Why My Username is “AriBelovedSparrow”

 

I just thought I’d give you, my readers, a taste of the story I’ve been writing for several years. I’ve been writing since I was little, but I honestly believe this is the story I was born to write. It’s a symbolic story of how God can change the human heart, bring healing and bring new life. A fantasy version of the New Testament, in many ways. And, though I didn’t realize it at the time I wrote this scene, in many ways this is the story of my own heart.

To give just a little background, Adonai (a character that symbolizes God—the word even means “Lord” or “Master” in Hebrew) is leading a deeply wounded, broken-hearted girl to a place of rest in the forest. At this point, “Lady” can’t even remember her own name. She goes by Lady because that’s what Adonai calls her. All she knows is that Adonai rescued her from a tower where she was held captive and abused terribly. She even wears long robes all over her body, and gloves on her hands, because she is so terribly scarred all over her body. She is afraid to trust Adonai, and Lady is continually challenged by his acts of thoughtful love toward her. And in this scene, Adonai is about to give her a name that will profoundly affect her life—for the better.

I hope that while reading this sample of my story (especially for you women), you will see that God looks at you the same way that Adonai looks at this woman. I hope it speaks a little healing to you, to speak over the scars that cover your heart (whatever they are). And (perhaps this is wrong, but I think I hope this the most!) I really hope you like it! Please let me know what you think!

 

 

After some time, Adonai stopped and gently set her on her feet. Lady looked around curiously. Many of the trees looked like they had little green needles all over their branches, but Adonai had led her to a place where several trees had soft leaves. There was one tree along the bank of the stream that had a few roots actually dipped in the water. Adonai stepped ahead of her, and as he walked past he slipped his bare hand over her gloved hand. He led her to the tree by the stream, and they sat down under its shade side by side. Lady could not understand why Adonai wanted to sit so close to her. It made her extremely uncomfortable. But yet, she longed for it. It was painful and relieving, both at once. She didn’t understand it, but she craved Adonai’s closeness.

For a few minutes, they sat silently, listening to the natural melodies around them. The forest was filled with the sounds of life and beauty. There was the gentle mumbles and chuckles of the stream, and the wind whispering in the tall tree boughs. But after a moment, Lady realized that she was listening to a familiar sound. And when she looked up, her heart filled with delight.

There were at least twenty little birds in the tree above her. Some were bright yellow and black. One or two were bigger than the others, with brown bodies and bright red breasts. Some others were vividly and beautifully marked, but colored only black, gray and white. But to Lady’s delight, she saw several little brown, black and white birds. They were the smallest in the tree, and they looked just like the little bird who had visited her in the tower. She watched them with great fondness as they hopped about the branches, twittering cheerfully to themselves and the other birds. And Lady wondered, with deep sadness, where her little friend had gone to. From all she could remember, it had never left her side.

“You love these little birds, don’t you?” Adonai asked. When she looked back at him, he was smiling warmly. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Lady nodded. She looked back up at the little birds and listened carefully as Adonai spoke to her. “Do you see the little yellow and black ones? Those are called finches.” Though she didn’t look at him, Lady felt Adonai’s body draw closer as he leaned over to her. Their shoulders were even touching. “And the ones with red breasts are robins. And the black and white ones are wonderful little creatures. Guess what sound they make, Lady.” In reply, she shrugged. She glanced over to see Adonai’s big grin spread across his face. And then he burst out in a high voice, “Chickadee-dee-dee! Chickadee-dee-dee!” He laughed, and Lady hesitantly smiled. “They sound just like their name. Chickadees.”

Lady turned back to study the beautiful creatures. And then, to her astonished delight, her favorite type of bird fluttered down out of the tree. It landed not a foot from where she sat. Adonai reached out toward the little bird and whistled at it, sounding very similar to the little bird’s own song. To Lady’s increasing surprise, the little bird jumped onto Adonai’s hand, between his first finger and his thumb, and twittered cheerfully at him. The little bird was even more beautiful up close, despite that it was mostly a plain brown color. Not nearly as colorful as the others, or as vividly marked, but it had a beautiful form to its body, beak and eyes. It was so lovely. As it looked over at Lady, it cocked its head one way, then the other, then looked at Adonai again.

“This one is a girl,” Adonai commented. “Male birds are brighter, or more vividly marked, than females. The other ones you see in the tree, the ones with more black and white with the brown—those are males. But this little one on my finger is a lovely lady, isn’t she?”

“She’s my favorite,” Lady burst out, and then she quickly silenced herself, ashamed. She always talked too much, she knew, and her voice was horrible to hear.

But Adonai didn’t seem to mind. Lady hesitantly glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and saw him smiling at her. “Is that so? Tell me, why these birds your favorites?”

It took her a few moments to overcome her embarrassment. And she winced as she heard her voice again, raspy as ever. But she was shocked, happily relieved, to realize that Adonai actually wanted to talk and to listen to her. “A little bird just like this was in my room. It kept me company when I got in trouble.” She shuddered, remembering. “I got in terrible trouble.” She stopped talking, trying to push the memories out of her mind.

“And the little bird comforted you,” Adonai replied. “Didn’t it?” She looked over, and the little bird was still on Adonai’s finger. It was studying her curiously. And then, Lady couldn’t help but nod, comforted. “Here, hold out your hand,” Adonai instructed. She stuck her hand out, and Adonai laughed. “No, hold it like mine, with your forefinger out. Yes, that’s right. Now, stay very still.”

And to her increasing delight, Adonai held the little bird up to her hand. And it hopped onto her right hand. Its feet felt a little funny, and its grip was a little tighter than she expected. But it didn’t seem to mind the bandages on her hand, and it studied her again curiously. Happiness filled her heart as she looked at its beautiful feathers. She stared, in awe and delight. And after a moment, she found herself talking quickly. “The other birds are brighter, but I like this one the best. It’s pretty. Even if it’s only brown. And it has a pretty—” she stopped, and corrected herself with a smile, remembering the word. “No, it has a beautiful voice.”

The little bird took flight from her fingers and jumped down onto the ground beside her. It was after a little bug. A shock of disappointment filled Lady’s heart—did the little bird realize that she was not worth its precious time?—but tried to be grateful it even sat on her finger as briefly as it did. Adonai shifted beside her, and when she looked over, Adonai pulled a handful of seeds out of his pocket. “I think these little ones are hungry,” he commented, and threw them onto the grass beside her. Suddenly, not only the little brown, black and white bird, but all the ones in the tree, fluttered down and began to eat the seeds, hopping about excitedly and pecking the ground for the seeds.

Lady smiled as she watched, delighted to see them up close. And she felt a little better that her favorite bird had left her finger. It was only hungry—it didn’t despise her. She looked over to see Adonai’s reaction to the flock of birds, but he wasn’t looking at the birds. Adonai was smiling into Lady’s eyes, his own eyes glowing with something she didn’t understand. And that look in his eyes touched her heart in a way that both frightened her and filled her with longing, hoping he would stop staring at her, yet hoping that he would never look away. Adonai sighed contentedly, still smiling and gazing into her eyes. “Lady Sparrow. That’s what I’ll call you.”

She paused, confused. “Sparrow?” She tried to remember if she’d heard the word before, but she was certain that she hadn’t. Or, at least, she just couldn’t remember. “What is sparrow?”

Adonai’s eyes twinkled. “These little brown, black and white birds are called sparrows.”

Lady paused, confused even more. “So why do you call me Sparrow?”

“You said yourself that sparrows are plain little birds, compared to others. They are less colorful than most, and I’ll add that they’re very common birds, too. But you said that you love sparrows. In your eyes, they’re beautiful. In your ears, they have a beautiful song. And they have a special place in your heart, because it was a sparrow that kept you company in your tower.” Adonai looked away from her as he threw some more seeds toward the flock, and they hopped about cheerfully as they pecked up the seeds. “And again, that’s something we have in common. I love sparrows. It breaks my heart when even one of them falls to the ground. They are beautiful and precious in my eyes.”

“I…I still…I don’t understand,” she replied, ashamed at her confusion. She was reminded of how stupid she was, and it hurt to remember. And so she was too ashamed to keep asking why.

“I call you Sparrow because you’re just like them,” Adonai replied, turning and staring directly into her eyes again. It was like he’d read her mind. His eyes burned as he spoke to her, a smile playing on his lips, as if he were revealing a very serious and very wonderful secret. “You do not think of yourself as beautiful. I can tell that you believe you’re worthless. But even if the entire world thinks of you as ugly and worthless, in my eyes you are beautiful and precious beyond telling. You are worth so much more than what the world would tell you. You are my Sparrow. And as precious as these little birds are to me, my dear one, you are worth more to me than many sparrows.”

Lady stared at him for a few moments. He stared back calmly, as if waiting for her to say something. He did not laugh. He just smiled.

After a moment, her heart became too burdened, and she looked away, ashamed. She shut her eyes and drew her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms so she couldn’t see him. “Please, don’t…” she softly moaned. “…Please don’t lie to me…please.” She squeezed her knees so tight it hurt her skin.

“I will never lie,” Adonai murmured softly beside her. She felt his hand gently touch her shaking shoulders. “I meant every word I said. And I’ll never take them back.”

“How can you say I’m beautiful?” she whispered, her voice even hoarser. “I’m not. I’m not beautiful. I never have been. You saw my scars. You saw everything.”

“I fix my eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen, Lady Sparrow,” he replied, lifting his hand and gently placing it on her arm. “For everything you see is temporary, but what is unseen lasts forever. The world look at the outward appearance. But I, the King, look at the heart. And my dear woman, I can see who you were, who you are, and who you can become.” She still did not look at him, but she felt him lean close and whisper in her ear. “And I will heal you, if you will just allow me to.”

She felt her body shaking harder, and she drew even tighter into her body. It hurt more, but she didn’t loosen her grip. She just wanted to disappear. She felt Adonai pull back slowly. Several minutes of silence passed by. She listened, desperate to be distracted, to the sounds of the water and the little birds. But after a while, she couldn’t bear it anymore. She looked over at Adonai.

He was staring across the creek. After a moment, he looked down at her and smiled sadly. “You’re not ready today, I know. But I’ll ask again. I’ll awaken your desire again.” He took her gloved hand and kissed it gently. She flinched, shocked at what he’d done. But Adonai just smiled into her eyes, and then looked across the stream again, falling into silence. ”In time, I’ll bring you back to life again…Lady Sparrow.”

Breathe Life Into These Living Dead

“Son of man, can these bones live?”

 

A song plays on the Christian radio station I listen to that references Ezekiel 37. And that song has been playing in my mind the past several days, keeping me thinking. I’ve thought a lot about how this story applies to my life, and the lives of the people I know. Until I heard this song, I hadn’t read that story in a long time, but I think it’s one of my favorite stories in the whole Bible. There aren’t a lot of stories mentioned in the Bible that speak of God raising the dead to life, but what stories are given, are powerful. But this one is different. When I think about this story, I wonder why it’s not mentioned in churches more. It should be. Not just for the prophetic reasons, but also for the application you and I can apply to our own lives with God. This story should be told far more often than it is.

Ezekiel is a prophet. God speaks to Ezekiel, and then commands Ezekiel to speak God’s heart to His people. He has seen visions of God since he was thirty years old. He’s been used by God to call them back to the Lord. He cried out to the stubborn, rebellious hearts of the people of Israel for years. And I’m sure, at this point, his ministry has taken a toll on his soul. In this chapter, Ezekiel has been lead into the wilderness by the Spirit of God. And God places him into a valley that is filled with dry human bones. God leads Ezekiel back and forth among them, and Ezekiel did not record how long. Personally, I think God led him from one end of the valley to the other, to see all these bones stretched out before him. And Ezekiel comments that these bones are very dry—as in, these bones no longer have any flesh left on them. The decaying process has almost been completed. There is nothing left of these dead bodies except their very dry bones. Soon, these bones will become dust again. For, as God said to Adam in Genesis 3, “Dust you are, and to dust you shall return.”

I wonder what that was like for Ezekiel. I can almost see him, or at least envision seeing through his eyes. I can imagine him stunned. Maybe he didn’t record how long he stayed there because he lost track of time. He was overwhelmed.

Why was God leading him here? It was an unclean place—he would have to purify himself. He couldn’t go back to the temple, or to his people, without being purified. I wonder if Ezekiel saw any wildlife, if crows or ravens still flew around this place, or if mice still borrowed in the brush around the bodies. Or was there even brush left? Would the plants have been destroyed in the battle that left all these dead bodies? I imagine so. Israel has a lot of desert, for one, but for another, thousands of feet trampling on plants during a war doesn’t leave much alive. I imagine it as an open tomb, dusty and bare, and Ezekiel is wandering through, stepping gingerly, trying not to step on the sun-bleached bones. Occasionally, he steps wrong, and he winces as he hears a crack! under his sandals. He’s stunned at the vast amount of bones, grieved by the loss of countless lives, and wondering why God allows such pain. Suffering. Sickness. War. Death. But yet, he wonders also why Israel has turned their backs on God. And he wonders why God even bothers with his people. Why God wants anything to do with them. God once destroyed the world with a flood—was God warning him that a greater destruction was coming? Had God finally lost his patience with Israel, with the world, again? Ezekiel had been warning the people that another, more powerful nation would destroy them. But was God about to warn them that He’d destroy the world again, because He was so sick of their wickedness?

I can imagine that Ezekiel’s eyes are filled with tears. He’s afraid. He’s grieved. He hates how his people are so stubborn and wicked, yet he loves them. And he begins to wonder, Why, God, have You put such love in my heart for these wicked people, if You’re only going to destroy them? Why do You allow my people, any people, to act so wickedly toward one another? Why do You allow war? Why do You allow rape? Why do You allow sickness? Why didn’t You stop Adam from sinning, and bringing this world so much pain?

And then, for the first time recorded in this story, God speaks.

“Son of man, can these bones live?”

Ezekiel pauses. He’s standing in the middle of the valley again, surrounded on all sides by the dead. His thoughts have been challenged. His questioning of God’s character is interrupted. Perhaps he remembers stories about Elisha, and the story of how God used Elisha in the process of raising a widow’s dead son. Another prophet, years before this moment. But that boy, though dead, certainly still had flesh on him. He dead for hours, maybe a few days—certainly not years, like these bones spread out all around the valley.

Still overwhelmed, still grieved, Ezekiel longs to see the kind of miracle Elisha saw. Doubt claws at his soul, yet he longs to believe again, like he used to. Like when God first gave him the visions. Like the first time he heard God’s voice. Like when he first realized God was calling him to be a prophet. Something inside him whispers, If God created these men who died, surely He can give them life again. But neither faith nor doubt have the upper hand in Ezekiel’s heart. And so, weary and broken, Ezekiel whispers back, “Sovereign Lord…only You know.” Maybe then, Ezekiel shrugged his shoulders, helpless, fighting the tears in his eyes. And then his shoulders slumped again. “…Only You know.”

How often I’ve believe that in my own life. If I were asked, I think I would’ve replied, in Sunday school fashion, how God can do anything. That God can raise dead people to life. Jesus did it three times, and He Himself rose from the dead. But the truth is, when it comes to the life of the soul, I didn’t truly believe it. I doubted God far more often than I believed.

I’ve heard many Christians describe times in their life where they felt “dry.” That before, they felt on fire and close to the heart of God, but in the moment, they felt far from him. “Dry.” Like plants that need water. Like a desert. Like dust, needing water for life, and to give life. I was no exception. For many years, all I experienced was being dry. I wrote once of how I felt like a barren desert, thirsty and dead. Deserts are often full of life, but I felt like the Sahara, nothing but sand and rock. Every once in a while, God would rain His Spirit on me, and I felt joy again, but so rarely. And I wrote that I longed to be full of life, like a forest. I imagine my heart becoming like the woods of southern Oregon, where I grew up. I can see bright sunlight filtering through the tall Douglas Fir boughs in the summer, of birds singing in the trees. I can see whitetail deer leaping through blackberry bushes and drinking from salmon-filled rivers. That’s exactly what I longed for that in my soul. For life. To truly live. “I am the living dead,” Jonathan Thulis sings, in the song I like. Those are the very first lyrics in his song. And I was just that. I was the living dead, for many years. But I doubt many people saw through it—I hid that pain away as much as I could. I think only a few people could really see the pain I held within.

I read a book by John Eldredge called Waking the Dead, and I held onto its words for a while. I thought, Maybe I could gain life in my soul…someday. But I need to reread it, because I couldn’t hold onto its words as a broken-hearted teenager. I didn’t have the faith or strength. I held onto one of the key Bible verses he quoted, John 10:10, for a while as well. “The thief comes to steal, and kill, and destroy. But I have come that they may have life, and life to the full.” But again, I didn’t truly believe it. I couldn’t hold onto its words. I was filled with pain for the things I’d lived through, and slowly, the promises I’d held onto slipped through my weakened hands.

“Daughter of God, can these bones live?”

Like Ezekiel, I realize God has challenged me with that question the past couple of years. Because, though I used to think I did believe it, I realize now that I never truly did. I doubted God. I doubted His love for me, that I could do nothing to make Him love me more, and that I could do nothing to make Him love me less. I doubted every promise He ever made. That He cared for me. That He would provide for my needs. That He would guide and lead me. That He really had begun good works in me, and that those good works He began He would complete (Philippians 1:6). I could go on and on and on. For all the beautiful promises of love God puts in His word, I didn’t truly believe anything He wrote. I believed God existed. I only barely believed Jesus had died for my sins, and I wasn’t truly confident I was going to see Him in heaven. Because I was so wretched, how could God love me? I doubted everything. How could God love me? Why did He allow me to suffer pain? Why did God allow me to experience such heartache, dealt by the hands of the family who should have loved me more than anyone else? Why did God allow me to suffer such loneliness, almost unseen by my acquaintances (could I dare to call them friends?) and certainly unnoticed by any boy I even half-way admired? But then, how could I deserve it? I was such a wretch. How could God bless me with these beautiful things, when I was certain to screw it up? How could anyone love such an ugly girl, who talked too much (so obviously desperate for attention—how irritating!), who was so bitter-hearted? I certainly did not deserve any scrap of blessing God might toss my way. How could God love a wretch, like me?

“Sovereign Lord,” my broken heart whispered for years, “only You know.”

For years, I couldn’t hear a response from God. Not really. And I wonder how long it took Ezekiel to hear God’s response. Was it immediate? Or did God have to speak audibly, not just in Ezekiel’s mind, so that Ezekiel got a clue? And then, I wonder, did Ezekiel respond right away? Or did he doubt what he’d heard, wondering if he’d gone crazy or if he’d heard God wrong?

“Prophesy to these bones,” God commands Ezekiel. “Say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the Sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord.’”

I bet Ezekiel stood there for a while, stunned again. Maybe feeling stupid, because it sounded like such a crazy command. But eventually, he does. And suddenly, at Ezekiel’s word, he begins to see a dramatic change. He hears rattling first. He looks around, wondering where it came from. But soon, he no longer wonders, because it’s so loud it’s echoing off the mountains around the dry valley. He’s about to panic, because he sees the bones suddenly pulling together, like the invisible hands of God are drawing them close. Bones bump into his ankles and feet, and he jumps out of the way, dancing frantically for a few moments so he doesn’t step on one. And as he watches, Ezekiel is really about to freak out, because he sees tendons suddenly appearing on the joints of the bones around him. And ligaments. And he sees muscle forming, and organs appear, and blood vessels all over. And then skin is draped over everything, and hair graces the heads and the cheeks of the bodies everywhere. Ezekiel sees no wounds. He sees no spilled blood. He just see what looks like thousands of men sleeping. Insanely curious, yet terrified, Ezekiel can’t help but bend down to touch one of the men nearby. There is no breath. The man is still dead, but he at least has a body again. He is not yet fully alive, but he is far more now than just dry bones.

I believe that, for my life personally, I’m at that place now. I believed that God had a fickle love like I’d experienced in my family. I believed He was often angry at me, that I was a screw-up who could never do anything right. I was a source of anger and frustration for God. That I was not worth His love. That in God’s eyes (not just mine), I truly was a wretch. In the deepest part of my heart, I felt that I couldn’t express what I really felt and wanted with God. I didn’t truly believe His word, that I am His cherished daughter. That God delights in me. That yes, I have sinful desires, but not all desires are sinful. That God Himself placed within my heart good desires, that He longs to fulfill, and to use me and the desires that burn within me to bring the world back to himself. Even writing. God placed that love of writing, and this skill for writing, into my hands. I’ve always wanted to write book and become an author. But as a teenager, God also placed a desire in my heart to write for Him. And, in time, I’m beginning to truly believe He will.

And through the words of a perceptive counselor who knows Him, Christ is showing me that I can truly believe His promises. I can truly believe that God intends to, and will, bring me life, as He spoke of in John 10:10. I can truly believe now that God has a plan for my life. “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,’ declares the Lord” (Jeremiah 29:11-14).

I’m just barely beginning to fully believe. My spirit is beginning to gain some muscle and strength, some tendons and ligaments so my faith can move. I’m more now than what I used to be. I am more now than just dry bones. But now comes my part, my act of faith, as it was for Ezekiel.

Ezekiel is still awe-struck at the bodies around him. I don’t know historically who this army could have been, but I wonder, were they Israelites? Did Ezekiel even recognize a couple of the faces, perhaps mentors or older friends who had died when Ezekiel was young? Did he have a brother, or several brothers, who died in this valley? Did his father die here? I don’t know, but I know for certain that Ezekiel must have been awe-struck. But confused. I thought You asked if they can live. They’re not alive yet, God. They have bodies, but where is their spirit?

“Prophesy to the breath,” God commands again.

And this is where I get absolutely fascinated with this story. Because if you look at the Hebrew word for “breath,” God is basically saying, “Prophesy to My Holy Spirit.”

“Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to it, ‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says: Come, breath, from the four winds and breathe into these slain, that they may live.'”

God is commanding Ezekiel to command the Holy Spirit to give the dead men life.

Ezekiel hesitantly obeys, not for lack of faith anymore, but now, for being filled with wonder. And I can imagine here that there was a rushing sound, like on Pentecost when the disciples received the Holy Spirit. Wind rushes into the valley from the mountains, and Ezekiel robes billow around him. His hair whips around his face. But he just manages to see, and hear again, a different rushing sound. The sound of living people breathe deeply in. He sees the chest of the man before him expand. He looks around, and sees, one by one, men all around him breathing in deeply. The wind stops, but a softer rush continues. The bodies are exhaling. And slowly, one by one, the men all around him begin to sit up. They look around, absolutely shocked, perhaps touching their bodies. Their heads, their chests, their stomachs. Looking at their hands, expecting blood, but only seeing their dusty fingertips. They look around at one another, but they turn and stare in wonder at Ezekiel, as if knowing somehow that they needed to follow him. Slowly, each man stands. And Ezekiel can only turn all around, watching in awe, perhaps with tears flowing down his cheeks, overwhelmed at the words that God speaks next.

“Son of man, these bones are the people of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone; we are cut off.’ Therefore prophesy and say to them: ‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says: My people, I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them; I will bring you back to the land of Israel. Then you, My people, will know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves and bring you up from them. I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the Lord have spoken, and I have done it.'”

God is bringing me back to life. Not just to half-hearted belief in an ancient book, but to a vibrant, living faith in His active, glorious, holy Self. God Himself wants to give me life—to make my spirit a life-filled forest, transformed from being the dry, wasted desert it was. And please, please believe—this isn’t just for me. I do not have my act together. I mess up all the time. But it’s not based on if I deserve it—or if you deserve it. God wants to give your spirit this life, too, because of who He is.

“He is faithful, He is glorious / He is Jesus, and all my hope is in Him / He is freedom, He is healing right now / He is hope, and joy / And love, and peace, and life.” That’s one of my favorite songs right now, “He is Faithful” by Jesus Culture. And how perfect, that the last word of the chorus is “life.” He is life. I definitely wanted to share that song, but that’s not the song I’ve been referencing. These are some of the lyrics that inspired this blog.

We are the dry and thirsty sand
Upon this dry and thirsty land
But You speak life into the flesh
Breathing air into the dead

A valley of bones
Covered in stone
Nothing more than human
Into the unknown
Body and soul
You’re calling me, ’cause
Only with You
The dead come to life
Dead come to life
Only in You
The dead come to life
Dead come to life
Only with You

I’ve heard it said that everlasting life does not mean, “After we die, we’ll life forever.” It means that the life of our spirit begins now, and lasts forever.

In light of that thought, I know what I will be responding now. I’ll be begging God’s Holy Spirit to rush into me, too. To wake my spirit up, and being this everlasting life. To be filled to the brim with His life. And I know He’ll answer my prayer with a “Yes.” And I’ll be begging God to rush into the lives of those I know, even to those I don’t, to fill them with His Spirit. To fill them with life. Not because we deserve it, but because God loves us. That’s why.

And please, again, know that this is true of you, too. No matter who you are, no matter what you’ve done, and no matter what has broken your heart—God loves you. And He will bring You to life, if you ask. So I encourage you—ask Him. Ask Him to bring your heart to life. Your spirit doesn’t have to be dry and thirty forever. Ask Him.

“I have come, that they may have life, and life to the full.” John 10:10.

Remind Me…Oh, Jesus, Remind Me

I’m not much of a country music fan. I have a pretty wide interest in music, but after years of hearing nothing but country music pouring from my older sisters’ room and car stereos, I got sick to death of it. Occasionally, I’ll find a country song I like, but only rarely. One artist I tend to like, though, is Brad Paisley. And one of his songs, a duet with Carrie Underwood, caught my attention one day. I wasn’t sure why. I liked the tune, and I liked the words, but the title kept eating away at my mind.

It’s a song filled with dreaming, a song filled with longing. The man begins singing to his beloved, reminiscing about the past, about the things they did when their love was fresh and young. The things he misses. Because years later, their passion is flickering out. And he doesn’t want it to. He wants to stir the fire of their love again, to reignite their passion for one another. After the chorus, she sings back, reminiscing about the things she misses, agreeing with him that their passion needs to be stirred up again. Letting him know that she desires this, too. “I wanna feel that way,” Brad sings, in one lyric. “Yeah, I wanna hold you close,” Carrie sings back. And together, they sing, “Oh, if you still love me, don’t just assume I know.” And their reply to one another, the key words of the chorus and the title of the song, is, “Remind me…oh, baby, remind me!”

I like the idea of this couple fighting to keep their passion strong, reminding one another of all the beautiful things that made them fall in love. Sometimes I think that a lot of couples just don’t want to fight, don’t want to try, for whatever reason. I’ve seen that a couple times in the marriages I’ve seen crumble—one partner just doesn’t want to fight for their marriage anymore. I loved the hope and the love that this song rang true with.

But I had an epiphany about this song one day. I realized that my heart has been crying out a similar message to Jesus. Suddenly, those words “Remind me” had a very personal meaning very different from the romantic message of the song. And realizing that, my eyes filled with tears.

This epiphany also reminded me of another song that has touched my heart, a song that is closer to the mark of what’s going on in my soul. “Remind Me Who I Am.” Jason Gray sings not to a woman, but to God Himself, crying out, “Tell me once again / who I am to You / who I am to you / tell me, lest I forget / who I am to You / that I belong to You.” I’d forgotten the effect this song “Remind Me Who I Am” had on me months ago (about a year ago, actually, when I first heard it), until I realized the effect “Remind Me” had on my soul. This song, too, brought tears to my eyes.

This has been a very emotional year for me. I’ve never cried this much in one year before—I was a pretty stoic child and teenage and very rarely cried, despite the pain I was in. But as I’ve gone through counseling, sifting through painful memories so I can heal, tears long hidden have finally been found. And one source of these tears is this: through my counseling, I’ve realized that for all these years I’ve called myself a Christian, I never really believed in the promises of God. Basic promises. The promises that form the pillars of the Christian faith. I read them again and again, year after year, and I never believed them. Not really. They were empty words in my head, not beliefs rooted in my heart.

I believed certain things. I believed God created the world. I believed the Bible was God’s word. I believed in heaven and hell. I believed that Jesus came to die for my sins. I believed that whoever believed in Jesus would go to heaven, and whoever didn’t went to Hell. But one thing I didn’t truly believe in has made all the difference in my life: I never truly believed that God loves me.

These past few years and months, through various people and various ways, God has been practically screaming against this lie I’ve believed: that God’s love is limited, fickle, and conditional. All this time, all throughout my life, I’ve kept wondering to myself, “Just how bad do I have to screw up before God gives up on me? Before He stops loving me?” But in reply, He has spoken the truth to me: “There is nothing you can do to make me love you less. And there is nothing you can do to make me love you more.” I don’t know how I couldn’t believe it, in hindsight. God’s love is written all over the Bible. Yes, there are some dark stories in the Bible. But even in stories of God’s wrath, God kept crying out how much He loves His people, and how He’d relent if they’d just repent and obey. All over, God speaks of how much He loves His people, and how much He loves the world, how His plan of salvation would not just reach the Jews but would stretch throughout the nations, through the Messiah. Through Jesus’ blood. The Bible screams God’s love to the world. To you. To me. God’s love for us is reckless, passionate, unlimited, constant, and unconditional.

Even so, I couldn’t see it. I read it again and again year after year, and yet I somehow thought that God’s love could reach anyone but me. And frankly, I still have a hard time believing it. This truth is just starting to grow in my heart. It’s a fragile sprout right now. I’m tending it with the utmost care, watering it with my tears, begging God to shine His light down, so it will grow. So this truth will grow strong in my soul. So it will grow taller than the highest redwood, stronger than the toughest manzanita. I’m praying that this truth will grow so strongly in my heart that I’ll never doubt it again. The truth that God’s reckless, passionate, unlimited, constant and unconditional love is mine, and I can never lose it—no matter what I do, or do not do.

But with this is a host of other promises that I didn’t really believe in. Promises like, “The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love” (Psalm 103:8). “‘I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future'” (Jeremiah 29:11). I could go on and on. That God will provide for me. That God will take care of my needs. That God will give me wisdom. That God will protect my heart and mind. That God will guide me. That God can turn my mess into a beautiful message. That God will give me second chances when I fail. That God will lead me closer to Him. I didn’t truly believe any of these beautiful promises.

I’m just barely beginning to truly believe God’s promises. And I realized that was why these songs I mentioned touched me so deeply. Why those two words, “Remind Me,” were ringing in my mind for days. Just like a husband and wife need to remind one another of their love (daily!), I need to be reminded (daily) that God really does love me. That God really does fulfill His promises. For years I never believed them, but now that I’m beginning to believe, I know I have to be reminded constantly, to build my faith. But even now, I know that in the years to come, I’ll still need to be reminded again and again. I know that life isn’t done giving me heartache. I know that I’ll still have things to suffer through in the future, some minor pains and some pains that will overwhelm me. I’ll be stronger then, I know. God is strengthening me now—I’m stronger already than I was a year ago, even if I do cry more than ever. But I’ll still need to be reminded, both in general ways (like God fulfilling His promises to me) and ways very specific to my heart.

I honestly hope that a lot of this has, for whoever you are reading these words now, flown right over your head. But if they haven’t, I hope you can truly believe, deep within your soul, that these promises are true for you, too. If you have accepted Jesus into your heart, I challenge you to ask yourself, “Do I really believe God? Not just believe in God, but do I believe God? Do I truly believe that He loves me? And do I truly believe that He is faithful to His promises to me?”

And if you haven’t accepted Jesus as your savior, I’d ask you to ask God, “If you’re really up there, will You show me You are? Will You show me that You love me? Will You show me that You are faithful to these promises I’ve read about?”

Because either way, I can promise you, God is willing and eager to show You how much He loves you. I’m experiencing that right now. I can’t promise that He’ll answer your every question—I will probably never know why God allowed me to experience the pain I’ve experienced that brought me to this moment, and you probably never will, either. But I promise you that God will show you He really is faithful to His promises, and that He really does love you. I have many memories of pain and loneliness, but God has shown me that He was true to His promises, “I will never leave you, nor forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5) and, “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds” (Psalm 147:3). I don’t know how He’ll show you the promises you need to be reminded of…but I know He will.

My prayer is that eventually, I’ll lose the connection I have with these songs. That I’ll remember these feelings, but not feel them, anymore. That I’ll have a stronger connection with a different kind of song—maybe something more like, “His Kind of Love” by Group 1 Crew. (I’ll pray the same for you, reader.) But for now, my heart is still fragile in my learning, in my seeking, in my growing. And I know that I’ll be still crying out, “Oh, Lord! Remind me that You will never fail to fulfill Your promises to me. Oh God, show me You still love me—I can’t assume I truly know. Tell me once again that You love me, that I belong to You. That I am Yours. Remind me…oh, Jesus, remind me!”

The difference for me praying this prayer now, though, is this: I know—I’m truly beginning to believe—that God won’t be angry with me for asking. That God will delight in reminding me of His love. And I hope you truly believe, precious reader, that He delights in reminding you, too.

About

I finally updated my About section. Enjoy!

Revive Me

 

 

I have seen my share

Of drought and fire

Hail and storm

But how little I have seen

Of soft spring rains

And a gentle touch

 

I’ve been ignored

Left to weather life alone

I’ve been plucked and stripped

My good gifts stolen away

Left with little in return

And when I haven’t produced

What I’m expected to

I’ve been slashed and cut off

Cursed and rejected

Left wretched

 

I have given up

So even when a rare, gentle hand

Comes to give, not take from me

I can no longer accept their help

I reject the water they offer me to drink

I reject the food they offer me to eat

I’ve forgotten how to receive

And I’m afraid to remember

 

I am slowly withering

Getting sick and drying up

I need a little nourishment

To give me lasting strength

I need a little water

To bring me life again

I need Your touch, God

Because I have nothing left in me

I am barren

I am wasted

I am slowly withering

 

So revive me, God

Shine Your light on me

So I will be saved

Drench me with Your Spirit, Lord

Strengthen me with Your love

Where I have reached too far

Desperate for a little light

Cut me back, shape me

Just the way that You desire

Teach me to stretch sky high

Reaching up for You

 

Teach me to flourish again

Give me a reason to grow once more

Strengthen me, encourage me

To let my soul flower and not hold back

To reveal the beauty You say I have

Strengthen me, encourage me

To offer again the sweet gifts I have to give

And strengthen me, encourage me

So I’m strong enough to weather anything

Whatever comes my way

Fire or pouring rain

Teach me, so I won’t be shaken

Knowing that You are always near

 

Help me, even in old age, to bear good fruit

Help my heart stay fresh and green

And when the fruit of my life is ripe

And I have offered a taste to all

May they see, and taste, and proclaim

“The Lord is good.

He satisfies the thirsty,

He fills the hungry with good things.

The Lord is upright,

He is our God,

And there is no wickedness in Him.”

“Live and Grow / Laugh and Dance / Love the Journey”

 

 

Recently I bought a little plaque while I was grocery shopping. The last time I bought some groceries, I saw it and wanted to buy it, but couldn’t afford to. But it was something I knew I had to bring home with me the moment I saw it. So, rather impatiently, I waited, and finally bought it.

It has a design I really like—a little on the girly side, but I don’t care. But what really captured my attention was the words. Usually, the little quotes I see on these little home decorating plaques don’t interest me or capture my attention. Normally, I’d scoff at something like this. I even groaned inwardly when I saw it was yet another variation of the much-quoted, now cliche, kind of corny “Live, Laugh, Love” quote. But for some reason, this quote really captured my attention, as if God were whispering some secret for me to hear.

“Live and Grow / Laugh and Dance / Love the Journey.”

So I bought it. I even got the last one on the shelf, to my delight. I felt like it was God again, encouraging me to buy it. Like He wanted to say something important to me through it, or maybe several things. That I needed to buy it so I could remember the lesson, and think about it each time I saw the plaque. I didn’t know exactly what He wanted to say, but I went ahead and obeyed. I bought it. And I hung it on a nail below my mirror in my bathroom. Each day as I wash my hands, or wash my face, or brush my teeth, I knew I’d be reminded of a lesson I didn’t even know yet.

But God spoke a little more quickly than I expected. That night, as I wrote in my journal, the little plaque came to mind. And God began speaking, teaching me, the first of what I think will be several lessons from this simple little plaque.

At first, God revealed to me the basic reason it spoke so deeply to me. A kind of general, perhaps obvious reason that I nontheless didn’t see. This quote speaks to me about my life, and about both the harships and the blessings I’ve experienced. No, it doesn’t mention sadness or overcoming adversity, like the quotes that usually grab my attention. But this was a neat little quote that enveloped all of what I’m trying to learn as I sit in my counselor’s office.

“Live and Grow.” It may say nothing about “despite poor soil or harsh weather,” but it’s almost like that addition isn’t necessary. Like the general idea is, “No matter whether you are given good soil or poor soil, good weather or bad weather, whether it’s easy or it’s hard—-live. Live your live to the fullest. And grow from all that you experience.”

“Laugh and Dance.” It says nothing about hardship or pain again. But again, it’s almost like mentioning those topics is unecessary. Like the expanded quote would be, “Find the joy in life, no matter what you face. Find a reason to laugh. Find a reason to dance. Life is worth celebrating, even in the hardest times.”

But what originally captured my attention was “Love the Journey.”

As I think about this last line, two things come to my mind: process and God’s design.

My counselor has mentioned to me this idea of process several times. “You want everything to be perfect, and you rob yourself of the joy of the process,” she basically said. I think we were discussing my artwork, but we were talking about life too. When I sketch, I get frustrated easily because I want my drawings to look perfect. Professional grade, even. And I hate that it may take me days, weeks even, to finish one of my projects—I want to just snap my fingers and have it laid out on paper instantly perfect. I hate when I can’t make something absolutely astounding. If my sketches look cartoonish, I get frustrated, let alone if it’s unproportional or uneven. It drives me nuts. And I know I’m the worst critic of myself—a strange may say that I have amazing talent (which I’m grateful to say has happened), but all I can see is every little flaw. And I feel like a failure for them.

It’s true of my life, too. I get so frustrated with myself when I make mistakes. Or even when I have to wait for something good. Pretty much, I want to be perfect, and I want to be perfect NOW. I rush my life away because I keep looking forward, into the future, waiting for that better thing waiting for me down the road. I don’t enjoy life day-by-day. And I don’t enjoy the learning. I want to hurry up and be perfected like purified gold, and not wait for the slow (and often painful) process of being refined through the Refiner’s fire. To be patient as the Refiner draws my dross to the surface, and scrapes it away, being thorough but so slow to my perception. 

But art and life are meant to be enjoyed, in every stroke of a pencil or brush, and In every little moment. The process of creating art, and the process of building a life, shouldn’t be rushed—It should be savored. And the process for both art and life shouldn’t be focused on the final outcome, of reaching perfection. Each choice should be focused on making something beautiful as can be—whether it looks perfect or not. We are called to “be perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect,” but Jesus still had to die for our sins. We still fail. But His grace covers our imperfection, and He will one day perfect us. We will never match His righteousness. We can only do our best, by the help of His Spirit, and trust in His mercy and grace. So even here, we focus on making a beautiful life, a beautiful work of art, and not a work of perfection, because we know God will perfect us one day. We can’t do it ourselves.

And now for my second thought: God’s design. God has a reason for everything He does, and for everything He allows. Sometimes, if I’m fully honest, I hate the things I’ve experienced and the choices I’ve made, and the path that my life is on now. But God makes everything work together for my good. Even the evil things. Even my mistakes. Even my sins. Even the sins of others against me. God has richly blessed my life, and I can confess that even remembering all the things that grieve me. God gave me the parents I have for a reason. God gave me the siblings I have for a reason. God allowed me, or caused me, to live in the places I’ve lived for a reason. He allowed certain people into my life to wound me, and others to comfort and heal me. He formed my body to look a certain way, to have certain strengths and weaknesses, to have a certain amount of beauty to it. He gave me a certain amount of intelligence. A certain amount of courage and strength. He gave me all kinds of gifts, and withheld others, all for reasons I don’t understand. And He makes all of these things work together for my good.

There have been many times I’ve hated this journey, this process, that God has led me through. But God is leading me closer to His heart with every breath I breathe, and with every step I take. I may never understand why He has allowed me to suffer at various times of my life, but I know he records and catches my every tear. He is the Healer of my body and my soul. No time is wasted with God. I may never know why He allowed me to suffer through days, or months, or sometimes years of intense loneliness, but He has taught me in those times that “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” And I know that God will hold nothing back that will heal my soul—not even His own Son.

I have hated this journey at times, but I know that all that I go through leads me closer to the heart of Jesus. So I know I need a change of heart, so these truths can sink in and stay. And so I’ll be praying, inviting Jesus into these wounded places, and to bring about something beautiful in spite of these imperfections. I’ll be praying that He teaches me just how to “Live and Grow / Laugh and Dance / Love the Journey.” And I thank God that He’s given me one more day, at least, to make a change my heart. To learn. And to draw closer to His heart—whether in joy or pain.

Easter Journal Entry (2013)

Easter, March 31st, 2013

Jesus,

 

I skimmed through Your word a few minutes ago, reminded of how You died and rose again. It’s hard for me to comprehend, to understand. I find it strange, incredible and beautiful. You, Who have helped me through so much this year and Who has always been by my side in joy as well as pain—You are the One who died on a cross 2,000-plus years ago to save me.

 

I’ve been posting (or sharing, anyway) a lot of Easter/Bible quotes and pictures on my Facebook page this weekend. But as I do, I find myself thinking, “Is this really true? This story seems too beautiful to believe.” And I do have a lot of questions still about different topics, and how Your word answers them—like how reliable Your word is compared to ancient Biblical books. Or about how Your word compares to science. I wonder, but I do believe, Lord.

 

I just was thinking that today. That this story, all that’s in Your word—Your birth, death and resurrection, from the creation to the recreation of the world—it’s so beautiful that I have trouble believing it’s true sometimes. It’s a story full of pain, but what pain there is we humans mostly brought on ourselves. Or Satan brought on us. You brought us pain too, but as punishments/consequences for not obeying You. And even then, I know it grieved You. You talked often in Your word that You would punish wickedness, but also You said, “If only you would turn back to me, I’d relent” and “I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but would rather that they turn from their wicked ways and live” (Ezekiel 33:11).

 

And I keep thinking lately that You are the only true hero. That every love story with a hero who is willing to die for his beloved points to You—but the hero still has his flaws. I hoped to marry a heroic kind of man. I realize now that, though I love B. dearly, he is not a fairytale prince. He definitely has his shortcomings (as I do). B. has a beautiful heart, “a heart after God’s own heart,” but B. is not You, Jesus.

 

As little as I understand You, though, I love You, Jesus. I don’t understand why You love me with this passionate kind of love (a love that not even the most beautiful fairy tale can rival), but I am so thankful You do. And even when You know I will never love You as deeply as You love me, that never takes away Your love. Not a fraction. Nothing that I do can make You love me less. Nothing that I do can make You love me more.

 

Your love screams against the fickle human love I’ve received in the past. I will never experience a love like Yours again. I will never lose it. Your love is truly all I need. Even if I lost the love of everyone I hold dear, You would sustain me with Your love. But in Your love, knowing that I would still need earthly love to continue on, You would lead me to those who love (a little) like You.

 

You are love. You are the epitome of that word. I will never understand that. But Lord, precious Jesus—how thankful I am for Your love.

“Stay”

 

If there was a place somewhere near

Where music played a constant song

I’d draw close, hoping to hear

That melody playing soft and long

And forever, I would stay

I’d draw up a deep, soft chair

I’d let go of every care

And forever, I would stay

 

And if there was a place close by

Where there was peace, and quiet, and calm

Where I could ease down with a sigh

And in my heart begin a Psalm

Then thankful, I would stay

I’d open my heart up wide

I’d have nothing left to hide

Then thankful, I would stay

 

And if this place was somewhere wild

All the better for my soul

My heart would soften, grow mild

Admiring God’s beauty, strong and full

I would love to stay

To see His creatures, great and small

To see His rivers, mountains, forest halls

I would love to stay

 

And this would be a special place, where

All those I love are by my side

Where all good things we’d share

With nothing evil would collide

How gladly I would stay

I’d draw them close and hold them tight

All our sorrows finally made right

How gladly I would stay

 

But in my heart, I know it’s not here

That place of constant peace

That place where I’ll let go of fear

And on my joy continually feast

If I could find it, I would stay

If only I could now be there

With no more heavy burdens to bear

If I could find it, I would stay

 

But I know in my heart, it won’t be

Not for many years to come

But in my heart, I can almost see

That special place, and hear its music hum

How I long to stay

To be at peace, by Jesus’ side,

And not be tortured by life’s tides

How I long to stay

 

But when I reach that beautiful place

Where my heart can finally rest

When I will run my final race

And enter into what is blessed

Then at last, I will stay

I’ll rest forever with my King

My heart, in praise, will shout and sing

Then at last, I will stay