hands

i remember the way they looked and how they felt. as a young child, i spent so many moments just looking at my mother's long, thin fingers and her beautifully sculpted nails. i'd trace the wrinkles from her knuckles and ask to try on her rings.

so many sunday night's after a warm bath, she'd comb and brush my hair. she'd clap and holler my name as i ran by during all those rain drenched meets. she prepared dinner, weeded the garden, ironed, and even smoked with those thin, beautiful hands.

and now, years later, i look down and see those same hands on me.

we've each made choices that have pained us and pained others. we've signed papers, handed out money and held someone with them. there has been so many commonalities between us. at some times i've denied it or tried to avoid it, yet regardless of what we sift there will always be similarities that remain between us.

we're writer's, and momma's and friend's. we've each been broken and mended, and broken and mended again, and again, and again. we've been hopeful and lost hope, and shared hope and bolstered each other's hope, around and around again. we've prayed loudly and silently, just as we've cussed. we're real and bold and raw and brave.

and now, years later, i look down and give thanks for those hands, and i smile.

linking with Lisa-Jo

nothing

I have learned something that I hope really has transformed my whole way of being, and that is that I am incapable of creating the very things that I so desperately want. There is nothing that I can do to make certain things happen. I cannot forgive enough for a relationship to exist in the way I think it was designed to be. I cannot restrict myself perfectly enough or long enough to not struggle with me. There is nothing I can do to make myself understood, to not be misinterpreted or mistaken. I cannot ever be good enough in the way of living up to what the Bible and preachers and humans say I should be. I cannot fix or free or forgive enough and do exactly what Jesus would do. There's nothing I can do to earn, understand or to receive love more fully and completely. I simply cannot make the things that are intended to be sifted and sorted and sculpted. Even waiting patiently, being willing for anything, and surrender are places God readies my spirit for and there's nothing I can do.

Linking with Lisa-Jo

willing

Father, we come.

as judgmental and accusatory, we stand as pious hypocrites.

we long for good and right to rule this place and yet we see Evil all around us.

blame finds our lips for the actions of others.

though we aren't too prideful to own our mistakes, we justify our choices.

it's hard to even consider that You love the murderer.

we finger-point and arm-cross to avoid any connection with him or her.

     . . . the one who knows better and yet who once again messes up.

how could they?, we sputter.

we stand in disgust because surely they know better.

to extend grace to them seems unnecessary.

to love them seems so impossible

we confess we aren't willing, Father.

yet, we are willing to be willing.

     . . . make us so.

in Jesus name, loose us to love.

bend us and break us to be more like You.

Amen.

Linking with Lisa-Jo.

garden

 

He's cultivating me.

Soft, gentle Hands are sifting me, like soil.

There's a richness hidden within. Parts are seen and much is unseen.

He's bringing the moist richness to the surface. I see it and sometimes maybe you do, too.

We're both being sifted.

Your ways are different than mine. And mine unique from yours.

There's hope within us. He's growing it.

A seed is buried. Sometimes it bobs up to the surface when the air is just right.

When we're flooded with nourishing water that makes the dry disappear, the hope rises up.

And when we feel all gummed up, sometimes even feeling stuck, we're rescued.

We need that rescue to make us smooth and soft again.

Because our hearts get gummy. Our feelings stick to our feet and what we do is an act.

We stumble and fall sometimes and we call it dancing when really it's quite clunky humor.

There's a garden in us that is producing a harvest of glory.

We claw for control and crave for a companion who will stay.

And within us, there's a whole meal to beholden.

Juicy. Sweet. Delectable. Nourishing.

This is our life. This is our story.

This that we share is remarkable. Truly remarkable.

Our togetherness is beyond us.

It's Eden all over again. A Garden He calls Holy.

And what He's growing will last.

our love is worship.

linking with Lisa-Jo.

write

life is hard.

it doesn't always feel good and i'm definitely not always happy-clappy.

life sometimes comes hard and fast and at other times more like a slow drip.

i get irritated about my own proclivity of doing whatever to make it my way.

contentment takes its queue from comfort, and anger takes its queue from annoyed.

i wish circumstances didn't dictate my reaction to life. 

a small ridge forms in between my eyes a lot of days.

the lines stay there for awhile to remind me of the gruel of patience.

i complain more than i accept the way things simply are.

it's so hard to loose anger and disappointment at how things aren't. 

yet, it's really actually easier and less exhausting to let things be.

i'd like to be more tolerable that everything is out of my control.

barbed wire juts out from my mouth when i don't get what i want.

there's usually such a bloody mess left in the wake of my selfish impulsiveness.

i've learned what leads me to back to love my own messy self. 

it settles the popcorn in my noggin and gives me permission to be.

it's how i remember i'm human, in my raw and real and free.

i write.

this is my worship.

linking with Lisa-Jo.

hero

you go through your days with hope that it will be easy, i know.

this is my waking thought most of the time, too.

it's not wrong of us. it's a comfort catching kind of thing. and we're all allowed to want that.

so when the day turns sour and your hope gets a flat tire . . .

     i'm right there with you in the sad of the day.

i want it to be better, too. i want it to be easier and smoother.

i want to make it all better for you. and for me.

but i can't always solve the problem or create a next time not like this.

i have to let life run its course.

i have to let you feel pain, and us -- together -- feel the inadequacy.

our stickwithitness is tested in these days. our patience refined.

we're sorrow-filled for our grief and our heavy disposition, yet somehow we continue . . .

     we keep on.

we say yes to another day.

with the ounce of courage in our pocket, we accept this:

     life . . . as. it. is.

we're heroes, i'd say. and the pain that we feel is really okay.

so let's be patient and trust that the hero-making of each day isn't at all meaningless.

it's grace.

this is our worship: to be real -- as. we. are.

linking with Lisa-Jo

visit

i have lots of these for the work that i do.

they aren't meetings as much as they are what i call visits. so personal and private-like.

we sit in coffee shops with hands wrapped around mugs. i stare into eyes and we share hearts. sometimes it feels a little bit like i'm stealing when really i'm receiving, for my job often doesn't feel like work, it feels a bit more like art. 

relationships are birthed through time and the heart. and these people who i get to know are a gift to me, though they aren't necessarily my best friends.

they are people with means who want to make a difference, just like you and like me. and, they are Real people with their own real needs.

i can only imagine what it would be like to visit their homes when there are no cosmetics that make-up their face . . . to see past the charades of their pretty purses and big suv's . . . to hear the conversations with their kiddos and their grooms . . .

i imagine they are really a lot like me.

the moments when we stop and visit are when we stop and stare in awe of how quite similar we are, no matter who we are. and when we remember that we so aren't alone.

these visits in coffee shops and in homes remind me there is need. not just for scholarships that i'm raising, but also for humanity . . . for all of us, indeed.

this is my worship. 

Linking up with Lisa Jo today.

see

when strength shows itself and you say so, i want to shrug it off.

what you meant as a compliment is too heavy for me and makes me too warm to have that laid upon my shoulders. i've felt it before and enjoyed it too much, and now i've been tempered by the indulgence of it. pride-taming does that. 

so when you say that i'm strong and all that, i want to take your face in my hand and turn you around and up and everywhere else but at me. because He did this. there is nothing i could ever do to have made me this way, and believe me when i say that i tried. 

beauty has cascaded across the dark canvas of my life (and of others) and i've been changed because of it. 

there was once a day when i wanted to die and truthfully, that day wasn't too long ago. My Father holds me tight and i know i'm here by His grace, alone. i know it is He who has kept me strong. 

i've seen my heart changed and how beauty has unraveled from choices i've made, even dark ones that still come with much shame. when you see glory like this, and magnificence, there's no going back and perspective is forever changed. it's happened to me. 

Joy shows herself and Hope becomes easier to step into when Grace is unwrapped. 

i wondered if He was true and then i chose to step into faith, and now my grip of fear is held loose to accept what.ever. may Be -- however grueling or gruesome the gift. 

so when you see strength, my heart cries that you see Him and not me. because all of this -- every bit of my life -- is all because of His grace. 

this is my worship.

Linking up with Lisa Jo today.

fight

It's the start of a new year and folks are talking of dreams and things.

Friends are launching new projects and I'm feeling a little left out.

Last year wasn't a year of pursuing different and big for me. It was of publicly small and learning to be more quiet.

My heart roared loud and the Heavens shook in my last year, though, as my heart was jolted and incredibly provoked.

I was challenged to step into me more than I ever have been before . . .
     to denounce the fear of what you might think, or he or she.

It was a year of choosing what is more right for me and this story He's writing in me.

Last year was a year of willingness being churned up, for whatever may come and whatever may be, and for all of whatever once was.

Of sacrificing comfort and choosing to say "OK," even though it isn't how I'd write the script.

It was a year of leaning into Real more than ever, not shirking or hiding.

And so this new year, I stand with truthful disappointment and anxious anticipation and together we fight the urge to run away.

We trust in God's perfect timing and that now is for purpose, just as it is.

this is my worship.

fly

these dreams i have held tightly are beginning to untether.

for so long i've let my grip be strong, nearly balling these visions up like a used tissue.

my palms sweaty with anxiousness as i've wondered has led me astray in wander. 

impatience has been the side effect of my fear that these dreams are wasteful and nothingness.

faith seemed like such work, too hard to even consider a simmer and slow bake.

a quick-fix has been my guise for nourishment, when really i need the long kind of cook.

i need all the moments of my story to process, to ferment if you will, for the best kind of health.

the process, sometimes seeming strange and odd, i now see as wondrous and a gift.

His Bread is different from what i've thought or even wanted.

i've cringed and felt the pangs of nausea rise over the appearance of what He brings me to.

yet, now i see how what He gifts is yeasty-like, so sweet in time.

and time is what makes these dreams loosen, and fly.

this is my worship. 

____________________________________

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Tree

Like the one standing outside, you didn't ask to be planted here.

You didn't ask to be tugged at and swung on, or even to have things thrown at you.

It isn't your choice for the rain or snow, the hail, the wind, the hot or the cold.

You didn't choose all the elements of life to pelt you the way they do.
     All of it just free falling upon the weight of your shoulders.

You stand there and take it -- each moment upon moment.

And really, you have no choice. Because if you try to stiff arm it, duck and shield, it will still find you.

You were chosen for this. 

The cup sometimes seems like too much. The weight of the days sometimes too much to bear.

Somehow you are sustained.

Naked you came and naked you go, and it's your nakedness that's fully purposed, you should know.
   
Your worship is right here, in you standing there bare.
     Accepting this life -- full on, as it is.

Let yourself feel. Honor how the days sometimes hurt.

Give yourself permission to grieve and to breathe.

Each season's a gift that colors you, sheds you, and yet by His grace strengthens you.
     This you really can trust.

Disclaimer: Today's words came slower and needed more than just five minutes. 
Still, the critic was silenced. And this is my worship. 

____________________________________

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Truth

So much about my life is all about me.

I'm prideful. And selfish. Controlling. And stubborn.

The things I criticize others for are the exact things I sometimes do, too.

Certain struggles continue to be wrapped around me like a vine.

Even though I know what is wrong, I still do.

I don't evaluate my capacity and measure it to reality.

Unspoken expectations make unrealistic demands of myself.

The truth is, I am human.

Planned for a place in today. And prepared to fulfill a role.

Most importantly, purposed to know love.

Broken, selfish, messy, chaotic, shifty . . .

A Hand-selected rock meant for this story. His story.

____________________________________

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grace

i've been under the impression that we are supposed to be good and strong, all the time.

i assumed we are to be superheroes and that resisting sin shouldn't ever be a struggle.

i've resented the kryptonite of simply being human.

it's purposed, though, for me to need.

and this is grace.

____________________________________

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ordinary

I rejected the idea of being like everyone else.

The perspective that people are lazy was what drove me to try harder, always harder. Because it's not enough to just be as you are, you have to be more -- you're never doing/trying enough. This was my assumption about life.

I didn't want to be like everyone else. I thought I wasn't supposed to be.

Ordinary implies to me that there's nothing special or unique about it, but rather it's just like the others.

I believe that I am unique just as much as you are. I see how we each come at life differently and it's okay to be ourselves.

Realizing I am human, though, I can see that there is an ordinariness to me, a normalness I share with others. I am human -- messy and in progress. I share this commonality among others.

And this kind of ordinary is not a bad thing. It keeps my try-hard life quieted, less important than the choosing of rest in the moments of each day.

____________________________________

The quiet between my posts here are a reflection of the focus on my "semi-biggish project" -- on my worship. These October days are finding me a rhythm I wasn't sure was possible. I'm writing and churning and cranking out this book. Well, I'm stepping and He's leading. It's beautiful and it's hard; especially when I think of the editing and the fears I have associated with them, and especially when I'm tired, or when it's #WeekendWrite and The Boy-Man and I get up together and I've lost my time. And this, up above, how it connects to what I wrote this morning is astounding, miraculous-like -- it just happened without my trying.

This is day 11 of stepping forward -- of pursuing. #ThisIsMyWorship

{31 days} | Stepping Forward :: #bookwrite

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write

It's been four days now and I'm chugging along.

These 31 days aren't a cell to keep me boxed in. They're a rhythm, keeping me close to Him.

It isn't so much the discipline of the doing.

These 31 days are giving me freedom for the telling of a story I am certain now was made for purpose.

I'm flinging the doors open wide and letting people in. 

I'm sharing of a semi-biggish project book I've been working on, more loudly than whisper-thin telling of it.

I'll give color and texture to this writing I'm doing.

Together we'll smell the fresh breeze and see hope splash herself strong.

To do this requires courage that only He can give. He will lead, speak, and guide.

It's a focusing on me and my story, not them and theirs.

All of this doing, I see now, is worship, too.

____________________________________

This is day 4 of stepping forward -- of pursuing. #ThisIsMyWorship

{31 days} | Stepping Forward :: #bookwrite

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