The Book is Coming!

For many years and from many different people I've been hearing the same request. "You should write a book. Your story needs to be told." I heard it twice in the last two weeks alone. So a few days ago I sat down and wrestled with possible concepts. How am I going to make this work? I have so much potential material. It's kind of like looking into a pantry full of food and trying to decide what kind of meal to make. Is it going to be full scale fancy schmancy or more laid back, paper plates and plastic? Is it going to be decadent and robust or light and fluffy like dinner rolls? So much to think about! Then I remembered a poem I wrote a few years back. That poem combined with a prophesy over me from when I was a teenager created the inspiration. So here's the poem that will start it all. I still have much more work to do before I can get started but here's the rough idea. The book is coming!

The Cave


A little girl kneels by herself, alone in a dark cave. Her clothes are worn and tattered and dirt covers her face. Every day she comes here looking for some peace from the storm that rages on outside and oh, how she grieves. Her tiny little body pours out the tears each day and every day her prayers are heard from inside that cave.


Then one day she cries out, “Oh God, if you’re there, please come and take the pain away. Please tell me that you care. I am just so lonely and I need to be loved. Oh, God if you’re listening, will you come? Oh, will you come?”


Then out of the silence of her aching, grieving soul a man appears inside the cave, standing at the door. His clothes are bright and shiny, the purest shade of white. His face is full of kindness, there’s forgiveness in his eyes.


She looks up from the ground where her tears soaked up the earth. She sees the man she prayed for and her heart begins to burst. He enters the darkness and gathers her in his arms, walking toward the sunlight to a place that’s dry and warm. Then suddenly they’re standing in the middle of a field. The sun rests on her shoulders and dries up all her tears.


She looks to the man that rescued her and glances down to find no longer worn and tattered; she wears a sparkling dress of white. He reaches out to touch her and puts his hands upon her face. No longer streaked with dirt and grime, she’s been washed by his grace.


“I heard your cries of grief, my child and when you called for me; my heart was overjoyed at the chance to set you free. I promise from now until forever you’ll never be without a friend. When you call I’ll answer and hold you once again. The loneliness will be no more; my love will make you whole. And when your heart is grieving, I’ll hold you in the storm. You will have pain but don’t be scared. I’m right here all the time. The storms may rage but rest assured joy is not that far behind. Take heart, my child and come to me whenever you need love. I know the plans I have for you. I can heal you with one touch.”


She looks into his eyes that seem to reach into her soul and she walks into his loving arms. She’s not grieving anymore. She cries her tears of joy in his strong, fatherly embrace and whispers in his gentle ear, “Can I touch your face?” He steps away and takes her hand and pulls it to his side. “Someday my child, just wait and see. We’ll be in paradise.” And so they walk down the road that leads to home, she in her white dress and he in his crown of thorns. The journey is a long one and she’ll fall along the way. But never again will she be alone in that dark and dreary cave.

Jekyllina and Hydette

This is a re-post from an old blog. It seems appropriate to share it today because this happens to be where I am right now. If there was a female version of Jekyll and Hyde, I'm pretty sure I would be her.


January 23, 2000
Every drive home is the same. I hold her face in the dirty toilet of unforgiveness and anger. I force her to breathe the stench of rage as it blinds her eyes. She has no choice but to succumb. I can’t recall when it started, surely before I got out on my own. It’s been a routine for as long as I can remember. She tries to free herself from my grip but my hands are strong. She squirms beneath the weight of my depression but only gets pushed harder into the filth. “You hideous creature!” I scream at her. “You don’t have the right to breathe like a real person!” Her tears fall like Niagara Falls into the well and she becomes weak and tired from the powerful force. The harder she tries to fight off the attacks the worse they get. No wonder she’s always tired. She spends her days being the abuser and her nights wrapped up in tears that refuse to go away. I see her there, her little body crushed and broken and I cry my own tears, the haunting lullaby of a soul that fights for attention and loses over and over again. When will I love her? When will she accept my broken pleas for mercy?

June 22, 2009
Still Standing
I am wounded but I'm ok
I've been beaten but I'm not afraid
You may catch me in a moment of weakness
Knocked down for a time or a season
But I'm still here and the gloves are still on

Cause there's still a lot of fight left in me
No, I will not go down so easily
You may have won this round but I'm not backing down
Hang on for the fight of your life
Cause as soon as you turn in for the night
That's when I'll rise

You think those little jabs are wearing me down
Can't wait 'till I give up and hit the ground
One day I'll cave from the weight of your hate
and you'll win

But what you fail to understand about me
Is that I'm trained to live in victory
My strength may wane but I'll come back again
Because I already know how this ends

Your lies, they can't hurt me
Your games are just annoying
Care to re-load for your next attack?
Don't worry, I'll still be here when you get back

Cause there's still a lot of fight left in me
No, I will not go down so easily
You may have won this round but I'm not backing down
Hang on for the fight of your life
Cause as soon as you turn in for the night
That's when I'll rise 

Beautifully Blameless

“Help me, Daddy! I’m slipping and I can’t hold on!” In the stillness and the quiet I hear his soft and gentle voice. “I AM with you. I will not let go.” After several weeks of fighting in the trenches I am battle scarred and weary. I am not strong enough to hold onto my Savior anymore. I am exhausted. In my mind I feel like I have failed the test that was set before me. I made bad choices and I have let down my Father. I am a failure. In the stillness and the quiet I hear his gentle voice. His perception of me is so different from my own.

“My daughter, lift up your head. A great battle has been fought and won. Not only did you resist temptation, you shared my Gospel with one who otherwise would not have received it. Well done! This day I have rolled away your reproach. You are blameless in my sight.”

In my mind’s eye I was only able to see the mistakes and bad judgment calls. In God’s eyes he sees the truth.

“I have removed the load of your shame, tossing it aside like the filthy garment that it is. You are blameless, treasured, and adored. Eat of my produce. All that I have is yours.”

I am starting to understand another great truth about my God. During the times when I feel the most defeated and unworthy, He is the most proud of me. As he sings to me during the quiet hours of dawn, I hear his heartbeat in the darkness. “You are right, you did fail. You failed to hide secrets. You failed to act on impure thoughts and motives. You failed to bring dishonor to me. You failed to make me love you any less than I already do.”

Commit your way to the Lord, Trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass. He shall bring forth your righteousness as the light, and your justice as the noonday. Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for Him… Psalm 37:5

 Photo courtesy of Eric James Photography

“Everyone will look upon your justice and righteousness as the sun. You will blind them with your radiance.”

As long as we are walking in His Truth, we are beautifully blameless. No matter what.

Her Sister's Hero

She is the most beautiful creature I have ever known. She sparkles from the inside out, lighting up an entire room with her joy. While I miss her terribly I understand that this time away is necessary. She is becoming a fully grown woman, exploring her independence and freedom. I could not be more proud or honored to share my DNA with her. In a fascinating irony, I look up to her as much as she looks up to me.

“…And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces but the Lord was not in the wind…”

For years I have listened to her begging and pleading. “Please write a book. You have a gift and the world needs to hear what you have to say.” Her confidence in my ability is both humbling and frightening. While the world may take little interest in what I have to offer, my baby sister is on the edge of her seat waiting for me to take the world by storm. Her latest request could not have come at a better time.

“…and after the wind an earthquake but the Lord was not in the earthquake…”

Crippled by discouragement, the last several days have driven me to the edge of despair. Like Elijah in the desert, I have been curled up under my own broom tree. Despondence and self-pity have taken up residence for free in a place where the rent is not cheap. Out of sheer desperation I empty my soul onto paper, penning words that somehow confirm her beliefs. If I thought as much of myself as she does what great things might I be able to accomplish?

“…and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice.” 1 Kings 19:11-12

Dear Self,

I’ve heard a lot of negative talk lately from the self-pity committee in your head. I understand that you are discouraged, dejected, and deranged. You feel under qualified, under appreciated, and under stress. You’ve got obligations, distractions, and responsibilities that keep your brain on overload. I get it. You feel like you’re not good enough, talented enough, or important enough to do the job. You feel insignificant, unworthy, and unprepared. I get it. I get it.

Here’s the thing about all these excuses. At the end of the day the plain truth is that it doesn’t matter how you feel. That’s right, I said it. Your feelings don’t matter and here’s why. God gave you a job to do and that’s the bottom line.

The truth is that you are good enough or else you wouldn’t have the ability to do this job in the first place. The truth is that people are responding to your efforts, even if they’re not saying a word. Speaking of which, when did you start caring so much about what other people thought? There are only two opinions that matter and yours is subjective.

The truth is that you have the power to be extraordinary. The truth is that with a little hard work, your voice could reach places you only dream about. The truth is that not only do you deserve to be heard, you are obligated. The truth is that you are more than capable of making your dreams come true. The only thing holding you back is you. What are you waiting for?

Resilient

She struggles to breathe, coughing and sputtering for air. Despite the fact that she is choking, her main concern is elsewhere. She is fighting for a different cause. She extends a fragile arm and claws her way through the dust, shoving pounds of dirt out of her way. Her tired feet drag behind her. One arm swings over her head and then the other. Slowly, relentlessly she shovels the earth away from her face and body. For hours she digs in this manner. She is oblivious to the distant sounds of traffic, children playing, air conditioners humming like the steady beat of her heart. She feels the sun kiss the top of her head and she smiles. She stops to rest, wiping the sweat out of her eyes. In that moment, the hole that she has been emptying for hours begins to fill again, the unforgiving soil closing in around her. All strength depleted, she sinks to the bottom. Earth’s latest mood swing has claimed her immobile- for now. She patiently waits, knowing change will come in time. Her body relaxes and her breathing slows to a steady, gentle rhythm.  

Suddenly the ground moves beneath her and the walls tremble as if convulsing. She crawls to her knees and shoves forward. With new resolve she continues on, determined to reclaim her freedom. The stench of her own filth assaults her senses and she retches. How long has it been since she had a thorough cleansing? Obviously it’s been way too long. Spurred on by her need for a bar of soap, she uses the entire weight of her body to push herself out of the pit. She flops over onto her back and closes her eyes, heaving a heavy, contented sigh.

A gentle rain begins to cover her like an old blanket. She drinks in the sound of the drops softly pattering on her nose, eyelids, and mouth. She parts her lips and allows the water to trickle down her parched throat, grateful for its healing. She pulls herself upright and watches the rain wash away all the layers of mud and filth. The drops come faster and heavier and with renewed energy she stands to her feet. She glances at her hands, scratched and bruised from fighting but finally clean. She raises them to the sky and laughs. 

Battling the Brain Barriers

John Bunyan once said that if we have not quiet in our minds, outward comfort will do no more good for us than a golden slipper on a gouty foot. I believe that many of our greatest battles begin and end with our thoughts. Thoughts are unpredictable, unstable, and rambunctious. They threaten great sin and have the power to do immeasurable damage if unchecked. In 1 Corinthians 5:7 Paul tells us that we need to purge out the old leaven so that we may be a new lump. Leaven symbolizes more than just sin to me. It also represents a level of self awareness that could be potentially dangerous if left untreated. When Jesus spoke of the Pharisees and Sadducees, he was warning his disciples to be wary of toxic doctrine. Along with teachings that went against what he was trying to preach, he was warning them of the dangers of getting too puffed up with the self. A holier than thou attitude can be fatal, not only to the hearer, but also to the doer.

How do we combat this restless evil that lurks within our subconscious? The first thing we need to do is take inventory. With feather duster in hand, we should go through each room in our minds and do a gut check. Anything that is out of place, rancid, or toxic should be immediately removed. This is done with prayer and repentance. Once the dust has been cleared we can make room for praise and worship. Upkeep is relatively simple. We just need to remember to take every thought captive and offer it up to Christ. The cycle can be repeated as often as necessary. Examine, eliminate, and exalt.

The enemy would like nothing more than for us to be distracted and unfocused. We cannot accomplish anything if our brain is inactive. We must remain obedient and steadfast in our calling. Now is the time for swift and deliberate action. We are in a wonderful position to use all of the tools God has given us to go and make disciples. With Christ all things are possible and every day has the potential to be miraculous.

In Remembrance

I wrote this story several years ago but it just seemed appropriate to post it this week. We will never forget...

The smell of coffee percolating wafted into the bedroom before the alarm went off. Jenny rubbed the hair out of her eyes and slowly climbed out of bed, one body part at a time. A curly haired princess pranced into the bedroom. Oh, no. This was going to be difficult.

“Mommy, what are we doing today? Can we go to the park?”

Her dark hair bounced in time to her excitement. Clearly, the child had no memory of the day’s plans. It pained Jenny’s heart to think that it would be a very long time before she saw those dimples again. Her husband walked into the room, tousling the little girl’s ringlets.

“Daddy, why are you home?”

“Remember, honey we talked about this. Mommy is going away today.”

The tiny mouth twisted into a frown. Big eyes filled with water and threatened to spill over.

“She’s leaving today? I thought it was tomorrow.” All the energy drained out of the room like water in a bathtub.

“Your father and I discussed this with you, remember? I’m sorry.”

The other children suddenly appeared in the doorway, their faces somber with truth. Jenny gave each of them a quick hug before kneeling down to the little one.

“Why don’t we have some chocolate chip pancakes and then you can help me pack? Ok? Maybe after that we’ll stop by the ice cream parlor before I leave.”

“Ok.” It was said without eye contact. Heavy feet dragged out the door and descended the stairs.

Hardly a word was spoken while breakfast preparations were underway. Jenny’s husband, Carl watched her from the dining room table, his morning paper perched sternly in his lap. His eyes scanned the classifieds, as he stole an occasional glance in his wife’s direction. How long would it be before he stroked that beautiful auburn hair again? He tried not to think about it.

“Ok, everybody come and eat!”

Plates and cutlery clanged and rattled as the food was served. Two adults and three children sat at the table. Nobody moved. Nobody ate.

“Listen, I’m sorry it has to be like this. They need me. You understand, right?”

The older one, David piped up.

“Yes Mom. We understand and we’ll help Dad. It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry ok? Right, you guys?”

The older children nodded in agreement as they slowly shoveled food in their mouths.

Such a brave little soldier, she thought. How she would miss him. She put her plate in the sink and watched out of the corner of her eye. Her youngest was sitting in her father’s lap, no longer interested in the melted chocolate. Her middle daughter was reading the comics section of the paper. She would cry after her mother was gone, a seemingly hereditary trait in this house.

Jenny quickly turned her head before they caught her staring. It was time to dress and pack. She headed to the bedroom unnoticed. A green canvas bag met her at the foot of the bed. Carl must have taken it out while she was in the restroom. She fingered the tan coat. Her last name was stitched across the right side of the chest, the American flag on the right shoulder. Pride mixed with trepidation welled up inside her. As much as she loved her job, leaving was always the hardest part about it.

She opened the bag and filled it with the standard gear. Green and tan would be her primary colors for the next 15 months. Her M16 rifle would accompany her after she got on the bus. Once dressed, she studied herself in the mirror before heading downstairs for the last time. Pliers, a couple of knives and a screwdriver adorned her vest. Her hair was pulled up and off her neck, hidden under a round, digitized hat. It was explained to her in basic training that the digital pattern actually reduces the threat of enemy attacks, compared to the old style of camouflage that was once prevalent. Her tan combat boots made a thomp, thomp, thomp sound on the hardwood floor. She kissed her family and said goodbye.

Lady Liberty’s torch burned angrily in the night sky. Jenny watched from her seat on the airplane and bowed her head.

“Father, please keep them safe while I’m gone. Help them to know that the others I join are standing with me in prayer for their protection and uninterrupted freedom. Remind them how much I love them. Amen.”