Today

I am sitting down to write today with a little trepidation because the words I feel Him saying to me seem audacious and somewhat counter intuitive.  Praying for grace as I wrestle with these things that God has placed on my heart.

It feels risky, bold and perhaps even just a little scary.

Have you ever heard a word and know that God meant it for you?  Have you ever felt your heart actually skip a beat as truth slams hard into your chest with a blow?

I heard a preacher man yesterday.  An Australian fellow - and it was more than just his amazing accent that had me perched with my ears wide open.  I heard him in an arena where three thousand youth raised the roof in deafening praise.  And as these young hearts beat passion for Jesus, as only young hearts can, I felt the hairs on my arms raise when I heard these words:

                "I want you to stop praying 'Jesus, break my heart,' instead I want you to pray for a heart transplant"

And as the audacity of those words settled somewhere between irritation and tell me more - I couldn't stop listening to what he was saying. 

My first reaction was to cite chapter and verse why his theology was off.  Of course I want to be broken, I course I want God to churn me up and shatter my preconceived notions of this world and His place in it.  Don't I?

Yes... and no.

We often ask Jesus to break us and when we are broken we recognize our weakness and often, instead of giving way to the Healer we give into fear.  Fear that has us scrounging for shards of our brokenness and piecing them back together with our strength.  And this has me wishing for more.

I would rather be empty. 

I would rather that God remove my heart from this fragile vessel and replace it with His instead.

I am weak.  I am stubborn, selfish and petulant.  Most days I feel failure reach out and begin to wrap my faith in darkness.  So most days, in an attempt at some semblance of order and control I try and "fix" my own brokenness.

Most days.

On those days however,  the days that I ask God to save me, when I cry out to Him to remove my stony and stubborn heart and replace it with one of softness, one that beats love (See verse on my header), on those days I feel full to the brim.  Full to overflowing, only to have Him tip me out and over and complete the process all over again - A heart transplant.  A renewing.  Salvation every single day.  And for that I need Him and only Him.

                "Indeed, God is ready to help you right now.  Today is the day of salvation." - 2 Cor. 6:2b

Salvation is not a onetime shot.  It's not a moment that should be catalogued, pinned, tweeted, posted, scrapbooked or hoarded.  No, it's a choice - Every day it is a choice to stand before Jesus and declare, yet again, your willingness to serve Him. 

"Today is the day of salvation"   As is tomorrow and every day from this moment forward.

Today is the day I declare Christ as my solid rock and allow Him to replace my heart with His.

Today and...
                                Every day

 

 

 

Five Minute Friday - Song

Five Minute Friday.  This community, these beautiful people, these sisters (mostly) are so precious to me and I love that I get to share in their courage and bravery every single week.  Normally I gather with them on Thursday night for the most awesome of Twitter parties but this week I heard God singing me a lullaby and headed for sleep instead. 

I just love how, sometimes, the word that Lisa-Jo picks is so interconnected to my heart that it can only be God conducting this orchestra.  If you want to be blessed by the raised voices that is the song of Five Minute Friday you will want to head over here

I laid my head down on the cushion of my arm.  It has been a long week.

I opened the door to fear this week.  Opened it wide and let its fangs sink deep in the flesh of my dreams.  And with my fear I have entertained doubt as the questions of how and when and who have circled around my wounded heart, like vultures waiting to swoop in after death.

I laid my head down on the cushion of my arm.  It has been a long week.

And the fear and doubt gave way to anger.  The ferocious kind, the kind that hails straight from the flames of hell.  Words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them and even as I tried to grab hold of my tongue with two clenched fists I still couldn’t control the bitter that dripped poison from my lips.

I laid my head down on the cushion of my arm.  It has been a long week.

And as I laid there weary settled on my shoulders,  tired leaked out of my eyes, and anger gave way to the heat of shame, I began to hear a familiar song.  The melody soft and subtle at first, a gentle whisper of notes that began to swell within my soul.

I heard it in the sound the rain made falling on my roof, in the way the wind would sweep through newborn leaves.  I heard it in the love a good man who dared enough to touch the edges of my mad with an offering of books and a Chai Tea Latte. 

I heard it in the fragrance of lilacs that the breeze carried through an open window.  The glorious pink of a morning sunrise, as clouds unfurled in the light of day.  I heard it in the smell of fresh cut grass and the sight of tulip cups pointed heavenward.

I laid my head down on the cushion of my arm.  I heard the Him sing my song, the lullaby that chased away my fears, the song of delight that released the knot of weariness, the ode to joy that pushed past my anger.

I laid my head down on the cushion of my arm and gave way to the beauty of His song.

For the Lord your God is living among you.
He is a mighty saviour.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
With his love, he will calm all your fears.
He will rejoice over you with joyful songs  - Zephaniah 3:17

 

20 Random Things About Me.

In less than a month I'll be blowing out my first year anniversary candles for this blog.  I am so blessed by this online community.  Brave writers who have surrounded me and cared for me as if I was standing in your living rooms, or sitting at your kitchen tables with cups of tea and copious amounts of chocolate as we share hopes and dreams.

I have laid open my soul and allowed you all to trace your fingers on the red, raw edges of some of my deepest pain.  Through your words and your Christ-mindedness I have experienced a healing, a renewal.  There are not enough words to fill this screen to tell you all how much I cherish these friendships and to express my gratitude. 

So today I thought I would give you some more insight into this life that you all have blessed:

1.  I have been happily married for the past 21 years to the love of my life.  My husband has been a constant and his gentleness and care has often cradled this sometimes fragile heart with aching tenderness.  I am blessed to be his wife.

2.  I am the mama to two amazing teens, both with hearts after God.  It is amazing to watch these two incredible people, with dreams perched and ready for flight, make their own way in this big old world.  I have been blessed to experience motherhood with Mikayla and Dylan.

3.  I am from good Dutch stock.  My mother was born in Holland.  I am proud of this heritage that knows how to brew a decent cup of coffee,  appreciates the finer qualities of a good pastry and dessert before dinner.  These roots have also left me with a love of double salted black licorice... my mouth waters just thinking about it.

4.  I am a student mom.  Currently I work full time and have been attending school part time.  This coming September however, I will be taking the plunge and leaving my job of 9 years to pursue my degree in Social Work.

5.  I am a Star Trek nerd.  I love all things Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager and the new J.J. Abrams Star Trek movies.  "Live long and prosper"

6.  Along the same line I am also a huge fan of Marvel Superhero movies, especially Iron Man.

7.  I love a good glass of red wine, particularly an Australian Shiraz.  I love curling up in the corner on the couch, the weight of the wine glass in my one palm and a good book laying open on my lap.

8.  I cannot read a non-fiction book without slashing it through with bright highlighters and scratching notes in margins.  For this reason whenever we do book studies in our small group my husband and I cannot share a book. I think it may annoy him.

9.  I am a country music fan.  There is something about a melody tied with story that gets me every single time.  My favourites include: Keith Urban, Allison Krauss, Brad Paisley, The Civil Wars, Johnny Cash, Little Big Town and the Dixie Chicks

10.  I love hockey.  I am from Canada.  You can't not love hockey and be Canadian.  Most specifically I am a Montreal Canadiens fan.  Their goalie, Carey Price #31, is my favourite player - there is just something about watching him mind a net that makes me smile.

11. I am a voracious reader. I have books piled upon books in my house.  My husband believes that books have been secretly having little book babies in our house because I can't have knowingly purchased that many books.

12.  I am deathly afraid of snakes.  Yes, deathly afraid.  I just have to think about those slithery, beady eyed creatures and I get the heebie jeebies.

13.  I have been known to have potty mouth.  For some reason taming the tongue is more than work for me - it is my Everest.  I wised up when my kids started charging me $2 for every swear word.  Thankfully God is helping me with this one!

14.  I love to cook.  I often find that I don't have the time but when I can get into my kitchen there is nothing more soothing than the sound a knife makes when slicing through onions or potatoes.  I especially enjoy baking bread.  The kneading, the yeasty smell, the golden brown crust - what's not to love?

15.  In the Spring/Summer, my favourite place to be is my garden. After a long day at work, sinking into an Adirondack chair with a glass of the aforementioned wine is a lovely experience.

16.  My favourite books in English class when I was High School were:  Anything by Charles Dickens, Jane Eyre: Charlotte Bronte, The Pearl: John Steinbeck, Silas Marner: George Eliot and Stone Angel: Margaret Laurence.

17.  I love all things Jane Austen, particularly the movies Sense & Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice.  Matthew Macfadyen is the best Mr. Darcy - in my opinion of course.

18.  I answered the call of the preacher lady when I was 13 years old however, this is the first year that I have cracked open the spine of my Bible almost every day and felt life pour out of its pages. 

19.  Reading Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts changed my life.  I remember reading the first chapter while on holidays.  I was sitting by the river and heard God's whisper on the wind when He asked me "Do you want to be saved?" - I think y'all know the answer I gave Him.

20.  Fellow bloggers I consider mentors.  Nikki at Simply Striving, Alia Joy at Narrow Paths to Higher Places, Karrilee at Abiding Love Abounding Grace, Jennifer Peterson at Running This Thing Called Life, Lisa-Jo Baker and Crystal Stine.  Their words have found me in some of my darkest places and surrounded me when I have needed to read words that my soul needed to hear.  I am forever grateful that God has used them to speak into my life.

I had such fun putting this list together.  How about you?  I'd love to get to know you more.  Tell me a little bit about yourself?

 

 

Guest Post: Small Grace

I'm opening the doors wide today and invited Alia Joy to come, pull up a chair and share a warm cuppa with us today.  I am beyond thrilled to have her here.  I remember the first time I read Alia Joy's blog.  Each word was like coming home, like walking up a long laneway after a weary and exhausting journey.  The verandah is wide, the wicker furniture waiting, won't you join us...

I hope to God in 10 years I disagree with some of my blog. Anyone who knows me, knows that I don't love being wrong. So why would I want to be wrong now? Simple. If in 10 years I agree with everything I've said at 34 years of age, that will mean I've learned nothing, grown little, and have closed my mind and heart to being pliable.

If I had a blog in my twenties, and thank God I didn't because I've read those journals and I would be doing a giant face palm right about now with all the things I was absolutely sure of, I would have to go back and amend a ton of what I wrote. 

But there's something I love about that. 

Because we are never static. We grow and stretch and break and turn directions and sway and it's all part of the path. The idea of a neutral soul is antithetical to everything that makes a soul soul-worthy in that it is fluid. 

As bloggers we are living our lives online at least in part. But everyone makes discoveries and proclamations and tells stories with conclusions and the perspectives they have on that particular day. We are all in process. 

At a recent gathering of fluid souls, writers, friends, and poets, we talked about the nature of this great beast: the internet. The instrument we all play with varying harmony. The power of words and story and the tremendous impact it can have on healing and wholeness, fostering community, engaging social issues, opening eyes and hearts and minds to truth. 

But it has a dark underbelly of intimidation and side slander, quick words tossed out carelessly, soundbites out of context, rapid fire soapboxes assembled by which rants can be proclaimed before a watching world that just can't seem to understand why Christians are fighting each other yet again. 

And it's all a bit exhausting at times. To wonder if the clamor of it all is worth speaking into. Is there a place for a small voice to be used? For words spoken that could very well be proved wrong by life experiences and perspective in 10 years time. 

And then there's the depression. The silent guest at the corner of my life, the fear of it encroaching into my day to day and smothering everything until I am gasping for clean air and fresh lungs and the breath of life to fill me back up. And I want to call it quits so often. I want to shut it all down and close my laptop and walk away. But for the grace of God. 

Because I don't doubt that He's called me. I really don't anymore, even when I find myself in the midst of Goliaths and Kings, rubbing my words in my palm like a pebble, I know in God's hands even this small offering is mighty.  And I've seen these words, often ones I don't even remember writing or thinking of pour out and fill people up and I'm in awe. You guys, really, just floored at His goodness. His faithfulness to me and to all those who read and share bits of their lives with me, bringing healing to each other as we mourn and rejoice and lift each other back up to God. 

And it's in this community that I found Tonya or more aptly she found me. And there are others. You know who you are. The ones whose souls are tired of the infighting and the opinions. The ones who want to be a part of something greater, more glorious, less about us and our words and more about Him and His will. And I've seen it with my own eyes, the gathering of writer warriors, the ones who are shaking the very foundation of the internet with truth, seeping into every outlet and proclaiming life everlasting and abundant. 

And it's small grace for each word, small grace for each step, small grace for each obedience to show up and trust that your pebble worn smooth by the experiences in your life is worth throwing out there. 

 

Alia Joy is a cynical idealist, homeschool mama to three little 'uns, wife to Josh, book wormy, coffee dependent, grace saved, writer of random musings and broken stories, collector of words, attempter of all things crafter, lover of mustard yellow, turquoise, Africa, and missions.  She lives in Central Oregon and loves to visit big cities because there are no decent Indian, Moroccan, or Vietnamese restaurants close by.  Maker-upper of words. Disliker of awkward introductions and writing in the third person.

 

Alia Joy writes at Narrow Paths to Higher Places

 

 

Five Minute Friday - Comfort

 

I remember the day we picked her up from the airport.  My brother and sister and I.  It was a long flight from Shanghai. An unexpected flight.  A painful flight.  As most flights are when you're flying home to loss.

I had stood beside my Opa a few days previous as he placed that overseas call and I was there when he couldn't get the words out and then he passed the phone to me.  I was there on the other end clutching the receiver wishing it was my mother's arms wrapped around me as I heard her grief explode on the other side of the world.

I went through the motions the next few days.  Planning, writing obituaries, picking out flowers.  Did the kids have clothes for a funeral?  Would I need to cancel my appointments?  And I did all of it through a haze because there was an ache beyond the grief that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Oma had died and my family was shattered.  We never expected that she would go to sleep one night and wake up in the arms of Jesus the next morning.  We never expected it at all.  Yet there we were, death had found its way to our doorstep and someone had let it in without warning.

And the ache it grew as the hours marched on and I soaked pillows with tears and replayed our last conversation over and over in my mind.  It was a cold March morning when we made our way to the airport to pick up my mom.  My mom, who had lost her mom.

And I remember her coming down the walkway, with her long sweater flowing out behind her and her eyes searching.  It's like we had homing beacons on our foreheads because she found us through the crowd in an instant, mere seconds it took for her eyes to land on her babies.  She rushed forward with her arms outstretched and gathered us close and in that one sweet embrace I felt the ache give way to comfort.

My nose was buried in that soft space between her  neck and her shoulder and I inhaled her Chanel like it was oxygen.  There I was wrapped in her arms as my soul found comfort from the inexplicable grief.  Wrapped up there in my mother's arms was the comfort I needed to let my heart feel the pain I needed to feel.

I've never told my mom this story.  Never mentioned to her how much that embrace meant to me.  Never told her how much it meant to me that she pushed aside her own sharp grief for that one brief moment so I could find comfort in her arms. 

I love you mom. 

 

 I love this time of the week.  Love what we do in the Five Minute Friday community.   Cheer eachother on like bosses and write brave and free for five minutes.  Come read about Comfort over here.

This Must Be Love

I am so thrilled today to be guest posting over at Girl Grows Up.   Won't you join us as we celebrate Mothers in her Thanks to Motherhood series.

Warnings of all kinds come with pregnancy and motherhood. Friends with the best of intentions tell you countless birth stories during those final months...  {Click here to continue reading}

Brave - Five Minute Friday

There is change in the air.   You know the kind I’m talking about.  The kind where the atmosphere crackles with anticipation and you can feel the different to the marrow of your bones.

You have craved this change.  Dreamed this change and as you’re about to stare it down your knees are knocking and your mouth goes dry.  Change may be necessary but it is almost always scary.

The unknown beats a violent tattoo in your heart and the “what ifs” tumble wildly in your mind.   The worst case scenario plays in Technicolor and stereo surround in your dreams, drowning out the best case scenario with drama and disaster.

I’m about to take a leap.  A huge one!  I am leaving a job of 9 years and a steady and reliable income, to head back to school full time.  I’m leaving the comfort of knowing there’s money in the bank for the new shirt, or shoes, or that thing that I’ve had my eye on for so very long. 

I’m leaving the comfort of convenience for the sake of following a dream.

Scared doesn’t even begin to describe it.  I am knock-kneed, sweating profusely, shaking like a leaf, feeling sick to my stomach scared.  How is this going to work?  How will we make ends meet?  How, how, how, HOW?????

Bravery doesn’t trump fear.  Bravery doesn’t negate the feelings of anxiety.  No bravery is what it takes to walk through it.  Bravery is the battle cry of your heart as you straighten your knees and march Joshua-like around what’s got you scared.   Bravery is the steps you take even when the concrete shoes of fear feel as if they are weighing you down.

Bravery is the scraped knees as you hit the floor in prayer.  It’s the guttural howl that comes from the depths of wanting to give it all up and instead you give it all over.  It’s the tears that drip off a quivering chin.  Bravery is the hoarse voice whispering “enough” when you’ve finally decided that God’s in control and He’s got this.

Bravery is the knowing that you may be one step away from certain disaster but putting one foot in front of the other anyway because your faith is what makes you strong. 

Your faith is what makes you BRAVE!  


  Linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker today!!  There's all kinds of fearless, brave and beautiful people over here... you should really take a look!