Christ, is supposed to be more than it currently is, that it should resemble a favorite author, pastor, or friend  whose faith just seems to come easier for them---their whole lives ooze intimacy with Christ. Don’t get me wrong, we will have seasons of incredible intimacy with Him where we hear, feel, and see Him and crave being in His presence, but true faith is lived when we don’t hear, feel, or see Him. Do we still believe He is with us when we don’t have something to hang our hat on; when darkness surrounds us and God seems to be nowhere in sight? Do we abandon Him when faith looks different or feels different than what we expected? Listen carefully, “Human feelings cannot touch him and human thoughts cannot measure Him. Our personal experiences cannot heighten the certainty of His presence anymore than the absence of experience can lessen it” (Brennan Manning). Do you get it? Just because we don’t hear, see, or feel His presence does not mean that He is not present, no more than when we do hear, see, and feel His presence.  God is with us. He will never leave us. He will never forsake us (Duet. 31:8). He is never out of reach.

I cannot stress the importance of abiding in Christ. Abiding is a fancy word that means “to remain”.  Like I mentioned, it is easy to walk away from Christ when we don’t experience Him like we desire or when the world feels as if it is caving in on us. As children, we feared the dark. It caused us to feel alone and unsafe. It caused our imaginations to spin wildly out of control; and if you were anything like I was, you concocted an escape route or practice Kung Fu fighting skills while laying awake into the wee hours of the morning, only to be awaken to the light and the security that we craved. I had nothing to fret and lose sleep over.  Everyone experiences dark seasons of life, where we cannot see beyond today, where we feel alone, unfulfilled, as if our joy has been stripped away from us, and we cannot look up no matter our efforts. It’s a painful season. It is also necessary in the Christian’s life because it helps us to reexamine our hearts and motives. In short, the darkness is a refining process. “He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver; He will purify” (Malachi 3:3) Like silver, we are often put through the fire, or darkness in this case, so that our impurities will rise to the top to be skimmed off. With time and abiding in Him through the darkness, our Savior will more readily see His reflection in our lives. Refining (sanctification) is a life-long process. An interesting fact is that silver means redemption. I think of redemption as rescuing which does not mean escaping the darkness, but seeing the light while in the dark.

As Christians, we are “in this world, but not of this world”. If you are like me even a little, this is a hard concept to grasp and even harder to live out. What this essentially means is that our true home is in heaven with Christ. Our lives on Earth are fleeting and when we die the things we have worked so hard to accumulate collect dust and eventually end up in the trash.  We are to live with the understanding and determination that life’s meaning for the Christian is to show Christ’s perfect, non-judgmental, humble, grace-filled love through our interactions and pure efforts to others.  I grew up in a legalistic church. Rules were everything, which made Christianity pretty easy. However, as I grew older, I explored my faith and relationship with Christ more and realized rules do not make anyone holy--- and honestly, make us the god of our lives. In my ignorant youth, I believed that surrounding myself with other Christians was the best thing I could do for myself and after awhile I did not have a single unbelieving friend and all my social outlets were in the Christian community. It took several years for me to realize how incredibly unhealthy this was, how arrogant I must have appeared to anyone outside the Christian faith, how unchallenged I was in my walk with Christ because I was living life and serving shoulder to shoulder with people I genuinely loved and respected.  Jesus reminds us in Luke (6:32-35), “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those that love them….But love your enemies, do good unto them, and lend to them without expecting anything back. Then your reward will be great and you will be children of the Most High, because He is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked”.

I have often used the example of the watery expanding rings left from a stone thrown into a river to refer to our lives. Beloved, the innermost ring must be comprised of like-minded people, people who will speak truth to us even when it is hard, people who will support, love, and encourage us to grow outside our comfort zone, people who will always point us back to Christ when we veer off the path, but also who will remain by our side when our seasons of darkness seem to swallow us whole. The outer rings are where our faith is tested more intensely because that is where the rest of the world dwells, where the light in the darkness is a mirage, promising that if they do this or get that---that they will finally feel fulfilled and live a life of happiness and peace. It is dangerous and if our inner circle is not intact, we can easily be swayed and fall prey to the ways of the world.

People, Christians and non-Christians alike, often believe that the only way to know Christ is through prayer, listening to sermons, attending church, and Bible Study.  What a beautiful checklist we have created in hopes to be holy! I balk at that--- really! I am not saying these are not incredibly important activities and won’t aid us to knowing about the Lord, but there is an infinite difference between knowing about God and knowing God. To know Him is to honestly, without abandon, trust Him;  to live in complete surrender to Him--- allowing Him to see us, all of us---the broken parts, the bitter parts, the sinful parts---all of us--- and believe that He loves us in spite of those things and so much so that He will not allow us to remain in this place. Complete surrendering is not having God and…anything else. It is the letting go of what you can do for yourself and relying on God to take care of whatever needs to be done--- and in His perfect timing. It is easy to get caught up in the music we sing, or the words we read, or even the prayers that we pray---again, these are beautiful, important, and potentially life-giving activities, but if they become our God or replace the relationship with Christ that we seek, we have missed the very function of these activities, the very One they are meant to point us to. Our relationship with Christ is a personal, up close, intimate one marinated in these activities, but not the activities themselves.

Another thing I must share with you as you reach for the Master’s hand as you crawl out of darkness is the gift of forgiveness---a gift you have unknowingly already received as well as the gift you must live from in order to dwell in the freedom God so desperately desires for you. Forgiveness is essentially living from the very heart of Christ. Man’s nature is to wound. God’s nature is to save. In all honesty, this has been one of my biggest lessons in life. Living in resentment towards those who have wronged us intentionally or unintentionally only hurts ourselves. Often times, the person who hurt us is unaware of the grudge we hold against them. It eats at us day and night, devouring the very part of us that God desires to grow in us: His perfect peace and grace for others. Our struggle to forgive or the resentments we clutch onto reveals how much we trust God to take care of the injustices done against us. There is an incredible freedom we feel when we forgive those who have wronged us. Don’t misunderstand forgiveness. It is not saying that what someone did against us is OK. It is saying, “I am no longer holding on to this. I will not allow my mind to dwell on this or allow it to rob my life a moment longer of the peace waiting for me on the other side”. Forgiveness is the signature of Jesus in our lives. We have been forgiven of so, so much.

There is so much more I could share. I fear I have overwhelmed you already. Please know Beloved, I want nothing more for you than for you to choose the less traveled road, a road that is not easy by any means. An authentic Christian life is, as Brennan Manning (once again) says, “a summons to strip ourselves of earthly cares and worldly wisdom, all desire for human praise, greediness for any kind of comfort, a readiness to stand up and be counted as peacemakers in a violent world; a willingness to let go of those pretenses that would have us believe we aren’t really worldly. Even the last rag we cling to—the self-flattery that suggests we are humble when we disclaim any resemblance to Jesus Christ---even that rag has to go when we stand face-to-face with the crucified Son of God”. This road, Beloved is a road that fills the deep longing you have been trying to fill with things of this world for so many years. It is a path that will challenge you at times, as it is not a popular path and it is often misunderstood.  It is also a path that often leads to persecution, but it is without a doubt, the path where you meet Jesus face to face, where you will discover what it really means to know Him, what it means to live out of your unfathomable love for Him at all costs, and to know the freedom you have only dreamt about.

I am eager to walk this humble journey along side you, my dear one. I am praying ceaselessly for you, knowing God hears my prayers and loves you more than I ever possibly could. I am here for you and will keep sharing what I have learned and keep pointing you back to Christ, but I know I am not the one who will change your heart, so I release my grip on you and eagerly watch as the Lord works in and through your life.

I love you so very much,
K

Loved

One of the last letters I received from my Dad

I grew up on dairy farm in a small town in western Washington. It was a wholesome, traditional, and humble upbringing where my brother, sister, and I learned to work hard, put others’ needs above our own, rally with the community, and worship together on Sunday mornings sitting between my mom and dad. If scenes from Little House on the Prairie come to mind, you’d be on the right track. I loved my childhood and am eternally grateful for the sweet gift of it. I am sure I have romanticized it to some degree, for even the hardships now seem like the bow on top of an already beautiful package.  One of the things I treasure most from my childhood is the heart-to-heart conversations I had with my dad. I won’t pretend to remember the substance of them, but I remember the heart in which they took place and where they led me.

Many, many conversations with my dad took place in the milking parlor. I still remember what it felt like to sit on the wet, cold cement step watching my dad as he worked. It was not uncommon to see him tear up as he shared whatever he was struggling with or giggling like a little boy over the joke I heard at school that day. His battered hands working hurriedly while the oldies played statically on an old beat up radio in the background; as we would talk about everything and nothing.   I love that we had to yell over the machines at times while at other times, we didn’t need words at all. Just being together was enough. My dad was approachable. My dad was present.

As I grew older, a lot of our conversations took place sitting on the back fence looking out over the pasture while the sun slipped too quickly below the horizon. Dad often would say, “Look at the masterpiece God painted for us tonight”. I loved unwrapping presents like sunsets and sparkling stars and even the aroma of cow pies with my dad. Through his actions, I learned to never take these things for granted, to see them as gifts to be unwrapped slowly, to be treasured, to see God in them and humbly, yet courageously, worship Him. I loved listening to my dad pray.  I loved the feel of his oversized, calloused hand in mine, and the little squeeze he would give me just before he said, "Amen". My dad was humble. My dad was filled with immense gratitude.

I’m a ponder; like my Dad was. I’d like to say I learned it from him, but I think God just wired me like that and used my Dad to encourage me to put voice to my thoughts and questions. I love that my dad wasn’t perfect and didn’t know all the answers. I loved that he lived transparently, passionately, and unapologetically for his beliefs. I loved that he encouraged me to openly wrestle with my faith and not readily accept whatever I heard in church or what he and my mom taught us kids as truth---I can still hear him, “Look it up…that’s how you learn, that’s how you grow, that’s how you discover God for yourself”.  My dad was transparent. My dad was student and teacher.

As I grew older and eventually moved out and married, my Dad often called to ask what I was reading, what I was learning and then eagerly shared what he was learning or wrestling with. I miss those talks more and more with each year that he has been gone.  My dad was my friend.

Shortly after my dad passed away I found a letter he had written me several years prior. I did not like this letter at all and considered throwing it away because it pointed out things about myself I wish had not been true. I saved it because…because I guess I knew there was more value to it than just a reminder of his bubbly handwriting and the odd fact that it smelled like ketchup. His letter began, “I have been burdened for you” and ended with “I am praying over you, Karyn. You have all the Jesus you need, snuggle into Him and rest in His arms”. My Dad was not afraid to speak truth even when it was hard for him. My dad was bold. My dad was an encourager.

My dad sure loved me. I sure love him.

My dad has been gone for four years now. And when I get to talk about him, never once do I define him by what he did for a living, how much money he earned, where he lived, the size of his house, kind of car he drove, or any other material possession he acquired. My dad lived a present, humble life that pointed everyone he met to Christ. He encouraged others by being transparent, vulnerable, and openly wrestled with things he did not understand. He loved others with the love of Christ. We are called to do the same.

Fragile Faith

Years ago I came across words written so prophetically tender to my soul that ever since, I have quoted and re-quoted John Piper’s affirmation as well as have given the Lord complete access to my life in hopes that He would gently guide and refine me  into authentically living out these words.

The words?

“God is most glorified in us, when we are most satisfied in Him” (John Piper, Desiring God).

It is my deepest desire to glorify the Lord. I want nothing more than when I see Him face to face for Him to welcome me into the folds of His wings and give me the biggest papa bear hug---so big that I am lifted a foot off the ground. And as He sets me back on the ground, He looks me square in the eye, tears of joy streaming down His cheeks as He whispers, “Well done, my Beloved. There is no doubt that you have loved me, lived for me, and served others in my name. You gave everything you had until there was nothing left, but Me and then you kept going in faith”.  I am not perfect by any means, but I live confidently in Him, sometimes even radically (which for this introvert is really living in faith!) as I attempt to live with my eyes fixed on Him. I truly am satisfied in Him.

I am satisfied in Him because I trust Him implicitly. The Bible is filled with countless promises and He has fulfilled every one of them in my life. He has lead me through some earth shattering circumstances, been the light in the midst of my darkest hours. He has spoken to my tender heart and given me strength to endure hardships while conquering others. He has been the source of exuberant joy and given me peace that surpasses all understanding. He has given me His eyes to see the world as He does and have a compassion and empathy that are not my own for the brokenhearted, the unlovely, and even the crude. I see Him when I look for Him. I feel Him when I quiet my soul. I hear Him when I read His Word. I am completely satisfied in Him.

However, I know many people are not satisfied in Him, don’t trust Him, don’t feel His presence. I know people who blame Him for the injustice in the world and therefore believe He is not a loving God. It makes sense that people who are not Christ-followers feel this way because they only know of Christ, not Christ Himself. However, we don’t expect Christians to feel this way.

My oldest daughter wrestles with her faith. Though she believes in God, has asked Him to be the Lord of her life, attends church regularly, prays, and reads her Bible, she struggles with this being enough. As we were talking about this one night last week, she breaks down, sobbing---the kind of sobbing that swells from the inside out, staining her face with hot tears that reveal an inner wrestling that she cannot make sense of. Between heavy sobs, she says, “I’m not like you, Mom. I don’t feel God. I look at you and you ooze this love for Him, you see Him, you hear His voice, you feel Him, and I, I just don’t”.  If I am being completely honest, my initial reaction was surprise. Not feel God? How can that be? How easy it is for us to assume that others think and feel the way we do; that God speaks and guides others in the same way He does us. The Lord was quick to help me catch my tongue and guard my expression so as not to add insult to her already hemorrhaging heart. I know she is alone in her wrestling.

Christianity is not mimicking someone else’s walk with Christ, though we may be inspired by them. Occasionally, we find ourselves in the midst of those whose faith seems to come easier to them. They seem to encapsulate humility while at the same time a confidence which we can only dream of encompassing. They know the Bible like the back of their hand and pray so eloquently---so poetically, that we, in comparison, sound like a blubbering fool.  We have witnessed others be moved by the Spirit because they not only hear His voice, they trust Him. They know Him, really know Him and unapologetically live out of this deep, deep love they have for Him. We all know someone like that. And although my daughter does not say she desires her faith to look like mine, she believes that faith must look and feel a certain way.  In my daughter’s frustration, she asks, “So faith is just believing, not anything else? No feelings, no nothing?”

Searching my mind and silently asking the Lord to guide this conversation, I reminded her that our faith is not based on feelings, but on the decision to trust that God’s Word is truth, that He died for us, paying the penalty for our sin because He loves us that much. I reminded her that her checklist (reading her Bible, attending church, praying…) can easily become a religious act---where we live by the letter of the law rather than the spirit of the law. Christianity is about relationship, not rules.  Reading the Bible, praying, and attending church are tools to build and maintain an intimate relationship with Christ---which is where that immeasurable love she desperately desires springs forth for Christ.  A lot of people follow a similar checklist, doing all the “right” things and never learn to follow Jesus---never fall in love with Him. It’s easy to follow a plan, but not so easy to fully relinquish ourselves to God’s authority. If we have our eyes on ourselves, our accomplishments, our goals while marking off our checklist, how can we be sold out for Christ? I think this is where the root of many of our struggles lie.

My daughter listens attentively and nods her head in understanding, but still looks for something more. We have become a world of quick fixes and instant gratification. We gravitate toward books and magazines that promise step by step solutions to "live our best life now". We don’t want to think. We don’t necessarily even want to do the work. We just want someone to tell us what to do and how to think and hope we get the results we desire. A personal relationship with Christ cannot be replicated or manufactured. It’s personal. My relationship with Christ is different from your relationship with Christ.

So, I share with my Delightful that the mark of a Christian is not in how much she prays, reads the Bible, shares her faith with others, her church attendance record, or even how well she follows the ten commandments. Rather, the mark of a Christian is how well we love one another.  As Christians, our intimacy with Christ manifests itself by how we respond to others in need. I cannot help but to think of James 1:27, “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after the orphans and the widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world”. As we grow in intimacy with Christ, our heartbeat grows in sync with His and we see the world in a whole new perspective. It is a perspective that begs for us to show love in an array of ways (using our gifts, talents, and passions that the Lord has equipped us with) to all those around us.

I tell my daughter that she has all the tools she needs, but perhaps she has misunderstood the tools, how to use them, as well as how live them out.  So, in an attempt to encourage her, I do my best to define the tools and their purpose.  I start with prayer.

Prayer is not as scary as it may sound. The key component to prayer is simply being present with the Lord. I often times picture myself kneeling before the cross. When I do, my focus is completely on Him and not on myself and my heart is humbled as I breathe in His immeasurable sacrifice for me. Sometimes my prayers are said in the sanctuary of my heart, no words, just silent fellowship with Him. Sometimes, I talk to Him like I’m talking to a friend---about everything and nothing, about small things and big things. Sometimes my prayer is simply saying, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus” in unison with the beating of my heart because I don’t know what else to say. I pray while I’m working. I pray while I’m sitting in the solitude of my home. And sometimes, I sing worship songs as my prayer (For those of you who know my singing ability, remember that Jesus tells us to make a joyful noise unto the Lord!). Jesus left an example of how to pray in Matthew 6:9-13: The Lord’s Prayer. Essentially, it reveals our respect, gratitude, need, and desire for Him in our lives.

Talking to someone we don’t know well yet is awkward to say the least. As we grow in friendship, it will become easier to be transparent and vulnerable before God and we will eventually hear His voice---not necessarily audibly, but He will make His presence and will known to us. He tells us that when we seek Him, we will find Him (Jer. 29:13). I promise He does not make Himself hard to find!

For me, nothing about nature escapes my ever searching eye for Him. I see God in the majestic, rugged mountains, in the long sandy beaches, in the vastness of fields, and in the mystic edges of hovering fog. I feel Him in the sun’s warmth, in the down pour of rain, and the gracefulness of falling snow. I smell Him in the pine trees and in the fresh cut grass. I hear Him in the silence of early mornings as the sun crests the eastern horizon. I hear Him in the whispers of the wind as it runs its fingers through the spindly branches of my willow tree. I hear Him in the sweet melody of the robins and the low hum of the hummingbirds. I could go on and on about the beauty I see of Christ in nature. God is in it all so that we might glimpse His glory and worship Him in utter admiration. This worship is prayer.

My daughter doesn’t make eye contact. Instead she worries a loose thread on her sweater. I know she’s listening, taking it all in, so I continue. I reminded her that attending church is not solely about learning something new, but also about being in community with other like-minded people who struggle like we do. It is a place where the walking wounded congregate and encourage one another by helping us fix our eyes on our Lord, the author and finisher of our faith (Heb. 12:2). She interrupts me and scowls, “That only happens when you are in a group. Once you leave that group for whatever reason, you are left on your own. Church is a very lonely place”. Boy, has she got me on that one. I have wrestled with organized religion all my life primarily for this very reason. Church can come across as a club and if you are not part of the “inner circle”, so to speak, you are on your own. It is easy to dwell here and become bitter.

Bitterness is a sneaky tactic of Satan’s. When we feel it brewing deep within us, we need to heed the warning and stop everything, fall to our knees, and ask the Lord to take it from us. Unchecked, bitterness will rob us of the very joy God so desperately wants for us. I, personally, have been hurt by the church repeatedly. I can choose to focus on the people who have grieved my soul or I can choose to seek God with all my heart, mind, and soul. Church is a place filled with sinners; many of them are desperately seeking God and desire to walk in communion with others who believe as they do.  

I love worship probably more than anything else; which is slightly ironic because I am the least musical person on the planet. In that moment, it is just me and God and I hardly notice others around me. It fills me, ministers to me, and is a balm for whatever has grieved my heart during the week. It draws me like nothing else.

It’s hard to sing a love song to a God we don’t know or feel in love with, or a God that we are questioning or even doubting. I say don’t sing, just listen. Let the words wash over you; allow them to lead you to seeking out more of Him. (Most songs sung in church are based on scripture).

Followed by worship is the sermon which is just a fancy word for a lesson. I have gone to several kinds of churches.  One where the Pastor yells and pounds his fists on the podium telling us that we’re all going to hell. Another church where I’ve heard great topical life lessons, but the Bible is not necessarily preached. And another kind of church called an expository church, where the scriptures are broken down and explained in detail so that common folk, like me, understand what we’re reading. The Bible, though originally written in Greek and Hebrew is not meant to sound like a foreign language to us. God wrote it for all people, so finding a translation that is easier to understand and find a style of teaching that is meaningful to us, one based on the Bible, is essential. If we don’t understand something, we need to seek someone out. Churches are equipped with staff to help find the answers to our questions.

My girl looks up at me and I feel I’ve lost her. I am not sure she is on the same page as I am here, which wounds my heart. I know that bitterness has taken root and is crowding out the Truth that must be plucked before she can find her way again. I continue on however, telling her that reading her Bible is perhaps the most valuable tool in learning about God’s character. When we see how He responds in the various stories He has left for us in His Word, we will discover Who He is---not just to Adam, the Israelites or even to the Apostle Paul, but Who He is to us. Fundamentally, “Jesus is servant, ministering to the needs of others” (Brennan Manning). You cannot fall in love with someone you don’t know. The Bible unfolds Christ’s character and without a doubt, as we read and study His Word, we will come to know and love Him.

Out of our love for Christ, we begin to deliberately, consciously, and eagerly desire to live for Him. Simply, this looks like love. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27). Jesus lived for others. Jesus served others and gave sacrificially of Himself. We are to do the same—which is contrary to the mentality of our world. It is not up to us to determine how we will be used for God’s witness or for His glory. We simply love and let God take care of everything else.

Quietly sitting there, taking in my words, I run to the other room to grab the book I am reading because I have, have to share what I had just read that morning with my girl. “All that is not the love of God has no meaning for me. I can truthfully say that I have no interest in anything but the love of God which is in Christ Jesus. If God wants it to, my life will be useful through my word and witness. If He wants it to, my life will bear fruit through my prayers and sacrifices. But the usefulness of my life is His concern, not mine. It would be indecent of me to worry about that” (Dominique Voillaume).

I pause and look at my daughter. She slowly looks up at me and bites her quivering lip. She whispers, “So God really takes care of everything else, I just have to believe?” Tears streaming down my cheeks, I say, “Yes”.

It is my heart’s cry that my daughters apprehend the wonderment of God’s merciful gift to us, that they would accept being accepted (I’m still working on that myself), and understand that the essence for a follower of Jesus lays in living in faith, not some sort of checklist. “Living by faith consists in constantly redefining and reaffirming our identity with Jesus---measuring ourselves against Him---not measuring ourselves against our church dogmas and local heroes.  Jesus is the light of the world. In His light we discover that it is not mere rhetoric that Jesus demands, but personal renewal, fidelity to the Word, and creative conduct” (Brennan Manning).

I Love You This Much!

My girls are now teenagers, but every once in awhile they still play the game, “Do You Know How Much I Love You?” You know that precious game where as parents we respond, “How much?” and our little Delightfuls stretch their arms out as far as they possibly can, responding through squinted eyes and strained heart vocals, “This much”. It never gets old. I love being told that I am not just loved, but loved to the full extent of who they are.

These precious memories are tucked deep within my heart; and there next to the snapshot of my girls’ outstretched arms of love for me, is another snapshot of outstretched arms of love. These arms however, are stretched across a wooden beam and held in place with stakes--Jesus on the cross; the crucifixion. Without a doubt, the cross symbolizes my faith. However, the cross is not just a symbol of a necessary sacrifice for my salvation, but it also symbolizes the pattern I hope my life reflects.

The cross has become so commonplace in our society that what it represents has been gravely skewed or forgotten about all together. I’ll admit that until several years ago when I would see a cross, it did little, if anything, to stir my heart or point my mind to Jesus’ crucifixion on that Golgotha hill over 2,000 years ago. And although it represented my faith, it did not actively serve as a relevant tool in my walk with Christ. The work of the cross had been done and my eyes were (and are) firmly fixed on the One who once hung from those beams, not the beams themselves. However, as I have spent these several years relishing in the friendship and guidance of the Lord, I’ve come to have a whole new appreciation for the symbol of the cross in addition to His Lordship.

Marinating in the heaviness and humble surrender of that Friday afternoon, picturing my friend nailed to those wooden beams, I find that I am drawn to know more about Him. If you believe that Jesus is indeed the Son of God, you know He had the power to escape such excruciating torment and unjust death. As Christians, we believe He not only allowed this to take place, but intentionally sacrificed His life in place for ours—what unfathomable love and grace for us---Perhaps the most profound piece of this equation is that in order to die for us, Christ had to set aside His power.

Maybe that sounds like a no-brainer to you, but I had never reflected on that fact before. Of course, He had to set His power aside. But as we consider what occurred three days later, that Christ rose from the dead, we have a better understanding of what 1 Corinthians 1:18-24 is talking about when it calls our attention to the fact that “Jesus Christ crucified is the power of God and the wisdom of God”. Think about that for a moment. We are not saved because of God’s power. We are saved because He laid His power aside and humbled Himself for our sake. Brennan Manning, author of “The Signature of Jesus (1988) refers to the cross as “The signature of the risen One”. I love that. “The signature of the risen One”. (sigh) That description causes my heart to beat wildly and cry out in gratitude to my Beloved Jesus.

When Christ set His power aside, He was showing His unconditional, inconceivable love for us. Manning reminds us that “power forces us to change. Love moves us to change. Power affects behavior. Love affects the heart”. With this in mind, think about the cross. Do you see Jesus’ suffering love for us? Does it not stir the deepest longings in your heart to be loved this much?

“Christ on the cross is not a mere theological precondition for salvation. It is God’s enduring word to the world, saying, ‘See how much I love you. See how much you must love one another’”. The cross is not just a symbol of my faith anymore; rather, it is a reminder of how much Jesus loves me and how much I am to love the world around me. In Matthew 16:24, Jesus tells us that if we want to be His disciples (Christ followers), we need to “take up our own cross and follow Him”. Essentially, He is saying, “let go of what power and control you think you have and look to me; follow me. I promise I will lead you to the well-spring of life where you will never thirst again”. My mind wanders to the tender words of the Apostle Paul: “My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me” (2 Cor. 12:9).

With my own arms outstretched, palms facing toward the heavens, as a symbol of my own sacrifice for Christ, I hold on to nothing, I relinquish all of myself, all of my dreams, plans, and notions about this life to Him and allow Him to lead me. I fully believe that Christ treasures His own snapshots of us, holding them close to His heart and saying, "She loves me thiiiiissss much".