A Father's Love

[written a couple weeks ago]

I toss. I turn. I pray.

My pillow grows wet with tears.  

I have a friend on the line. 

And I am desperately clinging to the feet of Jesus. 

Desperately. 

Hours pass. And yet I wrestle. 

And suddenly I am struck by this thought.

If I can so love, be so invested in one individual, if my heart can feel like it is breaking for one…

What does my Father's heart feel like when He has seven billion people to cry for?

I'm thankful He loves. I'm thankful He cares. 

And I'm thankful He sees where I do not. 

Glorying Fool

Bondage. Beating. Shipwreck. Stoning. Lashing.
Pain. Hunger. Thirst. Cold. Nakedness. Weakness.

From one travesty, misfortune, hardship to another. The list goes on.
Perils by sea. Perils by land. Perils by robbers, countrymen, heathen and city dwellers.

I have two questions. 

One—who could possibly endure all these things?
And two—how could anyone end such a list with gratitude?

Paul did.

And on top of a list a mile long, he also suffers from his "thorn in the flesh."
Yet he proclaims that Grace is sufficient. That strength is found through weakness.
(And through infirmity, and reproach, and persecution.)

And he calls himself the glorying fool. Because he refuses to abandon gratitude.
I marvel this man who possesses indomitable gratitude.

May I be such a one.

Just Trust Me…

Three weeks ago my ideas were different. My plans unaltered.
I was organized. Everything was under control. It was all laid out perfectly (or so I thought).

But then things started happening.
And all of a sudden, within one week, I found a bunch of my plans flipped on their heads.

Dead end.

And I felt myself straining a bit at the reins. Because my personality likes to be on top of things, be organized, have things under control.

I hear a still, small Voice.
Just trust Me…

But, of course! Of course all things are really in the hands of His Majesty.
Yet sometimes, despite all the evidence from the past, I forget.
It's unfortunate. And it's unnecessary.

And so for a short while after each thing arose, I questioned. I wrestled. I surrendered.
But within me echoed and reechoed those simple words.
Just trust Me…

And so I trusted Him to see where I couldn't. Because obviously I didn't understand.
And He did. He always does…
I'm the slow one. The blind one.

And now looking back only a couple weeks later, most everything has already been resolved.

This week my A&P teacher overrode the system to get me into her class for fall semester.
The microbiology teacher said I can probably get into her class and lab too.

And all that after I wasn't able to register for the classes I wanted.

The Phoenix convention center was able to accommodate my date change. 

My other GYC-related meeting was rescheduled despite conflicts at both ends.

The family of one of my volunteers is going to be in the area exactly during our site visit.
And all that after my GYC site check and meeting plans had been unexpectedly interrupted.

And God's voice echoes again.
Just trust Me.

Poured Out [The Filling]

There she stands, her frail body framed by splintered doorposts, her face covered with salty tears. Her body shakes in silent sobs. Life seems to be giving her nothing but sorrow.

Her husband is dead. Her house furnishings have been taken by greedy creditors.
And besides that, now they want her two beloved sons.*

Yet the prophet asks a simple question. Gives simple instructions.

She returns to her home, shuts her door. In her hands she holds the cruse of oil.
It is her last link to hope. And she dares to hope.
She dares to pour. And pour out freely.

And in that one action, a miracle is wrought. A new future is born.

--

Somehow I see my heart in that cruse of oil.
Just enough to start a stream. But not near enough to keep it going.

Yet when I dare to pour, dare to pour out my life freely, a miracle is wrought.
A new future is born. New life springs forth.

In the pouring out, I am filled.

* 2 Kings 4:1-7

Today: A Gift

Birds chirp merrily outside my window, a tiding of spring.
New life will soon be bursting forth beneath melting snow.
Little seedlings sheltered indoors are pushing their green heads toward the sunlight.

It's a promising time of year.

Yet in one week I hear of birth, of death, of sickness, of sorrow. My heart is full.

So often we take things for granted, life especially. 

We don't stop to think that we might not wake up tomorrow.
That we might be in an accident next week.
That we might contract a serious disease next month.
That we might not live to see another year.

There is that possibility you know…

And I've been struck afresh with this one thought.

Live each day as if it were your last.

Redefining Balance

Balance is something the entire world struggles to maintain. I know I do.
We talk about it. We read about it. We post quotes about it.

My question is, how often do we live it?
And what defines living a truly balanced life?

But why should I write about it again? Go read it here.

Beneath the Fog

I gaze out large picture windows to the frosted world beyond. Fog is frozen in time.

Everything is covered with tiny crystals just waiting for a shaft of light to set things sparkling.
It's a wonderland of beauty.

It's a world of potential…

Thoughts swirl softly. These snowflakes of the mind quickly absorb all external sounds as I contemplate life…

There seems to be a parable gazing back at me through the window.
A parable of my life. A parable for me.








This fog? Sometimes it grows thick, enshrouding me in a gray blanket. I cannot see the mountains in the distance or the sun above the clouds, yet I just have to trust they are there.

Then the fog freezes, and I shiver as crystals form. It seems my life has gone from bad to worse.  I'm stuck beneath the fog while icy fingertips paint me with the ice of trial.

Yet when the fog lifts, sun pierces the clouds and I am set sparkling. And I realize that the freezing fog was what made me beautiful.

God creates jewels in foggy shadows.

He calls me His jewel.