i’ve had enough
I’m still camping out in the story of Elijah. Maybe because I see so much of myself in him. Not in his prophetic voice or powerful miracles, but in his crash-and-burn.
Remember his showdown with the prophets of Baal? God showed up in a huge way, making it very obvious that He is the one true God and that Elijah is His. If ever Elijah was on a spiritual high, this was it.
And then he crashed and burned.
When Jezebel made threats against his life, Elijah forgot about the great victory God just brought him. He collapsed to the ground in despair, raised his eyes to the heavens, and shouted, “I have had enough, Lord. Take my life!”
Been there? I have. Plenty of times.
I can move from victory to defeat in an instant. It all rushes in and I feel like I just can’t take anymore.
I gotta admit, I’m kind of relieved I’m not the only one with irrational mood swings, desperate prayers for God to take me, and the overwhelming sense of “I’ve had enough!”
At least I have this one thing in common with Elijah.
The story goes on and I’m intrigued by all that happens next, because it shows how he dealt with his funk. And I need to know how to deal with mine. [If you want to read through it later, it's in 1 Kings 19:1-13.]
Elijah slept. A lot. I know I need rest, although I often feel guilty over making that need a priority.
An angel provided bread and water for him. I’m taking stock of God’s provision of those people, places, and things that refresh and revive me from the inside out. I need to surround myself with them more often than I do.
He slept, ate, and drank. Again. Lather, rinse, repeat. Just once isn’t enough.
“Nourished by that meal, he walked forty days and nights, all the way to the mountain of God.” Ejlijah was still in his funk, but he walked on. I need to simply keep putting one foot in front of the other, even when my heart says “I’ve had enough” with every single step.
“When he got there, he crawled into a cave and went to sleep.” God knew I’d need to hear this again! Slowly getting the message…
He encountered the still, small voice of God. One by one a wind, earthquake, and fire ripped through the mountain. But God was not in them. “And after the fire came a gentle whisper…” Those quiet words were more powerful in Elijah’s heart than any mighty prophecy God had spoken through him.
At the end of the day, God reaches through my funk and with His peaceful, gentle voice, reassures my heart that He is trustworthy.
He lovingly reminds me that He is in control. That His grace is sufficient. And that He gives strength to the weary.
His more-than-enough-ness makes up for my had-enough-ness.
Over and over again.
something crazy
I was reading again tonight about Elijah and Elisha, and I can’t shake this piece of the story:
Elisha was plowing a field with some oxen when Elijah found him. He was hard at work, doing what he was trained (and skilled) to do. I imagine that this day looked pretty similar to so many days before it. Farming is monotonous but grueling work.
Then Elijah walked right across the field and wrapped his cloak around Elisha, symbolicly passing on his ministry anointing. And in that moment, Elisha made a decision.
He chose to leave behind the comfortable and familiar to obediently follow God’s call.
He knew it wasn’t an easy decision. He was choosing the hard.
He knew that there would be tough days when he’d long for the back-breaking labor of farming. He knew he’d be tempted to return to his old life. So he did something drastic. Something crazy.
He sacrificed his oxen.
Elisha broke apart his wooden plow, set it on fire, and cooked his cattle.
He didn’t want turning back to even be an option, so he made a bonfire out of his former life.
He gave himself nothing to return to. No plan B. Nothing to “fall back on” except risky faith in a faithful God.
Reminds me of Peter.
When Jesus was killed, Peter’s future turned into a giant question mark. He couldn’t make sense of a crucified Messiah. So he went back to what he was doing before he’d started following Christ. He went back to fishing.
Reminds me of me.
When my faith wavers, when difficult turns to impossible, when I have no idea what God is up to… I’m tempted to turn back.
I’m inclined to go back to my old way of thinking, my former plans, my loosely-held hope. I once again long for the comfortable and familiar. I want to return to something I understand. Something I can “control”.
So I need to do something drastic.
Something crazy.
I need to build a bonfire.
fish and loaves
I’ve always loved the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000. It is packed full of nuggets for this heart of mine…
I’m challenged by the little boy who offered his meager lunch, confident that it would be worth something in Jesus’ hands.
I’m encouraged that the disciples’ lack of faith didn’t hinder God from doing something extraordinary.
I’m reminded that I’m only responsible for my response to the Lord’s promptings. I’m not responsible for actually making anything happen.
I’m thankful that Jesus didn’t feed the crowd just enough. He gave them “as much as they wanted”. What He offers me is always abundance.
I’m aware again that God doesn’t waste a thing. While I don’t know what Jesus did with the extras, there was definitely a purpose for them: “Gather the leftovers so nothing is wasted.” He redeems even what appears to be a total waste.
When I’m willing to place my mere fish-and-loaves life into Jesus’ hands, miracles happen… So today I choose to actively trust Him with the crumbs of just me...
gotta let go of the old to embrace the new
“New wine needs new wineskins.”
God’s whispered those words to my heart so many times throughout the past year. They hold the promise that He’s not done with me yet, the hope that He is making a way in my desert and streams in my wasteland.
Those words also hold a command. They are a challenging reminder of my responsibility.
Or maybe it’s my response-ability.
While it’s always God who brings the new, what I do with it is entirely my choice.
God is ever the gentleman. He will never force Himself on me.
So He holds out His hand, waiting for me to put mine in His, ready to lead me forward.
He longs to breathe His newness into my walk with Him, into my relationships with others, into my thought patterns. My faith-journey should be constantly evolving as I allow Him to continually change me from the inside out.
I want that so badly.
I want Him to mold me and shape me the way He sees fit.
I desire new. I long for change, for different.
Yet, at times, I still find myself unwilling to let go of the old so that I can embrace the new.
Sometimes I still prefer the familiar chains of Egypt over the unknowns of the Promised Land.
It just feels easier to stick with what I know.
Even when I hate it.
Because while I may be frustrated with where I’m at (physically, emotionally, spiritually), it’s still oddly comfortable and strangely comforting.
My chains double as a security blanket.
Which means I don’t trust Him enough.
(Story. Of. My. Life.)
I hear God’s voice calling me to drop my chains and walk on. He whispers that my security should lie only in Him because He alone is trustworthy.
He reminds me that I can’t embrace what He has for me until I stop fighting it.
I can’t slip my hand into His while my fists are clenched tightly, clinging to what I know out of fear of what I don’t.
The greatest obstacle to what God wants to do, is my unwillingness to let go of what He’s already done.
“I am making all things new,” He promises.
He is already breathing newness into every corner of my life. Already recreating, restoring, redefining, and redeeming me.
All of me.
He is giving me new wine and new wineskins. And I want to fully embrace all that He has for me.
Even when it scares me.
Because I want to fear God more than I fear anything else.
So today as I’m craving His newness, I’m also mindful of my responsibility.
Of my ability to respond to Him.
And today…
Today, I’m choosing to trust.
Originally posted as a gust post
at Rainmakers and Stormchasers >
a different take on boundaries
God’s given me stewardship over my feelings, thoughts, attitudes, and behaviors.
I need to recognize and guard them as gifts from God.
He’s given me responsibility over those things, and I have complete freedom to choose what I do with them.
They are, in fact, the only things I truly control.
But I often forget that.
And when I forget, I live with unhealthy boundaries.
When I allow others’ words and actions to dictate how I respond, I forfeit my freedom. I hand over the power I have to choose. I surrender the control and stewardship I’ve been given by God. I allow others to define me instead of embracing God’s definition of me.
On the flip side, when I forget the freedom others have, I try to take responsibility for what they alone are stewards over. I attempt to fix people, overcompensate for them, or smooth things over when they are upset. But in doing so, I am overstepping my boundaries.
I am responsible only for my own life.
Having and enforcing boundaries isn’t about controlling or punishing others. It’s about treasuring and guarding the feelings, thoughts, attitudes, and behaviors God has given me stewardship over.
Living with healthy boundaries means not attempting to take responsibility for others’ responses and choices, and not forfeiting the responsibility I have over my own.
I’ve lived my whole life with unhealthy boundaries. In some ways, I’ve lived with no boundaries at all.
My emotions and inner commentaries are often swayed by others’ words, actions, and attitudes. And I am quick to take responsibility for other people’s choices.
But I want to live different.
I want to live free and healthy, and in a way that helps others live free and healthy as well.
I can’t really say that I’ve gotten better at not responding based on how others treat me.
In fact, if I’m being most honest, I still don’t really know how to even change that… how to not be so deeply affected by others.
And right now, my struggles with this are really causing my heart to hurt. There’s a stinging ache deep inside me that just seems to hurt more everyday.
But I’ve become more aware of those moments where I hand control over to someone else. And those moments where I take on what isn’t mine to carry.
I see it for what it is now, which is more than I’ve ever done before.
And that gives my heart hope.
Even while she hurts.
guarding my heart
I’m a dichotomy.
While I may not outwardly fight for my heart, inwardly I build walls to try to keep her safe.
My walls are built with bricks of distrust, fear, and insecurity. They’re held together with the mortar of doubt.
Yet, ultimately, they’re nothing more than a mirage.
Because I’m only fooling myself if I think I can keep my heart safe.
I can’t protect myself from getting hurt.
Pain is an inevitable fact of life. It comes with every relationship—even the best of them. Those I love the most, and who love me the most, will still hurt me. Just as I’ll hurt them.
Because none of us are perfect.
Yet I still try to shield myself from hurt.
I spiritualize my walls under the banner of “guarding my heart”.
I’ve never really understood what that verse means. I’ve struggled to understand the balance between trusting and guarding my heart.
And while I don’t presume to have it all figured out now, I finally realized something.
A few verses prior, God tells me to listen closely to His words and keep them within my heart. Only when I pay attention to what God says—about Himself and about me—can my heart be protected.
Because it’s really about trusting Him to watch over and guard my heart.
That doesn’t mean I won’t be hurt. It just means I won’t get stuck there.
Because it’s not really the hurts inflicted by others that will ruin my life the most. It’s my self-built protective walls that will.
It’s time to start knocking down my walls.
No… Actually, I don’t have to knock down anything.
I just need to step through the mirage of walls that have kept me in bondage rather than safety.
Instead of trying to avoid more pain, I want to let the Healer set me free.
And trust Him to guard my heart when the next hurt comes.
even from myself
My heart feels a bit bruised these days. She’s even more sore than my legs are.
I don’t know that I can fully explain to anyone all that’s been going on inside me the past few weeks, but it’s leaving my heart feeling more vulnerable than she has in a long time.
She feels exposed. Raw. Black and blue.
Although I often get defensive when I shouldn’t, I usually don’t defend myself when I should.
I don’t fight for my own heart. So she ends up getting beaten up.
I’m not good at speaking up for myself or being assertive. I fear sounding defensive, so I often don’t explain myself when others misunderstand me. At times I fear putting my heart on the line, so I hold her back but wish someone could see through the blurry mess and just know what’s going on inside.
I am my own worst enemy. I treat myself more harshly than I’d ever treat anyone else. I am, by far, the hardest person for me to extend grace to.
I often feel unfought-for by others. But the reality is I’m unfought-for by me.
Why should anyone else defend what I don’t even bother to?
This all taps into those fears and insecurities deep inside me. That place in my heart that doubts my worth, value, and lovableness.
It seems to spiral viciously out of control rather quickly.
I’m trying desperately to learn to slam on the brakes in those moments and pour my heart out like water before God. Messy. Uncontrolled. Unrestrained. Just as it comes.
Bruises and all.
In Him alone will I find refuge. Safety. Security. Worth.
In Him alone will I feel defended.
Even from myself.
feeling seen helps us hear
I’ve had some incredibly encouraging conversations lately. God has been speaking straight to my heart through people who truly see me in my situation and ministry.
I don’t know that I can explain very well what I mean by that. But if you’ve ever felt invisible, I think you know what I’m talking about.
Simply feeling seen is amazingly restorative.
My pastor reminded me to focus on seeking God, not just His will. Ultimately, the only thing I need is more of Him. Yet I can get caught up in pursuing God for something rather than just pursuing God.
I need to seek God’s face and not His hand.
And I needed to be reminded of that fact.
A new ministry friend spoke some freeing words to me. “You don’t need to feel stained by the situation you’re walking through. Because you’re not. Others’ decisions are not a reflection of you, your heart, or your vision in ministry.”
I can’t even tell you how much I needed to hear that.
It was as though I could hear the chains dropping to the ground.
These conversations fueled my passion to make others feel seen. And to use my words to build up rather than tear down.
Don’t underestimate the power of your words to breathe life into someone.
Look around. And look beneath the surface to truly see the person under the layers of circumstances.
Be intentional today to speak strength and courage into someone’s heart.
It’s probably just what they need.
i’ll be here for a while still
I’m still thinking about Easter.
Shocking, I know, since all the Easter candy in Target has probably already been replaced with Fourth of July crap decorations. But what can I say? My heart is still there.
My heart is stuck in the empty tomb that isn’t really empty.
It’s filled with hope.
Promise.
Undeserved freedom.
Scandalous grace.
I’m sticking around here because my heart aches to really, truly believe.
All the way down in my toes, I want to believe that what seems like the end isn’t really the end.
When it’s over, lost, gone, broken beyond repair… that’s when things have really just begun.
The best isn’t behind me but ahead of me. The glory of what’s to come far outweighs the glory of what was. Life after death is so much more extraordinary than life before it.
Wholeness comes from brokenness.
Beauty is birthed in ashes.
Strength is made perfect in weakness.
So bring on your summer plastic wear and star-spangled centerpieces. You know where to find me if you need me.
I’ll be chillin’ in that empty-yet-abundantly-full tomb.
character vs. calling
Our character needs to be strong enough to uphold our calling.
I don’t care how charismatic your personality is, how big your ministry might be, or how many people read your blog. If underneath it all is a heart that lacks integrity, at some point, it will all come tumbling down.
Godly anointing and passionate vision simply cannot withstand the crumbling-sandcastle effect of faulty character.
We can only build as high as our foundation runs deep.
Which means I need to focus more on building my character than on clarifying my calling.
I can get extremely tunnel-visioned in seeking God about my future and my next steps. I forget that I’ve already been told the big-picture plan He has for me:
I am called to be more like Christ.
And that’s more about the character of my heart than the direction of my path.
Being more like Christ means I must decrease and allow Him to increase in me. That is the ultimate in character-building.
It means being intentional to love deeply, forgive fully, and serve wholeheartedly.
It means watching what I say, walking in humility, remaining joyful.
It means actively trusting Jesus and applying God’s Word to my life.
It means cultivating the fruit of the Spirit—All of them. Even patience.
Developing character is a whole lot harder than developing a five-year plan.
Then why do I put less thought and effort into it than I do into figuring out what my next meal’s gonna be?
Ouch.
Something’s gotta give.
And I think that something is me.
