You're gonna be more than just "fine".

So I'm kinda taking a little bit of a step back from life right now.  Taking sometime to sit down for a while. Sit down, look around and listen. But if you know me well, you know this girl doesn't do a "quiet" life all that well. And so I fight it.  But in the rare moments of my quiet, in the quiet change, in the raw basics, the stripped to the bone moments of life, that the truth seems to just boil down.  Boil down into a calm simmer of simplicity.


And today, today this is what I hear Christ say:


You are gonna be more than just "fine".  I'm gonna heal you whole and write you a new song.  I'm gonna sing songs of peace to your wounds of greatest grief.  I'm taking your heart of stone and I'm giving you a live, beating one.  A wild one. So sit in the shelter of my love while I transplant your heart, while I re-grow something beautiful. 

It's Monday and maybe you're already feeling defeated by this week,


 this offer still stands:


 "come to me, all who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart and you will find rest for you souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." Matthew 11:28


Come you, you who are weary to the core, you who's soul feels ripped out and trampled on, you who feels defeated and beat up by life, you who experiences tragedy after tragedy, you who are sick and suffering, you who are straight up burnt out, you who are disappointed by life. 


come.


you.


come.


Rest is still my offer. Rest deep to the core of your bones. Rest deep in the lost places of your heart. Rest in the frantic worrying's of your mind. Rest in the restless stress beats of anxiety.


Rest.


Soul Rest.


So come...


Just come.


Come find rest. Come find me.

I'm not really sure how you're doing, if you're just barely hanging in there, or if your life is on top of the world. I'm not sure if you're weary to the bone, or if life just can't stop bubbling out of you. I'm not really sure if someone walked out of your life when you really needed someone to walk in, or if you can't stop eating, or if you can't start.  And I'm not sure if you're stressed about where your gonna live in the near future, or if you need a job, or if you're terrified sick about school.  And I'm not sure if your bones are breaking when you're needing them to heal, or if your body seems to just be giving up you.  I'm not sure what your fear is, or how deep it goes. I'm not sure what you hurts are, or how fresh they feel. And I'm not sure if you're in full force world wars with God, or if his sweetness is just lavishing upon you.


I'm not really sure.
And I'm just assuming that there's a whole rainbow of us out there.


But what I am starting to see is that those Puritan's were right when they cried out to God: that the Valley is the place of vision, that the broken heart is the healed heart, that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit, that the deeper the wells the brighter the stars. And that these prayers weren't carelessly prayed, but that they were belched out in unadulterated truth.


So maybe you didn't have the greatest day, or week, or month, year, maybe even decade, but that valley, that valley that you're walking through it is the place of vision, the place of creativity, the place life giving paradox.


So may you live in your valley, and may you live there well. Not trying to get out, go around, or skip over. But may you walk right through it, with unclenched teeth and a skipping heart. Because there is rest for the weary, love for the fearful, food for the malnourished, companionship for the lonely, there is grace for the sinner, and life for the wounded, holiness for the broken. Because  that's just who Christ is, and what he's about.

And this heart just breaks and breaks, and bleeds and bleeds at the possibilities that could have been. And the agony just waves like nausea. This dying to pride, this dying to self, this surrendering, this realization that I am not God just breaks this heart open and open and open some more.


And I finally wash the barf filled cloths from Sunday. And I wash this ponytail-neglected hair and comb through the knots, comb through the knots of my life Lord. I am weak, so weak that I cannot even comb my own knots out.


Sooth this soul, assure this heart that your love goes beyond even this, even now. Assure this heart that your love goes deeper, that your love goes purer.


And I take back control in one quick motion, in a guise of reliant prayer. But your truth sees through my towers of Babel. Even in this your Spirit hovers over, hovers over my deep darkness and creates something new. Something fresh. Something alive. Hover over my darkness Lord, and create in me a clean heart.

And I still miss the writing, not everyday, but sometimes. Sometimes like now. I miss the sitting down and spewing it out.  Spewing it out until I sort myself out. Cause this girl can think herself crazy. But writing, writing just walks me into truth. Like baking, baking just creates the chaos of ingredients into a solid, nutrient filled delight where order can reign again! 


And so this Sunday afternoon, this chaotic, lost soul baked herself into order.  Zucchini banana chocolate muffins currently morph into, what I hope, will taste amazing little treats! So we bake and we pray:


Lord,
Order our chaos. Find us in our lost places. Retrieve us from our valleys of fear and brokenness. Untangle our internal distress and straighten us with your truth. Delight our souls in your light, like flowers turning to the sun. You`re our life beat, our heart beat. Delight our souls in your presence, our Holy, our one.


Amen.

This girl is missing the writing....

And this body of mine is twitching-eye tired.  And this soul is shaking in the wake of spoken prophetic words not ready to ripen. I hear you calling me to sleep and to eat.  To eat and to sleep. Like Elijah and the angels.


And you wake this weary soul way to early, but with such alertness.
And you nudge this heart broken soul to Wednesday morning Mass.
The early coffee, the wooden pew, the cadence of liturgy ebbing me forward.
"The Lord encamps around those who love him; sending angels to their help." (or something like that) "Those who look to him are radiant".


And I have no words to articulate this meaning;
But in the silence you meet me. You heal me. You feed me.
In the quiet rhythms of Wednesday morning you assure this tired soul of your goodness.
You untangle the confusion, you straighten the crooked.


"Those who look to you are radiant."


We breathe in your life words.
We exhale their living power.


Teach our hearts when our reason gives way.
We love you Lord Jesus, live loud in our hearts!

The REAL day 365: 22/03/14

And I'm so far from being ready to be here tonight! So far from having this small, yet massive writing project come to an end. I'm experiencing loss and grief, this task has become a faithful companion to my days of 28.


And then there's this other part of me that is so relieved that tomorrow I don't have to make time to write. Or experience the "trauma" of posting my soul for all to read.  On that note I think I'm starting a new adventure: A painting a week for 29.


I'm not sure what I expected when I set out on this writing craze. I don't feel like a better writer, I don't feel closer to God, or that I have more of life figured out. But what I did learn is the importance of making holy creativity a priority.  Many of my most tranquil, restful, life-giving moments of the year can be found in connection with the quiet inner creative vomit. I found a stillness, a healing, a reconciliation that seems beyond words.


My prayer tonight:


Lord bless me,
and the words that have been written.
Lord be with me,
and the places I will go.
Lord care for me,
in your direction I will sow.


In the name of the Father,
                        the Son,
                 and the Holy Spirit.
                                Amen.