itchy

I find myself saying it over and over again.

How I want to jump out of it. My skin.

The excitement is palpable. Itchy almost. 

I want to get there -- to where my visions lie.

But this process is necessary.

And I'm not so anxious that I dread the Now.

I'm just excited for what my heart knows deep inside.

Every single moment of my life has led up to this one.

The truth of this is incredibly overwhelming.

I tell two people and they both say the same thing, "it's almost scary."

And yeah, it is. But, I think . . .

What if I didn't do what I did all those times?

That's where it's most scary to me.

What if I didn't say Yes when I was invited to do this or that?

I can see how all those willing moments connect to each other. 

Glimpses of God is what I see.

Almost like a little boy crouching behind a fence, scurrying from one corner of someone's lawn to another.

Smiling. Spying. Scheming.

Excited is my God. For the plans He has for me.

Just like a Boy-Man who has a fun game to play and wants everyone to play along, too.

It's not trickery. It's joy-sharing.

This is a metamorphic moment in my life.

For now, I'm crawling low on the ground, scurrying and slinking.

I admit how I reach for everything and anything to feed me, to fill the gaping holes in me.

It's obvious to me how He wants to be my Food. My Fill. My Whole.

He wants me to trust that great things can come of broken, prideful, dangerous me.

I think of David and how he was so far from perfect. And yet, God chose him and used him.

He tells me my story is for purpose and every moment allowed to make way for beauty.

I remember how brilliant colors are most pronounced on dark canvas.

He shows me how Holy is already a part of me.

I think of David and how he declared. Even though he doubted, he declared.

His love for me is so overwhelming. How He keeps on working at me.

I'm headed to more declaring these days. For the hope I am certain of.

And I'm doing more grace-receiving. For me. Just as I am.

Share your heart . . . add a comment below.

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uncertain

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hearing

Kris Camealy is a writer who God has made my friend and who recently launched a book called, Holey, Wholly, Holy. I devoured her words with a hunger to be ever closer to Wholeness. I keep going back to it these days, sipping the truth and steeping in the richness of life that death to self has to offer. I have so much more to say about this book -- it isn't for everyone at once, it's for everyone at different times. Because, truly, there are seasons to life and we are wise to let Him percolate willingness in us to really begin to see the depths of His love; to go there really is transforming and awe-embarking. 

teamwork

Thinking only of himself, the boy scampers to find eggs on his own and greed is evident.  He wanted the prize to himself and he didn't want to share the excitement.

When we talk with him about including others and working together to find the eggs, he whines and makes up excuses not to have the conversation.  "But, I'm tired...I'm hungry..."

We're just like that sometimes.

I wanted everything perfectly sweet and fun, and because it wasn't turning out that way I wanted to yell at the boy and scream that this is how it is.

Then I wanted to give up and walk away.

I wanted to do the very same thing this six-year-old was doing.  It wasn't fun at that moment and it wasn't perfectly sweet.  It was hard to see the ugly.  The ugly in the boy's attitude - his pride and selfish greed.  And the ugly in my thoughts to want to walk away.

And then there was Grace.

God used the worldly-fun we created 
                          and He made it an opportunity for us to worship.

In his eggs the boy finds a stone and it reads: teamwork.

And right then, God showed me the importance of staying through the discomfort and talking it through.

Teamwork became our focus.

I tell the boy about soccer and how only some people get a goal, and how in spite of that the whole team is invited to the celebration.

The boy wonders what soccer has to do with eggs and I just smile.

I think of Peter (and John) rushing to the tomb where Jesus was laid to rest, and how they finally believed Him when they saw His body was gone.  I wonder in that moment - what if they had kept that truth for themselves?  

Living is a huge responsibility.  It's about so much more than ourselves.

We have a responsibility with our lives to choose carefully - not living for ourselves, but to include others - to lay down our lives {our wants, our prizes, our goals}, and invite others to the party.

Teamwork is what God intended when He chose not to make Eve, a companion for Adam.  And when God freed the Israelites, He didn't just do it Himself.  He assembled a team of participants in His Story.

We tell the boy about how we include others in our house.  We invite others in and to be a part of our activity.

I quietly pray our hearts would invite others to the real celebration that is yet to come.

And then, when we moved on from our conversation, hope stirs in my heart as the boy quietly, yet excitedly, comes up to whisper something important to me:

"I believe {in God}, Mama!"

Lord, I pray that you would teach us everyday what it means to give up everything for you - including our *greed for the excitement of life*.  Life isn't fair, and I pray you would help us to know that truth and to press closer to you and honor you by the way we love others.

Thank you, Lord,  for Peter and John, and Mary and so many others who shared the Good News of your resurrection.

And thank you, Lord, for the people in my own life who included me in their *excitement for you*.  

Give us *your heart* for teamwork, Father.

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Unwrapped *Gifts* of {Grace}...

...enjoying intimacy with my groom...

...green grace and colorful flowers...

...preparing a meal together...

...full out laughter in bed...

...a gentle voice - an answer to prayer when all I'd been hearing was hardness...

...an idea for a book...

...a friend's honesty of *who* I was serving...

...feeling my spirit as I swim...

...piano practice with the boy not being so hard...

...waking to find it was only a {bad} dream...

...joy in our home...

...*seeing* how I encourage living in freedom, and how God brought me to this place...

a really *crazy* idea

I think it's *funny*.  It'll surely not happen.  Yet, it's something I've always said I wanted to do, and something that won't leave my mind.

It's still funny, though.  Quite a {silly} idea.  I haven't lived all the way to the end of my story yet, and since I decided that I don't need to run a marathon in my life, (even though it is also something I've always said I wanted to do) I think it's crazier still, to be even an inkling of an idea.

Such a {crazy-silly} idea.  

A few have suggested that I *write a book*.  One friend has said I was "born for this."  A family member said I "should think about publishing."  I'm not sure what to think about all of it.  It's {foolish} craziness.  I think, those comments are not meant for me.

It's not as though the two people who said those affirming comments to me don't mean anything to me - they surely do!  Yet, why do I doubt their comment and chuckle them away like some misplaced idea?! Not for me.

No way...


Surely, those comments weren't meant for me.  And yet, two more comments have also somehow stuck inside my noggin, as *crazy* as they sound to me.  Strangers have said that I am "a writer," and that I "write from the heart, and [that I] give gifts of hope and grace and love."  The chick who wrote me that must been mistaken, or perhaps she is just digging deep to be encouraging.  Falsely encouraging.

(For the record, if anything, it's not me who gives those gifts - it's God through me.  And still, I doubt my worth.)

I have no clue how the rest of my story will read.  Yet, for some unexplainable reason I have this incredible excitement bubbling up, almost like a dolphin rising to the surface, giddy about the sunshine she'll see when she gets there, and she bounds up with sheer ecstacy at the joy.  So. Joy. Full.

Another really {crazy} idea of hopefulness has risen up within me recently, and this I can barely even muster the thoughts to share with even my Lord.  It's a child-like joy that for now remains just a sprinkle of hope.  A *glimmer of possibility*.

I picture the middle of an Ocean and its vastness stretching far and wide.  Right there smack dab in the middle there is wonder at how it all connects.  And then I think of *people* and how the world seems so small sometimes, all of us so strangely connected.  So when the Ocean seems so *big* and yet the world seems so *small*, {hope} for the wildest possibilities seems to bubble up with question marks instead of confident exclamation marks.

Holding tight to dreams can keep *hope* alive.

Being aware of how real possibilities can be, and how they just might have a place in your story, keeps *joy* alive.

The awareness that a possibility does not mean a *sure thing*, leads to a risky choice.  Choose hope?

I surely believe that the risk {to choose hope} isn't ever wasted, and the joy is to be lived loudly - exclaimed, even!

So, we'll see where two recent and *colorful* sprinkles of hope will go in my own story.  For now, I am giddy with possibility, and for that I'm incredibly grateful, especially after so many days of doubting that the hope is even worth it.

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What possibilities make you giddy with excitement, even in all their crazy-silliness?  


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Gifts of Gratitude...

#21.  Strength to shovel the driveway when my Groom is too sick to do it himself, and the memory to do it the way he likes.

#22.  How good it feels to say yes to "Huggy Time!" when I know the boy is just delaying shower time, and knowing that he won't always look to me for a comfortable excuse to cuddle!

#23.  The boy's first fish made it two whole days of living in our house - still alive!

#24.  How stretching and breathing deep bring such healing to a worn out and sore body.

#25.  The aroma of brownies baking in the oven.  Heavenly!

#26.  Awareness as my mother is complaining about her own life that her own anxiousness does not need to be placed on me.  I can care, but her worries are her own.  And so I lift her to Jesus, the true Healer.

#27.  A delivery of a dozen roses from the widower next door, as a thank you "for [our] kindness" toward him.

#28.  Seeing the boy and his daddy do their secret handshake, followed by sweet hug, at the door before school.  The sickness of my Groom doesn't keep him down today to see the boy off for his day.

#29.  Hope for {crazy} possibilities.

#30.  Having our family of three together during evening's again after the coach's season concluded.