nuggets

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it's unavoidable

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I've always loved the story of the woman with the issue of blood. It vividly reminds me that God is passionate about healing my heart and not just my body. Reading through that passage in Mark again recently, I noticed something new. Or rather, I saw something familiar in a completely different way.

The woman pressed through the crowd on her hands and knees to get to Jesus. She reached out and grabbed the hem of His garment, and in that moment she was instantly healed.

And in that moment, Jesus felt power go out of Him.

That's what made Him stop and look for the one who touched Him. That's what prompted the dialogue that brought healing to her heart. That's when He looked her in the eyes and called her "Daughter".

I'd never thought too much about that moment for Jesus, until now.

There He was... Walking with a synagogue ruler as a large crowd pressed all around Him... It was noisy and busy and... Suddenly He felt something...

He felt power go out of Him as soon as she touched Him.

It's unavoidable: Ministry is draining.

If Jesus felt the effects of it, I sure as heck will.

Serving others, speaking God's truth, and sharing our lives, tires us out. Physically, emotionally, spiritually. We feel it when we spend ourselves for others.

Even when we are doing what we love.

Maybe even more so when we are doing what we love. Because then we have to force ourselves to take a break.

At least I do.

I've been going non-stop for months now---doing exactly what I love doing. And I've felt the "power" go out of me in every way possible. I'm exhausted inside and out. So I'm taking some much-needed time off.

My heart is so looking forward to this selah.

I need to start paying more attention to what (and who) drains me, as well as what (and who) refuels me. I need to be more intentional about creating margin in my schedule and my life.

I want to be more proactive about letting Him fill me up than I am about sharing Him with others.

Maybe that sounds backwards or selfish. I just know that when I'm not overflowing, I really don't have much to give anyway.

So I'm taking some time for me. (Which, I should point out, is never an easy thing for me to do.)

But I know it's needed. And I know it's right.

Selah, friends. Selah.

What does "selah" look like to your heart? What and who refuels you?

my broken cisterns

My sin takes on a variety of shapes, but all of it basically boils down to two things... the same two things the people of Israel continually struggled with--- "My people have committed two sins: They have forsaken Me, the spring of Living Water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water."

I sin by not trusting God.

I forsake Him. I deny not only His power, but His heart. I turn away, shift my gaze, seek other things. I make an after-thought of the One who should be my first priority. I question if He really has my good in mind. I lose sight of who He is by focusing on what He can do for me (or on what He doesn't seem to be doing for me). I try to find life apart from Him.

I sin by trusting myself instead.

I dig my own wells, even though they are insufficient and faulty. I live as though I can do a better job of protecting my heart, fixing my situation, and meeting my needs than God can. I surrender, but take it back again. I attempt to control which way I should go and how quickly I should get there. I take matters into my own hands. I try to find life on my own.

When I dig my own wells, I always come up thirsty.

The water keeps rushing out through the cracked walls, leaving me dry and empty.

The bitter taste of self-sufficiency doesn't satisfy, yet I'm left craving more. I drink and drink and drink, but feel more parched with each sip.

He alone is the spring of Living Water. And trying to save up for a dry day is just my own feeble attempt to work things out on my own.

It's time to abandon my broken cisterns and drink deeply from the life-giving spring of His heart...

He is more than enough for me.

the God of Gideon

"Go in the strength you have..." That's what God told Gideon. And that's what He tells me.

Every single day.

He doesn't tell me to muster up more strength. He doesn't pat me on the back and say, "Good luck with that!" And He doesn't say I should just buck it up and keep going.

He says He's given me exactly enough strength for exactly what my day holds. No matter what.

I have everything I need to face today.

So here I go.

Are you coming?

i've had enough

I'm still camping out in the story of Elijah. Maybe because I see so much of myself in him. Not in his prophetic voice or powerful miracles, but in his crash-and-burn. Remember his showdown with the prophets of Baal? God showed up in a huge way, making it very obvious that He is the one true God and that Elijah is His. If ever Elijah was on a spiritual high, this was it.

And then he crashed and burned.

When Jezebel made threats against his life, Elijah forgot about the great victory God just brought him. He collapsed to the ground in despair, raised his eyes to the heavens, and shouted, "I have had enough, Lord. Take my life!"

Been there? I have. Plenty of times.

I can move from victory to defeat in an instant. It all rushes in and I feel like I just can't take anymore.

I gotta admit, I'm kind of relieved I'm not the only one with irrational mood swings, desperate prayers for God to take me, and the overwhelming sense of "I've had enough!"

At least I have this one thing in common with Elijah.

The story goes on and I'm intrigued by all that happens next, because it shows how he dealt with his funk. And I need to know how to deal with mine. [If you want to read through it later, it's in 1 Kings 19:1-13.]

Elijah slept. A lot. I know I need rest, although I often feel guilty over making that need a priority.

An angel provided bread and water for him. I'm taking stock of God's provision of those people, places, and things that refresh and revive me from the inside out. I need to surround myself with them more often than I do.

He slept, ate, and drank. Again. Lather, rinse, repeat. Just once isn't enough.

"Nourished by that meal, he walked forty days and nights, all the way to the mountain of God." Elijah was still in his funk, but he walked on. I need to simply keep putting one foot in front of the other, even when my heart says "I've had enough" with every single step.

"When he got there, he crawled into a cave and went to sleep." God knew I'd need to hear this again! Slowly getting the message...

He encountered the still, small voice of God. One by one a wind, earthquake, and fire ripped through the mountain. But God was not in them. "And after the fire came a gentle whisper..." Those quiet words were more powerful in Elijah's heart than any mighty prophecy God had spoken through him.

At the end of the day, God reaches through my funk and with His peaceful, gentle voice, reassures my heart that He is trustworthy.

He lovingly reminds me that He is in control. That His grace is sufficient. And that He gives strength to the weary.

His more-than-enough-ness makes up for my had-enough-ness.

Over and over again.

something crazy

I was reading again tonight about Elijah and Elisha, and I can't shake this piece of the story: Elisha was plowing a field with some oxen when Elijah found him. He was hard at work, doing what he was trained (and skilled) to do. I imagine that this day looked pretty similar to so many days before it. Farming is monotonous but grueling work.

Then Elijah walked right across the field and wrapped his cloak around Elisha, symbolicly passing on his ministry anointing. And in that moment, Elisha made a decision.

He chose to leave behind the comfortable and familiar to obediently follow God's call.

He knew it wasn't an easy decision. He was choosing the hard.

He knew that there would be tough days when he'd long for the back-breaking labor of farming. He knew he'd be tempted to return to his old life. So he did something drastic. Something crazy.

He sacrificed his oxen.

Elisha broke apart his wooden plow, set it on fire, and cooked his cattle.

He didn't want turning back to even be an option, so he made a bonfire out of his former life.

He gave himself nothing to return to. No plan B. Nothing to "fall back on" except risky faith in a faithful God.

Reminds me of Peter.

When Jesus was killed, Peter's future turned into a giant question mark. He couldn't make sense of a crucified Messiah. So he went back to what he was doing before he'd started following Christ. He went back to fishing.

Reminds me of me.

When my faith wavers, when difficult turns to impossible, when I have no idea what God is up to... I'm tempted to turn back.

I'm inclined to go back to my old way of thinking, my former plans, my loosely-held hope. I once again long for the comfortable and familiar. I want to return to something I understand. Something I can "control".

So I need to do something drastic.

Something crazy.

I need to build a bonfire.

fish and loaves

I've always loved the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000. It is packed full of nuggets for this heart of mine...

I'm challenged by the little boy who offered his meager lunch, confident that it would be worth something in Jesus' hands.

I’m encouraged that the disciples' lack of faith didn’t hinder God from doing something extraordinary.

I’m reminded that I’m only responsible for my response to the Lord’s promptings. I’m not responsible for actually making anything happen.

I’m thankful that Jesus didn’t feed the crowd just enough. He gave them “as much as they wanted”. What He offers me is always abundance.

I'm aware again that God doesn't waste a thing. While I don't know what Jesus did with the extras, there was definitely a purpose for them: "Gather the leftovers so nothing is wasted." He redeems even what appears to be a total waste.

When I’m willing to place my mere fish-and-loaves life into Jesus' hands, miracles happen... So today I choose to actively trust Him with the crumbs of just me...

gotta let go of the old to embrace the new

“New wine needs new wineskins.” God’s whispered those words to my heart so many times throughout the past year. They hold the promise that He’s not done with me yet, the hope that He is making a way in my desert and streams in my wasteland.

Those words also hold a command. They are a challenging reminder of my responsibility.

Or maybe it's my response-ability.

While it’s always God who brings the new, what I do with it is entirely my choice.

God is ever the gentleman. He will never force Himself on me.

So He holds out His hand, waiting for me to put mine in His, ready to lead me forward.

He longs to breathe His newness into my walk with Him, into my relationships with others, into my thought patterns. My faith-journey should be constantly evolving as I allow Him to continually change me from the inside out.

I want that so badly.

I want Him to mold me and shape me the way He sees fit.

I desire new. I long for change, for different.

Yet, at times, I still find myself unwilling to let go of the old so that I can embrace the new.

Sometimes I still prefer the familiar chains of Egypt over the unknowns of the Promised Land.

It just feels easier to stick with what I know.

Even when I hate it.

Because while I may be frustrated with where I’m at (physically, emotionally, spiritually), it’s still oddly comfortable and strangely comforting.

My chains double as a security blanket.

Which means I don’t trust Him enough.

(Story. Of. My. Life.)

I hear God’s voice calling me to drop my chains and walk on. He whispers that my security should lie only in Him because He alone is trustworthy.

He reminds me that I can’t embrace what He has for me until I stop fighting it.

I can’t slip my hand into His while my fists are clenched tightly, clinging to what I know out of fear of what I don’t.

The greatest obstacle to what God wants to do, is my unwillingness to let go of what He’s already done.

“I am making all things new," He promises.

He is already breathing newness into every corner of my life. Already recreating, restoring, redefining, and redeeming me.

All of me.

He is giving me new wine and new wineskins. And I want to fully embrace all that He has for me.

Even when it scares me.

Because I want to fear God more than I fear anything else.

So today as I’m craving His newness, I'm also mindful of my responsibility.

Of my ability to respond to Him.

And today...

Today, I'm choosing to trust.

Originally posted as a gust post at Rainmakers and Stormchasers >

a different take on boundaries

God's given me stewardship over my feelings, thoughts, attitudes, and behaviors. I need to recognize and guard them as gifts from God.

He's given me responsibility over those things, and I have complete freedom to choose what I do with them.

They are, in fact, the only things I truly control.

But I often forget that.

And when I forget, I live with unhealthy boundaries.

When I allow others' words and actions to dictate how I respond, I forfeit my freedom. I hand over the power I have to choose. I surrender the control and stewardship I've been given by God. I allow others to define me instead of embracing God's definition of me.

On the flip side, when I forget the freedom others have, I try to take responsibility for what they alone are stewards over. I attempt to fix people, overcompensate for them, or smooth things over when they are upset. But in doing so, I am overstepping my boundaries.

I am responsible only for my own life.

Having and enforcing boundaries isn't about controlling or punishing others. It's about treasuring and guarding the feelings, thoughts, attitudes, and behaviors God has given me stewardship over.

Living with healthy boundaries means not attempting to take responsibility for others' responses and choices, and not forfeiting the responsibility I have over my own.

I've lived my whole life with unhealthy boundaries. In some ways, I've lived with no boundaries at all.

My emotions and inner commentaries are often swayed by others' words, actions, and attitudes. And I am quick to take responsibility for other people's choices.

But I want to live different.

I want to live free and healthy, and in a way that helps others live free and healthy as well.

I can't really say that I've gotten better at not responding based on how others treat me.

In fact, if I'm being most honest, I still don't really know how to even change that... how to not be so deeply affected by others.

And right now, my struggles with this are really causing my heart to hurt. There's a stinging ache deep inside me that just seems to hurt more everyday.

But I've become more aware of those moments where I hand control over to someone else. And those moments where I take on what isn't mine to carry.

I see it for what it is now, which is more than I've ever done before.

And that gives my heart hope.

Even while she hurts.

guarding my heart

I'm a dichotomy. While I may not outwardly fight for my heart, inwardly I build walls to try to keep her safe.

My walls are built with bricks of distrust, fear, and insecurity. They're held together with the mortar of doubt.

Yet, ultimately, they're nothing more than a mirage.

Because I'm only fooling myself if I think I can keep my heart safe.

I can't protect myself from getting hurt.

Pain is an inevitable fact of life. It comes with every relationship---even the best of them. Those I love the most, and who love me the most, will still hurt me. Just as I'll hurt them.

Because none of us are perfect.

Yet I still try to shield myself from hurt.

I spiritualize my walls under the banner of "guarding my heart".

I've never really understood what that verse means. I've struggled to understand the balance between trusting and guarding my heart.

And while I don't presume to have it all figured out now, I finally realized something.

A few verses prior, God tells me to listen closely to His words and keep them within my heart. Only when I pay attention to what God says---about Himself and about me---can my heart be protected.

Because it's really about trusting Him to watch over and guard my heart.

That doesn't mean I won't be hurt. It just means I won't get stuck there.

Because it's not really the hurts inflicted by others that will ruin my life the most. It's my self-built protective walls that will.

It's time to start knocking down my walls.

No... Actually, I don't have to knock down anything.

I just need to step through the mirage of walls that have kept me in bondage rather than safety.

Instead of trying to avoid more pain, I want to let the Healer set me free.

And trust Him to guard my heart when the next hurt comes.

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even from myself

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My heart feels a bit bruised these days. She's even more sore than my legs are. I don't know that I can fully explain to anyone all that's been going on inside me the past few weeks, but it's leaving my heart feeling more vulnerable than she has in a long time.

She feels exposed. Raw. Black and blue.

Although I often get defensive when I shouldn't, I usually don't defend myself when I should.

I don't fight for my own heart. So she ends up getting beaten up.

I'm not good at speaking up for myself or being assertive. I fear sounding defensive, so I often don't explain myself when others misunderstand me. At times I fear putting my heart on the line, so I hold her back but wish someone could see through the blurry mess and just know what's going on inside.

I am my own worst enemy. I treat myself more harshly than I'd ever treat anyone else. I am, by far, the hardest person for me to extend grace to.

I often feel unfought-for by others. But the reality is I'm unfought-for by me.

Why should anyone else defend what I don't even bother to?

This all taps into those fears and insecurities deep inside me. That place in my heart that doubts my worth, value, and lovableness.

It seems to spiral viciously out of control rather quickly.

I'm trying desperately to learn to slam on the brakes in those moments and pour my heart out like water before God. Messy. Uncontrolled. Unrestrained. Just as it comes.

Bruises and all.

In Him alone will I find refuge. Safety. Security. Worth.

In Him alone will I feel defended.

Even from myself.

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feeling seen helps us hear

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I've had some incredibly encouraging conversations lately. God has been speaking straight to my heart through people who truly see me in my situation and ministry. I don't know that I can explain very well what I mean by that. But if you've ever felt invisible, I think you know what I'm talking about.

Simply feeling seen is amazingly restorative.

My pastor reminded me to focus on seeking God, not just His will. Ultimately, the only thing I need is more of Him. Yet I can get caught up in pursuing God for something rather than just pursuing God.

I need to seek God's face and not His hand.

And I needed to be reminded of that fact.

A new ministry friend spoke some freeing words to me. "You don't need to feel stained by the situation you're walking through. Because you're not. Others' decisions are not a reflection of you, your heart, or your vision in ministry."

I can't even tell you how much I needed to hear that.

It was as though I could hear the chains dropping to the ground.

These conversations fueled my passion to make others feel seen. And to use my words to build up rather than tear down.

Don't underestimate the power of your words to breathe life into someone.

Look around. And look beneath the surface to truly see the person under the layers of circumstances.

Be intentional today to speak strength and courage into someone's heart.

It's probably just what they need.

i'll be here for a while still

I'm still thinking about Easter. Shocking, I know, since all the Easter candy in Target has probably already been replaced with Fourth of July crap decorations. But what can I say? My heart is still there.

My heart is stuck in the empty tomb that isn't really empty.

It's filled with hope.

Promise.

Undeserved freedom.

Scandalous grace.

I'm sticking around here because my heart aches to really, truly believe.

All the way down in my toes, I want to believe that what seems like the end isn't really the end.

When it's over, lost, gone, broken beyond repair... that's when things have really just begun.

The best isn't behind me but ahead of me. The glory of what's to come far outweighs the glory of what was. Life after death is so much more extraordinary than life before it.

Wholeness comes from brokenness.

Beauty is birthed in ashes.

Strength is made perfect in weakness.

So bring on your summer plastic wear and star-spangled centerpieces. You know where to find me if you need me.

I'll be chillin' in that empty-yet-abundantly-full tomb.

character vs. calling

Our character needs to be strong enough to uphold our calling. I don't care how charismatic your personality is, how big your ministry might be, or how many people read your blog. If underneath it all is a heart that lacks integrity, at some point, it will all come tumbling down.

I've seen it happen.

Godly anointing and passionate vision simply cannot withstand the crumbling-sandcastle effect of faulty character.

We can only build as high as our foundation runs deep.

Which means I need to focus more on building my character than on clarifying my calling.

I can get extremely tunnel-visioned in seeking God about my future and my next steps. I forget that I've already been told the big-picture plan He has for me:

I am called to be more like Christ.

And that's more about the character of my heart than the direction of my path.

Being more like Christ means I must decrease and allow Him to increase in me. That is the ultimate in character-building.

It means being intentional to love deeply, forgive fully, and serve wholeheartedly.

It means watching what I say, walking in humility, remaining joyful.

It means actively trusting Jesus and applying God's Word to my life.

It means cultivating the fruit of the Spirit---All of them. Even patience.

Developing character is a whole lot harder than developing a five-year plan.

Then why do I put less thought and effort into it than I do into figuring out what my next meal's gonna be?

Ouch.

Something's gotta give.

And I think that something is me.

silent saturday

This morning I've been overwhelmed with this thought:

God does His best work when the fire gets the hottest, the night gets the darkest, and the fear gets the loudest. Keep waiting. Redemption is coming.

On this Silent Saturday, I need to remind myself of that truth.

He died a death we deserved to die, our mortal life in exchange for His eternal one.

No matter how long our Saturday is, redemption is coming.

Keep waiting.