crawling back onto the altar

"To live a life of prayer, of sacrifice, of surrender to God."

Twelve years ago I penned those words as my life mission statement. I wanted to be intentional about making my life count for something greater than me. I wanted to be deliberate about leveraging my life for His glory. And everything I could see myself doing boiled down to that simple statement.

I said simple, not easy. 'Cause it's been anything but easy.

Those words have been ringing in my ears this past week. Prayer, sacrifice, surrender to God. Do I still mean it?

I want to say I'm willing, even when I don't know what He's asking me to do. I want to follow Him even when I don't know which way He wants me to go. I want to serve Him even when it means giving up my own notions of how I can best do that. I want to honor and glorify Him with every breath, every word, every step.

The only problem with being a living sacrifice is my tendency to crawl off the altar. When I can't see what's next, when the flames of uncertainty seem too much for me to bear, sometimes I climb off. I choose to follow fear instead of faith. I long for the certainties of Egypt over the uncertainties of freedom.

But I'm done. Today I'm climbing back on the altar.

The Lord Himself goes before me and will be with me. Among all the unknowns and uncertainty, He is already there. He knows. He is certain. So if I remain in Him, I can have confidence and peace even when facing more uncertainties than ever before in my life.

As I've ruminated on it and wrestled through it, I know this much is true: I still want each moment of my life to be one of prayer, of sacrifice, of surrender to God.

Use me however You want, God. However You want.

my own personal black hole

I've been breathing in deeply for the past two weeks, and not just because of the crisp air of the Pacific Northwest. God's been breathing new life into my dry bones as I learn to depend on Him more and allow Him to love me through His people. Even though my crap sneaks into my luggage and unavoidably travels with me wherever I go, the time away still gave my heart a bit of a reprieve.

The rolling waves on the pebbly beach resounded His faithfulness. Whispers of love and syllables of support spoke His heart to mine. I felt His compassion in long, tight hugs and gentle touches. The city lights reminded me that He cares about even the little things.

I saw Him and heard Him and felt Him. And I was made aware again that He sees and knows and cares.

While I hate this place I find myself in---my own personal black hole that seems to render me invisible, slow my heartbeat, and make it impossible to see a way out---I know He's in it with me. Sometimes it's so dark I can't see Him. Sometimes it's so quiet, I can't hear Him. Sometimes it's so hollow and lonely, I can't feel Him. In those moments, I know it will be a miracle if I come out the other side of this.

And I know that if I do, I definitely won't come out standing.

Because I'll be in His arms.

confessions of an adulteress

I’ve been so unfaithful. He has loved me faithfully, yet I’ve turned my back on Him time and time again.

I’ve chased love when Perfect Love stands before me, holding me in His gaze. I’ve chased joy when it overflows nowhere but His presence. I’ve chased peace when my completeness comes only from Him.

All He’s ever wanted is my heart, and I’ve kept it tightly in my own hands as if I could care for it better.

He is jealous for me, and all I’ve been jealous for is everything I think I’m missing out on.

Even as I’ve pushed Him away, His everlasting arms have never stopped holding me.

He’s been nothing but faithful, despite my faithless heart and wandering ways.

Even amid the adultery of my heart, I hear His tender voice calling. Seek My face. I lift my eyes. I want to see Him, and be seen by Him. Unashamed of my nakedness and brokenness, I want to see and be seen. Know and be known. Understand and be understood. Love and be loved.

Fully.

Freely.

Recklessly.

Relentlessly.

His compassion overwhelms me. His ever-faithful love consumes me. His mercy breaks up the unplowed ground of my heart’s back forty.

I am His.

Always have been; always will be.

He is mine.

And by His grace, my heart will stay more faithful to Him today than it did yesterday.

ht: Hosea

coffee talk: blogging

True or False?

ht: copyblogger

iWrite

My depression seems to have kidnapped my passion.

Right now it feels impossible to dream big or plan ahead. Most of what used to excite me isn't stirring me or making my heart leap anymore. At least not like they used to.

But one passion has remained. It's flickering like a candle near an open window, but it's still there.

I love to write.

Writing helps me process my own thoughts. It's therapeutic. Cathartic. My scribbled notes in my Moleskine, unpolished and unkempt, tell me my heart's still beating. My Gritty thoughts sent out through the cyberwaves remind me I still have something from Him to offer.

Despite the fog that envelops me, I still love to write. And the significance of that isn't lost on me.

Pay attention to dreams that don't die.

I'm trying to pay attention. And keep writing. Even when it's all I'm able to do in a day.

So while I wait for the ransom to be paid on my other passions, I'll guard what He gave me and use it for His glory.

And I'll trust that---somehow---He'll use it for my healing.