Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Writing the Mess

I am just an ordinary woman wanting to make a difference in the world—

Somebody’s world.

I choose to be real and vulnerable for someone—


to be impacted by the extreme and relentless love of God.

My journey is no different than yours.

It’s messy.

In a life marked with both wrestling and surrendering to Jesus,

I find purpose.

I write of God’s pursuit to fully capture my heart.

My journey is no different than yours.

It’s messy.

It’s real.

I am just an ordinary woman wanting to make a difference in the world—

Your world.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Knee Deep in Manure

The blaze of the fire warmed the room. Rich green garland dressed the mantle as ornate stockings hung expectantly. In the corner stood a magnificent pine tree adorned with twinkle lights and shiny red ornaments.

These were the signs of Christmas.

Yet somehow this familiar scene brought restlessness to my soul. I dared to ask the unthinkable.

Is this really Christmas?

Is my soul satisfied from the aroma of pine swirling in the air, the flickering of lights, or the brightly wrapped packages under the tree? I wrestled to find Christmas in candy canes precariously hanging from branches and Santa Claus staring at me from the fireplace.

Is this Christmas?

Climbing into my car, my heart raced with desperate need to seek contentment for my soul. Where can I find Christmas? For miles I drove—my heart searching the sights around me. Passing streets adorned with wreaths, Santa’s ringing bells, and tree lots.

Is this Christmas?

My heart grew expectant as my search led me to a local farm. My soul anticipated discovery as I quietly walked the dirt path through stalls of animals.

And then I saw her.

I. Couldn’t. Stop. Staring.

All four legs of this dairy cow were standing in none other than wet, soggy manure—the stench intolerable. Devouring every last bit of hay from the dirty steel trough, she paused to lift her contented face towards me. Her gaze told me she knew what I was seeking.

And it was in those moments I not only found myself—I found Christmas.

I also stand in the muck and mire of my brokenness.

Yet if I lean in, like she does, I can hear the Christ Child call to me. The God who rose from His throne, left heaven, and stepped into our world—naked and vulnerable. It is this God I hear wooing me to draw near and feast on His goodness and grace from His humble trough-like crib.

And when I do—I find what I was looking for.

This, my friend, is Christmas. 
Will you lean into the Christ Child today?

Here or real. Share your journey.

Sounds for the Soul
The Gift by David Nevue

He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. Psalm 40:2 NIV 1984

The angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. 11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
Luke 2:10-12

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Hopeful Again

This week’s post is straight from my practice journal. This time my oldest son would accompany me. The timer set for 15 minutes and we began our separate assignments. He was to write sixteen spelling words into sentences for homework and I was to craft those same spelling words into a blog. Writing without lifting my pen these third grade words took on a life of their own. When the buzzer sounded I only added the last line and have left it as is--unpolished. By the way, my son was done with his sentences in only five minutes. J (spelling words are bolded) The unexpected surprise was not only was this fiction—but I think I know that little girl…

Hopeful Again

How do I begin?

How does one retell a story of an unhappy girl who found life through the friendly Farmer?

Her life was desolate, desperate, and despairing. But what He said…caused her to feel hopeful.

Hope was a foreign thought and feeling. She, the scrawny girl with the scraggly pig tails. The one always shamed and treated unfair by the cross Mrs. Rally and deemed unimportant to most of the townspeople. Unlike the others, this same girl was accepted by the Farmer.

She remembers that day vividly.

The sky darkened by heavy clouds pouring out buckets of rain to the town. The dirt roads were wet, and soon her boots, the ones worn through at the toe, were splattered with mud. Even the hem of her dress was covered with mud.

The rain and mud would not stop her. She promised the town seamstress to deliver a package. Mrs. Rally said if she was a good helper she would give her one quarter—a shiny one. One whole quarter would give her milk and oats for a week. She must be careful as to not slip in the mud and drop the package. She walked slowly. The rain pounded down on her. Clothes soaked through. She was almost at her destination—the Farmer’s house. Just a few steps from His porch lightening flashed and peals of thunder shook the sky.

It frightened the poor girl and she jumped at the noise. Sadly, she lost her footing and landed in a pot-hole—filled with mud.

Unhurt, she stood up. Tears mixed in with the raindrops as she reached to pick up the package from the mud. Silently she wept. The package wet, soggy—completely ruined. She stood there for what seemed like hours as the rain pelted her skin.

“How will I ever remake this package and make it new again for the Farmer?”

She thought of the shiny quarter. The milk. The oats. She wouldn’t have any of it. Only be shamed once again by Mrs. Rally.

The porch light suddenly lit up the porch and the door creaked open.

She looked down. Pretending to be invisible. Pretending it was just a dream.

The Farmer spoke. “What have we here, Little One?”

His voice was kind. He gently took the package from her grip.

She dared to look up.

And when she did…

She saw Him looking at her...

with kind eyes and a smile.

And she knew.

Everything was going to be okay.

I need to know everything is going to be okay…how about you?

Lord, let us see Your eyes and hear Your gentle voice and know…You are near to pick up the mess and make everything new again. 

On the journey with you...  lk

Relevant Worship

Embrace (It’s All Gonna Be Okay) by Jake Hamilton

Reflective Scripture

The LORD watches over all who love him. Psalm 145:20

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34:18

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Even This?

I ran my finger over the inscription of the silver heart. Those words—I swear I could hear them mocking me—even laughing as my soul wrestled with its meaning.

G r a t i t u d e    i n   a l l    t h a t   i s

What is that supposed to mean?

On a better day it would have been a sweet sentiment—one quickly forgotten. But that day wasn’t good. I suppose a “good” Christian would accept the seemingly kind cliché and take it as a sign to praise the Lord through the valleys of life. But I don’t want to be a good Christian—just a real one.

I sneered at the words in disgust and abandoned the pendant to the sales clerk. But those words, already impressed on my soul, would never leave me.

Gratitude in ALL that IS?

As the days followed the He urged me to find the gift in each day—everyday. Tell me—how am I to find the gift in dark moments and seasons of life?
How does anyone?

I wrestle for the gift as the First Boy defiantly ignores my direction. He says nothing, but his eyes tell me ‘no, never, and I will always hate you.’

Gratitude in ALL that IS?
Even this?

The Blonde Boy hurls a pinecone at me. He is angry for my thoughtlessness of putting both open and closed pinecones into one single bag. Seriously.

Gratitude in ALL that IS?
Even this?

Even when…

            a car slams into mine?

When my child is sick?

When there is a water leak?

When my son gets picked on at school?

When the ledger shows more red than black?

When a friend rejects me?

When there is no hot water for days?

When business is molasses slow?

When the child can’t keep any food down?

When I boil pots of water to wash the dishes

and wash soiled sheets in cold?

When ants greet me in the food pantry

and when they surprise me in the loft?

When my boys won’t get out of bed in the morning,

and when they won’t get into bed at night?

When the plumber gives the bill?

When my mother-in-law’s health is threatened,

and I hear my husband holding back the tears?

When the car bumper is cracked?

When my neck and back begin to ache?

When no one takes the trash out?

When the bank account is drained?

When shame wants to reside within me?

When expectations hound me?

When the smallest one runs away from me—

                        down the street

                                    and around the corner?

Even in this?

Gratitude in ALL that IS?

God I don’t like what IS right now. Just saying.

Thank you for the grace to be real and not have it all figured out.
On the journey with you… lk

How do you embrace gratitude in all that is in your life? Here or somewhere…be real. Share your journey.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011


The following post comes out of my practice journal—a plain notebook that pleads to be true to the journey of life—messy, flawed, and raw. The writing prompt came with instruction: write the first thoughts that come to mind for two full minutes on the topic of Home. The pen must be in constant movement. No stops or pauses. As much as I would like to edit and polish it up for this post—I leave it imperfect—much like my journey…lk 


What is home? Acceptance. Where I am loved for who I am and not what I do.

Home. Always inviting. Always welcoming. Welcoming me—all of me. Where is home? It changes from season to season. And even moment to moment. Home. Where the space in my soul is overwhelmed with contentment, peace, and fulfillment.

Oh, how I long for home.

Every moment. Every moment is a choice to come home where my soul meets with Him. My God. He is my home.

He is my home.

Now it’s your turn.

In the comment section write what home is to you…and watch what happens. Not what the letters form on the screen, but the movement in your heart.

Here or somewhere…be real. Share your journey.

Relevant Music

Home by David Nevue

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Seeking Sanctuary

You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. Jeremiah 29:13

He calls to you...

Sit with Me.
Find sanctuary with Me.

The hurry and rush to do more, buy more, be more never ceases unless you slow down, my friend.

He is calling to you...

Sit with Me.
Find sanctuary with Me.

Can one seek sanctuary in the midst of crammed calendars, turkey stuffing, and midnight shopping?
Yes, dear friend. Yes.

Slow. Pause. Stop.

And sit. With Him. He is your sanctuary.
Can you feel His breath on you?

Can you hear His whispers to you?
Breathe Him in.
When you seek sanctuary the lists, troubles, the hurts, and grief lighten...and simple joy comes.

He calls to you.

He will not relent.

Sit with Me.
Find sanctuary with Me.

May your soul find sanctuary and well up with overflowing gratitude for all that is..and for who He is.

Seeking Sanctuary,
Where do you need His sanctuary this week?

Here or real.
Share your journey.

Playlist for Seeking Sanctuary

Here in Your Presence by New Life Worship

The More I Seek You by Kari Jobe

Carry Your Name by Christy Nockels (Passion)

Abide in Me by Alberto & Kimberly Rivera

Reflective Scripture

Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise; give thanks to Him and praise His name. Psalm 100:4

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

My Confession


I attended a writer’s conference—and didn’t write.

I couldn’t. The words—the “right” words just never came. I fought hard to find the words…but I never did. It would seem that I gave up. But it was more like I gave in.

See it wasn’t about what I could do for Him. It was about what He wanted to give to me.

I tried to work for Him—but He didn’t want me to. I couldn’t earn what He wanted to give. The challenge was to receive from Him. When did the simple act of receiving become a challenge? Strange, I know. But I am learning to lean into Him. Not just when I need or want something, but because He needs and wants me.

This blog is my journey—a bit messy, and today, unedited. I thank you for your grace.

I invite you to listen to the music clip below. Not with your ears, but with your soul.

In the words of my dear friend:

“May the words of this song pour over you like oil.”

Let it pour.

Will you give in to the challenge and just receive from Him?

The More I Seek You by Kari Jobe

Here or somewhere…be real.
Share your journey.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011


I open the window to allow the fresh air to blow through the house.

I find a seat on the couch and the First Boy plops down next to me. He clutches a pencil in his hand as my fingers fly over the computer keys. Shoulder to shoulder we write. He hums a tune as he works his spelling words into vowel patterns. I pause as I try to give voice to the heart of this post. He sets his pencil down to clap the rhythm of syllables. Deliberate and purposeful his hands come together to the beat of words.

Peace, piece, our, hour, cent, and scent—all words for life.

My spirit pauses to listen in…

He claps to the rhythm of   L I F E.

The open window becomes a passageway to my heart. I hear the leaves of the trees rustling even clapping in the wind…

Do I clap to the rhythm of life?

Or do I will for the tempo to change?

Now the Blonde Boy catches my attention. He sits on his knees sinking lower and lower into the floor. He leans into his art taped to the wall. Black marker in hand he pens his name in the lower right hand corner—

Writing identity across his creation.

Is that not what our Lord does? Write His name ever so carefully across our lives. Is He not intentional and even deliberate with the picture of our destiny?

The Blonde Boy covers the pen with its cap and wanders over to the open window. He watches in wonder as the curtain transforms into a sail. The wind fills the fabric with its breath. His blue eyes widen as the sail swells. Anticipation lights up his face. I know what he’s thinking—

How high will the sail fly?

How high indeed. How high or low will the Wind take us? I feel the coolness of the breeze fill the room—and I know—our sail will soon change direction.

Will I go where the Wind blows or will I resist with the weight of an anchor?

The bronze fabric balloons high and then whips wildly to the wind. I hear them again—the trees clapping to the rhythm. They know—I know—to trust in the Wind.
Are you yielding to Holy Spirit to lead you? What direction is He taking you in?

Here or somewhere…be real.
Share your journey.

Reflective Scripture
5 Trust in the LORD with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
6 in all your ways submit to him,
and he will make your paths straight
Proverbs 3:5-6

Relevant Worship
Mighty Breath of God by Jesus Culture

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Hello Courage

Art by Sherry Meneley
I lie awake in the dark. And press my eyes shut.

Pretending. Pretending the darkness isn’t creeping into my mind. I try to will the thoughts away. But they don’t.

Stop. Please stop.

Fear must die at some point, right?

I rise to my feet. The morning is dark. Everything dark. When will the sun cast light into my morning—into my soul?

My husband sleeps. I grab my phone—my connection to another world. I send out a distressed message. Please...somebody pray. Tears begin to fall. Hot tears.

“Are you okay?”

It’s my husband. Still in bed he calls to me. He knows I’m not right.

I ’ m   n o t   r i g h t.

I go to him. He pulls me near. I fall into his arms and cry.

No. I sob.

Like a child.

The incomprehensible wailing shakes loud throughout my body. The sounds I make. They are the same when the blonde boy comes to me. Hurting.

“Where does it hurt?” I ask him.


E v e r y w h e r e.

I pull him close. His sobs deepen. He is safe to let it all out. To cry. To hurt. To lean in.

My husband does the same. Holds me close. Now it’s my sobs that deepen. I am safe to let it all out. And cry out like a child.

“I’m so scared”

I wail louder. I can’t stop.

I remember I was five. My hair was golden brown. Long pigtails tied back with yarn. Awake in the night and frightened. Nightmares. Again. Why must fear insist on following me?

And now?

This little girl, a grown woman sobs and weeps deeply because of the fear…she feels—
I feel…e v e r y w h e r e.

“It’s going to be okay.” He rubs my back as more tears escape.

“Read to me.” I tell him. The words come in the voice of a little girl.

Still a little girl.

“Read what?” He asks.

“Psalm 91”

“Why don’t you tell me what it says?” He prods gently. Knowing. He knows the power for me to hear my own voice speak life.

My face wet with tears. The pillow soaked from fright. His arms warm. He waits. I reach into the pockets of my memory…and speak.

“(S)he who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will find rest  in the shadow of the Almighty…because (s)he loves me. I will rescue her. I will save her from trouble.”

Oh, how my mind needs to be rescued…to find rest.

“Do you believe that?” he asks me.

I couldn’t answer.

Could I believe?

I wasn't sure.

My life was dependent upon believing the Son would rise that day.

If He didn’t rise…if His light did not shine into my mind…well, how could I live?

How could I?

My heart tender from the early morning battle, I walked weak through my day—waiting for it to sneak up on me again. Fear. I hate it. How would I face it if, when it came again? Where was the courage to fight? Where?

And then I see it.

Simple words in a photo sent on my phone from a friend. Shouting a message. To me.

Hello Courage

I pause. Hello Courage? I don’t get it.

Have I just knocked on the door of Courage to say, ‘hello it’s time to come out and play’?


Is this Someone saying hello to me? As if I were Courage.

I hear it now. I remember.

It’s my name. The name He gave me almost nine years ago.

Courageous One.

I hear Him. He calls me by this name—to remind me who I am.

Hello Courage

I get it.

By calling my name He brings forth the very thing I lack. His hello rescued me and brought me rest.

Fear vanishes. Peace comes. The Son rises within my heart. Even in my doubt.

E v e n   i n   m y   d o u b t.

Because His grace continues…

 Where do you doubt God’s faithfulness? Where do you need the Son to rise today?
Art by Sherry Meneley

 Here or somewhere…be real.
Share your journey.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

The Mighty Grip of Fear

It’s going to get worse.

It was a deadly phrase that went through my mind recently. It tempted to lure my mind to join in on the ‘what if’ game. It finally found its opening to take over and I began to think about how bad things could really get. But on this one particular morning I believed it was no longer just a game. I knew the worst had come.
I uncovered my cell phone from the blankets on the bed. Four missed calls in such a short amount of time since I misplaced it. Upon reviewing the calls I discovered they were from my husband. As I hit send to return his call I wondered what was so urgent for him to phone me repeatedly.

Then I remembered.

The sirens.

The long and drawn out sounds of the sirens shortly after my husband left for work that morning.

Then I remembered the woman.

The woman I overheard frustrated because she had to pull off the freeway by my house to avoid an accident scene.

The phone rang. No answer. I dialed again. Still no answer.

I texted him.

No reply.

I emailed him.

No reply.

I went online to search for current freeway accidents. My screen glared back at me with accident reports and fatalities.

My head started to spin.

The missed calls weren’t actually from him. Someone else used his phone to tell me about the accident.

Oh God. This isn’t happening.

My body went numb. My head dizzy. An indescribable sensation traveled throughout my body. I couldn’t breathe.

I went and flung open the front door. I was desperate for a sign of hope. I looked outside to seek an answer. I looked for him. His car was gone. He was gone.

H e   w a s   g o n e.

No. No. This can’t be happening. I can’t handle this. What about my boys? How will I live through this?

Trembling I called a friend. I couldn’t form words.

“Breathe” she said.

I cried. Fear was holding me.

She prayed. I breathed.

The other line beeped.

It was him.

Safe and sound.

None of it was real. There was no accident. It never happened.

But it felt real.

For 18 minutes it was my reality. For 18 minutes I was a widow, single mom, and sole provider.

The words of my friend came back to me,
“The enemy is trying to trip you up.”

Oh God, not again.

Fear is real. It is a stronghold with a mighty grip. When fear becomes a reality even for a few minutes it is overwhelming. I lived most my life with severe anxiety and panic attacks. Eleven years ago I sought help. God’s healing was a process and for the better part of this past decade I have walked in a freedom I never thought possible.

In my journey I have come to learn the same area of our lives we overcome by the grace of God are the very places in which we have authority to speak into others. By the power of God our own healing releases hope to another. Yet, I can not ignore that it is just as true that it is the same area in which the enemy will use to trip us up.

Why has fear paid a harsh visit to me recently? I don’t know. All I know is this: I will not return to it as it has hoped to return to me.

Not this time.

I will not return to a life riddled with fear. I will not give in to the threats over my mind. I will reach to the Light to penetrate the darkness.  I will grab a hold of Peace to shield me from fear. I seek my refuge in His truth, in His people, and in His promise of victory.

I will overcome. I will find freedom—again.

There is no chance of things getting worse. They can only get better.

Because His grace continues…

Have you ever revisited the places you thought you were “over”? What did you do? Did you retreat or seek more healing?

Here or somewhere…be real.
Share your journey.

*If you or someone you know suffer from severe anxiety or panic disorders please seek professional help. You don’t need to go through this alone.

Relevant Worship & Music

Overcome by New Life Church Worship

Overcome by David Nevue

Reflective Scripture

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
2 When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.
3 For I am the LORD your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
Isaiah 43:1b-3

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

A Father's Love

Do you want me to come with you?”

I was hoping he would ask.

He gets up from what would have been his time to rest and grabs his keys. We drive to the grocery store. It’s just he and I. Our time together. He picks out his birthday pie. I remind him to get the ice cream. He pays the bill. We drive back. I feel richer for simply being with him.

He is 69.

I am 39.

Thirty years apart, but our hearts are ever close.

I once believed disappointment would take precedence over love.

He was 48.

I was 18.

I feared to look into his eyes. What would he think? What would he say? My heart raced in the moments between words.

I could never be disappointed in you.”

Tears poured out as acceptance flooded me.

A father’s love accepts.

I once believed my world would never be right again.

He was 44.

I was 14. 

Crying in a dark corner he reached for me. Held me and cried with me. My heart hurt deeply, and so did his. And he didn’t have to, but he said…

I’m sorry

I knew then I would never be alone.

A father’s love comforts.

I once believed the night would always bring fear.

He was 35.

I was 5. 

Dark nights and scary dreams led me to seek him for refuge.

As I answered I crawled in next to him where the frightening feelings went away and even the darkest nights became safe.

A father’s love is security.

I once thought I would always be his little girl.

But I grew up.

And I thought for a moment age would bring distance. 

He at 68.

I at 38.

My phone beeps from a text message. It’s Dad.
It reads:

Hey LA…are you free any time this week for a father daughter lunch or something.

I come out with my blonde boy. We have lunch at the usual spot. He shares photos and stories of his trip. I share life and seek advice. I leave full of wisdom, joy, but most of all—love. 

A father’s love is forever.

And a daughter’s love is ever rising with hopes to match the depth and height of what she has been given…

And yet…

A father’s love is  m a t c h l e s s.

I love you Dad.

Reflective Music

The Gift by David Nevue

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Is it Okay for God to Be Quiet?


In the sanctuary—
He is here.

An angelic melody lifts heavenward. But He is not in the music. He is in the moments of quiet between the chords played and the notes yet to be played.

In the sanctuary—
He is here.

Voices unite to raise a shout to heaven. But He is not in their words. He is in the quiet moments as they catch their breath between shouts.

He is in the quiet moments of in-between.

Why did I ever believe my noise brought Him closer? Why did I trade the hush of heavenly peace for "spiritual" noise that only masked His majesty?

His quietness is holy. Oh so holy—

There is no equal.

Not even a word of praise, a song of worship, a clap, or a shout could trump this holy holy hush of God. No sound could ever be more holy while standing in the thick blanket of His quietness.

He is in the quiet moments—if we let the noise cease and allow the in-between moments to resonate… d e e p l y—we will know He is here.

Be quiet.

Your soul longs to settle,

And abide in His silence.

It is His silence that roars from heaven to touch the depths of my soul. It is His silence that deafens the darkness. And His silence that moves me close to Him.

It is in His silent presence in which He becomes known to me and I become one with Him.

I must be quiet.

My soul longs to settle,

And abide in His silence—His holy silence.

If I dare utter even a sound, may it be a single word,


More moments please. More moments in-between the noises and sounds of this chaotic world for silence to settle and the quietness of God to be free in me.



Do you feel God's closeness with sounds or in the quiet?
Here or somewhere…be real. Share your journey.
Quiet Music
The Vigil by David Nevue

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

I Can Stop Time

How does one stop time? How does one slow the process of the children growing ‘too fast’?

You grew again, didn’t you?
Why must you? Will you stop please?
“No Mommy. I want to grow up to be a teenager.”
Will you still snuggle with me when you are a teenager?
“When I am five I will snuggle with you, but not when I am ten.”

How can I keep ten from coming? And yet still give the blonde boy freedom to fly? There must be a way.

There is.

I know the secret.

Stay present.

I’ve spent years staying in my calendar, my ministry, my agenda…looking ahead, planning, prepping…

and   l o s i n g   m o m e n t s.

The moments when the first boy tells me about his day—away from me—as I blind myself to the screaming screen blaring back at me.

The moments when my husband—the one I’ve promised, pledged and vowed to love, cherish, and honor—shares good news of a bonus, a sale, an increased commission…But the laundry was too high and too loud to hear—anything.

The moments when the blonde boy tells me great and tall tales of his adventures that never really happened—because they never really happened.

I am learning to stop time.

I must stop time.

I must stay present.

While the snuggle is still available--before he turns ten.


How will you stop time today?

Here or somewhere…be real. Share your journey. 

Music to Stop Time…

A Moment Lost by David Nevue

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Quietness of God

I sit.
I wait…
for the wind of His Spirit to touch my face. For heaven’s breath to awaken my dreary soul. For holy hands to loosen the grip of black fear that suffocates my every night.

I sit.
I wait…
for His gentleness to clear away yesterday’s cobwebs. For His tenderness to whisper mercy to every space of my soul. For His enthralling love to bring me back to the passion I once knew.

I sit.
I wait…
for Hope to enter courageously. Peace to dwell deeply. Life to flourish purposefully.

I sit.
I wait.

It’s quiet.  He is quiet.  But I know He is near.
He is here.  With me.  In all I do.  In all I don’t do.
He loves.
As I sit.  And wait.

What are you waiting for?

Here or somewhere…be real.
Share your journey.

Relevant Worship
Always by Kristian Stanfill

While I’m Waiting by John Waller

I’m Waiting Here for You by Christy Nockels (Passion)

Reflective Scriptures
Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord. Psalm 27:14 NLT

Be still and know that I am God.
Psalm 46:10 NIV

I waited patiently for the LORD; He turned to me and heard my cry.
Psalm 40:1 NIV

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Tomorrow Had Come

Have you ever lived a life gripped in fear? I know I have. The relentless fight of life and death in every moment makes one insecure and weary. I get that life. I’ve known that life. But I’ve also known freedom. In this week’s post, fellow blogger Jessica Kirkland, shares her story of receiving God’s tangible promise in the midst of real fear. Read on—it’s powerful.

Tomorrow Had Come
by Jessica Kirkland

In every season of life, the Enemy would whisper the lie that I would “never make it” to the next.

I believed it.

Time and time again, I thought his words held power. As a young child, I never thought I would live to see my school years. Once I entered school, I never thought I would live to see the next day, next grade, or milestone in life. I listened to a very real enemy, even though I didn’t want to. Even though I came from a strong, Christian family, I felt powerless to stop the lies. Fear gripped me, stole from me, and taunted every careful step I took.

I gave my heart to Christ at six years old, yet fear still held me tight. Though I had renewed hope, the whispers and lies continued to flow and drown out truth through every season. When, I heard the words that burned a hole straight through, I was nose-to-nose with what appeared to be the sum of all my fears.

“Mrs. Kirkland, you have congestive heart failure. If your babies are born now, they will probably not live or be severely impaired.”

I was twenty-six weeks pregnant with triplets. In the beginning, I had been pregnant with quads, but had lost one child at 14 weeks. I never imagined we might all go meet Jesus on the same day. I mourned the thought of my husband walking through life alone. I grieved for the children that would either die, be disabled on this earth, or grow up motherless. And I burned with anger, not just because of the oxygen mask strapped to my face as I struggled for breath and life, but for twenty-five years of allowing Satan to tell me that I would never make it to tomorrow.

Tomorrow had come.

As nurses whirled around me, I prayed Acts 17:25 out loud, “…You give life and breath to everything, and satisfy every need.” I pleaded with the God I personally knew through a relationship with His Son, Jesus. I knew He had a plan for my life that was good according to Jeremiah 29:11. In my humanity, I struggled with the thought that death might be His plan for us on that day.

Today, we are parents to three healthy five-year-olds. You would never know they were born nine weeks premature. The joy that Satan has stolen from me in 30 years, through a spirit of fear, is great. I imagine if you strung each lying sentence end-to-end, they might wrap the globe. Yet, I have promised to tell others of God’s miracles in my life and do my part in setting captives free.

Tomorrow had come, but so had Jesus, and it is He who has defeated the grave.

“For God has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.” 2 Timothy 1:7

Are you living life or living fear?

Here or real.
Share your journey.

Jessica Kirkland lives in Southeast Texas with her husband, Robb, and five-year-old triplets. She is an author and speaker whose greatest passion in life is to see young families grow deeper in their walk with God. Jessica's newest adventure includes launching Christian Apps 4 Kids, which seeks to draw
kids closer to Christ one app at a time. A recent release is a book app that addresses fear and scary nighttime sounds called The Sounds of Night, designed for kids ages 2-8. It is currently available on iPad, iPhone and all Android devices. When Jessica isn't writing, you can find her cheering her boys on at the soccer field, or watching her little girl at the dance studio.

To find out more about her current writing projects, connect with her at: http://www.christianapps4kids.comor on her personal blog:
Click here to purchase The Sounds of Night at iTunes.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011


Sometimes I feel like giving up.
Sometimes my heart goes to sleep—and I forget…

There is Hope

Sometimes I just have to sit and be—me in front of Him.
Sometimes I have to remember who He is—before I can know who I am.
Sometimes I have to push away from my stuff, put my pen down—and listen.

Maybe you do too.

Listen in to the anthem of Hope. It’s for me, but I have a feeling it’s for you too.

HOPE'S ANTHEM by Wlliam Matthews

He's awakening the hope in me
By calling forth my destiny

He's breathing life
Into my soul

I will thirst for
Him and Him alone

He has come like the rain
That showers on the barren plain

So my heart and tongue confess
Jesus, Christ the Hope of man

My hope is in you, God
I am steadfast
I will not be moved

I'm anchored, never shaken
All my hope is in You

He's bringing hope to the hopeless
And giving His heart to the broken

And sharing His home with the orphan
He is the joy, He is my joy

He is the hope of the nations
The Father's heart we're embracing

He is the song we're declaring
He is the joy, He is my joy