Things to come

June 1st I walk into community in Sophia, NC. I have no idea what I am walking into. At all. Ha. But I know that is likely going to be the most incredibly life changing, breakthrough-packed summer of my life, because these last few months have been some of the most difficult I have ever walked through.

If I were to be totally honest, I would have to admit that there have been several times when I have wanted to throw my heart against a wall and curse God and quit. There have been a couple times when I know that I was being hung on to by a thread. (note: I was not hanging on... I had let go. He was hanging on to me.) I know that the only reason that I made it is because of His grace. I had several people who prayed intently for me during these past couple months, and I know full well that their prayers changed the direction that I was set on going. [Side note: I do NOT have it all together now. I am still greatly struggling, but He is Faithful to me.]

Back to the NC thing. I am doing a program called the 18inchjourney this summer. I am greatly excited about it. I know that it is going to be intensely challenging and wonderful. I get more excited everyday! I know that I will be stretched so much. I know that I will encounter Papa in a way like I have never encountered Him before. I am anxious and excited and overwhelmed all at the same time. 

Papa, I don't know what you are doing. But You are good. So do it big in me.

Wedding Bells and Beautiful Dreams

I am a blog reader, through and through. I can spend hours in the evenings just reading blogs written by people that I don't know from Adam. It's in these blogs that I am able to momentarily see into the vulnerable heart of the blogger, and in seeing their heart, I see into mine. 

I have read many blogs women have written over the past few years that sound kind of like this:

For years I clung to the idea that my life would follow the pretty timeline of events I had planned out in my mind. In middle school I dreamed of going to get my learner's permit the day I turned 15. In high school I dreamed of graduation and moving out of my parents' house to go away to college. When I was 19 I had it all planned out. I would be in a serious relationship by 23, married by 25, and I would have my first kid by 26. Then I woke up on my 25th birthday and realized that life hadn't gone the way I planned. All my dreams were shattered, and I sat on the floor in my room (in my parents' garage) and yelled at God. I told God how unfair He was and decided that if He didn't care enough about me to get me a husband while I waited on Him so patiently for all those years, then I would just take matters into my own hands and find a husband myself. 

Usually, these blogs end up having some kind of cool revelation and the woman realizes that God was waiting for her to surrender her dream of marriage over to Him the whole time. This usually comes about by her heart being shattered into a billion pieces and several bottles of wine and boxes of chocolate being downed to drown her emotions.

I decided tonight that 3 years from now, I don't want to be that woman. I don't want to wake up and realize that the dream I have been clinging to isn't going to happen in the timeline that I want it to, and end up shipwrecked on some island of loneliness and depression for 6-9 months before I wake up and realize that God writes the best love stories.
How do I practically ensure that doesn't happen?
I have no earthly idea.
But.
I think a place that I can start is to daily choose to let Him write my story.
Friends, you can't get much more single than I am right now. But friends, this is the perfect place to be to best let God write my story.
Will I be married at 25?
I don't know.
Will I ever get married?
Well, it's definitely a desire of my heart, and the Word says to delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart. I am trying my best to live life as a woman who delights herself in the Lord. So, yes, I think that one day I will marry.
But.
Even if I don't.
Even if I die as an old wrinkly, single cat lady... (And I don't like cats)
God. Is. Still. Good.
He is my beloved.
I will die the bride of Christ.
And that my friends is the best kind of bride to be.

Open Hands

A couple weeks ago, Jesus began to really speak to me about the concept of living with open hands.

When He first mentioned it I thought it was cool, but I didn’t really understand it. I didn’t really know what it meant to have open hands before the Lord. I know that I still don’t understand it fully. I feel that it is a concept that is going to take time and struggle to really grasp and mature in.

When Jesus first told me that he wanted to teach me how to live life with open hands I was excited. I was very much ready to be taught. I was eager to live with open hands. I felt like open hands went so well with my “Yes” lifestyle. I thought I could totally do it. I committed to living with open hands.

Fast-forward a week.

I arrive in LA. Tabitha is at school and I am at her house resting. Tabitha’s house mate, Miriam, and I begin to chat. What started out as very normal “get to know you” conversation turns into her “reading my mail” so to speak and speaking over my life. At the end of our beautiful, encouraging, challenging conversation she asked to pray with me. Of course I said yes! Who doesn’t love prayer!? Little did I know, my entire understanding of living with open hands was about to be wrecked.

"God, give her grace to live with open hands..."

WHAT? You just prayed about something that Jesus has been speaking to me about when I have told no one. And you prayed that I would have grace to do it... 

I can't explain why that little sentence wrecked my mindset, but it did. 

Do me a favor please.

While you read the rest of this post, please clinch one of your fists. Hold your hand closed as tightly as you can. I know that this is a long read, but I think it will help to prove my point.

What does it mean to live with open hands?

When I looked up this word I was blown away with the definition. HUGE. The word is defined in many different ways and in many different uses of the word. They all so beautifully demonstrate what this concept looks like though. I couldn’t bear to leave them out! It’s a lot though, I know.  

Open:

1. Allowing access, passage, not closed or blocked up, not fastened or sealed. With the outer edges or sides drawn away from each other; unfolded. (of a book or file) with the covers parted or the contents in view, allowing it to be read.

If I am going to live a life with open hands, I must allow access to every area of my heart. I must give God total access to my life. My heart, areas of my life, cannot be blocked off or sealed shut. I have sisters and mentors in my life who have total access to my life. They know who they are and they drive me to live a life of vulnerability and transparency. (They do their job well!!! HA!) To live with open hands means that God can have access to every part of my life. He can go where ever He wants to go. Nothing is off limits. My sisters and mentors know that they can ask me any question and I will answer completely and honestly. They know that they can point out any area of my life that is out of order. They challenge me and push me to maturity.

Jesus, you have total access to my life. You may go wherever you want to go. My life, heart, finances, and desires are closed or blocked off from you. My heart is not sealed off from you. You have total access.

2. Exposed to the air or to view; not covered. (Of a team member in a game) unguarded and therefore able to receive a pass. (Of a goal or other object of attack in a game) unprotected; vulnerable. (Open to) likely to suffer from or be affected by; vulnerable or subject to. (Of a town or city) officially declared to be undefended, and so immune under international law from bombardment. (Of a question, case, or decision) not finally settled; still admitting of debate. (Of a person) frank and communicative; not given to deception or concealment. Involving no concealment, restraint, or deception; welcoming discussion, criticism, and inquiry, (of a question, case, or decision) not finally settled; still admitting of debate. (Of the mind) accessible to new ideas; unprejudiced (open to) receptive to. Come into view; spread out before someone

To be open is scary sometimes because it means being exposed. If I am going to live with open hands it means that I cannot cover anything in my life. I cannot try to hide from Jesus. I cannot hide from being accountable with people in my life. I am vulnerable with sisters in my life. This vulnerability seems scary at the time that it is taking place, but it brings so much security an safety in the long run. Being known is a beautiful thing. I do not try to defend myself when I am living with open hands. Open hands cannot hold a weapon or a shield. I must trust that Jesus is my defender when I live with open hands. I must trust that He is guarding me. He is the one protecting me when I feel vulnerable. Openness means that I realize that until I get to heaven I will not have it all together. I will always need someone there to ask me the hard questions. I will always need the Holy Spirit to convict me and change me.

 3. (Of a hand) not clenched into a fist. (Of a bank account) available for transactions. (Of a telephone line) ready to take calls. (Of a choice, offer, or opportunity) still available; such that people can take advantage of it

I don’t hold on to anything. There is nothing in my life that I cling to besides Jesus. My hands are always open. I am constantly ready for transactions, God pouring into me and me pouring out into others, me pouring my worship out on him. I am always open for Him to take things out of my life that don’t belong there. Open hands means me saying, “God, anything that is not bringing you glory, take it out of my life.” I don’t cling to my time or sleep or wants. I am available for people. I am available to be used by God.

When we have open hands, God can take things with out having to pry our fingers off of them. He can also give us things. We are ready to surrender and receive at any moment.

Consequences of not living with open hands:

1. God cannot use you to accomplish all that He wants to because you are not making yourself available.

2. You cannot receive all that He has for you.

3. It is a long painful process when the Holy Spirit wants to remove something from your life.

4. Secrecy that leads to fear and in some cases sin/bondage.

Clinging to anything, whether it is a secret in you heart, a habit, addiction, fear, sin, dream, desire, goal, whatever it is, is dangerous for you and sometimes for those around you as well. It is an injustice to yourself for sure. I am sure that by this point, your hand is pretty tired of being clinched. I’m sure it is starting to hurt a little. The blood isn’t flowing correctly. Your fingernails may be digging into your palm. That’s what happens to you spiritually when you live with areas of your life closed off. When you don’t have open hands before the Lord, the life giving blood of His Spirit cannot flow through you in the areas that you are clinging to.

In a moment you can open your fist, but before you do, think about the areas of your life that are closed tight. Think about the things in your life that you have been clinging to. When you let go of your fist, imagine yourself letting go of all of that. Just release it. See how it feels.

Go ahead, let go of your fist. Let go of the things you are clinging to. Let go. Choose to have open hands.

Openness with others has always been something that I have struggled with. In the last year though the Lord has really changed that in me. Being known by people is so freeing. We think that if someone really knew who we are __________ (Something negative) will happen. However, it is the opposite. I have found such freedom and healing in being real with sisters in my life.

Maybe you need to talk to someone. You may need to share a secret. You may need to just tell someone what you have been clinging to. You may need to be vulnerable for the first time. Do it. Find someone. Share. Open your hands and open your life. I challenge you. Live open. It’s freeing.

When you first let go of your fist, you hand may have started to tingle. The blood began to rush back to your fingers. It may have been painful. How does your hand feel now? Free? Relaxed? Openness is always scary at first. Sometimes it is painful. Sometimes it makes you feel as if your insides are all fighting to explode out of you. But once you jump off that cliff and you choose to be open, blood starts to flow again. Oxygen starts to fill those cells again. Healing happens. It’s freeing.

This year, I want to live with open hands. I want to be able to look back a year from now and say that there was no area of my heart or life that was off limits to God. I want to be able to say that I surrendered everything to Him. I did not cling to anything. Even things that He has given me are not to be held on to. I want to look back and be able to say that I received everything from Him that He wanted to give me- the good, easy, fun blessings, as well as the opportunities to learn how to suffer well.  He gives and He takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord.

God, give me grace to live with open hands. Give me grace to surrender and to receive. There is nothing that I hold on to. You have total access to my life. I will follow you wherever you go. Jesus, I will follow you into the depths of my heart, into every corner and closet in my life. I let go of all that I have held on to. I repent for clinging to anything that you have given to me. I repent for thinking that I am strong enough to hold on to anything in my life. Dreams, secrets, blessings, regrets… I’m not strong enough to hold on to them. I give it all to you God. I repent for the pride that caused me to think I could cling to anything in my life. Give me grace to live with open hands. I will follow you wherever you go.

Will you join me?

Widow's mite

I feel like in the last few weeks there have been many things that I have wanted to sit down and blog about, but I have done none of them. As I reflect back on some of it now I don't know where to start. I don't even know if I really feel like walking back through the last month of my life and putting words to it. I don't feel like being vulnerable. I don't feel like sharing where I have journeyed through. There is so much on my heart that I feel like I should have some sort of outline to follow before I start trying to type this; otherwise I think that I may just aimlessly ramble on and on.
Ramble.
That is probably what this is going to be.
Processing.
Sorting through all the things that I should have taken the time to sort through as they happened rather than waiting for three weeks later to put words to.

In the past 4 months I have come to a place where it has felt like everything I have ever known has been ripped out from under me time and time again. I can't even begin to count the number of times that I have looked up at the sky and screamed "God, you have already taken everything away from me, what more do you want?!" Each time that I feel like I have given every last penny that I have to God, I turn around and sigh with relief... only to realize that I have one more coin to put in the box.

And he sat down opposite the treasury and watched the people putting money into the offering box. Many rich people put in large sums. And a poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which make a penny. And he called his disciples to him and said to them, “Truly, I say to you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the offering box. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

In the past few weeks, I have found my self very much able to relate to this woman. Maybe I haven't given the last cent that I have to my name to God, but definitely emotionally I have. I have sat on the floor of my room, behind the wheel of my car, and in the corner of the nursery day after day sobbing, telling God I don't know how I am going to make it. I have given you everything God, and this is terrifying. And then He asks for everything again. I drop the coin in the box. I turn and walk away, trusting that he has me... and then I look down and see another coin. I turn back again and place it in the box. I turn and walk away again. Again, I look down and realize there's another coin. 

This cycle has gone on for weeks. It's a daily surrender. It's a daily letting go of everything that I have known. It's a daily trust that He's got me. I don't have much to offer him, but what I do have is His. No matter how terrifying. I know He's got me. 

There is so much more that I can write. So much more that I can say. So much that I will say. Just not at this moment. Not in this post. 

Auctioneer's Platform... Part 2

I am just like her. I have been bought, but I don't know how to just be. Years of slavery have left me scrambling, doing, working, striving, pleasing. I feel disqualified when I mess up. I beat myself up and search for a way to be punished when I fail. Why? Because I don't understand the Grace of God. I don't get it. When I am doing well, I feel like God loves me and wants to use me. I feel like I have done something to earn His love, to earn His goodness. Because I think that I can earn his acceptance, when I fail I feel like I deserve harsh punishment. It's like one tiny mistake sends me plummeting down to the jagged rocks below where I have to somehow pick myself back up, clean myself off, get myself healed or fixed, and make the hike back up to the top of the mountain where God loves and accepts me.
I don't understand grace.
I know in my head that I can never do good enough to earn anything from Him. He freely gives it all. But it is still in the process of making its way to my heart.
I am realizing how filthy I am. I am completely and utterly filthy. There is nothing in me that deserves love or acceptance. Nothing. I am a ragamuffin. (Yes, I am reading Ragamuffin gospel right now...) 
I am so undeserving of any good thing. I am just a filthy, worthless, prostitute.
But.
His grace is sufficient.
His grace doesn't see my rags.
Grace clothes me in a beautiful gown.
His grace doesn't expect me to do.
Grace knows that Jesus already did for me.
His grace doesn't condemn me when I mess up.
Grace covers my ugly.
His grace doesn't let me fall and slam into the jagged rocks below.
Grace is there to catch me.


I am a dumb sheep.
I take off, full speed, and dive off the side of the cliff.
Even though I know the cliff is there. Something in me just can't resist. I must run to the edge, full speed.
Two things about grace for this little sheep.
1. Grace is calling me back away from the cliff's edge, but when I dive off, Grace is at the bottom to catch me. Grace puts me on His shoulders and carries me back up the mountain. (And then the process starts over... because I don't get it yet.)
2. As I dash for the cliff, Grace, the Good Shepherd, reaches out His staff and hooks it around my neck to pull me back in. Ouch. That staff hurts. I hate it. I kick and scream and fight. But that staff, though it is painful at times, is grace at work.

I don't understand yet that Jesus paid the price for me so that I don't have to pay it.
I don't understand yet that I can do nothing to be good enough for him... or anyone else for that matter.
I don't understand yet that His grace is sufficient for me.

But I will.
Oh, I will.


I am convinced of this, He who began the good work in me is faithful to carry it out to completion.
I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separated me from the love of God in Christ Jesus my Lord.
I am convinced that He sees my ugly, and He loves me anyway.
I am convinced that He paid the price to set me free.
I am convinced that He set me free simply so that I could be free.

I don't have to perform for Him.

I don't get grace.

But I will.
Oh, I will.

On the Auctioneer's Platform

She stood there on the auctioneer's platform, clothed in rags. Dirt streaked across her expressionless face; filthy because she hadn't had the luxury of a bath in some time. She stood, head down, wondering where the bidding would begin. She cringed as she heard the too familiar sound of children screaming as a sibling was bought while the other left. Memories of her own siblings flooded her mind. Where were they now? Were the safe? Did they remember her? Regrets overwhelmed her heart. Why did she choose to set out on her own? Promises of an exciting life, broken. She spent the last three years of her life in the brothels, selling her body to strange men in hopes of making enough money to get by.

Sold. 

The auctioneer's voice rang out. So lost in her thoughts, she didn't realize the bidding for her had already begun, let alone ended. She searched the crowd wondering who bought her. She wondered what her new life would be like. For a moment she was gripped with fear as she reflected back on past owners; she quickly pushed those memories out of her head.
A man began to push through the crowd, fighting to get to the front. All eyes were on him.

"She's mine," he said, "I pick her."

He handed over the biggest bag of silver she had ever seen in her life. Her heart raced as she wondered how she could ever pay him back. She resigned to the thought that she would be in slavery to him for the rest of her life, doing whatever he wanted. She hung her head as her heart seemed to crash and shatter on the ground around her, with it went her dreams of freedom. She had nothing to give him.

She was nothing but a filthy, poor, prostitute. 

He reached out and lifted her off the auctioneer's block. This was strange, she had never been carried before. No buyer had ever looked into her eyes like this one either. His eyes seemed to pierce deep within her heart. She looked away, ashamed, fearful of what he might see. Expecting him to put her down and make her walk, she squirmed a little, ready to be dropped. He didn't. He carried her.
He carried her for what felt like miles, close to his heart. She was deeply confused by this buyer. Who was he? Why didn't he treat her like the others had? He carried her into the door of a house at the end of the road. Carried her in the door, down the hallway, and into a room with a big bed where he laid her down. She quickly sat up, and began to remove her torn clothes. She knew what to do from here, she had been here many times before. He must have carried her so that she wouldn't be tired from the long walk and could perform well for him. He walked over to a tub in the corner of the room and began to fill it with water. He pulled a new gown out of the closet and laid it across a comfortable looking chair.
She was so confused. He hadn't barked a single order at her. She sat there, exposed, wondering what to do. She thought, how could she please him if he wouldn't tell her what he wanted? He turns, and she watches him walk out of the room, closing the door behind him. She sits for a few moments, perplexed, not wanting to do anything wrong.
After several moments, she stands and walks over to the tub, she hadn't had a warm bath in such a long time. After she bathed, she put on the new gown that he laid out for her. She brushed her matted curls with a brush she found in the drawer by the bed. She inhaled deeply and smelled the delightful aroma of food being prepared in the kitchen. She curiously tiptoed her way through the door, out of the room, and down the hall. Peeking around the corner she saw the man who purchased her sitting at the table with other children her age.
"Great," she whispered, "I'm in another brothel." She took a step backwards to return to her room before she was caught, but the floor board creaked. The man with the intense eyes looked up, right at her. She gasped and quickly turned to scurry back to her room. As she began to take off down the hall, she heard the most gentle voice.

"Won't you come join us?" he beckoned. 

She stopped in her tracks. She had never been invited to dinner before. Who is this man? What does he expect of me. She slowly turned, and studied the man's expression. It was one she had never seen on the face of a buyer before. It was gentle, loving even. He stood. She took a fearful step backwards. He walked around the table and pulled our a chair, he waved her over, calling her to sit.
Not wanting to cause trouble, she complied.
He went to the stove and prepared a plate for her. He set it before her. The food smelled delicious. More delicious than she could remember anything smelling before. In that moment, she realized that her stomach ached with hunger. How long had it been since she had last eaten? Days?
The man walked back around to his seat and continued to eat his dinner.
She slowly picked up the fork and began to eat. Careful not to drop anything on her new gown. Surely her buyer would be set off if she made any sort of mess. This treatment was too good to last for long.
After dinner, she returned to her room, wondering when her work would begin. He came in to bring her another blanket before he retired to bed. She drifted off to sleep, wondering how long this would last.

How long would it be before he realized she was nothing but a filthy prostitute?

The next morning she woke to the sound of the man singing and children laughing. She smelled breakfast cooking, as she sleepily crawled out of bed and walked down the hall. 

"Good morning Sunshine!" the man called out to her, "Did you sleep well?" 

"Yes," she whispered. 

"Breakfast is ready if you are hungry," the man said. 

She sat down and began to eat. She studied the children around her, wondering how they could have such joy. This buyer confused her greatly. What did he want with all these children? Who could he be?

As the day drew to a close, she still had all of the same questions racing through her mind. 

That evening, as she got ready for bed, the man came in to her room. She stood, waiting on a command. 

He lifted her back up on to the big, comfy bed, and sat down next to her. She looked up at him. His eyes once again burned deep within her soul. 

"What do you want from me?" she whispered, as her eyes welled up with burning tears. "I don't know how to please you and I could never pay you back." 

"Child, I only want you to be free." His gentle voice was overwhelming. She couldn't take it anymore. Tears rushed out of her eyes and flooded her face. He reached over and began to wipe them away. Still confused, she jumped, startled at this sign of affection. She had expected him to be angry at her emotion. He just sat there, his eyes loving eyes piercing her heart.

"Free?" she asked. "How can I be free? I can't ever pay you back, you paid too much for me."

"I don't want anything from you. I paid for your freedom. You don't deserve slavery." 

"Free?" 

"Free." 

"It is for freedom that Christ set us free..." Galatians 5:1

Lessons in Grace

Jesus, where are you in this? I don't understand....
These are things I hear myself cry on a regular basis.
I trust that He's got it. I trust that He knows what is going on. I trust that everything that touches my life first passed through the sovereign hand of a very good Papa.
But sometimes, it hurts more than I ever expected it to.
Sometimes, I find my self kicking and screaming and fighting the only One who loves me fully.
Who am I to question the creator of the universe?
Who am I to ask Him to hold my broken heart?
I am so good at saying "When I don't understand, I will choose You." .... but it is MUCH easier said than done.
I never thought this would be so confusing. I never thought I would find myself here again.
Jesus, I know you are still teaching me to trust you enough to rest with you in the storm. I thought I got the lesson last time around. Apparently, I didn't.
Maybe I am not one to question Him, but I can ask Him questions.
Where are you in this?
What are you trying to teach me?
Will it feel this way forever?
What do You want to do?
Will you please hold my heart closer to you?

Jesus, you were acquainted with my suffering.
Acquainted...  Yada....
You yada my suffering.
You yada the things that pain my heart.
Yada.

You mean I'm not alone in this?
You get it?

I am so selfish.

I.
Am.
So.
Selfish.

Forgive me.
Please.

Show me grace.

Again.


I throw my little fit like a 2 year old.
I scream and cry and beat at the gate that you have lovingly locked for my protection.
I beat my head on the walls and kick my feet, hoping that if I scream loud enough you will decide to open the gate and let me run where I please.
I don't realize that those boundaries were placed for my good.
I don't realize that outside those borders, great danger awaits.
I blame you.
I kick you.
I beat your chest.
My snot and tears are wiped across your robe.

But you.

You lovingly hold me close.
You gently wipe my wounds.
You reach down an pick me up out of the dirt and you wrap me in your arms.
You let me scream.
You let me fight and swear and bargain and plead.
You hold me close as all my ugly spills out.
You wipe the dirt mixed with snot and tears from my face with your precious, white robe.

Who am I to deserve such grace?
Who am I to have Grace Himself stoop down and scribble in the sand?
Who am I to be told, "You are not condemned."
Who am I to be loved so deeply.

I am lovely, because you love me.
Even in my selfish naivety... Even in my pride.
I think I know.
I do not.

The boundaries I abhor so deeply, they are your grace.
The correction I fight so fiercely, it is your love.
The discipline that I curse you for, it is your mercy.
The storm that causes me to think you are killing me, it is you teaching me to rest.

When I don't understand, I choose you.
When I don't understand, I cling to you.
When I don't understand, I. Trust. You.


Give me grace to follow well.