ashes :: what wondrous love

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what wondrous love is this 

oh my soul //

oh my soul //

i've been softly singing these words as i wander though my morning. it's been notes that have hung on my tongue since Saturday afternoon when i stood and watched as tongues of fire devoured my in-law's barns and vehicles. 

but the wind turned in the nick of a second and spared the house. melted slightly, scorched and warped slightly. whispers of what could have been, but were not. what wondrous love is this.

and now i find myself on my knees as i ponder what He let me see. i walk a line between grief and awe, of sorrow and wonder. because i'm learning first hand about refinement through fire, and seeing things that i never connected before. 

beauty from ashes, life from the ground's barest places. this is the thing He has been pushing on me in recent weeks. i have the firebird on my ankle, placed there the night that we remember His cry of it is finished. 

and He spared the house like He spared my soul, with His breath and His wind and the rain that came pouring down like tears as He saw the grief and wept Himself for love of His own. and as i walk through the ashes and embers and charred remains of wood and metal, i realize this more and more. 

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deeper and deeper i am sinking into impossible Love that is almost wordless, inexplicably powerful except for when you experience something beyond yourself. 

He dwells within her

she shall not be destroyed.

::psalm 46:5

because my soul is something tucked away, and He lives in every corner of me, and i'm learning to let Him paint my soul His colours instead of mine, and gently mold me into something more beautiful than i could ever comprehend. and if that takes ashes and ink and clay and soot, so be it. 

and so i'm back to the words that i've been singing for three days. 

what wondrous love is this

// oh my soul

// oh my soul

reaching moonward

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do you know how often i wish i could touch the moon?

it's the way i feel when a worship song slides down my spine and nests in my soul, as guitars strum and soft voices lift a single Name from Earth to Heaven. and all i can do is reach upward, fingers stretching out as though to grip the rafters and rise.

it's especially true on nights like this, when quilts and pillows comfort the sniffling and the sneezing. on oddly warm winter evenings when the sky is purple and orange and it's like watching the Saviour take a sacred moment to fingerpaint the sky.

and i reach out trembling hands, overcome with awe and wonder, up toward the mast where the albatross in the windstorm has roosted just long enough to roar in Lion's tongue

you are safe

you are loved

and you are Mine.

it's then that i ache just a bit inside. because like a wife who misses a husband gone with only telephone dials and cyber connections to keep them joined over seas and county lines, i ache for my Jesus. 

:: and so my fingers reach moonward ::

and i feel that overwhelming peace as moonlight shines down and i cry, oh, how i want to be brave. how i want to understand. and i am, because that's what He promised. we linked fingers, He and i, over a glass of merlot and black ink promises of lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age. 

He promised me brave. He promised me warrioress. He promised me daughter. 

and so i still reach moonward and sing to the darkness where my Saviour lingers

oh, i'm running to Your arms.

Light of the world,

forever reign. 

safe and sound

have you ever reached into the fire for gold with dross pouring over your fingers
as it burns away flesh and earth and leave behind sacred?

have you ever dared to take a flower petal in your fingers to study the lines

the ones that spell life and sun and Light and little things?

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these are the things we forget to remember. that Light erases darkness and flower veins spell mystery, that value is found where money is missing and silent touch is often more important than too many words? 

don't you dare look out your window, darling

everything's on fire

 the war outside our door keeps raging on

 hold onto this lullaby

 even when the music's gone

// safe and sound :: the civil wars //

it's about seeking Him where He may be found, in all sacred corners that are most often forgotten. because if He wrote in the dust, why can't i?

 it's about holding on to music when everything burns, and all that's left is you and Him and the lion's song, ringing clear in the night, crying

see, I am doing a new thing.

all things are made new, dearheart. 

i'm spinning in these dustmotes, cape in hand and candle in the other. 

i'm closing my eyes and leaping into crystal pools. it's His country i seek. i'm safe and sound, drowning in His glory. 

pray

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Lord, teach us to pray. 

simple words. a simple request from humble men following yet another humble Man

Messiah.

and yet, so much weight in this simple appeal. 

teach us to approach. 

it is like standing on the bank of a river. unknown beneath the surface, so much greatness yet unseen. but its power is known. 

a little girl's plea to the father on the other side. 

poppy, teach me to swim.  

i know this cry all too well. 

come to Me, dearheart.

don't be afraid. 

and then i see that bridge. the one He built for me, the way to come to Him. 

that steady path called prayer. 

and i can cross it on my knees to fall at the pieced feet of my Abba who waits to hear His daughter's call. 

sometimes i walk with strongest confidence. other times, it is with trembling hands and unworthy quaver. 

will He take this alabaster jar, full to overflowing with my tears and love?

i fall at His feet.

and i discover 

my carpenter Daddy has laid my way. 

approach with confidence, Daughter. 

you are loved.

But I will not tell you how long or short the way will be; only that it lies across a river. But do not fear that, for I am the great Bridge Builder. ~Aslan, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader