It's Not Enough

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)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5R54Hbjv70c&ob=av2e

Fall Afresh by Bethel Music/The Loft Sessions (Jeremy Riddle)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pykLABoAR84

Agnus Dei by Michael W. Smith {listen to the very end}

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPBmFwBSGb0&feature=share

Reflective Scripture

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 Bench

The door flung wide open. A little boy ushered by his teacher walked into the school office. Floods of tears accompanied his uncontrollable sobs as his chest heaved to catch his breath.

His face red and wet from crying he took his seat on the edge of the bench. He was condemned to time-out. My heart broke as I watched his tears stream down his face.

There he sat his head sinking lower and lower as the minutes ticked by. His 5-year old shoulders hunched over in attempts to weep in private.

His offense?

He didn’t obey.

He wasn’t responsible.
He couldn’t focus.

My heart broke for him. I desperately wanted to go to him. Not to lecture, but instead validate life is hard, but there is grace. I sat from afar holding him with my eyes as he cried it all out…

All the frustrations,

the pressure,
the expectations,
the fears,
the disappointment,

…and the shame.

I knew just how he felt.

Really, it might as well been me. Sitting there on that bench with my shoulders hunched in crying it all out. Even today I too have been at fault for disobedience, irresponsibility and the inability to focus.

But must he— or I —cry alone?

Who will come alongside this boy in life to validate his heart and tell him of the great grace there is for him? Who will accept him even in his lack?

Who will accept me even in my lack?

Please…

If you see me on the bench crying and my head hung low in shame for the wrong I’ve done or presently doing—please…

Please don’t let me cry alone.

Don’t leave me there on the lonely bench to sink deeper into shame.

Come to me. Hold me. Wipe my tears with grace. And sing to me of the One who loves me in spite of what I do—or don’t do.

And friend, I will do the same for you.

On the journey with you,

lk

~What are you dealing with today that you need to just “cry” it out?

~Do you have someone safe who will accept you no matter what?
~How deeply connected are you to an authentic community?
Thank you for sharing your journey.

Relevant Worship

How He Love by Kim Walker-Smith (Jesus Culture)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoC1ec-lYps

Reflective Scripture

2 Corinthians 12:9
“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.”

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—

Anyone—

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.

lk

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. 

lk

Will you lean into the Christ Child today?

Here or somewhere...be real. Share your journey.

Sounds for the Soul

The Gift by David Nevue

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IAgw-yQCtE

Scriptures

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

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.

Home

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 

Home

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.

lk

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

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PARMaE8d1Y

Finding Me

{The following was a self-imposed free-writing exercise I did in my personal in July 2011 to spark creativity and find my voice on paper.}

There are a lot of things that I am not.

I am not a Bible scholar, teacher, or preacher.

I am not a college graduate, historian, or psychologist.

I’m just me.

I’m not going to pretend to be somebody I am not. I tried the life of the pretender, but it just didn’t pan out. I started to be real, vulnerable, and authentic. I was surprised at what happened inside me—and in others. I was being healed and others saw it was a good thing. Not just for me, but for them too.

I’m still working out the kinks. I sometimes still try to be someone I’m not. But in the end I come back to who God has made me to be—me.

I’d rather be a real me than a fake you.

Being real doesn’t mean I air my laundry and become an open book for all to see. It just means I don’t fake it—most of the time. Sometimes I don’t feel safe. And when I don’t feel safe, I protect my heart. It’s called wisdom.

Life.

It’s messy, confusing, wonderful, chaotic, and an exhilarating journey that if I’m in a good mood I will refer to as an adventure—most days it is a journey. My life is like any other a journey of trust. It’s a journey filled with doubt one moment and great faith in the next. I won’t preach at you or strive to teach you anything. I figure Holy Spirit can handle that one.

I will simply invite you alongside my journey of experiencing God. I won’t admit I have it all figured out—because I don’t. My words are simple. I won’t try to impress you. It’s just not worth it. This isn’t about me—this is about you…drawing near to God.

Who are you?

Here or somewhere…be real

Share your journey.