What is Me-->I say:
"I am NOT a morning person" = I get to be grumpy in the morning because I want to sleep more
"I am a yeller"= when I'm passionate, mad, sad, excited I yell, so deal with it
"I am a planner" = when YOU don't plan things, I don't want to do them; basically I'm more evolved than you
"I am a jealous friend" or "I just love you so much I don't want to share you" = I want to be the only one that enjoys your company because I always want to be having the most fun with the best people
This list could go on and on infinitum, but you've got things to do, so let me get to my point. As a Christian, I can hold on to my "what is me," even if it is not the very best of me, and most people will nod and go on with their lives. But what is gained if I continue to do this? What is gained if I put them down, choosing joy and the Holy Spirit to show up every time "what is me" starts to show? He transforms "what is me" into what is glorifying to Him, what is LOVE to everyone:
What is Me-->I say:
"Good morning lovely" (to my daughter & husband & myself, because I am a child of The King)= loving into the moment, allowing the Spirit to do mornings with me, leading me into each step
"I am listening"= I stop and listen well, and GO to where I am needed, gently remembering who I am talking to, and what they need
"How can we do this together"= instead of taking it all on myself, or accusing non-planners, how do we adventure into THIS MOMENT together, equally
"You are dear to me"=letting them know they matter, no matter how much time we can spend together, I care for them, and want to love on them whenever they have time.
I am currently re-reading Francis Chan's Forgotten God, and it is already pushing me to open the windows of my soul, and remember that the Holy Spirit is everything. HE is my joy, ever present. NOW. I need to keep those windows open, and the doors too! Throwing everything open to let Him take over all the "this is me" bits, so that he can glorify his name in all that is HIM!
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Wednesday, September 07, 2016
Sometimes I mourn for us
Sometimes I mourn for us.
Those moments where we yearn for things we don't know how to ask for, for things we feel we should need not ask for--they are out of reach, our fingers scrabbling at the edges, ever close, ever unreachable.
Our anger comes in times of sadness, in times of fear, in times of loneliness, in times of misunderstood-ness, it comes. Always. It is our shield--we can always rely on anger.
Those moments we scream out at the universe, and wonder why the birds don't scatter with fright at the monstrosity of sound, bees don't buzz away in fear, dogs don't tuck their tales and run for the hills--our heads about splitting with the sound, but our faces etched with vacant stares.
We are strong you and I. Courageous, fearsome beings--but we ache. We ache to be held in spite of ourselves, our retched selves with our horrible behaviour and in the action of pushing back from the table of humanity. In our worst moments we want to be cuddled. In our terrible decisions we want to be wrapped with warmth even though we have self-harmed and scared you too, brought tears to your soul for our sakes.
We want to be joyous beings--ever giving--ever loving--never yelling or scaring or making you sad and tired and lonely and weary. We want to dance, to burst at the seems with laughter, the lines of our eyes being only from happiness and not from sorrow.
What is there to say--but God forgive us. God, in YOUR great grace, in YOUR great name, hold us anyway. Oh your peace is beyond all understanding. Oh you glory too bright to behold. All our stains melt away, your shoulders shoulder it all, your heart is never too full, and your fierceness only protecting.
To you all the glory, to enjoy you forever, to bask in your sunshine. Ever. More.
Those moments where we yearn for things we don't know how to ask for, for things we feel we should need not ask for--they are out of reach, our fingers scrabbling at the edges, ever close, ever unreachable.
Our anger comes in times of sadness, in times of fear, in times of loneliness, in times of misunderstood-ness, it comes. Always. It is our shield--we can always rely on anger.
Those moments we scream out at the universe, and wonder why the birds don't scatter with fright at the monstrosity of sound, bees don't buzz away in fear, dogs don't tuck their tales and run for the hills--our heads about splitting with the sound, but our faces etched with vacant stares.
We are strong you and I. Courageous, fearsome beings--but we ache. We ache to be held in spite of ourselves, our retched selves with our horrible behaviour and in the action of pushing back from the table of humanity. In our worst moments we want to be cuddled. In our terrible decisions we want to be wrapped with warmth even though we have self-harmed and scared you too, brought tears to your soul for our sakes.
We want to be joyous beings--ever giving--ever loving--never yelling or scaring or making you sad and tired and lonely and weary. We want to dance, to burst at the seems with laughter, the lines of our eyes being only from happiness and not from sorrow.
What is there to say--but God forgive us. God, in YOUR great grace, in YOUR great name, hold us anyway. Oh your peace is beyond all understanding. Oh you glory too bright to behold. All our stains melt away, your shoulders shoulder it all, your heart is never too full, and your fierceness only protecting.
To you all the glory, to enjoy you forever, to bask in your sunshine. Ever. More.
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