Filled to the Measure

… and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. 
-Ephesians 3:19

 

Can Your fullness even be measured?

How do I count the numbers, the weight the volume to watch for the exact right amount in me until I reach the full line?

You are immeasurable. You are vast, You are wide and deep, always more. That’s why I’m urged towards the immeasurably more that life in You brings. No stop, no limit, only an overflow.

And this is the life I can have in You? Never enough, always reaching for the next dose, a refreshment that comes in wild and wondrous wave after wave? The waters rise within and my thirst for You is never sated, yet I am never more satisfied than when I am submerged in the measure of this fullness.

You long to be gracious, You yearn to be close, drawing me deeper in and wider out, until all I see is Your love surrounding me, all light and goodness and grace. And You beckon me to more. The immeasurably more that cannot be called or defined or reasoned into existence; it just is, because You are.

Love surpasses knowledge—no numbering and equating, no keeping an eye on the rising level to watch exactly when Your fullness reaches the mark. This love and intimacy cannot be shut out, overrun or diluted. It’s pure, unfiltered fullness that You keep giving and giving, forever and ever, in Christ Jesus, Amen.

Fill me, Lord, with what only You can give. I want to drink deeply and inhale Your love, let it resonate in every part of me, until there is no defining line between You and I, until I live a life aligned with You, until we are full as one.

 

Thank You for this fullness I cannot fathom, for the mystery that is made known in Christ Jesus. The fullness of Your love goes on and on, and there’s always more for me. May I have more of You, more of Your love, more of Your fullness, so I may live a life aligned with You. Amen.

 

Grit and Mercy

Though flames dance and rise
around my tender flesh,
I do not fear the scorch.
There is a cooling hand
that holds my own;
One stands with me
in the middle of the blaze.
God, You are the
Wounded Healer,
the One who has
been burned;
You know well how
to bear scars.

You are here with me,
alone together.
I bear this burden
as You promise
to keep the bladed flames
from engulfing.
You are my shadow
of grit and mercy.

You Have Promised

Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what He had promised.
-Romans 4:20-21

 

How can I doubt that You are watching over me, taking extra care in my discomfort and sheltering me in Your solid, stoic arms?

Am I that consumed with myself that I see the surface and all that swims around me and think that You have left me to fend for myself, bobbing in the deep and deliriously unaware of my surroundings?

You have provided so much for me in so many ways, so many tiny details each and every hour I cannot contain the numbers of each miniscule miracle. I play the victim in the Woe is Me one act performance, providing excuse after excuse for why I keep myself chained in confusion. Why I cannot claim to clear my conscious when deep within, I know with all certainty, that You are prodding me, chipping away at the scales that have rusted to my skin. You have my purpose resting in Your palms, and You are quietly calling me to reach to You and take what You are promising.

I have been selfish and shallow, wallowing in self-inflicted self-pity, crying out to You to help bring me from the dungeon of doubt that has locked me in. Yes, I have been tested, my walls breached. But if I would lift the shield of faith high above me, I can ward off the arrows that swiftly fly towards my soul. With Your Spirit of truth, I can trust that You are all You say You are, and that You have never left me, nor will You ever forsake me. You have Your righteous hand upon me, watching me, guiding me, and the things I think are tragic will turn to triumph for Your glory.

How dare I delve into the abyss and think You just a figure on my shoulder, a charm around my neck. You are beyond this world, You’ve brought galaxies to life and expelled evil from Your sight. How can I forget the fire You’ve set within my heart?

Forgive me for my frail faith, for not honoring You as I should and for my brittle belief. You are all You say You are, and only by Your power can I exist at all. Persuade me to pay closer attention to You, to pay closer attention to Your details in my day. Help me reconstruct my walls of wisdom and regain my fortress in Your foresight. Deliver me once again into Your corner. Let me remember that my battles are Yours to fight, and that You have the power to do all that You have promised with me.

 

Reconstruct Me

But He knows the way I take;
When He has tested me,
I will come forth as gold.
-Job 23:10

 

I step through jagged
stones of glass,
cutting the innocent
softness of the underside
of my feet.
though I tread carefully,
pieces of the pain
embed into me,
a reminder that where I go,
I am fallen.
Walk with me.
when I crumble,
be the One
to reconstruct me.
You know my paths,
know which sands
will slice my skin.
You see me scream
my confusion into the
silent sheet of night.
Observe me,
but ready Your hand
to pull me from the mire
when I slip into
its cunning grasp.

 

Empty and Alive

When things are empty, it’s usually not a good sign.

An empty wallet signifies a lack of money, hardest when bills pile up and income wobbles.

An empty glass means you’re out of your favorite beverage, or out of a positive outlook.

An empty brain signals no one’s home upstairs. Usually not good in a school setting.

An empty room- void of warmth and activity.

An empty promise is a hard burden to bear.

An empty heart cries out from the depth of its echo, longing for another soul to smile and let them know they are not alone.

 

But an empty tomb… now that is a very good thing.

A beautiful sign.

A refreshment to our souls.

Because an empty tomb means a risen King! Because the stones scraped together could not contain the power and the glory of the One whom was placed behind the boulder three days previous. When the tomb was opened and no one lay inside, a light pierced the hearts of those who turned and saw the Savior standing before them, with a beating heart and mankind’s hope fulfilled.

A chamber cleansed of death. A new arrival that lifted us to life. A symbol of sadness turned to joy. A bare room, empty and alive. The Son of God, full of flesh. Vibrant. Victorious.

 

An empty tomb took us to a place of astonishment, as the impossible turned possible before our eyes and the breath in our hearts cried out, “Hallelujah! He is risen!”

 

He is risen, indeed!

 

Prayer:

You conquered death and the wrath of God for my sake. Not simply for the whole of the earth, but for ME, the tiny one who stumbles and shakes with fear. You have made me victorious through Your scars, so I may stand cleansed in front of the Father. Because of Your triumph, I am Yours. Thank You for this new and enchanting, eternal life! Amen.

 

No More Mourning

He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.
-Revelation 21:4

 

You came for us while we mourned, while we wailed against the injustice, the suffering, the sting of heart that stayed a companion as we strained our eyes to catch a glimpse of You. Your heart understood ours, cracked and bled and gnarled itself up in sorrow, well acquainted with grief. Did we ever understand? Could we?

How You wept into the city, seeing how we couldn’t see. All around, religious piety and rules, regulations that wrapped us in a choke hold, one You broke free for us. But it took the shadows, the whispers, the exchange of hands for slick coins, the passing of Your body from one inquisitor to the next. And You stood silent, a lamb come for the stain of the world. Your body, blistered from whips and crushed by a crown of thorns, and still they made You climb with a cross close to You, a reminder of what was coming. Hands drilled, ankles torn by nails, a life-size painting perched for all to watch. Breath, rattled, eyes smeared with blood.

Did You imagine what it would feel like, when You nodded consent to the Father and took our  form? Did you knowingly shed glory for gore? Was it my face that crossed Your mind as You trembled on the wood?

All that Your beautiful hands had done. Crafted tables, turned them over, stroked your mother’s hair. Mixing mud and saliva so a man could see, tearing the bread, holding Mary as she wept for her brother. Those mangled hands held galaxies, transformed fish into a banquet.

You have made rough places smooth. Life from death. Light from dark. Air from clumps of earth. While we mourned, You made things new. We came to You, ourselves broken and bleeding, belief on the brink. We were so helpless and scared, yet You took mercy, even while we hurled our insults. Did we know what we were doing? Did we understand?

Our hearts are tired of crying. And You said we’d mourn no more. So we looked to You, as Your voice scratched out that it was finished, and You gave us a lifeline, revival for our searching souls.

 

Prayer:

You made a way where there was none. You gave up Your glory to become like us, misunderstood, mistreated. And You stayed the Father’s course, obedient until the last breath. Thank You for Your sacrifice, thank You for the love that permeated every inch of You, every heartbeat that broke for this world. Thank You that You have made a way for us to see the Father. Amen.

 

Roused and Awakened

His word is in my heart like a fire,

a fire shut up in my bones.

I am weary of holding it in;

indeed, I cannot.

-Jeremiah 20:9

Smoke and sear across my heart.

For something. For someone. I need to feel needles pricking my skin, leaving imprints on my soul. I need to be blinded by beauty, drunk on dreams. I need to cling to life like it is the only tree left in a falling forest.

My eyes- they must blaze. Must sweep in every fragment of this unending universe and zoom in on the tiny miracles happening beneath the naked eye.

My hands must shake with sweetness, must roam wide every wonder and feel their texture beneath my nails.

My feet must flash through feeling, must race to where all I dare hope for comes true. They must carry me quickly to the cross, crash into the flesh of fellow travelers in search of secrets made known.

I have been summoned. I have tasted desire and crave more. I need my blood to boil in my veins, to bubble and spit heated liquid that will overflow in my anatomy, burst my body, burn my bones. I need it to spill into my mind and turn reasoning into rapture. To slip within my skull and crack open the hardness of my stubborn streak, empty out my vanity and fill it with a stream of submission.

I have been awakened to all that howls beneath my indifference. I have been roused, and am ignited by every electric buzz that has shocked awake, gaining ground in ways I never saw open before me.

I give voice to words unspoken until now, released by love to uncage my uncontainable. Shot through the dark to white-hot light, I am reborn. My soul, set free to move and breathe and surge, for He who knit me together has let me loose for my good and His glory.

It is never too late to break the bland.

**Thank you, Dr. King, for your voice, heart, and dream, that are waking us all up.

A Time To Speak

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under Heaven… a time to be silent and a time to speak.

-Ecclesiastes 3:1,7

I once feared the echoes of my own mouth. The heaves and gasps my lips pushed forward, the noise breaking into the air. I could not fathom what formed from my voice.

Deep within my heart I stashed my sayings and kept tight hold of the key. Inside, words pounded on the door and begged to be released. I couldn’t crack open their purpose. When a matter of importance arose, I smiled politely but offered no rebuttal, while my silence led me to conform to the patterns of the people. I did not believe the lies their lives were dipped in, but my voice remained silent. My words remained lonely. Day after night they whimpered at my timidity, and again and again in vain I tried to set them free but cowered in my failing courage.

A clock ticked from somewhere beyond time, each strike of the second hand setting my mind at work.

“Whom shall I send? And who will go?”

“Speak Lord, for Your servant is listening.”

“Help those who cannot help themselves.”

“In the beginning was the Word.”

Voices, sweet and honest, dove into my defenses, breaking down the door that held my captives in my heart’s cavern. If not me, who would speak? Who could hope to hear the Truth if I buried it in the belly of restraint?

A time to be silent would not work if the quiet fear I harbored held me helpless. I awoke my world to a thousand different sounds, rushed my tongue to slip into the praise it must spring forth. I called aloud the Light of my life, and how the hills of love crossed the soundwaves to those in desperate need of refreshment! Words, once so timid and small beneath my breath, now rolled with thunder, struck with strength.

In the beginning was the Word. And that Word has emboldened me to proclaim good tidings and hope eternal to those who have ears, may they hear.

It’s time to speak. May my mouth continue to soothe those in need of grace, and be empowered to keep my fears of silence forever away. I’m using my voice. I’m speaking on behalf of Him who has unblocked my words and set them soaringly free.