Well this isn’t hard. A theme roaring in my ears every minute of every day.
It’s the mirror lie, gawking back at pooching bellies or dimpled knee.
It’s the drive to pick up socks, shirts, jeans and blow the dust off table tops.
One step and then two, it’s the face we look into when our own shabby bones give up the ghost and sink on our knees.
Beauty is the thing we can dig deeper into, learning new ripples in the rock. Each developing ring the marker of another year, another lesson under our belts.
It is a very gift to remind us what lies ahead. The rainbow clouds spelling hope in rainy sky. It’s not what we deserve, but what we need.
Beauty in the promise of things made whole.
I’m shy about singing when I know people are listening. I don’t want them to think my private enjoyment is actually meant as performance for them.
I remember Mom once telling me that I didn’t sing as much as I used to and that she missed it.
We second guess ourselves too much.
I try to shake off the self conceit from time to time. Perhaps with practice it will become second nature and recently I caught a glimpse of that.
Walking through the store I sang to myself, not realizing it and when I did, not caring.
I know people who will burst out anywhere at anytime and I hope to become that someday. Less worried about myself and simply glad to give voice to what’s on my heart.
To sing is a deep expression of attitude and choice, deeper than I realized as the child that my mother heard from her office chair.
And now, choosing to find my way back to that girl, I’ll give voice again to those watermelon sweet days.
Define scared please. Out of your comfort zone. Bewildered. Definitely not OK?
Alright, then define safe. Loved? Accepted. Given all the attention your hungry soul can hold.
And define Holy. Perfect. Mighty to save. Trembling power and the most gentle of kindnesses.
Define joy. When scared becomes safe in the most spectacular of redemptive stories.
When Holy became human.
When broken was made new.
Living with abandon does not require soundtrack or vlog montages. Our minds are cramped by reality TV and Snapchat stories and a million other filters we can see the truth through.
Living with abandon does not always mean a reckless race to the finish line, a stop watch. Or even hair flying, head back, laughing all the way.
Sometimes abandon means stopping, or making such progress as no one else can see. Abandon is dying to self. Abandon is taking every worrisome thought captive.
It is joy in the Lord. It is taking quiet risks. It is scary and good and means starting right where you are.
Happy Friday, everyone! xo
Keys, glasses, purse, papers and waiting by the door. Ready to go, until he decides to make coffee, and then I get hungry. He’s in the bathroom and then when he comes out I’m changing my clothes again.
Purpose on most days, and especially Saturdays, is in short supply.
But purpose to love? Purpose to laugh?
That is piled up, shaken down and running over.
I never thought marriage was a joke, or a picnic, or any other thing that people warn you against with a smirk and knowing nod.
We’re born skeptics, carefully bracing for the kick of hurt that always seems to come when things get too happy.
What I didn’t expect was the joy of friendship and the comfort of that person who God gave you for better or worse.
And we were also born to believe that God does not give us a spirit of fear, but one of faith.
So standing there again, we purpose to keep drawing love from Him and to share it with each other.
Tumbling, falling into a free fall of street names, landmarks, unfamiliar bugs.
Now what. Did I hear you correctly? Your answer of quiet in the chaos.
Now is the time? To live and breathe?
But how do I do that now? When getting dressed is digging through a suitcase and I’m always forgetting to lock the doors.
This isn’t the time to be thankful or calm. Now is the time for expectations and demand!
Except for one thing.
It is never time for expectations and demands.
So I’ll listen, please say it again, Lord.
That now is the time to obey and rejoice. And again He says, rejoice.
It’s been awhile…
Happy is a slippery word, and slipperier idea.
Never the means, and always a mirage of ends.
We thought it would wear a diamond ring, from the velvet hand of a man.
Or the baby, rolls on dimples, picture perfect for the applause of strangers.
The job, professional, and complete with brown bag lunches.
One, two, three, and then it’s gone. Happiness, like an August rain, blown out with the twilight colour.
So then happy. Not the ends, but a tangle of means. The means of contentment, of the changed heart, of the new eyes.
That person, the difficult. These times, the waiting.
Happy my heart. And happy any heart that learns it’s starting right now. Right here.