He held both
I can’t shake this thought, even though it’s really hard for me to dwell on right now:
Jesus hung on that cross to take more than my own sins. He also hung there to carry the sins of others that hurt me deeply. And in that same instant, He hung there to carry the pain and sorrow I feel because of those sins against me.
In the very same moment, He held both. Wept for both. Bore the eternal burden of both.
So that both of us could be free.
[Originally posted on this day last year,
when the bottom had just fallen out of my world.]
thanks for talking about me
I know my dreamcation was a direct answer to prayer.
But not mine.
Because I never actually prayed for one.
Oh I talked about wanting to get away to some exotic location. But I never prayed about it.
Not because I thought God wouldn’t care, but because I don’t pray for myself very specifically very often. But that’s a blog post for another day.
Where was I?
Oh yeah.
My incredible trip was an answer to your prayers.
Yours.
You know who you are.
I’ve been so humbled by the number of people who’ve been genuinely and faithfully praying for me. For months now. Some of you I know intimately, and some I’ve never met before. And yet you pray for me. Consistently.
It makes me welly-eyed.
I know many of you have prayed specifically for peace, rest, strengthening friendships, and even an opportunity to get away.
And God used some wonderful people in Middle-of-Nowhere, Pennsylvania to answer those prayers.
I am so incredibly grateful. For your intercession and for their obedient and generous response to His nudging.
Thank you for talking to Him about me.
He’s listening.
And He’s answering.
we’ve gotten it all wrong with the prodigal son
I shut my eyes tightly as worship started, forcefully trying to block out the thousands of others around me. I desperately needed to connect with God in a way I hadn’t allowed myself in far too long.
And as I asked Him to meet me in that place of brokenness, the Prodigal Son came to mind.
The story seemed to unfold behind my closed eyes, and a tear trickled down my face as I saw the father run out to embrace his son. God reminded me that it was Him running out to meet me.
No matter how far I’ve wandered, no matter how broken and messed up I’ve become, no matter how grimy and soiled I am, He runs out to meet me.
I saw with fresh eyes as He wrapped His robe of righteousness around me. He put His ring on my finger to remind me of the seal of His Spirit in my heart. And He didn’t just call for the fattened calf. He sent His prize Lamb—the perfect Lamb of God—to be sacrificed for me.
I think we got it all wrong in calling this the Story of the Prodigal Son.
I think it’s actually the Story of the Prodigal Father.
Prodigal means recklessly extravagant, lavishly abundant.
And that is the perfect description of the love the Father embraces His broken children with.
a reminder
God is not absent.
Not distracted.
He sees.
He knows.
He cares.
And He’s doing something about it.
battle-weary
Re-entry’s been rather bumpy.
I don’t know if it’s that my heart hasn’t caught up with the rest of me yet or what. But I’ve had an emotional few days since getting back from my dreamcation.
Actually it started my last night on the cruise ship.
The moment I put my head on my pillow to go to sleep, my mind started reeling. My thoughts bounced between Africa and Atlanta. They ricocheted between past, present, and future. And I felt anxiousness taking over my heart. Physically felt it.
It was as though someone was sitting on my chest.
My eyes kept filling with tears even though I was willing myself not to cry. No amount of melatonin or prayer worked to knock me out. I was up all night, tossing and turning.
As we pulled into port and I began the long day of traveling back to the east coast, I was overwhelmed with a sense of not belonging. Anywhere.
And all week I haven’t been able to shake the anxiety, doubts, and insecurities. The panic-attack-esque chest pressure keeps returning. And yesterday I just couldn’t seem to stop crying.
Tonight is a bit better, after a worship service at church. As “my song” started, I heard God’s whisper in my heart. Even when I feel unwanted, unneeded, and like I don’t belong, it’s okay. Because even when no one else is, He is jealous for me.
I’m gonna be repeating that over and over as I head to bed. And as I start my day tomorrow.
Because my heart still feels very tentative. Tender. Sensitive. My emotions are still brewing just beneath the surface. And the tears keep coming.
But my battle-weary heart feels a tiny bit stronger than it did this morning.
And for that I’m grateful.
how do you say “risk” in spanish?
I knew choosing risk as my one-word for the year would be risky. And I seem to have jumped right in with both feet.
I’m sure a free vacation doesn’t sound like a risk to most of you, but it certainly was one for me. It even took me a few days to respond and say “Yes” when I was offered this wonderful gift. Partially because it’s just hard for me to receive personal generosity, and partially because of the risks involved.
Not the least of which was spending ten days with people I’d met only three weeks before—and three others I didn’t meet till I landed in LA!
But I felt instantly comfortable to just be myself. And I hit it right off with the Pennsylvania gang. We had so much fun together. I’m incredibly grateful for these new friendships.
Some other ways, big and small, that I risked during the trip:
- I left my laptop behind. It was the longest I’ve gone computer-less in almost a decade!
- I did an outdoor adventure tour in Cabo. I zip-lined 1800 feet, rock-climbed, rappelled, and cable-walked over a gorgeous canyon. Invigoratingly frightening!
- I braved the pool on the roughest day at sea. The swells in the pool were ridiculously huge, which was enough to get this non-water girl hyperventilating. But I did it.
- I went dancing. And I can’t dance. But I had a blast, and I might go so far as to say it was therapeutic.
Most of my time (when I wasn’t sleeping past noon… a -hem…) was spent just chilling and being ridiculous with my friends. [I discovered that I make a weird face in 95% of pictures...]
And while we went to Karaoke pretty much every night, this is as close as I got to singing…
livin’ it up on the left coast
I’ve been to California a handful of times, but this was my first time to Los Angeles. Like a good tourist, I saw the Hollywood sign, went star-gazing down the Hollywood Walk of Fame, hit up Jamba Juice, and ate at In-n-Out.
But my favorite was spending time at Hermosa Beach, watching the waves and photo-stalking surfers.
And my favorite favorite was getting face-time with a couple of met-on-the-net friends. I had dinner with Marisa and breakfast with Sarah—and my heart felt so full!
And I loved waving goodbye to the California coast as we set sail for Mexico. I was a teensie bit excited. (And this, my friends, is what my “eeeeeeeeeeee!” looks like!)
a glorious siesta
I’ve been staring at the empty New Post page for about twenty minutes now. I honestly don’t know how to even begin to describe the generosity that’s been lavished on me the past few weeks. My heart is overflowing with gratefulness.
Some wonderful new friends took me on vacation with them. We spent a few days in Los Angeles and then headed to the Mexican Riviera on a seven-day cruise.
I had an absolutely incredible time! I had so much fun with my friends—soaking in the sunshine, zip-lining in Cabo, eating way too much, and laughing more than I have in a long time.
And you know what the craziest part is? I’d met my friends less than a month before the trip!
I’d been dreaming of an exotic vacation for months most of 2009. And God answered that silent prayer of my heart in the most unexpected way possible.
It was just the siesta I needed!
walk on
Sometimes I prefer to wallow instead of walk.
Wallowing is easier. It doesn’t really require effort from my end. I just float. But with each passing minute, I’m actually sinking deeper into the murkiness, making it that much harder to climb out of it.
It takes a conscious effort, a decision, to walk instead of wallow. To press on when I want to just sit. To move forward when all I want to do is keep things the way they are. To take another step when my foot feels too heavy to lift.
If I’m hoping in Him, I won’t grow tired in my walking. My endurance is fueled by my hope in Him. So when I am feeling walk-weary, I need to check my hope tank. When it’s running low, I need to remind myself: Put your hope in God.
I’m wrestling with that concept as I try to figure out what that really means. Telling myself to hope in God doesn’t seem sufficient to actually make it happen. It helps, and it serves as a challenging reminder. But that can’t be it.
How do I build up hope that’s diminished? I don’t have the answer. But I need to do what I know: Remind myself. Ask God for help to hope. Chew on passages that describe His character. Be strengthened through the encouragement of others. Take time for a selah.
When I hope in Him, I won’t be disappointed. When I hope in Him, I can’t help but walk instead of wallow.
Put your hope in God and walk on. I’m right beside you.
[from a post on this day last year]
psalm of my heart
Does the blind man ever forget he can’t see? Does the woman who lost her child ever not remember her loss? Does the broken heart ever forget its scars?
Hurt hangs close, like a thick heavy fog. It’s ever present. Always close. All encompassing.
I know God’s hand reaches through pain. I know His light pierces darkness. I know His voice reverberates in emptiness. But there is still pain. Still darkness. Still emptiness.
Reach far, God. Shine brightly. And for heaven’s my sake, speak louder. Because I need to feel You, see You, and hear You more than ever before.
[originally posted this day last year]
