mine to tell

I kind of hate what my blog has become. I write from my heart, so my blog reflects the heaviness that's been my life for the past six months. And while I haven't felt ready to share details of what's going on, I've tried to write with openness and authenticity about my journey. I just hate that the result has been a lot of heavy, weighty posts.

I know my ambiguity may be confusing at times. But I assure you I'm not trying to be dramatic. I'm not seeking to create an air of suspense or intrigue. It's not a publicity stunt. My life simply is what it is. And, even void of details, my writing is unavoidably colored by it.

Sometimes I wish I had a poker face.

But most of the time, I'm glad I don't.

My story is mine to tell. I still can't right now, but someday I will. That thought brings both freedom and trepidation. Telling my story means owning my story. And I'm not quite ready to fully accept that it's real. That it's mine. That it is permanently woven into the fabric of my life.

But it is.

Whether I like it or not.

And although I hate what my blog has become during this season, I'm gonna keep writing masklessly. Because the real me is all I've got to offer.

Take it or leave it.

Take me or leave me.

worthy of my suffering

I want to live worthy of my suffering. I know suffering is a pretty strong word, and maybe it seems too grandiose. Or melodramatic even. Then replace suffering with trials. They're one and the same really.

He's assigned me my portion, and I want to live worthy of all of it---the gifts as well as the trials.

Now I'm not saying that God causes me to suffer. I don't believe He does. But I desire to steward well even that which He allows. And He makes it very clear that suffering and trials are an inescapable part of this life.

I want to live worthy of everything He entrusts into my care. I want to carry my suffering well.

I desire to face my lows with the same depth of character as I face my highs. I aspire to walk through the valleys with as much uprightness as I walk the mountaintops. I want my seasons of want to be as fruitful as my seasons of plenty.

To live worthy of my suffering means to carry my cross with humility, dignity, courage, and faith. I want to bear my suffering honorably. I don't want to resent the refining process. I don't want to scorn the fire in which my faith is tested; I only want my faith to be proven genuine. I long for Him to consider me faithful.

I want to show myself trustworthy.

Even with this.

Because living worthy of my suffering really means living worthy of His suffering.

give me samuel's ear

I love the story of Samuel. For so many reasons. But mostly because he knew how to hear the voice of God. Even as a boy, he heard God speaking to him. And he learned to respond to His voice with, "Speak, for Your servant is listening." God spoke. Samuel listened. And he put feet to what he heard.

Too often I approach God with an (unspoken) mindset of, "Listen, for Your servant is speaking." And while I know I need to pour out my heart to Him, even greater is my need for Him to pour out His heart to me.

Jesus promises that His sheep know and hear His voice. I've been leaning in close lately to hear every word. I don't want to miss a thing. I don't want to miss His words because I'm not paying attention or won't shut my own mouth. I don't want to dismiss what He's saying because it doesn't make sense, or sounds too difficult, or seems too good to be true. I don't want to disregard Him by giving more weight to the words of others.

I want to hear even His faintest of whispers. God shouldn't have to raise His voice to get my attention.

I want to follow closely, hear clearly, and obey directly. Give me Samuel's ear.

What's God whispering to you lately?

spiritual visine

"We let people dictate the framework through which we know God rather than God being the framework through which we know ourselves and others."

My friend Tracee wrote that to me in an email, surreptitiously tucked away in the middle of a paragraph. I tried to keep reading, but I couldn't. I had to linger there a while before I could move on. Because she's right. I've allowed people and the experiences of my life to shape my view of God, rather than the other way around.

Since people are fallible and hurts are inevitable, seeing God through the lens of my past makes Him appear far too small. Far too human. Far too unloving. I imagine Him responding like so many others have; I picture Him treating me the way I treat myself.

I see God with clouded vision. And I want to see Him clearly.

I've spent a lot of time in the past several months identifying my lenses. Naming them. Considering what triggers them. Pondering how things look without them. And asking God to remove them.

Because my lenses stem from wounds, fears, and insecurities deep inside me, this process has challenged me to be more vulnerable than ever before. That's been hard. And scary. But my vulnerability has been met with an intimacy I've never known.

God is so very good to me.

I desire to live with Him as my lens. I want Him to be the filter through which I see and experience life. That would change everything about how I think, feel, respond, act. So I'm trying to renew my mind, take captive every thought, and soak myself in His truth. I want to saturate myself with His character, His heart. The more I know Him, the more I will see through His lens rather than my own.

While I still fail miserably most of the time---old habits, they die hard---I am changing. Slowly but surely my lenses are wearing thinner. And He is coming more into focus.

My intention today, and every day, is to know Him more deeply and intimately. Because ultimately I don't want to be a better version of me. I want to be more like Christ.

i'll never be good enough

I often find myself more easily believing lies than the truth. I'm realizing, though, that sometimes what I consider lies are really just distorted truths. And they're equally deadly. I will never be good enough to please God. That's true. But it gets twisted into something negative, when it was really intended to set me free.

The fact that I'll never be good enough to earn His love and grace isn't bad news. It speaks of my value, not of my lack of value. Even though I'm not good enough, He still chooses me, loves me, pursues me, uses me. There is freedom, not condemnation, in that. It speaks of how overwhelmingly unconditional His love for me is.

But the very truth that was intended to set me free gets used by the enemy---and people---to beat me down. It gets distorted and manipulated into something that tells me I need to strive for His love. It makes me feel like I have to work harder, be better, do more.

But the fact remains: I can never be good enough. That means I need to trust Him alone. It takes the pressure off me completely.

It frees me to live not for His approval but from His approval.

And that changes everything.

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.

pageantry

I bet you didn't know I've been in a pageant. But not the kind you're probably thinking of. I've never strut around in a bikini and heels, or shown off some obscure talent, or publicly declared my desire for world peace.  No, I've never been in that kind of pageant.

My life has been a pageant of a different kind. One in which I've been crowned all sorts of things other than Miss America. I've worn banners draped across my chest that read:

Or how about:

I've walked around wearing those banners for far too long. They've shaped how others see me and, more importantly, how I see myself.

It's time to take them off and replace them with truth.

His banner over me is love.

coffee talk: exchanges

"They exchanged the truth of God for a lie..." And you know what? So have I.

• I've exchanged His truth that I'm loved freely for the lie that I need to earn it.
• I've exchanged His truth that He'll provide for the lie that I need to take care of myself.
• I've exchanged His truth that I'm free for the lie that I'm still in chains.
• I've exchanged His truth that He uses broken vessels for the lie that He'll only use me when I dot-dot-dot.
• I've exchanged His truth that I was made in His image for the lie that who I am just isn't enough.

What would you add to the list?

And how do we exchange them back?

eyes to see and ears to hear

Mary Magdalene was overwhelmed and confused when she discovered the empty tomb. Her bewilderment only compounded her grief, and she collapsed into tears. As she wept, her risen Savior appeared and stood beside her, but she didn't recognize Him. She looked at Him; she even talked to Him. But somehow she didn't realize Who was right in front of her eyes. I do the same thing far too often.

In my ignorance, busyness, and sometimes just the emotions of the moment, I easily miss Jesus when He's standing right in front of me. I simply don't realize it's Him---ever present, ever speaking. My eyes can be so blind that I miss Him in painted sunsets and unforeseen provision. My ears can be so deaf that I miss His voice in familiar Bible passages and the words of a friend.

Mary eventually recognized Him. You know what finally opened her eyes and ears?

"Jesus said to her, 'Mary.'"

He called her by name. His voice---His tender, powerful, matchless voice---uniquely calling her name was enough to make her realize He'd been beside her all along. Her blinders fell off; her ears were opened. She saw. She heard. She knew.

I desire to see the Lord in expected and unexpected places. I want to hear Him in common and uncommon ways. I need Him to open my eyes and unblock my ears.

Jesus, say my name!

kingdoms of men

It shows up four times in a span of only forty verses, so I'm guessing God wants to make sure I don't miss the significance of this statement:

"The Most High is sovereign over the kingdoms of men and gives them to anyone He wishes..."

-Daniel 4:17, 25, 32; 5:21

Leadership is always a gift. Always a stewardship. Always temporary. And I'm always accountable.

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

sweet surrender

The other day a dear friend said something to me that just won't leave me alone. It keeps reverberating off the walls of my heart and echoing through the halls of my mind. You see, I've been wrestling with surrender.

I can already hear those of you who will tell me that wrestling with surrender is counterproductive. I get that surrender is about releasing. Letting go. Relinquishing. That's exactly why I'm wrestling with it.

I need to get this right.

Anyway.

Ked's words seemed to get right to the core of the surrender issue for me. In all honesty, I'm simply not there yet to wholeheartedly tell God, "You pick!"

But I'm gonna keep wrestling with surrender until I can.

How about you?

something better

When I let go, I closed my eyes tightly---only me and Him.

I held out my clenched fist, slowly opened it, and let it all just slip through my fingers.

I looked at Him and my heart sighed in simple repentance:

I've clung to my sin more than Your grace.

Exposed and uncomfortable, I looked away.

Ever so gently and gentlemanly, I felt His hand slip into mine.

He didn't leave me empty-handed. He just gave me something better to hold on to.

letting go

Sometimes it's easier to feel guilty than forgiven. All-too-often I choose to cling to my mistakes, my shortcomings, my depravity rather than to embrace the forgiveness and freedom that God has for me.

It takes effort to make that exchange, and---honestly?---sometimes I'd just rather not put in the effort. How pathetic is that? Especially since He already did the hard part.

But God's power has no effect in my life if I don't choose to receive it and rely on it. I don't want to nullify His power with my apathy.

I recently spent time letting go of some things I've held against myself for way too long. As hard as forgiveness can be, I find it most difficult to forgive myself.

Sitting alone in a "service" at St. Arbucks Church, I made the choice to let go. To forgive me.

After all, He already did.

And what I hold against myself, I'm ultimately holding against God. I'm basically slapping Him in the face and telling Him that His redemptive work isn't good enough. That I can do a better job atoning for my sin than He can.

Pride can't often see herself in the mirror. But I saw her loud and clear.

So I acknowledged that His work was final---that my sins are not only forgiven but paid for. And I made the decision to step out of the prison I'd locked myself in for so long.

I left a lot of crap in Starbucks that night.

And I got a venti cup of forgiveness to go.

[from a post on this day last year]

lord, i'm sorry

Lord, I'm sorry for thinking You love me the same way others do. For assuming You'll withhold affection until I've paid penance or until You're "over it".

For imagining that You hold me at arm's length most of the time and invite me in only when You want to want me.

For thinking You see me through eyes of disappointment, seeing only how far I am from all I could be and should be.

For presuming You only love me because You have to and not because You want to.

For guessing You hold my mistakes against me, just as I do with myself.

For acting as though You think I'm discardable and unwantable.

For forgetting that You love me for who I am and not for who I can be.

Lord, I want to believe.

this day last year: bare-handed

The story of creation is an incredible one. For so many reasons. But mostly because it shows me so beautifully the unmatched worth we have in God's eyes. God spoke everything into existence, which is a whole mind-blowing thing right there. "Let there be..." and there was. That is just incredible in a way I can't fully comprehend.

There God was, balancing between time and eternity, forming galaxies, hippos, mountains, and clown fish with His words. But when He created mankind, He used His bare hands. He stooped down to make us great. Words would not suffice.

He wanted us to bear His thumbprint.

"The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life..."

He loved us enough to form us with His own hands. He wanted to hold us, rhythmically massage our hearts to kickstart their first beats, and be the first thing we saw when we opened our eyes. I imagine that our first case of goosebumps came from Him caressing our skin.

And then He breathed into us. Face to face, we inhaled our first breath as He exhaled into our nostrils. I cannot even fathom the worth, the wealth, of that breath of life.

God still wants to get down and dirty with me. When my life is a mess or it feels like I'm wallowing in the mire of my emotions and circumstances, it's easy to think God is far-removed from it all. But He's right here in the dirt next to me. It's nothing new to Him. He's been there, done that.

And more than willing to do it again.

[from an entry originally posted this day last year]

simple truth

God is not absent.Not distracted.

He sees. He knows. He cares.

And He

repost: reflection

We are called to reflect God's glory. Have you ever seen a body of water that's so still and smooth, it looks like glass? I have; it's pristine, beautiful, peaceful. And it perfectly reflects the sky above it and landscape around it, like a mirror.

That's the image I've always had when I think about my life reflecting the glory of God. But the problem is that I rarely feel like a smooth, glassy lake. My life---my heart---is much more tumultuous than that.

And then I realized something: God can miraculously use even the stormy sea of my life to reflect His glory.

He's not waiting for all the conditions to be perfect, for me to be smooth and ripple-free, or for the rhythmic waves of my life to cease. Nope. In fact, He gets even more glory when I reflect Him amid the strong currents and Perfect-Storm waves.

That means being able to pray things like ---

"In the midst of this sorrow and grief, position me to reflect as much of Your glory as possible."

"If You can get glory from my sickness, then go ahead and do it."

"Be glorified in me right in the midst of this situation and not just in my deliverance from it."

I'm working hard to get my heart to a place where I can do that. Where I can pray it, believe it, mean it. This much I know is true: God can leverage anything for His glory if I will surrender it to Him.

[originally posted 6/29/08]

coffee talk: more than we can handle?

Did you know the Bible doesn't tell us that God won't give us more than we can handle? It's not in there. I've looked.

It does tell us that He won't let us be tempted beyond what we can bear. There's the promise that in every moment we feel inclined to sin, there is a way out. We need to look for that door and walk through it.

But to me that's a very different promise than the one most people walk around (mis-)quoting.

What do you think? Do you think God won't give us more than we can handle?

(You can catch up on old Coffee Talks here...)

who do you say i am?

The question Jesus asked His followers is one we need to answer as well. "Who do you say I am?" My whole life is an answer to that question. While I know I fall very short, my aim is that the thread that runs through my entire life parallels Peter's response. "You're the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of the living God."

That's loaded. And life-changing.

But I need to flip the question around, too. I need to get eye-to-eye with Jesus and ask Him, "Who do You say I am?"

And my whole life should be a reflection of His answer.