Fleeting desires ravage my heart. They've left little but broken pieces of plans I tried to make and people I've tried to love, yet none of them remain. And now, what of this heart? Tied to people it failed in love, what is it to do? For one more beat in the wrong place may destroy it forever. One more misplaced affection and it may cease to beat at all. And oh, does it stir and burn and pound, but never with surety. Never with the kind of unwavering devotion that compels it to risk, to dive, to leap and to stand strong in the face of the impossible.
What of a heart that has never loved enough to give it all?
A heart no stranger to sacrifice, Yours beats with untamed desire. The raw fury of such love is unparalleled. It's a miracle that a heart can hold so much feeling within its chambers. Yet You give Your heart to break for my hurts, my fears, and my pain. It aches to be made one with my heart.
You touch places in my heart, places of deep longing, and you satisfy them. You touch the places that have hardened out of bitterness and anger, and they become soft. The places that have torn and bled, the scars of past hurts and the wounds that are still bleeding, Your touch restores them all. The places in my heart, dusty with forgotten dreams, You touch and whisper of Your plans, and it comes alive.
You are the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
Where my heart is wayward, yours is sure. Where mine is weak, Yours is strong. Where mine has failed, You make good.
Your pour Your heart into mine, and we beat together. With each lub-dub, I hear Your name for me. BEL-OVED. BEL-OVED. BEL-OVED.
BE-LOVED....
and I am learning to trust You with that.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Friday, October 25, 2013
To See Through His Eyes
I had a conversation with a woman the other day and she told me the most profound and beautiful thing. We were talking about her dad, a photographer... and she told me, "My dad has an eye for beauty. Growing up, my dad would always pause and stop to show us things he found beautiful. It didn't matter whether we were on family trips, in whatever we were doing, my dad would always point things out and say "isn't that beautiful?" It wasn't that he just saw beauty, he shared it. It came to the point that when I was out on my own, I could see his work and know it was his before I ever read the name, because he had taught me how to see beauty through his eyes."
I find this so incredibly beautiful... because doesn't our Heavenly father do that with us? When we are young, he takes us into the world. He takes us by the hand and he leads us into places, and he shows us things that he finds beautiful. We know His heart by the things He calls beautiful. And if we grow with Him and journey with Him, our definition of beauty is shaped by learning to see beauty through His eyes. We begin to see as He see's. I think that is so amazing.
Then she shared "I ended up becoming and artist myself, because with a father like that, how could I not?" It was a beautiful picture of becoming more like her dad just because she spent time being around him... I just love that!!! I hope that, in spending time with my heavenly Father, a creator of beauty, that someday I can say "I became like my dad... because how could I not?" He is good.
I find this so incredibly beautiful... because doesn't our Heavenly father do that with us? When we are young, he takes us into the world. He takes us by the hand and he leads us into places, and he shows us things that he finds beautiful. We know His heart by the things He calls beautiful. And if we grow with Him and journey with Him, our definition of beauty is shaped by learning to see beauty through His eyes. We begin to see as He see's. I think that is so amazing.
Then she shared "I ended up becoming and artist myself, because with a father like that, how could I not?" It was a beautiful picture of becoming more like her dad just because she spent time being around him... I just love that!!! I hope that, in spending time with my heavenly Father, a creator of beauty, that someday I can say "I became like my dad... because how could I not?" He is good.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Voices of Truth
It starts so young.
If you were to think back to the first time someone discouraged you, to re-form the first memory you have of someone telling you that you weren't enough, you wouldn't have to dig very hard in your mind. Hey, maybe it's not hard to dig up at all, because it is attached to many subsequent memories where other voices spoke and reaffirmed this discouragement over you... some voices who purposely meant to tear you down, and some voices who had no idea that their words were ripping open a deep wound in your heart.
Could you do the same thing with your first memory of someone encouraging you?
Does it take longer?
I only ask because for myself, now "adult" by definition, I still hear clearly the voices of discouragement in my head... the voices that I heard when I was young.
They are not merely voices of schoolyard taunts... and while those exist, they are not so loud as the words spoken by voices of adults in my life growing up. Voices of teachers and church leaders and parents and whoever else had significant influence in my life... and somehow my capacity to retain the negative is pretty great.
I get that I was not an easy child. I know for anyone who had to teach or lead me in any capacity that I could be fairly unruly. I sought attention. I was loud and distracting.
I wasn't trying to be those things.
Truly, I was lost. I was lonely. I was desperate. I was acting out of unmet needs.
And I am not saying it is the responsibility of anyone to have filled those, and I am fortunate enough to have grown up in a home where I was loved, and where I was given the precious gift of seeing a relationship with Christ modeled.
I say this only because in my life, my acceptance of these lies from years ago has not been dealt with, and it's preventing me from moving forward into the fullness and freedom of what God has for me. Bigger than that, it is starting to sink in that I can't change what was said to me, but I can let it change how I speak to others.
Especially kids.
I volunteer in sunday school at my church, and to put it nicely, it is not an easy job. It's like a room full of little Jessicas. Loud. Crazy. Slightly unruly.
It's hard, and sometimes my nerves get stretched like a bungee cord... but when I step back and remember that I was just like them, and I realize that I have no idea what circumstances they are coming from and what needs in them that haven't been met, I am suddenly a thousand times more conscious of what is coming out of my mouth.
Because I don't want to be a voice of discouragement that they still remember when they are 21.
I want them to have felt loved for the time that I got to spend with them. I want to encourage them and celebrate the little things and have their respect, without speaking rashly when things get a little too nuts in there.
We have the amazing ability to speak truth and grace and love into people's lives. We can be the voice of encouragement that sticks out in a child's mind 20 years from now, just by cheering for them. We can help shape and mold the kids that will become leaders and shapers and encouragers... heck, we can do this with people older than us too!
I have torn down people's identities with harsh words and rash reactions... but my prayer is that God would empower and enable me (and all of us!) with His Holy Spirit to stamp out lies and bring freedom from those voices.
It all points back to the cross. Jesus showed us how much people are worth to Him when He died on the cross. He would have done it for one... but He did it for all. Father God.... show us Your heart for people, so that we may love them with Your love where our love ceases to extend, and so that Your life-giving truth would be spoken with our voices.
If you were to think back to the first time someone discouraged you, to re-form the first memory you have of someone telling you that you weren't enough, you wouldn't have to dig very hard in your mind. Hey, maybe it's not hard to dig up at all, because it is attached to many subsequent memories where other voices spoke and reaffirmed this discouragement over you... some voices who purposely meant to tear you down, and some voices who had no idea that their words were ripping open a deep wound in your heart.
Could you do the same thing with your first memory of someone encouraging you?
Does it take longer?
I only ask because for myself, now "adult" by definition, I still hear clearly the voices of discouragement in my head... the voices that I heard when I was young.
They are not merely voices of schoolyard taunts... and while those exist, they are not so loud as the words spoken by voices of adults in my life growing up. Voices of teachers and church leaders and parents and whoever else had significant influence in my life... and somehow my capacity to retain the negative is pretty great.
I get that I was not an easy child. I know for anyone who had to teach or lead me in any capacity that I could be fairly unruly. I sought attention. I was loud and distracting.
I wasn't trying to be those things.
Truly, I was lost. I was lonely. I was desperate. I was acting out of unmet needs.
And I am not saying it is the responsibility of anyone to have filled those, and I am fortunate enough to have grown up in a home where I was loved, and where I was given the precious gift of seeing a relationship with Christ modeled.
I say this only because in my life, my acceptance of these lies from years ago has not been dealt with, and it's preventing me from moving forward into the fullness and freedom of what God has for me. Bigger than that, it is starting to sink in that I can't change what was said to me, but I can let it change how I speak to others.
Especially kids.
I volunteer in sunday school at my church, and to put it nicely, it is not an easy job. It's like a room full of little Jessicas. Loud. Crazy. Slightly unruly.
It's hard, and sometimes my nerves get stretched like a bungee cord... but when I step back and remember that I was just like them, and I realize that I have no idea what circumstances they are coming from and what needs in them that haven't been met, I am suddenly a thousand times more conscious of what is coming out of my mouth.
Because I don't want to be a voice of discouragement that they still remember when they are 21.
I want them to have felt loved for the time that I got to spend with them. I want to encourage them and celebrate the little things and have their respect, without speaking rashly when things get a little too nuts in there.
We have the amazing ability to speak truth and grace and love into people's lives. We can be the voice of encouragement that sticks out in a child's mind 20 years from now, just by cheering for them. We can help shape and mold the kids that will become leaders and shapers and encouragers... heck, we can do this with people older than us too!
I have torn down people's identities with harsh words and rash reactions... but my prayer is that God would empower and enable me (and all of us!) with His Holy Spirit to stamp out lies and bring freedom from those voices.
It all points back to the cross. Jesus showed us how much people are worth to Him when He died on the cross. He would have done it for one... but He did it for all. Father God.... show us Your heart for people, so that we may love them with Your love where our love ceases to extend, and so that Your life-giving truth would be spoken with our voices.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
The Father heart
I was listening to a song by Casting Crowns today entitled Who Am I. It's somewhat ironic because I feel like I ask myself that question on a daily basis. Here I am, just like every other twenty-something year old, wondering about my purpose, about what I am created to do... who am I?
Tonight, as the song played, this line fell on my heart and settled there.
"You told me who I am,
I am yours."
It is so beautifully simple.
I belong to the Most High God. I am His daughter. I am His beloved. I am His created. I am His.
What else really matters?
When I focus on who I am (or rather, who I think I should be), I became entangled in pursuits and achievements and successes, all set by someone else's standard. I become discouraged, because I try so hard to be someone that it is not natural for me to be based on snippets of other people I admire (and fail.)
When I lock eyes with my heavenly Father, He unleashes the fullness of His dad love for me. He tells me I am beautiful. He tells me He is proud of me. He tells me He delights in me. He tells me that I am loved. My identity is breathed by the words of my heavenly dad... and when I accept these truths, I know who I am. I am not a modge-podge of people I admire... I am fearfully and wonderfully made, uniquely and intricately poured into by my Father in a way that no one else can replicate. I am freed to be as He created me to be.
Pastor Daniel Zopoula spoke on father`s day about the important role a father plays in us knowing who we are... and, in his awesome Daniel way, he used the Lion King to drive the message home.
"Anyone who listens to the word, but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at his face, goes away and forgets what He looks like"
James 1:23-24
We need our Father to remind us who we are, because we are so prone to forgetting!
"I already know Him, because I know you."
It is awesome that we, freed to love and dream and serve out of knowing we are loved, live lives that point to our Father. People can encounter the Father heart of God by us living out of the love we have received.
Dad's are such a big deal.
When I was growing up, people always told me I look like my dad. I never realized what a profound compliment that was. My heart's desire to embrace who I am in Christ, that other's may see my Father in me.
It's funny too, as I read through the Bible you often read "So and so, son of [insert fathers name here]" and that is how they are identified... they are introduced as sons, tied to the name of their Father. That is weighty!
Can you imagine the declaration we would be making if we did this with our heavenly father?
"Hi, I'm Jessica, daughter of God. Nice to meet you!"
I think that's what it might take for some of us to really start to embrace our identities as princes and princesses.
Daddy love is tender. If you see dad's with their kids, you see grown men turned to gush. Manly men who will drink imaginary tea with pinky out and wear nail polish and trade in their harley for a minivan because they love that much/
How much moreso God for us?
He told us who we are, in fact, He gave His only son to bring us all under His roof!
WE ARE HIS.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Jesus Wants the Rose
There is One that gave her life...
He created her. Shaped her. He grew her from a little seed, a seed of Himself. He grew her to make known His beauty; and she grew well! A once tiny seed, she blossomed like the most lovely of roses. Delicate, like petals, and adorned with thorns, for when He created her, He had a plan to protect her. The thorns would discourage curious hands from crushing His created, for she was fragile. As she grew, His seed in her, He pruned and prepared her. He watered her roots and sustained her life.
Yes, He had created her beautifully. It was a beauty, not just of her face, but that radiated from her heart, from the place where that tiny seed had grown. Other's noticed her beauty... other's that wanted it for their own.
There is one who wished her dead...
He knew of her creation, and he despised it. He saw her beauty, and He sought to destroy it, for that seed in her carried a weapon far too powerful to overcome. He saw, in that tiny seed, a battle he'd already lost.
But that mattered little, because he would claim this one. He would ravage the beauty of the created. Unable to unleash the full extent of his hate, for his power was limited, he devised an evil scheme, He had a plan to seduce her, to steal the Creator's beloved away.
He was gentle at first. He handled her with care, or so she thought. He whispered sweet nothings while pulling away the thorns, so carefully placed by the Maker's hands, the thorns that were there to guard her heart. And soon, she was stripped of her guard. He aroused in her desires that she thought he could fulfill. Her fragrance was sweet, innocence and purity. He drew her into his chambers, and in a moment of vulnerability, naked and delicate, he plucked her, that beautiful rose, right from it's roots.Taken out of this place, she was lost. What he had promised her was so fleeting; so meaningless.
A petal fell, and so did her tears.
Away from the garden, separated from the Maker, she searched for the acceptance and love she had known when she had her roots. She placed herself in the empty promises of man, but rather than sustain her, her hollowness only grew. She was wilted and crushed, passed through many different hands and cast aside when her beauty had been sampled. Her petals fell, and her heart felt weak.
A ravaged beauty. A shell of what she had been created to be. And with every desperate clutch at love, she kept crying out "Who could ever want someone like me?".
He did.
Her Creator saw her. He longed for her. His heart ached for His created one. He wanted her, with a love so ardent and strong. Even as the gaze of man subsided as her beauty was stripped away by careless hands, He could think only of restoring her, of drawing her back to His life giving waters.
And so He was present, in every moment she cried out "Who could want me?", He bellowed back, "I DO!" He waited for the day where her ears would hear His cry for her. When she would realize that He never stopped desiring her. That he'd been waiting all this time.
And so she found herself in another pair of hands, her worth shattered around her like the fallen petals of a rose on the ground. And just like every other night before, she gave in, the same desperate anthem raising from her heart. Her blood burned in her veins as the inward cry pounded out, "WHO COULD EVER WANT ME?" And it pounded against that seed of a that love she once knew.
I DO.
She was surprised. She could swear she heard her a familiar voice, a long lost love forsaken... but how could anyone love her now?
I DO.
She heard it again. Hope, a foreign substance, flowed through a heart she once thought dead. How could she dare allow that in her heart, when so many wounds had been inflicted on her heart by disappointed hopes.
I DO.
It was tantalizing... and yet her heart was so hesitant.
I DO!
She knew this voice! The voice of her Creator... and with this recognition, the seed in her heart burst. The roots of LOVE overwhelmed the lies and rejection, broke apart the hardness of sadness and despair. The love of the Creator washed over her from head to toe. Restoration and freedom danced in her mind and trampled out fear. He wanted her!!!
It was the greatest love story ever told. It is our story. It is the raw fury and power of the Creator's love for us that empowers us, frees us, and inspires us. It sets our hearts to praise.
It is the story of a Bridegroom standing at the altar, forever making Himself one with the bride He loves, and it began with a little seed.
Yes, there was one who sought her destruction,
but there is One who's blood cries VICTORY for the hearts of those who believe,
One who gave her life
eternally and forever,
to make her His.
He created her. Shaped her. He grew her from a little seed, a seed of Himself. He grew her to make known His beauty; and she grew well! A once tiny seed, she blossomed like the most lovely of roses. Delicate, like petals, and adorned with thorns, for when He created her, He had a plan to protect her. The thorns would discourage curious hands from crushing His created, for she was fragile. As she grew, His seed in her, He pruned and prepared her. He watered her roots and sustained her life.
Yes, He had created her beautifully. It was a beauty, not just of her face, but that radiated from her heart, from the place where that tiny seed had grown. Other's noticed her beauty... other's that wanted it for their own.
There is one who wished her dead...
He knew of her creation, and he despised it. He saw her beauty, and He sought to destroy it, for that seed in her carried a weapon far too powerful to overcome. He saw, in that tiny seed, a battle he'd already lost.
But that mattered little, because he would claim this one. He would ravage the beauty of the created. Unable to unleash the full extent of his hate, for his power was limited, he devised an evil scheme, He had a plan to seduce her, to steal the Creator's beloved away.
He was gentle at first. He handled her with care, or so she thought. He whispered sweet nothings while pulling away the thorns, so carefully placed by the Maker's hands, the thorns that were there to guard her heart. And soon, she was stripped of her guard. He aroused in her desires that she thought he could fulfill. Her fragrance was sweet, innocence and purity. He drew her into his chambers, and in a moment of vulnerability, naked and delicate, he plucked her, that beautiful rose, right from it's roots.Taken out of this place, she was lost. What he had promised her was so fleeting; so meaningless.
A petal fell, and so did her tears.
Away from the garden, separated from the Maker, she searched for the acceptance and love she had known when she had her roots. She placed herself in the empty promises of man, but rather than sustain her, her hollowness only grew. She was wilted and crushed, passed through many different hands and cast aside when her beauty had been sampled. Her petals fell, and her heart felt weak.
A ravaged beauty. A shell of what she had been created to be. And with every desperate clutch at love, she kept crying out "Who could ever want someone like me?".
He did.
Her Creator saw her. He longed for her. His heart ached for His created one. He wanted her, with a love so ardent and strong. Even as the gaze of man subsided as her beauty was stripped away by careless hands, He could think only of restoring her, of drawing her back to His life giving waters.
And so He was present, in every moment she cried out "Who could want me?", He bellowed back, "I DO!" He waited for the day where her ears would hear His cry for her. When she would realize that He never stopped desiring her. That he'd been waiting all this time.
And so she found herself in another pair of hands, her worth shattered around her like the fallen petals of a rose on the ground. And just like every other night before, she gave in, the same desperate anthem raising from her heart. Her blood burned in her veins as the inward cry pounded out, "WHO COULD EVER WANT ME?" And it pounded against that seed of a that love she once knew.
I DO.
She was surprised. She could swear she heard her a familiar voice, a long lost love forsaken... but how could anyone love her now?
I DO.
She heard it again. Hope, a foreign substance, flowed through a heart she once thought dead. How could she dare allow that in her heart, when so many wounds had been inflicted on her heart by disappointed hopes.
I DO.
It was tantalizing... and yet her heart was so hesitant.
I DO!
She knew this voice! The voice of her Creator... and with this recognition, the seed in her heart burst. The roots of LOVE overwhelmed the lies and rejection, broke apart the hardness of sadness and despair. The love of the Creator washed over her from head to toe. Restoration and freedom danced in her mind and trampled out fear. He wanted her!!!
It was the greatest love story ever told. It is our story. It is the raw fury and power of the Creator's love for us that empowers us, frees us, and inspires us. It sets our hearts to praise.
It is the story of a Bridegroom standing at the altar, forever making Himself one with the bride He loves, and it began with a little seed.
Yes, there was one who sought her destruction,
but there is One who's blood cries VICTORY for the hearts of those who believe,
One who gave her life
eternally and forever,
to make her His.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
All things, apart from Christ, are meaningless.
All my pursuits are so empty when void of Christ.
The longer I have tried to sustain myself, the more I have fought an internal battle. The more I tried to draw strength from my own shallow well, the faster I dried up. Months of trying to fill that well with other things have pushed me to the point of breaking.
My heart is stirred. Convicted. My throat is on fire, and it's a fire that is starting to extend to the most intimate places of my heart. A desire to find God in the places I have placed substitutes, and where I have made excuses.
The most revolutionary, heart transforming truth I know in this moment is that God loves me so much. That all of these struggles over the past months, all of the pain I faced as consequences of my decisions... it's all been part of a refining process. I'm going through the fire, but it is not setting me ablaze... like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, there is a presence with me in the flames, and the only heat I feel is the burning in my heart to go deeper. To embrace who Christ has made me to be. To enjoy the amazing process of getting to know the heart of my God more.
It's time to face this battle with praise in my heart and my eyes on Christ.
All my pursuits are so empty when void of Christ.
The longer I have tried to sustain myself, the more I have fought an internal battle. The more I tried to draw strength from my own shallow well, the faster I dried up. Months of trying to fill that well with other things have pushed me to the point of breaking.
My heart is stirred. Convicted. My throat is on fire, and it's a fire that is starting to extend to the most intimate places of my heart. A desire to find God in the places I have placed substitutes, and where I have made excuses.
The most revolutionary, heart transforming truth I know in this moment is that God loves me so much. That all of these struggles over the past months, all of the pain I faced as consequences of my decisions... it's all been part of a refining process. I'm going through the fire, but it is not setting me ablaze... like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, there is a presence with me in the flames, and the only heat I feel is the burning in my heart to go deeper. To embrace who Christ has made me to be. To enjoy the amazing process of getting to know the heart of my God more.
It's time to face this battle with praise in my heart and my eyes on Christ.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Oh heavy heart,
embrace your Maker
let the tears slide down
and stain the paper
Bring your heart
before your Jesus
all the shame
and broken pieces
To the throne
of the God most High,
I bring my cares
and heartfelt cries
And as I cry out
to the ear He lends
He offers me hope
and peace that transcends
my understanding
and my fear
He whispers
"Child, I am here".
To the cross
and my Savior's feet,
I bring my cares,
I bring my needs
My weaknesses
and incompleteness
the hole I need to fill
with Jesus
I take the hand
of the One I love,
I claim His truth,
I sing His song.
For it's His stripes
that ransomed me,
it's His blood
that set me free.
My heart, once heavy
grace-collided
the sadness in it
soon subsided.
My light, my life,
amazing grace
a Love so ardent
took it's place.
embrace your Maker
let the tears slide down
and stain the paper
Bring your heart
before your Jesus
all the shame
and broken pieces
To the throne
of the God most High,
I bring my cares
and heartfelt cries
And as I cry out
to the ear He lends
He offers me hope
and peace that transcends
my understanding
and my fear
He whispers
"Child, I am here".
To the cross
and my Savior's feet,
I bring my cares,
I bring my needs
My weaknesses
and incompleteness
the hole I need to fill
with Jesus
I take the hand
of the One I love,
I claim His truth,
I sing His song.
For it's His stripes
that ransomed me,
it's His blood
that set me free.
My heart, once heavy
grace-collided
the sadness in it
soon subsided.
My light, my life,
amazing grace
a Love so ardent
took it's place.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
He watches
He watches,
as a little cry
carries out into the night,
a first breath sucked in,
a life.
A light behind the eyes of a baby girl.
He watches,
as she takes in the world,
runs into life with her fists unfurled,
a princess, crowned with ribbons and curls
And oh! The dreams in the mind of this little girl
He delights
when she takes a breath,
excited about something she doesn't understand yet.
As He shows her His love,
and she responds "yes"
Salvation changed the heart of this little girl.
He delights,
as she grows with Him,
as she comes to Him,
as she gives love to Him,
and He gives her His,
because He made her for this.
Oh, the love He pours on this growing girl.
He watches
as the world takes a hold,
as it draws her gaze,
as it pushes her down.
As the lies sink in,
and her heart grows sad,
and her eyes fill with despair.
He watches,
as she struggles to find
a love that fills the hole inside.
As she fills that hole
with satan's lies,
oh, the longing in the heart of this young girl.
And He fights,
because she is His,
and He did not create her for this,
to have her princess gown torn
and her heart flung aside
so He fights for the heart of His precious girl.
He watches,
as she realizes
she is loved fully,
that she is desired.
That His delight is in her,
and He's given her life.
He watches as she chooses Him instead,
Oh, the joy it brought His heart when she did.
And so He watches,
as she stands on His promises,
embraces His plans,
and soaks in His presence.
He delights
in this woman she's become,
the one He knew that she was all along,
and He delights in the praise that pours from this woman's heart.
And He watches,
as another cry
pierces through another night,
a first breath taken in the arms of a woman
holding her baby girl.
as a little cry
carries out into the night,
a first breath sucked in,
a life.
A light behind the eyes of a baby girl.
He watches,
as she takes in the world,
runs into life with her fists unfurled,
a princess, crowned with ribbons and curls
And oh! The dreams in the mind of this little girl
He delights
when she takes a breath,
excited about something she doesn't understand yet.
As He shows her His love,
and she responds "yes"
Salvation changed the heart of this little girl.
He delights,
as she grows with Him,
as she comes to Him,
as she gives love to Him,
and He gives her His,
because He made her for this.
Oh, the love He pours on this growing girl.
He watches
as the world takes a hold,
as it draws her gaze,
as it pushes her down.
As the lies sink in,
and her heart grows sad,
and her eyes fill with despair.
He watches,
as she struggles to find
a love that fills the hole inside.
As she fills that hole
with satan's lies,
oh, the longing in the heart of this young girl.
And He fights,
because she is His,
and He did not create her for this,
to have her princess gown torn
and her heart flung aside
so He fights for the heart of His precious girl.
He watches,
as she realizes
she is loved fully,
that she is desired.
That His delight is in her,
and He's given her life.
He watches as she chooses Him instead,
Oh, the joy it brought His heart when she did.
And so He watches,
as she stands on His promises,
embraces His plans,
and soaks in His presence.
He delights
in this woman she's become,
the one He knew that she was all along,
and He delights in the praise that pours from this woman's heart.
And He watches,
as another cry
pierces through another night,
a first breath taken in the arms of a woman
holding her baby girl.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
I love the feeling of stepping out of a tent into that yellow haze, the time of morning when the sun is just beginning to greet the ground through the trees. And as the earth welcomes her warmth to steal the frostiness from the air, you feel, in some profound way, alive.
Is it the newness of the day that draws me from my slumber, when I can tangibly feel the change in the air? Or is it something else?
Is it the newness of the day that draws me from my slumber, when I can tangibly feel the change in the air? Or is it something else?
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Friday, February 1, 2013
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Saturday, January 5, 2013
heart spillings
Recently, I have taken up painting. I don't know what first stirred the desire in my soul. Perhaps it's an itching of the heart to express oneself that tickles the fingertips into action; but for whatever reason, I found myself with a paintbrush in my hands and a blank canvas on my lap.
I now love painting.
I love the intimacy of having a canvas to splash your soul upon, and this may be why I will never look at art the same again, for who can judge that which a person chooses to express? Who can critique an outpouring of the heart? Art may be created for the eyes to see, but it's meant to provoke the heart and stir the soul. What one creates is the result of a provoked soul itself, in all it's inspiration and frustration and consideration... it's a beautiful thing. How much more beautiful to touch someone else's soul through art?
I feel such freedom when I sit down to paint, for the moments that I have a paintbrush in my hand, I am not agonizing over what people want to see. I am free to unleash myself. I pay no mind to who will care if I paint a brushstroke here or there... my soul is battering at the door of my consciousness and who am I to cage it?
I kind of wonder if this is how God felt as He created the world. And when you think of painting and how you can pour your heart into an expression of yourself... how much more so did God do that with us? That is so exciting to me. I love the thought of God pouring Himself into me when He created me. I love thinking of Him painting the sunrises and sunsets for my pleasure... He is my favorite artist.
I like thinking I was made to express my love for Him. I was made to be creative and write and paint and dance and sing and give glory to the One who poured Himself into creating me first, loving me first.
Kind of amazing, isn't it?
I now love painting.
I love the intimacy of having a canvas to splash your soul upon, and this may be why I will never look at art the same again, for who can judge that which a person chooses to express? Who can critique an outpouring of the heart? Art may be created for the eyes to see, but it's meant to provoke the heart and stir the soul. What one creates is the result of a provoked soul itself, in all it's inspiration and frustration and consideration... it's a beautiful thing. How much more beautiful to touch someone else's soul through art?
I feel such freedom when I sit down to paint, for the moments that I have a paintbrush in my hand, I am not agonizing over what people want to see. I am free to unleash myself. I pay no mind to who will care if I paint a brushstroke here or there... my soul is battering at the door of my consciousness and who am I to cage it?
I kind of wonder if this is how God felt as He created the world. And when you think of painting and how you can pour your heart into an expression of yourself... how much more so did God do that with us? That is so exciting to me. I love the thought of God pouring Himself into me when He created me. I love thinking of Him painting the sunrises and sunsets for my pleasure... He is my favorite artist.
I like thinking I was made to express my love for Him. I was made to be creative and write and paint and dance and sing and give glory to the One who poured Himself into creating me first, loving me first.
Kind of amazing, isn't it?
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