Never an afterthought

Something that has been wrecking me lately is the reality of being on the front of the Father’s mind. I have never been an afterthought. I have never been on the back burner. I was never a “screw-it-I’ll-give-her-a-chance” to Father. He has never once forgotten about me. He has never once wanted to exchange me for something better.

From the dawn of creation, He has had absolutely everything that you could imagine. He created everything that you could imagine to bring pleasure to anyone anywhere. He created the sun, moon, and stars. He knows the depth of the seas and the height of the skies. He dances on the clouds, and frolics through fields of wildflowers. He looks out over valleys from the heights of mountain peaks. He lays beside trickling springs and rumbling oceans. He has it all.

Yet,

He. Adopted. Me. 

I am His prized possession. I am the one whom he directs all His affection upon.

The way He purchased me gives proof to my value to Him. I wasn’t a flippant purchase.

He thought long and hard. Charts and graphs, pros and cons. He sorted through it all. He knew me fully. He examined my heart. He examined my nature. He knew my tendency to wander. He knew my weaknesses. And still he said, “I want her”. His choosing of me echoes. His delight over me ripples. He sings over me in my sleep; He dances over me in my wake.

He lavishes extravagant love on me. Forever. There’s nothing that I can do to convince Him to return me to my former state. There’s nothing that I can do to convince Him that I am not worthy. He has never once regretted purchasing me with the precious blood of Jesus. I have never depreciated in value. I have never been a burden to Him. He is wildly obsessed with me.

I. 

Delight. 

My. 

Maker. 

And so do you.

Boxes, Houses, and Castles: A Home fit for a King

I've placed you in perfectly ordered boxes. 

Each one labeled distinctly on it's side. 

I know what goes where and when it expires.

Well,

Sort of.

I have your ordered in a way that makes sense.
The You that is loving is right next to the You that is kind.
The You that is good is stacked on top of the You that is called Dad.
The part that is merciful is next to the box that knows my weaknesses.
Your grace is right next to your expectations of me.
Your will is stacked on top of surrender.
Your justice is overlapping your seeing of evil.

But then things get hairy.
Your holiness spews over.
Your jealousy is causing the walls of this castle to tremble.
Your anger is too close to your delight.
I can't make your fire stop burning away chaff.
You wound the ones you love.

The boxes are labeled as fragile, but really there's nothing fragile about you.
It is I who is fragile.
My ideology.
My theology.
My wish-ology.
That is what is fragile.
You don't fit into my preconceived ideas about who you are supposed to be.

So I build a bigger enclosure for you.
One that will make you look more homey
One that will hold a Dad like you.
I build you a House.

It has a roof.
Windows and a door.
I even add a picture on the wall just for you.

I invite you inside to meet with me there.
To share a cup of tea.
Maybe bake some cookies.
Then dance in front of the fireplace with your daughter.

But soon I realize that while you are a dad,
You are also a King.

A holy, passionate, King.

So I tear down the house and I build you a castle.

This castle is fit for a King indeed.
You have plenty of space to pace as you ponder your decrees.
You can sit in your throne.
You can prop up your feet.
You can look out over the kingdom and hear the peoples praise.

I have finally built something that you will love.
I have finally built you a home.

But you.
You walk through the walls.
Your glory all around you.
Your power spilling over.
Your love like an ocean.
Your passion like a wildfire.

You waltz out of the castle I built for you.
Instead, you begin to build.
You begin to build a dwelling place that is fitting for you,
God, Dad, and King.

I see you building.
I see a coffee shop.
I see a laptop.
I see a chair up next to the bar.

What I see next, surprises me the most.
It's not a box you a building.
It's not a house,
Or a or a kingdom with a castle.

What you are so intently building is me.
I see you smile.
I see love flood your eyes.
I see joy fill your face.
The place you feel most at home in,
The home in which you love to dwell,
Is me.

I am your favorite place.

I am the one you created to hold your glory.
I am the one you long to set up camp in.
You plant your roots deep inside me.

Yes, you are God.
Yes, you are Dad.
Yes, you are King.

And yes, you are Friend.



Come and dwell in the center of my heart.
Make yourself at home in me.

Wet kisses

I have many favorite bible passages, but my favorite parable in the entire New Testament is one that we are all familiar with. Pretty much anyone who has spent any time around Christians or the church has at least heard this one twice. It's that familiar. I'm going paraphrase it, I'm sure you will know the one I'm talking about within the first sentence. 

(If not, check out Luke 15) 

There was this really rich guy who had two sons. His younger son approached him one day and said, "Pops, I know you aren't dead yet, but let's pretend you are dead to me and go ahead and give me all my inheritance. I want all my half of what you got." The father, being a good father, obliged and let the teenager have his inheritance early to do with it as he pleased. The boy ran off and spent all the money on alcohol, drugs, sex, and the like. Basically he spent the money on filthy things that his dad probably would never have approved of. Finally, the boy found himself working for another man, doing the nasty work- feeding the pigs and cleaning up after them. He had spent all his money and had no food. He was so hungry that even the slop he fed the pigs looked delicious. The boy finally wises up and realizes that even his dad's hired slaves have it better than he does now. He decides to return home and beg his dad to take him in as a slave. 

The father sees the boy from way down the road, the bible says a long way off, and the father begins to run towards his son. He is sprinting, whooping and hollering from deep wells of joy and pleasure- His son has come home! 

Before the boy can even get a word out of his mouth, the father plants a big, sloppy kiss on his filthy, pig-crap covered cheek, throws a robe and ring (of authority) on him and hollers for someone to kill the prized calf for the biggest block celebration party in history. 

The boy's older brother got pretty ticked off at the father because he was faithful and loyal and did everything right but never got this kind of celebration before. The father reaffirms his love for him and tells him that he's great and has access to all his brother is getting and more simply because he's a son. 

And the party goes on. 

This story is referenced in nearly every altar call in the church. Everyone has been one of the brothers, well, really both of them, at one point or another in their life. It's a sweet story where the boy is forgiven, but I think we sometimes miss the big picture. 

The parable is known as the prodigal son. If you ask someone about it, they will tell you "oh, it's about this kid who wasted everything and then got back on track and his dad threw a party". 

But if I can change the title of this parable, if I can help you see that this parable isn't at all what we have come to accept it to be, please give me that honor. 

This story isn't about the son. 

It's not about the filthy son.

 It's not about the faithful son. 

It's not about throwing really rad parties. 

This story is about the Father. He is the point if the story. 

The story is about the Father's goodness, not about the sons' filth or faithfulness. 

Thank God! Thank God that our Father in heaven is that good Father! Thank God that when we were filthy in sin he ran down the road to plant a big, wet redeeming kiss on our cheek. Thank God that when we pout and complain that it's not fair that we have been so good while others have been so bad he lifts up our chin, and sings songs of delight and extravagant love over us and speaks to our identity as sons and daughters. 

Thank God that he is good-er than we ever imagined!!! 

The son thought he would beg to be a slave, but the Father surprised him big. The Father gave him the authority of his name. The son didn't have to earn the Father's trust back. He didn't have to prove himself. He didn't have to beg and plead. The Father was watching and waiting for the day that the son would carry his name, his identity, and walk in the authority that is his, simply because he is a son. 

So today, where ever we are, whoever we feel we identify most with, forget it. Forget who you feel most like.

Quiet your heart and mind. 

Listen. 

Hear that? 

That sound is the pounding of the Father's feet coming down the dirt road to plant a big kiss on your cheek. 

That's the rhythm of Him singing his pleasure over you. 

He is more good than you ever wished you could imagine. 

Step into your identity as a beloved son or daughter of a really, really, good, glad, kind, loving, dad. You dad is in a really good mood. 

One Year Later

A year ago today I cried myself to sleep... it had been the first full day without my little brother. Yesterday made a year that he has been in treatment. I'd like to say that it gets easier everyday, but that would be a lie. I miss him more than words can describe. I have no idea when he is going to be home. It's all up to him... when he makes enough progress. I am so proud of him though. He has really matured a lot. He has changed a lot. He is working so hard! We got to talk to him tonight. When he calls and I am home, I don't ever say much. Last Friday I talked some, but I always feel dumb when I encourage him or talk to him around my parents. It's really weird. And when I was talking to him Friday, mom kept whispering things that she thought I should say... like I wasn't doing a good enough job encouraging him. I finally just gave up and let her do the rest of the talking like always. The best conversations me and Justus have had have been when he would call my cell phone because I hadn't been at home in a while. It's those calls that we really get to talk like brother and sister. I think he is more honest then too. My brother is like my best friend.  We have a really neat relationship... It's different than what I have seen in others... Maybe because we have shared things like missions... or because we are a lot alike... Or maybe it's because we both know that had I not wanted a sibling so badly, mom and dad wouldn't have looked into adoption. He really is an answer to prayer. I remember when I was really really young, after having prayed every night for as long as I can remember for a little brother or sister, I told my mom that I was just going to stop asking God for one because I didn't think that God wanted me to have one. Mom of course encouraged me to keep praying. It wasn't long after that when my mom got a phone call saying a 3 month old needed a foster home. She immediately left work to get Justus. He's been mine ever since. We adopted him when he was 2... it was official. No one could take him away from me.

I think about my brother's adoption and I remember that...

Adoption is permanent.

Adoption is a choice.

Adoption is love.

Nothing can change that.

I remember when we were waiting for Justus' parents to release custody. His mom quickly realized that we were the best option for him and could take better care of him than she did. His dad was not as quick. His dad didn't want to release custody... He wasn't taking care of Justus. He didn't want Justus. He just didn't want us to have him. I know that with the life he was living, that he wouldn't have been legally allowed to keep Justus anyways... but he did put up a fight.

I think about adoption and I remember that...

Adoption is permanent.

Adoption is a choice. 

Adoption is love.

Nothing can change that.

We are adopted into God's family. God CHOSE me. We are children by choice. Nothing can separate us from God's love. Nothing at all. I think about my brother and the enemy doesn't want to relinquish custody of Justus. He is fighting hard. He doesn't want Justus. He just doesn't want him to be free. But the enemy has no right to Justus.

Justus IS

 free. 

 walks in honor. 

walks in righteousness. 

victorious. 

I am praying Isaiah 62 over Justus. 

I can't wait to get to see him this August! I am so excited!