Grace-filled Simplicity

Growing up, summer was always my least favorite season. I hated the heat, the humidity, the sticky feeling when you go from AC to 90's. But this year, after a winter of darkness and cold, of chemo and pain, the sun's rays have seemed like soothing nectar to my soul. I've never experienced it before.

I can't stop drinking it up. 

Perhaps it's because after a taste of a muggy Southern summer I truly appreciate my balmy Northern one, or perhaps it's because my mighty Elohim is healing my soul- showing me how to sing again, to LIVE again. 

You only get one life to live- we have to embrace it. 

We have to get past the pain of chemo and the sting of relationships and the trama of death of loved ones. We have to learn to open our fists again and fully accept this crazy grace- HIS crazy grace. Choose to see these gifts He's given, to fully be alive and embrace every joy. 

I've found it in simplicity. Taking things slow. Recording these gifts, a living record of His faithfulness. 

I'm going to enjoy this summer to it's fading golden rays. Sometimes it's big things, like glorious weddings and traveling this beautiful country. Joy isn't materialistic things- it's dancing praise with all your might as your bare feet pound the plywood floor with a hundred other hearts, it's spending Shabbat by the lakeshore, it's mending relationships and building bridges. It's little things like sharing chips and pop in the shady grass with a fraction of the passel of nieces and nephews, it's coffee dates with mom, it's swinging on the hammock with my brother as the sun fades and we unburden our hearts to each other. These happy gifts are laughter, fresh produce, new friends and hearing from old ones. It's wrestling prayer, the breezes of fresh air, curly hair and long dresses that make me feel like a princess.

It's choosing to see everything with new eyes. Put the computer away, shut off my phone. Even if it's just for an hour or two- or maybe a whole week media free.

It's recording these moments of grace, these beautiful gifts He bestows on His unworthy bride...

Because love? It never stops giving. 

--
(care to share your list of grace gifts today? can we see if everyone can name at least 10- from sunlight flickering on the windowpane to cupping a hot mug of pumpkin spice latte? share yours in a comment below!) 

Finished

Cancer steals. Destroys. Devours. 

And I'm helpless to it all. 

I've told you about Kelly before. I met her high above the Texas skyline, and we caught the last glimpse of the sunset together. She was beautiful- wore a pretty hat to cover her head, hairless from what chemo stole from her. She smiled through the pain, her body attached by tubes and wires to a tree of life- or death?- with fluids and toxic materials pumping through her. Her quiet southern voice somehow illuminated the room, kept the shadows at bay. Sort of made the sun shine, even though it had slipped below the horizon. She told us of her two lovely girls back home, how God was still working, how she still prayed for the miracle. I gave her a hug before we left, told her we would be praying for her. Told her to keep trusting.

The elevator door closed, and it was the last I saw of her. Last time I ever will have seen her. Cancer claimed her body but five short months later. 

===

A father in our community discovered cancer was taking over his lungs soon after Ryan's tumors were removed from his. We've been praying, trusting, knowing that God is still working. I never knew this man well, but from the times I did spend with him I knew him to be a man of worship. Had a smile that somehow made you feel like you belonged. Quiet, but when he spoke they were words of life. Like David, he worshiped the Father will all of his might, with ever fiber of his being. 

Today I got the phone call everyone dreads, the one you pray against. The one you hope you never have to answer. The phone call that, as a cancer family, you pray you never have to make. 

It'll only be a few hours now. 

I hang up. Dad calls- I answer, and I weep. I grieve. I cry for the children, whose father is their world. I cry for the wife, so strong yet how can frail shoulders hold up the load of everything and watch as the love of her life suffers? I cry for the friends, the extended family, the community who is loosing a mighty warrior of Elohim. 

My soul longs to pour forth prayers but no sound comes from my throat. Dad prays for me instead. 

And Heaven weeps. 

The rain pours from the skies as my tears fall, as our prayers rise upward. Not long after, another phone call follows. 

It is finished. No more pain except the pain that is in our hearts, no more sorrow except for the tears we weep. No more questions, except for the ones we may shout in our frustration and grief. 

Finished. 
__

{please, be praying for this family and our community tonight and in the days/weeks/months to follow. thank you, from the bottom of our hurting hearts.}

Sundays are for...

...baking blueberry muffins...

...wrestling prayer...

...wearing "new"/thrifted jewelry...

...aviators in wavy hair...

...chai with mom in my favorite (local) city...

...shopping at organic healthfood stores...

...trying new gluten free items...

...walking around on the balcony as the sun sets...

...catching up with friends...

...watching a movie with mom...

...pretty envelopes waiting to be mailed on Monday...

...pondering the concept of transformation...

..."Ani Ma'Amin" in the kitchen...
...dabbling with watercolors...
...flickering lantern light...
...days of gratitude...

One Foot

My sneakers pound pavement. It becomes a rhythm, injected with snap, crackle, and pop as  the wet gravel squeaks beneath my feet. 

The only way to move forward is to move forward. Put one foot in front of the other. Pound life's pavement. And you know? It's not easy. 

The blister on the back of my heel is rubbed raw, reminding me of last evening's escape from a soggy outcome. The clouds were black, chasing me, as the clouds rumbled. I wasn't prepared for this. Wore dressy shoes and ended up jogging home on a sprained ankle, big fat droplets of H2O hitting my skin from time to time. 

Sometimes, you just can't be prepared for life. 

Life turns and twists when we least expect. The sidewalk cracks under our feet. Some slabs raise for the sheer purpose of clipping our toes and tumbling us upon the cold earth. Others sink as we lose our footing. You can't be prepared- but you have to keep going. 

In order to move forward, you have to leave something behind. Put one foot in front of the other despite the pain. Leave behind broken dreams and promises. And you know? Sometimes your failures will look like inviting lawn chairs in the cool of the shade, inviting you to chill there. Become complacent. Sit lazily as your soul rots away- because we were made to move forward. 

We can't stay still. Can't sit there and nurse our wounds, can't stay and siesta in the sun. One foot. One foot in front of the other. Again and again....and again. 

If we're not pressing into Yehovah God, then who are we pressing into? Our own selfish desires? 

...

Relentless pursuit of Him. It's what He's calling us to. He's asking us to trust Him to take care of the pain, to bandage the blisters and to stitch up the wounds of our heart and soul. Leave the soulful healing to Him- keep pressing through the discomfort and the stripping away of all that hinders us from running fully to Him. 

Abba, strip it away in me so that my feet run swift and sure to Your Throne. 

A Tied Heart

It happens every time. My heart gets tied. 

I was born and raised in the North. I breathed in industry, metals, rubber, plastics and oil. I drive through smoggy cities and jammed roads. I've grown up walking under the shade of buildings rather than that of trees. 

And I've loved it. It's my life, it's all I've known, it's the familiar. It's where I know I fit in, because it's in my blood. 

My first trip south was a culture shock. 

Life was completely different. The slow pace, the landscape, the houses, the fields, the roads, the people. To be honest, I couldn't wait to return North. I didn't belong in this Southern place where my voice gave my identity away and animosity towards the Civil War still ran strong. The climate was vastly different. The way of life was vastly different. No one could relate to my love of the city. My life was foreign to the South, and their lives foreign to me. 

But time has a way of changing things. 

Expectation is the killer of joy. My expectations of the South can make or break my enjoyment of any trip there, or a trip anywhere else for that matter. I've learned to let go of expectations and accept circumstances for what they are, as either a blessing or a lesson from God. I've learned that people need a few days to forge friendships in the South, unlike our fast-paced relationships of the North. I've grown to love the people with every trip I've taken, and every time I leave, half my heart stays behind. 

So when I packed up this week and headed out for the long trek home, tears came and I didn't want to go. 

Home is where family is.  And these people, these people have become my family and make the South a home for my heart. 

Back home in the North, my heart is still trying to adjust to the life I've always known. Life without the people who have become so dear within such a short amount of time. 

Funny how a vast city can feel so empty. Funny how there was a time when I dreaded to go to the South, and now I'm counting the months, weeks, days, until I'm reunited with people whose hearts are bonded to the same cause as my own. 

We're bonded by faith. By love. By grace. 

That's what makes people family. But the South doesn't have to be the only place that holds the fellowship. The beauty. The community. I have people here- family here- too. 

I've returned North with a vengeance. To reclaim and rebuild and to restore. To do my part to bind us all in unity. It's a lot of work. It's an uphill battle. But the South is not the only place in the world that can hold the love. 

Our hearts are big enough to hold it all, too. 

So while my heart is tied, torn between two places that I cannot be at once, I'm doing my part.... how about you? 

You don't have to catch the ball

I tend to bite off more than I can chew. 

I'm in the midst of putting out a (very late) newsletter, organizing a large girls' ministry event, trying to go over lesson talks and get all my ducks in a row before I host a discipleship internship for young women with my dearest friend. I am so blessed to have people in my life who help me out, help me shoulder the yokes, and take the time to encourage me. They push me and remind me of God's calling on my life whenever I selfishly allow myself to wallow in doubt or fear. They join me in wrestling prayer. They catch sight of the vision I've been given and then offer their talents to help with the work. 

This is my life. It's hectic and it's crazy, but it's the life that I love. Ministry is what I love. Reaching out to people is what I love. Being God's Hands and Feet is what I love. 

But I've got to learn to say no. I don't have to catch every ball that's thrown my way. Sometimes the "good" things keep us from the "best" things.

Dad offered me a job position yesterday that promised steady pay, unlike the sporadic hours I've been working. In the midst of trying to start up my own business, juggle ministry projects, and my current job working for him, I was completely overwhelmed. I knew he needed someone, and I was about to say yes- to bow my neck as another yoke was laid upon my shoulders. Another (big) responsibility clamoring for my time. Spread my minutes even thinner than they already were. 

The good things can keep us from the best things- and I had to say "no". Although the good money would've helped towards my flight out-of-country this fall, the job would prevent me from the best thing- the opportunities to reach out and minister to others, to be who God has called me to be. 

I have to say, saying "no" is painful. 

I don't like disappointing people. I don't like admitting that I can't be Super Woman. I don't like passing up opportunities that have amazing potential. I get frustrated at myself because I can't solve the world's problems, end hunger, stop slavery, and be everywhere at once to meet the needs of everyone. 

But that's where His grace comes in. He's going to finish the good work He's started. 

I just have to take one step at a time. Catch only the balls He's throwing. Choose the best over the good, and let Him walk me through every opportunity that comes my way. 

He never lets go

I heard her panicked gasp. Even from downstairs in the studio, I knew what it meant- it's the same sound mom makes every time she realizes that the door or gate has been left open and one of our animals is on the run. I laid aside my alterations, expecting to go after our old dog (a proven runaway). No, not the dog, she said. The cat- have you seen the cat?

How does one go about finding a small white cat (a proven escape artist) in a big, mean world? 

He couldn't have gone far, dad says. I walk around in the front yard, but see nothing. Breathing a prayer, I go into the back yard and check around the entire perimeter of the fence, assessing which popped boards the little fuzzball could have squeezed under. Our tall wooden privacy fence is backed by our neighbor's metal one. I pull myself up with my arms, high enough to see that our side neighbor's fence is connected with the neighbor's fence behind us- forming a passage. Mr. Kitten couldn't be too far away if he escaped from here. 

I hear voices floating over the fence behind me- one neighbor lady speaking with the other about the lilacs in bloom. I can't see them, the privacy fence towers over me. But the woodpile....I could stand on the woodpile and ask them if they've seen my cat. 

I push aside the awkwardness of just popping tall above a privacy fence and shocking my neighbors. "Um....excuse me?" The neighbor lady looked around, not seeing me. "No, over here. Uh, hi. Didn't mean to frighten you." She looked at me blankly after she spotted me through her flower bush. "Have you seen my white cat?" She thinks for a moment, says she hasn't. But then I look down...

And who is just standing there behind all the foliage, crying when he sees me? 

I have mom stand on the woodpile, talking to him and keeping an eye on him as I run around the block. Three streets later, I entered another neighbor's backyard (who was pulling weeds in her flower beds. Unfortunately I don't think she understood what I was doing, either) and scooped the runaway up in my arms. Safe, he starts to purr. 

It didn't last long. 

Not even two minutes after I rescued him, he started clawing, wanting to be put down and chase the birds again. When I held tighter, he began hissing at me, batting my face. He didn't understand that it was for his own good. I patiently endured his scratching, his hissing, his crying during the entire long walk home. He drew blood through my shirt on my ribs and my arm was treated worse than a scratching post. 

But I never let go. Because I think, isn't this us? 

The Father, He goes after His lost sheep. We're proven escape artists- always wanting to know what's on the other side of the fence. We forget about the safety we're privileged with and wander about in the alluring world. But then- the shadows loom darker and the wind grows colder. Suddenly it's not as fun as we thought it would be. We cry out- and the Father meets us there. Scoops us up in His arms, close to His heart. 

We're relieved- but only for a moment. 

How quickly we forget our misery and long again for the wild life, the adventures and the pleasures that flashed past us. We cry and we whine and we slap His face.

But He never lets go. 

He keeps walking us, enduring us, loving us. It's like the princess book my nieces beg me to read- after the princess has gone out and lived like the world, after she comes shamefaced home, after her father the king opens the door and cleans her up and tucks her in bed, after she sees how her muddy clothing has stained the king's royal robes...the princess whispers, "Never again. Never again will I ever treat him this way."

The king's response? "Yes, my child- it will happen again. And again. And again. But I will always be here when you cry for help, and my arms will always be open."

He's never more than a cry away.