it's amazing how a few little seeds i scattered in a small clay pot between some potting soil have been such an encouragement and lesson to me. for the first few days, the pot was empty, but i kept watering it, hoping the seeds would sprout despite the lack of sunshine. about a week later, i had six green sprouts pushing upward through the black soil... the next day there were nine. one is bigger and taller than the rest, he's in the middle of the pot. quite the attention hog. the others around the edges are just straining upward, still growing. and no matter how i turn them, they push up towards the light. i keep rotating them so they won't grow crooked. i left for easter, i knew i was going to be gone a while but i watered them extra before i left and thought they would be ok. after leaving my precious daisies alone for four days, when i returned they were slumped over, withering, in serious need of some water. so i grabbed a cup and watered, and watered, and watered. borderline flood, i was expecting the ark to float by. but by the end of the day, the giant was back up to its usual floppy leaved perky self. the others followed his example and within 24 hours, i now have twelve happy, perky daisies.
i too get dry. i too need to be watered, and watered, and watered until there's no where else for the moisture to go but to overflow. God loves me and loves me and pours out his spirit on me until i'm overflowing, and i perk back up. i gain a new perspective on life and stand up tall, empowered with the holy spirit. i don't always lean towards the light.. i have a tendency to fall away or turn my life. but in the end its the son that captures me once again, and i leave the darkness to be nurtured in the light. i keep striving and pushing toward maturity, my struggles the soil. i will never be free of them, my strength is rooted in them. each new day is full of new challenges to stretch my roots a little deeper, grow a little closer to my father, and persevere. thank you daisies.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
Friday, May 4, 2007
if only i knew
the satisfaction that came with the completion of voice and diction as well as management was cut short with the uncertainty of what i'm doing with my life. really, what i'm doing is not the question as much as what God is doing. a neon sign really would be nice. i feel like i'm running out of time -- but God has perfect timing.. so i'm just listening, waiting it out.
i have so many unanswered questions. i know its for a reason, but that doesnt stop me from being frustrated. i'm not worried or panicked.. that would do no good. i'm amazingly peaceful about the whole thing. once again im telling myself "you'll know when you need to know."
theres no song to fit this place in between the silence
of uncertainty and the cries of doubt
i reach for you but you feel just out of my touch
i long for your intimate presence but wont let you
fight for me as i wrestle the waves of fear
determined to crawl my way back down the path i ran away
and i'm mad at you for being in my way
my tears confessing how much i need your strength
Abba, just hold me like the tiny child i am
i have so many unanswered questions. i know its for a reason, but that doesnt stop me from being frustrated. i'm not worried or panicked.. that would do no good. i'm amazingly peaceful about the whole thing. once again im telling myself "you'll know when you need to know."
theres no song to fit this place in between the silence
of uncertainty and the cries of doubt
i reach for you but you feel just out of my touch
i long for your intimate presence but wont let you
fight for me as i wrestle the waves of fear
determined to crawl my way back down the path i ran away
and i'm mad at you for being in my way
my tears confessing how much i need your strength
Abba, just hold me like the tiny child i am
Thursday, May 3, 2007
heart check-up
am i not listening, or is there nothing to hear? the silence truly is deafening, and quite unsettling. what am i missing? what is my heart tuning out? is God giving me answers and i'm not being still long enough to understand? i'm living my life in such a busy haze that i dont have time to stop and ask directions from the one who has plans for me. i have to be in charge, because i know what's best for me. really, i have no clue. im a small scared five year old lost in the clothing racks. waiting. crying. wandering. lost. being able to admit i'm lost comes first. and it's here, while i don't know what else to do.. when i finally realize that my attempts to find my own way are useless... when i sit down and sigh with no more tears and no more words, then i'll be able to hear what God is saying for me.. how he is pursuing me and how he longs to hold me close and give me all the good things he has in store for me.
i'm giving up.
i'm giving up.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
healing
after reading this, i have no words.
I remember the hot summer when we discovered ice cream sandwiches in the bottom of the cooler at the corner store. They were ten cents apiece, a lot of money back then. I don't remember how we came to buy one and taste the sweet chocolate graham crust and the melting vanilla ice cream, but we were mad for them after that. Of course, none of us had any money, allowances being unheard of on our side of town. Whether we rode our bikes, or played ball, or sat and played marbles, we talked and dreamed about those soft, creamy sandwiches. Within a week we had tapped out our sources of money: mooching and pop bottles for 2 cents each. My dad worked nights, coming home to join us for breakfast, and then sleeping till late afternoon. When he came home one morning I heard the jingle of change in his pants and something ugly crept into my mind. That change was just what we needed, what I had to have.
All day long I kept coming into the house and listening at his door. Sleeping sounds: slow, even snoring. I cracked the door, and there hanging at the foot of the bed were those pants, that change, those ice cream sandwiches; my chance to be the big man in the neighborhood. I slipped in and took a handful of change. We ate like greedy pigs, and I was a hero to my band of friends as we sat in the shade of the corner store. They thought I was rich. I told them it was birthday money I'd saved. I felt satisfied before I ever ate them sandwiches. I was somebody. That went on every day for about two weeks and what a time it was! I had gotten good at slipping in and slipping out, and then ran to my buddies and we headed to the store.
One day there was no change in dad's pocket so I felt for his wallet, hesitated a moment, then took out two whole dollars. I had been okay with taking the change, but those dollars made my face feel hot. Even before we began gorging ourselves on ice cream, my stomach felt sick. The importance and joy I had felt buying for my friends was gone that afternoon. I realized I was in pretty deep. If dad knew, he'd kill me, but worse, he'd have that look in his eye, that disappointment he would get when I'd miss catching a ball or get a bad grade.
Now, I had stolen from my dad. I couldn't face him, and didn't know what to do. Early that afternoon, the sun high and hot, I grabbed my fishing pole and walked down the tracks to the reservoir, wishing my stomach would quit aching, and praying nobody would see me crying. As I sat hurting that day, knowing there was no way to get right with my dad, I saw him walking along the tracks. He was big man who sort of swaggered like a sailor in a roiling sea, his arms swinging to the sides as he went. But now he was walking slow and deliberate, looking somehow as heavy as I felt.
I couldn't run. I just sat there, watching him come to me, my pole motionless in my hands, barely breathing. I don't remember being afraid. No, it was more so feeling deeply sorrowful at hurting him. My eyes were watery when he came up. He just quietly sat alongside me and stared in the water with me. After what seemed a very long time he asked, "How're they biting son?
I couldn't speak. I was too near crying, and he deserved me acting with some dignity I thought. We sat quietly, a bird singing nearby, and I stuck out my chin as best I could, willing to take whatever beating he thought I needed, if he would only take me back.
In a moment I will never forget, he said, "Son, I've known since the first day you took the money. I watched out the window as you and your friends ate ice cream. I didn't say anything, because I wanted to let you come and tell me yourself. It hurt me that you were stealing from me, but it hurt more you didn't come and tell me. Son, you can always come to me when you've done wrong. I love you son." And with that, his hand reached out, not to strike me, but to pull me to his chest, where I cried.
As I cried, my dad told me he trusted me, and that everything he had would be mine some day. Because I couldn't go to him, he came to me.
God is coming to you. Yes, your sin hurts Him, but what hurts just as much is your reluctance to face Him and trust Him even in your failings. He is your Father. His calling is unchanging. His love, unfailing. He has come seeking you, true Shepherd that He is. Bury your head in His chest, accept His embrace, and begin again, as at the first, to follow Him. He has room for you still.
I remember the hot summer when we discovered ice cream sandwiches in the bottom of the cooler at the corner store. They were ten cents apiece, a lot of money back then. I don't remember how we came to buy one and taste the sweet chocolate graham crust and the melting vanilla ice cream, but we were mad for them after that. Of course, none of us had any money, allowances being unheard of on our side of town. Whether we rode our bikes, or played ball, or sat and played marbles, we talked and dreamed about those soft, creamy sandwiches. Within a week we had tapped out our sources of money: mooching and pop bottles for 2 cents each. My dad worked nights, coming home to join us for breakfast, and then sleeping till late afternoon. When he came home one morning I heard the jingle of change in his pants and something ugly crept into my mind. That change was just what we needed, what I had to have.
All day long I kept coming into the house and listening at his door. Sleeping sounds: slow, even snoring. I cracked the door, and there hanging at the foot of the bed were those pants, that change, those ice cream sandwiches; my chance to be the big man in the neighborhood. I slipped in and took a handful of change. We ate like greedy pigs, and I was a hero to my band of friends as we sat in the shade of the corner store. They thought I was rich. I told them it was birthday money I'd saved. I felt satisfied before I ever ate them sandwiches. I was somebody. That went on every day for about two weeks and what a time it was! I had gotten good at slipping in and slipping out, and then ran to my buddies and we headed to the store.
One day there was no change in dad's pocket so I felt for his wallet, hesitated a moment, then took out two whole dollars. I had been okay with taking the change, but those dollars made my face feel hot. Even before we began gorging ourselves on ice cream, my stomach felt sick. The importance and joy I had felt buying for my friends was gone that afternoon. I realized I was in pretty deep. If dad knew, he'd kill me, but worse, he'd have that look in his eye, that disappointment he would get when I'd miss catching a ball or get a bad grade.
Now, I had stolen from my dad. I couldn't face him, and didn't know what to do. Early that afternoon, the sun high and hot, I grabbed my fishing pole and walked down the tracks to the reservoir, wishing my stomach would quit aching, and praying nobody would see me crying. As I sat hurting that day, knowing there was no way to get right with my dad, I saw him walking along the tracks. He was big man who sort of swaggered like a sailor in a roiling sea, his arms swinging to the sides as he went. But now he was walking slow and deliberate, looking somehow as heavy as I felt.
I couldn't run. I just sat there, watching him come to me, my pole motionless in my hands, barely breathing. I don't remember being afraid. No, it was more so feeling deeply sorrowful at hurting him. My eyes were watery when he came up. He just quietly sat alongside me and stared in the water with me. After what seemed a very long time he asked, "How're they biting son?
I couldn't speak. I was too near crying, and he deserved me acting with some dignity I thought. We sat quietly, a bird singing nearby, and I stuck out my chin as best I could, willing to take whatever beating he thought I needed, if he would only take me back.
In a moment I will never forget, he said, "Son, I've known since the first day you took the money. I watched out the window as you and your friends ate ice cream. I didn't say anything, because I wanted to let you come and tell me yourself. It hurt me that you were stealing from me, but it hurt more you didn't come and tell me. Son, you can always come to me when you've done wrong. I love you son." And with that, his hand reached out, not to strike me, but to pull me to his chest, where I cried.
As I cried, my dad told me he trusted me, and that everything he had would be mine some day. Because I couldn't go to him, he came to me.
God is coming to you. Yes, your sin hurts Him, but what hurts just as much is your reluctance to face Him and trust Him even in your failings. He is your Father. His calling is unchanging. His love, unfailing. He has come seeking you, true Shepherd that He is. Bury your head in His chest, accept His embrace, and begin again, as at the first, to follow Him. He has room for you still.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
and the veil began to lift
God is SO good. He's beginning to lift the cloudy veil and allow me to see a little of what He has in store for me. I don't trust more now that I see, because I learned to have faith without sight-but the encouragement I feel is more than enough for me. I've never been this out of control in my entire life, and I'm learning to be at peace with that. I asked God to help me surrender my entire life, and this is how He did it. Its so comforting to know that God knows me so well that He knows EXACTLY what circumstances it will take to produce a surrendered life from me. I pray that I will never forget. I say that God has a plan for me, but to live it is a totally different thing. God takes me in his arms and loves me just the way I am-- selfish, dirty, controlling, bossy, ignorant... but He wants me to change. He wants me to become more of Him and less of me. Keep changing me God. Make me dissappear.
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