Summer Made A Promise

Sometimes the light is blinding, when you've seen so much of darkness. It's a mountain much too tall, that you don't have the stamina to climb. So you fall on you're knees, admitting you can't, because that's the only way you really can. 
    You brave the cold, accepting the absence of warmth, knowing that it is only for a time. Summer has to keep it's promise eventually. Spring will soon roll in with a kiss, a soft little melody that tells us it doesn't forget. We must hold fast and trust the One that really knows us. There's nothing worse in this world than fear without a cure, but we don't have to live that way, we know the cure, we belong to the only hands that can heal. 
    So let's end our charade, crying like pain is all we know. We've been given so much more than that. Hope is the strongest kind of fire, but you have to let it in. It's as steady as the sun, coming, going, but always promising it's return. 
    And when we see it leaving us
    Even only for a time 
    We have to let it bleed
    With clarity of mind
    Staining all our skies
    We always have to try. 

"Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful." -Hebrews 10:23

Words from Midnight

I forget what it's like for a soul to ignite

Through the dust of everyday life

There's a hole in my sail

And I've finally failed

To find my own way through the night

I've been running inside 

With a fog on my eyes

But I'm standing completely still

I've been wandering behind

And my hands are all tied

This rut has become such a drill

If my heart is a bowl

Then it's empty, not full

And I'm wanting what I can't describe

And all of these battles are just quiet rattles

Creaking so sneaky inside

You never hear them

Or see them, or feel them

You trust me when I say that I'm fine

Pull Me Closer Still

We are running, careless, creating invalid reasons of how we are unable to slow down. We make the traffic in our souls, we invent the aches in our own minds. We over-complicate the simplicity of it all and yet You still care for us, You pull us closer, still.
    You open Your hands to us, offering a peace that is unshakable, but we are all too stubborn to accept it. Sometimes we tap into that power, we drink from that well, but then we hear our hurts knocking, pounding, endlessly on our door and we close our ears to that voice that tells us to rejoice.
    I'm guilty of this, this rush that is slowing me down, but I believe in You and Your power to quiet my restless, wandering, distracted heart and pull me closer to Yourself.
   

Pull Me Out Of The Dark

"You are a hiding place for me; You preserve me from trouble; You surround me with shouts of deliverance."-Psalm 32:7

    Open You're door to me now; find a place for me in You're arms, under You're wings. Save me from myself, the thoughts that tear me down. Fill the air with music, a song that says, "You're safe."
    I'm all too tired to care for anything. My passions are an empty river, a remembrance of what they use to hold.
    I'm waiting for something, but I don't know what. I don't have the strength to stand, or the motivation to mount up on eagle's wings.
    You'll always be my only hope. Jesus, pull me out of the dark.

Yours // Child of Grace

"Leave me here. I don't deserve You're love."

You'd never entertain that idea. Your grasp is tight, You're always close. This emptiness I feel is good news to You, because now You can fill me up. Now You can show me You're strength and my need for it.
    You should walk away right now, but if you did I'd be destitute, lacking purpose, knowing failure and nothing else. I'd be back to what I was, but because of Your perfect promises, I know I'll never have to walk those halls again. This is permanent freedom, the kind that never fades. With You there's not even little chains, with You the ropes are loosed, they won't hold this heart anymore, cause this heart is Yours. I belong to You.

"For freedom Christ has set us free" ~Galations 5:1

Free // Completely Done

The birds are calling back and forth to each other, in the late morning air. Summer wind brushes gently across my skin and ruffles pages of the living Words in my hands. These Words are more precious to me than anything. You are alive and speaking to me still.
 

"And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?" ~Matthew 6:27

    It doesn't profit anything, or even prepare me for what's to come. You are in control and what is going to be will be, without my nerves wondering if it will come to pass or not. 

    How can these living Words be life in me, taking effect? Here's all my cares, take them. Fill me up with You and empty me of myself. I just want to live fully, trusting You entirely, but this blockage of fear is standing in my way and I can't seem to see over that wall. 

    Every thought of mine should radiate Your sovereignty, I've not been given a spirit of fear, but a spirit of life and of peace. 

    

"Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." ~Matthew 6:34

    It must look so silly to You, from a perfect perspective, me, with hurts so unnecessary. You came down to save me out of this fear and here I am, drinking from the polluted well once more. 

    I'm tired of subjecting myself to this bondage that You've already freed me from. Enough is enough. Take my worry. You are in control and I want to trust You, but I need Your truths to be fresh in me constantly, reminding me that what You complete is completely done. 

"For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery." ~Galations 5:1

Everything

It was like fire, swimming and singing inside of my soul, the kind that burns without leaving scars. It was like sunshine at it's best hour, kissing the song of the morning with hopes brand new. It was like running with strength that could never be spent, because it was not my own.
    So why did I try to handle those flames on my own terms, when I knew they'd only leave marks inside my chest? Why did I close my eyes to the sunlight, pretending Your Words were a silhouette, burnt out to only me? Why did I look away, put my eyes on the sea I was running on? I knew I'd sink in, just like Peter did.
    The truth is I wasn't scared and that's what scares me most. I thought I'd be able to make it a few steps on my own. You got me that far, I thought I could take it from there. Distractions were piling up and I started creating excuses, little white lies that flowed rapidly through my subconscious. Then it became clear to me, I was handling the wrong kinds of fire. Those little waves that I thought to be so innocent were creeping up on me from behind, growing stronger as I continued to sink, now neck deep in my own mess of excuses. The morning was as night to me, I was deaf to the sound of birds calling, blind and numb to the light that leaked it's way onto my skin. I couldn't feel You or see You anywhere and for the first time in too long, I asked for a rescue.
 

Sometimes in order to see past confusion, we have to stop looking to ourselves for answers. I guess I see that now, clearer than I'd like to admit. I was ridiculous, hands practically peeled to my face trying to walk on water without You.
    I'm thankful for that gentle whisper that said, "Enough. I need to be your everything." Without that little shove, I may never have seen things right. Sometimes we all lose sight of what's important and that's not okay at all.

Reach

Somewhere planted deep beneath the stone, the shell, is a softness that keeps on pounding, burning and asking me to stand. I'd rather sit tight though, forget and just give in, accept the thoughts that don't necessarily need to be.
    It's like there's this battle going on in the quiet and normalcy of everything. I want to just breathe and pretend that the strain of doing so isn't there, but it is there and I'm wondering if or when it will ever go away.
    It's not what's gone that brings me down, but all that it represents. It means that because I've fallen this time, this many times, that I'll always be too tired to try again, but I've still got this thing here, this wanting to start all over again and give it everything I've got.
    I've pushed this thing back so far on the shelf that my arms have grown so sore, it's like they've stretched from all this effort and now I hurt from pushing it out of hurting range. I'm sitting here now, smiling to myself and entertaining ideas that I never even thought possible. Something dawns on me now, the reality of it all. If these arms could extend far enough to push it to where it is, then surely they must be able to reach far enough to pull it back, that burning beating, feeling, part of me that I've always been so scared to share. I'm at peace right now, but when the time is right I'm going to stand. I'm going to reach.

Why Do We Hurt So Much?

"More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."-Romans 5:3-5

   There's a river running deep inside me, a pang that stirs in circles, it cuts me to the core. This silent madness, this stirring of my soul, it's wandering through every hallway of my heart, as your words cut me fresh wounds, new scars that stand their ground.
   Like fingers hitting metal strings, over and over, wanting to give in to failure, longing for an easy way out, but there is none. Will I ever make the song? Will my hands ever become strong enough to push through the hurt and find triumph on the other side? I want to know, I don't want to just stand back and wonder, wonder what it might have been like if I had given it my all, if I had fought the good fight with zeal instead of cowering behind all of my fears, my growing, growing, fears.
       You tell me that the pain will come, whether I choose to face it or not, but why is that so hard for me to grasp? Why do we hurt so much? Why do I even ask this, when I know You've hurt worse for me, bleeding there on that tree? There has to be a purpose in all of this, some reason for all of this pain. Maybe my heart is like my hands, trying again and again to push against those strings, wanting so badly to taste the song, but all too frustrated and tired to get there. I know what it's like though, that gap in the end of the tunnel. There's nothing sweeter than the taste of that air, when I come up from those waters, those raging, violent waters.
    It makes me wonder, in a way, would I really know it's joy, the fullness of that kind of peace, if I hadn't been tied so deep underneath that storm? Maybe the torment is more than necessary. Maybe we hurt so that we can hear the song.

Walls

I'm stacking bricks and laying wet cement. I feel less of this kind of pain. The daggers aimed towards me are hitting the walls, just as I had planned. I build the walls stronger, taller and soon I can barely hear their snide remarks. They can't reach me, burn me, if I keep them at a distance.

I'm putting in the ceiling now, filling every empty space between the bricks with the wet cement. I wait and watch it dry. The last of the setting sun leaks through the little hole that I've left for air, but then something happens, it goes dark. I look for a way out, come to my feet as fast as I can, panicking and searching for a door, surely I must have thought to build a door.
There is no way out, no light left coming through the little hole that I've left. I seat myself against the walls that I built, staring blankly into every crevice, where the wet cement dries stale. I've blocked out all their voices, shielded myself from their blows, but now I am my own prisoner and I've worked too hard at this point to find my way out.

I'm content at this point, becoming use to the idea of of a closed heart, but there are days when I doubt my own logic. It's all well and good in the night, when I fear the thought of the unknown, all the possibilities of hurt that keeps me here inside these walls, but in that moment when the sun leaks through, when the scent of blossoms drifts its way into that little hole and I hear the birds calling to each other back and forth in the distance...those are the times when I want to rip these walls back down to dust. If I want to really taste the good, all of it, in its full, then I'd have to open up, I'd have to risk.

There are parts of me that still crave that, a life without fear, but most of my insides tell me that its a bad idea, that I'll regret it and so I listen. I listen to that voice. I listen to that voice because its easy, but there is always a hole, an almost door left open where all the good still leaks in and I carry it with me, pretending to be a calloused heart, giving off the impression that all these walls are strong, that they will hold after any storm, but soon it will come out again, the walls will break down and I'll stand to my feet again, replacing bricks with new cement, putting fresh shields over scars, because I couldn't stop the hope from slipping through.

The walls become harder to maintain, because as each day dawns with the song of the morning, the hole lets in a little more light and subconsciously I am keeping it there, I am nurturing it like a little plant, making room for it to grow and little by little, when my back is turned, the foundation begins to crack and my walls don't just break, they are being broken, broken by Your strong hands that are finding a way to soften my almost calloused heart.

Runaway

I was filled with confidence when I walked through that door. Bags in hand, head held high, but now? Now I'm not so sure what I'm even doing here. I feel lost again.

The light is starting to fade, even though I've been begging for it to stay. It doesn't listen and why should it? I have no say, no power in any of this. I'm smaller than all my fears, than the darkness. I don't have a plan, a place to lay my head tonight. I was so caught up in the moment of fear, that the idea of running seemed like my only way out, but now that I've gone all I can see are options, other ways I could have gone, or things I should have said. I crave the security of that place that I left, but I know one thing is certain...I can never go back.

I stop to take a breath. I can't remember how long its been since I've allowed myself to do just that. I close my eyes, heart throbbing wildly inside my chest, I search for answers, but I know I don't want to find them. I listen for a moment to the silence. It's too quiet. Something moves fast behind me. I stand up, eyes darting all around, trying to learn the source. I hear twigs breaking, quiet earth being interrupted by a stranger.

"Who's there?" I try to sound brave, but I've only made it known that I'm an easy target. My voice is cracking, I can barely get the words out.

I run, this time hoping to return to the place I escaped from, but I know there is just no way, I've lost it, lost myself in the process. Careless, I trip over a bush of thorns, falling to the rough ground with legs still entangled. The footsteps are only getting closer now and I wonder if in my own stupidity I have run in their direction instead of away from them. I'm terrified as I try to unwind my legs from the sharp thorns. It's no use, the hold is too strong around both my ankles. I press my bleeding fist to my forehead in frustration. Why am I here?

The footsteps have picked up in pace and I've given up all hope. Tears spill from my eyes and I have no voice. I can't even scream, but would it make any difference? Who would hear me anyway?
I jump in place, feeling a strong presence beside me. Before I can understand what's happening, one foot has already been loosed from the pointed ropes. Blood is now covering His hands, as He rips the thorns from me, fearlessly. I know who it is now and it isn't fair.

"Why did you come for me, again?" It doesn't make sense, but has it ever?

I'm freed. Freed from the branches that cut deep into my skin and their sting has no hold over me now. The cuts have healed over. I feel the smoothed skin, amazed but heartbroken as I see the scars on His hands.

"Those should be my wounds." I say, wishing I could pull back time and tell Him not to suffer. He doesn't deserve it, not even one scratch. I've run so many times and its my own fault that He comes after me. I know He will never leave me, but why does it have to hurt Him so?

The sobs control me and I can only breathe out thanks. He tells me to be still and I listen, breathing in and out deep breaths. He lifts me from the earth's floor and carries me all the way back to that narrow winding path. He tells me to be strong and gives me the strength to do so. He doesn't promise it will be easy, but He gives me His word that He will never leave. I believe it, feeling the strength of His hand that holds me. I'm walking beside Him now, listening to the calm of His voice.

"I'm sorry I ran." I know I've said this before, but He forgives me as if it were only the first time. He see's the sincerity behind it and knows my breaking heart.

I'm prone to it, the weakness, longing for the easy way out, but He holds me and no matter how far I run, how many times I fail Him, He will always come looking for me.

"Be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of age." ~Matthew 28:20

Do Not Be Afraid

It's a long way up to reaching perspective and to be honest I scarcely want to make the trip. I'd rather sit tight down here, where it's safe, where the risk can be avoided. Is that living though? Is that trusting at all?

You say that in the stillness You are with me, in the madness You are there, but in order to really process that, I have to let go of the fear. Even though it seems more like a condition, fear is really an option. I can choose it, or I can refuse it, so why do I choose it?

I don't understand why You take away, but I never do question when You give. Embracing blessing is easy, but when it comes to the lesson? Oh, let's do without that please. I don't want to be like that anymore. I want to say with an honest heart that You are good when I can't see past my own tears. I want to feel You near when the most precious of treasures have gone away. I want to rely on You in all things, to see You as more valuable than any other trivial distraction.

I know that its hard right now, but You knew that it would be, even before I was born into this world. You know the reason for every tear that slips from my eyes, You see the purpose in all my suffering. I want to see what You see, to take steps forward, steps with courage. In the midst of a trial is the worst possible time I could test out my own strength, seeing how far it will get me. Right now I need You and You alone.

I won't say that the future doesn't scare me, that change doesn't hurt, but I will say this...I know that You are with me and You will always be with me and that will be enough.

"Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him and He will do this: He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun." ~Psalm 37:5-6

A Beautiful Mess

And when You call my name

Never let me turn my back

We have skilled ourselves in the art of faking peace, projecting an image of tranquility when in reality there is a war going on inside of us. We know our own strength will at least get us somewhere, far enough until the pool runs dry. The tank is empty and so are we, wondering why we let our pride get the best of us this time.

We shut Him out without even knowing it sometimes, thinking we can ignore Him and reap the benefits of His presence, while clinging to our selfish priorities. We turn off one switch at a time and gradually the life grows darker, then before we can say we didn't mean it, we're tripping over traps we set for ourselves in the dark. And all it takes is one whisper, one sincere cry of repentance, but it takes us so long to realize we have sinned.

"Just tell me what I've done! Show me how I've sinned so that I can feel you again!"

"Pride." He says this softly and we pretend we didn't hear it. Pride? That doesn't count, does it? There must be something else. That's all too simple for us to accept.

The truth is, pride isn't simple, it's serious. It's not harmless, it's disgusting. We see it as a means of self-reliance, when in reality it's the road to self-destruction. God loves a broken and contrite heart, a heart that knows it needs. A heart that is sorry and ashamed, tired and aware. That's the kind of heart that God wants us to bring Him when we ask for forgiveness. All too often we bring puffed up hearts, masked with layers of "I'm sorry's" that are anything but sincere. He see's it all, who are we kidding? He see's that heart that says "I'm sorry if I did anything," and grieves at the very sight of it.

So if we know that He will never tire of a broken heart, why do we try so hard to piece it together ourselves, handing Him a mess that says it's clean? He see's through that nonsense, we're only fooling ourselves. He wants our broken hearts, because He loves enough to heal. He wants our ugly mess, because in His eyes that is humility, that is beauty.

Whiter Than Snow

"Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; 

Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow."

~Psalm 51:7

It's dark, this feeling of remorse. I know that there isn't anything I can do to rid myself of it. No matter how many times I exercise my own strength, its still not enough.

I walk through the house, pulling doors shut and covering the windows with any sheet or board that I can get my hands on. I don't want You to see me like this, so I think that running from You is my only solution. The truth is though, it has only grown worse with time. I trip over everything unknown, because I've closed out all the light. I can't feel You with me, because I've locked You out. All that I can think to do is give up, give up on everything. I sink to the floor and bury my face in my hands, hoping You won't see my shame, but knowing all the while that You do.

You're the only one here in these moments, speaking to me even when I choose not to listen. No one else see's these dark moments, because covering the windows has blinded their eyes from all that is going on. Closing the doors has kept them out, but I know that I can never keep You out. No door is too thick and no thorn is too sharp to scare You away.

I just don't understand it and I doubt that I ever will. Why would You care for someone like me? After all I've done and all I continue to do, it doesn't make sense.
I thought that I had reached the point of no return, ran too fast and too far, but looking down I see it now, that You've been holding my hand all along. I thought I lost You, but it was me who was lost. When I ask to be clean You do not turn away. You wash me again and I can't help but marvel at the kindness of Your heart.