Artistry's Only Eye

It was 11 degrees before windchill. Bitter cold. We were headed on a family trip to town. 

They didn't need to brine the roads, the wind just wouldn't allow these two inches to stay. So it just blew, every which way, all over the road in front of us. It seemed like it heard what I couldn't. A song somehow. That even bitter cold, and flake whites falling, know they have glory and purpose. The wind moved it all like sea foam on shore edge. Or more like time-lapse camera shots of cloud dancing above earth spin. Whatever it's resemblance, it was beautiful. 

Errand to errand and my son kept trying to get my attention. Always just after we would shut a car door. Standing in bitter wind he would say, " Mama. Look..."  

" hurry up Bud, it's frigid!"

And off we would scurry inside. But on our last errand he persisted. And I saw what I coulda missed. " Mom! Look! I can actually see the different art of each snowflake when it lands on the window!" I bend forward looking odd at tinted glass. 

"Oh my word!" 

My boy smiles happy, " told ya mom." 

It was amazing! I have seen science upclose, these photos in the past, of each snow flake being so different. But never with my own feeble, hurried eyes. The window tint made for a perfect color drop to see white detail. Each flake, none a mistake. Design. None alike. And all of them...like ice carvings of lace.

We drove home hours later. I sat shotgun and contemplative. Watching again how the millions, billions, countless amounts of flakes blew and spun all art across our roadway. 

So why does He do it? Why does the God of heaven and earth make art that only He can really see? Why does He memorize, with great joy, each snowflake edged perfect lace... We see inches of snow, feet of snow, snowplow piles and days till melt. But God? Piles upon piles of Heaven's edge. Individual carvings of detail and design.

And somehow I felt humbled by it all. Because He keeps sending the snowflakes even when we don't notice designs at all. And despite our curses about this cold and our ruined tire speed, He lays each one down like relinquished pieces of art.

He sets up His masterpieces on easel. His showcase upon walls. His exhibit is staged with plan and loaded with gift. But often, we never even open the gallery door. We blow by. On our way to work, pushing and bumping into people, all along sidewalk way. Or we schedule and plan, aim and conquer, and miss thing upon thing. Piece by piece. Till our life feels grey. Colorless. A blurr. 

 Because it's  only the slow souls that recognize the beckoning.

Why do I always forget? Ann Voskamp calls it "soul amnesia." Yes. A perfect description of what has ailed us since the garden. We choose agenda over design. Control over all His crafted beauty. What if we are seeing glass when God has really scattered diamonds?

What. If.  

I mean there are so many things we can't see. Impossible or not yet discovered. But He does. He sees the secret things, and I believe He delights in them. Because they are pieces of His character, scrolled out across our time and spaces.

Fish at the bottom of sea ravine...never witnessed by human eye. Stars and endless expanse we won't ever discover...just above us. Personalities and beauty in the silent souls, the ones our society labeled handicapped...

But still He paints. Even for the blind. Even for the amnesia sick soul, on a treadmill called hurry.  This art upon art. 

Its because He loves. 

Us. 

And each art full attention to details He shows, sends us this personal message. Like secret love notes scattered all across this crazy universe... 

"You are loved. You are seen. Let me show you how much I care. How detailed I Am to watch over you. Child of mine... I scribble hope on the backs of leaves, and promise in the grip of a newborn... Affections warmth in sunrise, and the precision of Me in a single blade of wild grass... Because I never leave you alone. Because I miss nothing! If I have time to count the rattling song of crickets and number the stars in the sky... I have time for you. Your pain isn't missed. Your worries aren't too little for me. I see what makes you smile...even a little. Look around you My child! I love details. I make art of the little things. I tell stories through the seemingly unnoticed. So don't toil in fear that My love can be lost. Or that you never had it. You? Too little..too slight a thing on so huge a globe? No My love. You are Mine. Each small piece of you, part of you. You are made in My image. You matter. Your bigs and your littles. I love you."

Art only His eye can see... Because He is love. And all that comes from Him, is its paint brush. Strokes of His always here promise. 

" On the glorious splendor of Thy majesty, And in Thy wonderful works, I will meditate...The Lord is good to all, And His mercies are over ALL His works, All Thy works shall give thanks to Thee, O Lord, And Thy godly ones shall bless Thee." Psalm 145:5,9-10

So I am inspired yet again to not have fast feet. To not accept the hurry heart. Because I love a good romance. And I have known none greater than His personal love chasing me. Capturing me and enveloping me in indescribable kindness and affection. I have journals counting all the ways He shows me love. Snowflakes and laughter, silly bargains and those verses at just the right time. A kind word, or shared eye contact with my husband... It's. Endless. 

Because His love for me...for you...is endless!

We put God in a box. We size Him up and limit His relationship with us. And for what? Controlled emptiness? Yeah. That's worth it. Lol

I dare you to slow down. Ask to see the love notes. Open that box. Let God show you who He is. Let God show you how He loves. 

Let God show you...He is personal. That because HE IS LOVE, it is impossible for Him not to be.   

So wonder at the snowflake. Smile deep at the kindness of a stranger. Or get lost in flocks of Geese overhead. These are no accident.

Hear this quiet and soul deep:

" For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been CLEARLY SEEN, being understood through WHAT HAS BEEN MADE, so that they are without excuse." Romans 1:20

So go. Go see who He is. 

Go see. How He loves. You.

Happy Birthday

Dearest Jesus,

Today is for You. 

May the memories I make today, be simplified to moments of thanking You. For coming. In the form of helplessness and need. 

For being the face of a baby Savior.

Hero toddler. 

And rising King. 

You walked through the falling, desperate, weak, and dirty. You looked into the face of hunger, pain, shame, and mocking. You chose to feel, so that we could heal. To become the "Enough" for our redemption and endless possibility. 

Thank you Yeshua. For being this thoughtful. For knowing, my soul of dust, would wonder if you know what I feel.  Thank you for seeing the weak. The sick. The orphaned. The Homeless. The Chronic. And Barren. For looking into the eyes of the Pagan. For giving a robe to the Ashamed, and dressing the bleed of the Wounded. 

You came to tell us a story. This love story like no other. A coming purely love and unending hope. 

I am sorry that I get caught in habits and hurry. Standards of buying and oven timing. Plans to bake and and take for me, me, me. I don't want to be that "her" this Christmas. I don't want to look out for my filling. 

I want to remember You.

I want to savor You.

I want to witness Your footfalls in the hallways of my heart.

I want. To make Your birthday. About You.

So help my chronic forgetful. Lift up these eyes to see Your relating. Let me see You in the smiles of family, and in the  warmth of Your providing hand all across Christmas table. Let me know You in the moments of prayer, and ponderings of my blessings. In helpful hands at kitchen sink, and sacrifices of the tired Mother heart. You give gifts to us...on Your birthday. 

Your birthday.

This day we give gifts to everyone else, and pass out lists of our own wanting. You still love. You still wait patient. You still care, bless, overcome, and sing over us. You are my epic. And I am awed by the grace of You. The kindness of You in the midst of all my selfish. Amidst all the hurry and hustle of this spinning globe.

So at this early hour, this dawn of Your Birthday... I want to open my hands to bless You with worship. I want to bend my knees in humble. I want to bow my head in the deepest gratitude. 

Thank you Jesus. For being born. For walking the way of our struggles. For dying with my name on Your mind. For rising again, so I could too. For preparing my forever with the glory of You.

Today. Be my first. Before gifts and food, traditions and prep.  Before the rush and rattle... 

Today I remember You.

Happy Birthday Messiah. You have this heart, my dearest King and Kindred Friend.

Merry Christmas.

Adoringly,

Liz

 

The New Barren

I drove my babies through these three states. Ones that I have run my mouth about. How bland, ugly, brown, and boring they are. These places He created. These spots I scoff.

Ever been between Dalhart, Tx and Tucumcari, NM? I have lived in Az a large chunk of my life. And now, for the past 9, in my Kansas. I have made this drive often. As in a lot. And each time I whine. I whine prior, during, and after. Snide comments like, " I know God made New Mexico, but wow. It's so boring." Brown. Flat. Tumbleweed pass.

It's Barren.

My whole life I have avoided that feeling. Because...Barren things ache. Void things hollow us raw. When we face what is empty, we face questions. Hard ones.

I left Dalhart, and took a deep breath. South on 54. " Here we go kids, no man's land." 90 minutes of open, flat, huge, ranch land. No crops, no people, no signs, and no potty. 

They turned on Tom n' Jerry. Losing themselves far from boredom facts. Me? Music. I will ignore with fluid notes. It's funny. I didn't think God would talk to me Tucumcari style. 

I was shocked. The sun was only 1 hour from setting. There was this glow. The glow of holy things. Of hallowed space. 

The sky was beginning to be a warm grey with shades of most exquisite blue. Scattered clouds seemingly lined with heavens edges. I began to become very aware.

Heaven meets souls where earth touches sky.

I felt it. This holy hush. This heavenly correction. Almost an audible, " My barren has purpose Elizabeth. Beauty."

I drove with a slow flowering soul. Past perspective falling like old skin. 

Barren places have endless possibilities. 

We assume it is full of dead ends. Futility. Emptiness. The place hope goes to die. It's what the enemy of souls wants us to believe. And we do. Hook. Line. And sinker.

But what if we are wrong? 

What if we are avoiding the cure? Barren places are void perhaps, but they do have one thing. Always this One.

Him. Waiting. Right in the center of the empty madness. I heard it. Like this song... Through open sky and broad land kissing.

 "Promises.... Endless promises....will you linger?"

Like hidden treasures found only by those who dare face the hollow ache. Of the empty womb. The empty marriage. The empty purposeless life.

What if our richest with Him, is birthed in the virgin womb? The one that was not given seed. The one that couldn't possibly carry. The one that hadn't known intimate things. What if life comes when we hold on to the empty places. Squeezing determined, wrestling hard, till we receive the blessing. Pushing into the scary space for answers.

What if the road out, is the road into the barren land?

I began to smile.

 "Jesus. Jesus... It's. It's absolutely breathtaking. How could I have called this place God forsaken? How could I have thought You were not here? Forgive me Lord."

 

It's like He walks there, waiting in gentleman form.  For me. For you. What treasures of darkness, what secrets of hidden places would we taste if we woke up and said it (Isaiah 45:3)..."Surely God was in this place and I did not know it." If we, like Jacob, hang on. Determined to wrestle through. 

Because God...is always worth a wrenched hip. A limp. The barren full.

Friend. Sometimes. He hedges up your way. Your womb. Your world...to get you to see. What if He slows You, empties you, to give you your greatest crave? A full life.

But we cannot have that without Him. It just isn't possible. Impotent loves don't create life either. We can lay with our idols, but we won't fill. We won't birth joy.

Even babies start in the empty pitch places. This life coming from this empty, suffocating darkness. Seeds have to trust dirt laid heavy and dark atop them... Creating in them this determined reach for sun. One day they break through. Barren becoming full tulip and happy sun. But they have to lay all their toil to rest in the trapped place. The empty place. The barren dark place. 

Like promises.

It didn't stop. My whole way through Texas, New Mexico, and parts of Arizona... I have these seeing eyes! These repentant eyes. 

Because I can testify. I have had to face the barren things. I have had the Lord take my babies before they are fully formed. I have had my womb emptied and kept in seven year hollow. I have known the fist shaking anger at heavens air. The hopeless lag of the seemingly empty slow. I have waited for love's healing to scale marital walls around hollow, hurting places. I have walked the road of hard daughter things. But I can promise you this, tell you this... 

My emptiness isn't empty anymore.

I have seen Him speak to me soft and change my hard impossibles. I have watched Him take my surrender and fill my belly with a daughter. I am tasting the indescribable of the overcoming love with my 12 year man. And I am free from the hurting daughter heart. 

Because Jesus values the hollow hard. 

He talks through it. Shapes with it. Wins wars because of it! 

It felt near sundown, like I didn't want it to end. The way the sun hit pale golden grasses of winter, with such iridescence! There were these bubble like clouds, scattered everywhere. The sky was such a bright hopeful blue. And when the two met somewhere in His middle...the stage was set. This is the land where stories are told! Where lies unravel and hope begins. The place of long walks and intimate talks. The space for the holy divine. In you. In me. 

We just want the cruise control. To stop and pee and get the heck out of Dodge...for some of us Tucumcari. Lol. But what are we blowing past? What gifts are we missing because we have the audacity to judge God space.

I don't think I will ever do this drive the same again. I wish you could hear, indeed know the story He told me. It was the most peace full barren drive I have ever taken. It was truly beautiful! And I felt, when nearing trips end, that I perhaps just had a 16 hour holy encounter. With God Himself.

Discussing really important things. 

Unwinding soul things.

When mountains of Flagstaff began to rise up... When the snow capped pines showed their glory branches... When flat places were giving way to heights...I found myself missing the barren place. 

Can you imagine...

Never be ashamed of what Jesus Christ can redeem. 

So. Turn around. Look deep into the endless expanse of open land. Say yes. 

There is a song.

Can you hear Him...

Tell me your story. Let me share in your full space.... The new barren.

The Humbled Haughty

I was this girl. I had this attitude buried under sweet. And it wasn't until years later that I woke up alert. There is a difference between knowing what you have done, and having godly sorrow over a thing. 

Godly sorrow gets into the deep of us. The heart of us. Grief settles in and begins the most beautiful work. The 180 degree.

The book of Proverbs talks about my sin a lot. This one I put skin on. I think I like to say that I didn't know I was doing it, and maybe at times that was accurate...but mostly, I knew. Because I couldn't find "me" inside. Like this glass door was between me and raw realities. I could see some, but couldn't seem to become.

I was a fool. 

I delighted in revealing my own mind. 

I was around a lot of wisdom perhaps. Attended conferences young. Read quality books on very important topics of the faith. I involved myself in a great many avenues of Christianity. I was a Pastor's daughter. I had ample opportunity to display. And like a peacock, I did. Often.  

 This Pride.

 The kind God hates.   

It's crazy. How when godly sorrow does its work we become so poignantly alert.

I ache inside when I think of how many people I hurt. How many I crushed with my haughtiness. How many people were stripped by my strut.

And I did strut. I took knowledge and made it a soap box. At every turn. The gift of being around wisdom ,and many faith based opportunities, became my drug. It was a way I could pack on the knowledge. Trying to form an identity instead of having one. This feed for my need for approval. For love.

But mark my words. Real love never comes as a result of putting others down. Of tending to your own image. Approval obtained because we have blown past the hearts of others...  It's ugly. Warped.

That's the thing that is sick about the sin of haughtiness. It's a poser. And once it gets into the soul of you, it makes it harder and harder for you to distinguish what's real. 

And I thought I was real. That I really was wise. That I really had it all together. That I was genuine. 

...as I told the married women what they could be doing...when I was single.

...as I judged Mothers in grocery stores, exhausted with their screaming child. When I wasn't yet a mother.

...as I told people trying to come out of addictive sins, how they could do it. When I hadn't been there.

...as I smiled behind book tables, worship  team microphones, and youth leader positions....

I was the endless peacock displaying. The blind heart selling eye glasses. How deeply I see now, grieve now... Because I was not welcoming. I was not love. And without love, I became the clanging symbol ( 1 Cor. 13).

I watched people view my family as unapproachable. Like we had it all figured out... This intimidating force to be reckoned with. And I fear we were that. I thought we were being admired. Like this example of what whole was. A prototype of what could be. Even now. Writing it out makes my soul turn. Mostly because I own up to my folly now. And I see my sin clearly. And I won't make excuses for it. 

I would fear times I was asked to give my testimony. I would sit and look for things that were "hard". You know...worthy of mention. Attempting to talk about moments Of God encounter. My palms would sweat. My heart would pound. I could show off what I thought I was...Even talk about who I wanted to be as if I already become that. But ask my soul to describe the real of me, and I was lost.

See. I didn't have grotesque facts, gleaming bright, with streaks of redemption. I was just me. The saved at 4 girl, who grew up in a very loving home.  I couldn't tell my story well, because I hadn't faced my ugly yet. 

The beautiful real of needing a Savior. 

The beautiful real of knowing it.

         ( photo By Tressa Stubbs)

I have been thinking this week. About how haughtiness is right up there with premarital sex, drugs, rebellion, and soul addictions. It takes, hurts others, and messes up our testimony. Then there was this thought. This one realization that made me hurt, deeply. The one that revealed to me why God despises spiritual pride. And it's huge.

Haughty people tell lies about who God is. It ties human opinion to God's reputation. Forming incorrect thoughts about the most important thing in this life. How others relate to Jesus Christ.

 It changes the way people view the heart of God. 

I. Did this.

My sin? I told lies about how My Savior loves. About how He gives. About how He chases us endlessly, no matter how tall we stand next to the measuring stick. About how Your story, my story, is personal to God.

That is huge to me. Huge.

So if your reading this, and you knew me then. If my pride...my lofty arrogance hurt you... I was wrong. I was wrong for telling you lies with my life. Jesus doesn't ask you to measure up, He just asks you to come. I am deeply sorry. 

And to the man I married 12 years ago... Baby I know I hurt you with this sin. Lording my poser wisdom over you like a growth chart. I stiffled you, wounded you, and hindered your hope. I thought I was this virgin beauty coming in to redeem and be a prize wife... What filth. You, my love, redeemed me. You have taught me how to be real. How my story, in all its rawness, is beauty in the hands of God. That experience and a pondering heart are wealth. You took my posed heart and loved me anyway. And that led me to Him. To all this new. To all this glorious real. Thank you baby. Your my hero and my home. I love you my dearest friend.

Pride does come before the fall. A fall that's long and hard. Eye opening and life changing. It had to be done. 

Hard questions can peel back layers. Shattering glass, between us and the becoming grace of God.

Have you told lies? About who God is? 

Words can do this. Attitude can. False composure...

Do you hinder people's hope? 

Pride does that.

This matters. A lot. Saying we speak the truth isn't enough. Truth, without love, can roll off the tongue a weapon. Cutting people down, pushing them away from the God who longs to be relational with them! 

Tell people why you fell in love with Jesus.

Tell them what He has saved you from. 

Tell they why you have hope. 

Introduce them to the One who changes everything before we can change anything.

Don't do what I did for years. Don't blurr Gods story with an agenda. With attempted composure and lofty plans. 

Our lives aren't about our legacy or empire.

They are about how we love. How we serve. How we know Jesus. 

Raw. Real. Life-changing. Love. 

I just want to walk with Him. Savor Him and all His amazing mystery. He came, stripped down all I thought I was, so I could be free. Free to be the woman He created. Free to fall and learn. Free to be stuck and met by grace.

My name is Liz. And I am a mess. Often. But the God of the universe knows my name. I am loved. Chosen. Forgiven. Valued. I have a promise. A future. And endless hope.

Sweet Jesus. He is my likelihood. He is my story.

What's yours? I would love to hear...

No Other Hand

There are these crazy agony days. Days we wake up and face lions. The ugly in our souls we once thought was a past, has flared again. Glaring indignant in our tired faces. Pain in this skin. Pain that goes bone deep. Crippling the mind the moment that threshold level is crossed.

Staying. When we are bleeding wide open.  This is courage. 

I look around and it's everywhere. Deep cutting agonies. Levels of hurt and hard so intense, it takes breath. Mine. And yours. 

There are hurting marriages. Intense and seemingly lost. There are daughters waiting to know there dad really loves them. Women agonizing over if they are enough to be worth it. Families tearing apart...from inside.

All this. This.

My curved spine. These migraines it causes. The havoc it wreaks on my Beloved, and my babies. This feeling of being a burden to everyone. The thoughts no one hears that can eat us alive.

So I have had these moments intense for about eight months. Like I have been put into the fire and my dross must be thick... Because I am still waiting for the pure gold. There is a crack in the door filled with light. But still I stay. Furnace bound. 

Been there? You can't hang pictures on the walls of a furnace. You can't write out plans of departure and neatly lay them on your desk. You can't invite others in for a cool glass of lemonade and good conversation. And before you can put that message in a bottle to throw for rescue...the note burns up all ashes. 

There comes these times. Fiery furnace days. Hours in the den of lions. This Red Sea vastness, with the enemy breathing down your back.

So. What. Do. We. Do?

I. Hate. Feeling. Trapped.

This desperation ensues. My blood feels hot and rushing. Panic is always inches from the surface of me. And I can't find air. This feeling like I am gasping but smell smoke. This feeling of being completely...Alone.

Then it comes. This horribly uncomfortable realization. There. Is only ONE. One that can step in and not burn. One that can pick us up and rush us out. One whom the flames simply cannot lick. 

My soul whispers is quiet. Jesus.

His name is like air. But still I panic. Because this is reckless. This believing all hope. All rescue. All air.... Comes from this invisible God. This Savior written about in well worn bible pages. But me? I know He saved Daniel. The lions were not allowed even a taste of his skin. But I am not Daniel...am I?  And I'm not the three faithful thrown into the furnace, but kept unscathed...am I? And the Red Sea. Waters don't stand up to let us pass through anymore, swallowing up the fears that chase us...do they? 

But then this. His word says He is the same. Yesterday. Today. Forever. So...

We come to this fork in the furnace. We have a choice to make. Because the endless roads of the perfect med, all wise doctor, and helpful chiropractor have left us empty. Coming up short. To this. On earth, there is NO CURE.

We stand at the edge of the cliff. Maybe it's this...This marriage hurts. Our spouse simply won't. And we can't do this anymore. Their words are knife, and our responses are storm. This marriage IS UNREPAIRABLE.

You can fill in your blank. What is your line of utter defeat? What do you believe is too much for God?

The odds are TOO GREAT.

The stakes are TOO HIGH

The disease is TOO STRONG

This family is TOO FAR GONE

This simply CANNOT. BE. DONE.

But. 

He.

Can.

Can you hear me?

I was driving home thinking deep. Because my chiropractor flat out said it today. With a defeated shrug of his kind shoulders, " I don't know what to do with you Liz." I smile soft. " I know. And it's ok." He has become a friend. He has prayed for the healing I know will come. He has adjusted my spine to help me shirk out of many migraines...but what he may not know, is he has also adjusted my heart. Because he cannot save me, but God has used him as a blessing to tell me the hard in a kind voice. He is allowed to tend to my wounds, but God will not let him heal me. Jesus tells me the message today, again. Through my Chiropractors kind, but seemingly defeated words. This love letter from a higher ground.  There is only ONE who will save me.

It was that church sign. I flew by at 60 mph... But i saw it. 

" I Am the ressurrection and the life..."

Bullseye. 

Moments. Manna from heaven to feed my real need. I heard Him so clear. " I raise the dead things. I. Am. Life."

Air. Smoke clearing.... This hope from a silly sign. But God uses all things for His good. That's the lovingkindness of Him. I felt this rush of calm come over me. Yes! My bent spine and all it's horrible ripples is a dead thing. It's a NO CURE thing. But nothing is more final then dead. 

And Jesus beat it!!

My God has beaten death. Death!! This same God of Daniel...the God of the furnace men.... The God who commands liqued sea to turn wall and stand tall.... This is my God! 

Oh death. Where is thy sting?

Sometimes. Yes, sometimes it feels like He is doing things backwards. Why wait till we are in the furnace, in the Sea, in front of the Lion? Why God? It's too hard. This thing hurts so bad it may be the death of me. Of those around me... 

But you see, I wouldn't see my need for rescue. I wouldn't come to know, at bleeding heart level, that there is only One Savior. We need to learn it. Because the only way out of the fire...Out of the drowning sea...Away from lion teeth.... Is Jesus.

Rescue isn't rescue if it doesn't reach our soul.

And. I. Want. To. Be. Free!

There is no greater healing than that of the deepest soul. The whole of us. And the body? All I can say...is keep close to His heart. Pray out your agonies and hopes to Him. He will tell you where to put your mustard seeds of faith. And I promise, they will bear fruit. Because Jesus is never void.

And let's take notice. Of the hopes and comforts... The courage and strengths He has placed around you. For your help. For the love of you. 

He loves. You.

He sees YOUR pain. 

I am learning to see His story to me in those He places around me. The words of courage they give, the prayers they utter... 

Because we all have lions. And we still need a Savior.

Church signs by roadside. Chiropractor that is kind. Friends from far away that urge you to keep on.  Bible pages falling to just that page. Sunsets that calm. A hubby that loves. 

He doesn't leave us alone. His voice is always here. " keep going Beloved, I Am right here. "

His voice. For you. Count the many ways. Witness them. Acknowledge them. Take heart. And say thank you. 

Oh friends. He beat death. Death! He can handle your "Final". He can handle your "No Cure."  

Take comfort. I too am here. I haven't gone beyond the furnace. But there is this door cracking... And I see the light. This is not my end! Jesus is coming. 

Jesus. Still. Saves.

I have found His voice in this song. Hear it. Let it settle soul deep. 

Wasteland by Needtobreathe:

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Se2C3v1a7OY

Your loved.