Holy

This song has been running through my head these last couple of days, bringing truth that is hard to hold.

He is Holy.

Perfect.

But He also says:

"I no longer call you slaves, because a master doesn't confide in his slaves. Now you are my friends, since I have told you everything the Father told me." John 15:15 (NLT)

He is still Holy... but He's also my Friend.

In Sunshine

It wraps around the trees, gilding them with a golden shimmer.

Half dark, half light, they stand as sentinels as I walk home.

Light dying away but giving one last glorious breath of life.

Life that seems to be missing from my days.

I wonder back and forth, completing tasks, procrastinating on others.

Simply surviving, instead of thriving as I wish to do.

I think that it has to do with the loss of schedule. School restarts in just a few days, but I am unprepared even for that.

I am tired, my hours wasted and my sleep hours not filled.

I know that if I tried, I could break through this mask of drudgery that seems sit over me, but I like the limbo.

It seems nice after so much business.

But I see the light steal across those trees, and catch a glimpse at the end of the branches laden down with buds,

I find that there is life even among the dark.

Then it is revealed by the light, and those buds bursting with life are thrust into the glimmering golden light.

He is waiting for me to step outside of my darkness... to accept His light.

To understand that He is waiting with hands stretched open wide, and if I only accept it, my days could be filled with so much more meaning.

To realize that this darkness is only a self-imposed prison,

And that His sunshine is so much better than my limbo.

In Fantasy

They pull me in a way that other books don't.

Worlds that offer such sweet reprieve when I find that my own is either boring or cresting in a wave that longs to destroy me.

Books that offer me a look at another time and place... one that is not real.

Of future technologies, of characters that climb from the ordinary to the extraordinary.

Of being different... special.

These heroines draw me.... Vin (from Brandon Sanderson's Mistborn trilogy) and Katniss (from Suzanne Collins' Hunger Games trilogy) as well as many others.

Their very indistinctness forged into great strength from pressing circumstances. And yet... that ability was theirs before they knew it.

And as I surface from those worlds and find myself breathing in and out the normal everyday air of normal life, I sometimes regret who I am.

That I do not have those powers. That I do not seem as special as they were. That.... sad as it is to say... I do not suffer as they did, which led to prevailing.

And I wonder what my purpose is... what my divine gifting is that I am specialized to use. What good things He has placed in my life to do.

But as much as I want to seem like the heroine day in and day out... I cannot be.

I am weak, not strong. I am lazy, not purposeful. 

And it doesn't always work, but my mind is drawn to those words that He says.

The ones He whispered to another who felt a need to be perfect in everything, but who needed weakness to keep him humble. 

"Each time he said, 'My grace is all that you need. My power works best in weakness.'" 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NLT)

Yes, I still wish, at times, that I lived in one of the worlds encased by the covers of a book. I still wish to be "special" in that way. But I know that He has made me just the way that He wanted me to be... weaknesses and all.

 And I also know that I have the power within me to be great.

Great not because of what I have done... but because of who He is.

  

In Failure

I sat on those springy chairs covered with rough blue cloth, surrounded by walls painted dark blue and scattered with stars.

Sitting on the stage was my father and in other seats were college students.

And he started speaking about failure. About failure in missions and as a missionary himself.

He spoke of the time that he laid on that concrete floor with a gun pressed to his back, while my mother and J and I huddled in the bed as men took the things that we had just had shipped to us.

Car, computers, watches, money, anything valuable.... my mother's wedding ring.

And I remembered my bleary-eyed fear. Fear that something was so wrong that my own Daddy was afraid. Fear for him.

He spoke of his loss of security for years after that, jumping awake at any sound in the night because he never knew what it might be.

He spoke about the lessons taught of God's sovereignty and power. Of protection and of a mission so strong that God would keep us there, and bring us to a place beyond fear.

He spoke of J's sickness. Of leaving when translation was at its peak. Villagers were getting excited about the Word in their own language, and everything was moving along so well.

Of thinking that the success was turning into a failure. Of how it's all about Him and never about us.

It's never about our success stories. But it's also never about our failures.

But it's all about how He works through us for His good and glory.

And if what it takes is for me to fail, to fall, to be disgraced, to suffer, to be beaten, to be filled with shame.... that's when He gets all the glory.

As I read the Word for this morning, it was there, waiting:

"Then he said to the crowd, 'If any of you wants to be my followers, you must turn from your selfish ways, take up your cross dialy, and follow me. If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it.' " Luke 9:23-24 (NLT)

Do I shoulder my cross daily?

Not always.

But He works wonderous things through failures, if only given to Him.

In Others

I watched your face that Friday night, as you echoed the conductor's movements. The jerks with your arms, the moving up and down with your head, the wide grin that spread across your face.

I watched you, as you watched them.

Musicians creating a masterpiece of beauty. Reconstructing music that you listened to when young. Bringing to life composers long dead.

I watched your face, one that has watched over me for over sixteen years now. Those brown eyes that crinkle when you laugh, that smile when I read excerpts of stories that made me laugh.

Those laugh lines that are well creased every day. The dark hair now glistening with gray.

Those arms that have held me close so often, when I've cried, when I've laughed, when I wake up in the morning and we're both in our pjs, and say good morning.

Those arms that make me feel oh, so *safe*. Those arms that are liberally sprinkled with freckles, ones that I've inherited, ones that you use to answer my question about time with, "Three freckles past a hair."

A face that I've come to respect and love so much.

A face that helps me see my heavenly Father so much clearer.

It was your Christmas gift, but it was also mine.

*****

We perched on desks, that Monday morning, brainstorming, creating, improvising, laughing. 

That group that has drawn me so close these past few months. That group that gives me the freedom to be myself. 

None of us know what we're getting ourselves into, but we all know that we are weak. 

And when we arrive in Colombia, we'll draw even closer together, forming a team that will give community a new meaning.

I'm so thankful for the camaraderie, of the letting go of stereotypes and former conclusions, for the willingness to see beyond the outside to what each individual is trying to keep hidden.

And I see Him... in every single one of you. 

*****

I walked into the store, causing a beeping to sound. And your helpers told me that you were coming. 

You appeared, decked out with jacket, scarf, hat, backpack, swimming bag, lunch bag and purse.

And you hugged me. 

Those hugs that seem to tell me that everything is alright, because there is such a thing as unconditional love.

We walk to your house, discussing what we're going to do next.

And I find it amazing that although I'm the only one that can speak, our conversations thrive. Your hands move quickly in repeated patterns, emphasizing what you want, and I reassure you that we can do what you desire. 

You finish eating and we set out, bundled up and shuffling down the sidewalk, heading out to meet people and get around.

And the frustration of former days comes to my mind and I softly ask you if you will make a promise to me, to not dawdle, but to do things succinctly and well.

You comply. It happens, and I am left amazed at the capacity your brain, that some call "disabled", has. 

The capacity to understand how to help those who hurt, to smile when I need a perk in my day, to stop for hugs at any time, even when in the middle of the street.

Sometimes I wonder what others think, but you show me that it doesn't matter. Because life is amazing, and hugs is your way of living.

It doesn't go perfectly, we struggle and argue. There are misunderstandings, but you say sorry and immediately come round with a hug again. 

It's that unconditional love that He's been teaching me through you. Love beyond what the promises you break, the days that go downhill, the times when I am tempted to give up. 

Love because of who you are. 

Love that you continually give to me.

*****

I pulled on my jacket as she pulled up. A friend transporting me to a place filled with friends. 

And even though there was studying to be done, a Diploma the next day, I needed those hours.

Hours spent stuffing myself with double-stuffed Oreos, Taco chips and salsa. Hours spent playing Dutch Blitz and Apples to Apples.

Hours spent surrounded by those who have meant so much to me these last three years. You guys have seen me grow spiritually in so many ways. 

To be surrounded by the leaders and girls of our Monday night Bible Study and the joy that was found in talking, shrieking in indignation, laughing about mistakes, sharing needs, and praying before we left.

And I feel so free, so safe, to able to express myself in ways often hidden, among that group. 

Free to make mistakes, admit my weakness, knowing that others understand and that when brought before Him in a group, my problems don't seem so big anymore. 

*****

And I am so thankful. 

Thankful for the way that He surrounds me with people like you.

Unbelievable people who grant me the freedom to make mistakes, to learn, and to be myself.

Thank you.