come in.

why don't you think of God as the one who is coming,

who has been approaching from all eternity ... ?

-rainer-

"when a heart breaks ... does your heart break?"

the words bounce from the hardwood floor I'm crumpled upon to my ears and down deep into my soul.

 "can you hear your people, Lord? does Your heart ... break?"

I mouth these lyrics through my sobs, and stare at my open hands sitting heavy on my lap - my eyes catching on the band wrapped around my finger. How did I get here? I know the question will not be answered as it rises from my broken heart. In one moment of gut-wrenching emotion, I am able to feel completely lost and completely grateful. Don't ask me how. But I know he's here. I've made it this far.

In my weeping, my body tenses every single tiny muscle, like my spirit is moving, yearning to escape and break free from whatever this is - this beast that is far greater than just emotions and anger and exhaustion.
and right here, I am begging him to come in. Come into this hole that was burned into my sweet child self. Come into this frustration. Come into the offenses. Come into my broken heart.

Oh, won't you come in?

I am searching for him in the abstractness of Christmas. This year has been different than previous years. I am more distracted, less attuned to the little whimsical things about the season. More heaviness that I'm brining to the manger scene. More hurt that I'm lifting alongside my carols and praise. More darkness and cold surrounding me. More unfamiliar things I am experiencing.

It's here in all this more and hard and struggle that I am met by a precious, innocent child.
And I am told that he, this baby, is God.
God has come in to my world, and he's vulnerable. He, with his mind and hands and cries of a newborn - he has come to make me new, to show me truth, to heal me. This child.

It's a beauty and miracle that my mind rejects, but my soul's rejoicing is too loud to linger on any specific doubt. It brings tears so unlike the ones I know ... tears of love and joy and thankfulness. Tears that emerge from a heart that is satisfied with not knowing everything - just the love of such a God who would plan something as complicated as this and yet as simple as this. To become like us. In order to overcome that which overwhelms us. To experience and remind us that he also felt. And feels. And he still knows.


"... but he goes down to come up again and bring the ruined world up with him. One has the picture of a strong man stooping lower and lower to get himself underneath some great, complicated burden. He must stoop in order to lift; he must almost disappear under the load before he incredibly straightens his back and marches off with the whole mass swaying on his shoulders."
[C.S. Lewis]


On Thursday night, I watched a man perform O Come, O Come Emmanuel. As he slowly and perfectly sang the first verse, my hand gripped Kip's a little harder. I was swept into the great cry of humanity - into the great promise of deliverance and restoration.
Ransom.
Tattooed on my back and into my heart, this word encompasses Jesus for me.

He came.
He comes.
And he will come for us.


caught up in our everything of life, let's ask him to come in.
let your soul finally feel its worth.
hold this baby & let him give you comfort and joy.
embrace the mystery of the one who has been approaching from all eternity.


he comes to set you free.

In Which I Re-post an Entire Entry by Sarah Bessey

Ok, another blog that I am totally and completely in-love with, thanks to a forwarding by my very soon to be mama-in-law. Sarah Bessey, everyone. She's amazing. I hope you enjoy the following words from her heart - I cry every single time (in a good way).

Here, come and stand in front of me.

Stand on your own two feet, let’s look each other right in the eye. It’s a beautiful day outside, warmer than it should be in October, and the trees are slowly staining scarlet, the gold is shaking down, and the early autumn sky is already far away from us. I picked a nice spot for us, the wind can take your breath, and your eyes are not satisfied with seeing, I know.

Stand now, head up, you are loved, remember? You are loved, and you are free. No shame here.

Let me stretch my arms out wide, like an Old Testament prophet, my hands are worn and lined, I have mama-hands, and let’s do this properly.

I commission you.

In the mighty and powerful name of Jesus, I commission you, for the work of the Gospel, as a minister of Jesus Christ, to live in your world as an ambassador of the Kingdom.

I commission you in the work of healing, and serving, and loving, and reconciliation. You are an emissary of justice, and your work from now on is to put things right, to call those things that are not as they will be.

I pray that the God of hope would fill you with peace that passes all understanding. I pray that you will be drawn into community, so rich, so deep, so diverse, that you will disagree and fight and remain in fellowship together anyway. I pray that you will bring casseroles, and prayer, and laughter, and tears, to one another. I pray that you would have your toes stepped on, your feelings hurt, and that you would forgive. I pray that you would be given the gift of realising you were wrong about some things. I pray that you would be quick to seek forgiveness when you are the transgressor. I pray for messy living rooms, for late nights, for dirty dishes littering your counters, and I pray for a faithful handful of friends and family to call when the darkness presses in close to you. I pray that you would be quick to show up at the right time for another person.

Come a little closer, I’m about to get all charismatic on you. Oh, yes, I want to lay my hands right on your head, let’s do this.

I call you to joy, friend.  I set you apart in your regular, walking-around life for the daily work of liberation and love, proclaim the Gospel with your hands and your feet and your voice to every soul in your care and influence. May your soul long for prayer and for the Scriptures, may you keep secrets, may you give away your money, may you share your meals, may you sit alone in silence outside under the sky and be satisfied, may you change the bedding in the middle of the night after yet another childish accident without anger, may you hold babies, and comfort the dying, and be the voice of knowledge tempered with grace and wisdom, and may you never forget how to sing and be silly. May you make room in your life to be inconvenienced and put-out, may you be Jesus with skin on for a few people. May you be fearless, and may you eat good food.

I pray that no matter your tool or method: mothering, preaching, cooking, writing, organising, washing, teaching, building, money-making, all of your whole life encompassing it all, that you will walk in knowledge of the sacredness and purpose of your calling. I pray for dreams and visions, for the active leading of the Holy Spirit, and I pray that you would never ever ever forget that Abba is very, very fond of you.

I pray for perseverance and for discipline, I pray for speech seasoned with salt and goodness. I pray that when you are bored, and you are tired, and you are discouraged, when you feel futile and small and ridiculous, I pray that you will never, never, never give up.

Your ministry, your work, begins now, and it began long ago, in your world. Turn around, and face your life. Look it in the eye. This is it.

If you are surrounded by jelly-faced toddlers or thousands of longing hungry souls, or if you lift your head to find yourself in a hospital or a back alley or a church or an orphanage or your own suburban kitchen, if you are given a voice for dozens or only one other soul, you are a minister, feel it, say the words, roll them against your teeth: you have been commissioned for the work of the Gospel, in Christ Jesus, you have.

I send you out.

I send you out to the spot where you are, right now. You are right where you belong, you have everything you need to begin, and we will walk it out together, you and me.

Blessed be His Kingdom, now and forevermore. Peace be with you, my friend, peace.

Keep your eyes open for the signs of God’s presence, he’s already at work in your world, revealing his ways to us all. You get to be a part of it, and me, too. We’re in this together, let’s do it together, we’re calling people outside to the bonfire.

-Sarah Bessey-

tell me a story

This God made us all in our diversity from one original person, allowing each culture to have its own time to develop, giving each its own place to live and thrive in its distinct ways.
His purpose in all this was that people of every culture and religion would search for this ultimate God - grope for him in the darkness, as it were - hoping to find Him.
Yet in truth, God is not far from any of us.
For you know the saying, "We live in God, we move in God; we exist in God."

... when they heard ... some shook their heads and scoffed, but others were even more curious ... 

Acts 17:26-28


I love these stories - these organic, dramatic, weird stories of old from this Great Storybook. These stories are not for children. Or maybe they are. Maybe its anti-exclusivity is what makes it the most beautiful. We like to change the story so it makes sense. We assume things. Or we ignore the mystery. It's always been hard for me to ignore. For whatever reason, I have not been a scoffer at hearing such things as divine creation, unfailing love, and redemption. Maybe it's the poet in me that appreciates such language - a poet's heart that somehow believes such nonsense in the face of our real life tragedies.

This theme of "story" has been present in my life for a while. I have at least one thought every day of how can I be intentional about what's happening in and around and to me; how can I both embrace and create a great story, for there is one already happening, and there is also one yet to be told. Yet to be birthed and lived in and given a chance.
Both of those stories are me. Both of those stories are you, too.

I happened upon a most curious sight last weekend, strolling in the chilly wind with Micha and Kip. A few people were huddled under a bridge with this large canvas sort of thing. Curiosity (and the love of this city and its interesting people) got the best of us, and we ventured closer. We became part of a wonderful phenomenon called public art, where a brave and inspired artist provides a piece for you to create and bring their vision to life. Maddie is both brilliant and brave. We weaved our strips of burlappy fabric in and out to form, in the end, a lovely quilt. And we did our required part of participation:
we told her a story, while she listened and recorded them.

For me, the specifics of the stories were not as grand as the whole piece as we experienced it this past Friday. Sitting in a room (with exposed brick, I might add) while story after story after story was being told over the sound system was nothing short of awesome. The parts I did catch, between meeting and talking to our new friends, were simply amazing. Seeing this creation that hung over us in that room, a thing that had been manufactured by not just hands but by people with deep emotion and deep hearts, stilled me. And I couldn't stop smiling. Couldn't stop celebrating the greatness of it all. So much came together that night, that week. So much is still being formed and connected and woven. Creation. Hope. Purpose.

Another fabulous fact about Maddie's quilt is that it's compostable, so those of us who participated can have some of the rich soil that will eventually come from this project. Recycling. Restoring. I have so many thoughts around this, as you can tell. The theme of story also has another part for me and that is "full circle"ness. Many of my desires to be connected to Minneapolis via its broken and beautiful people seem to finally be landing and resting here. Here being a specific place with specific people - people who long to be who they are, be creative, be friends with the different, and take part in healing, in genuine family, inhaling and exhaling, moving and having their being in Jesus.
Like this art, there are times and seasons when all of these components of us, of our stories, seem to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, and we cry or laugh or both, knowing that in a strikingly holy way our lives are much grander than we thought, and our God seems much smaller and closer and into the details than we've previously experienced - the intricate weaving of hands and hearts and stories. And he's also into the great and glorious big picture of everything - us working together towards wholeness and life and re-creation. His full-circle story.

Today I feel as though I'm adding significantly to my story, and more fully accepting the truth that every moment is a choice to sail or stagnate.
Today I feel like I have chosen in little, intentional ways to not just pass by but to stop and let curiosity woo me into mystery and thus deeper into my life. As Fred says...



"two stories then - our own story and Jesus' story, and in the end perhaps they are the same story. To cleave the truth of our own lives, to lift and look beneath our own stories, is to see glimmers at least of his life, of his life struggling to come alive in our lives, his story whispering like a song through the babble and drone of ours... our stories are the best parody of his story, and if as Paul says we are the fragrance of Christ, then it is like the fragrance of the sea from ten miles inland when the wind is in the right direction, or like the fragrance of a rose from the other side of the street, with all the world in between.
yet they meet as well as diverge, our stories and his.
that's what we have to tell finally.
we have it in us to work miracles of love and healing as well as have them worked upon us... to bless with him and forgive with him, and once in a while maybe even to grieve with some measure of his grief at another's pain and to rejoice with some measure of his rejoicing at another's joy, almost as if it were our own...
it is our business to bear witness to, and live out of and live toward and live by the true word of his holy story as it seeks to stammer itself forth through the holy stories of us all."

-Frederick Buechner, A Room Called Remember


let us live our stories
and live them well.
amen&amen.

Click here for something artistically brilliant.
I love celebrating creativity! Hope this brings life to your heart as it has to mine.


Spoken words: from G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy


"The thing I mean can be seen, for instance, in children, when they find some game that they specially enjoy. A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again!" and the grown up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.

But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony.

It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again!" to the sun,
and every evening, "Do it again!" to the moon.

It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike.
It may be that God makes every daisy separately but has never got tired of making them.

It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy;

for we have sinned and grown old,

and our Father is younger than we."

donuts

I have developed this pre-work morning routine.
It usually includes getting off the bus and heading straight to my new favorite coffee shop- People's Organic- then taking the skyway over to my building.

Remember skyway Jesus from a couple months ago?
I haven't seen him since that post. I honestly started to believe he was an angel that showed up in Macy's just for me.

And then today, I heard him singing with that familiar gospel sound, and my heart lightened from its load. I will now refer to him as Arthur, since that is his actual name. Arthur gave me a huge hug, recognizing me immediately. I told him I had missed him. He had not been feeling well, he told me, but he was good now. He was so anxious to come back to the city and do the Lord's work - spreading his joy, making people smile.
I told Arthur I was on my way to get coffee, and I asked if he liked coffee. He said no, he's hyper enough as it is. So we agreed upon OJ and a donut, if I could find them where I was going. I was thrilled to find another soul who seemed to care for sugary breakfast items as much as myself. And even more thrilled that I could serve him as he served everyone walking through Macy's, beginning their work day.

So away I went, and back I came, supplies in hand. I told him he was doing such good work here.
As I walked away, he yelled my name and told me he loved me.

There in that hallway, stretching over and above the road, a path to get from where I am to where I'm going, I was filled.
I looked at others differently. I smiled at strangers with new enthusiasm. I felt loved in a new way - loved by a brother, loved by our Father. I felt unified with people on a deeper level. I felt courage that no matter what, no matter who, I could connect and feel it in my bones - feel this connection and unity with all. Feel the greater purpose found in all - the truth that He's everywhere, and we're a grand story.

A friend like Arthur is not merely a compilation of words in my story - he is a sweet, sweet song; the break in the middle of a storm or a conflict or a commotion of feelings.
He is the bridge that reminds me to breathe, to see, to know... that all is well and all will be well.

Just smile,
tell people you love them,
and don't let anyone or anything steal your joy today.

"Yes the Lord... the Lord... he's been good to us..." 

Friends,

Gathered around our fire of love, we welcome you to come and listen...


It almost gave out.
And it's not the first time.


Our love story has been one of closeness and distance, depth and shallowness; feelings of great love and feelings of complete, rip-my-heart-out-right-now despair.

Abba, we look to you as our hearts remember...

remember earlier this week... that time when my face was blank and my heart was stone? The time that he wouldn't leave for fear that something had flown and we had lost...

By this time, we've experienced each other enough that we can hold to the poet's truth: no feeling is final, even when we feel like we're dying. We can get up the next day and keep moving and eventually our hearts will find their way back again and our minds will regain healthy thinking and we'll once again be in-love. We'll once again choose to love.

So here, around our warm love-flames, we want you to know that it's hard work. You might know this already, but I didn't have a clue. And honestly, no one knows until they feel it. Until they feel both the soaring glee of wantedness and the falling feeling of being forgotten.
And it's somewhere in the middle of this soaring and falling and slamming down and shattering and picking up, that we find ourselves. And we find each other. And we find a community of others.

I've watched Kip make fires many times, carefully placing the wood and the kindling, so specifically setting it up for a successful flame. The initial burst of heat and beauty is breathtaking, and doesn't seem to last long enough. With time, it settles. The wood breaks and falls away, and we must keep adding to it, keeping the flames bright and warm. But sometimes, either purposefully or not, the fire seems to falter and the coals grow dim. The flames are barely alive and look lifeless with their lack of strength. We grow cold in this stage... and sometimes the chilling lack of fire causes bitterness;
sometimes it's like I'm frozen right where I'm sitting and I'm staring into it, like I know what I could do to save it, but my position is one of passivity. I choose to ignore it. I choose to stay cold. I wrap things around myself to hide, to somehow get warm again without the fire. And in these moments, I fear.

And in these moments, I can either invite heavenly light or welcome a darkness that will surely overtake me.

The Light is the work.
The darkness is always there.



The flames of our love are purposed to draw others into their warmth, bringing them into our story - a love story built on authentic brokenness and healing woundedness. It's an ongoing story - one barely beginning with our initial meeting, and one that will continue on, always progressing, always challenging, always transforming.
As we move deeper into our story, as time passes, we'll continue to stoke the dying embers. We'll watch in amazement as what we thought were just ashes rise up and set fire again. And we'll learn to take better care of it. Of us.
As we grow, may we dream once again of a love so great, not mourning the lows, but standing back and watching the change and calling it good.
May we see His great love alive and active in our small campfire.
May we add to it, letting it crackle and pop as it will.
May we be so bold as to risk getting too close, able to see the dancing fire in each other's eyes.
And may we move together, even closer, diving straight into the all-consuming, wonderful flames of Love, letting it burn away at our once frozen-solid hearts.

& he set me on fire

I am burning alive

with his breath in my lungs

I am coming undone.

Love's taken over me

and so I propose:

letting myself go.

I am letting myself go.  

You are my joy.

-David Crowder-

follow me, follow me down

Will you take a few moments and read this post? Because she puts it beautifully. And because she's way more honest than I think I could ever be.
[ at least for now ]

----


These are my words for life ::


people & their eccentricities -
Downtown Minneapolis is ideal for watching people move at their own paces, to their own secret rhythms. I noticed two extremes across the street from me: an older gentlemen in white shorts and a crisp polo, casually enjoying a smoke outside of a classy building, and then waltzing past him, paired with an unusual walking stick, went a purple-haired man. I watched the two - watched polo guy glance purple-haired guy over a few times, then glance back again after he had passed. I couldn't help but wonder to myself... maybe polo guy sensed that purple-haired guy somehow had more than him, even if his exterior seemed to prove a lack thereof. Maybe, just maybe, polo guy thought to himself...
 he's more free than I'll ever be.

So goes my mindful wanderings regarding the monetarily rich and poor of our world. I continue to believe that those who seem to have less really have more. And they have so much to teach me. I must continually remind myself that people are people, like me, like you - whether they are holding a sign on the side of the road, or walking beside me on their daily commute to work.


feathered faith -
a few weeks ago, I, in a moment of profound empathy and spirit-nudging, texted a dear friend and told him to be on the lookout: there are whispers and signs of our Lover everywhere. And to specifically pay attention to feathers - he's leaving some behind for you.
Well, maybe, just maybe, that word was more for myself. I have spotted his feathers everywhere - stepping off the bus, walking downtown, in my backyard, at the lake. These are burning heart moments for me, when I remember my words to my friend, when my soul sparks with surprise at His thoughts toward me, too - my precious reminders of his love, reminders to rest under the shadow of his wings.
(psalm17:8)


hiding and fighting -
some days, this war within me is more than I can overlook and ignore, which I'm learning to be thankful for. The struggle toward authenticity will be ever before all of us. I guess it just depends on whether we want to keep going or whether we want to sit down and decide that we've come far enough. Sometimes I do that - just sit and refuse to move. Sometimes that's okay, because I probably have much to think through, much that I haven't let myself feel, and that kind of sitting can be transformational. But sometimes, I am fighting to be the center of my world, fighting for recognition, fighting for peace (total oxymoron), and fighting to remain right where I am so that I can be seen, heard, and validated.

I'm realizing that healing a heart is a long, committed process. I'm realizing that tears can be like a river that forces me out of my tightly held position - tears and pain and floods of emotion can help me to see the truth of myself, and more-so, the truth of these hurts and mistakes and bitter memories that I'm still holding onto.

Just let it flow in and around and over and out of me.

Let go like a confession, see what you were born to find... 

( Elenowen: Flying for the First Time )



holding close -
I'm going to marry the bravest man I know. We're learning so much about the other - two very separate souls longing to somehow merge ourselves together, hoping for a greater understanding of love and wholeness that we've never known on our own. Though we, in our very individual ways, still sometimes long for independence and a lack of accountability, we're discovering the beauty and enormity of this journey. A journey with enormous challenges and an unending supply of opportunities to be good to each other - living a life of goodness that mirrors the gracious, unconditional goodness our Abba displays towards us.
We are conditional, however.
And we are limited in our love.
And we are needy in our uniqueness.
But we're seeing, even now, even after so little time (in comparison to a hopefully long lifetime together) we change our tones more quickly, and we apologize much more often. We want to be consistent: taking in forgiveness and pushing out our selfish motivation.
I want to hold him closer, reminding myself that I am worthy of his love, marveling at the strength of his heart, the depth of his questions, and the wonder of his creativity.
I'm so grateful that we are not only attempting to merge our lives, but we're intentionally creating this unified life - pursuing passion, admiring adventure, seeking treasures in ourselves and for our future home, laughing and crying, ebbing and flowing.

Oh, what our future holds...

Hope.

Skyway Jesus

I saw Jesus again today, in the skyway by Macy's.

I was wondering why I was walking that way - it was a beautiful morning and I should be outside as much as possible, my weary self longing to soak in every second of sunshine and fresh air.

then, I heard him singing.

I don't even know what the words were, all I could hear was his sweet voice, calling out to each person as they passed, reminding them of the beauty that is easily missed in today.

I bee-lined for him, outstretching my hand so that I might catch this infectious disease that made him sing so beautifully and triumphantly.

He looked  me in the eye, and he said I had a beautiful smile.

Good mornin' sister,

don't let anybody steal your joy today!

Ok, I'll try.

No... you can do this.

Words for my soul.
I'm so very thankful he met me there.