Years Into Decades . . .

I had measured not in hours or days, neither weeks nor months.  But, years.  I had measured and I still do measure in years.  And in one, I measure not by mere years, but by decades.

The measure of the waiting, waiting in years, decades.  I measure the waiting and gage the hoping on the linear scale, knowing that He is not linear and surely not measurable.  I grapple with His reality and try desperately to release my reality.  I grasp at His truth and cling tightly to a dimensionless God, He does not hold to 3-dimensions as my flesh is confined to, and He surely does not lay on my linear time-line.  I often feel trapped by space and time, caged by years and decades, a prisoner to the waiting.  But, in Truth, I am only trapped, caged and a prisoner when I permit it.  Allow it.  Own it.  And wear it.

For my flesh may lay on linear line but my spirit is linked to dimensionless God and a time-less Wonder.

Either I walk in the flesh as prisoner and captive; or I bask in the Spirit, limit-less and free.  My choice.

In one longing, I measure in year.  Just now, completed year.

In another, I count long years.  Hard fought years.

And in the last, decades.  Decades of longing.  Decades of waiting.  And decades of hoping.  

And as days have marched into years and years have galloped into decades, one would wonder at this word ~ hoping.  Hope.  How can one hope after years, decades?  And yet, my Hope lies far stronger and far more powerful on this end of the hoping and the waiting and certainly the years of praying.  I feel it my bones and I wage war with it against my flesh.  And my matter buried in my marrow does certainly know that the wonder of my Hope can not be quenched, caged or buried, even under years, not even under decades of years.

There may have been a time when you could have worried me out of my hoping, my believing.  I may have been willing to indulge the flesh and ask that awful 'why' question and quickly allowed a 'but when?!'  But, not any longer.


For        . . . I know in Whom I have believed . . . 


And all the years of waiting and the decades of wondering have not gone unseen by an all-seeing God and as He is NOT bound in the way that my flesh may lay as captive, I decidedly decide to grasp the limit-less God and know that it is He in Whom I have laid my dreams into.  I have laid and sown my dreams and my waiting into a dimension-less God and One that is so able, able to do far more then I could think, or imagine or dream . . . 

And I do dream, I dream into decades and I know the One that does not sleep, nor slumber Who laid these dreams and desires into my heart will deliver.  He will deliver.  And He will not deliver by my demanding or time table, He will deliver by His sovereignty and grace.  And it will not come even as I can imagine it, nor will He meet my expectations.  For my imagining and my expecting are so far less then He will give.  He loves me far too much to allow me to settle for my imaginings and dreams.

Do you know that?  Truly know that?  He loves you far too much to allow you to settle for your puny expectations.  For our simplistic dreams.  And He will spend eternity and open the heavenlies to show us how far our imaginings truly missed the mark.  Oh and on that day, that glorious day, we will finally know and finally see . . . 

And that is why after the years of waiting and the decades of hoping, my hope is far more powerful then I can even begin to describe.  The waiting has taught me of Whom my hope is in.  And that is worth all the days of unanswered prayers and all the years of wondering and all the decades of watching and waiting.  If it had all come when I had first begun to ask ~ I would not know.  I would not know Him, as I do now.  

And then after the countless hours of prayers and the well's worth of tears He brings me this ~

Psalm 147:11 ~

"The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear Him, in those who hope in His mercy."

Another layer to the bedrock foundation that He has laid over these years into decades ~ He has taken pleasure in me!  In these years into decades that I have hoped in Him.  He has taken pleasure.  I have brought Him pleasure.  As I hope.  As you believe.  As I continue to offer up the same prayer and hope in the Answer, He finds pleasure in us!  It is astounding.  It is freeing.  It is enough.

In the waiting.  And the praying.  And the believing.  And the hoping.  It is enough!  His pleasure, in me.  It is enough.

(And in the hoping and the believing over the years into decades, I have made a home amongst Hebrews 11 and will share of my home soon, Lord willing.)

Of Jesus-Freaks and Better-Seekers

It just has a subtle way of happening.  Often far from our own recognition of what has happened.  Often without our permission or even desire, it just happens.

Religion has a way of ushering in this happening.

It is that subtle settling for what is good, rather then fighting to hold to that which is better.

It just simply happens, we replace this better, His better for that which is just, simply good.

"But now they desire a better, that is, a heavenly country.  Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them."    ~ Hebrews 11:16

Those few who hold on and live to find "the better," He is not ashamed to be named their God.

Not ashamed.  For they, these better-seekers, know of the deep calling the deep and they refuse to wallow in the shallow, and they dive amongst the depths to know the better.

But now they desire a better . . .

I hear it in a gentle wind whistle through the leaves, I see it as dawn rises wide and wild and breaks wide upon the horizon and yet rising dawn wild with wonder is subject to the telling He.  The dawning light that bathes half a globe in glorious golden rays bows a humble knee to the telling He, Who determines the rise and fall of light and the rise and fall of nation and the rise and fall of man and even me.

I see it there and I hear it here and I do know of a better, a heavenly country . . . 

And yet, I also do know that the day will fill with math lesson and phone calls, and hours can be whittled away with unkind talk and worried planning, I can skim the news and plummet into an empty nothingness, a gaping black hole.  And then I am not one of the they, not a better - seeker; I settle for the here and the now and I let the better slip through my lackadaisical fingers.

It is a choice, my choice, your choice.  To be a better - seeker or a settler.

And in truth I do not believe this is a salvation concern.  At least not for me or for you.  But, maybe it will be for them.

It may be a salvation concern for the many 'thems'.  The 'thems' that are watching me and watching you.

I do believe there will be those in heaven who were NOT better - seekers but were simply settlers.  However, these settlers were likely deeply impacted by a better - seeker at one point or another.

Better - seekers are those rare ones, those people who have just a slight grip here on earth and very strong grasp on heaven.  I would rightly name them as Jesus - freaks. In some ways it can be difficult to even relate - they feel strangely unearthly.  Maybe even abstract.  And surely not relevant.  Many better - seekers are by in large rejected by main-stream Christianity and seen as 'too out there' (and how could that possibly be bad?) by the western church as a whole.

They are better - seekers.  And yes, they are a touch weird.  Alien.  Sojourners.

They are mainly tethered to this earth by two things - love for humanity and the reality that their flesh is still functioning, their body has not yet expired.  But, other then that, their desire is Jesus and "a better."  A better place.  A better land.

They are not phased by finances and they care not for luxury.  They are not ruffled by our offensive words to them or about them.  The better - seekers are not obsessed with the November elections for truly their citizenship is elsewhere.  And they are not impressed with your numbers ~ numbers in ministry, or bank accounts, or number of cars and the size of your jeans matter not to these others.  For those are numbers of this land and they are simply just passing through.

And weird as these Jesus - freaks may be, they are absolutely game - changers.  And whether you realize it or not - your game was changed by one of these at some point in time.

These rare gems sparkle with a glimpse of the other and in a dark world in the midst of dark times they are living, breathing examples of another way.

Now here is the hard, harsh reality ~ when Christians live life firmly planted to this planet - wallowing ankle deep in faith, merely enough to slide into heaven but still submerged in the waters of this wasteland about - they do not offer much hope of anything different then is already seen all about.  And by wastelands I do not mean the lands of depravity - I mean everyday, normal earthly living.  The wastelands of the struggle for wealth and success, for security and comfort, for friendship and people who just "get you" and "appreciate you," for the right starting spot for you child on the right team, for the right to be heard and the struggle to be understood and the endless wastelands of modern entertainment where ALL true creativity, authenticity, purity and any ounce of genius WENT TO DIE (leave it to the opulent and pampered West to truly decimate any level of true art).  The normal everyday wastelands of social media and the he-said and she-said and she wore and he dated.  And the wastelands of self-medicating with food or exercise, pills or a few drinks or many dollars.  These are all of the wastelands of this world and while we wallow and wade around here, the better is waiting and wondering . . . 

And the world is watching and dying . . . 

There is a better, a heavenly, and I do know and I do hear - when I choose to silence the wastelands and to hear from the other.

To release grip on this empty earth and climb up amongst the stars and to hear tales of Knight on mighty steed saving from the settling and teaching us of the seeking.  The better - seeking.

And we may slide into heaven but what of all the ones who are watching the wallowing in the wastelands and so they do not see the needed glimpse of the other, the better?

What of them?  Those thems desperately need to see us living as better - seekers to know this empty earth has no answers and to finally find courage in our living to look up to the Only Answer.

Bothered. Deeply Bothered.

It used to bother me.  Bother me terribly.  To complete frustration.  And agitation.  Truly bother me.  I would close the Book for the bother was so great.

" . . .  because as He is, so are we in this world."  1 John 4:17

That "He" is Jesus.  As Jesus is in this world, so am I.  Oh my, that bothered me.  Deeply.  And profoundly.  Bothered me.

For I knew deeply and profoundly that it was not so for me.  I was nothing like He was or is in this world.  I was far more like me in this world, then like Him.  And yet again, I had failed.  At another necessary benchmark, I had failed.

I was not Jesus in this world, I was me and I have sob stories from my sweet children that I have wounded over the years and hours upon hours recorded on the books spent in angry complaining to prove it.  Oh maybe, I spoke the churchiness jargon well enough to keep the complaining to myself, but complain I did.  And I knew Jesus did not complain.  He did not complain about me or about my children or about the fact that suffering and sacrifice were His constant companion as He worked upon this soil.  He never said, "After all I have sacrificed for you!  This is how you treat me?!  I gave up everything for you!  I gave up heaven for you!  And you reject me and turn from me and lie to me and steal from me and get ARRESTED!  Come on!  Seriously!"  He had not said that.  No, that was me that had thought that - on repeat.  Minus the heaven part, I had not given up heaven but I would have told you I had given up everything short of heaven.

It so deeply bothered me, for I had so profoundly missed the mark.

And I began to use words such as "manage" and "handle" - I had failed at the work He has set before me and the exhaustion took me to a place where the lost just need to be "managed."  And I knew that Jesus had never "managed" a soul on this planet - He had always loved.  Just loved.  Simply loved.

And yet, love felt so far from even remotely possible in my world.  My world was simply coping, managing, handling and surviving (dare I even admit that this surviving was simply surviving until a couple of 18th birthdays.)  You can judge, it is heartbreaking to write it and I know it sounds unbearably terrible to just "manage" the lost.

But remember, I had aimed for the mark,  ~  . . . as He is, so are you in this world ~ mark and I had failed.  Terribly.  Profoundly.  Deeply.  Failed.

I had truly wanted to love as He loves, love the hurting and the broken all around me.  I had giving it my best shot and I missed the mark.

Maybe you can not relate.  Maybe the love of Christ just spews out of you all over those lying, stealing, screaming, hating lost ones around you.  But, for me, spewing had not happened (at least not that sort of spewing) and so I retreated into the 'just manage and cope corner' to lick my wounds and pray for strength to rise another day, rise another morning and try 'to cope and manage' for a few more hours.

And at that verse I would close the Book in utter frustration and deep self-disgust.  I had tried and failed.

Enough said, I am assuming you got my point several paragraphs ago and yet, it is healing for me to admit it.  To write it.

For quite some time I have lived life as one who manages the lost and broken, holding them at an arm's length for I too deeply knew the cut of the lost, the sting of the hurting.  And I had learned that that the ones that hurt the most, were surely the ones who knew how to cut the deepest.

And my relationship with Jesus was, well, fine ~ I guess.  I had done my due diligence.  I had attempted to be as He was in this world and I had failed.  I knew He was merciful, even to failures such as myself.  And heaven was about His blood, not my works.  So, I was fine.

Somewhat empty.  But, fine.  You know, coping.  Managing.  Surviving.  Maybe more then somewhat empty, but still, fine.

He was never harsh, He knew I had tried and failed.  But, He is kind and merciful.  I was just not capable of being what He wanted or needed me to be in this world.  He would just find a "better Christian."  And they would do His work.

We had an understanding.  Albeit, a sad and disheartening understanding but an understanding all the same.  He would not strike me with lightening and I would limp along with my "managing" of the lost.

And then one day He said, "I think you finally understand that you can not do this "loving the lost" thing, that it is entirely a work of Mine, in you and through you.  I think you are ready for a few new things."

And as simply as He said, He turned it.  And a new understanding is beginning to be forged.  And the deal is laid deeply in the foundation of His love.  A God love.  Not a fallen-man love.  A God love.

And that is always has He had intended it to be and my vain attempts to do it any other way where just the necessary failures to show me how deeply I was incapable.  And no amount of self-discipline.  Or girding my loins (the XO's favorite).  Or grinning and bearing it for the cause.  Would do the work He had done.  In this world.  It would only be, only could be, a God work.  In me.  And in them.

A new day is dawning.  For me.  And for them.

It is His work.  His love.  His salvation.  And His mercy.

End of our Story.



Oh except for this one thing - I do have a part to play and it is simply this.  To lay down my rights at the foot of the Cross.  My right to be offended when you scream at me and tell me you hate me.  My right to be offended when you steal from the only people who attempted to care for you.  My right to be offended when the police call, again.  My right to NOT speak with my hands.  My right to defend myself and my home.  My right to be exhausted.  My right to comfort.  Or safety.  Or any luxury.  My right to be understand.  And of course my right to appreciated.  My right to be hurt and to talk about my hurt.  My right to my feelings.  My right to be heard and valued by my fellow man.  My right to retirement.  Or a few extra pennies in the bank account.  My right to my Friday night, or Saturday night for the matter.  Or weekends as a whole and definitely my right to a vacation.  My right to finish a sentence without an interruption or my right to NOT answer my 1,000th question of the day or the hour for that matter.  My right to not be spit on, or urinated on.  My right to be loved, coddled or pampered.  My right to rest or a nice meal.  My right to a "new" shirt that did not come from someone else's closet.  My right to NOT have to wait.  My right to complain.

My right to MY life and MY future and MY dreams and MY hopes and MY goals and MY wants and even MY needs.

If I willing lay it ALL down He will give me His heart and love for the lost.  That is the deal.  

And after years of "doing" I am ready for the "surrendering."  For it was never about what this little seed could do ~ it was always about how this little seed could die.  (John 12:24)


A new day is dawning, at least for me.  And them.

Of Fairytales and Fables

I had lived in a land of supposed facts and figures - all that is sensible and surely, always practical.

And yet, the Word became flesh and dwelt among us  .  .  .    And there is nothing of our 21st century reason found in this GodWord being wrapped in body-raiment.

But, the facts and the figures felt far more safe then fables and fairy tales and what success can be found in fanciful, flighty fables.   And yet, what is that other word that He has used?  Oh, yes ~ parables!  Parables.  And fables.  And yes, He did tell the story in such a way that many would shake their heads and cry out for, "More facts and figures!  Oh, do speak of things that bring success we can quantify!"  Our critical thinking skills and mastery of deductive reasoning does not permit us to hear the Word spoken of in a way that defies reason; and as He is the One Who embodies Defying Reason we simply can not speak His language.  But, that Word wrapped in body-raiment would not heed their need for facts and figures and He would decidedly do as His Father had said.  And His vernacular of choice would voice far more of a fanciful kingdom, then facts and figures.

And the world would be confounded by Him.  By Him, Who chose to wrap majesty and might in the muddled mess we deem as flesh.

And yet I do know - He speaks to me in a language of love that likens to fairy tales of old.

I also know what those around me do say - fairy tales and fables are for children.  Fact and figures are for the mature.

And it is so true - I see their eyes and hear their laughter, I grapple to answer their questions as we wander our way through the lovely tales of fairies and we face our fears amongst the goblins and feel the flame of the fiery dragon.  It is true.  I see it in their eyes.  Fairy tales and fanciful kingdoms are for children.

Thank you Jesus You said something of, "Come unto Me as children," and, "Suffer not the little ones . . . "

And that is how it was said and that is as You demand it.  Faith of the littles, who dream of Knight in White and the might of His steed and the splendor of the His kingdom in the sky.  Faith of a child.

Facts and figures and the world tell me to take my head out of the clouds and yet, time and time again I do know, I do testify - it is with head in the clouds that I do see this Word wrapped in flesh again and again.

For facts and figures have never led me to the Truth.

But, into the fairy tales I have followed my Father and found that He is faithful and true.

It is sad to say and very hard to hear but in our world built on practical and sensible, with all that is efficient and proven!  We leave little to no room for the Father to show faithful.

Maybe if you struggle to see the mystical majesty of the Word wrapped in flesh - maybe it is because of an existence founded on facts and figures, fueled by the world's system of thought.

Dare I offer a day or even an hour amongst the fairies and see if you can't find you Savior Knight on gallant steed, speeding with all His might to rescue thee.

A New Vernacular

It is a struggle, the writing.  Always a constant struggle.  For a number of years I struggled against the things that were said about my writing, or in reality, the things that were not said.  He graciously taught me how to lay that aside and yet, the struggle raged on.  I would then have to wage war against the things I said or did not say about my writing.  That battle ensued for months, that had piled into several years and I am just now learning to speak in a new way about my writing (and many other things for that matter).  And now, I find myself engaged in yet another battle and I do believe it is on this final battleground that I will thrust my flag deeply into the land, my land, that He has given to me.  And here, I raise my Tried and True Banner high.  My Banner has fought this war for me and through me and in the last throes of this particular war, I know I have victory.

May I share my final battleground with you?

My greatest fear when I put pencil to paper is simply this ~ that I will write something of me, rather then of Him.  I use to suffer under angst that you would reject it or laugh at it and quite often, that you would simply just not read it.  Then I lived under fear of my own rejection (sad but true) ~ I often did not like my own writing.  I spoke words of rejection and often found myself enveloped in my own satirical critique of what I had penned.  I had become my own worst enemy.  And then He graciously began to show me the futility of creation fighting the Creator.  And I am learning a new vernacular ~ hopefully a far more heavenly vernacular.  

And now my final stand against my own God-given calling ~ how to KNOW that I KNOW that I have not written of self, only of Him.

For in truth, most of you will not enjoy that which I write and far more will simply not read it.  And certainly there will be many times I will not love that which He pens, but with all of this I have made peace.  My final worry is ~ what does He want me to tell you?  What does He need you to hear?

And, is this particular scribe worthy of penning His message?

And at this crossroads I hear Him teach of a new vernacular ~ His vernacular.  I am worthy, simply because of the blood of Jesus that covers me and empowers me to do the work that He has set before me.  That is God-speak.  And yet, it is hard to pen ~ even now tears flow freely for I fight the temptation to delete those words off the screen, for they feel presumptuous - who am I?  And yet, He whispers, "You are my daughter and I asked you to write a few letters to a few dear friends.  You are my scribe.  That is who you are.  It is the Cross and only the Cross that permits you to be as such.  Do not diminish the work of the Cross by some degree of false humility and by disparaging the creation that I deemed of great value.  Value, that I would sacrifice My only Son for."

And because there is truly nothing new under the sun and the crafty serpent uses that same bag of nasty tricks continuously ~ it is likely that you struggle in your own wars.  And you hear words either spoken by yourself or by others, that disparage the creation that is found wrapped in your own skin.  And those words and that war will likely keep you locked in years of fruit-less battle until you learn a new vernacular.  You are not worthy because of you - you are worthy because He created you in HIS IMAGE and He sent His Son to redeem that created you.  And you have great value to Him and those surrounding you have great value to Him.  The image was marred in the garden but it was set anew on the Cross.  Your only necessity is to see you as He sees you and then to see others as He sees those others.  That is the work of the Cross - restoration of creation.

What is it?  What do you say to you?  What do say to others?  Or for those of us who live amongst the churchiness of our small worlds and have learned to fake the talk and barely gip along on the walk ~ what do you think about you?  And what do you think about others?

If you think anything other then ~ you/they have tremendous value!  And incredible worth!  And great giftings to be consecrated for the the glory of the Giver!  Then you need to renew the vernacular that rumbles and tumbles through your mind.

It is essential.  Monumental.  We need to see as He sees.  Time is short and there is much to be done and we can not waste precious moments wallowing under what was said about us or to us and our feelings of this or that.  The dying world around us desperately needs us to see us as He sees us so that we can see them as He sees them.  This dying world may get only one mere, fleeting glimpse of how He sees them and it will likely come through our eyes.  Our eyes need to see an image that was breathed out of the image of God - they need to know their value to Him, to see themselves as He sees them.  And God determined at the foundation of time to show them through your eyes and mine.