Reverberate

“…He’s dead.”

Everything in me was about to come undone at the seams.

Everything that I am—obliterated.

Wiped out like the dust of a chalkboard.

Shattered and thrown out, never to be considered again.

Every part of me, 

every fiber of my being rendered void – invalid – NONEXISTENT – untrue – WITHOUT VALUE.

All in just a moment.

A moment that would undo all that I am and all that I do and all that I have.

Like a vapor. Gone.

If You were truly dead.

She needed truth.

I needed truth.

Every particle in the atmosphere, seen and unseen, needed to hear the Truth, 

lest it all melt away and cease to exist.

After all, it, too, would be meaningless.

Purposeless.

And what can exist without purpose?

What has been placed here, given, and done without purpose from God above, God within, God all around?

Maybe she made a mistake.

Maybe she would realize she slipped in her words.

That, yes, You walked the earth, but You do not fit in the category with those who remain in the grave.

“Jesus is ALIVE.”

Her eyes avoided mine.

Her agile words became the hurdles her now leaded tongue staggered over.

Suffocating. Heavy laden. Fattened and starved. 

All she had to hold was her candy-coated demise. 

She did not know. She did not see. Her heart did not understand.

Deliver those who are 
drawn toward death,

and hold back those 
stumbling to the slaughter.

Proverbs 24:11

Choice Specs

She hid behind rose-tinted glasses.

They served perfectly as curtains that hid panic and diverted betrayal. She wore them well, but with more dependence than proud ownership.

People used her to get ahead, and, to keep the scars quiet, she convinced herself she was doing a good thing, being useful and gaining value. Despite her efforts, though, their own truth bled through. 

Scars talk. Wounds ramble on. And blood cries out. 

She quit fighting and let them dress her in their massive, crusty cloak. Nothing quite fit, but it's all she had been offered. 

At the corner of “No One Knows” and “Nobody Cares,” she walked around with the blood of innocents dripping from her fingertips. Each drop fell like tears from that seemingly-vacant world outside her own, leaving crater-sized marks in history.

Sliding an oversized sleeve over her arm, she raised a hand to her face and pushed her glasses up snugly...

One came and saw her through a pair of crimson lenses. The Father asked, “When will she know, when will someone tell her? She is covered in the Blood of Love.”

You are covered in the Blood of Love.

Taleé

All she wanted was to be someone she can love, someone she can accept.

But when she looked at her life to see what it was, 

all she saw was what it’s not. 

She looked to see what she had achieved, but all that was in front of her 

was what she'd not.

And when she thought upon the place where He is, 

a shrewd voice told her, 

“That’s where you’re not.”

She looked in the mirror and feelings of disapproval and rejection 

slapped her gaze away from the very sight she once saw as 

radiant and complete.

Disquieting was this voice she did not know, 

but she listened anyway.

“Don't forget these things: what would've... could've... 

what should have been...”

“Am I a man,” 

she heard in a whisper more powerful than the screams,

“that I would leave you to

check out other options, or want something 

bigger and better, 

something newer and greater? 

I see you, 

and I'm keeping you. 

I know your end from your beginning.

Do stay, My fair one; 

remain in My 

Love.”

“Someday,” 

she said to herself, 
“I will see clearly,

beyond the dust

of this familiar mirror,

and see myself for the first time 

again.”

May Be So

What if being stuck is part of the process 

to learning the sounds of silence

Maybe there would be more sitting and 

less squandering 

more reaching and less running away

What if learning is 

a matter of the heart 

instead of the mind

Maybe sleep would be more sound 

and 

the questions left alone

What if the nothing

that is being done

really is 

as worthless as it feels

What if 

it’s not?

Sensibility

She opened her window to let the sweet smell of rain fill the room. 

She didn’t mind hearing the drops hit the trees before they fell to the ground, because it reminded her of an audience clapping after a performance at the symphony. Maybe this time is was the minstrels themselves applauding their long hours of work and celebrating the fruits of their labor.

Without realizing, she soon tuned out the jubilation and drifted into mindless activity. Then, just as suddenly, a bright flash shone across the sky. Following was its boisterous companion, which announced its attendance and commanded her attention once again. The hairs of her neck rose to see what all the fuss was about while her heart remained the only moving muscle in her body.

She breathed in deeply and exhaled consciously, growing in disappointment as she made her way to undo what she thought was a lovely idea just minutes before. She hopped to her feet, shut that shutter and locked it twice, moving swiftly to avoid another jolt. 

In spite of her haste, another part of her slowed down. And in those slow-motion moments, the world around her began to match the pace and peace of the voice coming from the depths of her self. 

He spoke to every part of her reality with just a few words…

You want the scent, but are you willing to hear, too? 

It may be surprising, and sometimes you won’t want to hear it, 

but will you shut it out all at once? 

Will you also shut your eyes from the light? 

Or will you let Me remove scales with beauty so bright? 

When I rain down, will you hide from Me? 

Or will you embrace Me and all I have to pour out? 

Know the scents. Know the sounds. Discern and listen.

Taste... See... It’s true: I am very good.

So will you shut the window, or will you take in what I am giving out?

Cost of Living

No one asked her if she wanted to be born. 

No one asked if she was going to be able to pay her way through life. That had already been considered. Just as the first man was chosen and created, so was she. 

Jehovah knew the needs of the first one He created. He met each one of them before He brought him to life, and then He taught him how to live on the land: in perfect communion with Himself. 

Generations later, she stood on the same earth, breathing the breath of the same God. She knew the footprints she left would be as different from the first man's as the impressions on her fingertips. But what they would share would be an incredible neediness and a brutal dependency for survival.  

The One they knew as Mighty and Powerful, they would first learn to call Jehovah Jireh, Provider Who will never fail. 

Is He not the same yesterday, today, and forever?

Is His word not the truth and His promise that which remains?

God is not a man, that He should lie,
 

nor a son of man, that He should repent. 

Has He said, and will He not do?

 Or has He spoken, and will He not make it good?

Numbers 23:19

Be Careful Little Ears...

A person who asks questions will usually hear answers.

But who will give the right one? 

And whose response is most important to the one who asks?

An ear can hear many things at once, 

but a heart and a mind can only listen to one thing at a time.

Choosing to listen requires tuning out everything else that is heard.

Listening is active. Hearing is passive.

The Day She'd Know Her Name

Another morning waking up with that familiar longing. 

"I want to be beautiful." 

She sat up, looked at herself in the mirror--hair unbrushed, face stripped of its mask. Then she closed her eyes and thought, "I want to be found lovely." 

Letting herself fall back onto her pillow, she threw the blankets over her head as her wishful thinking became brutally undermined:

"Your hair needs serious attention. And you have got to cover that face of yours, gross... You're lucky no one sees you now... You know, you're only pretty when you're dressed to the nines. Casual is just not cute on you... You've really let yourself go... And frankly, you're not good enou..."

"ENOUGH!" she shouted abruptly as she sat up. She took a deep breath and cried quietly. 

She was filled with frustration and hungry for the truth: Who said she had to be a certain way? Who told her she was ugly or out of place? Who had set the standard? 

Her King spoke:

"Someone who could care less about her. Someone whose only aim is to see her in the grave - lifeless, zapped of joy, and emptied of any idea of her worth, purpose and authority. Someone who forgot that the day she'd know her name and its meaning, he who veiled her sight would regret ever touching her."

In the days following, she walked even closer to the One who told her the truth, never minding personal space. She drank in every word He said and felt herself grow stronger with each one. 

One evening, she sat outside with the One worthy of her trust, and she asked, "How much do You love me, Papa?" She waited quietly, excitedly, curiously.

"Daughter, you see the stars in the sky? See how they shine brightly... And, daughter, see the trees and their branches raised up to the sky praising Me? I made these for you to see. Do you like them? I made them for you to see, My daughter. Tell Me, do you like them?"

She looked up at the velvet sky, then to the great oak trees that shared the ground she sat on. "Papa, I like them!" she said smiling. "They are truly incredible." Then she asked again, with the same curiosity and a new boldness, "Papa, I want to know. How much do You love me?"

"Daughter... My daughter, I love you more than these. I love you so much more than these."

She let her heart sing in a language only its Maker knew as a quiet wind blew and wrapped her in the softest cashmere. The leaves in the trees and every blade of grass cheered the Master, for what was affected by the wind could not stay silent. 

On a new day, they walked hand in hand, and He answered a question she had asked with her heart many times, for He knew the longings that still taunted her. 

The One who loved her magnificently said:

"Expect to see My beauty in yourself."

Had ever a statement been heard by her own ears, she knew not. So she inclined her ear in order to catch every precious word. 

"I made the heavens and the earth, the stars in the sky, the birds in the air, and the fish in the sea. I made that sea and the mountains and the meadows that you love. But you... only you I made to bear My image. I make beautiful things for you to enjoy, and I make people beautifully so that the world can see Me. I made you to be seen and cherished. I see you; I cherish you, and of all creation, I chose you, a human, to reflect Me. People are the creation I chose to give a desire and a capacity to love and to receive love...

And I chose women to bring life... Just as I give life... Like Me... In My likeness."

Goodness Rescued Her

Today, she crossed the River that kept her from a life where joy and peace prevail. Finally, she breathed deeply and calmly without hesitation or timidity, and she sat quietly without obligation to stay or go. She stood for righteousness in spite of the honeyed words of the antagonist,

Because today, she was taken by the greatest Storyteller ever known.

She loved discovering with Him the perfection in the unexpected and the adventure in an ordinary day. And as He shared His latest chapter, she could hardly hold back the giggles that swirled in her spirit. Neither could she turn her gaze from His face as He stared back with a smile on His countenance that lit up her own. Every lovely thing she once beheld faded beyond recall. She tilted her head back as laughter gushed from her core and flooded the atmosphere.

Exceptional.

Resplendent.

Holy.

Unchangeable.

Today, she looked into His eyes as He spoke without words. Tears streamed, a smile stretched from ear-to-ear, and nothing but cheers of adoration burst from her heart. His declarations were like a fiery sword, severing and mending, defining and purifying her blazing heart. 

She stood tall on her knees, preparing for His cue to turn the page, this time with a greater fondness and confidence in the goodness and stability of her favorite Author.

  

Today, she worshiped the One who would remain the greatest Author of her day, and forever.

Beauty called her. 

Covenant protected her.

Mystery pursued her. 

Goodness rescued her.

...

Kwiky Car Wash God

Drive up, give a little money, shift to neutral, and expect a work to be done correctly and completely, the first time. The car wash: A predicable routine.

It’s rare I hear someone bragging about how wonderful the drive-thru was, or talking about how eager they are to go back. Boasts, more often, are heard after a vehicle has been washed and waxed by hand. (Guilty.)

Boastful or not, there are these two people: ones who drive up, pay, expect, and then are off to the busyness that governs their lives. The others drive by and think, “I could do a better job myself.” And quite a job they do, with hoses and buckets full of suds, fixed on getting every inch squeaky clean and sparkling in perfection.

But… 

“Who can say, I have made my heart clean, I am pure from my sin?” Proverbs 20:9

God is far too creative for routine. People are creatures of habit; God is not. He’s not even a creature. So we better believe God will never be put in a box, not by no one! He cannot be contained, and He wrote it down because He knew we’d think otherwise:

Behold, heaven and the heaven of heavens cannot contain You. How much less this temple which I have built! 1 Kings 8:27

What is boxed in, however, are our ideas and expectations. Limits are placed out of fear, doubt, and lack of knowledge - not on God, but on faith. How many times have we, when we see a part of ourselves that’s less-than-desirable, driven ourselves up to God like He’s a car wash?

“Okay, this is how it went down last time. So, I’ll need to play THIS song, and sit like so, or was I laying? I said these words, but I must be careful not to stutter, otherwise I’ll have to start from the beginning. Oh, and I need to pay; there’s no way this is free. Here’s my sacrifice, no biggie, I didn’t really want that anyways. Routine? Check, check, check. Deep breath. Alright… ‘Here! Clean me! Change me!’”

What? Do you need a diaper change? Seriously, that's the word-picture the Lord gave me in response to my “cry” one night, and boy did it leave us rolling in the aisles! All of our yucky bits aren’t surfaced for the sake of pointing, cringing, laughing, or measuring ourselves on the “terrible” scale. They’re not even to make us ask God to “change us” (enter mental pic) and then leave. 

God is not out to get me and catch me in the wrong. He’s out to give me all of Himself, purposefully and intentionally, to become every single thing that I need by invading every aspect of myself and my life, big and small, including the areas I want to keep hidden. He doesn’t take me out from under the cleansing Blood, point and say, “Eww, check that out!… What do you have to say for yourself?… Now ask Me to accept you again. Come on, ask,” and re-place me where I belong. What a cruel God He would be. Not the good and gracious, just and true, covenant-keeping God of the Bible. 

It’s not the sacrifices He is after. It’s our hearts—your heart and my heart. Really, truly, it is not about how good we are, but about how good He is to you and to me. So when we see something about ourselves that makes us go “Ick! That’s mean. That’s so selfish,” (just for example, of course) it is the desire of our God to reveal to us a part of Himself we didn’t know before, to give us a new understanding of who He is, so that He can become something wonderful and magnificent for us in that area. It is then that we are transformed from glory to glory into Christlikeness.

If I was the joy set before Christ - the picture, the thought that helped Him endure the Cross - what a joy I must be! I can’t even think of a dessert worth waiting for an hour, on an empty stomach, no less. And I love me some sweets. Especially red velvet cupcakes, or oatmeal cookies, or Godiva chocolate brownies... Focus. Anyways. We were that joy! We still are, and the extent of His delight in us has not diminished!

Fact: I am in Christ. God put me there. And He will never consider taking me out, not even to show me the yuckies. Not now, not ever. I’m there to stay, for better or for worse. This means I am righteous. I am holy, and this is how I am seen by God, even when my actions don’t match.

This is not to say God is by any means blinded by love. As Graham Cooke says, “God is not disillusioned with us; He never had any illusions to begin with.” He really does see us where we are, as we are. He sees all our yucks, even the ones we don’t know about, and He actually likes us. None of this “I-love-you-but-I-just-don’t-like-you-right-now” business. 

I don’t know everything God has said, but I do know one thing He will never say: “If you could just be less bad and more good, you would make My work so much easier.” He just doesn’t think like that; His thoughts are nothing like mine. He’s much too eager to share life with you to expect you to pay up every time a mistake is made. But when it is time to repent of a bad attitude or behavior, He is ready and waiting with a gift that is perfect and timely--a part of Himself. 

My dear friend, Cathey McCrary, once told me that everything God tells us and does for us is never to bring fear, but to draw us deeper and bring us closer to Himself. He corrects, He warns, He instructs. He is a God to be known, a God to be loved, and a God who is out to make known His love for us. 

So let us live in Christ, victoriously placed in righteousness.

Now may the God of peace 

who brought up our Lord Jesus from the dead, 

that great Shepherd of the sheep, 

through the blood of the everlasting covenant, 

make you complete in every good work to do His will, 

working in you what is well pleasing in His sight, 

through Jesus Christ, 

to whom be glory forever and ever. 

Amen. 

Hebrews 13:20-21

Decency For Favor

She died to live by a set of rules.

She remembered her mother and how she would exhibit delight as she sat and rested her eyes in the early morning quietness. Peace and contentment ruled her demeanor, even on days when no one told her how nice her hair looked. But that was Momma, always radiant and never ashamed. Oh, how she missed her and the life of her spirit.

The new pace of the city and the busyness she would grow to detest were her newest companions, despite their tendency to betray the damage she tried to keep secret. She lived an exhausting and absurdly self-centered life, doing all she could to collect hi-fives and nods of approval. Her means were crooked and pretentious but justified by her idea of survival. Strategizing by day and editing by night, she devised schemes to peek into the minds of others in hopes of catching a glimpse of happiness through their eyes.

Their words were nice, when they were nice. And when they weren’t, she would not rest until she was tired of not knowing why. So she did all she could for the sweet words, and even used deceit to obtain her daily bread that would become like gravel in her mouth, threatening to choke her body and soul.

After a hard day’s work, she received, at best, a couple instant and passing pats on the back. Even the art of “smiling with your eyes” she failed to master, and one more question about if she was feeling okay or if the lights were too bright was reason enough to give up the practice altogether.

After years and tears spent on this endless endeavor, she found herself filled with hollow disappointment. She wanted a greater reward than this. She wanted to hear something that would make her smile from the inside out and light up her entire being.

“...like Momma did.”

Looking to the hills, she sat in the silence and cried out from her darkness until daybreak.

She died to living by a set of rules.

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, 

A broken and contrite heart - 

These, O God, You will not despise.

Psalm 51:17

Ready... Set... Do It Again.

What a day. What a week.

Did I do it well? Who clapped? That means they loved me, right? 

Stamp of approval...anybody, anybody? 

Think, think. What else can I present that will be accepted? 

Hopefully, it'll bring some temporary assurance that I am, too. 

Running low on that stuff.

Is anyone keeping track of my awesome moments? 

Surely, they're worth something. 

Dog-tired and ready to get some sleep. 

I hope it's sweet and sound. Lots to do tomorrow! 

Come to think of it, I better run thru those things in my head - 

Just a quick rehearsal to make sure I get them right. 

*Perfect* would be ideal, actually. 

But I'll do what I can, and then wish I had done better. 

Am I talking to myself again? 

Fantastic. 

Now what will they thing of me? 

The party never stops, but who's actually coming?

Truest and Most Faithful

Thank You, thank You, thank You for treasures in the darkest nights.

Only one of us needs to know what's going on. And You are sooo that one. 
Because it was You who saw me and loved me just as I was - weak and wounded, anxious and much afraid. You met me then, and You meet me now with breaths of fresh air and gentle kisses on every tear. Fully intentional and completely devoted to reviving my spirit and loving my soul, You are my great God!
Thank You, thank You, thank You, my sweet and steady Friend.


I will give you the treasures of darkness 
And hidden riches of secret places, 
That you may know that I, the Lord,
Who call you by your name, 
Am the God of Israel.
Isaiah 45:3

Prima Ballerina

In the cool of the day, the woman stood outside and filled her lungs with the fresh morning air. As the town roused from its slumber, she considered what this day would hold. Before her thought was complete, she turned to find a man standing by her side. She recognized his face, for she had seen him but a few times before he left this earth. He stood tall and strong, his face like warrior – steady and resolute.

“The girl,” she thought to herself.

His did not meet her eyes, and he needn’t say a word, for she knew the purpose of his presence.

She whispered to him, “The girl?” 

No reply. 

She followed the man’s line of vision and saw her there. She was walking up the quiet street to meet the woman, as she did every other morning. Longtime friends and confidants, age was no factor for these ladies. Love and trust had bonded the two through years of laughter and tears, mutual disinterests and unabating aches to be seen and loved. Lately, the girl's sorrow ran deep. Even so, the woman saw a flickering flame of hope fighting to shine through the heaps of suffering and loss that crowded her heart.

As the girl reached the front porch, they locked eyes. The woman looked to the patient man, then back at her unsuspecting friend. She fought back tears and cleared her throat.

“He’s here.”

The girl’s beautiful brown eyes widened as she leaned forward to hear again, more clearly this time. The woman realized that hers were the only eyes that could see.

“Your father. He’s standing right here.”

The girl did not say a word. And though she could not see him, she believed.

And they danced.

  

Replacing her scarlet dress, he clothed his precious one in a white satin gown adorned with amethysts, sapphires, and rubies. His gaze was unfaltering, beholding the beauty before him: elegant and poised, innocent and virtuous, beloved daughter in whom he was well-pleased. 

The man gently led his daughter with his fingertips. The energy that flowed through his veins was the favor that carried her soul and strengthened her bones to dance with excellent finesse. Her heart was as light as her feet. Love was her celebration as she danced to the song of freedom in the presence of her father.

The woman could not separate her gaze from the prized ballerina. Her face radiated the love of her unseen father, leaving the woman eager to know its source, just as the brilliant moon created a relentless yearning to know the sun, night after night.

Comforted by her God, the woman knew that one day the girl would be able to see for herself. For, by now, the girl had believed. Yes, soon she’d be fully convinced.

~~~~~~~~~~  

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; 

You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness.

Psalm 30:11