lovelycrumbs

no words

2013-05-16T17:04:00.003-04:00

For the first time in my life I really have no words...

just a heart bleeding prayers.

May wherever you are be saturated with Him.

flawed

2013-05-06T21:34:00.000-04:00

I'm cutting grass as if there's some way I can cut the ache right out of my chest.

Spinning wheels below me, spinning wheels in my head.

I hear it loud, "I've been burned out, broken, torn out, torn down in ways I never knew I would. But I can feel Your fullness in my life."

I feel the searing heat threatening to spill from my eyes.

Everything I am is screaming, "Move! Do something!"

I cannot bend any lower. I'm face on the ground. Just pleading for a moment.

My soul bleeds right down my cheeks.

Who knew you could spill while attacking ditches?

Flawed.

All this shattered heart, all these broken pieces. I carry them around trying to make a life out of them.

I heard the lies whispered, "you are not enough, you're not loved, you never will be."

And I listened a little too long.

Now I'm churning. Screaming silent.

Fear slowly smothering my gasping hope.

The water runs hot. My face against the cold wall. The drops running down my arm as if they know exactly where they are going.

I splinter.

He Whispers, "You're mine. You can trust me."

I'm pleading now, "But I can't see it. And I have nothing left. And I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm not more."

He just holds. Just lets it bleed out. Cradles my shards that pierced His Hands.

I lay silent in the dark, watching the spinning above me. The silent motion going nowhere.

Then it comes, the whisper from my weary heart, "It's all Yours, make it what you want. I only want what You want. I am desperate for more of You. Less of this broken mess of me."

He Whispers,"You're mine, I keep my promises. You're amazing. You are perfect in My Heart. You are Loved."

I wonder why I fight and thrash. Refuse to believe I am enough.

I am His. His.

His Love makes me enough.

I am flawed and scarred. Broken and crawling.

And enough to be loved.

Love doesn't deny the flaws. It takes a gentle finger and traces the scars. Learns the curves of your wounds. The ways you've bent and broken.

Love picks up all those pieces and carries them. Weaving hearts together. Making the weak places strong. Making the broken whole.

Flawed.

Perfectly flawed.

And more than enough.

pavement

2013-04-23T19:47:00.003-04:00

Feet pounding pavement.

The sun reaches out to touch my cheek.

I wrestle. I grasp at Him. Every fiber of me crying out.

Faster.

The ache giving way to pounding in my chest. The unraveling of the muscle fibers of my heart eclipsed by the searing in my lungs.

For a moment I am not broken. Only alive.

He embraces the mess of me. His heart branding my soul with the Whispers of His Love.

Feet pounding pavement.

The trees full with spring. Sun-drenched with memories.

This soul that sometimes struggles to Breathe. This heart that bleeds. This Life that chokes on all that ache.

He carries it all.

I am nothing but words and scars. And I am His. "Amazing".

My hands too small to reach. My heart too weak to hold.

I am silent. And every part of me screaming.

He stops my spinning. Holds my face to His,
and whispers, "I know, I am Holding".

Feet pounding pavement.

Because I can. And some days can't feels crushing. The weight of the helplessness suffocating.

Because sometimes it doesn't matter what you see. What you know.

It only matters what He can do.

I Breathe Him in. Hands wide open. Heart surrendered.

His Heart flowing through me.

His Hands Reaching.

Feet pounding pavement.

beautiful

2013-04-18T16:06:00.001-04:00

I walk past that big slab of reflective glass. And I catch it, or maybe it catches me.

I wonder loud, "How many years did I pass and never see it?"

Oh, I looked. Searched desperately for a flicker of it.

Now it crashes right into me. Breaks me wide open.

Beauty.

She reflects Beautifully.

All that broken mess that she carries. All those pieces of that bleeding heart. All that Joy.

He Loves me Beautiful.

And I can see it.

I am spread out over down. Sun kissing my face.

Just trying to Breathe. The silence of this morning alone, a Gift of time to feel His embrace.

I want more. I want to swim in Him and never come up for air. I want to disappear into His smile.

The tears run over. The brimming of a heart Loved. Whole.

How can I take it all in? How can I even open wide enough to hold all of this Love? How can I stay right. here. in Him?

I brim Joy. Dance Love. Then I fragment and spin.

That fear-beast, I thought I had finally slayed, again breathing heavy on my neck. The icy fingers of doubt clutching at my throat.

I want to Cling. I want to Hide in His Heart. And still I crawl.

Sometimes I just forget to Breathe.

I swirl and writhe. Clamoring around in the darkness. And He waits.

Arms wide, just waits. Waiting for me to reach for His Hand.

Like a child in a crowd, I let His Hand slip through my fingers. Then my breath catches right in my throat. The panic of alone.

I whisper His name and He soothes, "I'm here, my love. You're safe."

And I Breathe. Deep.

Safe.

This dance of Life I twirl. Sometimes forgetting the steps. He never lets go.

He only Loves me Beautiful.

Weaves His Grace into my unraveling. Spreads Joy over all my cracks. Shines light into my blinding darkness.

He holds and I am Beauty.

My heart spills at the sight of her. She is Beautiful.

I am.

He Loves me Beautiful.

words - one sentence

2013-04-16T15:10:00.002-04:00

She says it to me straight, like the edge of a blade that cuts right to your core.

I love that about her.

"You know he may never be the father you want him to be."

It stings for a second. A bandage ripped from a healed wound pulling at the flesh.

I say it clear, the truth of a heart made Whole.

"He is the father I want. He's mine."

I'm struck by the power of words. Their capacity to complete the circle of Healing.

I write words today. Words to my heart. So I won't forget.

Because life is messy and shattered. And sometimes Breathing is all you can do.

I wake, early, disjointed. My heart twisted and longing. And in the dark He Whispers His Love.

This living with heart alive, wide open, feels suffocating. Terrifying. And I want to run. Desperate for just a bit of my numbing substance of choice - control.

Instead I turn into Him. Into the free-fall of His will. He holds.

I struggle. Begging for more of Him.

I'm in the kitchen listening to words spoken in a far away church.

Suddenly I hear Him, the Whisper of His promise piercing my heart. I am undone. Tears spilling. His gentle Breath dropping me to my knees.

He loves me Beautiful.

I stretch hands wide and draw it all in.

Even the broken pieces that cut deep.

For it's all Grace. And I want to live every second of it.

I want to feel the wind on my face.

I want to love, Reckless, until my blood runs dry.

I want to spread Grace with abandon across little lives.

I want to Whisper of Joy.

I want to speak Life and hold hands. And whisper I know.

I want to stretch my arms wide and hold. Touch wounds with raw compassion.

I want a life of Passion.

Passion. The very word that defines Living. It comes from the Latin verb patī, meaning to suffer. Passion is defined as an intense emotion compelling feeling, enthusiasm, or desire for something.

To feel Passion is to be Compelled to Live. The Ravaging Love bringing your heart to Life.

To feel anything one must feel everything.

We're all dying. That's the nature of this decaying world. But this is not all there is.

The gentle Warrior King spread His arms wide and with His last suffering breath spoke the words that define it all, "It is finished". One small sentence that changed everything.

The war has been won. And if I Live in His Victory every. single. fragment. is Grace.

A Gift.

If I have a day, a week, or 50 years to live for Him as He died for me, I want to Live every second of it Full. Passionate.

For my life is only a Whisper of Him.

I only want to leave His Handprints behind.

I want my Living to speak of His Heart.

Words. They are full of Life. To define a life in one sentence is to define a heart.

May it be said of me as the sun sets on my life, whether next week or 50 years from now, whenever I return to the dust that I was Breathed from...

"She was an audaciously vulnerable invitation to Love."

can't

2013-04-05T17:03:00.000-04:00

What do you do when your trapped in can't?

When you find yourself searching eyes for that Light. Just the slightest flicker of the fire you know by heart. And it's not there.

When you're standing there and you desperately want to dive in and rescue. Breathe Life in.

Speak Life in.

And you just stand there in can't.

When you see the wear, the fraying edges. Feel the weight. Heavy. A blanket of lead across the shoulders.

Can't is one of the worst places to be.

And the most powerful.

When you're trapped in can't, there is nothing but room for the One that has all the power that can.

Then can't becomes ask. Plead.

Then your heart pours right out loud over another in His. His Sword in the darkness.

When your words fail and begin to run dry, He has this way of Speaking His Word right out loud. His promises flowing out of your mouth.

His hands reaching through space and touching the wounds.

The pleading that is empty of self is the loudest in His heart.

And He can.

The battle rages and you are far away trapped in can't.

So you pick up His Weapons. You take His Authority and you fight.

With everything you have. Because you never leave the wounded behind. Never.

This is a battle for hearts.

And the enemy is ruthless. Piercing where he knows the Life bleeds out. Whispering the doubts that snuff the Light right out. The swirling poisons that paralyze.

The broken heart disoriented in his web of deceit. The crushing weight of past mistakes now burdened with his hatred for Love's Beloved. The wounded soul suffocating under the weight of his lies.

You fight. Because the enemy will stop at nothing to drag the broken, bleeding Wounded away from the Light. And he knows that if a Warrior finds his Strength it is then his black, dead heart that will live in fear.

Because a Warrior who finds his Strength has the Authority of all of heaven and earth at his call.

Jesus spread His arms wide and won the war. His heart surrendered that ours might truly Live. He suffered hell to open His scarred Hands and offer us Heaven.

In His name there is all the power of can.

His Heart that reaches out and touches. Soothing the wounds that disfigure. His Whispers of Truth that shine Light on the road ahead. His Hand that Holds, leading the way out of the broken past. His Hope that sets hearts free.

Can't has no power to hold.

We live in the Love that can.

Fight battles of the heart in the One that can.

Because you never leave the wounded Warrior behind.

Never.

Jesus approached and, breaking the silence, said to them, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me". Matthew 28:18

"So give yourselves to God. Stand against the devil and he will run away from you." James 4:7

Live

2013-04-03T22:56:00.000-04:00

What if I just said it? Just left it here, glaring, for all to see.

I asked for this.

I want to really Live. I want to love with Your Love.

But what if I just told them?

That what You call Healing some days feels more like torture.

That the bending low under the weight of Your Love leaves me face in hands on the floor. That I know exactly what David meant when he said, "my bones turned to powder."

I'm driving and I see it clear. The way the "living", the distractions, the clinging, the way it all medicates.

The very poison that held me prisoner, heart suffocated, clinging to safety. Control.

This scraping of a lifetime of wounds leaves me desperate to flee. To run.

Surrender. The turning in that breaks us wide open. The choice to walk straight into the darkness and find You there. Find me.

I watch my heart bleed in Your hands. Alive.

You've drawn me into the wilderness. For months now. And I'm worn.

You still peel back. I question and You whisper, "You can trust Me. Even when you can't see you can still trust Me."

I know it. I speak it. I breathe it.

The tears spilling quietly, wherever, whenever they please. The silent bleeding of my growing heart.

I'm placing bananas on the counter. Because for a week there haven't been any and Littlest, he notices.

Then I see it, there over the top of their three small heads, the old man's smile. It stays. Fixed on me while I'm paying, holding me up, just for a moment. Grace.

I have no answers. Just waiting. But the sun is shining.

I dig hands in dirt. Ripping weeds out as if they're lodged in my very soul. Big, he says it loud, bouncing out of him with the joy of growing strength, "This is hard work, Mama, just imagine farming!"

I do imagine. The life I long for him to live. The hard work that gives a man strength. The Heart of a man that will grow in his chest. All the things I feel so unqualified to give.

I dig hands in dirt. This small piece of land, this tiny garden to help fill their bellies, it is here and now. And enough work for today. Grace.

We squeeze lemons and gather paints and brushes and spill onto the deck. The sun warms me as they sip and create. They smile up at me as if the whole world is perfect. Right now, it is. Grace.

I gather them up and scrub dirt from their skin. The water runs warm over their small tangle of limbs and laughter. There is Breath in three little pairs of lungs. Grace.

I stand silent. Listening for You. Staring at emptying shelves. Breathing in Strength.

I'm slicing through the flesh of a mango. Blade sliding down. The scent of rice boiling on the stove. I feel the warmth of little bellies that will be filled from the heart of my sister. Grace.

I fill plates and stand, eyes closed. I just stand. Still. I feel Life. The rhythmic rise and fall of You in my chest. Breathing. Grace.

They fill up their spaces around the table. Fill it right full with hunger and laughter. And the evening sun caresses their faces. The plates emptied as my heart fills.

I wash dishes. Hot water running over my hands. I feel it. The Gift of it. The Fullness of coming clean. Nourished. Whole.

I am the foundation of a pile of giggles scattered over the floor. Joy glistening in their eyes. Light breaking through windows, pouring in Life. I notice the leaves bright with Glory. Grace.

They snuggle down deep. Knowing they're safe.

I have no answers. Just waiting in You.

I watch my heart bleeding in Your hands. Alive.

I open wide to the uncertain, the Refining fire, desperate to make room for more Joy.

I trust You.

And I only want more of You.

Whatever that takes.

I want to Live.

Hope stood still

2013-03-30T16:28:00.000-04:00

It's quiet. No clamor of little voices.

The sun is shining. The yard calling to me. My aching body refuses. This illness keeping me still.

I'm laying still. So still I can feel every strand of me twisting.

Hear the ravaged brokenness in my chest beating. And I want to rip it out and throw it at You.

You brush my cheek with Your scarred Hand and Whisper, "I know".

I think of Your heart lying still in the dark.

Silent.

And I lay there in the quiet with You. I trace the curves of You with my finger. The blood stained linen. The Flesh mangled and torn. The last of Your breath surrendered. For me.

That day all Hope stood still.

Silent.

The tears slip down my cheeks tracing the blood stains of Your bruised face.

The knots of me unravel. Your Hand smoothing my hair.

You Whisper, "I know".

My heart is wide open in Your Hands. You scrape the wounds, clean them. Heal them.

Day after day. It's agony. And it's Good.

I churn and You Whisper, " Just wait. Just be Loved."

Even in the darkness, the searing pain of the fibers in my chest tearing, there is still the flicker of Joy.

My whole life stained with leaving.

Still You pursue me relentlessly. Recklessly.

You will never leave me. Not even in death.

You know agony. You suffered the blackness that I will never suffer. You were alone.

Your heart broken.

Then the sun rose.

And so did my Hope.

"No one has ever seen or heard of a God like You, who does such deeds for those who put their hope in Him." Isaiah 64:4

the middle

2013-03-25T18:38:00.000-04:00

I'm laying arms full of the chocolate-haired, sapphire-eyed Grace in my life.

His velvet cheek pressed against mine, small limbs wrapped around me the very way he has wrapped me up in him his whole five years of life.

His breathing is slowing. Drawing deep. Him slipping away into dreamland.

He's my Middle. This always-on-the-go, little-bit-wild piece of my heart. I'm laying here arms so Full. Heart overflowing.

I also grew in the middle.

It can be a tough place to be.

Somehow we tend to notice the first and the last, the beginning and the end, the start and the stop, the top and the bottom. But the middle? Very few people really embrace the middle.

We want to hurry through it. Get where we're going. Be at the top. Be the first. Or even the last.

And we miss the middle.

As I lay here embracing my Middle, I feel it strong, the Joy of just being in the middle.

Just being.

I may look back someday and even notice that this was, in fact, a beginning. But for now I am happy to embrace the middle and just. be. here.

Because I know that the most Grace is found in the middle. When you notice it. Soak in it. Rest.

My arms are full of the Middle. And I know that the middle is always a Gift.

Always full of surprising Joy.

So, yes, notice your beginnings and endings, your firsts and lasts. They are so very special.

But some of the most amazing Gifts come right in the middle.

Real men

2013-03-20T16:33:00.000-04:00

You must hear my heart, because someday you will be Real men...

There are very few Real men.

A devastating shortage on this broken, spinning orb.

They've forgotten how to fight. Forgotten their Warrior Heritage and accepted a life of resignation and passivity.

Living in a prison of their brokenness, tormented by the enemy that seeks to steal their Strength. Breaking their Warrior hearts into shattered pieces.

And it's not their fault. They just don't know Who they are. They are victims of generations of silence. No one whispered of the Warrior deep within them, the Hero they were each Created to be. No one spoke Life into their brokenness and gave them a noble battle to fight. Taught them to fight, fought for them. Told them they could fight. They are worth it.

I want you to know who you are. Whose you are.

Your hearts began to beat deep within me. These tiny buds of the men you will someday become.

I want you to know what a Real man looks like. The image you bear in your small Warrior hearts.

A Real man knows Strength is only found in his Heavenly Father's heart.

You will not find your Strength anywhere else. And you must find it. So seek Him always first. Always.

A Real man fights to protect his Strength at all costs. The only place to keep it safely is in God's hands. And everything in this decaying world will try and take it from you.

A Real man knows that a Carpenter stretched His arms wide and fought the only battle that ever mattered or will matter. And He did it without ever diminishing anyone. And He won. Your strength is for offering, for building up, not for cutting down.

A Real man speaks Grace. Always. Especially to the broken. Because we're all broken. And labeling the damaged only damages you.

A Real man reaches out and touches those in need. Seeks them out and offers of himself. Giving is always receiving Grace.

People will tell you that strength is merely physical and you will be tested to display it. And there are times when you must fight with your physical strength. God Himself has the heart of a Warrior. The true measure of your Strength is found in knowing whether the fight is a noble one after His heart or to walk away. A Real man knows when to fight and when to walk away.

There will come a day when you will begin to notice Beauty. Let me tell you now, she is the very treasure of Creation. She will open your life up to the great adventure of love. But she is not the Adventure. And she will never define you or give you your Strength. Only He can do that.

A Real man loves a woman with all of his Strength. He is her anchor. He offers protection and stability. He fights for her. He treasures her. Cherishing the delicate beauty she offers.

Love is always active. Real love makes you more.

A Real man knows a Real woman when he sees her. And there aren't many out there. So look carefully. Take your time. Wait on Him.

A Real woman does not need you. She only needs God. She wants you because she sees the Value in you and desires to celebrate it. A Real woman will respect and admire you. Her words will make you more. She does not want you to be the adventure, but to share the one she's already found in Him.

A Real woman will speak Life into your heart. She will invite you into Greatness. She doesn't diminish. She will not break your Strength. She comforts and consistently draws you to His heart.

There is a battle. It is real. You have been given the Authority to fight. And fight you will have to. Because there is an enemy who wants to steal your Joy. Your very Life. But you never have to fear because the battle is already won. Even in the darkness there is always the flicker of Joy.

You are Recklessly Loved by a Lover that will never stop pursuing you. Always turn to Him. Learn to recognize His voice. He will walk with you every step. And carry you when you cannot go on. He is your Strength.

GRATITUDE is everything. Everything Given is Grace. Look for the Grace in everything, even in the darkness. I promise you will find it.

I love you with my whole heart. Yet my love is only a tiny fragment of His.

Cling only to Him. He is more than everything.

"As for Me, this is My covenant with them," says the Lord. "My Spirit, Who is in you, will not depart from you, and My words I have put in your mouth will always be on your lips, on the lips of your children and on the lips of their descendants-from this time on and forever."

Isaiah 59:21

real love does that

2013-03-10T15:09:00.001-04:00

I want to scream at Him.

It's not just want, I do. I'm driving, hot tears rolling over. And the words, they're just falling. Crashing out over the thundering in my chest.

"Jesus, do something!"

I'm home. In the shower. And spilling my bleeding heart into His. I crawl into bed, and my heart is screaming, yelling. Reminding Him of all that I'm waiting for, what He has reassured me will come.

He Whispers over my deluge, "My Love, isn't it worth the wait?"

I'm worn. Ragged.

I'm raw at His feet. My tears running over the scars of Love.

I have learned to love by tracing the curves of those scars. Learning the way they were pierced clear through. And healed up tight.

And I wonder if you cannot be held by death, why the scars? If you're made whole again, doesn't that erase your scars?

The scars they are the story. The reminder of how He Loves.

How He was broken for me. And how real love does that.

How it breaks open and lays it all down. An offering.

Your scars tell the story of your healed wounds. The darkness you've faced to know how to love. The sacrifice.

Because I forget.

And I asked for this. I asked to love with His Love.

I wonder whose crazy idea was that? And how come I just can't seem to get it straight?

I doubt. Not Him, I know Him.

I doubt me.

And I hate it. The way my flesh strangles and suffocates. The way in an instant I'm struggling with the fears and I just can't breathe.

Because I'm wide. open. Here and maybe invisible. Forgotten.

Some days my skin is too tight and I feel desperate to escape. Some days too big, and I wonder if I'll ever fill it.

He tells me I will be loved. The Desire will come.

I believe Him. I trust Him.

And in a fragmented moment, the cold, boney fingers of fear creep around my throat.

I'm in knots.

I want to scream "it's taking too long". Too. long.

He unravels me. Love, touching my cheek. He whispers, "Trust Me, trust what you know. Just. be."

A thousand times a day I whisper it, "I trust You, Jesus". Because I know saying it makes it Truth.

What my heart knows, I know by heart.

I know Him.

His voice. His smile. His Reckless Love.

The way He touches my scars and makes me whole.

In the darkness when I'm twisted tight. Writhing. Struggling to believe, to hope. It is His voice that soothes, that smooths my ragged edges.

His words that carry me each step. His love that Holds.

I choose Him. To wait in who He is. In His Reckless Love.

To Love wide. open.

Because I don't want safe. I want Good.

It will be Good.

And, yes, Lord, it is worth the wait.

Pause the music player at the bottom of the page...

wide. open.

2013-03-05T23:05:00.000-05:00

I'm standing in a line. Waiting to pay.

Waiting.

I'm suddenly feeling made of paper. Unable to hold my own weight.

The feeling that if someone were to bump into me, or just brush by too fast, I'd spill. Just watch my heart bleed out right there on the floor.

I Breathe. Sucking in air like I've been under the surface for way too long.

"Lord?" my heart whispers.

"I'm here. You're good. I'm holding you."

And I exhale.

I'm just liquid these days. Brimming over. Sometimes without warning. Raw.

Wide. Open.

I feel exposed. Like I'm standing in the front yard naked. What you see is what's here.

No, really, what you see is what's here.

I don't have it all together. No illusions of a life all wrapped up neatly at the end of the day. I don't know the answers. I can't figure out what I'm going to do next week, next month. I'm not even sure about this minute. And it doesn't matter. I'm Held.

The tears may run right over. Sometimes I don't even notice them. They're just heart overflow. Years of gathering them up.

I'm broken. And I am happy.

What? Is that what this is?

This freedom. The beauty all unraveled. My heart Breathing. Whole.

So many years it lay dead. Silent. A prisoner of my own striving.

Murdered by my own hands. Killing it in my desperation for safety. Silencing every last longing for more. More.

Adventure. Love. Pursuit.

I was too busy clinging. Holding all the broken pieces together. Their jagged edges cutting deep. Tearing into my wounds. But I wouldn't let go. Wouldn't take the risk.

I wanted safe. Needed safe.

Chose it. Created it.

And safe? It smothers. Chokes the life right out.

Be Wildly Loved? I couldn't do that.

Who would Love me? Who would come for me? Pursue me?

Sure I had this God-thing going. And it was good. I was His daughter. His friend. I made it that far. Crawled through my wounds to get there.

But His Lover? His Bride? Um, yeah, not me with all my shattered places. I didn't even know how to be loved like that.

All the while the Lover pursuing. Unwilling to leave me there. His desire only to raise my heart from the tomb. To hear it beating. To draw it into His embrace.

He loves me Wild. Fierce. Reckless.

There's no safety here. It is an invitation to an epic Adventure. A life on the edge.

Real Love.

And I'm all. in.

My heart is breathless. Stretched by this constant vulnerability. Everything I've been for so long screams against the free-fall.

I Lean in and He Holds.

This time it's different. Not because He wasn't always there. He never once left me alone. Never. Once.

I am waiting. Resting in His Love.

He Loves me.

Simply. because. I. am.

There is no doing. No controlling. No striving.

He asks me only, "Rest, just wait. Just. Be."

He Whispers of my Beauty. Calls me Amazing.

And for the first time my heart believes.

I am Loved. I can love. Completely.

There is Hope.

I am waiting.

Waiting in who He is.

Wide. Open.

"Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for Him..."
Psalm 37:7

Oh, yes, Staci... Exactly.

Pause the music player at the bottom of the page...

Until My Heart Breaks by Staci Frenes

threadbare

2013-02-08T19:57:00.000-05:00

I'm cold. Feel the chill right in my bones. It's quiet. Not even the voices of my littles bounce between these walls tonight.

I'm standing in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to whistle.

My world has gone silent it seems. All at once. As if some Peeling back of it all. Stripping away the voices, the comforts.

I am alone.

I find myself sliding to the floor in the kitchen. The hot cup in my hands warming me.

I hear Him loud these days. In everything. Every move. Every thought.

His voice loud in the silence.

I've spent so much of my life pouring out. Giving. It is my heart. Just the way it beats in me. Longing to love.

But this week. I just pulled back. Just leaned into the Silence and Listened.

Fasted from technology. From reaching out. I just. reached. in.

I notice my jeans. Threadbare.

They look a lot like my heart these days. Or maybe, yes really, it's been that way for a very long time. Just now I'm wearing it on the outside. Not caring if anyone sees all the patches.

All the places He's stitched me back together.

All the places I'm worn through. The rubbing on my heart giving way to the very last strands of me.

Worn down. Bare. Alone.

In the Silence I hear Him loud, "I'm here. You are loved. You. are. lovely."

He sees my tattered rags and calls me lovely.

My brokenness in Him becomes beauty. The thin places woven strong. The weakness held together by His strength.

I feel it now. Alone is Full.

When we are alone we are the very Closest to His heart. To the beating of our hearts in Him.

The quiet gives way to Communion. A flowing of Grace and soul. Every moment Held. Surrendered.

The Fullness of Him filling every space in me.

I am threadbare and I. am. Lovely.

I am Full.

"That you may really come to know, practically, through experience for yourselves the love of Christ, which far surpasses mere knowledge without experience; that you may be filled through all your being unto all the fullness of God, may have the richest measure of the divine Presence, and become a body wholly filled and flooded with God Himself." Ephesians 3:19

I am raw

2013-01-14T17:45:00.002-05:00

The cracks in me are split wide open. The weakness laid bare.

For days I've been hanging by a thread. The edges fraying. The fear creeping.

I listen to it twice in the same afternoon. Sitting there, feeling the words impale me.

I thought they needed me. Maybe they did, but He knew I needed to be there. Reached right down and sat me there in that moment.

Fear-less.

My whole life has been a song of fear. The journey of breaking free of it.

And yet still it sometimes haunts me.

Quietly slithering in among my doubts. My brokenness.

Sitting there I felt the cracks spreading. The fragments of me shifting.

And then before those woman-child hearts I bare my soul. Unveil my broken beauty.

And He leaves me undone.

Bills are waiting. A house that needs refinancing. Debts that must be paid. All the things I fear.

Money. The lack of it. I hate it. Hate how it unravels me. Leaves me paralyzed.

I don't sleep. The flu that's plagued my littles all week finally catches me.

All day I lay between the sheets. Motionless. Wrestling.

I'm worn. I don't want to fight. I don't want to live this journey. I wanted to choose better.

I want to go back and start over.

I want to believe I'm worth fighting for. Then and now.

He leaves me thrashing, motionless for hours. Just waiting. Waiting for me to Breathe.

Waiting for me to reach.

I grasp at Him, whispering His name into the darkness.

And finally they spill, hot over my cheeks. Running off onto the pillow.

And I Breathe.

The moment breaks all apart. The fears splintering all around me. The anguish wrenching my body.

And I just let it. Just lay there, my heart writhing and twisting.

And when the grief is quiet, then He whispers, "I love you, you are enough."

I yell back "I want to feel it. I want to fight for me, to believe I'm worth it".

He whispers over me, Willing my belief,
"you. are. enough."

Again and again.

I lay numb in the darkness of my cave. His whispers slowly warming me.

Minutes. Hours. They pass.

I don't move.

I am raw.

He only holds me.

And I feel it shift. Feel the cracks closing. The strength coming back.

Suddenly I'm throwing back the covers, stumbling to find my computer, my phone.

Dialing, questioning. Searching for answers. Asking for help.

I'm fighting.

Because I. am. enough.

I am His.

"I will walk on water, and You will catch me if I fall..."

Pause the music player at the bottom of the page...

just be

2013-01-12T10:28:00.000-05:00

"Just be."

The words float 'round in my head like a familiar song I know deep in my heart.

They unravel me. Break open my weakness. My broken beauty.

Just be.

When words aren't needed, and a look is enough.

When the bottom falls out and the ache is too much.

Just be.

When the bills are looming and little fevers run high.

When my heart is twisting and writhing.

Just be.

When Greatness is calling and I just want to run.

When my smallness feels suffocating, and my flaws exposed.

Just be.

When the silence hangs heavy, the weight of it crushing.

When I crawl between sheets in the quiet darkness, and the space next to me is empty and cold.

It only takes a whisper. One name.

"Jesus."

And the Arms enfold me. The very same Arms that hold the whole world.

He makes me whole.

He whispers, with the quiet gentleness of the greatest Lover, "Just be".

Just be.

Just be. In Him.

That is always the answer.

A moment of worship for your weekend...
Just pause the music player at the bottom of the page...

a lot less have-it-all-together

2012-12-08T11:43:00.000-05:00

This world can grab right round our throats and clench the oxygen right from our gasping lives.

Often it's the hands that claim the name Christian that reach out to suffocate the most quickly in blind judgement.

I'm struck. Slammed right over the head with the reality that sometimes God's will is so radical, so life-changing that we stomp the life right out of it.

If it doesn't fit comfortably in the box we keep God in we dismiss it.

If we allow God to be wildly BIG, we must ourselves constantly grow. Risk.

The water runs over me. Hot.

I find myself begging it to quiet the ache. All the while knowing the ache is just soul-growth. The birthing of more of Him deep in me.

My mind rests on Joseph. This man, common, poor, unknown. He wasn't some highly educated, rich, have-it-all-together man. But he was good. A good man by association of the One he knew well.

And when his life was filled with the radical will of God. The kind of life-changing, daring adventure, make-you-put-your-life-on-the-line Will, he stood up.

When he should have, by society's standards, been stoning his betrothed, he instead rose up a warrior to father the Son of God.

He chose to trust in the radical will of his God.

He what? He chose that? He stood in the face of judgement, and ridicule. Standing on the edge of good society with what appeared to be his adulterous bride and he walked firmly in God's will.

How would the story read if he hadn't? If he'd holed up in fear and held back his life when God asked him to put it on the line?

There's always a choice. When God reaches out His hand and asks you to move toward him, there is always a choice.

When our neatly organized lives that we keep so perfectly managed so no one will notice the wild hearts beating in our chests unravel just a little making room for more of Him, there is a choice.

Cling even tighter and hold it all numb, or let go and let His radical Will Breathe wild Joy right in.

We know how the story ends. This tiny seed of God-man born bloody and gasping, just like you and me. Born into those rough carpenters hands.

That moment, the beginning of our forever.

Our Radical-Love-Adventure forever.

I want my pages to read of abandon to His will. Every moment. Every breath. Every choice.

I want to be more like an unknown carpenter and a lot less have-it-all-together.

I choose the daring Adventure of a very BIG God.

"... God, who got you started in this spiritual adventure, shares with us the life of His Son and our Master Jesus. He will never give up on you. Never forget that." 1 Corinthians 1:7

His presence is my present

2012-10-25T16:54:00.002-04:00

I feel it gentle, the whisper of God touching my skin. The Breath of fall caressing my cheek.

Small voices break through the air, bubbling out, dancing over each other. This song of brotherhood they sing between their connected hearts.

Light slants through trees, shadows dancing with every Breath that sways their reaching arms.

Grace breathing Life into this moment.

This is Joy.

There are bills looming, bathrooms in need of scrubbing, floors begging to be vacuumed. My father's heart weak, my heart weak.

So many things stabbing at my flesh threatening to drain my Joy right out.

Leave me empty.

How do we stay in the Gift? Present in the present.

Always reaching Up. Clinging to only Him. Only this moment.

Worry, fear, striving, they only impale our Joy.

Leave us bleeding the now right out. The here feeling far away.

This moment is all we have. The only one promised to us. And it is Good.

Full. Of Him.

So this is where I choose to live.

Not in tomorrow, or next week. Or in the months and years ahead.

Now. Where I am.

In Him. In His time.

Breathing in the present.

The little giggles rolling from somewhere seeming much to deep for such a tiny toddling soul. The boundless, bubbling information from one dark-haired, blue-eyed, melt-your-heart-smiling boy. The man-child always watchful, heart pouring out, his small hands tending to smaller hands, him wearing away afternoons lost in words on a page.

The scent of corn and potatoes roasting long in the afternoon. The air full of Grace.

The click of the keys as my fingers tap out the constant flow of words in my head.

This is now.

The never-get-it-back now.

Hold it. Embrace it. Savor it.

Find your Joy here. Joy is the Gift. The Present.

Cling only to Him. Look only into His Face. Seek only His Heart.

My Joy is now.

His Presence in my present.

"Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes." Matthew 6:34

Reckless Joy

2012-10-17T20:52:00.000-04:00

Joy spilling, sloshing right over the ragged edges of my heart.

I can feel it strong. The Breathing in my chest. The Life in me. And I wonder how long I failed to notice.

How long did I quiet the Christ-breathed Joy?

How long did I stomp the embers of my once fiery Cross-lit heart?

Silencing the Wild dreams of Joy-Adventure.

Years.

And still He holds. Still He cradles, softly breathing Joy right into my black ash. Igniting sparks I had forgotten.

He moves.

Lavishing Wild, Radical Joy all through me.

The Rugged-Carpenter-Lover whispering love songs of my beauty, His beauty, all through my Soul.

He Loves me. Wild. Reckless.

And I am Whole.

I am Joy.

"Indeed, I have been crucified with Christ.... Christ lives in me. The life you see me living is not "mine", but it is lived by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." Galatians 2:20

the Adventure of an Eternity

2012-10-16T22:52:00.000-04:00

The tall, towering branches they let go. The life hanging from them floating, fluttering down. This season of death, loss. Of dying into rest.

The words, they flutter out. Falling down landing in broken letters at my feet. The scattered thoughts I'm trying desperately to hold up to Him.

Dreams that have slumbered so long. So silently I had forgotten their existence. Or maybe just willed them away. Smothered their song. Refused to listen, unable to hold the ache.

It's like that with the dreams we let slip away. We spend years walking around on them hardly noticing the crunch beneath our feet. Just hoping they'll decay in to nothing. Disappear.

Stop haunting us. Calling to us.

And yet there is always that Whisper of spring. Even in the silence of winter.

And when the branches, they burst in to bloom, then there is no denying the life inside them. The desire for Light. The desire to Breathe.

The dreams they never really die. They just wait.

And when we dare to look Up they are all bright with new Life. Just waiting to dance in the wind. Just waiting to be shade for our weary souls.

Because dreams they are rooted Deep within us.

They come into our hearts in a Quiet Whisper that calls us into the Adventure.

And we can choose to open to them or let them wither. Let them fall.

I've let too many fall. For too many years. My spring is coming. My dreams are silently waiting to be reborn.

Dreams bigger than I thought I could hold. Because my hands are small. They are weak.

But His Hands are infinite. And He holds my dreams. And even when I had forgotten their song, still He sang it. All these years.

He Breathes into them. Whispers over me, "You will Live. You will have the Adventure."

The Breath of them fills my lungs again. And I feel Full. Awake. Alive.

Found.

It's in the Rescue that we remember our hearts, our dreams. For they are the Whispers of who we are. Whose we are. Where we are headed.

And I am choosing Reckless Abandon to His Will. I am choosing the Adventure of an Eternity.

Choosing to listen to the Whispers of the dreams I let fall away.

"Just think ~ you don't need a thing, you've got it all! All God's gifts are right in front of you as you wait expectantly for our Master Jesus to arrive on the scene for the Finale. And not only that, but God himself is right alongside you to keep you steady and on track until things are all wrapped up by Jesus. God, who got you started in this spiritual adventure, shares with us the life of his Son and our Master Jesus. He will never give up on you. Never forget that." 1 Corinthians 1:7-9

mud

2012-10-15T21:41:00.000-04:00

Silence. Loud with the beating of my heart. Soul-whispers cutting through like jet to sky.

Words flooding over, drowning my gasping heart.

Thoughts rampant. Swirling. Relentless.

The weight crushing, bending, breaking, tired arms reaching Up.

Just to be seen.

To know my own reflection. Feel the breath of me.

Life poured out. Trickled down, spilled onto dust.

Mud.

The start of life. The essence of Life-Adventure.

Breath of Love flowing in. Awakening to Joy.

Mud.

The earth trampled down. Run through and coated thick. The darkness covering over.

Crawling. Standing. Coming clean.

Blood washing over wounds.

The smell of dark earth and feel of Life. Freedom.

The Journey of an unbeaten path.

Mud.

A heart cleansed by black-earth-soup. Hands dripping, dark.

Finding the Pure buried deep. The Hope there in the trail.

Life pounding. Lungs screaming. Legs threatening surrender.

Mud.

Pure Joy mixed of my dirt and Living water.

Beauty from dry, cracked, ruts. Life clinging to my soles.

My soul Clinging to Life.

Just to be seen.

"The Lord is like a Father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who love him. For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust."
Psalm 103:13-14

the only True way to hold someone

2012-10-06T20:30:00.000-04:00

The darkness spreads itself across the sky.

The silence is loud. Like the beating of a familiar heart.

What do you do when the ache creeps in? When the ceiling stares back at you... When the blades above you twirl in some quiet song of your loneliness...

What then? When sleep won't come. When the exhaustion is too much for your weary heart. When the whispers in your head call you back into a memory, a moment.

And you just want to reach out and touch someone. Feel the breathing, living piece of your memory.

When life feels fragile and the memories delicate. When you need to pour out love and the distance is too great.

Because tomorrow may not come. And have you said it all. Have you left it all out there, no regrets.

How do you live that Wild, Radical, Grace-filled love?

Is it loud and vibrant? Or quiet and restrained?

A public proclamation or a gentle whisper?

Maybe its just giving back. Surrendering the love into the only Hands that can truly hold them.

Maybe really loving is just constantly letting go. Knowing that the moments, the seconds we're given are purely Gift and the only way to value them is just to be. Right there in the moment.

Wherever you are.

Maybe its just letting the words in your heart pour out as they come. Offering those gentle reminders of the value of their presence in your life. Leaving nothing unsaid.

Because every day, every second hearts stop beating.

And the moment is lost.

And memories are all that are left.

So in the darkness, when the absence is loud and suffocating, how do you hold someone from far away? How do you reach out to comfort when your arms are just too short to span the space?

Prayer.

The only True way to Hold someone.

You reach up and wrap your words around that distant heart. And He reaches down and fills the emptiness with His Peace. With His Healing. With His Love.

My arms are small. Weak. But my prayers are Great. Constant. Strong. Love-filled.

And they reach through any barrier, any distance.

So when you can't be there. You reach out with His Hands. And hold on.

Because we are all only His and the memories we share are just Whispers of His love. His Grace.

So when distance, absence, strains the ties of the heart it is His Hands that do our reaching. His arms that surround. His Strength that comforts. His breath that heals wounds.

There is no distance in Him. No absence.

In Him we are always together.

So in the quiet darkness, when the only sound is the blades above whirling 'round. When the ceiling stares back daring me to speak. I will.

I'll whisper words of truth, of love, of a heart reaching out. Words of gratitude. Of pleading. Of healing. Of miracles.

And from my weakness, my smallness, will pour out Great Comfort, Great Love. Miracles.

Because He Loves with a Greater Love than I. With an Immeasurable Love. Having no end.

And with His Hands only He can meet the needs I long to weakly touch.

So in the darkness, in the silence, I'll reach out with my Prayers and the distance will no longer matter.

For my God is Greater.

He is able.

"Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think. Glory to him in the church and in Christ Jesus through all generations forever and ever! Amen." Ephesians 3:20-21

Please, generously, say a prayer for my Dad... His heart is weak, worn, in need of repair.

wooden heart

2012-10-04T21:31:00.002-04:00

A small wooden heart, held in the palm. Born of some far off tall, towering tree.

This small whisper of its former self.

Fingers running over curves. Smooth to the touch. Worn from hours of feeling the weight of it.

From a rough block of tree, scraped and filed. Grooved deep.

This intentional wounding has made it beautiful.

From living breathing tree to dead chunk of wood. And now because of its scars there is again life, the beginning of love.

This tiny wooden heart suddenly carries the weight of so much more than it ever could bear.

When held in the palm of Strength and Goodness there is breath in the seemingly empty silence. A whisper of the future. No room for fear or doubt only Hope.

This small wooden heart... it is beating. Waiting.

For what's Good and Right will always be.

And holding on is always filled with letting go. Giving back. Surrendering.

Life begins from the small Whisper of Goodness breathed straight into the heart.

What feels heavy and hardest is bathed in the Perfect Peace of a Carpenter's Hands.

Its the wounds, the waiting that bleed Beauty.

The opening of hands that allows us to Cling the tightest.

The scraping and filing that smooths the scars. The deepest grooves that give way to beautiful curves.

From a rough block of tree, scraped and filed. Grooved deep... the beginning of love.

In suffering there is always Beauty. Even when there is pain it can be bathed in Goodness.

"For God is sheer beauty, all-generous in love, loyal always and ever." Psalm 100:4-5

there is no moment of weakness that isn't wrapped in His strength

2012-10-02T20:41:00.000-04:00

I'm standing in a line. Seemingly unending faces stretched out ahead of me.

Clinging to folders that contain my life. My details.

The ground seems to tremble beneath my feet as though, in my weakness, it may swallow me up.

I'm fighting the tears. Biting my lip. Willing them not to boil right over and spill down my cheeks.

From the moment my feet touched the floor this morning the rivers have been rolling down. Unstoppable. These big, heavy drops of my failure. My inability to do it on my own.

In my fog I'm answering questions. Admitting my need. And a small blue number is clutched in my hand.

I wait. And wait.

And when it feels like the air is being sucked from my lungs I stand and force my legs to carry me to the car.

Just to breathe for a moment...

I'm sitting staring at the windshield. Tears spilling down. Sliding down my skin, falling onto my jeans.

And the rain starts. Small, gentle drops. They slip down the glass. A mirror of my face in this moment.

I glance in the rear-view mirror and notice the three car-seats behind me. Snuggled together in a row. They sit empty now. But in my mind I see the faces that fill them.

And all at once this moment is no longer about need, or weakness.

It is about strength and love.

About circumstances I can't control. And having the courage to handle the ones I can.

About cutting back everything I can, and still needing help to fill little bellies.

This moment is about knowing whats right and good. And that even if it requires asking for help, accepting help, it doesn't diminish me.

I am here. Standing alone. Walking the most difficult path because it is the right one.

You never know the value of words spoken through the phone until your standing with tears streaming down unable to pull open the door. Words that reach right through the air and pour strength into your heart.

I walk through the door.

I'm sitting there, explaining the seizures, the lack, the need. I'm weak and in tears.

And I've never been stronger.

Because when we bare our weakness, our need, whatever it is, wherever we are. We are raw. We are vulnerable. And there is no greater strength.

So I'll fight to hold my head high. And if the tears fall, they fall. They only whisper the purity of my heart.

I'm here because I am strong. Because I am fighting for me, fighting for my boys.

And today that means asking for help.

Sometimes you can't do it alone. Sometimes the circumstances are bigger than your abilities.

If we focus on our hearts. On the path right in front of us. There isn't anywhere we can't go. Clinging to His Hand, no building we can't walk in to.

There is no moment of weakness that isn't wrapped in His strength.

"My help and glory are in God ~ granite-strength and safe-harbor God ~ So trust him absolutely, people; lay your lives on the line for him. God is a safe place to be." Psalm 62:6-8

when we stop focusing on our weakness then we can clearly see His Strength

2012-09-27T15:28:00.001-04:00

Sometimes its the shards of our broken heart that leave us a prisoner in a dark corner of guilt.

Unable to step fully into the Light.

The mistakes, the choices, the haunting what-ifs that wind their way through our deep black hours. Spinning us around inside. Knotting up the ties of Truth.

The breath being slowly silenced from our pleading heart. A heart longing to love, to live, to feel.

The battle rages. War inside our battered souls. How do we make it stop? How do we find freedom from the pain?

Surrender.

The opening of hands. The letting go. Allowing ourselves the acceptance of Grace. Peeling back the layers of our hearts and baring our scars. Creating an offering from our brokenness.

Accepting Forgiveness. And in that acceptance forgiving ourselves. Letting go of the black and white and embracing the Light poured in.

When we stand too long looking back trying to make sense of the past, we cannot see the Light ahead. The broken glass at our feet keeping us from stepping forward.

So how do we move? Grow? Choose Life?

One foot in front of the other. One Clinging act of surrender.

Placing every wound, every fear, every sin firmly in the only Hands capable of carrying the weight of our broken life.

And embracing the Freedom. The gift of new Life. Of Love. Of Joy.

The ability to embrace the future flowing from a tattered heart. A heart held firmly in Grace.

Because there is always Hope. Always a Future. Always Grace.

And we are Worthy. In Him we are Whole. Meant for greatness, for love and belonging.

Our struggles, our mistakes do not define us. They are only stepping stones. Moments of learning who and Whose we really are. Defining our identity in the One who can heal all our brokenness.
And lead us into a life of immeasurable Joy.

There is no perfection in this world. No right way. Only His way. And when we choose Him we are never off course.

Our paths wind through His Grace like a stream through a mountain valley. Over the rocks of life. Through the quiet spaces. And bubbling-over Joy.

He will never let go.

There is always Healing within our reach. We simply must ask. Seek His truth and let go of the lies that weave their tangled web around our hearts.

His Word is Good and Whole. And there is life there on the page when we seek Him. When we desire a living, breathing relationship with His Heart. When knowing Him as our most intimate lover is the very breath that fills our lungs.

Because Life is Good. And there is always better things ahead than we leave behind. For in Grace we are continually remade.

So when the broken past threatens the future there is only walking forward. Choosing to Live. To Cling. To Love.

When we stop walking then we stop living.

It is in the gathering up of the pieces of our hearts that we begin to find the path ahead. The reaching out to be Carried that turns our face toward the Light.

Life is only Choice. Every single second a chance to Live. To breathe Him in and walk in Peace.

When we stop focusing on our weakness we can clearly see His Strength.

And then Life is beautiful. And we are free to live fully in His Joy.

"When God wanted to guarantee his promises, he gave his word, a rock-solid guarantee - God can't break his word. And because his word cannot change, the promise is likewise unchangeable. We who have run for our very lives to God have every reason to grab the promised hope with both hands and never let go. It's and unbreakable spiritual lifeline, reaching past all appearances right to the very presence of God..." Hebrews 6:18-19

the lens of Surrender

2012-09-18T10:37:00.001-04:00

When you are surrounded by darkness there are moments that you actually feel the fragments of your heart slipping to the floor.

Sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor. A tiny, fragile body seizing. My hand running over his smallness. Memorizing the shape of him. This moment wrapped up in the contrast of life and death. Of agony and joy.

And yet in Peace I sit aware of the Joy flowing out of my heart. Knowing for certain by the very existence of him, of this moment, that there is nothing that could extinguish my Heart.

It is the very contrast. The contradiction of the reality and the Joy that my heart is basking in that allows me to Live. To feel my breath. To Love.

Perspective. The surrender of your focus. The ability to always look up. Reach up. To choose His view.

He is the only true source of Joy.

To Trust. To give it all back freely. Not in some act of performance or ritual. But in the pure-open-hearted living of only His will.

The audacious surrender of life. Of Clinging to nothing but Him. It is the only way to offer love.

To give of your heart with reckless abandon secure in the safety of His Love.

Knowing that what you offer is only whole and complete when drawn from the Source.

When the pouring out of your time, your life, your joy comes with no expectation, no self-centered need then it has Real Value.

When the cost is immeasurable but the value still greater then there is true Worth in the offering.

True Perspective is viewing life through a lens of Surrender.

"So if you're serious about living this new resurrection life with Christ, act like it. Pursue the things over which Christ presides. Don't shuffle along, eyes to the ground, absorbed with the things right in front of you. Look up, and be alert to what is going on around Christ-that's where the action is. See things from His perspective." Colossians 3:1-2 MSG