The book looks worn already. And I’ve had it just a few weeks. Pages dog-eared and stuck with post-its. Sentences penciled under, words I want to keep close and not forget.

We grasp hands and lean back, digging our toes as deep as we can into wet sand.We are sure to topple over, I think. And I dig my toes in deeper, lock my knees, stabilize my legs. My daughter clings to me with the silliness and joy that gives her her nickname, "Golden Light." And the waves crash against our legs and the sea water splashes into our open, smiling mouths. We stand side by side, heads back, delighted by our ability to not fall despite the surf's resolute heaving of itself onto shore.This is the best. I don't want to miss it.So I don't take many photos, just a few. And then I put the camera and the phone away, tucking them into my running shoes near the sand castle we built higher up the beach.To look and to see, to listen and to hear, I have to fight against every distraction, every obstacle threatening my awareness of love, joy, beauty. I struggle with the tension of wanting to remember moments like this--the moments I am aware of as holy, filled with love and God's presence and glory. And it is my heart that needs to remember, needs to see, hear, be.A phone, an Instagram feed, a Facebook post, a journal description--none of this can adequately capture what it is God is doing in us, this moment. This moment.Wake up. Read More . . .

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 . . .

I grasp the black handle of the tea kettle, turn to the sink behind me and fill it with water. Put on the lid and turn back to the stove. Place the kettle upon the gas burner and turn on the gas. Watch the reflection of my self in the kettle's stainless steel. Listen for the gas. Vrmmp.Consider how, if this were a movie, if this scene were being filmed, I would assume the moment was one of importance somehow, maybe even reverence. You know, the every day, normal activity to which we can all relate but so easily overlook.Fill the kettle. Turn on the stove. Wait for the water to boil.Except this is my life. And I am not in a movie. There is no beautiful angle or amazing lens or talented photographer here to capture this and convince me this is more significant than it really is.And yet this life is amazing. It is holy. It is beautiful and sacred space. I know.I have a conversation with myself, wondering why I push against what is sacred? Whom am I to decide what is holy, worthy, good?Why do I need documentation of my life to believe it is worth something?To whom am I looking for validation? To whom am I asking, do you see me, notice me? To whom am I asking, what am I worth?It looks prettier everywhere else sometimes, unless I look at my life and recognize it as holy. Right here. Right now. I am holy, a daughter of God.Fill the kettle. Turn on the stove. Wait for the water to boil. Read More . . .