yesterday it rained. it drizzled. it poured. it drizzled and poored some more. it was mucky and dreary and mostly dark. out the back window, i saw often, a busy red breasted feathered flyer. busy. flittering this way and fluttering that way. twigs long and short. thick and flimsy. mostly scrappy. one at a time, several times in minutes. she, busy building, nesting somewhere very near my kitchen window. i would hear her chipper song through pounding droplets beating the roof over my head and i wondered if she knew how joyful she sounded. i wondered if she was praising the God that i was grumbling at? i wondered if she too went silent, would i hear a chorus of praise echo from the rocks i'd dug from the garden?
today too started dreary. i stepped onto the deck and immediately looked to the window from where i saw the robin flying and there it was. a nest. all put together in less then one short 24 hour day. how in the world? this bird with tiny brain and hollow bones, has put together a master piece of wood and grass and jigsawed them into a cradle of shelter strong and safe enough to train up another legacy, another generation. snuggled in behind a light and before the house, one of the most uniquely beautiful reminders of all that is stored up for a treasure that she will one soon day birth and train up. treasure stored up.
my eyes rest on the deck below and catch sight of another nest. she has made two. perhaps a decoy? one that appears to be her home so as to lure the sparrow and blue jay away from her young? her home insurance? her health insurance for her babies? she has made two nest. stored up treasures of wood and grass and build for her family and safe haven.
stored up treasure.
what am i storing up? where do i lay my twigs and grass and for whom do i weave security as strong as hers? my own young running through my own nest and i am wondering how often do they hear me whistle praise as i go about my day? how often to do i remember they are not my young but His. given me to point to Him on high. do i store up for myself and provide purses that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. for where my treasure is, there my heart will be also. (luke 12:33b-34)
knowing i try and trying is not enough, i am reminded that i will never be enough and grace is deep and i am drowning. what am i storing and for whom? for what do i toil? for whom do i toil for? do i sing throughout my day praising He who is to be praised as i go about my work given me, by He who ask for my all? a work set to the soundtrack of praise. work given me by He who says that i must die so that i may live. a daily dying. a moment by moment death of oneself and i am strong and my will full flesh is more then i should ever let it be. it's almost enough to be discouraged but i remember that early i must rise so that early i must fall into the grave to be covered by Grace and blood that washes the dirtiest clean.
not once did i see the robin stop to sigh. she didn't stop to chat with a feathered sister, another whose belly is growing with offspring, to talk about all the building she had to do today before the sun went down. she went about her work of building. singing all the way, and through the rain!
i wonder... why is my heart not light as her small frail body that flies between pounding droplets thrown from a heavy sky and she is not tired? she is not weary? she, who sleeps standing up?
it's as if she has no inner struggle. no earthly flesh. no desire of her own to drag her in another direction. is she not part of this fallen world? is it not true that to this day the lion cannot lay by the lamb? though i want to do good, evil is right there with me. for in my inner being i delight in God's law; but i see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members. what a wretch i am! who will rescue me from the body of death? thanks be to God-through Jesus Christ our Lord! (romans 7:23-25)
swimming in Grace like the busy robin flying through a down poor, i remember that i am led by the Spirit of God and i am a daughter of God. for i did not receive a spirit that makes me a slave again to fear, but i received the Spirit of daughtership. and by Him i cry, Abba! Father! the Spirit himself testifies with my spirit that i am God's child, now if i am a child, then an heir-heir of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed i share in his sufferings in order that i may also share in his glory. (roman 8: 13-17)
for once i see this nest as not the reminder of all that i fail in. not a reminder of storing up treasure and where and what do i store and for whom? no longer do i hear her joyful singing and feel bad that it wasn't me too, singing in the rain. i see her nest and it looks like a crown of victory over my failures and my struggles and unworthiness. a rough a messy crown, much like my rough and messy life, but round and strong nonetheless. royal and poised, built behind the light and it is He that goes before me, to prepare a place for me. she built that nest because the Creator has spoken in into the her ear and she simply obeyed without worry she'd fail. she simply obeyed and went about her business. her business for the King.
i stand tall on my feet now, for i am daughter of the King who will reign victorious over all that i fail at, over all that i triumph over through Him. her nest on the back deck, a royal reminder that one day i will have crowns to throw at His feet and that this day, while very imperfect and full of pain will one day melt into an eternity of days full of His Glorious reign over all that is imperfect and painful and all my tears are wiped away. then all my tears are wiped away. and i hear chirping from the back deck, a song of praise that i too sing.
i stand in the laundry room. i separate. i pour liquids. i fold. i hang. i cry out to the Creator of heaven and earth and Knower of all that is in me. i am pouring. raw. exposed. freshly ripped open. i tell Him of a hurt that He knew of before it occurred. i ask of Him, why? i ask for my lesson in this to be learned quickly. knowing my tears are humble and He is faithful to examine them and wipe them away. hanging up shirts i refuse to sit on the concrete floor, although i am no less dirty then the laundry piled high on it's cold surface. He meets me where i stand. in all of my frustration of question after question after question.
weariness. loneliness. self doubt. searing fright. ....fright...fear...and He places a gentle hand under my chin, lifts it high and at once i am shown that this ugliness of fear has been created by my lack of trust, and my willingness to believe lies from a belly crawler. that this fear is the root of all my weariness, loneliness and self doubt. He drops His hand from under my chin and my face, my body, the shirt and the hanger fall to the cold concrete floor.
fear. "do you fear what i have in store for you?" a gentle, warm question that needs no response. "do you not remember that I desire life abundant for you? a life to prosper you and not to harm you?"
He hears the quickening of my heart. 'their is so much harm in this world to fear.' i need not say it aloud to Him.
"can I not heal all wounds? is not our relationship made stronger when you walk with me by faith, not by sight? when I carry you through struggle? does it not hurt to be refined by a blazing fire but feel relieving to shine once refined? to be comforted through the fire?"
and my heart is aching by the hurt i have caused my Heavenly Father by holding hands with fear. by not remembering that it is He who brings the rain and the sun and the swelling of the ocean tides. that it is He who can bring me through anything and it is He who will only hand to me what i can handle through His Son. it is He that i belong to and it is He who i can trust, and not the face of fear. that fearing anything in this whole wide world is fearing what He has in store for me and my family. that by holding hands with the demon of fear is not trusting His perfect plans for myself and my family.
now looking boldly into the face of fear and seeing it for what it is; a lack of trust of what God is going to hand me, i am reminded of the chorus that sings 'where the spirit of the Lord is there is freedom!' and i fling wide my arms and throw my fear freely into an abyss of no return and except the spirit of freedom from the One who is quick to give it to all who wish to receive it.
the rest of the laundry is finished as he gently shows me all the areas of my life that i need to now step out in faith with His spirit of discernment and not be held captive to fright. He reminds me that 365 times in the Bible are the words fear not and/or, do not be afraid. a fear not and/or, do not be afraid for every single day of the year, for every single year of my life, and the life given to my family. and at one point i choose to seek them out and hold them all close to my heart. i make a mental note of continuing that search as i cling the feelings of freedom and love and renewal and a walk of communion all filling in the holes that weariness, loneliness and self doubt had previously dug deep.
in stand in the laundry room. i separate. i poor liquids. i fold. i hang. i am made new. i have been washed free of the grime that this world tried to stain into the fabric of me. i look forward, from this day on, to doing laundry, to checking myself for worldly stains that can be cleaned by the purest, brightest cleanser of All.
this morning i awoke to my clock, turned it off and pressed brew on my one cup coffee pot at my bedside table. the coffee pot perked and puffed and the smell of coffee lured me to open my eyes again. i sat up and noticed that it seemed brighter outside. i squinted and peered through the sheers hanging above the windows. reaching for my glasses, "nooo" i whisper to a coffee fragrant steam. placing my glasses on top of my nose i see it. snow. my stomach instantly clenched. my breathing become shallow and i got up from my bed and moved aside the curtain to see the soft white blanket of fluff. suddenly i remember their was a chance for some snow and i am relieved it is but an inch.
"okay Lord?" i whisper in a questioning tone. a selfish tone. selfish because i'm craving warm breezes, sunshine and tuffs of green grass. selfish because i have plans of my own. plans of riding bike with my kids. using sidewalk chalk and running through sprinklers. digging in the dirt and harvesting fresh fruits and veggies. my own plans. my own selfish desires. i am quickly repenting to Him who told the snow to fall fresh as i enter my prayer closet.
He reminds me of the crocus. a sign that winter is coming to an end. tiny yet mighty. the blooms still tightly closed but standing tall in the freshly fallen tiny ice crystals. they don't complain. they don't even shiver. they stand tall in their small yet majestic way. reaching for the heavens as if in perpetual praise and thanksgiving to their great Creator.
after our quiet time together i step outside and pay them a visit. one is bent low. its tightly wrapped bloom down in the snow. i pick it up and let it flop back down and remember it was this way yesterday, even before the snow. the rest of the blooms stand strong. purple. royal. a gift. a reminder. i. daughter of the King. having just finished sweet communion with the maker of heaven and earth, all that is seen and unseen, He who gives my body breath without my even asking it of Him, and again, with heartfelt repentance, i thank Him for this snow that i did not want. that i did not first receive with joy and gladness. for this is the day that the Lord hath made. i will rejoice and be glad in it. whatever it holds. be it sun or be it snow.
someone asked me, "so how does it feel to be 32 years old?"
"umm," i reply, "hold on while i short through the mess." suddenly i am a mime. eyes closed. hands in front of my body searching through an invisible file folder. the familiar sound of social laughter is outside my head and inside i stand in a hallway in my mind. it's dim and leads only to rooms with signs on the doors that say things like feelings, emotions, insecurities etc etc. each one the mess of an extreme hoarder.
i hear the voice. the familiar, loving, warm voice. "that's not your mess to short through." the doors in the hallway swing wide open revealing years of mess on top of mess. in a blink the rooms are clean. in another blink, it all returns.
it seems hours have past and it hasn't even been many seconds. looking back at someone, my "filing hands" now folded in my lap, i smile. a real smile. a warm and genuine smile, i give my answer, "it feels really good." knowing later i will have to chat with Him who calls me beloved and ask Him to search me. to show me how to hand it all to Him. the beautiful mess which is not me but somehow i paste it on my face and then try to hide it.
why do i allow myself to jump through hoops for an enemy who wants nothing but my destruction? get thee behind me! for my Savior stands near.
later that day, in a room full of many, i see all the beautiful messes. standing around chatting with one another. eating. i wonder, why do we pretend? when everyone is suffering, everyone is full of junk. weather we know it or not. my chest heavy with burden for all of the messes standing in the room who do not know the Savior. where do they turn? who will clean them up and set them free? my gratitude feels as deep as forever and with no end. my humble new beginning fourteens years ago. their needs to be more beginnings. more, here in this room. with much all around i cry a silent prayer to the only One who is master of fixing all messes. 'Lord, may they see You. really truly see You. may they desire You. really truly chase after You.' and then, i am handed a slice of birthday cake.
their was once a time i had coffee with the King every morning. it wasn't easy waking up before the kids, the husband, the chickens and yes, even the sun. i was coaxed out of bed before dawn by the lure of a small one cup coffee maker on my bedside table. the clock would scream its usual "GET UP! IT'S TIME! GET UP! SLEEP IS DONE!" and i trained myself to turn it off and press brew. the tiny one cup coffee maker would brew, perk a little and steam almost like an apology for the annoyance of the clock and gently remind me that i had a coffee date to wake up for. every morning, for the longest time i would wake up like this and enjoy my first cup in the quiet of my prayer closet. sipping between repenting. sipping between giving thanks. sipping between asking for help in this and in that, and for him or for her. sipping between sobbing for those who don't yet know the sweet fragrance of the love song that plays in the background of coffee dates such as these.
early morning coffee with my heavenly Father.
so what happened you ask? obviously i'm not keeping this date as of late. no. i am not. i have been standing Him up. standing up the One who calls me beloved and blessed and desires nothing short of communion in spirit and to love on this broken child of His. one who needs desperately to be fixed of all the messy world-wounds, most of which i create myself. mind you, i am not totally neglecting my first Love, but i am reminded that my tithing time away from my comfortable bed, tithing my precious sleep, has been lost and forgotten and even accepted in my desire for more sleep.
not okay. not acceptable.
forgotten in sickness. forgotten in depression. lost in my selfishness. all of which are just the things that close communion with He who is the Creator of all that is seen and unseen, can heal me from and set me forever free from.
standing Him up. ouch! i am sure it hurts His heart by far more than mine and my desire is enlarged 10 fold for morning coffees with my heavenly Father again. for i know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He has been waiting for me. maybe not with coffee in hand at a set destination, but He always desires for us to go deeper with Him. deeper in Him. fall more madly, wildly, passionately in love with He who is Love. waiting and deserving more of me then my meal time prayers. then my while driving prayers. then my doing dishes prayers. then my cry for sanity prayers. a time, set aside for He who is the Great I am.
funny thing is, after a few weeks of waking up this way, i started waking up on my own not even needing the coffee or the alarm clock. surprisingly not even noticing a loss of sleep. as if He enjoyed our time together so well that He just gave me the inner wake up call and enough energy to spare to make it through my day on less sleep. gifted me the urge to wake up and be with Him alone, in the early hours of day. what a wonder...and i am reminded that every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. james 1:17 shifting shadows. am i a shifting shadow? ever changing? not in this. i cannot be.
excuse me, i have an alarm clock and small one cup coffee pot to go set up, for tomorrow i am having coffee with the King.
the other day while holding my daughter she bumped her head against my lower lip crushing it against my teeth. it split and bled. ever since i've been trying to keep either vaseline or chap stick on it. it seems to reopen otherwise.
when my husband came home from work the next day he asked me what was going on with my lip. yes it was swollen and i was sliding it under the top lip, slippery in grease. i told him, "i keep smiling and opening it back up again."
"you gotta stop smiling so it can heal," was his response.
stop smiling so it can heal. i know he was talking about my lip but it spans the mess of who i am. i'd rather smile and forget. it gets me nowhere good.
stop smiling so it can heal. stop smiling so that i can heal. stop smiling and let my face relax a little. let my eyes well up. allow the over flow of sadness, loss, hurt and whatever else needs to surface just be free. just simply be in the moment of who i might be if i let me be myself. stop smiling and heal. it sounds like a good prescription. it sounds like a job for the Great Physician...
the china cabinet shakes. from a once thought to be familiar source of hope for loose ribbons to be tied tighter, it grabs the top, the middle and even reaches the bottom where the delicate feet are carved in fine, rare, wood, and the whole cabinet is rocked. dishes once held dearly close to my heart were thrown from the shelves and their shattering can be heard echoing in my head over and over and over. every tiny piece of bone china that once gave purpose to the cabinet sang in a crescendo as slivers of glass nestled themselves in my skin because, of coarse, i was standing too close.
a slow, deep breath of fresh new oxygen replenishes my lungs and i am relieved of the duty of carrying these dishes any more. these delicately painted, reminders of waiting for something that will never arrive. i am able to sweep it all up, bag it and throw it into the trash receptacle; experiencing the shatter again when i toss it all in. each broken piece shifting in the bag as it settles into a resting place until "trash day".
i feel heavy although relieved as i stare at the empty cabinet which now has no purpose. my fingers slide across the empty shelves and run smoothly over the carvings of a crafty man. i wonder how well it would be received by my husband and children if i took a hammer to it? making that lovely cabinet into nothing more then splinters to carry to the burn pile.
proverbs 13:12 says hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. what happens when that hope that has been deferred is suddenly extinguished? when the heart is already so sick with deferral, can it survive or is it impending doom? what about the longing fulfilled? the tree of life?
i am the cabinet. shaken and now splintered. heading for the burn pile. those dishes i carried in the recesses of my mind, they looked so pretty from far away. once examined it looked as if they'd been used several times during a muddy picnic, with no washing after the flee of wind and rain. dirt i never had to display and only did by choice, sharing it with few. now handing it back to it's source. laying the messy pile in the lap of selfishness and guilt desguised as love.
in the burn pile i am refined. the Lord sends dry winds and the flames burn hotter and lick the sky. they singe away all that has hurt my heart. in the fire i am repaired. refined. a burnt sacrifice. i offer my brokeness up to Him that is the Great I am knowing He alone can heal my world-wounds with a comfort and love that no earthly father could ever provide. i will burn carved up, fine. rare wood and pray with all that is in me that i am to He who loves me most a fragrant sin offering making atonment for the sins of my father and his father and the ones before him as well. the hurt will stop here in Jesus name.
