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Snowflakes and Sunlight

Out for a run on this mid-March day and it’s a balmy 30 degrees here in Wisconsin. Lungs burning in a good way from being outside, fighting the wind, giving my legs room to stretch and move. It’s cloudy, mirroring my season of what seems like an endless winter. Snowflakes swirl through the sky. As I round the turn in the park by the river, ice still half frozen on the water, with some space open to house ducks and geese, I feel an odd sensation on my face. I look up: sunlight and a patch of blue sky between the gray.

Spring is coming, both to this earth and to my spirit. I am in-between the seasons, and it’s symbolic as I run, pound my feet on pavement, believing God will make a way. I have still both the snow and the gray and the cold clouds in my life, through the anxiety and fear and fatigue. But a new sky is growing in me, making a way for warmer life ahead. The blue breaking through the clouds, the stream of sunlight amidst the snowflakes, this is where I am inside. This is where God is growing me and taking me from this season of suffering not that is yet finished. It is still present, but bringing hope, renewed joy as I lift my eyes and look to the Lord, these blue skies parting to pull in puffs of white again in the sky. It is good. He is here. He is doing a work, a good, deep, growing work. Within the bad, He is blending beauty.

I believe He is making a way. I am standing on His Word, His truth, His character, His promises, and His Spirit, alive within me. I don’t know what He’s doing, and we are not done in this season of scarcity, but He is creating a supple bounty in my soul and spirit. As I look ahead and thank and praise Him for taking me from where I’ve been.

I’m living in the not quite yet, but longer am I planted in the what has been.

Snowflakes and sunlight.

Suffering and strength.

Brokenness and beauty.

Everything rolls together like the cadence of the clouds, mixing and moving like a choreographed dance of dichotomy.

 

Spring is coming. Here comes the shift of my heart and mind, making a way for blue beyond these clouds.

Appearing in the Flames

And the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush. He looked, and behold, the bush was burning, yet it was not consumed. 
Exodus 3:2

The Lord, appearing in the flames, the fire.

To refine, protect, to show up in the scorch of suffering.

He’s all about intimacy, desirous of deeper relationship. He will use all situations to draw us to His heart. Including a bush that burns deep in the wilderness, where there seems to be no way.

But He has been here, with me, even when it’s been intolerable, unbearably painful.

He is here with you, nestled in the bush, bearing with you in your burden.

Take off your sandals, for where you stand burns holy.

Open up your heart, bare your worry, your struggle, and let the flames purify.

He is here, with us when we can no longer feel our way through. The flames do not go out; they burn but will not consume.

God is faithful through our fears; His flame flickers holy. Be bare before Him; there is purpose in this pain. The Holy One transforms the hard to holy ground.

 

Heavy Winter, Hopeful Dawn

This has been a heavy winter. It’s felt especially dark, challenging, confusing, and stacked with suffering. This whole world heaves its weary chest, ragged breaths drawn from a rundown stretch of months, years.

We all have our pain, our heaviness, the rise and fall of fear and anxiety, the spread of questions gone unanswered, relief seemingly far off. Where do we run to find our way? The way seems run down.

But hope will not stay buried. Even when it’s piled down, hope still springs, still gives a lift to the weight. It shifts the heaviness from our shoulders, loosens the grip we have on weariness, angst, anger, grief, and confusion. Like the turn of light now in the later evening sky, God stays illuminated longer. We lift our eyes to the streaks of color turning in the sky, trace the outline of pines and oaks in the distance and choose to say, “Come, Lord Jesus. Be our refuge. Give us Your yoke you promise is easy.” He promises to exchange our heavy for His lightness, His Spirit gentle as He soothes our sores.

We’ve all been so sore for a long time, and we are done with it. This heavy won’t subside, but we can hand it off to the One whose shoulders are meant to carry it.//

Yes, it’s been a heavy winter. But up ahead holds a hopeful dawn. Spring is coming. The light is here. We’ve been waiting for weeks and months, and now, true to the natural rhythm of this world, time shifts, light shifts, and the biting wind and ice subside. Hallelujah, let that light come to melt this frozen world, melt frozen hearts, and warm the ones who just want to get out of the elements and stop their shivering.

Give us relief, our great God. We shouldn’t feel this heavy. We long for the softness and strength of Your arms, the pastel promises of the sky that brighter days are ahead.

 

 

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Continuing my attempt at the Five Minute Friday weekly writing challenge. Five minutes to write on the assigned topic. Raw and unedited. (Yikes!) This week’s topic: Heavy.   // symbolizes where five minutes started and/or stopped.

Carry My Burden

I am tired of all the exhaustion. Of all the confusion and feeling upon feeling that leaves me like I’m living underwater. I am sleep walking and long to wake up. A real wake up, where I am clear in mind and light in heart. Where I experience deep joy that wells up in me and bubbles up and out. It has been such a long winter, and the beginning of the messy March and spring still streak my soul with muck and a layer of heaviness and uncertainty.

But You are with me, even buried under the weight of my struggle. You often can do Your best work in the waiting, in the underground. Breathe in me, Lord, let Your oxygen fill my lungs and revive me again. It is not enough to long for it; I ask in faith for You to move in me. In every sinew, every cell, every stem of my brain and beat of my heart. Lift me from the mire and place me on sure ground. To whom else can I go? You hold eternal life out towards me.

//Carry my burdens, Lord. Take them from my sagging shoulders. I am weary from holding a weight I’m not meant to carry. You say to come to You and find rest, to attach to Your yoke and walk beside you, learning from You what it means to be gentle and humble in heart. Lord, I long for Your voice. I tune my ear for Your frequency; please don’t disappoint me. Please be here, in the middle of my mess, in the middle of my meltdown and confusion and strain. God, do a work. Carry me through this valley that has closed in on me in the middle of the night. Let me rest in Your arms, take comfort under the shadow of Your capable wings. There, I find my protection. There, I find my answers. There, I find my love. For You are strong, and I am weak. But Your power is made perfect in my weakness and I long to be revived by Your breath. Restore to me the joy of Your salvation, make each day a little better. Be the God of hope who fills me with all joy and peace as I hope in You, by Your moving Spirit.

Carry my burdens, carry my fears. The deep-rooted fears that fester, but I now recognize for what they are. Uproot them, Lord. You are the great Gardener of my faith and heart, and replant Your truth firmly and deeply in my soul. Where there is fear, respond with love and gentleness and truth. Only You can carry this weight for me; only You know in my barest being exactly what I need.//

The wait is long, weight of it all holding me under. But God is able. Always able. And always good. Keep coming after me, Lord. Keep fighting for me, keep healing and growing me as I make my way up through the soil. It takes a long time for the sun to reach underground, but when it does, my heart and mind will spring up in the hope of Your care, unraveling the weight which I no longer carry. You have gone before me, bearing me up, carrying my burden to bring me more to life in You.

 

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Continuing my attempt at the Five Minute Friday weekly writing challenge. Five minutes to write on the assigned topic. Raw and unedited. (Yikes!) This week’s topic: Carry.   // symbolizes where five minutes started and/or stopped.

Treasures in the Dark

“I will give you hidden treasures,
riches stored in secret places,
so that you may know that I am the Lord,
the God of Israel, who summons you by name.”
-Isaiah 45:3

 
You hold treasures in the dark,
where I grope and stagger 
my hands and feet to feel those
gems you leave for me.
My faith is not from sight,
and while this valley spreads its
shadows, You shed Your light 
within these secret places
that urge and nudge me
closer to Your heart,
the murmur of Your voice
that summons me and
breathes my name.

Refiner’s Fire

Healing often hurts.
How do we withstand the pain?
How do we hold to the promise that He is for us,
seeing this suffering, but does not speak out loud or
sweep us out of the blaze?

Have faith.
Hold on.
Keep calling on His character, His promises.
The fire licks our skin, our mind, our soul.
It is agony.

But we are not overcome.

He is there within the flames,
standing guard, coming close.
No singe of ash will be found on us.
No smell of smoke.
We can endure.
We will endure.

He is refining, purifying,
near to us and aware
of how this test will shape
and form our fledgling faith
as it rises,
strengthens,
stands.

Make A Way In Me

You hear, O LORD, the desire of the 

afflicted;

You encourage them, and You

listen to their cry.

-Psalm 10:17

 

You are faithful, even in the midst of the raging storm. You are the God who calms the seas; surely, You can calm the sea in me.

Calm the raging sea in me; say to my mind and soul, “Peace, be still.”
Help me to be still and know Your goodness, Your timing, Your ways, Your presence. Joy and hope amidst the hard, my God. I ask for joy and hope, a sound mind and secure heart. 

You are my firm foundation and I climb on top to stand, however unsteady my hands and feet. You are the One who sees and knows all the swirls within me. And You love me, though it’s hard to feel. But faith is not based on sight, but stepping one foot in front of the other in the unknown, choosing to trust You are over all, You are over me. 

Be over me, my God. My good Father, whose plans for my life are good, for hope and a future. You are making way for my good future. Just help get me through the storm, get in the boat and soothe me to sleep as You slice through the waves, guiding me. God, steer me through. God, calm me through the middle of the water, when there is no shore in sight, when I tremble with fear and am frantic for land. 
Be in the boat with me. You know these waters well. You know me well; call out my name and speak to my deep places where You know better than I do what I need. You know what I need, my Counselor and Comfort.

You are my fixed point on a shaky axis. Rescue me, out of Your great mercy. Restore me through the suffering. Give me Your grace for today, but bring hope to my heart and healing to my body, mind and soul. You are able, and You are near.

Faithful One, be faithful to me. I want to see You, hear You, know and experience You in deeper and new ways. I want a way out, yes, but I want You too.

You always make a way. I may not know what that way will be or how it will look or when it will happen, but Lord, make a way in me. I need You. Oh Lord, You are my light when I’m sinking in the dark. Lift my eyes, let me see Yours, sink Your love deeper in my heart. 

You are the God who makes a way and surrounds me. Oh God, calm this sea in me and carry me to steady ground. To Your firm foundation, the Rock in whom I choose to place my hope. Give me a glimmer of that hope on the horizon. Though the waves dash against the boat, the rocks, my mind and heart, You will take me safely through.

My God, do not leave me. Bring me close. Come to my rescue, my aid, and be that fixed point to still my racing mind and soul.

You are the God who calms the seas; surround me with Your strength, my God and Deliverer. Calm this sea in me. Clear the path, the storm, and make a way in me.

Blessed Reprieve

Sleep. A blessed reprieve.

After weeks and weeks of no sleep, then fragmented sleep, up and down and exhaustion playing with our bodies and minds, our first reprieve and refreshing slumber.

Manna for the day.

We have been gifted in our wilderness with God’s manna, our daily bread, nourishment among the valley.

For over a month, we’ve received in this way: just enough for the moment, enough to satisfy us for the day. We’ve received substance, grace: even in the swirling suffering, lingering unknown, chaos whether night or day, multiple hospital stays, and the monster of the mental battle, He has remained steadfast.

He has remained.

Oh Lord, You have remained.

Glorious gracious each moment, each day. Full of mercy, our manna we wash down with Your love into our weary souls.

Hazy light rises over the yellow painted building across the street. The world is rising into a new day, and so are we. Again, all we can receive is grace for the day, stick our heads outside our tent and pull in the sweet bread placed before us, breathe in our thanks, and eat, remember. God’s sustaining love for the hour, His presence enough, His power made perfect when we are weak. But really, isn’t this the best place to be? Weak, because we are made strong in Him?

Weakness allows the love of God to come through. Open hands and hearts are able to receive His daily bread, His grace for the day, the way He woos us unexpected in the midst of a racing world. We are stilled, satisfied. This is enough for now.

Small Steps

Small steps are monumental victories. Keep in step with the Shepherd and He will provide all you need to rest and endure, continue on.

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COVID is rough. My husband and I both got hit bad; Eric’s out of the hospital and healing well, thank God. I’m stuck on the forever fatigue and am tired of being tired. But God is good, and His faithfulness has led me and will continue to lead. Please pray for a full recovery for both of us though, and sooner rather than later. It’s on God’s timetable, but feeing back to normal would be lovely. Thanks, friends.

Out of Place

Everything is out of place.

The breath in my lungs,
beat of my heart.
Vision now: shapes and shadows.

Jostled, shaken, stirred
and pressed back in sideways;
nothing’s like it should be.

All I wanted was to
make sense of things;
here, there is no knowing,
no moments understood.
Just a picking apart
of what pieced me together,
a stitch undone,
a snip comes uncurled.

Is this mess or mystery?

Everything is jarred, loose,
unsettled, restrung.
A shedding of soul,
carving of bones.