Thursday, April 11, 2013


She walks in beauty and grace, and I watch her walk, I see her work, and I see her be.  She does all that she can be to everyone that she can be; she is everything for those who are apart at the seams.  And I ask her if anyone ever hurts for her, does her heart ever ache; other than the Father, who cares for those aches that I at times see on her beautiful face.  She hides it well, pouring out who she is, blessing many, caring much.  I tell her that she’s allowed to ache, she’s allowed to hurt, she’s allowed to fall apart, to be broken.  She does well at being love, and I know Jesus cares for her heart; but I tell her it’s ok.  It’s ok to not always be whole; it’s ok to not always be everything for everyone.  I’ve only seen it once, but I know the tears come.  They come, and fall like rain; but few are allowed to see them.  So I watch, on this side, but always seeing.  Knowing.  

My heart seems to be an odd kind of full this evening; I feel like there is little to say except express my grateful.  
I'm so grateful for extravagant grace, for calm in the middle of a crazy turmoil. 
 Grateful that in the middle of not knowing or understanding, there is One in control.  
Grateful that He is sovereign.  Grateful for forgiveness.  
Grateful that each morning His mercies are new.
Grateful for Him.
Grateful for the Blood.
Grateful for the love that I cannot ever begin to fully grasp.
Grateful for His song over me.
Grateful that He was dis-membered, so that I in all my ugly could be re-membered.
Grateful that not only do I get to go to the foot of the cross,
but also grateful that I get to go to the tomb expecting resurrection.
Grateful that Easter can be every day.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013


Broken, shattered promises fall by the side of a well-worn road.
Ache pours from hearts as heaven reaches down and touches throbbing anguish.
He, Abba, says, "I love you."
Yet we fight it.
We don't believe His love or grace could touch OUR scars.
He can touch everyone's scars but ours.
We believe we aren't worthy.
We forget that He reached out to David in his sin, a man after God's own heart.
We acknowledge that He reached out to the adulteress woman, a Daughter in His eyes.
Yet we refuse to believe that that grace extends to us.
We read how He went to Zacchaeus's house, broken yet repentant man changed.
We bless Mary Magdalene for washing His feet, scorned Daughter, renewed.
We boldly say that the Bible is truth.
We've forgotten the power of the cross.
We've forgotten that love broke open that day.
We've forgotten that death was overcome.
We've overlooked that love won.
In our all tender shatter selves,
Trying to hold every piece of our aching souls together,
We've forgotten that the blood was given for us.
Love at it's messiest, purest form.
Ache so real for us it bled.
Tears so anguished.
We refuse to accept it.
Our Daddy holds out His hands.
Heart open for all to see.
The One who cries with us.
Shares our pain.
Knows our deepest fears, dreams, and desires.
Knows US.
Calls us, "Daughter, Son."

Is it going to those deepest darkest places that will get us there?  The aching wounds that have been buried so long for fear of man?  Fear of the unknown?  Fear that Satan blatantly puts into our lives, yet it's like we've become so blinded to the lies he throws at us.  We've believed that love can't reach us.  We believe that no one else struggles with what we struggle with.  We're on our own.  We've believed redemption is to far.  We live Christian.  We breathe Christian.  We talk Christian.  Yet we ourselves in our outside lives, don't love true love.  That may sound harsh but we don't.  I'm talking that broken love that cries over sin, breaks for the one struggling with sin.  Broken love that realizes that we ourselves are the very sinners we judge.  Broken love that finally becomes real, when walls break, hearts fall humble before God and man.  Real pours out, ugly real, beautiful real; real that starts to set free, opens doors, breaks chains, blesses, changes, brings love.  And how He waits.
So patiently.
Holy broken.
Eyes full of love.
Heart waiting.

“The cross is the lightning rod of grace that short-circuits God’s wrath to Christ so that only the light of His love remains for believers.” ~ A. W. Tozer