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Recent Posts . . .
broken wide Holy Spirit
It is in the dark that I hear him. A voice confident. Robust. Jocular even. He fills the room, his response to my simple question so immediate, it is without question He was there all along.I leave off the lights so there is nothing else I see. I want my heart to see. I want my heart to hear. There it is--my spirit inviting my soul to wake: Wake up! Wake up!I love that sound. A declaration of a soul awaking. A warrior call to live, to not stay sleeping. It is my favorite sound.
innocence and heaven and more to come
Four eleven-year-old girls running around the house. Hiding and shrieking. Sneaking up on each other and laughing. First half-day of school. This is innocence still.I can’t help but mourn its slipping away.
what we miss when "doing" is everything
It is empty space I need more than anything. Not another latte. Not a list of things to do. Jesus, will you come into this space? Will You convince my heart it is big enough for You?You see, I trick myself into thinking it is good for my heart to crowd out the Savior who restores me. This happens because it is so easy to say yes to the next thing to do. But I can only give from what He gives me. Anything else--it is not love; it is not good.What you see when you are not just doingI can live in my head a lot.I fill my mind with information, thinking that more knowledge is what will make me more something somehow, or more responsible, or more productive. But what does it mean to be more? What good is more if this more is not from God? What value is anything if what is achieved is done with us not holding fast to our Savior's hand?Jesus, hold fast to this hand.The best ideas come from a soul restored--don't you agree? My true heart, the one that knows how to love, exists in the broad space, the wide-open space of my heart where the Holy Spirit resides within me.Do you agree? For I think you know this too. Will you join me in letting go of the things--unique to each of us--that are in the way of us being fully present with God?What are those things, Jesus? Read More . . .
Look up, my darling, look up.
When I hear Him, this space I’m in, at this plain wooden table, this window with the cobwebs at the corner of the metal screen, this soft rumble of washing machine, this smell of wet dog near my feet, I study the room, looking for clues for what is different.
All is different? No, all is the same.