Mrs. Christ

Mrs. Christ. Sounds almost blasphemous doesn't it? Sort of has a ring to it, oh but it comes with too high a cost, too much responsibility, too many thoughts left for tending.

Perhaps then, we see it better if we call it something else entirely. Something less. For the connotations of Mrs. Christ dare not digress in time, to anything less than all the name initially implied.

So we reduce responsibility, lose the name, develop some form of routine, one that requires a mere weekly attendance, one that promises not to spill into the rest of our lives, leaving room for Sunday afternoon football, and every where in between to fill with as much as we can squeeze. Because in America, busyness equals success, does it not? Between driving kids to soccer practice, keeping the house in order, cramming for exams, applying for med school, babysitting the little brother, working 9-5, and a little bit of down time, we are doing good to add to the attendance of Sunday morning's service. Oh, but the preacher tried to cram two sermons into one this week, and the person to the right of me keeps staring at the time and I can't help but take a peek for myself and shake my head as my day off ticks away. Not to mention the praise team has had noticeably less rehearsal time this morning, and the bass guitarist is yawning about four minutes into the "slow" song of the morning. I'm dozing off but somehow miraculously gain back any depleted energy as soon as the ending prayer is tied together with an amen.


Please don't get me wrong, I love church. In fact, I would have to be self-destructive if I didn't. I am the church. WE are the church. The above paragraphs were not written to destruct the heart or even structure of the way the general American church is operated. It was a simple attempt to shed some light on what an outside perspective looking in might deem as utterly ridiculous.

What if we as the church began calling ourselves Mrs. Christ? Bear with me for a second as I take you on a hypothetical journey.

What if instead of waiting for the worship leader to lead us into worship, we went willingly and ready, because we already had a week to prepare ourselves to enter the Presence of God? What if instead of the worship leader focusing on a performance and a strategy that will hopefully lead the church into worship, the worship leader just focused on worshiping himself?

What if instead of waiting to be fed by the pastor, grasping for something sustaining, for the weeks are long and the Bread he offers only takes us so far, leaving us Spiritually dry by about Monday afternoon, we fed ourselves and were simply edified and encouraged by the truths the preacher confirms Sunday morning?

What if instead of holding fast to old tradition, clinging possessively to our elite small groups, asking ourselves what the kid with the tattoos that smelled like pot was doing in the back row, instead approached him with open arms and an extended invite to bring all of his friends?

What if the church was not just the building, or the band, or the preacher.  

What if the church was the people? 

And what if those people really were the Bride of Christ? 

What if Jesus was serious when He said He was coming back for a Pure Bride; that He really was preparing for us a room?

What if we weighed the costs and low and behold discovered the cost was worth it. 

What then?

Could we, as one Body, by the grace, and for the glory of our Savior, rise up essentially as Mrs. Christ?

What then? 

 Revelation 19:7-8, “For the wedding of the Lamb has come, and His Bride has made herself ready. Fine linen, bright and clean was given her to wear." 

”I know your works, your labor, your patience, and that you cannot bear those who are evil. And you have tested those who say they are apostles and are not, and have found them liars; and you have persevered and have patience, and have labored for My name's sake and have not become weary.

Nevertheless I have this against you, that you have left your first love.

Remember therefore from where you have fallen; repent and do the first works, or else I will come to you quickly and remove your lamp-stand from its place — unless you repent.” 

Revelation 2:2-5

Yesterday's Manna

A thought came to me this morning during my time with the Lord: I cannot feed today on yesterday's manna. I realize that I am often guilty of this concept. When I am doing well, when I have prayed a good prayer, read some good verses, did a good deed, I tend to coast on my "Christian successes" and cut myself slack in other areas. But this, in effect, is somehow in someway an attempt to justify or earn my right standing with Christ. I am trying to deserve my salvation or grace with my own feeble efforts. As if what I have to offer is really enough to justify anything more than hell itself.

When I get to the place where I begin relying on my own strength, I will be fine for a while.

I need God's grace like I need air. Without it, I will be under the false pretenses that I am actually okay, until my deficiency kicks in. I can coast on my self-dependancy until my own strength eventually runs-out. But once it does, I am once again grasping for something sustaining, because my ability to escape sin was merely reliant on my own capabilities. 

I had another thought the other day that may have been a bench mark to putting my doubts into perspective. Either God is real or He isn't. There is no floating around in some obscure space. If I am going to believe He is real, then I better start living like He is real. That includes not just taking His Promises at face value. 

Either God is fully alive or He is nothing at all. There are too many self-proclaimed agnostics in this world. As if not knowing anything would somehow equate knowing something. As if teetering between two concepts or straddling two roads would somehow end in the same destination. I do this with myself. I question one aspect of God but claim to believe another. Either His Word is All powerful and all Truth or it is a complete and useless lies. To claim portions of God's Word and reject the rest is to spit in the face of God's sovereignty and credibility. 

May His Truth be presented unperverted and uncompromised in the hands it was carefully selected for, the church. May Christ return to a pure and untampered bride, proclaiming forth an uncorrupted and sharpened sword. 

Good Things Come

It had been a long, hard season. 

The crops were fickle and needed a lot of tending. Aside from that, the lands were vast this year, and we had been in a drought for months. Sometimes, when doubt overwhelmed me, I would question if my meager efforts would really pay off, or if the seed was incapable of producing fruit with such unfavorable conditions.

But today was unlike any other.I was awakened by the pitter patter of wet substance slapping the window pane. 

Sure enough, the dry and barren soil was submerged in a layer of "fertilizer." 

I was so engaged in the miracle, I didn't hear Papa come up behind me.

 "What do we do now?" I asked still staring in disbelief.

His answer was unsatisfying and reassuring all together, like the cool, piercing breeze that just swept over.  He smiled the smile of a proud farmer, who had finally smelt the harvest he had been sewing for a long season…

"We wait."

I believe the life of a Christ follower parallels the life of a devout farmer. There are three seasons that take place, continuously and devotedly.

1. The working season

2. The waiting season

3. Partaking of the harvest

I think many expect immediate reward after hard work. What they don't realize is it takes a lot more than our feeble hands to produce something worthy of a harvest. Like a farmer after months of intense labor, we are often called to a season of waiting before we are able to see the fruit of our efforts. It's through time, rain, and intense heat that produces the lasting crop.

During the waiting season it tends to rain a lot, but if you have been a farmer for long, you know this is a good thing, because it is grounds for producing the greatest growth. 

I am nearing the end of an arduous and labor-some season, and Papa's words keep ringing in my ears,

"Good things come to those who wait."

Simplicity

I found a cozy field near a cow pasture just outside CCM. I have been sneaking off to have my quiet times there. Dates with my Maker.

 The other day I brought paints and a canvas. Sometimes I journal; other times I just watch the cows graze and find peace in the simplicity of their life style. 

 

 I am learning about a joy not circumstance based,

a love unconditional,

an inner strength that thrives in outward weakness,

and a peace amidst the raging storm.

He is shaping me into the woman He created me to be.

"God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the hearts of man." 

Ecclesiastes 3:11

Deep Cries Out To Deep

"Who Is this who comes up from the Wilderness leaning upon her Beloved?" 

Song of Solomon 8:5

"Come away with me," the whisper was faint and overpowered by the noises around me, but so deep I felt it nudge the core of my spirit. "Why would I want to go away? Everything is fine where we are."  A thousand voices flooded my ears in that moment. I quickly became angry. "My family is here. My friends are here. My LIFE is here. No, I won't come away with you." The thoughts were half my own, the other half almost delivered to me like a baby being spoon fed its mashed carrots. Reluctant at first, I eventually gave in to the impending pressure of emotion rushing over me. First confusion, then frustration. "Who does He think He is? Requiring such an imposition on my behalf? What happened to 'I have plans to prosper you?' and 'I will give you the desires of your heart?'"

The thoughts were foreign to me at first. Absurd sounding in my own ears. The second voice came quieter than before, like a vapor that had faded into the vast expanse of atmosphere, creating but a wind chime ringing in my ears. "Come. I have something to show you."  Fear overwhelmed me in that moment as I considered the costs of his request. "NO." An eerie shriek rung violently in my head, much louder than the voices before. "You can't be trusted." Ah, were those words really my own? Even I felt the sting of the harsh exchange. I thought about it for a moment then resolved that it was all my imagination. Questions such as those would be reserved for the stronger leaders; those like Moses, David, Paul, Winston Churchill, Elizabeth Elliot, Francis Chan. Not me. An average, modern, American girl.

Which has me wondering if my response had been different, would I still be here now, having just spent the past months of my life lost in the wilderness, thirsty for water, hungry for food, desperate for some relief? Psalm 42:7 says as deep cries out to deep. I was a deer panting for the water brooks. I guess the only way to make a deer thirsty is to remove its original source of water. Take away the streams it worshiped. You said come to me you who are thirsty, weary, and heavy burdened. But I was reluctant that you could really be enough. 

One day soon I will peer the horizon from the mountaintops, seeing all I just came from, leaving me speechless that I was able to survive it. I was peering over the edge of a high mountain, only this time I was not alone. There was a thick and tangible presence encompassing me. I could not quite pinpoint the exact moment it appeared, but once it had, I could no longer remember or envision life without it.

The walk has been arduous. Painful. Tiresome. The Lord has taken me into the wilderness, away from the world, apart from my friends and family and the life I grew to idolize, to show me His heart. He couldn't do it in the world. No. The voices were too overpowering for His soft whisper. He brought me into the wilderness to make me unshakable. I had just come from slavery and was not yet ready to enter the Promised land. There had to be transition. A season of preparation to my new found freedom. I never dreamed of the heights I would reach, but it was only because of the depths I experienced with him.

So when you ask, "Who is this who comes up from the wilderness, leaning upon her Beloved? There under the apple tree I awakened you,"

You will know.

Disclaimor: Radical

 Today I was shaken by a message from God. The wording is a little messy, and my thoughts are a little scattered, but I felt a sense of urgency in sharing the convictions the Lord has placed so graciously and firmly on my heart. I am posting a disclaimer to anyone who desires to live a comfortable, Christian life. The more God reveals to me, the more I realize how much of a paradox that statement really is.

 God I want to know you.

I want God's plans if God's plans are what I want.
Jesus, I will do what it takes if what it takes is not too much.
I will speak on a stage to thousands of teens.
I will move to Hollywood to reach the lost.
I will write a dozen books about your love.
But what are the lengths I am willing to go?
I will marry a strong Christian man,
and raise two Christian children in church.
I will serve in my community and volunteer for different ministries.
I will adopt a little Chinese girl and even name her Amariah-gift from God.
I will go on Mission trips instead of vacations.
I will buy a meal for the homeless man on the street.
But what are the lengths I am willing to go?
Sure God, I will do your will.
But only if the cost is cheap, the road is easy, and the reward is great.
Of course God, I will follow you.
But only if it veers not far from the path I have already set out for my life.







 His response left me breathless. 


My child,
Will you follow me when the way is tough?
Will you follow me when the load gets heavy?
Will you follow me when the cost is great? Devastating?
Will you follow me if it requires a life of celibacy and a barren womb?
Will you follow me if it leads to persecution?
Will you follow me if your highest calling is the burning steak?
Will you follow me if it means not coming back?


Do you still want to know me?

Luke 9:23,24
Then He said to them all, if anyone would come after me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.  For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it.

Luke 14:33
Unless you give up everything you own. You cannot become my disciple.

Dear Hollywood

 Somewhere down the line

We bought the devil’s lie

That we are broken beyond repair.

All she wanted was to be known.

But she gave her life up for the throne,

And everything she called her own.

She began pursuit of poise and fame

To bring herself a better name

But somehow ended up alone.

She gave it all for too small a cost

Seeking after all she’d lost

Not knowing how much she’d have to pay

She sacrificed her life her will,

For beauty, men, and dollar bills,

How quickly black does fade to grey.

Lost and broken, torn apart

They covered scars and called it art.

Was this the place of no return?

They took advantage and stripped away

Knowing what she’d have to pay-

As they all watched her burn.

Hollywood-God’s got a plan

Bigger than some one night stand

Or a drug that cannot fill

Forget all that you’ve been told

And trade your glitter for the gold

If you’ll just fight for something real

Hollywood-you hold the key

If you will simply bow your knee

And make known a name for a King

Hollywood-you’ll make it far

On more than just a fancy car

Or an empty diamond ring.

You’ve traded commitment for a fling

And wondered why you felt the sting

Of emptiness and pain

You’ve searched so long for something more

Than what you had to bargain for

And all you had to gain

Were empty bottles and broken dreams

Thinking you could seal the seams

With one enticing plea.

Oh Hollywood-when will you see

What it means to be truly free?

Enough

I could take on the world
here in your arms.
slaying demons in your name.
I could move mountains
with a seed of faith
and withstand the furnace flame.

I could write a book
for every miracle
and the world would be too small
to contain the words
that hold your heart
of your life's impending call

I could win a battle
of a mighty army
with 300 faithful men
I could tame a lion,
raise the dead,
and calm the mighty wind


I could call a nation
to it's knees
if you asked me to my Lord-
I could fight the devil
with but a book
you call the sacred sword.


I could thirst no more
with not one drop,
by the grace of your great love,
but oh the shame
I dare proclaim
when you ask,
"My child, am I enough?"

San Pedro, Belize

"What is the value of a human soul?" My mom tossed out the room-silencing question. Would God send 12 people to leave their home for the sake of one person here? Did the shepherd not leave the 99 other sheep to bring home the 

 one? 

Everything and nothing.

That is what is going on in my head right now. I get so frustrated trying to figure it out, trying to make plans that were never mine to make. And everytime without fail, God keeps whispering, "Just trust me. I have a plan."

Sometimes the greatest peace comes with letting go completely.

If I have learned anything since I have been here, it is this: humanity is selfish. Loving people is hard. Me in my ignorance left America thinking in doing so I would inevitably escape pride, entitlement, selfish ambition, and complacency. Since being here, I have learned that it was not America I was trying to escape, but myself. Complacency is everywhere. Selfishness thrives within every person. I came here thinking a change of location would constitute a change of heart, but being on the mission field does not make someone any more of a missionary than a standing in a doctors office makes someone a doctor. I came here with the same habits, tendendencies, and nature that I had in America. 

Nothing changed. 

I have learned that my natural tendency is not to love others, but to judge them. I gravitate towards selfishness, impatience, arrogance, and entitlement. If I am not willing to reach out to my neighbor in Celina, Texas, what makes me think moving to a foreign country with language and cultural barriers would somehow make it easier?

Today I was forced to ask myself what true sacrifice is as I toured an old house in the bad part of town. Would I be willing to live among the people like Jesus did? How much am I REALLY willing to give up? I say everything, but it is easy to make that statement as I overlook the ocean shore in the comforts of a beautiful air conditioned condo. 

What does it mean to take up your cross daily? What does that look like in a day to day life? I am beginning to realize the paradox of the Gospel; what Jesus is truly asking of His followers. 

Apart from His grace, I do not have the capacity or the ability to love selflessly. Someone once said our walk with the Lord is like a tree: the heights that it reaches is solely dependant on how far it is rooted. In order to go places with God, I must start with the privacy of my own bedroom. In two days I return back to the normalcy of every day life in America. In two days I will still be completely reliant on God's grace to love those around me. Praise God, His grace is enough. It has ALWAYS been enough.

The Victory of John Manalo

Death puts such a perspective on life. It's funny how the little things that consume our time and our energy are suddenly re-prioritized when the wave of death sweeps over.

Today my fellow CCMers and I just received the news that our brother and former fellow CCMer passed away last night. Videos and deadlines, once a consuming fire of our days here at CCM, took their place in the scheme of things, leaving silence to clean up the mess.

Amidst the noise and chaos of media consistently residing in these walls, a young life taken has penetrated the room to mere silent tears. Where words once filler of empty air, now none can suffice the silence suffocating our deepest thoughts. Like a vapor in the wind, we make our mark on this world before we are called home. 

I fear we have made our permanent residence in but a temporary passing.               

John lived in a world that did not deserve him, a world that could not hold him. A heart too big to be carried by this sinful place, is now held by the hands of the Man that conquered death. We ask, bewildered and entitled, why God took him from our midst, when he was never ours to begin with, nor was he ever meant to be. Made for a world where death has no sting, we still cringe at death's awful scream and ask God why it hurts so bad. He has reached the Promised Land, while we are still making our way through the desert. 

I am blessed beyond belief and overwhelmed by the Grace of God that allows us to consider life not loss but victory. Christ said Himself, to live is Him, to die is gain. Unfortunately, it often takes the sting of death to heed to these powerful words. Unfortunately it takes a human life for us to recognize the value of our own. Last night my brother and friend John Manalo was greeted into the arms of His Savior. The few years that John dedicated to knowing His Lord will now be paid off for the rest of eternity-- Which is why I dare not title this entry, The Loss of John Manalo, rather the Victory. For none could find more victory than the one at the feet of Christ.

Broken Alabaster Jar

Break your alabaster jar

and pour it on my feet

In the midst of hair and tears

is where our hearts shall meet <3

To think that I-

but far too gone

A harlot amidst the virgin--

Am but a stickler for broken hearts,

in dire need of a surgeon.

Surely the King

has chosen His bride;

 A lilly among the thorns--

He'll take the beauty;

the Spotless one-

of whom precious gems adorn.

He'll search the castles

and the priciest rooms-

in the rich man's master suite--

While I sell my purity 

for dollar bills-

 like a vender on the street

Surely, He'll seek the loftiest places,

for a bride to claim His hand--

a woman committed; fiercely submitted

not some one night stand.

I'll never forget that knock on the door

that came as such a surprise-

that a King might enter a sinner's floor

much less look me in the eyes.

No value to offer-

but this alabaster jar,

I threw my face at His feet--

between tears and hair and open scars

is where He said we could meet.

Between tears and hair and open scars

is where He said we could meet.

Inspired by Luke 7:36-50

To live is Christ...

"But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you." Luke 6:27-28 It is easy to love when our lives are not negatively or directly involved with whom God is calling us to love. It is easy to love the man that raised us or the hands that clothed us, but what about the man that murdered our children? What about the man that raped our daughters? 

The same God that sent David to slay Goliath, said "forgive these men, for they know not what they are doing," when the soldiers nailed Him to a cross. What is true victory found in? Justice or Mercy?  Embracing persecution or conquering it? Fighting for freedom or giving your life in the hope that your enemy may discover true freedom? 

Perhaps I didn't come back with all of the answers, but I did discover some of the right questions. 

For the past three days, I was placed in an artificial environment to be given the opportunity to ask my self these questions. World Awareness-to be made aware of what is going on outside the walls of America's comfort and entitlement. Most men will never even dream of this kind of life. But for some, it is all they know. 

For three days I, along with the rest of the Internship, were refugees on the run from a tyrannical government that had just enforced a law of "Peace and Safety," - a title embodying the belief system that all religions lead to heaven in an attempt to bring about a Utopian Society in America. In a government like this, Christians were persecuted for their beliefs because they were viewed as intolerant of other religions, judgmental, and extremists. We spent the entirety of our time running from the government officials in 400 acres of woods, hopping from refugee camp to refugee camp to escape the next invasion. Some of us got the opportunity to be captured and experience life in what they called, "a Re-educational facility" in which half of the prisoners were forced to remain silent in individual shower cells , while the others worked pulling weeds in the labor union.

Suddenly, I was forced to ask myself how I would respond if this were to really happen. The age is coming and the prophesies Biblical. The Anti-Christ will first bring about a sense of false peace and harmony through establishment of a one world religion. Was my role as a Christian to simply persevere the persecution, or was I called to do more? If so, what? Do I conduct jail busts, rescuing my fellow prisoners? Or do I submit to authority, up until the point that it contradicts my faith, and show the love of Christ to the true Prisoners? 

We are one Body-but as tension and confusion from the enemy arose, I saw division slip between the cracks of our own flawed belief system and the Body was beginning to split amongst itself. As the church, we have been called to love, not passively or defeatedly, but passionately and victoriously. 

1 John 4:4 tells us that the Battle has already been won. So why then do we keep fighting and resisting as if it is still in our hands?

Jesus died for the murderer hanging next to Him. He died for the ones who hung Him, but most importantly, He died for those responsible for putting Him there--us. He lived to love. But mostly, He died for it. Perhaps true justice can only be attained when we have first claimed it for ourselves. 

Beautifully Broken

Brokenness. Such a beauty few men dare to seek. To feel deeply evokes a courage few men possess. It prompts a journey few men venture in a lifetime. It requires much. Everything in fact. Pure, heart-wrenching, soul-bearing humility. It is the heart cry of man admitting his humanity. Recognizing the burden of generational sin carried since the fall of Adam. It's taking His cross because we not only seek our need for it, we are desperate to become one with Him, to draw near to our Creator, and we would do literally anything to reach that place.

Why does ATF do this to me every time without fail? Perhaps I have allowed my self to feel too deeply, thus opening this door that cannot be closed without some form of therapeutic journaling. I am not broken. Not yet. But I seek a need for it, a desperation even, and that scares me. Because I know God is faithful, and He will break me. Humility is a prayer only bold men proclaim. I always come out of these things feeling so vulnerable. So raw. Sad that it's over. Nostalgic even as I say goodbye to a team of servants I just spent three days getting to know. God is expanding  my world. And I don't know how to take it. At first there was home. And it was enough; more than enough even. But eventually that grew to the confines of the Honor Academy. And suddenly I was a small town, change-hating girl, forced to embrace two very, very different worlds. I used to say that I was born to fly but had an unnerving fear of heights. But it didn't stop there. My world keeps getting bigger. For the next month I will be on the road every weekend, depleting myself so that I can serve Christ. I don't always have this attitude, in fact, it's usually not until the end of the event, once I have recognized my need for Grace and the negative effects of my hardened heart that provokes journal entries like these.

I'm sitting on the SWAT and Support Bus, waiting for it to finish loading so we can drive away from another place that has left a unique mark on my heart. San Diego will not be soon forgotten. For it has caused me to reflect, ponder, and feel. Something many go a lifetime without doing. Coasting through life in the safety of a calloused and hardened heart. I pray I never reach that place of no return. I fear a hardened heart is a heart unbroken. A heart that has yet to recognize its need for a Savior. 

And oh the need for a Savior has me desperate for brokenness. 

Who Am I?

It's funny how life works sometimes. You spend a life time trying to figure things out: God, this world, your own heart, reason's beyond our own understanding. It appears every time I reach that point where I think I have it all figured out, God reveals an aspect, or a block to me that I forgot to factor in; and like a big tower of Jenga pieces, every philosophy, every reason, and every belief comes tumbling down, leaving me at square one, with a mess of blocks and an impending frustration. 

If I know one thing of God that cannot be shaken or slightly altered by even the most prestigious priest or virtuous preacher, it is this: God is a God of love.

There, I have successfully built my first block, and although I look around me overwhelmed by the various blocks scattered throughout the table, I can be certain that this block is the building block of every other aspect of God. I can be rest assured that every Truth is founded upon this one. So I will begin there.

I am finally at a place in life where I am starting to make my faith my own. I no longer have my mom or dad right next to me to mirror their moves and reflect their beliefs. I find my self looking on either side of me, for a sense of familiarity or confirmation, when I am sitting in a controversial session testing my very faith. Suddenly it is up to me to determine what I do an do not believe. And although I have built a life-time of belief's and faith in a God I have grown to love and adore, I am forced to challenge and reflect upon the reasoning for believing every thing I do, beginning with square one. I am forced to constantly ask myself "why do I believe the way I do?" With God's word as my map, I learn how much easier it was when I had a navigator, one I trusted, one I did not have to question. But the beauty of it is I am now faced with a choice, with no one to take the steering wheel of my own faith, I can choose to try and figure out this map on my own, or I can give the wheel to the Man I have spent a life time learning about. 

I am forced total reliance on this Man. And suddenly it begins to make sense. I am not my own. If there is one thing I know of God it is this: He is a God of love. And He is far more than I will ever be able to comprehend. 

So I will start there.

Wake Up, America

I heard a sermon the other day that may have changed my life. In the same sense that I bring discretion upon reading this passage to the group this may concern, I urge you in love and in Truth to continue reading. God’s voice is a whisper in a Nation and a world whose foundation is built upon noise. My heart cry is to amplify the Voice that America has quieted for so long. A Voice that will no longer be silent.

To whom much is given, much is required. I have been given a message that sets men free from eternal damnation. I have been given a hope and a power superseding all else. And I have set idle. There will come a day when I stand before God and am held accountable for every man I did and did not tell. If I have nothing to show for what I have been given, even I will no longer hold that power and possess that message. To whom much is given, much is required.

I fear that the American church is no longer God’s church. It has been corrupted, morphed, perverted, and lulled to sleep by the song of his world. Wake up sleeping church. The day is coming, and you are not yet ready to be taken as His bride. I am sick of getting my fill from the things of this world. America has been gluttonous on sweets and temporary pleasures. We have traded our gold for glitter and cheap jewelry, but we are starving for Bread that brings life. We are rich in everything that will soon fade-like our very lives, but we are poor in Spirit and in love. We have traded His crown for our own. His crown brought life but ours brings pain and destruction. He carried the cross that held our salvation. While we carry the sin that the weight of His cross bore. We have no shame. We carry it with pride, even. We brag about everything we posses that keeps us from knowing our Creator. We have disqualified our selves in the race of life, but we are bragging like we are still in first. I fear we are running the wrong race, a race whose destination ends in disaster. America is running full force straight into the gates of hell, while we brag about our cars and our possessions along the way.

Wake up America. There is a greater glory to be said. A greater name to be praised. God will not stand for our rebellion forever. We have been given all of the resources and made ourselves hoarders in a world starving for what we see as no value. We are apathetic. We are prideful. We have fallen away from our Maker. But He is coming, and He won’t be mocked. We have become like the people of Baal, hobbling between two gods.(1 Kings 18:21) We cannot love both God and the world. (Matthew 6:24) We have seen the Truth. It is in arms reach. But we have rejected it and created our own self-serving doctrines.

“We can worship the God of purity and holiness or we can worship a god that simply makes us feel accomplished, affirms all of our strengths, and never touches our tender spots, but they are not the same God." -Louder Than Words

I find it startling how we have no problem taking full ownership over our worldly possessions, but cower away when it comes to ownership of our faith. We have made excuse after excuse as to why we should be exempt to such responsibilities. But we cannot deny blessing after blessing, and warning upon warning that has been thrown at us since birth. To whom much is given, much is required.

I want to run this race with excellence. I want to count all worldly aspects as loss, as Paul did. (Philipians 3:7-10) I want to be Holy before my King. There is only room for royalty in His Kingdom.

We keep our mouths shut in fear of offending someone. I tell you, the greatest offense of all will be when our dearest friends fail the test on Judgment Day and ask us why we never warned them…why we were so afraid of creating an awkward situation to warn them of their eternal destination.

Wake Up Sleeping Church. To Whom much is given, much is required. And we have been given much.

Divine Dance

God is leading me in this duet. 

When I started out, I was all over the place- 

I didn’t even know the right steps.

 But God didn’t point out all of my flaws at once. 

No. 

He took my hand and,

 step-by-step, we began to move as one, 

simultaneously.

 When He moved, I moved.

 I am still learning certain steps of the dance, 

and trying to improve those I have yet to master. 

But I am learning to take joy in this crazy, sometimes frustrating, beautiful dance. 

Because this dance

-this moment-

is my life. 

Thank you

Thank you.

I don’t say it near enough.

I think I could say it over and over for the rest of my life, and it would not be enough.

So I thank you.

In the midst of brokenness and confusion, thank you.

In the heart of a mighty storm and raging sea, thank you.

In the depths of my deepest despair, thank you.

In the soul of angst and frustration, thank you.

In the core of my darkest night, I thank you.

For your unfailing, unending, undeserving love.

"For the mountains may be removed and the hills may shake, but My loving kindness will not be removed from you,
and My covenant of peace will not be shaken," Says the LORD who has compassion on you. Isaiah 54:10

Dollhouse

Some days I feel like a little girl with a big dollhouse.

Today was one of them.

This little girl who could get the moon just by looking at her daddy with those big green eyes. Gosh, how he loves her, he is crazy about that little girl. One day, after getting bored with the many other gifts her father has lavished her with, she walks up to her dad and begins to beg him for a dollhouse. “My darling, when you are older.” He tells her. “Trust me, it is bigger than you can handle right now.” But she cried, and begged, and looked at him with those eyes, and he couldn’t resist. She walked into her room one morning and there it was: a brand new dollhouse with a big bow on it. She was so excited. She immediately pulled it down off the bed and started playing with it. But she got a little too restless, as most little girls do, and as she was moving around, she tripped over it and broke it. Devastated, she sat on the floor and cried. She ran back to her daddy’s room and fell at his feet. “Daddy, fix this mess. I broke it. Daddy fix it.”

How often do I find myself at the feet of my Father saying, “Daddy, fix this mess. I have broken what you have given me. I should have listened to you. You said it was more than I could handle. You said trust me and I was selfish. Daddy, fix it.”

I think what is even more heartbreaking than the brokenness of the little girl, is that without fail, every time, he picks that little girl up off her feet…and fixes the mess. 

Beloved Bride

Precious and weighty thoughts of thine-

Behold the branch that feeds the vine.

I've searched thine heart; I know thine soul,

I've sustained thine hands from the depths of Sheol.

Jealousy-mine heart knows well;

for souls that choose the path of hell.

Deny thyself and I will give you more,

than empty words upon shallow shores.

Overwhelmed and broken hearts-

find in Me a brand new start

No greater love can one comply-

than a father's son sent to die.

I'll pay a ransom; a costless price,

to be your Sacred Sacrifice. 

Invitations my Spirit dwells,

so you might Never bear the nails.

I have engraved your name in my palm,

In your darkest night, I'll make you calm. 

Take my hand, and don't look back. 

For nothing shall my child lack.

On eagle's wings, you shall soar!

I'll give you every thing and more.

Forever faithfully I will reside,

My beautiful sister, my Beloved bride.