I sat in a coffee shop much like now and penned words. I remember how content I was and how beautiful the evening came. I was voicing questions that swirled about, artistically painting a picture as cars drove by outside. As a stop light shifted from green to yellow, to red. I wrote, unaware of what the words would do. Of how they would change everything.
That moment, when everything was stripped away. I remember it as clear, as real as if I were sitting there now. I can remember the color of the walls, the leaves on the plant in the corner, the way the chair felt under me, the way everything inside of me shut down. I can feel the way adrenaline pumped through my entire body within seconds. I can feel riding that wave for moments, days, weeks, months…a year. Words came that I didn't understand, some I still can't comprehend and in the blink of an eye, the glass shattered and life would never be the same. I remember wondering why. Why had this happened? Was it me? Was is everything inside of me? Was it everything outside of me? Was it anything I could have slowed down, stopped, changed? Pain blinded every breath I drew in. I can feel the bed under me, not moving, not sleeping, just being still, for hours. No thoughts. Just my body breathing in and out without my help.
Then the physical act of leaving. Running. Wanting it all to stop. Wishing it had never happened. Wanting to put distance between myself and the life I had lived. The life that ended so abruptly. Leaving. It would have been easier if I had loved less. Cared less. But, it would seem that it is physically impossible for me to love people in pieces. Taking all that they are requires you love them with all you have. So, if they change, if you change, the hurt is blinding. If it ends, the pain is beyond description.
Then, the gaping wound that was created had to be healed. Which was by far the hardest part. His voice came over and over and over, "I will remove all that distracts you from Me. I will strip you until I am all you see. For I love you more than life. I love you beyond all the pain you feel in this moment. I love you so much, I will allow you to be broken and shattered that I might build you back again. I will allow this, all of this, that you will be equipped for all that is ahead."
And my voice screamed back until it was raw, "WHAT WILL YOU EQUIP ME FOR?! YOU STRIPPED EVERYTHING AWAY!!! WHAT FUTURE?! WHAT CALLING?! THERE. IS. NOTHING. LEFT."
There, in that moment, the darkness was deep. It is a darkness that life will bring no matter whom you might be. Because, life is life. No matter who you are. And if you say you do not know it, you are lying to yourself. Or you're very, very young and have simply not lived long enough to experience it yet. I can assure you, however, it will come. For me, it was thick and heavy, like a black fog that permeated every waking moment…and all I could repeat was the name of the One who I could no longer see, but who I could feel in that deep night. The months moved slow and heavy, yet the fog remained. I lived there, not wanting to move. Not wanting to breathe. Not wanting to do anything but simply survive. And that's exactly what I did for months. I waited and remained silent, shut down, shut off, and simply survived and whispered with my raw voice, the only thing that my not-functioning mind could somehow form….Jesus.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. Over and over and over. The night was deep, but with each whisper of this name, with each breath that exhaled this one word, the darkness began to shift. Move. Jesus. The fog began to disperse. Jesus. Light. Jesus. Like a crack in a wall, light, golden and warm, began to stream through. The doubts, the lies, before the light they fled.
The whisper of His name on my tongue became my substance to stand. To lift my head and look up. To reach out. There. With that one gesture, His hand was waiting. There, in that moment, His hand, solid and strong grabbed ahold of mine and with one swift move, pulled me to my feet. I was standing. I was held. I was held in the arms of the One whose name was all I could whisper. I was….feeling….something. My heart that was blind to all but the pain, it felt….warm. It felt…light. It knew, there in that moment, that the deep in which it had been residing was lifting. That the pieces in which it was shattered were being fitted back together. That all it thought it could not survive, it was indeed surviving.
It took two years. From start to finish. It took moving forward and slipping back again. It took forgiving when I felt anything but that. It took warring with anger, bitterness, hate, until Jesus was so completely all I could see, that they fled. It took fighting with every ounce of strength I did not possess, but which He gave, to realize that because I had truly heard His voice, because He had called and I had answered, because I was His child, valued, loved, treasured, I must move forward and not give up. It took knowing beyond all I felt that as sure as the sun would rise, He was faithful.
And He is.
Sitting in this coffee shop today, I pen words that, had you told me I'd be writing two years ago, I would never have believed. Sitting here today, there is so much that I have a first-hand knowledge and understanding of now that I never had before. There are things, hard, dark, deep things that I can now speak against because I have dealt with them. There are situations that I can now speak into because I have been there and stand on the other side of. There is much. There is more than I could have ever dreamed. There is an absolute certainty that if I could go back, if I could do it all over again, I would change absolutely nothing about what happened.
There is a knowledge now about my God that I never had before. I can say with every single fiber that makes up my being, that He loves you beyond all the hard stuff. Man, there is so much hard stuff. There are things that knock us completely out of the blue, there are things that we see coming but cannot stop, BUT above and beyond all the hard stuff, Jesus is greater still. And He is crazy about you. He loves you SO MUCH! Sitting here in this moment, I need you to understand this. You are His treasured, beautiful child. You are worth more than you can begin to imagine to this man who died for you. He looks at you and all He sees is how worth His life you were and are. He hung there so long ago and gazed down the ages and what He saw, what kept Him on that tree, was your face. Because He loves you.
I have a passion for this now like never before. What I went through, the details of what happened to me, I can never stress enough how unimportant they are. What matters, is how the pain and hurt and all that came with this, changed me. It taught me what a product of grace I am. That nothing else matters in this life but loving God's children. To love them so much that you can show His love beyond all else. This doesn't mean that you accept every sin and never speak against it. It means you love the way Jesus did because it is this that changes people. It is His love that decimates sin.
I am thankful beyond all words, that He stripped me of all I thought I wanted for the rest of my life.
Now, sitting here in this moment, I am face to face with everything being given back. Given back in far greater measure than anything that was ever taken away. I am staring into the eyes of Jesus in a way I never have before as He hands back to me, with the greatest smile on His face, the call. The call that He placed there. Here in this moment, with perfect clarity, I can look back on all that happened and like backing away from a puzzle being fit together, I can see the picture as a whole. Like a circle being completed, I am back at the beginning of it all…but, wow, it's so much more than before. Oh, there are many things to come in the future that I can't see, but for the first time since that glass shattered, I can see the reason for why it all happened. And can I just say WOW! Never saw any of that coming…but, just, wow. Standing here in this moment, I am grateful and more than anything, certain that every single thing that happens in this life is for a purpose. To equip us for the call which is to be first of all, intimate with our Savior, and then to watch as that intimacy flows into the work He has placed before us.
I have a friend who always says, "We're on a business trip while on this earth, to get to know Him through walking by faith." Man, that has never been more true in my life than it is right now. I have so much in front of me that requires me to walk by faith, but because of what I have walked through, because of every single moment that Jesus, in all His love and grace allowed to happen, I can walk assured that beyond any pain that may come, He is faithful! HE IS FAITHFUL! I can walk knowing that this journey is beautiful and terrible and wonderful and sweetly wild! It is an adventure with my King and what an adventure it is! As another friend has said many, many times, "It is an endless frontier!" So, with the destination set before my eyes, with Jesus being the goal, with one day standing physically before Him being all I want, I would dance out this journey set before me, holding His hand all the way home.
This is the point. You are on this journey as well. And He is waiting for you to reach out so that, with one swift move, He can pull you to your feet that you may walk equipped for the call that is on your life.
You. Are. Loved. Beyond all else. You are loved. He loves you.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Sunday, March 23, 2014
a song played.
Please click play on the video below if you'd like to listen to the song this post was written to:
Morning light is streaming into my little living room. Sitting here at my beautiful english writing desk, my fingers tap out what has become second nature to them. This dance that I have not found enough time lately to tap out across the black keys…but, still it comes, gently, willing to be danced still. A mug full of steaming coffee sits next to my computer and the thoughts, like swans gliding across a lake, are warmed with its dark contents. Music quietly lilts out of the silver screen before me, stilling the birds that would wildly fly about in my head, taming them to be caught and written down.
So many thoughts, so many things I would say, mere shadows caught in my hands. Forever I write about things that are merely a glimpse of what I would have them be. Yet, even in this there is a purpose. Even here, desperately trying to put into words all the thoughts that control feelings deep within this well, there is beauty and purpose still.
A violin bow glides across strings, moaning out an achingly beautiful melody. Listening, I think of the song, the notes drawn across strings that my own hands would play, that they know almost better than the song I write across black keys that spill forth words. Notes that have danced across my days since I was three. The violin an extension of my arms…as if it is a part of my body. Now, out of my speakers comes a song that is not mine, that another hand draws forth. Carefully, my ears listen to the song, not thinking so much of the instrument as they do what is coming out of it. I think of the black notes that dance through the air, that float into my heart, landing there to draw out emotions coloring the words written. I know the dedication, the practice, the effort that the player put forth in order to draw the bow so smoothly across the strings, to make the sound clear and effortless and beautiful, weeping for what I do not know. I think of how intimate the artist is with the instrument that is masterfully played in this song. Of how intimate I am with the instrument played. I know the curve of its wood, the curls and twists carved into all that makes it what it is, the holes that allow the sound to be drawn forth. I know the way the strings must be tightened, brought into tune with each other, allowing all that is sung to be correct. I know how it is almost painful to bring every string into perfect tune with all the others, allowing each part of the instrument to be in alignment, transparent, and yet each string showcases the diversity of the whole instrument. Each sound sung out is different than all the others, beautifully diverse. Some notes, some sounds, and certain songs played will touch those who listen in different ways. There will be songs that are cast aside, while others will like arrows shot, pierce hearts that listen to them.
And because I am a writer, a musician, and deeply in live with my God, I cannot help but see the correlation in it all. The violin in all its beauty is nothing if not picked up in the artist's hands. If left alone, it will sing of nothing, no notes will dance forth, no lives will be touched. And here it is then. When I look at my life, when I look at all the things that are changing, shifting, moving, I realize that, I do not want to be the artist playing. If my life is to be the artist or the instrument, I would be the violin in the hands of the One who will draw forth the song. I know myself, I know the kind of artist I would be if left to my own inclinations. So, instead of playing the song, I would be the one played. I would have my God pick me up and draw forth that which will bring the most glory to His name. I would have the strings that are the areas of who I am, all tightened and brought into alignment together so that, in all their diversity, they will play together to point back to the One who brings out the song and notes created. Trusting, I can know without a doubt that whatever is played by His hands will be far more beautiful than I could ever dream.
The song continues. It dances about in my heart, achingly beautiful, making my head think of all that is to come. That it will be, as C.S. Lewis said, far better than anything we could possibly leave behind. Remembering that this life of mine is short, too short to not answer the song that He would play across my life, there is joy beyond all I can imagine in this. In waiting to hear the song, in knowing that He is faithful, in seeing the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
Wait. Wait and listen and allow Him in all the incredible beauty that your Father is, to lift you in His hands and play a unique song with your life. With the life He created just for you, His precious, unique, individual child. You. You reading this in this very moment. You are treasured in the hands of a master musician, cherished and loved beyond all compare. Wait and watch and see the amazing things He will do with your life. Gaze into His eyes and seek to have an intimate relationship with the One who loves you above all else. Watch and see what your God will do...
Morning light is streaming into my little living room. Sitting here at my beautiful english writing desk, my fingers tap out what has become second nature to them. This dance that I have not found enough time lately to tap out across the black keys…but, still it comes, gently, willing to be danced still. A mug full of steaming coffee sits next to my computer and the thoughts, like swans gliding across a lake, are warmed with its dark contents. Music quietly lilts out of the silver screen before me, stilling the birds that would wildly fly about in my head, taming them to be caught and written down.
So many thoughts, so many things I would say, mere shadows caught in my hands. Forever I write about things that are merely a glimpse of what I would have them be. Yet, even in this there is a purpose. Even here, desperately trying to put into words all the thoughts that control feelings deep within this well, there is beauty and purpose still.
A violin bow glides across strings, moaning out an achingly beautiful melody. Listening, I think of the song, the notes drawn across strings that my own hands would play, that they know almost better than the song I write across black keys that spill forth words. Notes that have danced across my days since I was three. The violin an extension of my arms…as if it is a part of my body. Now, out of my speakers comes a song that is not mine, that another hand draws forth. Carefully, my ears listen to the song, not thinking so much of the instrument as they do what is coming out of it. I think of the black notes that dance through the air, that float into my heart, landing there to draw out emotions coloring the words written. I know the dedication, the practice, the effort that the player put forth in order to draw the bow so smoothly across the strings, to make the sound clear and effortless and beautiful, weeping for what I do not know. I think of how intimate the artist is with the instrument that is masterfully played in this song. Of how intimate I am with the instrument played. I know the curve of its wood, the curls and twists carved into all that makes it what it is, the holes that allow the sound to be drawn forth. I know the way the strings must be tightened, brought into tune with each other, allowing all that is sung to be correct. I know how it is almost painful to bring every string into perfect tune with all the others, allowing each part of the instrument to be in alignment, transparent, and yet each string showcases the diversity of the whole instrument. Each sound sung out is different than all the others, beautifully diverse. Some notes, some sounds, and certain songs played will touch those who listen in different ways. There will be songs that are cast aside, while others will like arrows shot, pierce hearts that listen to them.
And because I am a writer, a musician, and deeply in live with my God, I cannot help but see the correlation in it all. The violin in all its beauty is nothing if not picked up in the artist's hands. If left alone, it will sing of nothing, no notes will dance forth, no lives will be touched. And here it is then. When I look at my life, when I look at all the things that are changing, shifting, moving, I realize that, I do not want to be the artist playing. If my life is to be the artist or the instrument, I would be the violin in the hands of the One who will draw forth the song. I know myself, I know the kind of artist I would be if left to my own inclinations. So, instead of playing the song, I would be the one played. I would have my God pick me up and draw forth that which will bring the most glory to His name. I would have the strings that are the areas of who I am, all tightened and brought into alignment together so that, in all their diversity, they will play together to point back to the One who brings out the song and notes created. Trusting, I can know without a doubt that whatever is played by His hands will be far more beautiful than I could ever dream.
The song continues. It dances about in my heart, achingly beautiful, making my head think of all that is to come. That it will be, as C.S. Lewis said, far better than anything we could possibly leave behind. Remembering that this life of mine is short, too short to not answer the song that He would play across my life, there is joy beyond all I can imagine in this. In waiting to hear the song, in knowing that He is faithful, in seeing the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
Wait. Wait and listen and allow Him in all the incredible beauty that your Father is, to lift you in His hands and play a unique song with your life. With the life He created just for you, His precious, unique, individual child. You. You reading this in this very moment. You are treasured in the hands of a master musician, cherished and loved beyond all compare. Wait and watch and see the amazing things He will do with your life. Gaze into His eyes and seek to have an intimate relationship with the One who loves you above all else. Watch and see what your God will do...
Monday, March 17, 2014
echoes.
Gently, the pages are opened. Gently they are felt under hand, each precious letter holding something, some long sought after treasure. And the voices come, across time they float, glide, living, breathing, into my head, into my heart. Some are heard like the mighty crash of ocean waves, while others whisper in my ear as silent as a gentle breeze, more felt than heard. Angry, tired, indignant, joyous, sorrowful, overflowing with joy, grieved, laughing, they are all different, each bearing a different emotion. Each paints an individual story and none are the same. Their stories are as different and colorful as the voices that bring them to life. Yet, they each have a common thread, a cord that binds them together as surely as if they were one. Ever pointing to one thing, ever singing the same song, speaking if only in shadow, of that which was coming and came.
My hand passes over the thin pages, taking delight in the rustling song they sing out with each one turned. Skimming down the text, words begin to take form and spring to life before my eyes. I am amazed by the detail put into this book, how there is no question that each word was carefully thought out, weighed in the balance, and written out so very long ago. I am becoming lost in the stories as the greatest of adventures are told. And the voices speak of things unimagined. Things that seem so long ago, yet because of what they point to, as if they were happening in my own life...and in some ways, they are. For the voices tell of those who were unworthy, the least, the ones who surely should not have been used to accomplish what they did. They tell me of how they could not speak, of how some were but children, and others the oldest in their society, awkward and stumbling. They speak and laugh and wail of what they were burdened for, what their hearts ached for, what they took joy in...and through it all the cord still runs. Like a golden light burning through each life, always and forever pointing to but one thing. And I smile. For if that golden cord, if that burning light could be so strong and bright in these lives, in these voices that fill my days, then I am assured. I am assured that though this life of mine is but one in a million, though I am truly unworthy of the call, my life, here and now, can be used despite me. It can and will point as their's did, to that one, glorious thing. I smile. For my heart echoes the beat of the hearts the voices speak of in this beautiful book in my hands....Jesus….
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