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doorway to hope
Crossing the threshold of the dining room, an oversized wall clock caught my attention. Its hands had been removed, indicating a suspension of time in this place dedicated to hosting memorable moments. God had brought me here to celebrate life—of that, I felt convinced. Yet, I couldn’t drown out the ominous ticking that sounded in my mind, counting down toward the expiration of my hopes. I’d prayed God would write a love story with my life: this didn’t seem to be it. Still, I clung to the truth of His faithfulness, determined to believe He hadn’t forgotten me.
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raw joy
Sometimes, joy doesn’t look like rejoicing. It may feel startling, or undesirable; its rough edges may scrape our fragile skin as we brush up against it. But when we begin to recognize joy in the raw places of our grief and disillusionment, we are convinced anew that God is good, that faith is real. When we see that there is hope ahead, that we haven't been abandoned in the midst of an unfinished story, this is our joy. So hang onto this truth, Beloved, when the winds blow untamed and the path twists in front of you. Yes, there may be suffering and pain where the road bends, but the…
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seeking renewal; pursuing peace
As a new year begins, I want to make it a practice to fill my mind and heart with all the things I have “learned and received and heard and seen” through the Word of God ... For we have been promised that if we “practice these things … the God of peace will be with [us].” Peace is such a rare and precious gift these days, as is knowing His constant presence. What a blessing, to step into this reality! And beyond that, to understand that we are being transformed by the renewing of our minds ...
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blessed is she who believes
What was it, exactly, that Mary believed? Her actions here confirm her belief in God as Promise-Maker, Promise-Keeper. She believed that He is both willing and able to do “immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine” (see Ephesians 3:20). And she believed that He is the Giver of all good gifts and the rewarder of those who seek Him (James 1:17; Hebrews 11:6).
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let every heart prepare Him room
We have lately been swept up into a tangled net of deception, cunningly set to strip us of hope and submerge us in confusion, isolation, and discouragement. The calendar broadcasts a season of Light, and we dutifully veil our inner darkness with a veneer of celebration. Fully aware that we are lying to ourselves, we seek to keep at bay the One who sees us. Foolish? Or simply desperate? Likely both … Is there a way out?
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this is the marvel of marvels …
Sometimes, we lose sight of the far green country. Sometimes, the pits we stumble into are dug by our own hands. But always, we have a Redeemer waiting. If you yearn to feel His hand on your shoulder, hear Him whisper, "Beloved, arise," you are in the right place: further up, and further in ...
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inexpressible and glorious
Is it just me, or does it seem to be taking greater “fortitude” than ever just to make it through one day and into the next? Put simply, fortitude is “courage in pain or adversity." I’ve never considered myself to be especially courageous, nor do my life circumstances involve a constant barrage of catastrophes. Yet when life manifests as a daily battle, making a firm decision to hold onto hope can be an act of considerable bravery.
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what is this stirring deep within me?
When I grow weary I pull from my heart pictures of home, weathered and scratched and curled on the edges. My Father writes me letters daily and sends new photos; they are my joy because I know he is with me. His thoughts are toward me, and he too is eagerly awaiting our final reunion. The day we all come home.
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marooned
I have marooned myself, waiting, reaching for that still, small voice I once knew. Marooned in a landscape of endurance and constant wondering. How I wish for just one breath to come and stir, please, come and stir so that I might look beyond. The trail behind me is bloody, footprints and the dragging of my sword in the sand. It’s too heavy to lift—to even sheathe—so I cling to it. For who am I without my sword?
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the fellowship of suffering
What if life is not about trying to be better? What if what matters is becoming present in the midst of it? I’m mulling over the introductory chapters of my preordered copy of K.J. Ramsey’s new book, This Too Shall Last. It is a raw account of learning to sit with pain and suffering so that grace has room to well up in our weakness and speak louder than our shame. It is a message that has arrived in my life at the odd juxtaposition of facing the pain of perfectionism, the shame of singleness, and the inescapable reality of my identity as a writer. In this book, K.J. weaves…
