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

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

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

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

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,

lk

Where do you need His sanctuary this week?

Here or somewhere...be real.

Share your journey.

Playlist for Seeking Sanctuary

Here in Your Presence by New Life Worship

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

The More I Seek You by Kari Jobe
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZfsxydxEXA

Carry Your Name by Christy Nockels (Passion)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzPukrs6cwg

Abide in Me by Alberto & Kimberly Rivera
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jGM7BFw4jJU


Reflective Scripture

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

My Confession

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.
lk

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.

Yield

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.

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

Proverbs 3:5-6

Relevant Worship

Mighty Breath of God by Jesus Culture

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ob5O2ZDQ9Ds

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.

“Everywhere.”

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’?

or

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…
lk

 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.