Love Sonnets from God

Voicemail and His Voice.

2014-02-03T19:09:00.005-08:00

When I need to talk to You, I fall to my knees and can't wait a minute to open my heart to you. I'm usually desperate. And You bend Your ear to it, as if You couldn't tell the story far better Yourself.

I was so excited to share something with a friend today. Aching, bursting. And after too many days of not calling, not enough reason to, suddenly today it killed me that her phone just hummed until the voice mail clicked on. The difference between words being left unsaid or not, is in the needing to speak them.

Sometimes my needs are cumbersome and weighty, and sometimes, like today-- my need was a burning desire to share joy. Either end is a tipping of the mundane.

How can I make my whole life a conversation-- with Him? For He is an unloading-the-dishwasher-type of Friend, but I feed Him with the pot-roast-dinners-talk, and we stay so one-type-conversationed. And I miss Him in all the other ways He is. He isn't mundane. But He makes my mundane not mundane either. Because He cares about it.

And He doesn't have to knock at my door, drink coffee, and talk for two hours to make me feel less lonely. He can whisper to my heart and do the work in a breath. He can do it over a pile of laundry. If I let my words need speaking. If He is what's urgent. Not me. Otherwise, I let words go unsaid.

But He says my whole life is a conversation. To Him.
"casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you."
1 Peter 5:7

Together in Grace,

Amy

Because He made my life, It's not about my life, but about my life with Him. About sharing it. And it's worth it to Him. It was worth dying for.

Beautiful Scars.

2014-02-02T15:38:00.000-08:00

His pain did not last forever. The moment the seal of darkness broke from the tomb, and death no longer held power within, without; He was healed. Yet the scars proved the wounds. His scars bear the only traces of our forgiven sin.

If His wounds were left open...if He lingered at death's door, God's healing work would have been incomplete. And His work was finished. The scars can hurt Him no more.

Usually it's my most painful wounds that scar. Or most shameful. Or most careless. And long before the wounds heal, they fester.

There's Balm in Gilead. And when He heals, wounds become scars that prove the Healer and the scars, prove the healing work of His, and it's beautiful-- like scars over a pregnant womb. And when they no longer hurt, the healing is work is finished. And because His wounds healed, so can mine. That's what makes His scars so beautiful.

God could have healed Jesus while he was taken from the cross-- in the sight of all; could have healed Him on the first day. Yet He did heal Him on the third day. Quietly. It took patient waiting, and it was perfect timing. Christ placed His life and death in His Father's will.

Beautiful scars that were once wounds remind me of His love today. Just as His love reminds me that my wounds are what His scars stand for.

And because we live in a world with jagged edges-- a Savior who binds wounds will always be what we need.

And nothing will be more beautiful than His scars.

Together in grace,

Amy

Poor-Man's-Fruit.

2014-01-30T21:15:00.000-08:00

I’ve stood in my garden as seasons changed—and waited for joy to come.

And I felt cheated of it, like it was something I couldn’t simply spiritually mature into my garden. And plain old contentment seemed a poor-man’s-fruit when Christ offered the sweetness of genuine joy.

“looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12:2”

But for the joy that was set before Him, He endured the cross. The cross was not His joy. He looked ahead of the cross—to what was to be gained—His Father’s joy, the joy of our redemption, to our joy—and because of that, He counted the cross as a joy. And endured the cross. And despised its shame.

This present loss is not my joy. And it makes this burden of not feeling a certain way less weighty. For these seasons of searching for joy have only amounted to looking in the wrong directions. Looking in my heart for some elation as proof it exists-- and isn’t just faked; looking for more than just a bud on the branch, more than just a passing glimpse of joy, and I finally found the problem-- that I’ve looked for my own joy, and not to His.

Joy.

Joy is set before me every time I ask, “How can I bring You joy?”

My day may still be hard. My heart may still hurt, but how can God be given the gift of joy that I cannot? And bringing Him joy sets my eyes on Joy itself, on the Eternal: on the Gardener, not the garden, on the Light, on the Living Water, on the One who restores my soul. And truly, I can count that all joy.

And those are the things that really tend a joy-fruit garden.

“My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, ³knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. ⁴But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing. James 1:2-4”

Our Beautiful Gardener exchanges the gifts of joy we lay at His feet with faith renewed in our hearts. We never leave His feet empty handed.

Together in Grace,

Amy

Wabi-Sabi.

2014-01-24T06:54:00.003-08:00

Careful strokes of paint and fistfuls of play dough transform into little masterpieces at my table. And in these messy moments I realize that the most beautiful art is formable. Paint swirls loosely, pencils and pens can color into any limitless shape-- but the old crunchy pieces of play dough are unworkable.

Isaiah 64:8
But now, O Lord, You are our Father; We are the clay, and You our potter; And all we are the work of Your hand.

I wonder what I am to Him—formable? Can He make something beautiful of my life? Or has my control hardened it? Is my heart stiff for His potter hands?

And when I cease to be teachable, I am a clay pot that must break. For I can no longer bend.

I've been glued together enough times to know. I am a Wabi-Sabi, as the Japanese so name their imperfect pottery. But if my clay is soft, imperfect is in the eye of the Beholder.

The most beautiful art is formable.

And the most Beautiful-- Him. He who has no beginning and no end, Whose Spirit hovers over the waters of the deep, Whose fingers paint with the stars, Whose blood turns black hearts to white--

He who formed man out of dust-- He who took on the form of man-- He who forms our ashen hearts to beauty-- He is what is most beautiful.

And He takes time to make masterpieces.

Proverbs 12:1

Whoever loves discipline loves knowledge,
but he who hates reproof is stupid.

Together in Grace,

Amy

Words from Him to Me.

2014-01-22T12:57:00.000-08:00

Mixed in with a stack of junk mail and bills, a letter from my uncle arrived unexpectedly in reply to a Christmas card I'd sent. I sat down to pages of hand-written memories of a dad who he remembered as a brother, and friend.

Strange how one person can be known-- and remembered in different ways. My longest memories of him were as sick, dying. Not the man he was in the pages I held. My memories of him were few compared a brother who'd grown up with him-- witnessed a whole life.

I wonder that I'm not limited to a few hand-written memories of the God I know. I have a full, complete history. Eye-witness accounts, Autobiography. And if that isn't enough, we can each know Him intimately and share our experiences with one another, learning more of Him as we live in community.

I treasured the memories given to me, whitewashing them over a dad losing his strength-- to a man who was once strong and bested his big brother in lifting weights, and enjoyed doing it.

But I treasure most of all that I hold more than one chapter of His book, more than one story of the Bible. I don't just know of Him dying. But of Him living.
They aren't stories retold from man to man. They are words from Him to me. It is love that God hand-wrote His life for us line by line, so we could know Him.

It is love that He wants to be known.

Romans 15:4
For everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through the endurance taught in the Scriptures and the encouragement they provide we might have hope.

Deuteronomy 29:29
The secret things belong to the LORD our God, but the things revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may follow all the words of this law.

Together in Grace,

Amy

He Sang in My Lap.

2014-01-21T21:35:00.002-08:00

Just a little song. The words were, "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy..."

And outside was a storm. And inside was a storm.

And that little song being sung in my lap sounded ever so much like His song, like Him quieting me with His love.

Zephaniah 3:17

¹⁷The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.

And right then I needed that. To be reminded that He is singing over me always.

Together in Grace,

Amy

My Story has an Unfinished Ending.

2014-01-21T21:19:00.000-08:00

My story has an unfinished ending, and parts of the plot, the thickest parts, are the hardest to leave hanging. I want to write the chapters myself, flip back pages: edit. I want to see what went wrong, and why. It’s so messy. And sad. I’ve cried over recent chapters behind closed doors more than anyone knows but Him, the Author.

And that’s why the story is unfinished. Because it’s His story. And that I get to play a role in it, however hard, or bittersweet-- may it be for His glory. Because one day there will be a last page where the questions end, and His face answers every question, [cs Lewis] and I desire that I will have played my part in His story well, a thread in His story which weaves into the great tapestry of His grace.

I don’t often talk about my story because it’s too personal. I don’t like to mention how much I love someone who doesn’t want to walk with God,-- who means the most of all to me. And it hasn’t always been so. It’s confusing to my children, and as much as I want to keep them from the pain of it, I see it pressing in a little more all the time. I keep this part of my life’s story held in tight to make it less real, but there are no advantages to living a lie, though the enemy gives me a long list of reasons otherwise. But this is my story. I don’t like to mention my struggle with seizures, and the medicine that makes me feel so slowed down that I have to work hard right now to just be me. I want to quit my medicine to lessen the side effects, to be a better mom…After all, I grew up with a sick parent, I don’t want to do that to my children, but that won’t really solve the problem. I get scared and frustrated because I can’t make it stop in my head. I don’t like to mention any of this, but it is my story. We just moved across country, my husband has a new job, we are starting from scratch. When we got here we had only a sofa and mattresses for furniture and knew no one. My husband travels and is gone a lot of the time, so the kids and I have had to be strong on our own. This is my story. Or at least this chapter. And why is any of it out loud? Because I’m not ashamed of it anymore. I didn’t do anything wrong to cause it as the enemy wanted me to believe for so long. It just is. And the Author of this story has a role for me to play, and He has strength enough for me to walk it out today, and when I turn the page, He’ll have strength enough for that page too.

I’ve faced great heart ache when judgment has preceded grace as others may have seen glimpses of my story. This Christ does not do. I’ve seen some view life as though their lack of trials was a result of their good behavior; therefore trials, mine or any ones were a result of sin. Here enters shame into my story. I don’t see evidence of God working this way. When He chooses us for different parts in His redemption story, it’s not based on our levels of goodness, or talent. We’re not casted on our behavior merit. He uses us as we are, and He uses what we are. He is the One who writes on our hearts. He created us. It is only by His grace my story is not yours, and your story is not mine, so how can we judge? Judging someone’s story is almost like shaming God for writing it.

And when I dwell too long on these hurts caused by others it does the same thing too. It shames the pain written into the story, that He wove onto the pages, for endings beyond the chapters I hold in my hand.

The problem with both, is this puts us at the center of the story, not him, and He is the Story.

We are deceived to think we control any part of this. What has happened, He’s allowed. Hearts hardened and softened-- He’s chosen. The timing-- He’s planned. It’s all part of His work prepared in advance, and work being carried out.

It's not our doing that changes the plot. It's His doing.

Lying about someone’s story hurts almost as much. Hearing their pain, and offering a lie in return, like, “I know everything is going to be okay,” is counter scriptural. And trite. Only God knows how our stories end. Truth is surrendering the pen. Truth is being able to live with whatever He writes. Truth is not a false: “It’s going to be okay,” because no one knows that. Lying about someone’s story discredits it, and assumes they haven’t prayed and cried and bent down on their knees.

When I hear your story and attempt to compare it to my story, it doesn’t help you either. My endings are not your endings. And I need to remember that. And I need to listen, and not be so quick to tell you about the happy ending written in my story, because that may not be the end of yours. I may just need to hold your hand and walk with you. I may just need to remind you of the Great Author we share. And that’s why we share stories, to remember Him, not remember ourselves, and that sometimes is what gets mixed up in the telling.

Unfinished stories are at least all promised one thing: an ending. And unanswered questions are promised an answer. For today, may I be as Mary, ready to be a handmaiden of the Lord in whatever part of His story He asks me to play.

And for today, may I be thankful that He is the Author, not me.

For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. Isaiah55:9

Ephesians 2:10 For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

If we were to write…Fredrick Lehman says it best:
Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above,
Would drain the ocean dry.
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.

Together in Grace,

Amy

Hurt for Healing.

2014-01-21T21:04:00.000-08:00

She’d carried around her guilt for a long time. Guilt over not giving me a chance to be her friend. Judging on outward appearance. And while it made her feel better to finally apologize, finally put it behind her, truthfully; it made me feel a little worse. Did she know what a friend would have meant to me?... But His wounded hands held out to me had already felt the hurt I shared, already died for it.

Could it be that some sin heals at the cost of another’s hurt? Could it be all sin has worked this way, as He has bled and died for a broken people? A hurt for healing exchange? Why should it shock me that in living in community, exposing our sin to one another—it’s often others that pay the price alongside of Christ for our sin-- though only He can redeem it?

How many times have others been wounded by the sin of my words, motives – actions? Living in community with those I’ve hurt is an exchange of my sanctification— others paying the higher price of it. It’s hard for me to live with. To keep hurting those I love – when their exchange is like His, forgiveness

I would rather pay my own way with offenses, rather I hurt myself with them. But sin makes for a deceptive weapon. It can be in my hand before I recognize it. And it can be shamefully familiar.

And His stripes have paid for it all. And the nails, driven in by my sin. His hurt for my healing. What an exchange.

So if I am hurt by others sin—it seems just an echo of how this picture of Christ looks in our lives. It shouldn’t be as hard as I make it out to be at times: to offer what He has offered me. Forgiveness that heals.

Surely he has borne our griefs
    and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken,
    smitten by God, and afflicted.
⁵But he was pierced for our transgressions;
    he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
    and with his wounds we are healed.

Isaiah 53

Together in Grace,

Amy

Lessons from a Defeated Perfectionist.

2014-01-06T18:19:00.003-08:00

I could kill myself trying to be perfect. But if I die trying, what’s the point?

More is always more.

God doesn’t NEED me to do anything at all. Really, He’s got it. Rest.

We’re all happier when we enjoy the process of getting there. And it will be messy. That’s where life happens. It’s not the glimpses you see on camera. That’s the icing on the cake.

The more imperfect I am. All the more beautiful He is.

2 Corinthians 12:9
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

Together in Grace,

Amy

Heart Binding.

2013-12-10T11:51:00.005-08:00

A letter to the wounded hearted.

You know there is comfort—only, you have yet to experience it, for the pain lingers like a night with no dawn. Nothing has changed for so long, and your strength is giving out in the storm.

O afflicted one, storm-tossed and not comforted,
behold, I will set your stones in antimony,
and lay your foundations with sapphires.

- ANTIMONY-

What is your wounded heart barren of? Life beyond a graveyard marriage? The heartbeat of a child? Community from an isolated prison of shame? Love overcoming fear and anger? Forgiveness from stains of hurt? Hope after years of repeated wounds?

“Sing, O barren one, who did not bear;
  break forth into singing and cry aloud,
For the children of the desolate one will be more
    than the children of her who is married,” says the Lord.
²“Enlarge the place of your tent,
    and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out; do not hold back; lengthen your cords
    and strengthen your stakes. ³For you will spread abroad to the right and to the left,
    and your offspring will possess the nations
    and will people the desolate cities.

⁴“Fear not, for you will not be ashamed;
    be not confounded, for you will not be disgraced;
for you will forget the shame of your youth,
    and the reproach of your widowhood you will remember no more.
⁵For your Maker is your husband,
    the Lord of hosts is his name; and the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer,
    the God of the whole earth he is called. ⁶For the Lord has called you
    like a wife deserted and grieved in spirit, like a wife of youth when she is cast off,
    says your God. ⁷For a brief moment I deserted you,
    but with great compassion I will gather you. ⁸In overflowing anger for a moment
    I hid my face from you, but with everlasting love I will have compassion on you,”
    says the Lord, your Redeemer.

⁹“This is like the days of Noah to me:
    as I swore that the waters of Noah
    should no more go over the earth,
so I have sworn that I will not be angry with you,
    and will not rebuke you.
¹⁰For the mountains may depart
    and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you,
    and my covenant of peace shall not be removed,”
    says the Lord, who has compassion on you.

¹¹“O afflicted one, storm-tossed and not comforted,
    behold, I will set your stones in antimony,
    and lay your foundations with sapphires.
¹²I will make your pinnacles of agate,
    your gates of carbuncles,
    and all your wall of precious stones.
¹³All your children shall be taught by the Lord,
    and great shall be the peace of your children. ¹⁴In righteousness you shall be established;
    you shall be far from oppression, for you shall not fear;
    and from terror, for it shall not come near you. ¹⁵If anyone stirs up strife,
    it is not from me; whoever stirs up strife with you
    shall fall because of you. ¹⁶Behold, I have created the smith
    who blows the fire of coals
    and produces a weapon for its purpose. I have also created the ravager to destroy; ¹⁷    no weapon that is fashioned against you shall succeed,
    and you shall refute every tongue that rises against you in judgment. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord
    and their vindication from me, declares the Lord.”

Isaiah 54

These words, written for a people long before us, remind us of the heart of our God, gently binding our hearts with hope, that He is a God who doesn’t forget us even when He is quiet. He is a God who sees our strife, and reminds us: it isn’t from Him. He speaks out loud the words we are desperate to hear: we are loved. That there is so much more meant for this life than the barrenness, shame, grief in spirit, and disgrace life has offered up thus far. And the emptiness of this life only points to the fullness of the next. That’s what these chapters illuminate best: Your empty [tent] now-- will be full. Your sad heart will sing most joyful. Your afflicted heart will swoon. But even now, while the storm rages, may we lift our voices, even if only to a whisper, this song:

For the mountains may depart
and the hills be removed,
but [His] steadfast love shall not depart from [us]

Steadfast: defined as: not subject to change. For all the things that we pray to change, the irony is we have what we really need, and His love never will change.

Steadfast Loved.

Together in Grace,

Amy

Footnote: Unlike the people this was written for, the imagery of pain is not a result of punishment from wandering from His law and falling into Babylonian hands. Through Christ we are free from the law. The pain you or I are experiencing is not a result of God’s desire to punish. That is not the God of these verses. Once we’ve come to know Him, we live in Christ’s righteousness, and He sees us as His bride. The debt’s been paid; forgiveness complete. His love for us will never change, no matter what we’ve done, no matter what we’ve been told, or no matter what we tell ourselves.

He Reveals and it's Always Just What I need.

2013-11-16T08:00:00.000-08:00

As a homeschooling mom-nerd, we’ve been looking at the phases of the moon, and it’s given me pause:

This beautiful God that I love—it reminds me of Him, this crescent moon. He is beyond greater, He is its Creator, but I am in a small way reminded...For out of the darkness, the one place I look to, the Light revealed shines brightest, and my eyes adjust to use that slice of light to make their way through my surroundings. He reveals Himself to meet my present need: Jehovah-Jireh when He knows I need a provider, Jehovah-Ropheka, when He knows I need a healer, Jehovah-Rohi, when I need a shepherd, Abir Yisra’el when I need the Mighty One, Jehovah-Shalom, when I need peace…

There are days He has been all of these and more, and He has met every need even when it felt like no earthly need was met for a time, yet because He was there, I had all I ever needed.

It is God who chooses in His goodwill to reveal the depths of Himself to us. And, like the moon, we may look up at the same Light, yet from where we stand, see it revealed differently.

I often wonder that everything I love about my children are things that I love about my God, because they are little revelations of His character, His attributes, redistributed so differently in each one of them through ones sense of humor, another's sense of justice, someone's nurturing, and a quality of peace-making... I find this true in my friendships: the fingerprints revealed of being made in His image is what I'm drawn to about them. Only His attributes are so vast and immeasurable, we all bear them a little differently.

Beloved, now we are children of God; and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be, but we know that when He is revealed, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. 1 John 3:2

And under His Light, under the beautiful revelation of His glory, we can find rest and peace, knowing our salvation comes from a God who encompasses all things. We rest knowing our every need is met, for He is Everything- Jehovah- I AM.

But as it is written:

“Eye has not seen, nor ear heard,
Nor have entered into the heart of man.
The things which God has prepared for those who love Him."

But God has revealed them to us through His Spirit. For the Spirit searches all things, yes, the deep things of God. 1 Corinthians 2:9-10

Today I see His love in His created work, shining round, amidst a sky winking full of stars as companions. Shekinah! (Glory of the Lord)

Together in Grace,

Amy

Sometimes I win, when I lose.

2013-11-15T11:02:00.002-08:00

Sometimes it's the things I don't do. I felt like a terrible mom, lying in bed, sick all day. And it's just realized then, when I'm decommissioned (and my children are undoubtedly wandering the house hungry) that I discover my two oldest girls know how to make Quiche for dinner, and I suddenly I feel like I won.

I hate not doing, so being sick is the worst. And sometimes I can almost hear God saying how the world still turns without me. And my girls can make Quiche ta-boot. Because it's in His hands, that never weary, and never have sick days. And when I lose, when my strength fails, it does me a lot of good. For I'm finally resting completely in His strength; and that's a win.

the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.
1 Corinthian 1:25

Together in Grace,

Amy

Letting Go.

2013-11-11T12:43:00.000-08:00

I stare at autumn’s glory with regret. I do not wonder at the changing colors and masterpiece of flying hues. I cringe. I would rather the leaves stay as they were, alive and green: unchanging. I would rather those leaves stay fixed to the branches, full and abundant. I do not like to let go. And autumn speaks this visible reminder loudest, that there is a season for letting go.

I so often stand like Eve in the garden with only leaves left to cover my shame. Yet I can’t deceive God for a second. And under the man-made shame is my nakedness, as this season reveals: all will fall away.

And so this autumn that whispers an uncovering of my own shame is gray and ugly. I think too many thoughts as I stay in longer, quiet down, too prepare for the cold. My own leaves start to loosen. I’ve been holding on to lies. The lie that I can change things that only He can change. Let it go. I’ve been holding on to the lie that everyone would be better off if I lived with my heart under lock and key. Let it go. I’ve been holding on to the lie that I’m okay. He’s going to have to help me let that go. I’ve been holding on to the lie that there is shame in being me.

And self-deceptive lies only cover for so long, until they too waste away. And when they are gone, I can run, and I can hide from Truth and from the world, as so many have done before me, but I can’t hide from His presence.

²³“Am I a God at hand, declares the Lord, and not a God far away? ²⁴Can a man hide himself in secret places so that I cannot see him? declares the Lord. Do I not fill heaven and earth? declares the Lord. Jeremiah 23

And once I have, once I can let go of self-deception, let go of things in the past, let go of hurts that I've clung to in self-protection, all my pathetic attempts at self-salvation, I have nothing left to hide behind.

It’s only when I give up and exchange my attempts to cover my own pain and shame, and I accept Truth—that I can see He already has a covering for my pain. When I Let Go. Then, I am finally free to come into God’s presence, free to stop hiding, free to let Him dress me in garments far better than fig leaves…

I will greatly rejoice in the Lord,
My soul shall be joyful in my God;
For He has clothed me with the garments of salvation,
He has covered me with the robe of righteousness,
As a bridegroom decks himself with ornaments,
And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.

Isaiah 61: 10

I am reminded of His love, so great, that He let go of His only son for me. A season of letting go...

How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory

Paper Dog Bones.

2012-12-11T09:13:00.001-08:00

Words to my favorite Christmas song are:

What can I give Him
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd,
I would bring a Lamb.
If I were a wise man,
I would do my part.
So what can I give Him?
Give Him my heart.

Translation: To:Mommy

Mommy, I love you. I hope you have a very good Christmas.

My Christmas tree is filling up underneath. And I haven't even bought one gift for my family. It's filling up with little crayon covered packages: paper dog bones for Shadow, along with paper collars, little cards and paper jewelry for siblings, and fishing poles and glasses for their elves.

The gift making is more fun than the gift getting. And to spend whole afternoons cutting and pasting seems so much more pleasant than writing out long lists to Santa. We've been so busy making gifts around here that we've neglected the most important gift giving. Today we will gather and ask what it is we will give to Jesus this Christmas. The wise men brought gifts for a King to a little babe in a manger. But Jesus doesn't have lists drawn up asking for gold, frankincense and myrrh. He simply asks for our hearts to be opened to Him and our lives to be lived for Him. I hope that is my intention throughout Christmas. I hope not to get frazzled about writing Christmas cards, and finishing lavender scented, rice-filled owls for everyone and their mother. And one for my mother too. That is not the gift giving He's asking for. In fact, He's not asking for more of me at all. He is offering all of Himself. He is the ultimate gift. And the greatest gift we can give to Him is accepting His tremendous gift to us. The best gifts don't come from under the tree at all. They come from a manger.

Today I see His love in the gift of Himself. He is here: offering peace in busy days, joy in the little moments cherished with my children, and unconditional love, such as can only be given by Him.

Together in Grace,

Amy

Unexpected Gifts.

2012-12-09T18:17:00.001-08:00

Christmas errands involve unexpected stops to the mall. And unexpected cash-only train rides. I dig through my purse to find only enough change for 2 and a half children, and the older two willingly watch their younger sister and brother line up for tickets. Then the ticket lady slips me four and says, "Merry Christmas." Happy smiles all around from this unexpected gift.

Some gifts are expected. His coming was expected. But no less miraculous. I love both kinds. But today I see His love in the many unexpected gifts He has given.

Together in Grace,

Amy

When He Comes.

2012-12-08T20:59:00.000-08:00

Our little stable brings its story slowly. Each day, one more piece arrives until the full crescendo of the beautiful moment of His birth is pictured. Sometimes we only have part of the picture. Sometimes we live with that. But when He comes, fullness comes.

Anticipation and Naughty Elves.

2012-12-08T20:38:00.003-08:00

We're awaiting Christmas under the watchful eyes of four mischievous elves named: Tinsel, Ginger, Sugarplum and Rowan. (Yes, he's his own favorite name.)

They are tricky elves...

I've never anticipated anything so much as my four sweet baby arrivals. I can only imagine the anticipation of generations awaiting our King. I am thankful to have already seen His birth announcement penned across pages of His Word. In this season, the anticipation of His birthday is bound up with joy at our house.

Today His love is shown to me in laughter where there could be silence, in light where there could be darkness, and joy where I could have known only sadness.

Together in Grace,

Amy

If You Were Born in a Stable, Welcome to my House.

2012-12-05T16:41:00.002-08:00

Jesus was born in a stable. So I presume He would be willing to visit my house, even on days like today. I ventured from my bed once today, long enough to capture the stable-like-similarities I saw. After a 10 day bout of taking care of sick kids, I knew my turn was coming. And it has. In a bad way. I am a little horrified of my children run house right now. In fact, this would theoretically be the perfect day for a Christmas miracle, aka: someone to come by and watch my kids, cook, put laundry away, make me soup and bring me lots and lots of fever reducing tylenol. Did I mention wash the dishes? But I would not let anyone through my door to do it. Even if there was such a willing soul. I do that to Jesus too. I only want Him to see the parts of me that aren’t a mess. But I need Him the most where I am falling apart. And it’s not as if He can’t already see the piles of dishes; they are mounting like the tower of Babel. Only, the amazing thing about this stable born King is His willingness to enter our world in manure filled stables, eat with tax collectors and bathe men's stinky feet. He is willing to cross my home and my heart’s threshold too, no matter how bad it looks like inside.

My December Photo Project is summed up today by this last one.

I see His love today in His acceptance of me, of my mess, and in the enormity of His grace. And also, just like Mary leaned on Joseph in her time of need, my husband has fed children, gotten them all to bed, and tackled a load of dishes armed in my purple dish gloves. How great is that?

Together in Grace,

Amy

Christmas is For Living.

2012-12-04T12:28:00.000-08:00

I want them to experience it up close. I want it to be their own, embraced like faith. I want Christmas to be as real and reachable as He is.

Christmas was for the shepherds to gather in His presence. Christmas was and is for all because Jesus came for all. I want my children to live all that He is. So I bring Christmas as close as I can to them: let them finger the pages of His Christmas story, sing the carols playing, rearrange the chippy nativity scene, have trees filled with their own pieces of Christmas glowing by their beds. For joy is in the drawing near to Him. That is Christmastime.

Today I see His love in their faces of joy. He is that joy.

Luke 2

¹⁵So it was, when the angels had gone away from them into heaven, that the shepherds said to one another, “Let us now go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us.” ¹⁶And they came with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the Babe lying in a manger. ¹⁷Now when they had seen Him, they made widely known the saying which was told them concerning this Child. ¹⁸And all those who heard it marveled at those things which were told them by the shepherds. ¹⁹But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.

²⁰Then the shepherds returned, glorifying and

praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen,

as it was told them.

Together in grace,

Amy

The Pickle Store.

2012-12-03T15:16:00.001-08:00

Last Christmas we received a green pickle. Who knew, but I have four children who think hiding a pickle ornament in the Christmas tree is great fun. And so as the pickle was unwrapped again, it has found its place in and between many branches in these last few days. Did I mention it is…or was a glass pickle? As the three year old boy excitedly pulled the pickle from the branch, a drop happened, a break happened, and sorry tears happened. I held him and he sweetly asked, “Mommy, we go to the pickle store?”

There are some times in life when very little things, like glass pickle ornaments, can become memorable moments in life; times when you have a chance to offer goodness to sad, pickleless hearts. So we packed up the crew, sickness and all, made our way to Kohl’s Christmas department, and with triumph found it was a pickle store indeed.

These are but glimpses of the goodness Christ bestows on me in often unexpected ways. My life is made up such moments, so many of them: blessings. Like having a child’s hand to hold as we cross the parking lot into Kohls, stories to read as my sick littles curl up around me, kisses placed on fevered foreheads and the trust my littles give to me to care for and love them.

As Anne Voskamp pointed out, He is actively pursuing us with goodness and mercy all the days of our lives. But maybe it’s not until the pickle breaks that I can see truly the goodness that follows. I have brokenness inside of me that only His goodness can mend. It takes time, but His goodness is here all the while, for He is here.

This is how day two of the December Photo Project evolved into project pickle. This is how I see His love today: by His goodness in many ways, surrounding me, from His most lavish gift of Himself… to the smallest pickle.

“And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” Luke 2:13,14

May you see His goodness too, demonstrated always in Jesus, who came to us out of our Father’s inordinate goodwill towards us.

Together in grace,

Amy

Light up the Darkness.

2012-12-03T08:53:00.001-08:00

I'm afraid of the dark. I always have been. I'm inwardly scared every time I shut up my chickens after the sun has gone down. But I do it every night, like a dare against my beating heart. I crane for little beady animal eyes glowing in the beam of my flashlight and thankfully I haven't seen anything other than my cat staring back at me.

Last night I went out with tangled strands of thrift store lights, big colored bulbs. The sun was setting as I plugged in the glowing colors, and the Mr. and I wrapped up the pine trees in front, and hung a swag of lights around the roof's edge. Why not make a tacky house a little tackier, right? It wasn't much, but as I stepped back into the dark of night when we'd finished, I realized how much the cheer of the lights replaced all my fear of the dark. I stood by those lights and felt nothing but childish excitement.

He does that; Jesus replaces my fear with His light. He replaces the darkness in my life with the light of Himself. For there is no darkness in Him. So, for day 1 of the December Photo Challenge (which I am not posting until day 3 owing to four sick children) I am thankful for this season of Light which began when the brightest of stars lit up the night sky.

^{Matthew 2}
⁹the star they had seen when it rose went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was. ¹⁰When they saw the star, they were overjoyed. ¹¹On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him.

John12:46
I have come into the world as light, so that whoever believes in me may not remain in darkness.

Today I was shown His love in a shining strand of colored lights.

His light shines so much brighter.

Together in Grace,
Amy

Love Much.

2012-11-01T09:34:00.004-07:00

Why did I think that love was ever free? It is the very essence of who You are; and it is freely given. But it is costly; to a Father, it cost Him His Son’s life, to a Son, it cost him everything. I want love as a pleasure, to be as naturally given as it is His nature simply to be: love. After all, isn’t dying natural?

But I agonize when it costs me to love, when it is painful. And it is. But this painful dying to self is really the only way to live and genuinely love. And so even when it hurts Lord, may I remember how much more You bled, how much more You have always freely given me Yourself; given away Your costly love gladly, graciously, with no reserve.

This woman, she broke a bottle of expensive perfume, poured it at Your feet, washing away the dirt with the silk of her hair. It had to cost her. She had to lose what she valued for something she valued more, You.

…and [she] stood at His feet behind Him weeping; and she began to wash His feet with her tears, and wiped them with the hair of her head; and she kissed His feet and anointed them with the fragrant oil. (Luke 7)

He saw her heart. Saw her tears because He does care. He recognizes sacrifice no matter how much it pales in comparison to His.

“Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave Me no water for My feet, but she has washed My feet with her tears and wiped them with the hair of her head. ⁴⁵You gave Me no kiss, but this woman has not ceased to kiss My feet since the time I came in. ⁴⁶You did not anoint My head with oil, but this woman has anointed My feet with fragrant oil. ⁴⁷Therefore I say to you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much. But to whom little is forgiven, the same loves little.” (Luke 7)

Lord, may I be willing to let love cost me everything—to gain everything. May I love much because I am loved more.

The Pink She Was Waiting For.

2012-03-21T11:19:00.000-07:00

“Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant. “
Robert Louis Stevenson

There are moments in life which seem altogether harder than they should be…like getting a shower… or loading the dishwasher…or making it through a day without my five-year-old child hitting. Finding moments to take a walk with God. And yet these moments are hard.

I’ve come to see all these minuscule moments in life as this lengthy chain of opportunistic choices which can bead together into something beautiful. Only without the string, each small, daily act falls apart and rolls around aimlessly across the slant of the floor. Some days He works in me to make something of value, and other days I string together my sin. I fail to put my hands to the cord which binds these moments into glory, His glory.

And there are moments when I try. Really hard. And I just don’t see it. I don’t see that it matters, that it helped, or that anything comes from my perseverance. Days when the dishes were just washed and the sink is already full, when the lesson was just taught—and forgotten. There are days when the same prayer has left my mouth so often, pressed in my heart so hard, that I forget all other words—and I wonder if it is heard. Or how long I must wait until my request is granted.

And then I must stop counting the beads, and look only at His working-hands. I must look at the work He has already done, and listen to the words He has already spoken.

He says: ⁶Then Moses and Aaron said to all the children of Israel, “At evening you shall know that the Lord has brought you out of the land of Egypt. ⁷And in the morning you shall see the glory of the Lord; for He hears your complaints against the Lord. But what are we, that you complain against us?” ⁸Also Moses said, “This shall be seen when the Lord gives you meat to eat in the evening, and in the morning bread to the full; for the Lord hears your complaints which you make against Him. And what are we? Your complaints are not against us but against the Lord.” (Exodus 16)

Recently—well, who am I kidding, for months and months my sweet girl struggled with her temper, and hitting. Each day, the same words poured from my mouth to her ears, and nothing changed. And when I hoped it had, I was informed, “It’s just that nobody made me mad today.”

And then life paused. Pretty and pleasure were lost for a time; the room emptied. Pretty clothes replaced with plain-brown, unembellished. The absence of pink spoke loudest of all. Beauty surrounds when beauty comes from within, when He is within. And though it may seem a simple task, ours was not. After a while, a week of gentle hands, of self-control, after a whole-week-straight, beauty was restored. And flourished with a fresh coat of pink paint (her choice) over the walls, flowers around the windows. For beauty is in the reward of patience.

And I was never more happy to see it. And since then, her little hands have never hit.

The Lord speaks to us in different ways. For her, he spoke in the absence of beauty. But the life-giving truth is that He does speak. And He listens. And He has heard my cries; He hears yours.

I am still a beggar at His feet, still very much in need of a miracle. And He’s given me one—for He is sustaining me in my trial. He gave His people bread to the full. And He offers me, offers you, nothing less. He sent the Israelites bread while they wandered in the desert. It wasn't the promised land.
It was what they needed to make it there. Just like He is what I need. He is the bread from heaven, the bread of life. But we have to gather it.

³²Then Jesus said to them, “Most assuredly, I say to you, Moses did not give you the bread from heaven, but My Father gives you the true bread from heaven. ³³For the bread of God is He who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” (John 6)

May our God speak to and soften the hearts you pray for. May He soften our own. And may we speak expectantly, knowing He hears. And may we listen, knowing He speaks.

Together in Grace,

Amy

Five Stones.

2012-03-05T20:37:00.000-08:00

He picked up five stones when one was enough. With one stone David brought down the Raphiam, the giant. But he held four more, one for each of Goliath’s four brothers. David went in to battle prepared. If Goliath’s brothers had shown their faces that day, his victory was secured— not by those four weights resting in the pouch at his side, but by God. My victory is equally secured because of Christ’s victory against sin and death and ultimately pain. But I need faith for the battle. Battle begs me to see that my faith: small, even stone-sized, is enough to defeat giants.

There have been hardships lately. I am not alone in this. And just when I hit the brink of exhaustion: raising, teaching, discipling, and learning the hearts and thoughts of my four children, decision-making, big decision-making (a husband immersed in engineering classes, and for the semester non-existent…) Hardship happens, more hardship happens, stress happens, stomach flu happens, then seizures happen.

I realize that I’ve gone into these battles with one stone, and I needed five, need to gather more.

David fought the Rapha, the giant, the shades of the earth. These spirits are called the sons of God. (Genesis 6:4) Yet my Jesus is called by demons themselves as the only begotten son. With His word alone, a legion of demons is cast out of a man.

¹⁰For He healed many, so that as many as had afflictions pressed about Him to touch Him. ¹¹And the unclean spirits, whenever they saw Him, fell down before Him and cried out, saying, “You are the Son of God.” ¹²But He sternly warned them that they should not make Him known… (Mark 3)

And so it isn’t the size of the rocks I hold— it’s the weight of them. And these rocks of faith are just a chip of the Rock: the Alpha and Omega. And to the giant of this day, I have a stone to throw. For I say as David, “You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the LORD Almighty…” (1 Samuel 17)

This name, The LORD Almighty, that is where the power lies. The solution is never more anything of me. The solution is always more of Him.

²⁰I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me. (Galatians 5)

So when my youngest daughter is crying of a toothache, which is in fact a cavity (I checked), and I’m on the phone with the dentist, and another daughter starts screaming because a younger brother has just smooshed her new snail as she was rescuing it from his dumping a whole container of brand new fish food in the tank, and the husband is moaning from the stomach flu, and now my two year old is screaming too, because he is being taken away from the smooshed snail—and the lady on the line at the dentist is still asking for birth date and address— and had this not been a dental emergency I could of hung up…in these moments, I call for the name of the LORD Almighty, and I reach for faith. And when I show up at 2:30 today and see the receptionist who heard all the kuffaful, probly wonders how great a homeschool mom I could possibly be with my parental dental failure and chaos, and my two year old is likely to give evidence to the assumption, again, I will call on the name of the LORD Almighty.

More of Him. More stones.

Victory.

Together in Grace,

Amy

My love sonnet from Him today: a sweet-half numb smile from my girl— the strength He gave both of us to face the giant of this day.

Swimming Lessons.

2012-02-29T06:37:00.004-08:00

My body was not made for water. When floods come, I will sink. Only that deep breath of buoyant air pulls me up to the surface. Only that deep breath of God keeps me from sinking.

And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being. (Genesis 2:7)

We were created to be God breathed.

⁴The Spirit of God has made me,
And the breath of the Almighty gives me life. (Job 33)

It was by His breath all creation was formed, all life born. By His breath we are filled with spirit; by His blood we are saved, we, who took breath from Him as He hung. His dying breath filled us for all of eternity.

²⁴“God, who made the world and everything in it, since He is Lord of heaven and earth, does not dwell in temples made with hands. ²⁵Nor is He worshiped with men’s hands, as though He needed anything, since He gives to all life, breath, and all things. ²⁶And He has made from one blood every nation of men to dwell on all the face of the earth…” (Acts 17)

Days when the hurting festers, when all you can do is force air slowly in and out of your lungs— just breathe. Breathe Him.

⁵Thus says God the Lord,
Who created the heavens and stretched them out,
Who spread forth the earth and that which comes from it,
Who gives breath to the people on it,
And spirit to those who walk on it:
⁶“I, the Lord, have called You in righteousness,
And will hold Your hand;
I will keep You and give You as a covenant to the people,
As a light to the Gentiles,
⁷To open blind eyes,
To bring out prisoners from the prison,
Those who sit in darkness from the prison house.
⁸I am the Lord, that is My name;
And My glory I will not give to another,
Nor My praise to carved images.
⁹Behold, the former things have come to pass,
And new things I declare;
Before they spring forth I tell you of them.

(Isaiah 42)

May the only death I feel, be in my flesh, my sin, the pain of dying to self. May my life be filled, fully alive with His breath, filled with the Spirit He breathed into me. There is no death in Him. And if He has given me breath, may I speak, or write, or live, all in praise of Him.

Let everything that has breath praise the LORD. Praise the LORD! (Psalms 150:6)

And so this morning, as the Son has washed away the yesterday, birthed a new day, I breathe Him in deeply. And I do not sink.

Together in Grace,

Amy

But now, thus says the Lord, who created you, O Jacob,
And He who formed you, O Israel:
“Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by your name;
You are Mine.
²When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.
When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, Nor shall the flame scorch you. (Isaiah 43)

²¹So Jesus said to them again, “Peace to you! As the Father has sent Me, I also send you.” ²²And when He had said this, He breathed on them, and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” (John 20)

You might also like Manna in the Morning or How to Soar.