Love Beyond Our Grid

We wanted chicken. Nuggets from Chick-fil-A  to be specific. And we had seen a sign. Easy off, easy on. Right? No. I now have one word for you.

Birmingham.

Downtown Birmingham. If you look on a map, it looks like a spider web. And at its center? Chicken. Or so we thought. Children in back seat hungry and vocal. Me and sis up front with GPS. Confident. Ok, semi-confident.

I know you are already guessing it. But let me tell you creatively the assumption that we got lost. Oh, and we did. The first GPS address led us to a "one way" street chick-fil-a. Which was also a closed chick-fil-a! 

Re-computing. Well I hope so Lila. Yes, I name nameless things. And if I am going to be yelling, uur no...talking to my GPS, clearly she needs a name! 

At this point, we laugh a bit. One way streets are not this country girl's thing. Give me a Combine taking up the road and I will assume the ditch till it passes... But one way roads? No thank you. Sis programs next nearest address, and we continue on. In this pursuit of the best nuggets on the planet. 

Dear. Dear Lila. She has issues. We began to realize the depth of her need when the second Chick-fil-a she found apparently shares an address with a large  Presbyterian church!! The following is our reactions...

As we stood there trying to figure out if the Presbyterian church had a drive thru window, we got into a fit of giggles. 

Why Lord, are we lost, in a senseless search for chicken? And Lord.... Where is the freeway we got off of?

I am thankful my sis is a good sport, and an amazing car travel buddy. We have the best of times... In the car! This isn't our first rodeo... So we get out the camera and the jokes and we overcome hunger with laughter!

So why might you ask am I telling you all this? Well. Because I was lost in a grid. A spider web of roads, that though I am sure had purpose, were a tangle of frustration and emotion for this Kansas girl. Here's what I know. Grids don't scare God.  In the midst of our lost, searching, chicken crazed minds... There was Jesus. For as we sat at a stop light, I happened to look up to my right. And He spoke. Just like that. 

Not to my vanity. Not to my wishes. Not to my fleshly need for compliments. He spoke to the core of me.

See just that morning I had told my sis that I wished I could believe my husband and God, when it came to my body. My sweet man is always telling me how lovely I am.  He tells me that I am beautiful the way Jesus formed me, the way He chose me in design...  And God tells me too. In psalm 139, and in personal words as I stand skeptic at the mirror. 

I am a full figured woman in a skinny obsessed culture. I am curve in a straight lane. A round about in a world of stop signs. And it seems no matter how well I eat, work out, drink a ton of water, and take supplements... This is me.  So I struggle with two voices. The world's, and my Jesus. Him in my deepest soul, and in my husband's adoration. And I ask myself often. If my Gods opinion isn't enough, and my husbands attention isn't  satisfying me full...what is this really about? Sadly... It's about me. Me wanting acceptance. So I get lost in a world of comparison and lies. If your a woman? Yeah. I know you get me here.  It is tough. To believe. In a loud world.

So. Jesus turned up heavens volume. He lost me into Birmingham, to find me His message on stone.

" Look to the right baby girl, see what is true. My true.  How I see You."

I grab my sisters arm! " Take a picture! Take a picture!"

Our soul knows doesn't it? Those moments when His Spirit comes. Communing in the deep of us, with a message laiden with wealth and all heaven. 

You. Are. Beautiful.

That's when I realized that Jesus doesn't worry about how locked in "the grid" we are. How lost in the web we feel. His truth can always find us. Always. And it did.  I knew in a mere moment that holy just happened. That God heard the questions gnawing me that morning, and He answered.  In an obvious, loud, raw paint on brick moment.  I heard a voice louder than the magazine cover. Louder than the woman to my right or left. Louder than the TV, or the too small sizes at the store.  My God says I am beautiful. So. I am. 

And so are you.

What are your grids? What webs keep us strained from the real accuracy of Jesus Christ?

He doesn't get threatened by our mind webs. Our grid lock downs. But we, on the other hand, can nurture our grid organized, and keep ourselves from His touch. From His voice. How?

Doubt.

This fear that God won't come. This scared heart that Jesus won't be that personal. This fear that what He says about us may not be true.

 We cannot comprehend God outside our own understanding. So we set up a grid. Our attempt to assemble reason and logic to soul chaos. Because our mess needs some organization right? We have to stay poised and functioning. So we "grid cope"  our way through this unpredictable life.

I have lots of grids friends. Grids I have to challenge everyday. And the more I look at them, the more I realize... I don't believe Jesus can do, what I can't figure out.  Like...

Believing God will heal me like He said He would, when doctors say it's hopeless.

Believing He can heal relationships so tangled, I think cats would be afraid to touch that ball of yarn.

 Believing He will tell me what to do in the daily practical when I ask.

Believing He can raise my children when I am a mess.

Believing. That God is indeed personal.

                                ~ Oswald Chambers

There is this war. The flesh of us, living next to the real of us. Because faith, and all the true of Jesus is what is really true. And we have to choose daily if we are going to recklessly fall into the risk of believing Him. 

Believing Jesus.

Not trusting my carefully set up and all so logical grid, but instead, the person of Jesus Christ. 

So we spin. Fear thick like smoke and hearts pounding like the march of an enemy drawing near. Questions reverberating from the core of us. What if Jesus doesn't come? With His voice. With His help. With His answer. With His intervention... Because if He doesn't save me, I will die. Slow soul death left alive.

So I jump. Because throwing myself at His feet in surrender is better than death coming from the human of me. This habit of self counsel and internal analyzations. Because let's face it. We make ourselves toxically sick. Sick with all our grids and self helps. All our muscle-less attempts to sturdy and get through. Without a Savior, we will perish. And one of the worst ways to die, is this death of soul while alive walking. This hopeless living. This numb person who lives lost.

I had a moment this week. In the midst of writing this post. A crossroads of sorts. Calling out to Jesus in soul agony... And He said one word. Surrender.

This word usually invokes fear. This instant contemplation of what will be taken from me! I know you know what I mean. But this time it was different. I was ready. Because I literally felt all my ways, thoughts, and attempts were slowly poisoning me. This feeling of knowing your are not supposed to focus on the wall, while uncomfortablely pressed up against it. What?!!  

So I let go. On my knees and hands open wide. "Jesus. I can't do this anymore." I gave up the grid. Gave up my way of thinking that only led to more and more loss as days went by.  And Jesus didn't give me instant answers. He didn't tell me it would workout just so. He didn't make my ugly go away. But He released my suffocation, and gave me peace.

I ache to be whole. And Jesus is the only One who can heal that deep. He is the only one who can undo my messy, controlling, grid lock. He is the only One who can see clearly through the heart of Birmingham.

He is the only One who can restore us from captivity.

Psalm 126:4-6 says:

" Restore our captivity, O Lord, as streams in the South. Those who sow in tears shall reap with joyful shouting. He who goes to and fro weeping, carrying his bag of seed, Shall indeed come again with a shout of joy, bringing his sheaves with him."

We can sow our tears. We can sow our grapple. We can workout our trials with Jesus. Because He is the only way to restoration. 

You know. We finally found a Chick-fil-a. It was after we gave up, and got back onto that freeway. And when we got there, do you know what we found?

His word. Laid open.

The owners well worn bible. Laid open amidst condiments and napkins. Hope for those accepting.

And we did. 

Like a soul smile running deep. Hear this. Jesus always holds us. He can always lead us out of our Birmingham. His word, laid bare, always ready to feed the hungry.

Maybe it's time? Kneel and let go. You'll find there is air outside your minds web. That despite logic, there is hope in reckless falling.

He is still my Savior.

Mineral Life

It was a car accident. When I was nine. In a tunnel with my Mama. Rush hour and people pushing agenda's together all clash. They slammed on their breaks and we had no time. My Mama tried to save me. She veered as much as she could, but what do you do when your facing a wall? We spun three times. Our heads bashing together, then hard out to windows. I squeezed my eyes hard shut. That's where I met Jesus real. For the first time in my shattering innocent. He was in my Mama's voice. Over and over she brought as much safe and comfort as she could into that car...

" it's ok baby. It's ok baby...."

Jesus. In the love of a Mother.  Just like that. Always like that.

Shattering glass. Popping metal. Screeching echo, all tunnel. Then that jerk stop. 

" Mommy. My back! My back! I can't feel my legs. I can't feel my legs."

My Mama told me something in her died with those words. A Mother's love knows many agonies. I honor her brave. For that hard neither of us ever forgot.

That's the beginning of my health story. See... we didn't have insurance, so they sent us home. After thirty minutes in a brace, my toes and legs came back. There were medics that day. Medics that chose not to hassle with no insurance...and it changed my life.

Age 22. Chiropractor. 13 years in to this world of migraines. His question stopping me in my tracks...

" when did you break your back?"

Huh?

 I. Broke. My. Back. One vertebrae crushed and shattered...fusing down to half its normal size. I walked around with a broken back. Shards of bone next to a vulnerable spinal cord. But Jesus said no. Yes to an accident that changed everything, but no to paralysis. 

The chiropractor began explaining to me that that spot being shattered left my spine incapable of stability. It couldn't hold itself straight. So it curved. Like an S...  This is my migraine Story. 

So for almost 25 years now I have had many debilitating days. Many Agony nights. And countless challenges to believe God. To keep hope. And to stay tender and preserved from anger and all the "why's". I have been Ugly. Angry. Broken. And Growing. Always this growing. 

Growing to believe He allows things for good. Growing to love Him even when hard things don't change. Growing to know that I will be healed. One day. 

So I pray. A lot.

I cannot tell you how many roads desperation leads you down. Pills, treatments, theories, facts, doctors, scans, and endless questions unanswered. There is a reason they are now calling this Migraine Disease. I scoffed the first time I heard that when I was only two years in... They were just headaches after all. Right?  No. No.  I am comfortable with the disease term. It's accurate. Deeply accurate.  

So why this story today? Simple really.

Minerals.

Sometimes amidst our drowning in hard facts and endless searching, God takes us back to the bare essential. 

All those avenues of searching. Year after year after year. Some have brought some help, but never solid permanent hope. Sometimes living with the hunger is as bad as the disease. 

Help me. See me. Someone tell me it really will be ok. Tell me my children's memories of their Mama won't be all wound. Tell me my husband's heart will heal.  Tell me I am worth all this trouble, all these bills. Tell me that I am a blessing somehow? Tell me there is an answer. That there is Hope.

I have intimate, bone deep talks with God. I walk out my pain in tears with Jesus. I was the angry girl who felt He turned His back when I would agonize in the dark. But He has been kind enough to stay. To stay and teach me again and again...ever so gently. 

" I Am the Way. The Truth. The Life."

When it hurts to be awake, Jesus words matter. A lot. 

Over time and much soul work alone in the dark, I changed. I let go of anger and said hello to Jesus inside the agony moments. I asked Him to stay close to me. I told Him I still loved Him. Even here, amidst all my horror. I asked Him to help me through. I told Him I would believe, that I know my healing will come. 

I am healing in my soul. My soul spine will straighten as prelude to my bone redemption. A day I am quietly confident will come.

I share this because I have had a bad year. My migraines have come closer together, with a longer duration, and I have had an incredibly hard time stabilizing between episodes. And in my nightly kneeling before my Heavenly Friend, I have asked for help. The kind that begs hope and aid  if I am to survive. 

He simply said, " Minerals."

I am deficient. And our bodies cannot function without them. I will spare you the science in how the lack has crippled me...

I found the more I took this week, the more I have felt a change. A deep inside, physical grab. 

Dirt friends. Dirt! 

The life, that is aiding my ache, is found in dirt. And even as snow and water filter down the side of a mountain, Jesus let's these minerals stay in the droplets. And when I drink them, my very sinews find pieces of life itself. So I began thinking about that irony. 

Remember in the garden. All those thousands ago? Man. Created in the image of God. You and me...started from God's very breath...God air, blown soft...into dirt. 

Dirt.

So forgive my smiling fingers as I write. But Jesus irony tends to have this affect on my "in love" heart. You see, He was taking me back to the basics. Again. Taking me back to where I started. In the dirt. With Love wind blown into Adam skin...into My life. And now when I am tired and full of ache and question, I am given that whisper again. 

"Come to Me. You who are weary and Heavy laiden. I will give you rest."

But sometimes we get so lost in the search. The questions. The hunger... That we forget the Healer. We forget to talk to the One who formed our very being... And He, in this epic intimate kindness, takes us down. Way down. All the way down to the dust at His feet. 

So I kneel and so I see.  Jesus always opens the eyes of the humbled down. Being close to the dirt is the beginning. He has been raising us up from the dirt since that first day. He has brought life from our dust since Eden edge.   

I can't help but think how there is always this need for returning. We get caught up in the lofty details of our questions, hard facts, and empty longings. And Jesus, because He loves, brings us back again. To the basics. To the mineral true about this life. We started with Him, we are only sustained by Him, so we should seek Him first. From the deepest core of us. This call coming from our very makeup. Made from dirt low and Heaven High... When I get home to Him, I want to ask to see this moment replayed. In a Holy hush, full intimate... We. Became.

" Do not look anxiously about you, for I Am your God. I will strengthen you, surely I will help you, Surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10

I have spent years anxiously looking about. This is a hard habit to break. We get scared. Waiting on an unseen God isn't easy. We think the new pill, new relationship, new job, or new distraction will change things... But we always end up hungry. Jesus loves us so much, He won't allow any imitations. He wants us to have the real thing. Him.

So there is this today. My Jesus gives me things that help. And in them I have known His love. Kind doctors, pills for pain, excercise that helps, and minerals that change my ability to stabilize... But only He can heal me. Fill me. Give me hope. And every now and again He loves me enough to remind me again. Go back to the basics. 

I used to hate this story. And don't get me wrong, I don't want to be sick. But I have a different perspective now. Jesus will use this. My health story is intimate to Him. My migraines and all these lessons learned in storm, are holy in His hand. And I respect that. Because I respect my Savior. 

Whatever your hard road is, go back to the basics. Don't anxiously look about you anymore. Muscle and bone need minerals to function the way they are designed. And when they don't get fed, they freak out and lose their ability to perform.  Our Souls are the same way. Designed to yearn, need, and savor our Maker. When we return to Jesus over and over, our souls  find health because our spirit gets fed. Basic Holy. And it shouldn't shock us that our bodies can follow. Holy Health is Jesus first, Jesus as hope, Jesus as the reason, and Jesus as the way.

Jesus is my mineral. He is my beginning and my end. He is hope health and high calling. He gives my worst days...worth. 

 

So go back to the basics.  Till its just you...And Him. Till you can hear the story told again and again. All through scripture...Heaven meeting earth...God always coming. For you.

Upheld and Home.

I am not a poet. I am just a raw writer. A silly woman wording out the mattering things. And this... This is for my babies waiting at Heavenly home. But mostly for that Ozark Mama, tucked away in mountain pass. The one with the bleeding heart, and the aching emptied womb. 

Sweet you... Silence the why.  Hear His song. Your baby is safe and He will hold them long. I love you. 

And to all you Mothers who have known this hurt... Know this. 

We didn't  "Miscarry". 

Nothing that lands in Jesus hands can be. We Upheld our babies. Upheld them to The Arms that hold promise. A promise we will heal and hold once again. 

    Bless you.  Each one.  He. Sees. You. 

        ~ To Each of My Little Three~

"My sweet little wanted One. One day Mama will come. And I will get to see your sweet face. You went home so soon. Before I could see your so soft skin. Before I could count your tiny fingers and chubby toes. Or trace your "so your daddy" face.

Do you have curls like daddy, eyes green and full of light? Or maybe you look more like your Mama.... With my silly squishy nose,  or wide with wonder heart.

Oh baby of mine. How I wish to hold you. And if I could for just a moment...before you would go home...what that I could sing into your tiny ear.  A song of love that would become river. An eternal brook. This sound of your Mama coming. I will always be coming...

Jesus holds you sweet baby. And that love of His? Its Mommy's home. In a way...Being with Him is being near me. So let Him rock you and sing you my wishing lullabies. Let Him play with your curls... or locks so straight... Telling you such stories! The stories of all His greats. Of how He made the flower, the water drop, and wings...  Orange skies, and Daisy petal...The sound of the Forrest, or the vast of His sea! And just maybe He will tell you about Mama too. The way my arms feel, the beating rhthym of my heart. Perhaps the Silliness about me...my bursting into goofy or my joy in naming the nameless things. How I would hold you and smell you at night... Singing you songs about His love, then tucking you in tight. Maybe He would tell you about the nicknames I love to make, and let you know the sound of your own. I hope He tells you how Mama loves... I hope He lets you know the rhthym of me. How Mama aches to say your  name. How even your short moments in my womb were this indescribable joy and promise. Like hopes warmth. How I loved to hold my belly before your tiny began to grow.  And how hard it was to let you go, before I got to kiss your nose. Does He tell you your brother and sister know your name? Or how your daddy and I always long for that day...

See heavens gates will open wide.... Bluebirds echoing my singing sigh.... The moment when I will run to you....and say " hi sweet baby, let Mama take a look at you!" I will brush soft your face and study your eyes...kiss those little palms and then throw you up high.... Hold you close and hum that song. The one maybe you have known all along? 

So cuddle in close to your Savior and Friend. And maybe, just maybe you'll know me in part. Because Jesus holds you and a piece of my heart."

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...