Marriage of the Lamb

"Child, I cannot put my ring on your finger until you have taken the world's ring off of yours. You are holding on to promises of this life. Promises of beauty, of being known, of being loved, of your dreams. There is no room for Me."

When our love for the Lord is mad passionate extraordinary, as strong as death, nothing else in this world matters. Because when you love something so completely that you have put everything, every hope you have in this man, trusting that He will catch you when you fall  and if He doesn't, man you are done for, everything else is just peripheral. Every thing else fades in the background of the altar when you are staring into the eyes of the Man of your Dreams.

When He looks you in the eyes on that Wedding day, where will your eyes be? At the car y'all are taking, at the men of your past in the pews, at the ocean behind you, or into His eyes? Because when you look someone dead center in the eyes, you get lost. That's the love Christ died for-- Not some, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength" prayer we lift up when we need Him to come through, so we can keep living in our comfortable lives blending in with the rest of the World. If the world cannot tell that you are Spoken for by the way you live your life, then what does your Husband have to say about that on your Wedding day? You say Beloved can I trust you with these dreams of mine? His response, "My dear, can I trust you with Mine?" Can He trust you with His life? Because that's what He gave for your hand. 

Are the things you are living for worth what Christ died for? 

God, change my heart to beat with yours! My desires do not reflect yours! Make them the same! I refuse to spend my days desensitizing my heart to the Father's love with the mindless media I take in, the idle chatter I partake in, and the worry I allow to consume my mind! I will spend my days cultivating the garden you planted in my heart, mending our broken relationship, and filling myself with Truth of my Beloved's faint but ever-present whisper. 

References:

Song of Solomon 8:5-8

Revelation 2:4-5

The Dance

I'm sitting in a garden, and I am wearing a red vintage dress, pearls, white gloves, and my hair is in a beautiful up-do with makeup suitable for a ball (in my mind resembling the enchanting Audrey Hepburn). I am sitting at an outdoor breakfast nook, and across from me is Jesus. Strong, inviting, handsome; he is everything I ever hoped He would be and more. We are enjoying each others presence, mostly in silence, because those are some of our most precious times together. He knows what I am feeling. We are drinking cold milk from fine china and enjoying freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. The garden is lovely.

But our direction is not faced towards each other, rather side by side, scoping the horizon. For on the other side of the garden lies a vast expansive field. I can see movement in the distance of a girl in a white dress. She is dancing.

The peculiar thing about this girl is that though the atmosphere around her is in constant changing motion, her motions remain unaltared.

The sun rise kisses the earth, embracing the girl with the light of day. But almost as if caught in a time lapse of the impending seasons, she is greeted with every variation of atmosphere beneath the horizon. Piercing rain and stark lightning slice the sky, swiftly transitioning to a cold, blistering wind violently sweeping across the field. I quickly look to the girls face, who to my utter disbelief, has remained wholly untainted by the weather changes. In fact, as the death of winter sweeps over and the new life of spring emerges, she opens her eyes for only a moment to pick a freshly bloomed dandelion, smell it, and continue her dance without missing a step of her inimitably choreographed performance.

I stretched to take a closer glance at this girl, astounded by her grace and perseverance, only to be welcomed by an all too familiar face. That girl was me. And I was watching her on the other side of eternity. 

I looked beside me to see Jesus with a huge grin on his face. His eyes were closed and hands out, as if He was leading someone in a waltz of some sort. 

It was me He was dancing with.

The reason I had gone forth unfazed by life's storms was because I held the assurance that I had not been dancing alone.

In fact, not a second had gone by: rain, snow, sunshine, wind, that I had ever danced alone.

The House of God

The Lord is my shepherd. I lack nothing. 

So once again, time has slipped inevitably and swiftly through my fingers without my consent. 2012. Twenty years ago I was brought mercifully into this world--to bring more than a name, more than a number to the earth's population. And here I sit, twenty years later, wondering, dreaming up my next steps. Time is fleeting. A year and a half ago I took my first step onto the Teen Mania campus, fresh out of high school, scared and unexpectant of what the next two years would hold. 

 
He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. 

  

Four days ago, last thursday we got a phone call that my great grandmother had a heart attack. Several hours later we received word that she had passed. I have known her for 20 years. Five generations. Now, we move up the line to honorably take our place in the hierarchy of generations. So many thoughts left untended. 

 
He guides me along the right paths for His name sake. 

Where has the time gone? A cliche even I cannot escape. But more importantly, what's next? A year ago Belize wasn't even a word in our vocabulary. Now we are taking our second trip there to visit my brother who has made it his temporary residence. It only confirms the vastness of possibility for this coming year. Aside from the "confirmed" end of the world via Jesus' Second Return or the Apocalypse, I am anxious to see how God chooses to mold this lump of time. This time next year--will I be living at home in Celina? Living at home in Belize? Touring the world as a Missionary? There is no telling at this point, and that truth can either terrify me to a point of paralyzation or excite me to no end.  

 
For though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.  

I choose trust. I choose excitement. I choose to live. I choose to thrive. I choose

contentment. I choose to love. 

For You are with me, Your rod and your staff they comfort me. 

I choose peace. I choose surrender. I choose courage.

 
For surely goodness and loving kindness will follow me all the days of my life. 

I choose His will--not my own.

 
And I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.

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