word vs image

imagine stepping into a gallery;

it's empty, white walls cover all four sides of the room,

the floor is white,

the lights are white.

all white.

except one canvas on which

there is a phrase.

a group of words.

a brilliant blue sky

now, you step into the next gallery,

a new room,

it's white walls, white light, white floors expected.

you search each wall,

scanning the perimeter,

anticipating something,

probably a brilliant blue sky.

you're here for art after all,

it's a gallery,

but you find nothing is there.

you move through the exhibition,

thinking,

"this artist is being overpaid,"

or

"this artist is brilliant,

because they are displaying art,

and so far, there's no art."

but, you're curious,

so you step through,

and as you step through,

you visualize a brilliant blue sky,

like that one time,

as a child, when you were 6,

and your family vacationed at the coast,

and the pacific ocean was vivid and vast,

a deep pacific blue that captured shades of indigo

that reminded you of your favorite blue moon ice cream

OR

like that time when you were 15,

and you choose your favorite

sapphire blue color for the prom and you

draped your body in the most luxurious silk dress

that matched your eyes

OR

like that time when you honeymooned

in Italy and you walked the marble blue mosaic stone pathway

leading to the hotel and warmed your soul and fed your heart

and as you walk to the next room,

your mind has created scene after scene of

brilliant blue that you find,

oddly enough,

that you don't need to see a brilliant blue sky on canvas because your mind carries you to places beyond,

from past to present to future

until

you walk into the final gallery

and you see a mural of

a brilliant blue sky

and it's a green meadow.

the sacrifice

Jesus' sacrifice was

so complete,

so final.

His suffering so cruel,

unthinkable

because our sin is so vast.

My sin so vast.

"but it was our sins that did

that to him, that ripped and tore and crushed.

He took the punishment that made us whole.

through his bruises, we get healed...." (adapted, Isaiah 53:1-6, message)

"Jesus knew pain first hand."

and that revelations changes everything.

For what disappointment, what loss, what struggle, what evil do we face that

Jesus hasn't already met, defeated, conquered?

Sin costs.

A sacrifice must be made.

A debt must be paid.

"..it is blood given in exchange for a life that makes purification possible" Lev. 17:11

Jesus came, not as a warrior, not as a master, not as a King, but as a servant.

A servant passed over, looked down on, taken for granted. A servant.

And to serve is the greatest work of all.

To serve even when others don't see, recognize, appreciate, acknowledge.

Even when no one is watching, looking, affirming, or encouraging.

Even when more hate is fueled, and sin rules, and evil overcomes.

Even then.

Especially then.

i think the best

i think the best

part

of

giving

is

eyes-dancing, sparkling,

reflection of the

inner joy and love

of

another

caring, thinking, and loving

always loving

ever loving

a tangible expression of

an intangible, illogical,

breath-taking, spell-binding love

lean in

I sent an e-mail today.

I got a weird response back.

I felt attacked and miss understood.

I wanted to defend, to fight, to explain, to question.....but instead

God wants to me lean in.

Lean in when I feel attacked.

Lean in when I don't understand the response.

Lean in and listen.

Lean in and pray.

It's true that it's the littlest thing that can ignite a fire,

the tiniest moment that can spark an inferno,

and I could've caused a blaze without even knowing it.

As a person of prayer, I need to lean in and pray.

For the next ten minutes, I prayed for every good thing for this person and against every bad thing. I expanded my focus to every good thing that can happen for the organization this person represents and against every bad thing that could befall this organization.

I prayed for my own emotions, releasing the anxiety, the hurt, the worry, the anger of being miss understood, misinterpreted, of miscommunication. I prayed for freedom in Christ, growth in myself, of wisdom and love, of knowledge and hope.

And for good measure, I began to worship.

To be honest, the nest of nerves in my stomach isn't completely gone. But, my mind is no longer reeling and my heart longs to give compassion. The emotions will catch up eventually.

"O God, give me strength to get out of the way.

I want more of you in my life, my work, my e-mails

and less of me. Help me to seek you first in all things,

to ask for repentance quickly, and to be quick to listen.

Help me to lean in when I feel attacked. Help me not

to defend, but in humility, seek you first."

a tiny spark

a tiny spark landed briefly, quietly, brilliantly,

in an otherwise darkened landscape.

I saw it almost accidently, and for a moment I caught my breath, and

a hint of a smile landed purposefully and then it

vanished.

a whisper of hope called tenderly, lovingly,

in a vacuum of desolation and confusion.

I felt it barely, and for a moment I shivered, dreaming

of a new day, and then it was swept away.

a picture of beauty beckoned me softly, stunningly,

in an otherwise blackened night.

I submersed it in briefly, this glimpse of potential,

of possibility, and then it faded away.

as sure as I have life,

it is here,

it can be here,

it will be here,

a redemption

a renewal

a righteousness

so I'll be, for in the being, I see a moment of dawn gleaming through.

and I'll live, in the struggle of it all, for in living, I'm being transformed.

and maybe, just maybe, a little more of

the spark, the hope, and the beauty will shine through.

hearing and obeying

annual traditions. those things you set your sights on, hang your hat on, count on to occur every year. they bring stability, comfort, and sometimes complacency.

traditions. neither right nor wrong, necessarily. a part of the rhythm of life, they can be birthed out of many, many events or customs or histories or emotions.

important, but not more so than obedience. never more than obedience. God delights in our obedience. He requires us to change to Him. And this rises above traditions.

the call came, as it has for several summers past, more than a few and less than ten, the call of invitation. but this time, it was different. i received orders that surprised me. in my spirit, i knew that when the call was to come, if it came, that i was to say no.

no.

simply no.

no real, tangible, hang-your-hat-on-kind-of-reason.

just no.

and when pushed, if pushed, to believe that God's plans are not mine. His ways are not my ways. and really, i don't know why, but it's not this summer.

so i think of three things; someone else gets the pleasure, the joy, the challenge, and the opportunity. or, God has something else in mind for me. or, i won't ever know, but it's not for me. this year. this time.

and how can i be sure i heard right? I understand God's voice speaking to me in a stirring of my heart and an understanding in my mind. It's often a thought completely out of the context of my inner dialogue and it comes out of no where. It's a warning, a gut-check, and premonition, it's something that aligns with the Bible and could be confirmed with others in community. and once spoken aloud to another, it's a matter of integrity and character that i obey.

i'll decline.

i'll wonder, watch, and pray.

and i'll wait.

..."plans prepared for you even before you were born"........

lighted Christmas houses

so i've got this story to tell, it's been a while since I've thought of it but my last post prompted it back to the forefront.

in the early days of engagement, when gifts were coming in, I received a Charles Dickens Era house, it was the old church, and it looked a lot like the church of my youth.

It was a gift like no other.

delighted, I ohhed and ahhed over this house. It was the start of a collection for me

and a new dream was forming. One of enchanting displays of Christmas pleasure and fun.

as the wedding day came, I received a few other houses for the collection.

as holidays such a birthdays and Christmas arrived, more houses were added.

and then the addiction came. I wanted more houses for my collection.

And so, when new pieces were created and promoted, I would ask or buy or dream about them. I bought them as I could, and I used money I did not have.

and as the year's past and children were added to the family, my collection had grown obnoxious. I had neither room to store, nor room to display my vast holdings. Squished into a two bedroom apartment with two children, I knew I was in trouble. Debt filled my conscience and lighted Christmas houses filled my closet. I was ashamed and embarrassed and I felt so foolish.

and so in a panic, a prayer, and a rage, I packed every last piece of the over 75 houses in my trunk, not to mention the tens of figurines, lights, and decorations to enhance the display, and I drove to goodwill.

it was july.

that was a problem.

goodwill doesn't take christmas in july. truly.

mortified, haunted, and on mission, I drove to a mentor's house.

she wasn't home. truly.

I called. She didn't answer.

feeling desparate, I returned to the dumpster at my apartment complex and one by one, with the two preschoolers hanging in the car, I threw piece by precious, perfect piece into the trash. And as I threw them, I shouted and cried and proclaimed that I loved God more than I loved each house.