Invasion of LIGHT

It’s been a rough year. Piercing betrayals, ugly disappointments, shattered dreams, and empty promises have left me struggling to find my way. At times my soul feels enveloped in darkness. Why keep chasing the illusion of victory? Is it better to just bow out of the fight? Hand over the trophy to the enemy?

Have you ever felt this way?

This Christmas season has been hard. I’m reading the stories. I’m singing the songs. I’m watching the lights. I’m remembering the Savior. But I’m void of joy. I just can’t shake the darkness. I just can’t find the hope.

The thing about darkness is that is comes upon you unexpectedly. When afternoon surrenders to twilight, our eyes adjust as the darkness encroaches around us. The enemy doesn’t knock on the door and demand for us to hand everything over to him. No, he’s much more cunning than that. He steals things bit by bit. Slowly. Stealthily. Until suddenly we wonder where our joy has gone. What happened to the mom who saw big dreams for her family? What happened to the marriage that wouldn’t succumb to the ranks of statistics? Where is the heart that refused to give in to the status quo? If we think back, we won’t remember when we gave it away. It happened right before our eyes, but when we weren’t looking.

As darkness circles, our hearts adjust and hopelessness becomes the norm.

But Light is different. Light isn’t sneaky like darkness. Light can’t be ignored.

Light INVADES.

Light invaded my soul last night. Sitting in the back row among hundreds at New Life Church, LIGHT invaded the very fibers of my being.

Darkness around me so deep, I couldn’t see the child sitting on my lap. Darkness in my heart so deep, I couldn’t see the Christ we came to worship.

And then it came. Angels lighting up a black sky. Shepherds running in hope of a glimpse of glory. A star blazing in the night, blotting out the shadows. Three strangers giving up everything to follow its beckoning. A manger glowing with the luster of day. A baby cradled in the arms of an lowly carpenter. Famous words fill the space around me, and finally, finally the veil lifts and I remember. I remember why He came! I remember why we are celebrating.

I remember and the tears erupt from a heart that is finally waking up. The scene unfolds before me of that Holy night when the world was waiting in darkness. A thrill of hope arises as a weary world rejoices.

Why?

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

And oh, how I fall to my knees.

Do you hear it? These aren’t just words. This is the key to the prison cell of the heart. This is the gulp of air after suffocating too long in despair. This is an invasion of Light, and the darkness races to find an escape.

Oh, child of the King, will you let Light invade your heart today? Will you allow it to invade your home? The shadows of fear, depression, hopelessness, anger, anxiety, and loneliness will run as Light absorbs the mess. The star that blazed above a humble home those many years ago beckons you today. Come and find the King who radiates in the brilliance of HOPE.

He came to invade our darkness. He came to invade our hopelessness. He came to invade our plans, our dreams, our days. He came to invade our hearts.

May this Christmas be an invasion of Light. And may we invade the darkness of this world with the Light of the King!

Where are you?

The lights dance on boughs of green, twinkling in the shadows of the evening. The snow floats effortlessly through the stillness—the death of winter swallowed up in a cloak of white. The Jesse Tree stands reverent, unwrapping the wonder of ancient promises fulfilled in a swaddled bundle.

We’re reading the scriptures, hanging the ornaments, anticipating the arrival of the manger-sized King. Small eyes dance as the days draw near. Little hearts rejoice as the Dawn approaches.

And I sit here going through the motions not feeling a thing.

Signs of Jesus swirl around me, yet I can’t find Him. I’m searching for Him, but for some reason He seems just out of reach. I’m singing the songs, reading the books, remembering the story, but the wonder has vanished. Has Christmas become so normal that I can’t see the Christ who wrapped Himself in flesh in it anymore?

And then it hits me. Maybe I’m trying so hard to find Him that I’ve forgotten the miracle of glory-filled manger. Mary wasn’t looking for God when Gabriel showed up. God came after her. He found Zechariah that day in the temple. He found Joseph in the confusion of his heartbreak. He found the shepherds in the fields of their routine.

Isn’t it God who is looking for me? Isn’t that what He’s been doing since the beginning?

That day in the garden—in the cool of the day when God comes looking for Adam and Eve.

“Where are you” he pleads.

Where are you today? He’s come looking for you. In the cool of the day, as you hide in your shame, he hasn’t stopped looking.

He finds Hagar in the wilderness of despair.

He finds Jacob in the depths of a dream.

He finds Moses in the desert of shame.

He finds Samuel in the stillness of night.

He finds Jonah in the belly of a whale.

He finds Ezekiel in the shackles of captivity.

What about that sheep—the lost one—out in the dark, cold storm of life. The Shepherd goes looking. He’s in hot pursuit of the one he won’t give up on. That’s what Jesus said he came for. Not to be found, but to be the one who find us.

For the Son of Man came to seek and save those who are lost.

Luke 19:10

This is the miracle. The wonder of the straw-lined cradle. God came looking for us!

He doesn’t wait for us to come looking for Him. He’s already looking for us. Maybe if we would stop and turn around, we’d realize that He’s been right there all along.

Do know that there is a King who is madly, irrevocably, and unabashedly in love with you?  It’s a make your knees tremble, heart skip a beat, do crazy things kind of love.  And He is zealously, passionately, and jealously pursuing your heart. Right now. Today. Will you fall into His arms?

The REAL Question

We’re sitting in the living room filling shoeboxes for Operation Christmas Child when he asks the question. Filling shoeboxes that will tell children in a far-off land that a Savior loves them.

They can barely contain the excitement, those kids. They picked out each item, fighting the urge to ask to keep it. Wanting to give, but also wanting to receive. I tell them how the shoeboxes will fly across the world and into the arms of children just like them. I’m sitting there proud, feeling good about getting my kids involved. Patting myself on the back for giving to those in need.

 “This will be the only Christmas present they receive,” I tell them in an effort to make them understand what a great thing we are doing. Trinkets from the dollar store stuffed into shoeboxes that will fill empty arms—while Black Friday ads convince us that our overflowing arms don’t have enough.

That’s when he asks me. That’s when my world stands still.

“Why can’t we give them more?”

What do I say to a heart that doesn’t understand the ways of the world? How do I look into those innocent eyes and tell him how hard it is to raise a family in these troubling economic times? Should I list all of the reasons why? Do I tell him that we can’t because each child only gets one shoebox, and it wouldn’t be fair if others get more than one?

So I don’t answer him…I change the subject.

Why? Because the truth is that I know why we can’t give them more, but I don’t want him to know. Deep down, I know the reasons. There are at least a thousand of them.

They are lining our closets. They are parked in our driveway. They are filling our photo albums. They are tightening our pants. They are stuffed under our beds, hidden in our cupboards, and locked in our bank accounts.

But those reasons don’t really matter. It’s not my shoes, my clothes, my cars, my lattés, or my vacations that keep my heart closed to the suffering in the world. There’s only one reason why we can’t give them more. One reason that all the other reasons stem from. This is what keeps me from answering. It’s the truth that stares back at me when I really look hard at myself.

I don’t care.

It’s ugly. It’s humiliating. It’s wrong. But what other reason do I have? What else could possibly make me bulge my home with possessions while millions fight to survive through each day? How can I hunger for more when my closet is bursting with excess? If I cared, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.

If my heart broke for the lost, the hungry, and the hurting, I wouldn’t know how to stop giving.

I’m reminded of a story about four friends and a paralyzed man. Do you remember this story? It’s found in Mark 2:1-12. The house is bursting at the seams. There isn’t room for anymore. The men bring their friend to Jesus, but they can’t get through. There’s too much in the way. And the people inside, with all their religious piousness, turn a blind eye to the suffering right outside the door.

They are sitting at Jesus’ feet—ignoring the cries of the desperate.

 Isn’t it interesting that the people closest to Jesus were the ones preventing the hopeless from finding hope?  A man desperate for healing can't get to Jesus because the people claiming to want to know him better don’t care enough to move. The cries of suffering should always cause those closest to Jesus to move!

Has anything changed in the past 2000 years? Do we acknowledge the power of Christ, but hoard it for ourselves? Am I like this? Do I sit at the feet of Jesus while I ignore the suffering around me?

The question isn’t why I can’t give more. The question is why don’t I care enough to give more?

This isn’t a ploy to make you feel guilty for your possessions. I’m not suggesting we all sell everything and give it to the poor. There’s nothing wrong with the hustle and bustle of Christmas. I can’t wait to watch my children’s eyes light up with excitement when they see the presents spilling out from under the tree. But honestly, something in my life needs to—must—change.

Will you pray for me and my family? My heart is overwhelmed with a burden for something. The problem is, I don’t know what. What can one person do? I can’t sit back and wonder any longer. Oh, Jesus, give me eyes to see what you see. Give me ears to hear the sounds of suffering that I’ve turned away from for so long. Show me who! Show me how! Show me when!

But more than anything…Jesus, change my stubborn, selfish, supercilious heart into a heart that breaks for what breaks yours.

The Comfort of Captivity

Something stopped me in my tracks this week.

It haunts me. My heart is in turmoil, desperate to close my eyes to the truth. When you catch your reflection in the glint of the double-edge sword, it can’t be ignored. And so I share with you the words that pierced my soul this week.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *                          

The people of Judah are captives in Persia. Ransacked by a foreign king. Stripped of their land, their freedom, their heritage, and their hope. Their city lies in ruins. God’s magnificent temple is merely a shamble of stone.

Years of warning, pleading, beckoning, forgiving, reminding, and rescuing by God weren’t enough to keep their hearts faithful. They just couldn’t turn away from their idols. They couldn’t stop worshipping the lifeless stones of their enemies. So God did exactly what He said He would do. He let them be carried away into captivity. His chosen people, His prized possession, His holy nation—swallowed up in the arms of their enemies.

Out of the blue, King Cyrus of Persia decides that the city of Jerusalem needs to be rebuilt. The God of Israel needs a place for His people to worship Him. So, he offers the people a chance. He gives them freedom. Out of 42,360 people, only 74 Levites choose to go back. They build, but the opposition is too great. For 16 years, the temple sits unfinished—void of the life-changing power of God’s Presence. And no one seems to be the least bit bothered by it.

Until one day, a man named Ezra shows up. He’s a priest and a scribe. He knows God’s word by heart. A new King gives Ezra permission, funding, supplies, and favor to finish the work. This foreign king understood the power of the God of Israel.

Ezra rounds up the people, and they set off. But when he stops to find the priests, he realizes the shocking truth.

Not one Levite had volunteered to come along.

Ezra 8:15

The Levites were responsible for the temple of the LIVING GOD. They were set apart as holy, and their responsibilities were not to be taken lightly. To be entrusted with the dwelling place of the God who parts Red Seas, tears down Jericho’s walls, conquers undefeatable armies, rains down bread from heaven, and displays His glory in a pillar of fire is A BIG DEAL!!!

Not one Levite volunteered to go.

Not one.

Not one was willing to fight for God’s dwelling place.

Not one wanted to claim back a heritage.

Not one couldn’t contain the urge to dance in new-found freedom.

Not one.

This is what happens when captivity becomes our home. This is what happens when the grip of our culture grasps us so tightly, we don’t even realize we’ve stopped breathing. This is the poison, the lie, the promise that our captivity has more to offer us than freedom. We don’t belong in captivity…and yet doesn’t it feel safe?

Are you sitting cozy in the comfort of your captivity?

You are a chosen people. You are royal priests, a holy nation. God’s very own possession. As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for He called you out of darkness and into His wonderful light. - 1 Peter 2:9

Will any of us volunteer?

Is there anyone willing to fight for God’s dwelling place—your heart…your children’s hearts?

Does anyone long to claim back a heritage from the clutches of our culture?

When will we burst from our chains and dance like crazy in the blaze of a new-found freedom?

Or do our chains feel just a bit too comfortable?

Snacking on Jesus

Think about the word satisfied for a minute. What comes to mind? Maybe images of Thanksgiving surface, reminding you of a perfectly cooked turkey, plump mashed potatoes, and a slice of pumpkin pie topped with vanilla ice cream. Or maybe—if you’re like me—the word satisfied produces visions of a turquoise ocean, a white sandy beach, and a drink that looks good with a tiny umbrella in it. Whatever comes to mind, sit for a minute and dream. Dream about the sounds of children laughing or waves lapping onto the shore. Dream about that moment—that perfect moment—when everything just seems right. There are no worries to think about or errands to run. Your fears took the day off, and the demands of your life went for a hike. There’s peace. There’s joy. You are completely and totally satisfied. It doesn’t happen very often, does it?

Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty.

John 6:35

Jesus tells us that He is the Bread of Life. I don’t know about you, but bread isn’t necessarily my favorite kind of food. Sure, I enjoy a piece of toast now and then; and there’s nothing like a good baguette dipped in homemade soup. But when I read that Jesus is the Bread of Life, it’s easy for me to dismiss it as irrelevant. Now, had he said he was the Nachos of Life, well then He’d be speaking my language!

So what does this mean to us here in the 21^st century? Does this identity of Jesus have any power to change our lives when bread isn’t usually the thing we dream about in our spare time? I think it does. In fact, I think if we could grasp what Jesus is saying to us here, we would never be the same. Our insecurities, our lack of fulfillment, and even our failures would be swallowed up in His sufficiency. Are you tired of being tired? Are you finished looking for ways to satisfy the hunger inside of you with things that you know will never last? Jesus is calling to you today. Right here. Right now. He wants to satisfy the deepest longings of your heart. He wants to calm the storm that’s raging around you and hold you in the shadow of His wings.

Jesus desires one thing from us: trust. He wants us to believe in Him. Yes, it begins with believing in Him as our Savior, but then it must move beyond that. He wants us to believe that He is enough, and that He can satisfy the deepest longings of our hearts. But we make it so complicated. We want Him to perform for us. It’s easy to trust Him when His performance is impressive, but then we so quickly doubt Him at the first sign of hardship.

How are you hoping God will perform in your life right now? What are the things you are asking Him for?

I think that we often live waiting for the circumstances of our lives to fall into place. In a sense, we see good things that happen to us as our “meals”. We think that we will find satisfaction when we get that job, find that husband, get out of debt…the list goes on. In the meantime, we get restless, frustrated, and grumpy because we’re hungry. If the thing we’re waiting for doesn’t show up on time, the growling begins. Trust me, I know. I don’t like missing a meal. Ask my husband how many times I’ve been upset with him for not being home on time so we can eat!

 We know that Jesus is good. We are probably even aware of our need for Him. But instead of coming to Him to find fulfillment, we “snack” on Him. Sounds kind of weird, I know, but do you see what I mean? A little bit here. A little bit there. Hmm, I’m feeling kind of empty, just a bit lonely, or maybe a little afraid. So we snack. Maybe a little bite on Sunday morning. Or we read the Bible for a few minutes at the end of the day before our eyes get too heavy to keep them open. It always surprises me that I can watch two hours of pointless sitcoms, and as soon as I get in bed and open my Bible, my eyes feel pinned down with twenty pound weights.

Now don’t get me wrong, here. I don’t think there’s a magic amount of time you need to spend reading your Bible and praying. I personally don’t think there’s anything wrong with watching TV. But if you want fulfillment—if you want life to be more than waiting for good things to happen to you—then you have to do more than snack on Jesus. You have to make him the main course. And you need to have the main course often.

In what ways do you “snack” on Jesus?

Filled up to Pour out

The living room floor went missing days ago, and I don’t have the energy to go looking for it.

The older two kids have been fighting incessantly for two weeks, and I’ve lost my temper too many times to count.

The friend who left a message three weeks ago is still waiting because I haven’t found time to call back.

The new neighbors moved in a month ago, and I still haven’t walked the daunting 100 yards to shake their hands.

The three year old has been whining since May, and the grating drone is about to make me crazy.

The mom who so desperately wanted to gather her chicks close has flown the coop, and the mom still here is a frustrated, worn out, short-on-time, and even shorter-on-patience mess.

I’ve been striving for perfection, hungry for affirmation, climbing for success, digging for fulfillment, pining for attention, and wrestling for control…and I’ve come up empty.

I pour out into my home, my family, my friends, my ministry, and there just isn’t enough of me to go around. Or maybe that’s not the problem at all…Maybe there’s just way to much of ME all over the place.

Pouring out isn’t a choice, but what I pour out is. It’s what I pour out that matters.

I can pour out The Spirit, or I can pour out my flesh.

And what I pour out depends on what I’m filled up with.

If I’m filled with grace, compassion, and tenderness because I’ve spent time at the foot of the cross and opened my heart to receive these from The Source, then I will pour out grace, compassion, and tenderness.

If I’m filled with jealousy, insecurity, anger, bitterness, and unforgiveness because I have sought the things that will never satisfy, then I will pour out my own judgment, frustration, and impatience.

Filled up with HIM, so I can pour out grace on my husband, my kids, and my little world.

And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.   Ephesians 3:17-19

For apart from ME, you can do NOTHING! John 15:5

I want to be like a sponge—so saturated with Christ that I drip HIM all over the place.

Overflow of Grace

With cheeks glowing, they bound through knee-high, life-drained weeds. Hearts racing, bodies laboring, laughter bubbling, they traipse on in search of adventure.

Then it hits. They are thirsty. Parched throats demand an answer. The desire cannot be ignored, and so the agenda changes from a quest for adventure to a hunt for fulfillment. The whining erupts, and water must be found. They rush to the pump, pushing each other out of their way in their desperation.

They drink to their hearts content. Smiles returning. Curiosity resurfacing.

Isaiah 41:18
I will make rivers flow on barren heights, and springs within the valleys.
I will turn the desert into pools of water, and the parched ground into springs.

We are a thirsty people. Ever searching for what will satisfy, desperate for what will quench our thirst. And so we drink. We drink of the Ever-Present Fountain until our thirst is quenched.

And we keep it to ourselves. While the world craves the smallest drop, we hoard the river of grace, forgiveness, and love.

Matthew 25:43

For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home.

How do we get our children to peel their eyes off themselves and onto a world in need?

It begins with us.

But how do I wrench my eyes off myself and onto a world so desperate for a drink? Why do I demand a waterfall of grace from others and yet find it so difficult to offer it back? Why do I think that my day to day difficulties are anything compared to a world of hunger, heart-ache, and hopelessness?

For months now I’ve been wrestling with God. He simply asks me to offer a drink to a thirsty world--to live outside the promises of this deafening culture. My ears are saturated with its lies. And yet I listen to them again and again. My eyes are blinded by the brilliance of the mirages all around me. I want my family to live outside the promises of our culture, but it is so easy to slink back to my dreams of comfort and convenience.  

But parched throats demand an answer. Their desire cannot be ignored.

Will my quest for adventure change into an overflow of fulfillment?

Will I hoard the river or let my life be an outpouring of grace?

John 7:38

Anyone who believes in Me may come and drink! For the Scriptures desclare, "Rivers of living water will flow from the heart of anyone who believes in Me."

Who will you offer a drink this week?

Watching for Miracles

“When will they be ready?” He asks for the tenth time today.

“I don’t know, little man. Soon, though.”

“What will they look like?

“I’m not sure. But I bet they’ll be beautiful.”

He watches, waiting for the moment when they burst forth from their tombs, afraid if he peels his eyes away for even an instant, he’ll miss it.

He’s been watching for two weeks now. They came as larvae. He watched them grow into caterpillars. He watched them inch to the top, spin their webs, and create their shells of transformation. Now he watches their stillness, wondering what could possibly be taking so long.

For a five year old, two weeks is an eternity.

As he watches, he doesn’t realize that I’m watching him. Watching in awe as he grows and changes. Watching in pride as he spins and creates. Waiting in anticipation for the moment his eyes are opened to the Truth, the moment he bursts forth from the tomb and into salvation, a new creation. I could push him. I could convince him. If I asked him if he wanted Jesus to enter into his tiny heart, he would say yes. But I want it to be because he’s seen Jesus with his own little eyes. I want my son to accept Jesus because he sees those nail-scarred hands and can’t help but fall into their safety. It will happen. Soon. The time is close. He’s almost ready. In the meantime, I watch. I wait.

For a mother, five years is but a moment.

And as I watch, I feel the eyes of Someone watching me. Watching in awe as I grow and change. Watching in pride as I spin and create. Waiting in anticipation for the moment when I burst forth from the tomb of my brokenness and into the fullness of freedom in Truth. He could push me, but He doesn’t. Instead, He carries me once again with those nail-scarred hands. His eyes watch, but they don’t wonder. They know. They already see who I will be. Those eyes are the same eyes that formed me in the dark. Those eyes have seen every plummet, every tear, every dream. And those eyes see not only where I have been, but who I will become.

For a King, a lifetime is only the beginning.

A little boy watches as caterpillars become butterflies. A mother watches as her little boy becomes a man. And a King watches as a woman becomes His bride.

Psalm 121:5-8

The Lord Himself watches over you! The Lord stands beside you as your protective shade. The sun will not harm you by day nor the moon at night. The Lord keeps you from harm and watches over your life. The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go, both now and forever.

 

 

 

REST

Rest.

Such a simple word—four measly letters. Yet we avoid it like the plague. We run from it like it holds a contagious virus. How many sermons have we heard about the importance of taking time to be still and seek God’s face? How many books have we scoured in pursuit of answers for the churning of our hearts? And yet still we run. Still we strive. Still we fill our lives with mirages of hope. And then we wonder why we feel so run down.

I spent the last week resting. No demands. No schedule. No appointments. Just me, my lawn chair, and an incredible view. When you stare at something like this, it’s hard to keep moving. The only possible response is to stand frozen (or in my case sit) in awe.

I know what you’re thinking.

“Sure, if all I had to do today was sit in a lawn chair and drink a margarita, I’d be feeling pretty rested too! But that’s not my view in the morning. My view is a pile of dirty dishes, a to-do list with a million things on it, and a life coming apart at the seams.”

But what if this was our view? What if we took the time to see this every single day? Maybe I’m just crazy—but what if we stopped? Stopped running. Stopped searching. Stopped filling? What would happen if we took the time really seek THE FACE that puts the azure of the ocean to shame?

"If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land." - 2 Chronicles 7:14

I like Google’s definition of the word rest:

Rest

Verb:	Cease work or movement in order to relax, refresh oneself, or recover strength. Remain or be left in a specified condition: "rest assured".
Noun:	An instance or period of relaxing or ceasing to engage in strenuous or stressful activity. The remaining part of something.

Did you see the last definition?

The remaining part of something.

Although I experienced a much needed rest for my body this week, I discovered something far greater. When we allow ourselves to be consumed with busyness, we lose something. We lose ourselves in the mess of our chaos. We forget what really matters, and we end up striving, searching, filling. When we stop, we find the parts of ourselves we’ve lost along the way. Those deep parts of our soul that slowly die each day. We also find the parts of God we miss because we don’t give him half a chance to show up.

Is it feasible to imagine our real lives as the lawn chairs overlooking vistas of awe-inspiring grandeur?

I challenge you this week to seek God's face. Let me know what you see. I have a feeling it will blow you away far more than the picture I've posted here.

 

Psalm 27:8

My heart has heard You say, "Come and talk with Me." And my heart responds, "Lord, I am coming."

Hungry for More

A cheeseburger ruined my Sunday.

It’s true, my friends. Well, actually I let a cheeseburger ruin my Sunday.

As a mom who has the privilege of taking care of three little people and the wife of a traveling salesman, I don’t get out much. Now that I’m on a slow down and savor the moment path, I’ve been spending a lot of time making messes in the kitchen, jumping on the trampoline, and embarrassing my kids with my incredible dance moves. But if I’m totally honest, I have to tell you that sometimes I’m just exhausted from the weight I bear as a mother.

 A dear friend celebrated her birthday on Saturday, and this always-late-to-everything-girl sat in the parking lot for twenty minutes waiting for everyone else to get there. Yes, that’s how hungry I was for conversation that doesn’t involve bodily functions and requests for justice to be handed out. All week I had dreamed of this night. More than the precious women I would spend time with, it was my grand dreams of a cheeseburger that I set my sights on. It didn’t bother me one bit that everyone else ordered a salad. I didn’t feel one tinge of guilt as I bit into all its juicy loveliness. Unwilling to let the moment end, I saved a quarter to take home.

There was a small part of me that thought for a moment of giving my long-awaited treasure to my husband, but I quickly pushed that thought aside. After all, he gets to eat out on the road every week, right?

At church yesterday, the pastor spoke on praise. He reminded us through a story in the book of Matthew that if God’s people don’t praise him, then the rocks will cry out. The congregation practically soared to their feet as we praised our Great God. I left excited about what God is doing. I wanted to dance. I wanted to raise my family up as a banner declaring the God’s praises.

A hungry stomach tends to get in the way of great intentions.

When we got home, that always-thinking-of-others guy I married began to make lunch for the little people. My mind raced to the cheeseburger waiting in the refrigerator. But it wasn’t there. It was on the counter. I grabbed for it greedily. Someone else had the same thought.

“Just one bite, please?”

“Okay, but tiny.”

And that man took half of my quarter of a cheeseburger.

With my daughter standing there in attendance, I belly-ached like a baby, slammed the microwave, and stomped out of the room. All of my dreams of this cheeseburger fell crashing to the floor.

 And it took me four hours to recover.

Ridiculous? Yes. Childish? Yes. Humiliating? Definitely. Beyond grace? Never

Have you ever been so hungry you did something crazy? Something you look back on and wish you could erase? I’m hungry, but not for cheeseburgers. I’m hungry for the living God who satisfies the deepest longings of my heart.

Psalm 81:10 says,

“Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it with good things.”

I don’t seem to have any trouble opening my mouth. My mouth does just fine spewing out criticism, judgment, frustration, and demands. It also seems quite capable of opening to fill up on the temporary pleasures of this world.

How wide am I opening my mouth so the Bread of Life can fill it with the good things of Himself? Can my mouth even open wide enough to receive what He has for me? Is this the one time my mouth isn’t big enough?

Taste and see that the Lord is good.  Psalm 34:8

Dare to Dream

I’ve always had big dreams for my life. When they tell you as a child that you can be anything, I really believed it. It took me a long time to realize the dream planted deep within my soul, but I always knew it was there. It all makes sense now…all of my wanderings have led me to the very place I always wanted to be. And now I realize that all I’ve ever really wanted to do was write and speak.  

Every January, I ask God what He wants for the year. I ask Him for a passage that will bind the months, days, hours, and minutes together in one unbreakable thread. I pray over the verses He gives me throughout the year, clinging to them when the chaos threatens to drown my hope. Last year He gave me Psalm 90:14-17 and I prayed success for both my endeavors, and Ryan’s. God granted us success. My dreams grew as doors opened and opportunities glistened. He heard my prayers and rained down blessing on a heart that knows well the barrenness of the desert. Yet with every opportunity, I watched another dream slip slowly away. In my busyness, I lost track of three little hearts that are placed in my care for merely a blink of an eye.

This year began like every other. I asked God for scripture that would encompass His desires for the year. This year, the passage He gave me was Romans 15:5-6.

May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you the same attitude of mind toward each other that Christ Jesus had, so that with ONE mind and ONE voice you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

My prayers changed from success for myself to unity in my family. I heard God tell me at the beginning that it would be a year of stripping responsibilities so those little hearts could be reclaimed.

Less glory. More mess. Less appreciation. More stress. Less attention. More frustration.

I am slow to give things up.

Two months ago, I sat in the middle seat of an airplane, blinded by the tears I fought desperately to control. Little did I know in January that a farmer’s wife in Canada wrote a book called “1000 Gifts – A dare to live fully right where you are,” that would change my life. I went to a conference to learn how to promote my speaking ministry. I came back with a message that rocked me to my core.

The ever-present voice whispered yet again…

My dreams for your family are bigger than my dreams for your ministry

Less glory. More reward! Less appreciation. More joy! Less attention. More life!

I still want to write. The dream to speak remains embedded deep within me. But right now, I am gathering my little chicks close, and they are the dream worth pouring my heart and soul into. They are the prize worth chasing after. And let me tell you, I’m chasing hard.

Rampage

I’ve been reading through the Old Testament. This isn’t something new for me. I tend to gravitate more to the Old Testament for some reason. There is something about God’s heart revealed in His endless pursuit of His people’s hearts that beckons me again and again. But every time I get past 2 Samuel, I struggle to keep going. All those kings who just couldn’t get their act together bores me to no end. I mean, really, could they not obey the simple command to worship God alone? The nation of Israel struggled more than Judah in this regard. Over and over it says, “but “so and so” did what was evil in the Lord’s sight, following the example of Jeroboam, who had led Israel to sin.” I am fascinated by Jeroboam. A single man caused an entire lineage to be enslaved by idolatry. How can one man lead generations after generations into sin? Is my sin all that big of a deal? If I don’t get my anger under God’s control, will it really affect anyone? If I can’t get over my insecurities, does it really matter? After all, it’s just me, right? After reading 1 and 2^nd Kings, I’m not so sure.

What idols have I erected in my heart and in my home that will impact my kids—and their kids?

Idolatry is a big deal to God. Yet, for some reason, we kind of brush it aside in our modern Christianity. After all, we don’t build golden calves just because God doesn’t show up on our timeline, right? Hmmm…

Let’s not place all of the blame on Israel here. Judah may have put on a fancy spiritual façade, but their hearts were far from innocent. I read these words the other day, and they have haunted me ever since, following me like an unwelcome shadow.

And though they worshipped the Lord, they continued to follow their own gods according to the religious customs of the nations from which they came…So while these new residents worshipped the Lord, they also worshipped their idols. And to this day their descendants do the same. 2 Kings 17:33, 41

Do I worship God? Absolutely! Do I worship some idols as well? If I’m honest, I have to admit that I do. I worship my quest for worth. I worship the things that I think will bring me happiness. I worship my time. I worship the American Dream, and my right to have what I want, when I want it. I worship convenience. I worship my sleep on a regular basis. I worship my wounds that give me an excuse to hold on to bitterness and unforgiveness. I worship many things. But I think most often, I worship myself. I serve myself while I claim to serve the One who made me out of dust.

What about you—what idols do you need to tear down today? What idols are your children watching you worship?

Ezekiel 11:19-20 says I will give them singleness of heart and put a new spirit within them. I will take away their stony, stubborn heart and give them a tender, responsive heart, so they will obey my decrees and regulations. Then they will truly be my people, and I will be their God.

Living with a divided heart is exhausting, I’m discovering. I want a singleness of heart. I want a tender and responsive heart. I want my children to walk in a legacy of single-minded worship so that my idols aren’t carried down from one generation to the next. Israel and Judah found themselves exactly where they began—in bondage. I’ve come too far to go back. I’ve been rescued from too much to give it all up.

So I am going on a rampage. I’m going to turn this heart upside down until there is room for God and God alone. Want to join me?

Living the Dream

It’s Sunday, and we are driving through the back roads of Colorado. This is a familiar scene in our family. The dreaded—in our kids’ opinion—Sunday drive to scour the surrounding land for a little piece to call our own. It’s been years now. Years of hunting. Years of dreaming. Years of waiting. It makes us tired, this ever searching, always coming home empty journey. But it doesn’t stop us. We won’t stop dreaming until our dream comes true. Today we are headed somewhere new. Friends have the older kids, so there is extra time as the little one in back sings lullabies to her stuffed Bambi. We turn down a road that we always pass, but never travel down. Through the forest, around a bend, up the hill…and then we see it. We gasp and I clutch Ryan’s arm, eyes widening, heart pumping. Had I sat down with God and described specifically what I wanted, this would still blow me away. It’s perfect.

A week later, we go again, unable to shake the memories. The kids complain, but we promise it will be worth it this time. Their eyes widen as the long-awaited dream unfolds into something they tangible. They don’t see the peeling paint, the blue carpets, or the tiny bedrooms. Neither do we. We tell them not to get too excited. We don’t know if it’s really going to happen. Don’t get your hopes up. But they can’t help it—I can’t help it. Suddenly, curtains grace the windows, paint splashes the walls, and chickens scratch the dirt. As we sit in the living room, gazing at the miracle around us, we laugh at Emery’s name for her horse. We dream up the garden, the parties, the memories. My heart swells with the possibilities. How close we will be when we have space to run! My dreams for my family will finally come true. No more fences blocking our view. No more neighbors watching our routine.

It’s Wednesday, and the lender calls to say he’s sorry, but it just can’t happen right now. They need one more year of taxes before we can qualify. Call again in January…

My heart sinks. My dreams dissipate. Maybe the house will still be for sale in January. Maybe. But what about my family? Now we are stuck in this fenced-in mircroscope for another couple months.

It’s Sunday again. Family night. We are teaching the kids about Creation, seeking to draw their hearts to the One who holds the world—and our dreams—in his hands. It’s the second day, the day God separates the waters and speaks sky into existence. We lie on the trampoline, ten feet intertwined under a blanket, making shapes out of clouds.

We laugh at Emery’s shapes, because none of them actually exist. We pretend to see the snake Gavin sees. We can almost make out the dog of Selah’s imagination. Isn’t it interesting that they each see what matters to them? The clouds become the symbols for their dreams. They see what they choose to see. I look around and watch them, and my heart swells once more. I watch this little family that laughs, fights, cries, and dreams. And I choose to see the fulfillment of my dreams in their eyes.

I won’t stop dreaming. I won’t stop hanging curtains and naming horses. But today I’m living. I’m living what a dream can never provide. Today. And right here, surrounded by fences and neighbors, a family scoots just a little bit closer as we stare up at the sky.

My cup runs over.

Psalm 118:24

THIS is the day that the Lord has made; I WILL rejoice and be glad in it.

Whisper

I am awakened from the depths of night with the quiet beckoning of an unseen whisper.

 “Come and see something,” He murmurs softly in my ear, that voice I recognize but so rarely heed.

“Oh, but my bed is so warm. My eyes are so heavy. The darkness is so cozy,” I answer back.

Yet deep in my heart I know that if I don’t get up, I will miss something. How many miracles have I missed simply because I wasn’t watching? How many discoveries have I overshadowed with my excuses? How many glimpses of heaven have I exchanged for the promise of comfort?

The whisper grows louder. “Come and see something, child. Come and be with Me.”

A year ago I never would have risen. I would have ignored the voice, dismissed the invitation. But a heart that knows the chains of darkness cannot refuse an offer of life.

So I rise, tired, stumbling, expectant.

The stillness of night envelops me as I sit bundled in an embrace of wool, my eyes slowly awakening to the coming grandeur. I look toward the east, awaiting that indescribable moment when light bursts forth and darkness scurries to hide.  The trees grow silent in anticipation. The sunflowers bow before the unseen Presence. My breath catches as the flames of morning lick the horizon and the earth erupts into song. Their song seeps into my soul, and I cannot help but join in their chorus. Here in the solitude of morning, basking in the blaze of fire, the scales on my eyes and the walls around my heart dissolve into the beauty. How much have I missed? How often do I shield my eyes from the holiness around me because I am too tired, too angry, too busy, and too selfish?

I hear the whisper again. “I’m here. Do you see me? I’m not only in the brilliance. I’m in the cries of your toddler. I’m in the mounds of laundry hiding in your closets. I’m in the brokenness of your dreams. I’m in the hush of evening. I’m in your chaos, your laughter, your tears—and even in your darkness.”

I’m beginning to see.  I’m learning to allow the holy access into every aspect of life. To allow my wounds to be wells of healing that can be poured out for others. As I sit in the silence of morning, I look around and I see. I see Him all around me.  

The first glimpse of a new day

The sound of wings taking flight

Wind blowing through curtains

The strong lungs of a blue-eyed 3 yr. old

A tail wagging

A garden bursting with fruit

The call of geese

The familiar smile of an old friend.

1 Kings 19:11-12

“Go out and stand before me on the mountain,” the Lord told him. And as Elijah stood there, the Lord passed by, and a mighty windstorm hit the mountain. It was such a terrible blast that the rocks were torn loose, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake there was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire there was the sound of a gentle whisper.

Are you listening? Where do see Him today?

Questions to ponder:

What keeps you from seeing God all around you?

Have you ever missed a miracle because you didn't take the time to watch for it?

What is God saying to you today?