Overcome

Failure. 

Selfishness won again. 

In my foolishness, in my gullibility, I hide from Him. I feel ashamed. For I am believing lies. 

The number of lies I believe is astounding. I discover more everyday. I have been living in defeat, mourning and condemning myself harshly for my mistakes. 

{Shame, also known as self-condemnation, is one of, if not the strongest, weapon Satan likes to use against us. It is the one tool he has to keep us bound to the shackles of our past even though we may have sought redemption in Christ.}
A Girl Like Me

I am clinging to my chains: insecurities, mistakes, failures. Sometimes it is for their familiarity. If I let them drop, my hands will be empty, free. I want to be free. Yet I put off my freedom because it is frightening to think of how uncomfortable and unfamiliar it will be to walk unimpeded by chains. It means I have to trust God, trust in what He is going to ask me to do. 

{Lord I falter, 

and I fall down, 

then I hold on to the chains You broke 

when You came and saved my soul.}
The Struggle, Tenth Avenue North

How ridiculous is that??! Holding on to my chains- chains that would freely fall if I just let go?! He broke them so long ago! What is this?! Pretty darn ridiculous, to put it plainly.

I have to let go. So do you. That means a whole lot of trusting is about to begin. Trusting that who I am meant to be will fit me better than who I have been, who He has overcome; trusting that through Him I can do anything.

I am scared. But also excited. He has overcome, and long ago set us free. I want to live like I believe that. Don't you?

a certain slant of light

Dusky violet in the east, warm coral in the west, goldenrod between up to the shadowy treeline: early autumn's palette. This is the backdrop of my walk, a walk with the One who hears even what I cannot put into words. I sang to the soul-less fields, filling their air with my own battered soul.

I have come to understand that God speaks to me through light. He uses His word, other people and music a great deal to tell me what I need to do, but when He reminds me of His love, it is through light. I see a shooting star, and I feel overwhelmed by His love. When the slant of the sunset light is just right, glowing through the goldenrod or between the grasses, I feel His love. When I see the sunrise, piercing the misty morning, I feel loved. I see the overlapping leaves of mid-afternoon filtering the strong sunlight, or the stars winking in the navy darkness, and I feel the love that I know He gives.

It is from His word I know He loves me, but in His creation, His artwork, I feel His love. The brush of the wind sometimes feels like the brush of His fingertips across my cheek, and the warmth of the sun gently rests as His hand might on my head, reminding me that He sees me when I feel most unseen.

"He is jealous for me..."

Prickles & Petals

{Some people complain that God put thorns on roses, while others praise Him for putting roses on thorns.}
Anon.

I have many thorns at the moment. They prick me right where I have the least patience, love and hope. Some dig deep and make me bleed, others simply tickle my flesh mockingly. Oh how I detest these thorns!

Perspective is what I sought when I began to read my quote journal today. I have seen this quote a hundred times, nestled on the very first page. I skimmed it intently looking for other inspirations many times. Today I read each word carefully, spaces and letters each flinging themselves painfully into my heart, convicting my conscience and doing what I love and yet hate: challenging me to do better.

These thorns, you see, are very trying in that they are thorns  cannot yank out of my life's garden. No, each day, I must brave the briars and sometimes I do not even get to the flower beds beyond. This tiring daily trek has been a test, one I have been failing. As I read this quote, I realized my ingratitude. There are but few roses on my thorns, but the few pink and yellow petaled jewels should be treasured. Would I but stop to snatch a whiff of their faint scent, the power of the scratches might fade a bit.

He always knows just what I need to hear. It is stunningly beautiful, my brokenness and His healing. I am by no means through my briars, but I have begun to listen again to His blessed whispers.

Find your roses. Let their beauty renew your weary spirit. Let Him show you what you have to be grateful for.

real

"That was the real you running through the fields of gold wide open,
standing in places no picture contains."

Learning to Love Again
Mat Kearney

How I long to stand in a place no picture contains. To exist momentarily in a place no one has captured and drug back to their world of electrifying pixels. Perhaps no such place exists.

Pixels can be astounding. But they can never encapsulate entirety. Pixels can represent a perspective, a moment, but never the whole. I love photographs. I love capturing a moment of time that will never be seen again elsewhere. But it isn't quite the same.

I see their photographs popping up under the blue bar, thumbs up ready to be selected. I see their faces, people I know. Yet the photos are such a shallow depiction of what I know to be behind their smiling eyes. Their pictures create in me a feeling of distance. I was not there. I do not know what they felt before and after the flash of light and click of shutter. It tells me nothing of their souls. Nothing like the times when they sat before me, hearts bleeding vulnerably in my hands. Tears falling from their eyes and filling my own. Even the moments when their eyes clear and joy tumbles invisibly from their lips are more real to me. Moments when the thoughts or judgments of others alter not their course and they become something rare: themselves.

The song above is one of my new favorites, one that reminds me how blessed I have been to see the real people inside my friends-the deepest darkest and brightest.