Abandonment

The word resonates within me. 

A friend has challenged me on a deeper definition. And so I sit with journal in hand on a dock in mist rising, thinking.

...

Forsaken. Left to suffer alone. 

Given up utterly, completely, recklessly.

Abandonment is not often viewed as a positive concept or source of security, yet it has two definitions, and Christ lived them both. 

Unrestrained surrender. 

Unparalleled rejection. 

His life was one of sacrifice, and to Him that sacrifice was joy. A life of abandon. 

This is the life He asks of me. This abandonment lived out on a day-to-day basis.  

The actuality of living the concept is a slippery one, yet not entirely out of reach. 

My life must be surrendered. It must become not my own. And more than that, I have to crave this kind of life, or else I will never be able to live it. 

Abandonment is not an easy road. It hurts. And there is no skirting the pain. 

I must learn to treasure sacrifice and call it joy. I must learn contentment when I am utterly poured out, completely given. I must show compassion even when I feel it least. 

My life must become a gift. And I must be content to give that gift at cost to myself. 

It will cost. No question. But the cost is worthwhile. 

No question. 

Lighted Eyes

I always learn a lot through people watching. 

Heightened perception sometimes allows me to notice subtleties that others miss.

The past few weeks have given me ample opportunity for such activities. A week of VBS followed hard by joyful wedding preparations culminating in a beautiful ceremony. Four lives committed to their Savior. A weekend event highlighting missions.

Now I'm home again, for a few short days, reveling in quietness and contemplation of days past.

It's the eyes that hold me.

Eyes lighted with an undimmed brilliance. Eyes that have tasted freedom. Eyes filled with a new love.

There is nothing better than seeing luster kindled behind the eyes of my friends, and I call a lot of people friends.
You are my friend, and I want to see your eyes lighted too.

If your eyes have grown dull, Love's gleams are waiting at your command because my God is a Chain-Breaker. He opens prison doors, sets captives free, heals brokenness, ignites new love.

Will you let Him? If you are unsure of how, I would love to share.

I want to see you with lighted eyes.

Unpack the Power

Prayer = power.

I've heard it countless times before.

Yet this past weekend as I sat beneath the great white expanse of a makeshift meeting place, something the speaker said suddenly grabbed my attention.

"Unpack the prayer. Unpack the power."

Hand reaches for phone. Fingers type quickly.
Eyes return to the front, yet somehow my mind is slow to follow.

The thought strikes me.

Fail to pray and you forfeit the power.

How often do I really, really pray?
I mean, the kind of prayer that you know has Power behind it?

It's a challenge to me.

Unpack the prayer. Unpack the Power.

Strength Costs

The clock ticks loud seconds away behind me. My arms and legs pulse to constant rhythm. Heavy breathing. Aching muscles. Active mind. 

Strength comes at a price. 

Discipline. Determination. Sacrifice. 

Light bulb moment in the basement. 

My strength — it’s not mine at all. It comes at a price. 

Sacrifice is the buzz word. 

If He hadn’t determined to sacrifice, if He hadn’t determined to give His life, my strength would be nothingness. 

Of course my strength is always nothingness, but there would be no alternative. No strength to infuse power into my weakness.

Yes, strength comes at a price. 

The price of sacrifice.

Live to Sacrifice

It has been awhile since I first caught a glimpse of sacrifice from this angle. Days and years pass. Time slips slowly into eternity. Struggles come and go, some still remain.

Yet as I sit here gazing out my window at the gently falling mist, at the blossoming apple tree, at the outside of my world, I remember.

It's not that I have forgotten. No, indeed.
This thought seared its way into my mind long ere this.

--

I had prayed to be "set on fire" for a long time. Years.
At times I felt it, I breathed it, I lived it. Other times I wondered where the fire had gone…

Yet early that morning as I listened to a friend share, I caught the secret to the fire.

Sacrifice.

It all seems so logical now. An altar is merely a relic without the sacrifice.
Without the sacrifice, there is no fire.

It only makes sense that the altar is the appointed meeting place between God and the soul because it is only at the altar that the fire is kindled. Yet a kindled fire is no security for a continued fire.

Sacrifice must become my life in order to keep the flame burning.

--

This world needs flames—rather it needs fires. Furnaces that cannot be extinguished because they are fed by such devoted sacrifice. A planet of fire fueled by a generation of sacrifice.

There have been in ages past those who have caught this fire. This world will go nowhere if our flames don't surpass theirs.

Live to sacrifice. Sacrifice to live.

Vindicated.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Mother-daughter walks. I love these. Sharing. Solving. Scheming.

We pass stately pines interrupted by the occasional aspen while deep in a discussion about various struggles and trials. Suddenly, however, my mind bumps into a tree-sized thought.

This man. Why hadn't I thought of him before? He certainly experienced trials dished out with a giant serving spoon.

Our conversation becomes rather one-sided as I cogitate upon the ramifications of this century-old story.

His name was Job.

Grabbing my Bible immediately upon returning inside, I flip to the book with the same name. My attention is riveted as I read through chapter one and reach the last verses. Wait a second here. Re-read.

What's this that Job does? What's this that he says? Hasn't he just been stripped of family, fame and fortune in a matter of hours?

He falls down, worships and blesses the Lord.

Immediate shame. Is this life of gratitude my automatic response to suffering and trial?

But that's not all. I read on into the second chapter.

Another meeting in heaven is underway, and Satan appears with devilish insatisfaction written all over his face.

I can just hear the fatherly pride in the voice of God as he mentions the faithfulness of Job.

"Skin for skin," Satan declares. "Touch his bone and his flesh, and he will surely curse You to Your face!"

Permission granted.

Did God just give assent to suffering? It's hard to read it otherwise. Sometimes He allows trials and pain to obscure our pathway, yet always for a reason—that we may vindicate His character.


Job's trials are painfully personal now. Health challenges. Interesting.

Yet how does God's servant respond once again? He simply does his best to alleviate the problem and gives thanks for God's gifts regardless of whether they appear as such.

Suddenly I see this story in a different light. I see my own life, my own trials in a different way…

These things that I face are not just trials.

This is a controversy. God's reputation is at stake.

Could it be that my struggles are actually part of a test to vindicate God's character?

And if I fail to trust, if I allow faith to falter, isn't His name immediately shamed?

I want His character to be vindicated.

What will my life testify? 

He Always Endures More

I climb part of the hill behind our house to my special place of communion. Rugged boulders wait serenely as though they were the thrones of majesties themselves. A cloudless blue sky envelops the world with brilliant rays of sunlight. In the distance I hear cheerful bird melodies while I watch a silvery-blue butterfly rest gently upon my bare toes. It's time to be still…

There are few things I cherish more than peace. 

My mind has travelled thousands of pathways in the last few weeks. Big decisions to make. Places to minister. People to love. 

Yet atop my mountain top perch with a birds-eye view, my mind wanders. 

--

A heavy groan pierces the silence of midnight. The stark moonlight shining through the olive branches seems to cut the blackness like a sharp knife. Huddled beneath their cloaks a few hundred feet away can be seen a few drowsy figures. The entire atmosphere seems triggered, waiting with cold tenseness.

Stillness is broken by a movement in the shadows. A pallid form raises from the hard ground shaking in sobs of anguish. Following the silent path of gravity, blood stains red the place of conflict. With faint but determined voice come the words, "Not My will, but Thy will be done. I choose to surrender. I will give all."

Suddenly His haggard form crumbles to meet the earth. This struggle has drained from Him every ounce of strength. He has made the choice.

--

I review this scene while gazing silently across the pined landscape and my mind returns to the cause of this remembering.

Upon the cross and in the garden over two thousand years ago He shouldered the sins for an entire world of ungrateful creatures.

He took them all. He bore it all. He chose it all.

And yet when everything is said and done, Satan will only suffer for the sins of the righteous.

Christ always endures more. 

His love encompasses, His heart throbs as one in our sorrow, in our agony, in our joy.

He has been through it all, and He understands.

Trust Him.