Three Types of Scars

The only antidote to pride is humility and the only cure of selfishness is sacrifice. If it is better for the other, than it is better all around. So I sit. I sit and wait. I let the pain answer for the actions, I let the desire, the selfishness, the futility rage as I sit in one spot and make no moves. I submit to the process, the procedure, the life saving measures, knowing they have to be more right than my ways. I rage and miss and raise a fist while never leaving the Throne room, knowing outside is death, but inside is life, as painful as it is.

As I am spent with energy, I sit down against the wall, eyes puffy, heart heavy, fearing the next moment. I look over at His chair, thinking I will see Him calmly sitting there watching me with amusement. But, to my surprise, He's not. I look around the room slightly worried. He's not even in the here. I close my eyes and my head falls back against the wall, Even He can't stand my raging. I don't blame Him either...

Then, quietly, light enters the dim room as the curtain is pulled back and I see Him enter again, this time with a bowl of hot water and a towel over His shoulder. He walks over, sits down next to me and sets the bowl aside.

"I know it hurts. I know how bad it feels right now. You have every right to be angry. I would be too."

I'm a bit caught off guard by the statement. It's not the scathing rhetoric I expected. He looks down at my hands. I do as well. They are balled into fists, bloodied, scraped and bruised from pounding on the floor, the walls, anything within reach. They hurt... badly. Slowly I open them up, not even realizing how tight they had been clenched.

He picks up the bowl and water wordlessly. Slowly He dips the towel in the water and holds out His hand to me patiently, quietly. I see His scar. Healed over and ugly. They comfort me somehow. Hesitantly I hold out my hand to Him. He starts to gently wipe it off with the water and towel. I flinch, tears still streaming down my face. I would feel ashamed by my outburst, but my heart still hurts too much. I can't feel anything besides emptiness and now, the stinging in my hands, torn from the fight with walls that have no qualm with me.

He says nothing for a moment. He lets me just watch as He washes out my cuts and scrapes. I can't speak for a long time. His kindness only brings more pain. If He is this good, there is no one to blame but myself. I've been raising these same fists to anyone that would dare get in the way of me and what I want. It's everyone's fault but my own. Every loss is another reason why I am right and they are wrong, but now, with nothing left to lose, the buck stops here. If I let Him off the hook, there's no one left to blame but myself. What will I do then? Who will I convince that this most recent devastating loss is the wrong way and it should be different? Who will make it better for me? No one.

He seems to be reading my thoughts as He slowly bandages my hands and then starts putting away the medicinal tools. I study His scars again, but differently this time. My cynicism pokes its head again, forming the thought, I guess we all pay a price huh?

He laughs slightly as He hears my ironic thought.

"Yeah, we all pay a price. How true." He sits back against the wall as we both look out at nothing.

"I wish I could make this all go away. I wish I could make this better for you. I can't though. You know that."

Tears starting up again, I nod my head in agreement. I see the wisdom, feel the truth of what He says. I hate it, but I get it.

"Scars are funny things. Some wear them as badges, some wear them as accessories. They can be something to almost take pride in. Hoping everyone will see how brave they were to come through this awful thing. Those are the scars that fade with time, that are small and insignificant. Then there are those that hide their scars, not letting anyone see them, feeling as though they are defective, worse, or cursed because of their scar. They limp along, the pain of the scar greater with everyday."

I understand Him more than I want to admit. I have both kinds.

"Life on this earth will bring you both. There are other scars people know nothing about on me. Ones that came from walking to long on the road, or cutting myself as I was learning carpentry. Everyone faces these sorts of wounds. Some heal properly, some don't. Handling these sorts of wounds is fairly easy. Dab on some ointment and off you go.

"The third type of scar, the ones that really matter, the ones that save lives, that mean change, hope and life, these are different. They are always big enough to be noticed, but healed enough to not hurt every moment of everyday. They can come from your choices, others choices, or My choices. They can come from love, sin or just plain selfishness. What makes these scars so different is not where they come from, but what is done with them. It's what they mean to you, to Me. Trusting me is not a great emotion, not a great choice and sacrifice. Sometimes, when these scars start as wounds, the only differing moment is how much you let me clean them out. It's coming in here, screaming with me and no one else, letting me pour into them, when nothing else makes sense. It's knowing I empathize, I feel your pain and I hold no anger, no frustration, no confusion, demand or manipulation against you."

My hands have stopped hurting while He was talking and I notice for once, I am not crying. I intently listening, feeling His words settle in some deep place. I don't feel better, but I feel heard. I feel understood. That's enough.

"You may not understand right now, and you may not even believe me that this was best. That's okay, I will still be God, even when you don't know it. This sort of scar though. This type you will gain from this is the same type you see on my wrists. It will be a mark where you decided to trust Me, rather than play out your own scenario, choose your own path, or relied on your own understanding. I had to do the same with My Father, and He was right too, as I am now. I didn't know what would happen, how it would happen, I just knew what He had promised me and I had to walk it through. There is always fear in pain, but that doesn't change the need for either. If there were no pain, there would be no change. If there were no fear, you would not need Me."

"But this is all my fault. I messed up so bad. I hate it. I have no one to blame but myself. You were God. I mean You didn't deserve anything You got. Somehow it seems a little more justified for You to be healed, or blessed or whatever. I wake everyday paying the consequences of my actions."

"True. And it may seem hopeless now, but you forget, when I took on Calvary, I took on your fault. I was just as guilty as you. That's the point. I could have blamed myself for even creating the human race and requiring me to sacrifice this much. I could have thought myself selfish for even wanting to be with you and putting you through all of this, but that's not how it works. Somethings you can't understand until you are on the other side. Every time one of my beloved falls more in love with me and knows a greater depth it was worth it. Every time I discipline and it bears fruit of love and joy in that person's life, every time I see a gift opened and it is accepted in all fullness because loss has been known before, it is a sort of joy for me, for that person you can't comprehend. Everything has it's purpose, its time, its rightness and healing. There is nothing lost, wasted, or meaningless in my kingdom, or my heart."

"No offense, but how does that help me now?" I'm frustrated, but really wanting to know. He laughs at my blatantly selfish question.

"Ahhh... out of the mouths of babes. It doesn't. I know. That sucks. All it does is tell you to live and trust me that I know what I am doing. I had planned to redeem you, your life and your mistakes before you were born. Let the scar heal. Let the pain be real, mark you, as mine did me. Let it be a sacrifice to me of trust and belief. I'm not asking for great emotions of overjoyed expression, but I am asking you to let the loss, the pain, the hurt be real enough to mean something to you and to Me. I'm asking you to trust me that it has a purpose and I am working it out. This was the best way, the most effective. I don't make light of it. It is a big deal. It's a hard thing to do. The break you sustained is great, the loss terrible, the brokenness inevitable. I take that seriously. I grieve with you. I hurt with you. There is no part of me that is unaware of the great hole that exists in your heart. But I also make no excuses for myself. I make no justifications. I am mysterious. You won't understand me. You just have to know I am asking you to trust me in the hardest most painful place and that makes it all the more real, all the more meaningful to me and to you. I can't take the pain away, you need it. But I can promise meaning in it. I can promise a scar that will bring a smile to your face for the rest of My life."

I don't speak for a long, long moment. I sit back, close my eyes and cry. I feel Him grab my hand and interlace His fingers with mine. My head falls onto His shoulder as I cry harder. There's nothing left to say. There's nothing left to throw, nothing left to try and change, beg for relief, or questions to ask. He starts humming the tune of "Don't let me go" by the Fray. I laugh just slightly.

Sometimes there is no way out but through. I could daydream for a rescue, but it would change nothing. All I can do is submit to the process, hoping nothing is in vain and the cancer being eradicated never comes back. I can only trust that the way He moves has an economy of action that produces results never imaginable before. I can only let Him have the control, bowing to a greater intellect, a more mysterious path. I wonder slightly what my scar will look like, but then again, that's out of my control. The most I can do at this moment is pray the wound has its way, that nothing is left, no disease is left to grow unhindered again. I can only let the pain have its way and work its magic of scarring and changing. I can only pray nothing, no tear is cried in vain. As I release again, there is no comfort, no bliss, but at least I know I am in good Hands...

What I love....

There is a color the sky turns in the fall I can't explain. It's only when it's raining off in the distance, cloudy everywhere, but there remains a fighting sunshine; when the clouds are low and cover the square mileage of visibility. My earthly dad calls it "panes grey." I call it spectacular. I love that color. I love fall.

Sadness has a way of making me forget what I love.

I decided to finally take a shower somewhere around 3 today. Heavy heart, having been in bed all day (feeling decidedly sorry for myself) I could not give in to a whole day of melancholy and be unproductiveness. I prayed as I got ready, like I do most all day right now. How do I do this right now? I feel a lot like a blank pallet, waiting for someone to draw something, giving me a bigger picture and depth. I'm an etch-a-sketch, having been recently shaken, losing the time and work I put into what I thought the vision was. Interesting how long I can live without all the things I thought I couldn't live without (job, relationship, plan, etc)...

But as I sat in the shower, feeling the hot water hit my face with an almost violence, I heard that same soft voice, "Just enjoy. Enjoy this right now. Just because something else hurts, doesn't mean you can't have joy. Enjoy, guilt free, knowing I have taken care of you and your future. Feel. Feel this joy, feel this goodness, feel this enjoyment of right now. If something is stealing your joy in one way, go find it in another." Huh, I had never thought of that.

So I did. I sat down, turned the water on as hot as I could stand it, and enjoyed.

I felt the cold air of the open window at the same time of the comforting heat of the water. I felt the methodical pounding of the stream ease the knots in my neck and back. I listened to the sound of it hit the top of my head, giving me a surround sound of rain on a tin roof. I smiled. Sadness tried to ease it's way back in, reminding me to feel upset, but then I thought, what's the point? When I get out of the shower, nothing is going to be different, no reality is going to have changed, I can be sad if I want to then. Right now, this feels goooooood.....

After, I got in my car heading to my usual coffee haunt. I looked at the sky and smiled again. I love that color.... I pulled into Pete's got out and was assaulted by the pungent smell of freshly ground coffee. Hhmmmm... I love the smell of coffee...

I bought my tea, sat down and pulled out my computer to blog. I love writing...

I've been waiting for joy to fall like a wet blanket, suffocating my sadness and when it didn't, it meant God wasn't showing up. And if He wasn't showing up now, He never would. I think now I am beginning to realize, He never left or forgot to show up. He's always been here, right in front of my face, in all of the things I love and laugh over, the things that bring me life.

Have you ever been really sad about something, but gotten caught up in a moment of something hysterical and found yourself laughing? There's an immediate moment of almost guilt, as if letting go of that pain for a split second, there's a betrayal against the truth of the moment. Falling back into the grief, the remorse, the hurt, the smile falls from your face and the cloud that blew over for a moment reappears. Yeah, I know that feeling too.

The truth may be though, mourning can be turned into joy. Loss doesn't have to spell disaster. For me, it births the re-enjoyment of what I forgot to love and appreciate along the way.

I love fall. I always have. There's something special about it. I love the TV show House. It's hysterical and cynical and hopeful and it makes me laugh. I love my purse. It's enormous and obnoxious and I can't get enough of it. I love fashion and shopping. I love writing and hoping somehow my thoughts bring comfort to someone else. I love dreaming about my future children and watching my life being turned upside down, finding out everything I thought I wanted wasn't even close to what I need (maybe I do want to be a soccer mom). I love being compassionate and peaceful. I love reconciliation and hope. I love laughing when I should be crying and smiling when I should be angry. I love knowing the Lord won't give up on me. I love feeling His presence in my cup of tea and the chair I am sitting in. I love knowing tomorrow will be another day and as long as I have another day, another breath, another moment, there is still hope. I love being His child and knowing deep in my heart He has said "Dad's got it under control. I got it covered..." and knowing it's true. I love the miracle He has done in my life and being excited for the one He will bring tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. I love knowing He delights in me. I love knowing I can't screw up His plan for me and I can't lose His blessing. I love the adventure of loving Him and watching Him turn my sorrow into joy.

I started studying the story of Jacob when I was around 19. It's always fascinated me. Jacob steals the birthright, then wrestles the Lord for it again. He braces Himself and fairly yells "Bless me!!!" and refuses to settle. His family has been wandering for years, he has the blessing from his father, but it shows itself little in his life. Many believe Jacob was arrogant when he went before the Lord. I don't believe he was. I think he was humble. I think he was humble enough to know he didn't get it, but he wanted to. He wrestled because he knew God would beat him. He knew the Lord was bigger, more true, better, more right, more everything, but it wasn't manifesting in his own life. So he faced off. He stopped running and trying to make it right himself and he threw down. And just as he expected, God won. The power to bless, the power to win, the power to make it right, to explain or not explain, Jacob knew that was the Lord's, so he went and asked for it. Either Jacob was going to know God, or he was going to die trying. Either way. Didn't matter.

I know the feeling. Blessings and miracles come in different forms though. Knowing that fact, wrestling, struggling with God (hence his new name, Israel), and asking for the difference to see and experience the blessing becomes paramount. The fateful pain comes when I box God in and decide that blessing looks a certain way. Then He can't show up. I box God in and He leaves the box, heaping a sense of futility and frustration on me that breaks an already weak faith. Good riddance.

Blessing today looks like enjoying the nose on my face; mostly because I have one. It looks like enjoying not having to go to work, even though I hate that I don't have a job. It looks like feeling loved because it's a cloudy day and I just assume that God gave me a cloudy day to bring a smile to my face. I love my family and friends and their patience with me. Today blessing is laughing at a joke and being thankful for the ability to have another day. It looks like being thankful that I can be thankful. Today it means being thankful my etch-a-sketch is blank, so I can watch Him rebuild the picture from scratch. That's real hope.

As I sit here remembering all the things I love, all the things that make me smile, big and small, the ones I have today and may have tomorrow remembering to enjoy them in this moment, sharing as much space in my heart for joy as I do for sorrow. Remembering to love smelling coffee and rain, feeling the pain of loss knowing it means I will know the joy and of receiving, being excited to watch a rebuilding of a life that He tore down to build back up, these are the blessings I have wrestled for. I have wrestled to know I am chosen and selected for His pleasure and goodness and the joy in the moment tells me how true that is. An open heart to His blessing right now, not tomorrow, not when things all seem right and together, but in this moment, in this moment of fulling enjoying everything He has done and given me, this is the blessing. This is the hope, this is the trust. Enjoying everyday not matter what happens or is going to happen, that's a gift I can't receive enough of.

It's fragile, it's weak, I won't lie. I may not feel it again in two and a half seconds, but right now, right now I do, and that's all that matters. As the power of it takes hold and frees me a little more everyday, I know it will become more and more easy to hold on to, but part of the joy is patience. It's knowing I won't get it right everyday, every moment. I will forget to be happy with the little things and I will blame Him again. I will narrow my vision and put blinders on, dictating a path of happiness I would like Him to create. But again He will come, touch my hip and remind me that joy is outside of my small microscopic view, remind me how little of the picture I see and throw out the breadcrumbs, leading me back to the table at the wedding feast. It will be a lifelong journey, struggle and frustration with my emotions yelling louder than His voice at times, but every second is a new one and every moment is another for Him to remind me how much bigger, more true and better He is.

And as I sit here thinking of all the things I love, I forget to remember to be sad. I laugh out loud at a joke I made and smile at the bumper sticker that says "Envision world peas." I look out the window and feel enveloped by the heavy sky and daydream of a life that includes a family and community that makes the world go round knowing my hearts desires are treasured by Him. I let myself get a little excited about where God's going to take me from here and what He has tomorrow. I dare to hope just slightly, letting myself feel the reality of the promise and blessing I have fought for. And for just a second the fear of the future dissipates, my heart reopens to Him and I feel His smile. "Don't worry, Dad's got it under control. Enjoy your tea. I've got this." I fall into a trust that I haven't known before, a trust that tells me to enjoy this moment no matter what tomorrow brings. I love hope....

The Great Question

If I could ask for anything right now, it wouldn't be a million dollars, it wouldn't be for love, or even to have back what I lost. It wouldn't be for a mansion, or even world peace. Selfishly, I would not ask for the cure to cancer, or AIDS, or that hunger would be eradicated. I may not be Charles Manson, but I am far from Mother Teresa and I don't lie to myself about being either.

If there were anything I could ask for, it would be one thing; one understanding that baffles me now. Here's the scene:

I imagine the Lord sitting in front of me, calmly sipping a cup of black coffee (I suspect He enjoys the taste un-tampered by the need for sugar and cream the way I do), reposed and relaxed waiting as I eye Him suspiciously. We've been playing poker for a while, upping the anti each hand, testing the grounds of bluffing. He's called me out a few times already. My chips are down, but I'm not out yet. Mysteriously, the few times I have down for the count, ready to cash out and run for the door, He lures me back in to the game with more chips, promising to let me win a few and earn back the losses. He says He just enjoys playing with me and doesn't mind. I still suspect there may be an ulterior motive. When I am finally out of money, what will the total really be? I'm a gambling junky already though, so there's no turning back now.

This time the hand is straight five card draw, no wilds. The stakes are high, the pot overflowing. This is for the whole shebang. I've got a crappy hand but there are still a lot of cards out there. I try to size Him up, but He's got His best poker face on. I have no idea where this is going.

He stares at me as He grabs His mug and slowly brings it to His mouth, it reads "WWJD." Last night it was using the "World Peace" one.

He hasn't taken His eyes off me. He knows I know I've got nada. I've got nothing to lose, no where to go and I'm already up to my ears in debt, mortgaging the very body I'm living in. It's borrowed time.

He waits for me to speak, refusing to rush me to my bet, my gamble... my great question. He just sits and lets the adrenaline course through me, taking me from terror to anger, to terror again. I squirm in my seat as He won't break the stare I can feel boring into my forehead as I look down, avoiding His gaze. I hate the feeling of knowing He knows that I know that He knows that I know... or whatever. I should throw my cards down and give up, admitting defeat, letting the "chips fall as they may." My stomach churns. I know He probably won't be mad, I know He will probably love me through, not holding anything against me while speaking kindly to me. I know He is loving and giving, but like Jonah, I hold out. This is not theory anymore. This is not niceties spoken before the game started. This is real. It's now or never.

If I show my cards, if I let Him answer my questions, there will be no more betting, no more game. I know I will lose and I will have nothing left to show for it. All guarantees will be gone, lost in a battle of wills, a battle of who's way is better. I guess I already know, but there is something so unnerving of having nothing left to barter with. Nothing left to hedge my bets on. Nothing left to control... to feel safe in.

I look down at my chips. They feel solid and comforting in my hand. I love being able to decide how and when they get played. I have so much more control, I can give as I please and when I win... well the rush of doing it right, of earning something, it's like a drug, the high taking me to the next foolish bet. The crash comes when I make a foolish decision, bluff the wrong move or just take a chance I shouldn't have and I lose more than I won in the hand before. I'm not very good at this poker game, but at least I control my decisions, right?

I've been losing steadily for a while, His stacks getting fuller and higher with my bad hands and rash bets. We've been going back and forth for a while, question and answer, sparring as the game has gone on. I've seen the wisdom in His answers, His control of the game and His generosity with me. He even let me off the hook when I had an Ace up my sleeve. Never mind He won the hand. His plays have been all over the map, unpredictable and uncompromising. I can't get a handle on His decision making. I can't ever get a grip on the game, anticipating His moves. When I think I know what He's doing, I find myself in over my head. It never makes full sense, but somehow, He always comes out on top. It's more frustrating than I can even comprehend.

This is the last hand though, humbled and beaten by the losses, I've got nothing left but a few chips. It's my few against His many. He's got the cards and I got nothin.

A sigh escapes me as I sit back. I didn't realize I had forgotten to breathe. "I'm scared." I say it plainly, openly. "I don't get it. Any of it. Nothing makes sense anymore."

"I know" He replies. Nothing more, nothing less, but there's compassion in His eyes.

"I suck at this game, but if I don't play, I don't win." My frustration begins to build. "How am I supposed to bet on something I can't see? You're asking me to handle every win, loss blindly and with a smile. There are other players I don't even know are changing the game, You're playing dealer and player, and I'm stuck trying to get a handle and as soon as I do, the hand is over and I'm sending chips Your way and I don't even get an explanation!" I stand up and start to pace. "I try to trust the cards You give me, knowing I'm betting on what could be a losing hand. This seems so unfair, the deck stacked so hard against me. I don't even get a few chips tossed my way for the effort! Come on, doesn't trying get me anything? I thought You cared!" I bring my hands to my head, pulling my hair unconsciously (a nervous habit I have). My voice builds its strength as the injustice begins to pour out in a stream I can't seem to control. "You don't seem to care that I'm losing everything here! Every hand feels like another blow I can't seem to take. I know You keep replacing a few chips each time, keeping me afloat, but when does it stop? When do I get a big win? I'm sweating bullets here and You're calmly sipping Your coffee. I've got nothing here, and I have a sneaking suspicion it never changes. You claim You want better for me, but I can't figure out for the life of me what that looks like! Is it more chips, is it better hands, is it the lessons of how to play better? What do You want from me?! I'm trying here!!!"

I break down into tears as I slump back in my chair, head in my hands, letting the tears drip onto the few chips I have left. They look sad, I know I look sad and that makes me even more upset. Without lifting my face, I croak out "I don't know how to hope."

He's quiet for a long while. I can't figure out what He is thinking, but it doesn't matter anyways. All I can hear is the blood pumping in my head like a dreadful drumbeat. Adrenalin and steam gone, I'm ashamed of my outburst as I start hurting all over, knowing I am not as grateful as I should be for the hands I have won. My little faith, my little love, my little trust feels like a sentence to life imprisonment. It's all my fault and I know it. If I could just be more patient, more faithful... I hear the accusing voices in my head as I wait for His response. I'm vulnerable in my ugly state of cynicism and bitterness.

He puts down His cards slowly. He pushes His mug aside. He pulls out His chair and grabs my hand tugging me over, prompting with a quiet "Come here."

Dejected I climb onto His lap. I can't look Him in the eyes. Instead I just bury my head in His neck and cry quietly. He holds me tight, rocking quietly, patiently. My facade has crumbled, my betrayal is clear. I should feel stupid for my selfishness, for my ungratefulness... and I do, but somehow, I don't think He does. I may be ashamed of myself, but, incredibly, I don't think He is. He understands my dilemma, my frustration, my hurt and anger. He never says a word besides a soft "It's going to be okay." I would normally protest even that, but now, spent from the ups and downs of the game and the eventual explosion of emotion, I let the words sink in just slightly. It only makes me cry harder.

Eventually, my sobs quiet and my sniffles start. "You know how much of a mess You are, right?" He smiles as He says it. I can hear it even though I still haven't lifted my head. A small laugh finds it's way out as I draw a ragged breath. "Uh huh." I hiccup as I lift up my head. "Every thing's so screwed up. I don't know what to do. Where to go from here. How does it ever get better? How do I do this?" Now I'm sitting up, looking at Him, fearing what He may say next.

"You're doing it." That answer surprises me. "There is no other way. You bet, you lose, you get mad, you cry, you come to me, we play again. This is trust. You trust Me by risking the questions. I expect nothing more. How can I? You're right, you can't see the other players hands, You can't see mine and on top of that, there is another who's cheating. There is no easier way, no pattern to help you predict the next outcome. The important thing is we keep playing. Every time you lose and you come back to me, letting me be with you, comforting you, talking with you, loving you, you win. I win. We win. I'm proud of you."

I stare at Him as He talks. He's speaking with a passion I haven't seen directed at me before. It's not the answer I thought I would get, but it's the one that makes more sense. It cleanses me in its truth.

"You may get better at the game, you may not. You may win a few rounds, you may not. But they aren't your chips anyways. You are living on borrowed time, money and hope. You don't deserve it, but that doesn't change anything. You are going to lose my money. If I didn't want to be with you, I wouldn't. I choose you. Every moment, every second I choose you over and over and I will again and would again, no matter what. You are always worth it, even in your worst moments, your worst decisions, your biggest losses. Making better decisions, better bets, winning a few hands, it's never going to change who I am, who you are or our love. Only time and experience will change it, but not the way you think. Time and experience will only deepen it. It will only make it grow, flourish and help take the sting away when you do lose big. It's you and me kid. We're in this together for the long haul. I'm not going anywhere. I sacrificed once and finally for you and if I left just because you got angry, didn't love me back all the time or wasted my chips, what would the point of my sacrifice be? I'm with you and no one is going to stop me... including you."

I feel the weight of His words knowing I can't comprehend all of them. Only time will help me internalize them more and more. I secretly know the only thing that will prove it will be my continuing to fail, proving Him more and more right every time. I apologize ahead of time. He laughs and says He wouldn't have it any other way.

After a moment, I hesitantly look Him in the face and choke out a quiet "I love You." He grabs my face in His hands, brushing back a hair plastered to my forehead from sweat and stress. He looks me in the eyes with a mixture of gentleness, compassion and deep desire. He pulls me toward Him until we are forehead to forehead. He closes His eyes and inhales deeply and with emotion I can feel whispers, "I love you...." My heart constricts.

Finally the intensity of the moment slips away. It was exactly what I needed. He hands me more chips and with a wink says "Go waste my money...."

Everyday is a small journey intermingled with the larger voyage. I hate my failures, but know they don't surprise Him. I hate my unfaithfulness, but know the only way to faithfulness is the constant reminder of the need for grace. I can't ever get this right because I'm not supposed to. If I did, I wouldn't even need Him in the first place. My emotions remind me of how human I am and how great He is. My losses bring me more chances to battle it out with Him, trusting He will win. Every time I'm wrong, He's more right. My rage increases His compassion, my frustration increases His patience and my pride increases His love. And when those things collide, I break. Then I break again, and again and again... He is unchangeable, but I am not and that's all that matters. The only thing I ask is the great question: How do I hope? His answer? "When you can't, you don't. Welcome to the journey my love."

The Story Doesn't End There

It's no coincidence that as the Lord has shown up, I have been able to release the death grip I had on my version of happiness and love. Pealing back on finger at a time, He slowly and as gently as He could, revealed the broken, sad parts in me that so desperately needed to be changed, cleansed, released and ultimately loved. As a greater truth of who I am has mingled with a greater acceptance by Him, slowly the need for another is shed, freeing me to grieve, then release over and over again.

Maybe it's the freedom of admitting my own ugliness, or the desire to hand out the grace I have shown, or maybe it's just His sweet rescue, but moment by moment, His truth becomes more paramount than the messages circumstances bring. He loves me.

I was in the car tonight when another mini-break down occurred. I had known it was brewing, feeling the unease of hearing Him saying something before the thought had fully formed. The last few days, as the Lord has humbled over and over, I have begun to understand that I can't fault others for their decisions. We all walk through this life doing the best we can with the tools we are given. The human race is plagued with the disease of humanness. No one is immune. The bigger part though is realizing, who am I to determine who is doing it right, and who is doing it wrong? Who am I to even determine what is right or wrong? My way may be right for me, but that's just me. Hell, even my way isn't right for me most of the time. We do the best we can to make the most of this crazy life, time and place. The goal is to trust in a heart that loves no matter what.

Practical application becomes sticky though. That's great for everyone else, but don't let it interfere with what I want, right?

I may love someone, I may want to be with them, I may desire nothing more than to share my life with them, but if they don't want those things with me, if they decide they don't want to be with me, who am I to fault them? It's so hard to sit here and say, but it would seem, as the wounds heal and the Lord floods in where someone else leaves, I can't hold someone else's decision against them just because it hurts me. It doesn't make him a bad person that he didn't love me... no matter how much I would love to point the finger and make myself feel better, I can't. I'm no fool. If you don't want to be with someone, you just don't want to be with them. It's not that complicated, it's not that hard to understand. In fact, the simplicity of it is probably what hurts the most.

But no matter what, I can't blame someone else for not loving me. I guess part of me knows I can say that out of place of hope. Somehow, I know the heart of my Father is the same. No rejection can take that away. No loss, no circumstance, no fear, no reality can ever speak more loudly than the Voice of the One that walked out of Heaven to love me in reality and life. He doesn't know how to be frivolous and would be even less so with my heart. If I gave it and it was returned undesired, there is a grander purpose, a better reason, and one day, I will know why. Until then, I have to sit in a trust that goes beyond circumstances, to a commitment that says I believe You...

I can release, knowing there is no fault to lay down at someone's feet, there is only the supernatural hope He offers. No one is to blame, if this was not the relationship to take me into the rest of my life, than there is another and one day, I will know it. I will appreciate it more. I will love even deeper, treasure more, speak more softly, honor and respect more, knowing what a precious gift it is to be given the gift of love from another.

I know the memories will fade with time, stirring less and less sweet feelings with the vivid pictures. They already have. I know I won't always feel as though there is a piece of me missing; thankfully that's already starting to heal. I know I will love again, seeing a redemption beyond imagination and give the gift of myself in full grace and knowledge, joyfully moving forward, having healed from a loss, having known a Great Rescue.

I can't explain away all of the "I love you's," the promises of forever, the magic that seemed too good to be true. I don't know how to justify the love that was there and now gone. I wish I could, but somehow I know, deep down, if I could, it wouldn't matter anyways. I'll never know why God let me love the way I did to watch it go down in such spectacular flames. I struggle to understand how to explain away the deep love I had for him and that amazing feeling of walking into a love I thought was only made for movies. I have a hard time contemplating why we both used to feel so privileged to have found the love we had, only to find it was all for some grander purpose of loss.

I keep listening to other people's stories, hearing the way they talk about their relationships, their marriages, their love's and I empathize if only because I have now experienced that love, that sort of miracle. It had always been this sort of vague, idea of what it could be like, then when I found it, everything everyone ever said clicked. I got it. I guess I always thought when I did find that, it would be forever. I guess I was wrong. Maybe, as he said as he was walking away from me, it was more real for me than for him. I can't argue with that, and I won't. I will never understand why the Lord let me know that while the other was not in it with me. I had always desired, that when I loved that way, it would be the love of a lifetime, not a short time.

Maybe it was for the grace that has wounded me or maybe it was to prepare for another place, time, person, or relationship, I don't know. All those reasons seem a little hallow and out of place, as if what was there is so easily minimized now, but then again, who am I to say? I can't comprehend the mind of a God that would ingeniously come up with the idea of wrapping Himself in humanity and dying on a cross for me to know Him. I won't put anything past that sort of creativity. He has a plan bigger than my expectations of what I want, or wanted my life to look like. That can't dictate my belief in His heart for me based on whether or not I like my life at that moment. If I start there, it is a slippery slope ending with a weak faith and a poor vision of who He really is. No person should be bigger than He is. No one thing, person, or event should have the power to be louder than Him. That's just not reality.

I didn't do it perfectly, but I loved fully and saying goodbye to someone I loved so much is so incredibly hard, but it's something I can't fight. The love I gave wasn't what they wanted, for whatever reason, and for no fault of theirs. But as my mother likes to say, "The story doesn't end there."

We often presume that trust will dispel the confusion, illuminate the darkness, vanquish the uncertainty, and redeem the times. But the crowd of witnesses in Hebrews 11 testifies that this is not the case. Our trust does not bring final clarity on this earth. It does not still the chaos or dull the pain or provide a crutch. When all else is unclear, the heart of trust says, as Jesus did on the cross, "Into Your hands I commit my spirit" (Luke 23:46).

- Ruthless Trust, Brennan Manning

Waking from Sleep

Repentance feels a little like waking up from a long sleep. As if I had been sleep walking through my life for the past while, forgetting what really made me tick for so long. Everything in the world became more important than the God I serve.

As I'm waking up, I keep having to readjust to the bright light. Memories flash through my mind, words I said, things I did, ways I treated those I loved so much. They hurt my eyes. Many times a day I find myself hanging my head in regret, wishing I could capture back those moments. Please tell me this is a bad, bad dream....

No such luck. This is life. This is what pride begets: regret. Oh Lord, forgive this ragamuffin.

He takes me back through my misdemeanors and high crimes, gently walking me through every moment, helping me see the ultimate travesty, a motivation based only on self. Every moment of false love, of the right words spoken at the wrong time, the truth shrouded in self-righteousness. Times if congratulatory self-deception. Wasn't I a good little girl... A perfectly clanging gong pealing out a desperate plea for love and approval. Ironic. I spent so long, so much energy, so much testimony impugning others, patting myself on the back for a job well done, all the while, moment by moment I lost more and more of myself. I worked so hard to "find myself" I lost what was the best of me in a deep addiction to approval and the need to feel good.

I couldn't hear anything. I couldn't hear how I had broken others, I was too busy protecting myself from the horror of being a horror. I couldn't admit to my brokenness, I was too busy fixing myself. I couldn't risk being wrong, just in case I really was.... if I was, who would love me then? If I have nothing to recommend myself on, why is there a reason to love me?

I had forgotten the message of deep abiding grace. I forgot that I was right all along. The truth I was running from was the very truth I needed to succumb to. I wasn't good enough. I never would be. I was terrible, wrong and unlovable. I was an awful version of a Christian: a hypocrite. Nothing I was going to do was going to change that. Pride kept me running, and need kept me broken with no repair.

The worst fact of all was the one I revel in now. Oh how awful I am. What a ragamuffin, prideful, selfish, unacceptable, terrible person I am. How wonderful.

A deep sense of peace and freedom rushes in as I feel these words wrap around myself. Finally, no more running, no more justifying, no more exhausting sleepless nights trying to excuse inexcusable actions. How restful to throw myself at the feet of mercy and stop fighting a losing battle. Oh Lord, how tired I am.

I don't even want to move forward, or backward, or anywhere. Can I just be ugly for now? Let me sit here and be ugly, be terrible and selfish and rude and for once make no attempt to change it. I am powerless to a sinful nature, to flesh that seems to win every battle. I have no goodness, I have nothing to offer. Nothing. I am but a dirty rag in the presence of brilliance and I don't have the energy to try and change it. I'm done for a while.

I've stopped wearing makeup. I stopped dressing up. I wear my ripped jeans, my tee-shirts and my hair pulled back in a ponytail, everywhere I go. Trying to make even my physical appearance somewhat presentable is out of place and awkward. If I could get away with sackcloth, I probably would do it. I have to force myself to shave and wax, if only because I don't need humiliation on top of humility. Why gild the lily? (A small 'chortle' exits me as I write this. Well at least I have my sense of humor intact).

I got a tattoo Monday. It sits across my ribs on the right side, hidden from view. It says "Grace must wound." The guy who did it said it was boring. I told him what I wanted and he kept giving me this flowy, showy crap. It was all bold and whatnot. It took an hour and me having to almost grab the pencil from his hand to get the idea across to him. "Simple dude. Simple. Just script. Like you would write it on a piece of paper. This isn't some gang-bangers homage to a fallen homie (no offense). No capital letters, no dramatic movements from top to bottom. I may look like a girl, but really, I'm a broken soul that wants to remember how broken she is. Give it to me straight." He looked at me like I was a waste of his time and efforts. Yeah, well, get in line. I laughed a lot that day. He thought I was crazy. I thought it was beautiful.

I look at it everyday. I smile every time I do. It sits in the same place I assume Thomas stuck his finger in Jesus' side. It reminds me that every moment of everyday I have to stick my finger in His side, remembering a grace that must wound. I look at it and remember the grace that has wounded me. I smile thinking of all the times I have let pride enter and have broken myself and others in the process. It reminds me to be thankful for His unrelenting grace. I am so thankful it will chase me down and never, ever let me remain prideful. I look at it and ask Lord, please, break me to know how You were broken. Lord, please break my legs like the Great Shepherd You are to carry me on Your shoulders home. Let the pain be a reminder of what I do when I forget You.

I never knew how beautiful being poor in spirit, being needy, being desperate, being ashamed, hopeless, weak and aware of my own ugliness could be. I love it. It's a feeling of freedom deeper than I have ever known. It's a victorious rest. It's a defeated rest. I guess its just rest.

I have no idea where I will go from here. What He will do. I just know I don't want to know. I don't want to predict. I don't want to be in charge anymore. For once, my growth, my development, my goodness is not dependent on me. I am full of everything that has to be purged and can create nothing of worth on my own. I am a hapless, helpless soul, just happy to be in the presence of someone that doesn't care.

I'm the prodigal son walking home, getting to the gate, feeling the reassurance of safety before his father even sees Him. I'm just happy to be back on familiar, safe ground. I can't screw up anymore and there is some comfort in rock bottom. At least there is no farther to fall. It's not as bad down here as I thought, I guess once I stop fighting it. Actually, it's kinda nice. There is a Presence in it, a hope, a sort of security I have been searching for a long time for. No one else may be here with me, but the only One that matters is.

The door to the house is still far off, almost out of sight, but the gate I just entered back through is familiar. I don't want any attention right now, I don't want the servants gathering around, I don't want a feast. I just want to sit by the gate that boundaries my Fathers property and sit. I want to prop myself up against the fence in my rags and tattered clothing, still smelling of muck, and take a nap knowing for once, I am out of the reach of torment. Soon I am sure I will have the energy to enjoy a feast, but for now, for now I just want to sit and watch the clouds move, thankful I got here alive. It's been a long journey and before I go to see what My Father has for me, before I can even receive His love, or His scorn, I just want to rest. I want to fall back asleep and this time, not wake up to a different reality, but for once, wake up knowing exactly where and Who's I am.

The Road Less Taken

"...until you find someone as open and brave as you, you're just going to have to get used to going it alone." Preach it Glee.

Even though this may have been said in response to an openly gay man on a Fox program, the sentiment rings true. Sometimes in life there are people that can't appreciate the direction you are going.

At some point there comes a road crossing in everyone's life. There are two and only two choices: the easy or the less easy path. Both will lead to some endpoint, both will bring sadness and joy, both will require a beating heart and some level of grace and hope. Most likely they will be filled with marriage, children, homes, jobs, struggles, failures, death, loss and many more ups and downs. You may live three houses down from your childhood home, or thousands of miles away in small hut. The details of paths are yet to be seen, known or even predicted, but that's part of the decision of the paths.

Robert Frost said he took the road less traveled and it made all the difference. I'm hoping he is right.

The harder path, for me, is not choosing to have faith, that is a gift I cannot produce outside of myself. It is not to have joy in every circumstance, I am not capable of conjuring such in my moments of grief. It is not to wave the flag of some higher call that I can't accomplish, or to me a martyr for a worthy cause. The choice is in asking the Author of the Path to never let me settle. It's to know my own heart and it's inability to love without His goodness. The choice is to beg, plead, to wait on His reality to show me my great need for Him. It is to be wounded for grace. The path is to ask to be made so desperate all I can do is fall at His feet. The choice is to accept every scar, every loss, every tear streaked night, every arrogant day and every bad choice as His active love choosing to not let me rest until I know His deep forgiveness, love and grace. The choice is to ask Him to never let up on me, even when I am screaming, pounding the floor, angry at everything that moves, when the weight of loss is so great and I am begging for a mercy of rescue that is less than His perfection. It is to say "this may hurt, this may rip, this may tear, but show me. Do what you have to, to take remind me of my need of You." Wound me, wound me please, as long as it brings me more knowledge, more hope, more foundation of You. Please. Please have a mercy on me that breaks my heart into a million pieces, as long as You put them back together. Render me for You and You alone. Please, don't give up on me. Never. Don't let me sit in my pride. Please.

The memories of callous words, terrible selfishness and failure to see another's heart are the bitter/sweet reminders of a God that won't let me sit in unrest. He requires a repentance that cleanses, an awareness of my need that brings me to my knees, a hope that won't settle for a fear ridden reluctance of that hope. They are the daily reminders to be honest with myself, with Him and admit to my own failures in a desperate attempt to plead for mercy.

In return, the knowledge of His presence, His closeness, His grace, His hope, the great gift of faith given from Him to me. In replacement of those troublesome places, there is a settled in stillness that let's me know these gifts from the Father of Lights, they are not created, nor tainted, nor earned by me. They are just as they are described, given from a heart that can't help but give them. They are given from a heart that does not know how to do anything but Love.

It's a lonely road. It's a long and lonely road filled with doubts, fears, insecurities and risk. It's a hard road, asking for such great grief to breed such great joy. It's scary, placing my heart in the hands of an unseen God, praying for rescue when I know I don't deserve it. It's frightening trusting His heart over my circumstances. It's difficult, not knowing who in my life will appreciate my great need. Who will understand and who will think me crazy, difficult, or just plain off? Who will accept me, and who will be a victim to my insecurities that He has to root out? I can already name one I loved dearly become a victim of my lack of awareness and humility. I can only pray not many follow.

It's a lonely road, knowing the desire of my heart to know Him so deeply will only be appreciated by a few. I wonder what He has for me down the road.

But I have to know, the God I love does nothing frivolously. He never wastes a heart. He will never take lightly my requests and my heartache. I may end up three houses down, in London, or Lodi. I may end up alone, with family, career or no career. Even if it looks like a lifetime of being the most feared of all; a soccer mom with a minivan (please take no offense), it will be a life lived well in the Kingdom. Or even if I never know love again, the heartache, the hurt, the beauty of what it was will never be lost, or trivialized by Him. He will redeem forever and ever and ever amen.

The choice, the path is not for a place, a person or a career. It's for a deeper knowledge, it's for a hope, grace and love not based on me, but on Him. It's a decision to let myself settle into pride, arrogance and selfishness. It's a desperate cry for change, for an ability to live beyond myself, to never hurt those I love again the way I have in the past. It's to be changed deeply, greatly and abundantly by the Love of God so much I always remember how poor in spirit I truly am. How unable I am to love properly, to care properly to be authentic with those around me. It is to depend on Him for my dependence.

For now, it's a little lonely, but it's a different sort of loneliness than I have known before. It's not a loneliness of rejection, not good enough, or of lack of something in me. It's a loneliness of choice, of hope. It's a road ahead filled with unknowns, but knowing He has already laid it out. It's a loneliness of knowing I will screw it up repeatedly and fail everyday. And though I agree with the sentiment noted from Glee above, it is not a brave choice I make, it's a needy one. It's a desperately selfish decision to need a God more than I need breath and pray He shows up to fill the empty places. It's inherently selfish, to hope for a heavenly hope. The great thing is, He doesn't care. He will take whatever motivation works to get me at His feet. But never, ever, am I doing it alone.

The Chicken or the Egg

What comes first, the chicken or the egg? I'm not sure either, but the question is more relevant than you would think.

What comes first, my faith, or the Lord's grace? Repentance, or forgiveness, which comes first?

Friday night, I broke. My heart, my faith, my hope, everything broke under the weight of my incredible need and fear. I was driving home with my mother from my nephews moto-race and I couldn't take it anymore. I started sobbing, crying out in prayer. In a humbling moment, I could no longer pretend I was doing okay. My faith was on it's last let, my hope obliterated, despair deep, heart rendered.

It wasn't because of a break up though, it was because of my own shame, my own guilt, my own anger, fear and hopelessness. I didn't have the faith to believe God was still good. I didn't have the hope to expect in good things. I didn't have the strength to not question His will, His presence, His desire to even show up for me. Was this it? Was it going to be a lifetime of losing and having nothing, not even Him show up in return? I needed something, anything a drop of hope, a split second of relief, I needed rescue; a great, undeserved, unexplainable, unshaking rescue. And on top of that, I didn't even really believe it would show up.

Faith like a mustard seed.

Sometimes, the best we can do is show up. I'm not talking about church on Sunday, I'm not talking about the weekly prayer session, or even opening my Bible. I'm talking about plainly showing up with my dirty rags of misfaith and fearing to even hope He will be there to accept them. Is this real? Oh please, let it be.

A deep moment of humbling comes when the need is greater than the faith is real and present. This life, this world, this body keep me from seeing past to the greatness of His grace and love, so the best I can do is pray He takes me from the valley to the mountain. The best I can do is ask for rescue. Helpless, powerless and worthless, the only answer can be the only hope.

I stopped crying after that. I started to slowly calm down, take deep ragged breathes and hiccup a few times. A deep settling in my spirit happened. I was aware of who I was, what I needed and how great my desperation was. My only hope, my only real hope, was going to hinge on whether or not He showed up.

The next morning, I got up, hurting but functional, grabbed my two Bibles, the book I have been reading, my laptop and my journal and camped out at Pete's for about 3 hours.

I started reading about love, hope and faith. Which was which? Which comes first and how do they work together? The questions weren't important. For the first time in years, hunger for the Scriptures, knowledge of Him, great Grace, was more important than anything else. I needed to know, I needed to feel, I needed to see.

There were no angelic encounters, no words from heaven, no writing on the wall, but for the first time in years, I believed in something greater than a circumstance. I was able to hope, I was able to have faith, I was able to see myself and accept myself, humbled in my own destruction, loved by His incredible acceptance.

It wasn't a movement to Mt. Sinai, but it was just as great. I'm still hurting, everyday is a battle to remember is His good heart for me, to hope for something greater and to believe that a heart is never wasted... including mine. The difference now is, I have the ability to believe. I have the ability to hope, to have faith that brings me back to knowing no circumstance is frivolous.

I'm scarred and marked to remember, I am rarely right, good, or unselfish. I am humbled to know I hurt those I love out of selfish ambition, forgetting that I am the least of these.

Grace has wounded by a forgiveness that met me before I knew I needed it. Repentance for unfaithfulness has come in spite of my unfaithfulness. Whether or not I know acceptance, grace, mercy and love are there, does not change the fact that they are. Whether or not I have the faith to see and believe them does not diminish them. Neither does my ignorance, selfishness or unfaithfulness change His desire to lavish them on me.

His grace, His love, His acceptance is not based on me and my actions. They would no longer be those things if they were. My peace and hope comes not from my ability to conjure them, but because He had enough grace and love for me to make me aware of my need for them. His faith gave me faith to have faith.

So what comes first? I don't know, am I the chicken or the egg?

Kicking the Puppy

Humility is a surprisingly hard concept to accept. It has all these applications in everyday life I really don't like.

I have been doing more and more study on what grace and real love looks like. The book Ragamuffin Gospel has been recommended more than once to me, so I picked up the other day and started reading. Needless to day, I was astounded by what I was reading.

It seemed the book had been authored for me alone. The message is simple, clear, yet astoundingly deep and functional in it's application. Without presupposition, he states it clearly: "The sweet sound of amazing grace saves us from the necessity of self-deception. It keeps us from denying that though Christ was victorious, the battle with lust, greed and pride still rages within us."

Being saved does not mean I am exempt from the ability to reek absolute destruction in the world around me. No one wants to admit it, but we are all capable of kicking the puppy.

Even after having "said the sinners prayer" and accepting Jesus into my heart, still I can rage, lie, be unrepentantly selfish, act with disregard and disdain for those I love. I still have carnality coursing within me. We all do.

No matter what dressing we put on it, no matter how we try to cover it, we try to deceive ourselves and fool those around us, it can't be denied. Ironically, its the denying that allows it to survive so easily. Out of sight, out of mind does not cure. It sweeps it under the rug and makes me feel like I am living exactly what I am living, a giant play act.

Thankfully, the Savior is not surprised by these facts. He is not stunned by bad behavior and evil intentions. He is not daunted by ugly acts and my ability to absolutely ruin something beautiful He entrusts to me. He still looks at me and says "Ready for dinner? The guests are arriving. Go wash up."

"But however much sin increased, grace was always greater; so that as sin's reign brought death, so grace was to rule through saving justice that leads to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." (Romans 5:20-21)

I know the temptation to immediately counter with "Hey though, remember, we can't stay there. We don't test grace with sin." Of course not. But jumping the gun, moving so fast past the awesome grace, moves me straight into the denial of that very grace by putting boundaries on it. All of the sudden in becomes a tight-rope walk of which becomes greater: God's grace, or my ability to bear down and prove that grace by acting right? I shouldn't have to even say which one is stronger.

It's risky isn't it, trusting nothing but the grace of God? Admitting that I am nothing without the grace of God, that I can only play act so long, that I can only be good enough for so long without completely screwing something up, that seems so defeating. It feels so hopeless, knowing I can fix nothing. There are no guarantees when the control is out of my hands.

By the grace of God, I am brought low. I am reminded of my inability and my need. I am brought to my knees at seeing my own destructive behaviors. As I watch the puppy whimpering on the ground from my crushing blow, my soul and heart are crushed by the weight. Then, on top of that, I have only a mustard seed of faith, dirty rags of barely enough belief in Him to get me through a day to offer Him in sacrifice for my actions. Haltingly, I cry out "Save me! I believe, help my unbelief!"

All I have to offer Him is my desire to believe, I desire to know, my desire to be broken by His unimaginable grace. Let me fail so I will see, if that is need be. Grace must wound, as great St. Augustine once stated.

In the story of Jonah, the town of Ninevah comes to believe when they hear Jonah proclaim the news of their near devastation. Word reaches the king and he rips off his robe, putting on sack-cloth, sitting in ashes prostrating himself before a God his people have not know. He excepts their impending doom, simply stating: maybe this God, if we prostrate ourselves, will turn His heart and decide to not destroy us. There is pleading in his words, but acceptance in His actions. Hope in knowledge, but sorrow in sin. The Lord is moved and does not bring their destruction.

It's one of the most beautiful pictures of the encounter between sin, humility and grace. In between the sin and the grace came the moment of prostration. The word leaves Jonah, "Your actions deserve death." The option comes from the Lord. Here's your moment of choice: how will you handle this? The city of Ninevah broke. They allowed themselves to be broken. They saw themselves for what they were, didn't make any excuses and purely and unabashedly cried out for rescue... and He did.

Grace came and rescued.

Jonah on the other hand was embittered by this. The grace shown them was an affront to him and his sacrifice to bring the word. "What?! Are you kidding me? You brought me here for THIS?! I KNEW this was going to happen! This is so like You! I want the city destroyed! Come on!!!" So he went and sat outside the city waiting for just that.

I love the Lord's response. He raises a tree over Jonah's head. It grows and shades him. He basks in the beauty and loves the tree. Still though, he seethes, waiting for the destruction of a city, since he deserves that. Then God destroys the tree. Take away the last thing that kept Jonah feeling justified, refusing to acknowledge that the entitlement of His people did not excuse them from the need for humility and grace.

The Savior does not let Jonah sit comfortably in his own arrogance, his own desire to be right, to have what he wants more than what is good and right. God is too good to keep letting Jonah from being humbled and brought low. It's a reckless love, ferocious and unyielding He offers, but it is also complete and perfect.

So here I sit, wondering how many times I have been Jonah and how many times I have been Ninevah. As I read, I look back down at the puppy, take off my robes, put on sack-cloth and prostrate on the ashes saying "Hosanna, this is the destruction I bring. Save me. I have destroyed what You have given. Oh Lord, oh Savior, oh Beautiful One, please, have Your way. I'm so sorry."

I know the only safe place I exist, the only place that will heal the wounds I have caused, that will rebuild the walls I have torn down, that will forgive me for the destruction I can cause, is in the presence of the only One who not only sees it all, but accepts me anyways. He's also the only one that can save me from it.

Oh Grace, abound. Abound in me. Transform me in humility, thankfulness and need. Bring me Your will Lord. Oh Hosanna, God of Second chances, scar and mark me for good. Change my heart and let me see Your grace and depend on it for my very breath. Make me slow to speak, abounding in grace for others, love for You and acceptance of my own humanity. Let me see life through untainted eyes and never, ever let me deceive myself again. Remind me everyday of the destruction I can bring and Your ability to save me from it. Oh Savior, save.....

Drowning

You would think that having someone look at you and say they don't want you anymore would do something to your heart, maybe help stop the flow of love and wanting to be with them. And for about a night it did, the next day was another story.

It's not his fault, but somehow, his unaffected nature and his indifference do nothing to comfort me now. All it does is make the memories sharper, the love I once knew more pronounced against the loss now. It heavies the weight on my chest, constricting my airways forcing me to remember how to breathe.

Foolish, isn't it? Loving someone that is so over me. It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase "unrequited love."

I keep running the memories through my mind trying to figure out exactly when I lost his love. When the moment came that he decided. How long was I a blind fool? How long was I moving forward by myself, unaware of his departure? How long before my control broke the back of his commitment?

The desire to justify it, to tell myself it's his fault, to blame him for the change in his heart, the choice he made, is strong. I want it to soften the blow, like telling your best friend "he was just intimidated by you." We all know, the excuse falls just short enough to not matter. It won't bring him, or his desire for me back.

I wanted to believe we were more than something to give up so easily on. Maybe to me, we were. Maybe to me we were worth going through and fighting to keep the love alive, and maybe at one time, we were to him as well. Not anymore though. The hard part, the really HARD part? Every conversation, every memory, every realization brings me only closer to knowing how much I love him, how much I would love to spend a life loving him, how much I would want at least someone just like him, except that wants me back.

After all the BS, after all the crap, after knowing him and his antics more and more everyday, after seeing the smoke clear and my actions against his actions, I think I'm falling in love with him more... still. Everyday more and more I appreciate who and what he was, I see my life without him and what he brings and it breaks me. Don't get me wrong, I don't make excuses for him, I don't glorify his actions, I don't think he handled things well and I don't know if I would ever be able to trust him and his words again, but somehow, that doesn't take away from a love for him still sits on my heart like an anchor. I can't die, but still, I drown. The vision of his heart, of who he really is, of the man I know he is in spite of his lack of love for me now, haunts my dreams. Three weeks later I still wake up grasping at imaginary visions, tears streaming, wishing I could go back to sleep.

Everyone around me says the same sentiments you would expect, they excuse me and blame him. They love me, so he's the villain. What would you expect from your mom, sister and best friends? Once though, just once I would love to have one of them look at me and go "Yeah, you screwed up. You tried, but you screwed up and it hurts. It's going to hurt. When we love something, and lose it, then realize what a fool we were, it hurts. You can't do anything about it, but you will survive, and you will love again."

I tell myself that, but somehow it doesn't have the same power. Nothing does. He's gone and with him, everything I wanted.

I'll never understand why God let me fall in love so deeply, to trust so completely, to have so much grace and desire for one person, accept maybe so that I would understand His unrequited love for me and His bride. It does bring a new light to it. Desire makes all the difference in the world, doesn't it? We can fake it, like he did with me, for as long as we want, but if the love, the desire isn't there, eventually it will fade into the "forcing it" category. We'll go to church, take communion, and leave the bulletin on the chair and then off to Sunday brunch.

We forget that the first and greatest commandment was to "... love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength." (Mark 12:30) What part of that says anything about with your "duty" your, "Sunday best" with your "time" or with your "money?" All of those things are included there, but the first thing Jesus points out is the heart. The heart. I say again, the heart.

You can't love someone, or something fully, dedicated and committed without the heart. And opposed to popular thought, the heart isn't some metaphysical idea of transcendence and thought and will. It's exactly what it says. The heart. It's the center of love, care, tenderness, beauty, romance. It's the part of us that loves it when whispers are spoken in a quiet moment with the one you love, or having a hair brushed back from your face sweetly, or having a friend so close when they hurt, you feel it too. It's the part of us that desires. The part that doesn't want to live without, that would sacrifice anything to keep that beauty intact.

I say all of this, because for the first time in my life, I know what it must feel like when I just "show up" in my relationship with the Lord. I understand that if I can feel this deeply in love with someone that doesn't share that feeling with me, how it must hurt to be as close to me as breath and still have me ignore Him. Watching the man I love work so hard to get rid of me he almost strains himself explaining he doesn't want a future with me and the anguish that brings, I get a small taste of what it must be like every time one does the same thing to Him.

I lost 2 and 1/2 years, He has spent the history of the world writing a love story for me that I regard as part of my "duty" to read. Watching someone else walk away, for the first time, I turn around and realize what I haven't lost.

I was in worship at church on Monday. The pastor's daughter is a classically trained pianist and she will start with a worship song, then just rip into the piano for an hour. It's her worship, and now, it's mine as well. While I was sitting there, I imagined myself in front of the Lord. What He would be saying, what He would be doing with me. I saw Him pull me into a hug, watching His blood seep through His clothing, into my clothing, then into my wounds. I cried with my head on His shoulder, as He just held me whispering "I know, I know... I know...."

I know how hard it is to try to conjure love. I know how hard it is to make yourself fall in love with someone. I know how it feels to watch someone lose it for you, but I do realize, as combustible, organic and powerful love can be, it takes a few first steps.

I've spent a long time asking the Lord to show me how to fall in love with Him. I've asked and challenged Him, wondered what would happen if I pushed Him away enough. Would He still be there? How much did He really love me? How real was it? How authentic, or was it just because He had to? Was I just part of the crowd He died for, or could I have something more than that?

I guess more than ever I realize how much love is a choice. It's a choice to believe someone. It's a choice to believe the best, to force yourself to ask them the hard questions, like the ones listed above. It's about opening the door of communication, if only by asking the object of your affection the real cause behind their actions. I may have to wrestle with God to find out why the bad things happen, but while I am preoccupied with those questions, He takes the time to answer the ones I forgot to ask. He speaks and somehow, the world is set right again. The point is, I asked. I opened up, I trusted Him to even answer. I have to throw my fears at Him and see what He does.

I can't remember if the object of my affection ever tried that with me. He probably did and I handled it badly. But that only reenforces my thankfulness in the grace of God. I couldn't be more aware of my need, my dependency and my hope in Him. I screwed up. Big. But I have to believe the God of second chances isn't going to leave me here. I have to believe that my heart, though it loved faulty but completely, will be honored. Not just with a great marriage someday to a man that is wants to see past my failings and still love me, but with a love for my Savior that surpasses what I have now. I want to know and see Him more. I want to love him with all of my heart. I want to desire Him more than I desire an earthly love. I don't want His love to always be unrequited, even if mine for someone else, is.

I know one day, I will finally drown. Whether it's in a few days, a few weeks, a few months, or on the other side of eternity, one day the pain of loss will dull, the memories will fade and I will stop waking up in tears before the day starts. I know one day the knowledge he doesn't want me will fade in comparison to the fact the Jesus does. One day I will stop crying and start laughing, but for today, for right now, I curl up in bed, doing the bare minimum to stay afloat and wait it out. I cry, read, pray, write and cry all over again. I love without words or touch, praying he finds happiness and peace. I watch the leaves turn and pray the winter brings more life than fall and I let myself drown.

He's Just Not That Into You

Along with all of the other epiphanies lately, I have stumbled on to another one. Maybe it's the freedom of admitting to my own culpability in the demise of the relationship, or maybe it's realizing I put so much need on whether or not he wanted me, I forgot to worry about whether or not I wanted him. Granted, I had already decided I did, but with new information, things change, don't they?

I stumbled onto the movie He's Just Not That Into You and it inspired me to reread the book itself. I skipped the portions that didn't matter and went straight to the chapter on "If He's Not Marrying You, He's just not that into you...." Huh. Ding! Ding! Ding!

My head lit up like a giant lightbulb. I may have wanted him, I may have had my moment of desire, I may have loved with everything in me, but he didn't. He just wasn't that into me. I wanted to take the great plunge, swimming through the shark infested waters of commitment and he stopped short. For whatever reason, no matter who's fault, he decided he didn't want me for a lifetime. Somewhere in between "Hello my name is..." and "Yes, I do" my faults, my idiosyncrasies, my failings weren't enough to outweigh my good points and he decided I wasn't it.

Okay, that hurts. Ouch. Heartbreak happens. Not everyone is going to agree with my mom at how fantastic I am. When it's someone you love and have chosen to accept for their faults, it hurts that much more, but then again, I'm not the first or the last that will have their heartbroken.

The thing is, I can't let it tell the story of me. I got rejected. Okay, get over it. I know, sounds harsh, right? And maybe 36, 48 or 72 hours after, that reality felt like the core of me was being thrown back to the wolves, but at the end of the day, it still doesn't define me. It can't. If I let it, I will never get out of it.

So I lost another 2 and a half years to Mr. Wrong, but life goes on. Better now than two years into marriage, him still looking for a reason to get out. That ends in even worse territory.

It may be unfair, it may seem unreal, it may seem like it happened overnight, I may want to blame him, myself and everyone else in the world, but that's not going to get me out the door and living my life again. Yeah, I hate starting over, I hate giving myself so wholly and loving so completely and watching it end up on another page of sad stories, but what can I do? Sitting in my bed, eating Sweet Affair chocolate chip cookies, remembering all of the good times, pining after what happened isn't going to bring him back, it isn't going to return my time, love and heart. It's only going to return the 25 pounds I worked so hard to lose.

Besides, main point: why should I want someone that doesn't want me? I loved him with all my heart, I let him in, I chose him and he may be a great guy, he may have been the love my life, I may wish it turned out differently, but lets be honest, what part of who I am says its okay to want someone that doesn't want me? When did I turn into the desperate girl that has to be defined by the man in her life? If I wasn't before him, I shouldn't be now.

I'm defined by so much more than what we had. I'm defined by a different Love. He may not want me, but Someone else does. The great thing is, the One who does has already dedicated His life to me for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, till death do we not part.

I may have screwed up and failed in the way I loved him, I may have squeezed the life out of him, and I may have the capability of the same sort of destruction in me that Charles Manson has, but then again, we all do. There is nothing so heinous, so ugly, so terrible in me that sets me aside as unlovable. Even though I may not have been worth the work for him, that doesn't mean I won't be for someone else.

Sure, there is always a risk of never finding the right guy that will take all I am, the fire, the passion, the control, the angst, the energy, the fear, the joy, the frustration and be willing to choose to love it all... but hey, that's life. Nothing is guaranteed anyways. So callous that sounds, so harsh, but really, think about it, I'm guaranteed nothing besides the gift of salvation by faith and grace. So if nothing else, I may never meet him here, but this is a temporary life. I've got my eye on the prize, and to the Maker of the World, I'm already His treasure. I don't want to have to be beautiful everyday, I just want someone that's happy I call them mine, and he calls me his. Whether or not I will know that it earthly form though, I have it all the greater for eternity.

I used to say the love I knew gave me wings. It made me feel like I could do anything. I loved him for that. I loved him for how much he accepted me. I loved him for how much I accepted him (even though that sound weird, it works, trust me). That came up short though. You can't go farther than the other person and where I wanted to learn to go deeper, accept more, he pulled up short. Not his fault. I just wasn't his cup of tea. Sucks for me and what I lost, but, let's be honest, once someone stops accepting you for who you are, where is there to go?

Love is one of those powerful things that seems to start combustibly. Out of no where with seemingly no prompting it jumps at you and over powers. It's also one of those strange phenomenon that once the machine starts pumping, it actually takes work from an outside source to keep it moving. Usually it's the two people in it that have to keep the kinetic energy working. The fuel, or oil, or whatever you want to call it for the momentum needed, becomes choice. It becomes acceptance and grace, commitment and forgiveness. If one half of the machine stops working or refuses to pump out its portion, no matter what, the whole damn thing is going to come to a screeching halt.

Point is, why love someone that doesn't love you? In everyday life, as a believer we don't get that excuse, but I mean when it comes to romantic love, why hold my head underwater, slowly drowning in losing someone that doesn't want me? I don't NEED anyone. I don't NEED someone's love. I would have love to chosen to love him forever, but I don't NEED him, so if I don't NEED him, then why should it break me when he doesn't choose me? It shouldn't. And I won't let it. I wish I had gotten this earlier, when I watched him struggle, and I could have chosen to not take it so personally, but I failed. I freaked out, let his struggle define me then, rather than letting him choose, I tried to force.

Believe or not, that's not how Jesus operates. He hands out His love free and clear, but there are no requirements on it. He doesn't force it down our throats (as I admit I tried to do), but at the same time, it doesn't break Him when we don't accept it. We get to choose whether or not we enter into accepting His love and relationship and all the ups and downs, the commitment it takes, the forgiveness it takes, the humility, the grace, the pure CHOICE it requires at times.

The same goes for the love I have to offer. Granted mine isn't perfect, but then again, we never really see Jesus' love as perfect either. It may not be imperfections that keep us from seeing Him clearly (because He has none), but life's imperfections definitely do. Circumstances, hurts from others, pain in our bodies, hearts, minds, whatever, distort our visions of who and what He is. Once again, point is, within every relationship, whether it's heavenly or earthly, we have to choose to love if the relationship is going to continue. I may have tried to force his hand, but he still had a choice. If we can't force people to love us, we shouldn't be able to force them to not love us. If we can't make someone love us, why should we be able to make someone not love us? It doesn't absolve me of my actions, I will forever grieve the path I decided to take, but he had two paths in front of him and he made a decision as well.

In the end though, I didn't get chosen by the one I chose. Harsh. Knowing that he didn't choose me... almost helps though. I keep thinking about Gloria Gainer and "I will survive." I personally prefer the Cake version, but it's comforting to know that whatever doesn't kill me will make me stronger. Cheesy I know, but I guess as I get up in the morning, think about what I'm going to do that day, how I'm going to choose to live and love, none of it includes wishing someone that doesn't love me will.

Psalm 51

There is something so sweet about the conviction of the Lord. You can spend as long as you want running from the truth, my heart can be hard, hurting, walled over with layers of self-righteousness, but if i show up long enough, if I keep asking, hoping and reading, eventually, in His gentleness, He will reveal the truth.

"For I know my transgressions, and my sin is always before me. Against You, You only have I sinned and done what is evil in Your sight, so that you are proved right when you speak and justified when you judge me." Psalm 51:3-4

Some sins are deceptive enough to masquerade as goodness. They seek what seems right, what seems decent, but they miss the mark just enough, they are nothing less than a complete and total miss... sin. Whether its the motives, the justification, or the way things are handled, when self-seeking intermingles with motives, everything is ruined. It's like yeast in bread. A little goes a long way. That little is the most dangerous part. They may come from "wisdom" or even be "right" but when executed with the intention of changing another, of protecting yourself, or getting a result you want, it is no longer wise or good and the power to tear down is so great, so treacherous and so perilous.

"Surely You desire truth in the inner parts; you teach me wisdom in the inmost place." Psalm 51:6

The hard part is when you ask the Lord to never let you settle, He won't. When He's sees something that needs to be rooted out, cleansed out, a motive that is insidious and destructive, He won't allow it to sit. He will root it out how ever He can. As you would expect though, the deeper, more hidden the motive, the more deceptive in its nature, the more pervasive in its reach, the larger the cost in ridding you/me of it.

It's just like the Lord to send me something so amazing, so beautiful, so powerful, only to let me have my hand at it and destroy it. It's just like the Lord to let me watch someone that loved me so much slowly turn into disdaining me as a fought harder and harder to keep the love. So focused on the other's mistakes, so focused on what I was losing, I couldn't see the forest for the trees. I couldn't see that giving up my need for love, that trying to prove my worth of the love so much would only squeeze the love out of it harder, faster and more effectively.

But I guess the loss, the marking and scarring is what truly keeps you humble. Only in great loss can great understanding come. Forever I will be marked and reminded of what desire for self can bring.

"Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones you have crushed rejoice." Psalm 51:7-8

When an alcoholic goes through the 12 steps, one of the first steps is to apologize. It's humbling part of the process. It's the portion of turning around, looking back and realizing the havoc you have reeked on others. Selfishness is a lot like an addiction, its all about preserving that need. A lot of people can get destroyed along the way, especially the ones you love the most. Admitting to that, feeling their pain, mourning the outcome of your own devastation becomes a vital part of healing.

It's allowing him to break my bones. It's the discipline, the scourging needed to scare me enough to never want to go back. I can't ever forget the hurt it caused, me or the others and the only hope, the only way back to sanity, to forgiveness, is through the purging and cleansing He can bring.

Such a realization can't stop there though. Maybe just as hard is the moving forward of accepting forgiveness. The Lord never lets us sit in the despair too long. He's knows to well. If we do, it will overwhelm and eventually suck is back into a selfish pit, a pit self-mutilation. I could sit here, realizing my own ability to destroy and because of that, never try again. It could turn into: I'm not good enough, I will never be, I will only ever hurt, destroy and be terrible and I don't want to do that again. But that's just a cop out. That's just another form of selfishness, that's the form that says change is too hard, too uncomfortable and I may know what I did wrong, but I'm still not humble enough to change it.

Accepting forgiveness and asking to rejoice again, that is where the Lord looks at me asks "Okay, so you get this now. What are we going to do about it?" Sitting on the side of the road, I have to make a choice. Do I let His discipline become a marker for grace, or do I just sit in the wounding of it?

It's much harder to get up, starting walking again and know I will probably fail again in a short amount of time. Then I will have to get back up and do it again and again and again until the falls not so hard, with larger periods of time in between. I have to choose to let Him believe in me again. I have to believe that the reason He disciplined me wasn't to stay here, but to get up and try again.

I may have screwed up and hurt people I loved, I may have lost big and will feel that pain every time I think of him, or what I had, but I can't stay there. I have to sacrifice again, I have to sacrifice my fear, my pride, to take the next step. Knowing it will take forgiveness from Him, from those I love and from myself for the rest of my life to get it right. I have to love learn how to love those around me for them, not for myself and the only way I can do that, is by trying. I don't get to stay here, locked in my room, mourning forever. I have to tell myself to rejoice. I have to be thankful, be humble and move on. I have to hope knowing I will be disappointed again.

"Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from Your presence, or take Your holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the oil of joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me." Psalm 51:10-12

Gentle as a Dove....

I had a conversation with my sister tonight that opened my eyes in a way I haven't felt in a long time.

We were discussing something and she started to get really frustrated with me saying "Stop lecturing me. You're talking at me and I don't really care..."

I hung up the phone in frustration, then one by one, the bricks of my thoughts tumbled down. So this is what he was talking about....

All of the sudden, the pieces fit into place. I had seen it before slightly cloudy, but now it made sense in a sort of way that broke my heart and freed me at the same time. My motives. It was all about my motives. I thought back to the past two and a half years, everything I had been saying in the last months, the complaints and hurts I had over the break-up, the way he treated me, the way I didn't get what I need, the way I lost, yada, yada, yada and on and on.

I had realized it a few times before, but I guess in the face of real loss you can't change, you can't manipulate, you can't make different, pointing the finger at someone else no longer matters. Now its just about you and how you got from beauty, to such ugliness. No longer is there someone to argue against. It's just you and your own mess. I didn't want to admit it for so long. If I did, I would have to admit my own part in the horrible loss I was experiencing. That was almost too painful for words.

I never realized how destructive selfish love could be. When it's all about me, what I need, what I didn't get... there is no room for anyone else to be themselves. Now it's just about taking, needing, wanting, pulling and grasping at straws to get people to see it my way. Every time they open up, it's another opportunity for me to agree with them and tell them why they are so wrong, bad and need to do it my way. They need to see it my way, I mean if they don't, they might not get it, they might not understand and then if they don't, I might actually lose this thing, this love, this relationship that I have come to want, desire and need so badly. They have to see it my way, they just have to. Like squeezing the air out of a life-raft, I am left standing with a deflated piece of plastic that was supposed to be a craft of life-saving proportions. But instead of breathing life into it, I sucked it all out.

In my pursuit of happiness, I had forgotten that happiness is an illusion. Love, friendship, these were the relationships that I was supposed to sacrifice for, they weren't supposed to be about giving me what I needed. They were about having an opportunity to believe the best about another, even when it hurt me. Joy and happiness come from a different place, but I chased after them outside of the realm I could control (myself) and tried to force the hand... to make myself happy. I once read that pressure kills love. No kidding. I had to be right, I had to rub it in and I had to point out the flaws. My happiness was more important than someone else's heart.

I guess that's why we always feel so loved by Jesus. His love is powerful, but never forced. There is always a choice as to whether or not it is accepted, moving freely in and out as you open yourself up to it more and more. He is never threatened when it isn't validated, when His real heart isn't seen. He isn't threatened when we question his motives, when we toss Him aside and then come back apologizing. He knows who He is and nothing we can say or do will change that. His joy comes from within Himself and we get the choice of whether or not to participate. He loves out of a sacrifice of wanting the best for us rather than for His own gain. He sacrifices His happiness (our nearness, our love, a relationship) in return for loving us through giving us choice and freedom. He knows the only way we really know love, is when it is a sacrificial love.

Woefully, I fell so short, I fell to the end of destroying and losing. I was threatened when the happiness and the love weren't perfect, so I dove in, rather than releasing out of my love for the other. Instead of sacrificing my happiness, I tried to protect my own comfort, desires, what I wanted and needed, what validated me and my life, what felt good to me, rather than seeing the others' heart as just as important as mine. Jesus takes the risk, putting Himself out there, loving us, not requiring it in return. I required in return and it backfired. He ended up feeling used, beat up, not good enough, like he was just never going to be what I needed. Oh Lord, how awful. I never felt that way, but selfishness has the ability to tell a different story.

How many times will I lose before I realize how much destruction a selfish heart can bring? I pray not so much more, but in reality, who knows. I never thought it could end like this, but then again, I shouldn't be surprised at the power of sin and selfishness. Lord knows the only antidote to such a mind steeped in self-protection and "me" thinking is a life of heart sacrifice and humility towards others.

Ironically that is exactly what I fell in love with about him, but now, years later it is finally sinking in. I wish that I could have understood all this earlier, that I could have seen it before it was too late, but then again, something tells me I never would have. The lesson would never would have had the impact. Having him there would have somehow always softened the blow, never making me really see what I needed to to really change. I'm just so sorry it cost him so much. I'm so sorry it cost me so much.

For once I'm not pointing the finger for any other reason than just wanting to do it different next time. Or maybe even tomorrow with those that I love now. I've stopped blaming others and have found seeking my comfort will never bring it, but will only destroy those in my path.

I don't know fully how to do this yet, how to live this out, how to shut my mouth and not need to be right, to be heard, to be validated all the time, but instead to sacrifice my tongue, my needs, my desires to be humble and loving. I don't know fully how to do it, but I do know I need to, I want to. I want to listen and speak less, to be slow to anger, not taking everything personally, to close my mouth when I want to argue a point and instead listen for the others heart, to really be quiet and just sit, being willing to put my own life on hold to be with others. To not prove points, to encouraging rather than discouraging, to be hopeful instead of forceful, to be patient rather than expecting.

I pray one day I will learn how to do it in relationship with another. I pray I will learn how to sacrifice for them while at the same time being wise and cautious. I pray I will be mature enough to sacrifice, but not stupid. I guess that would be the principle of "wise a serpent and gentle as a dove."

It gets complicated when you love someone and they mean the world to you, but I guess that's when it becomes all the more important. I was at once empowered and scared of the love offered and it was a heady mix, bypassing the awareness of what love really is and gripped me so tightly, when the loss of it was threatened, I went straight for the jugular. I pray one day I won't do that, that the Lord will still see fit to give me another chance to know that kind of passionate love with someone and I will know how to release in the midst of it. I pray He doesn't give up on me now.

For now though, it's faithful with little and hopefully I will be faithful with much. Older, wiser, more scarred and sobered, I pray the markings left on my heart will keep me from chasing happiness and remembering to sacrifice instead. I pray my mistakes don't haunt me, or him for the rest of our lives, but instead will be the markings of a Father that disciplines those He loves, bringing life instead.