octolilly [through the years]

In a very God-oriented, amazing and exceptionally wonderful set of events- a door I thought was long closed is opening again. I stand here, not proud or relieved, but humbled. There isn’t any part of this that makes sense but I should know better than to expect a set of blueprints from the Lord. His love is ever-present and surprising. His tender mercies, they have spilled into my soul.

I’ve walked into some dark places with some very dear people, and then back into the sunlight. And they, with me…His love is not at all passive. It is so relentless in its pursuit of our terrified hearts. The love of God will hunt you down until you finally spin around in exasperation (“okaaaaaay!!!”) and admit how cherished you are. It gives our stories context and hope when somebody else recklessly rips out a chapter. It fills in our blanks. The love of God hoists us up on the shoulders of Jesus and hollers out the promise of St. Paul. “I can do ALL things through Christ, who gives me strength!”

– Nicole Nordeman

When I wake up early on a Sunday morning, it feels like I have a few “secret” hours to myself. I raise the blinds, turn up the music, spread out the bagels and juice, and write.

The Secret Hours started at 7am this morning and I’m quite shocked that my eyes were able to open then. Since Friday night, I’ve played over 9 ½ hours worth of Triopoly with a group of Very Fun People. That alone almost fried my brain. Oh, and the game isn’t over yet. It’s still set up in case we find time to finish it this week. (I am recovering from having to mortgage all my properties and planning on coming back to attack them all! Ahem.)

This early morning time is something I cherish. It feels as though I’m setting the stage for my day. Some mornings I feel content and ready to face the day. But there are also times when I feel a bit lost. As though the darkness of the night was too black.

But I remind myself of what a shepherd boy once wrote. He, who was use to being all alone in the hills while watching his flock, wrote of the Presence.

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
If I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
If I settle on the far side of the sea,
Even there your hand will guide me,
Your right hand will hold me fast.
Psalm 139:7-10

It’s a sobering and amazing thought that God walks with me wherever I go. He can walk into my dreams, break through my fears, and reach me through confusion.

Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead. When I think about the freeing nature of those words, it takes my breath. I’m supposed to put distance between myself and the past?

An old friend once said, “I want complete healing and freedom in all areas in Christ for you.” And sadly, I’ve thought all along that healing and freedom really didn’t have anything to do with the situation.

Those who are able to honestly and courageously deal with the past as a learning and shaping tool will take the road that leads to authentic living. That’s a way of life that enables us to honestly accept ourselves for who we are – warts, weaknesses, and all.
Dr. John Trent

I’m suddenly aching to slow down and heal. The journey ahead is wild and unsettling. To be prepared for the narrow way means I must have an unfettered and faithful character of heart. Healed. Ready for authentic living.

Today feels like an annoying drip from the kitchen sink.

I woke early, but instead of heading to the coffeehouse to read and indulge, I just spent the morning staring at the ceiling. And after a pillow-adjusting of sorts, my eyes saw the freshly-purchased Season 9 of Friends and I spun through a few more episodes.

And as I’ve walked through the house this morning, I have found plenty of things I need to do. The daisies in the living room need to be thrown out, the roses in the kitchen need more water, I need to do laundry, I still have a stack of work things to be deciphered, and the glasses are stacking up near the kitchen sink.

Saturdays are my Days of Motivation. The things I don’t have time for during the week are put off until today. This is when I straighten, clean, organize, and do things in Excel. But it’s as though I simply don’t care. Ambivalent. Unconcerned. Frustrated at the day’s lack of luster.

But what grips my heart soundly is the knowledge that I hate this complacent day. My life isn’t moments of unconcern surrounded by carefree living. I have relationships, goals, things-going-on, and learning to do. And when I hit these walls, these bits of frustration- it burns me up inside.

It’s as though I’m sitting unmoved by the realness of life.

And I hate it.

And after reading something from Kim Thomas this afternoon, I am struggling between throwing this book at the wall and running away from everything I know right now.

We have dipped our toes into the waters of faith, but kept a safe distance from the demands and responsibilities of deeper waters. We just keep our lives moving. As long as we are controlling things satisfactorily, our spiritual needs are reduced to a simple good night prayer with fingers crossed. “God,” we pray, “don’t woo me to the deep end.” Our Bible study is reduced to a dose of chicken soup or a precious moment. And the only time we are really pouring our soul out in the throne room is when we have turned it into an emergency room.

Our sins have been downgraded to “oops” and “oh well” as opposed to being shalom breakers that separate us from fellowship with God. Thus, we feel no need for a sacrificial Savior, just a good pal who puts the amen on all of our plans. Our casual low-maintenance integration of Christ into our schedules is like a cheap surface coat of paint that peels after a few rains. Then the rawness of our lives is exposed to the elements, and we run for a quick patch-me-up prayer and go on our way.

So, whether I want to admit or not, her words hit home.