your new name: Not Alone

This world is aching. It has turned black and blue with the abuse of the Genesis decision.
Death comes and lingers, taking it's time. Or it strikes suddenly, unexpected.
Wounds long since forgotten are reopened with a single statement.
Grief washes over. Its tides ebb and flow with tears that fall.
Change lurches forward as nails dig in trying to cling to all that has been, that is known.

Here you are. I see you.
Mascara runs on pale cheeks, eyes avoiding a poignant stare.
Body weak and wrapped in warm layers to comfort externally what is beneath.
Here I am. Do you see me?

Not alone.
My dear, that is the new name I want you to claim - Not Alone.
There are those that walk before you. They call back and sing of what is to come.
There are those that are not here yet. To them you get to reach out a hand in time.
There are those here in this moment. Look in to their eyes. They are not going anywhere.
YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

If that is all you can hear right now amidst the noise and clamor of your own mind, then please focus in and whisper it to yourself. As you drive in the dark and you feel absolutely overcome, defeated - look for the light. Whether it's the flash of headlights drawing near or the glow of a shop window, let that remind you of this.

Sit right there, open your hands. Hold grief in one and this Truth in the other. They can coexist. Don't fear the power of your sadness, but don't underestimate the healing that is possible. Enter in to each moment, whether it be with tears or laughter, and allow yourself to simply be.

and remember you are Not Alone.

slowing

We sat and talked. He whispered "slowing".
He gave me that word for this hue of life.
As I come back & step in to new roles.
Slowing.

Trying. Doing. Working. Creating.
Those are words I'm so much more comfortable with.
I'm good at them.
And I think that's the problem.

The world doesn't need me to try more, do more, work more, create more.
I don't need to do those things.
But why?
Because it's me.

If I desire to abide. To rest in Him, the Vine.
How is my doing, trying, creating, working going to produce anything?
It's me. My effort, my sweat, my stress, my tears, my frustration.
I don't think the world needs or wants more of that.

We're broken. We know frustration and pain and hurt and stress.
In fact, we hate it. We shirk it off.
Yet we lay in it.
We attempt to put down roots there, on our own.

We toil & dig to grow.
By doing and working.
Our strength.
No fruit.

The world doesn't need that.
It doesn't need more people trying to be robots.
It doesn't need more production.
We need hope, healing, to be held.

I need hope, healing, to be held.
So this is where slowing comes.
It's invitation is beautiful, simple, warm.
Yet, it scares me.

I fear the opinion of man.
The question of
What are you accomplishing?
Why aren't you doing this good thing?

My answer.
With shaking voice & trembling hands.
I don't know.
But, He has called me here.

To this abode of Slowing
I have been invited in
to a place of Hope & Healing
Where I am eternally Held.

becoming

"beauty in the becoming"

Those words came one night and I wrote them down.

Here I am, and I don't know what I'm doing. There are days that begin easy and end hard, and days that begin cast in cement (aka really hard) and stay that way. Call me Han Solo, because on those days I just feel like I'm stuck hanging on the wall of an alien gangster's club. Pretty icky.

I don't know what to write about all of it. I've been trying to formulate words to describe "lately" but nothing captures it all. To describe these past few months as "beauty in the becoming" doesn't really seem accurate. It's been pretty ugly. I've been made more aware of my flesh and I'm not really a fan. Coming to realize that I have life less figured out than I thought.

I desperately would like to see where the "beauty" comes in to the picture. Maybe my definition of beauty is being redefined. Taken from it's shallow, vain resting place to be put in the fire to be purified.

*Note: Fire burns, oh and it hurts like Sheol

This might be where things come together. Before I moved back, back to the place I once called home - Jesus whispered of the trail ahead. He breathed "healing". More and more as I dwell on healing and what that means, I'm reminded of a burn victim. The process of healing for a burn victim begins in tearing away at the dead flesh left mauled by the flames. Not once, but twice, and three times, and more.

The healing that is desired for the burns to heal, involves tearing away at everything visible. It begins with digging deep. And it hurts. But that is the only way to heal.

I'm not saying Jesus dragged me to this place to throw me in a fire and watch the flames lick my flesh. I've done a pretty good job at dancing with the fire myself. He comes in as the blisters form, skin touched by the fire of this fallen place. Whether I jumped too close or someone else yanked me over.

He lays me down. The great Physician takes my hand and says, "This is going to hurt, but feeling is only for the moment. The healing I desire for you requires this and you can trust me. My hopes for your life exceed any single anticipation you have. The work I do here will last, it is not simply a salve that sits on the skin. My hands will dig deep in to the wounds and I will bring beauty where there once was just ash."

Beauty in the becoming.
Healing.
Refinement.
by His hands.