in which He did not call us to be jerks

{photo by Jennifer}

there's a picture going around my newsfeed, a cartoon drawing of a bleeding man dressed in a rainbow shirt being bludgeoned by men holding Bibles. these caricatures were drawn to make us think, to draw the nodding heads and the "mmm"-ing and then "how true, how true" from those who identify as Christians. but I feel like it gets forgotten that the idea of the Sword of Truth being wielded like a butcher knife is more common, that we're good at passing out scarlet letters, carved into the chests so that they never forget they are sinners.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: they know us by the things we hate instead of by our love, and that's the opposite of the way He meant for things to be.

do you really wonder why they hate us? why when someone hesitantly says, "I'm a Christian," there's groans and eyerolls and muttering?  I've heard the laughter myself, heard the mocking voice of the ones trodden undo so-called holy feet. there should be something different about us, the ones who don "small Christ, wandering followers of the Rabbi" as our moniker. and unfortunately, there is something different :: the fact that we so often choose to us Truth as an excuse to cleave flesh from bone and then drag them by the hair to the foot of the cross.

you're forgiven and you're going to like it. or else. 

you want bluntness? you want transparency?

Jesus did not call us to be assholes. He did not bleed Himself dry to raise a horde of sanctified jerks, to lead an army of righteous indignation. when He said to turn the other cheek, He didn't mean by slapping one until the head bows in apologetic pain.

{photo by Jennifer}

it breaks me down when I think back to the hearts I turned, the way my own words sliced and my own hands slapped and my nails clawed frantic to make them see their sin. but instead, I scratched the corneas of their souls until things were blurred and tears streamed and they stumbled away into fog. I pray someone else came behind me and loved them better, loved them like He would have done.

sometimes I look at the story of the Crucifixion, the way they ripped His body into shreds and spilled His blood on the courtyard stones, and I think, maybe there's more of a picture there than at first glance. because that picture, it's visceral and holy and grace personified. but I can almost see Him looking up from beneath the thirty-ninth lash, thorns pressing into His skin, and maybe I can read His lips.

I took this already. I'm doing this for them, for you, for all. 
it's covered. it's taken care of, once for all.
please don't do this to anyone else.  

He died to make us alive, died to tear down walls and bring separation to a minimum. He cradled the broken ones closest, touched the untouchable, and laid the twisted paths straight. there is Truth we seem to forget :: this thing of grace, this thing of mercy, this thing of Love that passes through death's grip and into Life abundant.

and this, this is the marvel of marvels. 
that He called me beloved. 
{c.s. lewis}

sufficient wildness

it's official. i've decided that this thing of being gutted is apparently what i'm supposed to be doing. i never intended for my thrashing journey to become this public, this observed by the world around me. in some respects, each post i've written and each personal snapshot that i've shared has caused me to withdraw, to pull back into myself and against His wild mane.

it's not that i'm withdrawing fully. if anything, i'm drawing close for shelter, for comfort. it's remarkable how my path is straying closer and closer to the Lion's keep while those around me seem to feel the need to pull me back to the "right path." it's answering my questions, in a funny sort of way.

there are words that He spoke, words about a gate and wide and narrow paths. someone recently spoke to me on a friend's Facebook post about wildness and Christian mysticism, and i made a remark to this stranger who was taken aback that God might just have wild things.

i've quoted Lewis before in this place, and i'm going to say it again because it's the epitome of what i believe :: safe? of course He isn't safe. whoever said anything about safe? but He's good. He's the King, i tell you. 

do you know when you walk a wild path behind a wild Lion, you're going to get dirty? and there's going to be leaves in your hair and blisters on your feet and stained berries in patterns down your arms? and there will be tears in your eyes, but they glisten and reflect the light right back, so you're never blinded. He has a bottle for each drop, and He keeps it close. not to look back and gloat in your suffering and your weeping, but to work into the watercolour palate and smear them across a canvas :: see, I am doing a new thing. 

the more i write, the more fingers point, telling me that i'm not "doing faith" the right way. i've sat on those words since the minute they were spoken to me, agonizing and pacing back and forth within myself. i was at the water's edge, panting from self-exertion. i started to wonder, to worry, how could i love Him and still please all these others around me.

it simply wasn't working.

and that's when i discovered that His mane was wild with a few dreadlocks of His own. there is so much existence woven into Him. somehow, i keep forgetting that He is Man as much as He is God. His growl echoes in my heart :: if you had felt sufficient, it would have been proof that you are not. 

and so this withdrawing is not hiding. it's not an attempt to get my clothing in a line and my shoes on the right feet and my face appropriately hidden. oh no, it's allowing Him to breathe Life into my lungs and to refuel me in a way that only He can.

i'm still thrashing, diving deeper and splashing until i'm soaked, even to the ends of my hair. and i'm going up the path, riding on His back, inhaling the wind.

and the path behind is littered with broken chains.

rising wild

i am a rare creature. i am a thing of wonder, a thing of push and pull and inhale exhale repeat repeat without even thinking.

it's the little and the simple parts of me combining to create something greater, something that even i cannot explain. something glorious and dangerous and precious that pushes on the edges of the world and reaches past to twist among the stars.

"'you,' he said, 'are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world 

and that, I believe, is why you are in so much pain.'"

:: emilie autumn 

but that's what growth is. it's pain, it's the push of life to emerge from beneath the thick rich-scented earth to burst through green and bright and full of promise.

a friend wrote two Aramaic words that rang in my soul for days after. talitha cumi. and i couldn't help but ponder these words and the Man that said them soft into the ear of a little girl whose breath had left her altogether. and then it came back. because He spoke it so. 

and that is the power of the cry of arise spoken by the One who vanquished storms with a word. they were simple words, familiar to the ear but strung together in a way that was far more foreign than it ought to be. it sinks wonder into my heart, but why? why should life returning at the word of the Son be anything but expected, but known, but anticipated with bated breath?

so i tie a string around my finger and remember.

this world is not where i belong, my hunger is for another place. a place where the wild and the wonder are the common and the expected, where the wind is the Breath of the Most High and the sun pales in the light of the One who spoke before time was ever born.

because i am the wild one, the daughter of more than grace, but of Water and Bread and Blood. a rare thing, a real thing.

bursting.
questing.
:: rising

taken name

{via pinterest

sometimes i struggle with my name.

not the one my parents gave me, nor the one that changed when i became a Mrs.

but the one i took when i became His. the name that has been stamped upon, sullied, and desecrated until i no longer am sure i want to bear that banner.

Christian

i don't like be associated with that name. i am not ashamed of Him. oh, please, God, never would i be ashamed to be known as His. 

but the name itself. 

i am a Christ-follower. i belong to Jesus Christ. 

but what once was a badge of honour, literally speaking little Christ to the darkness of the Roman empire and then to the world at large

has now become a mark of hate.

people with picket signs and waving Bibles in the faces of frightened girls as they walk up toward a building to end the life of their child. 

it has become the shield for people -- dark-hearted villains -- who stand at the funeral of a young gay military officer and scream 

god hates you

god hates gays

god hates America

god hates everyone

i always capitalize God. i did not do so above. why? 

because this god they speak of is not the One True God. this is not the God i love, worship, and serve with my whole life. and this book they read cannot be the Holy Word of God. 

these goats and blind guides will stand at His feet one day. His eyes will flood with tears as He looks away and speaks 

I never knew you

my God hates sin. He hates the darkness. 

but He loves people. He loves the ones trapped, even if they have no idea. 

we love Him because He first loved us

church, where have you gone? what have you done? 

to be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable

because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you

-c.s. lewis

i am His. make no mistake. 

there is a Hell. it takes a choice to step from Death to Life. 

but doors are closed to no one. no sin is so great that He cannot forgive.

Love is everlasting. 

so drop the picket signs covered in marker scrawl, reach out a hand, and drawn them in. speak to them Truth, but in the firmness of Love. 

hide no realities of death and Hell, but show the alternative....show them Life. 

show them Him. light a candle. 

little sparks can light great fires. 

{linking with Michelle today}

beyond

five minute fridays. we write for five, and only five, minutes. no editing, no overthinking, no backtracking. linking up with the gypsy mama.

the word

BEYOND

now GO...

i love this word. 

this idea of going beyond...

...beyond what is normal, what is accepted, and what everyone says should be.

perhaps it is the seeker in me, the little girl with TOMs and searching eyes barely hidden beyond choppy bangs that may have never grown up. 

she's still here. just six years older and a little wiser, or maybe not. 

i'm still aching for the beyond. still digging through fur coats to find the snow at the back of the wardrobe. i'm not about to stop that search, and it's about more than a magical land.

it's about the beyond. the more. the bit of unseen that i know is there, fingers out and reaching at the beams of hidden light. 

i want to go beyond this world. beyond this place of feeble and insignificant. because anything can be made beyond. because we were made for greater things.

{via pinterest}

if i find in myself desires that nothing in this world can satisfy, i can then only conclude that i was not made for here. 

i am not of here. i am of the beyond.

i am a citizen of the land of Love and Salvation and Light. 

i am a daughter of the soon. 

tired of this glass dimly, aching for the fresh eyes of Heaven-sight.

i want to catch that White Stag, find that hidden door, step past the train platform of Shadowlands and come into the brightness of this ended dream.

of this morning beyond. 

i'm ecstatic with the knowing that beyond is here. and i can touch it.

i am living in the now, living in the soon, living endlessly in the beyond. 

i don't have to come back to reality

because i'm already there. 

He promised, and i believe.

beyond is soon. 

beyond is here. 

growing real.

"The Christian does not think God will love us because we are good, but that God will make us good because He loves us." ~C.S. Lewis


it's a funny thing, this concept of growth.


honestly, it's not what i expected it would be, or what it would feel like. 

it's so much scarier than i ever imagined.

if you've been following me at this blog for any length of time, you will have noticed that i have made a lot of changes in my writing style. the way i express myself has truly molded into truth as time has passed. 

in the beginning, i was never real. i never shared my 

pain

struggles

heartache

i never talked about the hard things.

i wrote what i was sure people wanted to hear. 

what was the popular way to feel? what was the right way to write? what was okay to share? where was the imaginary line in the sand that i dared not cross?

i have only recently begun to let go of my own intense perfectionism. 

this includes writing with much more abandon, less drafting and more living. and honestly, it means letting go of capitalization sometimes and just letting things flow. 

i'm still learning how to let go, how to let the Gardener prune me into His most beautiful creation. growth is a funny thing. 

sometimes, it really hurts. and oh, it's terrifying. 

i have the occasional minor moments of panic after posting something that isn't a ray of sunshine or a post regarding the beauty of daisy petals. 

pray for me.

because more than anything, i want to be changed. 

i want to be clay on His wheel.

i want to become a new thing. 

a fresh thing. a clean thing.

a real thing.

(first post at Eat, Pray, Write this morning. giveaway ends in five days.)

Behold, I will do a new thing, now it shall spring forth; shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. ~Isaiah 43:19

Linking up with Jen and this beautiful weekly sisterhood.
Soli Deo Gloria

Pose

Judge a man by his questions rather than his answers. ~Voltaire 

I have found myself in a field of questions these days.

Some have been doubts, others have been curiosities.

Each one of them have sent me running to the Heart of my King. And there we sit together, He and I, as I run my fingers over the pages of my Bible. I will never cease searching for the answers that I know are within for me to take and draw into my heart.

Questions are not a lack of faith. Please never let anyone tell you that, because it is such a vicious lie. How can we learn if we do not ask? How can we step forward until we gaze up at the Cross and whisper, "why?"

We just have to be prepared for the answers. If you dare to ask, you must be prepared for the forthcoming answer.

Last month, I opened up my blog for my readers to ask me any question they wished me to answer. The ones I received were beautiful and thought-provoking, and I answered them all about a week later.

I am about to do the same thing again.

I want you all to ask me anything.

Stay close to the surface, or dive deep beneath the surface. Stick to the simple delights of life, if you wish...my loves, my hates, the beauties of life....

...or push into the darker jungles to ask me about my fears, my hardships, my struggles, and my pain.

I have never promised perfection. Not once. 

What I have promised is reality. Openness and a soul bared before the Throne, as well as to each one of you. 

We grow from the witness of others. From knowing we are not alone in our pain. From knowing that there is more beyond this moment of fear. From knowing someone else has walked this path.

The only thing I ask is that you keep your musings free from expletives and appropriate for public discussion.

So please, 

let go

and ask away. 

"To what will you look for help if you will not look to that which is stronger than yourself?" ~C.S. Lewis

Précieux (Precious)

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival. ~C.S. Lewis

What makes something precious?

What is it that gives something such inestimable value that it is lauded enough to place upon a special pedestal for the world to gaze upon in wonder?

What gives someone such value?

Is it shared experience...the catch of mutual laughter, or the bond of a deep unfettered grief?

Is it the miracle of unity...the way that two people can look across a room, catch an eye, and feel the same little rush from head to toe and back again, without a single word shared?

What is it that brings simple, everyday objects to such a place of requirement in our souls...in our hearts...?

Is it the whisper of legacy behind a father's tarnished pocketwatch?

Is it the memory drawn forth in honor of a friend who made his way to heaven before us?

Things of value are few and far between anymore.

Everything is now. Everything is needed right at this moment.

Legacies are fading fast. The need for things that are precious...the sweet pain of memory and recollection...it is melting into the woodwork faster than we can hope to catch it in fleeting fingers.

But I refuse.

I refuse to let memory fade. To let things become commonplace. To let the mundane overtake the remarkable.

More than ever, we need our precious.

Precious friends.

Precious memories.

Precious joys, precious pain.

Life is precious....

...don't let it slip.

God gave us memories that we might have roses in December. ~J.M. Barrie