My fingers grip the tiny plastic cup. I stare deep into the
crimson. Silence thunders
through my hollow soul as I swirl translucent red
round and round. Communion compels reflection over the wellness of one’s soul.
Sacred are the moments of soul-baring introspection.
“Remember His death,”
they say, yet I can barely remember His presence. If life comes from death, then do I dare to hope this cup bears that in
which will bring me life…and awaken my soul?
I feel death—my own. I move about, but feel death lurking
within me. This soul, dark and vacant, void of the voice, heart, and breath of
the One who claims to be my God. The One who promised His presence would go
with me—always.
I can not lie. I want this cup to be His Spirit flowing
afresh within me. I want this
store-bought juice poured from a recycled jug to supernaturally flow under my
skin through my veins, so that I may know and feel
He is real.
If I bring this cup to my lips—will He come to me? Can not
this holy and reverent sacrament provoke Him to draw near? Is there not anything
I can do to conjure up a sign of His presence? Oh how I long for His
closeness—to feel the warmth of His breath on me.
I part my lips and drink from the cup.
This tiny splash of crimson runs over my tongue,
And down my throat.
It travels deeper—
As He empties His cup
into me.
I pause to feel it drop deeper—
But it does not.
I look to the cup.
Empty.
Clinging to the bottom of clear plastic a lone drop taunts
me. This one drop is the “more” I desperately crave to fill the emptiness. Yet,
no matter what I do it refuses to leave the cup and drop into my mouth. The cup
had no more to pour out.
My mouth touched by the crimson—yet my soul remains empty.
How can this be?
When His cup was emptied—for me?
Desperation wells up within me…
And a frightening thought dares to fleet through my mind—
It’s not enough
I wince as this mere thought slaps the face of the One I
call Lord. The One who prayed as sweat beads burst into droplets of
blood upon His brow. The One who pushed through the pain to do His Father’s will.
But is not this cup His
will?
Is not the renewing of my soul His will?
Is it not the will of
the Father to restore me through His Son’s blood?
Isn’t it?
My heart numb from disappointment. My footing shifts
nervously on this Rock I stand. Although the Rock itself is solid—immovable—my
feet scramble to keep from slipping off. If
I believe this cup is not enough—who or
what will fill the void?
Oh no. God. Where have
You gone?
Methodically I stack one empty cup into another and set it
carefully under my chair. The music swells and flows throughout the sanctuary
as I lower myself to sit, rest, and push away the disappointment. I pretend to
ignore the inner struggle of a soul untouched and longing for more. I can not
keep my feet firmly planted on this Rock. The eyes of my heart go in and out of
focus as I will myself to stop slipping off the Rock. Doubt and faith battle
for my attention. I kneel down to touch the Rock with my hands—to steady
myself—as I wait.
Faith speaks:
He will not leave me.
He promised.
Doubt shouts:
Get used to the
emptiness.
Please God. Please.
Dare I ask for more?
If loaves and fish can multiple to feed thousands—can not
the tiny splash of 8% tart-tasting juice increase into gallons if my soul
needed it. My soul needs it God. As
I hang on to this Rock, I choose to believe
even a single drop clinging to the bottom of a tiny plastic cup can become an
ocean wave of His glory rushing over me—making all things new.
I believe. I really do.
I have to believe.
If I don’t—all is hopeless.
A voice booms through the microphone.
“Now to
Him who is able to do immeasurably MORE
than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within
us…”
More?
He can do MORE
than I ask or imagine?
I rise to my feet. My soul stirred awake. It was as if God Himself reached in where
the tiny splash stopped short and thrust the crimson to flow deeper and deeper
until it reached my soul. And there, in my cavernous and neglected space, His
cup turned over to flood my dry and depleted soul with His Living Water.
For a moment I am swept into His presence and I know He is
near. One moment blends into the next and the service continues and eventually
ends. Plastic cups are collected and tossed to the trash, but I have hope in His promise—
He has MORE to give.
On the Journey with you,
lk
Do you have a void
you long to fill?
Who or what fills your longing and emptiness?
Do you believe God wants to reveal His presence to you?
Here or somewhere…be real. Share
your journey.
Relevant Worship
Come to Me by BethelMusic/The Loft Sessions (Jenn Johnson)
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all
we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be
glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever
and ever! Amen. Galatians 3:20-21
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.
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.”
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 ei na l lt h a ti 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.
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. lk
Will you give in to the challenge and just receive from Him?
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 ofL 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.
lk
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
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.”
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.
More.
lk
Do you feel God's closeness with sounds or in the quiet?
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. Me. Quietly. As I sit. And wait.
What are you waiting for?
Here or somewhere…be real.
Share your journey.
Relevant Worship
Always by Kristian Stanfill http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yb4VvNq8WEM&feature=related
Her heart beat wildly within her chest as she carefully clasped the ceramic jar between her sweaty palms. Motivated by love she cautiously and confidently walked through the crowd to reach her one passion—the one called Jesus.
She felt judging eyes following her, but she focused only on her Lord. Upon reaching Him she dropped to her knees. She knew it was a risk, but there was no going back. Her soul longed to be close to her Messiah—her Savior. Without further hesitation she cracked open the jar. Everyone froze as the sound echoed across the room. The scent of perfume and the oily substance escaped through the broken opening—making a mess.
Spectators watched as the woman poured perfume over Jesus’ head. Murmurs were heard throughout the room as she used her hair to anoint His feet. She knew it was messy—but she did it anyway. He was worth it.
The Bible tells this story about Mary, a woman radically changed by the love of Jesus. Her expression, though criticized, was out of response to the love she received. She chose to take a risk. She chose to be vulnerable. She chose to trust—even if it got messy.
Her response makes sense when you think about Jesus. After all, His love toward us was displayed in messy ways too. He stepped out of heaven and became a baby only to be given a dirty animal trough as a crib, who then grew up to be a man to endure the bloody piercings of the crucifixion. He was willing to get messy—we were worth it.
Like Mary, the extravagant love of God has radically changed my life. My response to Him has become a journey of risk, vulnerability, and deeper trust. Does it get messy? Sure it does—but He’s worth it.
Descending the stairs the coolness danced over her bare toes. Each step was slow and thoughtful. Expectancy beat intensely within her heart. Hope beckoned as she emerged into deeper waters. Still standing she paused only to reflect on the journey before her. Exhaling fear, she drew in a breath of courage and immersed herself in mysterious waters.
Grace came with each stroke. Joy strengthened her kicks. Peace flooded her soul. Her air was His Love.
Moving swiftly she felt destiny within her movements. Invigorated. Empowered. Encouraged. She moved forward easily and with the tenacity for dreams realized. The water was her sky, her arms became wings—she was flying.
Unexpectedly, dirt clogs were thrown in her watery path. Her progress slowed as her vision muddied with disillusionment, disappointment, and discouragement. Her arms grew weary. Her feet dragged behind her. The water choked her. Gasping for air she longed to be free of this suffocating prison. In too deep, her feet could not find safety on the ground. Would she fight to move forward or give up and sink to the bottom? She fought for as long as she could. Her strokes were sloppy. Her feet kicked half-heartedly. She was moving, but not forward. She was going down…
Her heart wept for help.
Through dim waters she caught sight of her Daddy. Hope engulfed her. His presence brought a wave of clarity. His love became her oxygen. Her core strengthened as His long strokes and strong kicks stayed in sync with hers. Navigating the waters effortlessly He guided her out of the murkiness into a clear flow of His Truth.
The pathway of destiny is not void of cheap shots from the adversary. The enemy stands at the pool side throwing dirt clogs of lies and doubts to simply divert us from our purpose—but God’s Truth reigns. Be assured you are His Beloved and you have destiny.
Are you sinking from the enemies lies or are you in sync with the Father’s Truth?
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Ephesians 6:12
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11
Hear my cry, O God;
God, my eyes are red from tears, my throat sore from sobbing, and my heart aches from heaviness. Are You there? Can’t You hear me crying out to You—I’m not doing so good.
Listen to my prayer.
Are you listening God? Please say something—anything. Show me You are near. I feel so alone.
From the ends of the earth I call to You,
I can’t handle much more. This is it. I’m at my wit’s end. If you don’t show up…
I call as my heart grows faint;
Hopelessness is pending and depression is calling for me. Where are You?
Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
I know You’re there. You said You would never leave. Pick me up. Lead me to safe ground. Take me to a place I can stand firm. Lead me to a rock that is higher than the floods. Guide me to You, Jesus—the Rock on which all hope resides—Y o u a r e a l l I ’ v e g o t …
I choose to believe. I choose to trust. I choose to stand on the Rock.
“The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;
my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shieldand the hornof my salvation.
He is my stronghold, my refuge and my savior”
2 Samuel 22:2-3
It was the movement of Holy Spirit in my heart—alerting me to a time of refinement.
“No Lord. Not again.”
But really I had already said yes. Yes to God. Yes to destiny.
How often I forget destiny costs something. For God’s power to move and flow freely through me I must yield to His refining work. A life pursuing destiny is a life seeking more of Him. The painful reality is there is a process to undergo for there to be less of me.
“I don’t know if I can go another round of this, Lord.”
I wanted a way out—an exit door, somewhere that would allow me to catch my breath. I considered a conversion to the comfortable life of the American Christian. The kind of life where faith never goes deep and only showed up on Sunday mornings. Would anyone even notice? Father God made His heart known through the thundering voice of Mufasa, The Lion King.
Remember who you are.
“Remember who I am?Lord, I don’t understand.”
You are Mine.
Confused, I wondered if He heard me right. Didn’t He get it? I couldn’t withstand the heat of the refining fire much longer. For hours I watched my own impurities burn over the coals of purification. It was too much. I wanted out.
Remember who you are.
“Lord, I don’t know what You mean. Are You even listening to me? I’m done. I want out. It’s too much.” Tears streamed down my face in frustration.
Father God’s voice became gentle as Holy Spirit brought revelation.
The heat is not just to burn things off of you Beloved.
The heat is meant to burn something within you. I am burning My identity in you. It is what you will need to continue on the journey. Without it you will be lost and without direction to your destiny.
My heart grew light and heavy at the same time. “Why does it have to hurt, Lord?”
Beloved, I am holy. I am marking you with my holiness.
“How long will it take?”
Dear One, I will release you soon.
Draw near and stay with Me.
I won’t leave you alone in this.
Destiny comes with a cost. It’s a willingness to stay on the journey even when it gets hard and even when it becomes unbearable. It’s a belief that the goodness of God is greater than the circumstances we face.
But with the cost comes a reward. The fullness of God’s love revealed to us, the deepening of His presence in our lives, and His identity sealed over our souls.
It’s not an easy road, but I am choosing to stay on the journey—
“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9 NIV
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11 NIV
These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. 1 Peter 1:7 NIV
