Leaving Never-Never Land

It's amazing how much life can change you. I guess I should qualify that. Life only changes you when you let it.

I asked a long time ago for the Lord to have my heart, what I didn't know was I would have to have something to give for that to happen. If I kept pretending, living on the surface, refusing to take responsibility for my life, my heart, my decisions, if I kept living life hoping it would work, turn out, or just be okay, I was never going to have anything to give. If I never let the hard in with the bad, how can I truly love?

I was reading Philip Yancey today, my new obsession. He describes Jesus as being God's way of coming to earth to acquaint Himself with pain. God could have remained distant, unapproachable, never getting His hands dirty with the mess of our lives, but instead, He wrapped Himself in a shell of humanity, subjecting Himself to all sort of pain, physical and emotional to live life with us. The most we can do is the same. He didn't run from the hardness, the pain, the loss, the anger, the hurt, the joy, the love, the beauty, the humility, the family, the romance, the greatness of life as a human. He embraced it. He moved into it in choice, wisdom and reckless abandon. He faked nothing, grew into a man and gave His life away having no idea whether or not it would be returned. He died alone, broken, rejected by His best friends, God and country. He was subject to the same losses we are, the same ugly realities and still, never played Peter-Pan with Wendy. He said nothing for His own gain, but instead, lived life fully, completely, letting in all the joy and pain, accepting both with great appetite. He knew without hesitation that His Father was good, would provide and was always there. He knew when He needed it most that His Father would give a strength to handle the heartbreak that came with loving greatly. He welcomed it.

Because of it, I know how great His compassion is for me. I know how tender, accessible and empathetic He is to my own joys and sorrows, fears and courageous moments. The God Trinity let life on this earth change Him. He let being human humble Him. If I am to follow Him, imitate Him, than the least I can do is the same. When something hurts, I grieve, letting every part of that grief have it's way. If I have a moment of joy, I love it to the enth degree, not waiting for it to end, but instead knowing when it does, I will have Someone to catch me. I have nothing to fear, but the fear that would keep me suspended from real life.

If He did not fear this life, but chose it in awareness, and so, I know I can as well. He avoided nothing. Instead, in His infinite wisdom, He picked the most outrageous way to save me, blowing my mind by becoming a God-man to express to me how much He knows and accepts me. It's outstanding.

The older I've gotten, the more I've lived and experienced, the sadder I get when I realize, not everyone chooses to let life change them. Heartache, sorrow, joy, love, all of these things will have a profound effect on your soul when you let them in. So often in the avoidance of pain, we miss the good. We put an artificial smile on our faces, walking through life hoping no one sees how pretend the emotions are. Don't be sad, don't let things be bad, don't admit the hurt, or the greatness, because if we let it in, somethings won't stay and some will go and then what happens? We're our own little versions of sociopaths, trying to fake the right emotion at the right moment. Peter Pan stuck in Never-never Land making a million excuses for why we can't leave. We "grow up" by force since it's not socially acceptable to live at home past 30 and we have kids because we don't want to miss out on that party either.

Then someday we have to stop pretending. Something so wonderful, or so terrible happens and inherently we know, the pretense is going to fail. We feel the pressure building and the plexiglass starts to creek and crack. The world begins to move in slow motion as we watch everything happen as if it's someone else's life going by at rapid speeds. Then the breaks slam on, the glass shatters and all of the sudden we can't pretend everything is okay anymore. Either we have to pull in, accept and feel every part of the good, the bad and the ugly and it begins to change us, or we stay distant, cut off and separate, working oh so hard, to keep things okay. The way things have always been, the way they were, the way we thought they would always be doesn't satisfy anymore and we aren't as smart as we thought we were pretending at the game of life.

The scales fall off and the brightness of light burns. After a few minutes of adjusting to a new reality, gaining an orientation, finding the compass pointing north again, another hard realization hits.

I am no longer the person I used to be. I left Never-Never Land and I don't want to go back.

I turn around, look at past loves, past friends, past lives and realize with a sort of peaceful sadness, it can never be the same again, because I'm not the same. The joy, the tragedy, it changed me. For better or worse, I'm different now and I can't go back. I'm growing up and as I begin to understand the wisdom of letting the pain mingle with the joy, letting all of it blossom in my heart, I fear less and less. The ups and downs will come, the gains and the losses. I will have a lifetime of tragedy and triumph, but not one second of it is wasted in His sight, in His plan, or in His heart. All of it is meant to be apart of an amazing journey between He and I, and already, it's unfolding. I can't go on a journey, if I never leave home, so now, as I leave behind what used to be my comforts, joys, ease of life, I have no regrets. It's okay to let go, leaving behind what I thought I wanted, for what I know is of more value, a life lived fully invested.

Nothing will ever turn out the way I thought it should, it will never be as easy I had hoped and it will always require more than I think I have to give. I will have to change, grow, be stretched, give up my vision of how I thought things should be, and instead, let the journey be enough. Instead of waiting for the pain, anticipating the worst, setting myself up to fail, setting God up to be a disappointment, expecting things to go badly, or jumping the gun and getting out too fast when things get hard, I will do the opposite. Press in, expect God to always be there, anticipate the need to be stretched, walk forward in wonderment that the Lord will always blow my mind.

I'm at the tail end of a loss, but through out it, and more now than ever I am sure, confident and trusting that nothing, no nothing will separate me from His love, His care, His presence and His promises. I may never see a life of ease, perfection, comfort or just plain okayness, but I will walk forward in excitement of what He's doing next. I will push forward, throwing my heart at the foot of the cross, knowing I can trust a sacrifice that chose hardship and suffering to love me, rather than the ease of heaven.

Peter-Pan be damned. Life's way better when your not pretending.

Brand New Day

I've been obsessed with this stupid song lately. I say stupid because to some I know, it is not the most sophisticated of music, but it strikes a chord in me.

When the bottom of your world drops out from under you, there comes a moment (or maybe longer), when you think nothing will ever be right again. It's so hard to remember what it feels like to be joyful, happy, hopeful or even just not broken. The pain obscures sight and to even think on a different path, something better or healing feels like a betrayal to the loss.

Eventually, if handled properly, the pain begins to ebb. The sunshine breaks through and because all your heart can handle is a few brief seconds of joy, that joy is just enough to remember life before the pain. For a while, this interchange goes back and forth with the pain still outweighing, then one day you find yourself smiling a broken half-hearted smile, but still, it's there. Then it comes again, and again and again yet again.

For me, as I sat desperately at the foot of the cross, waiting for a drop of salvation to ease my disillusioned soul, I was fortunate enough to receive His comfort. As I did, I found a treasure worth smiling for, and the Presence I felt started to ease and bring a hope that instead of hurting, healed. This time, the promises weren't false, empty or short-lived. They were promises based on an unselfish heart worth trusting, and follow through.

So a few months after another tragedy, the bright rays of the Son, and the broken smiles outweigh the sadness. The pain has parted enough to see a hopeful future that is based not an incomplete dream, but instead, a secure knowledge of Who's I am.

So back to this silly song. The lyrics are as such:

Some kind of magic,

Happens late night.

When the moon smiles down at me

Bathes me in it's light

I fell asleep beneath you,

In the tall blades of grass.

When I woke the world was new,

And I never had to ask.

It's a brand new day,

The sun is shining,

It's a brand new day.

For the first time in such a long, long time,

I know, I'll be okay.

Most kind of stories,

Save the best part for last,

And most stories have a hero finds you make your past, the past.

You make your past the past.

It's a brand new day,

The sun is shining,

It's a brand new day.

For the first time in such a long, long time,

I know I'll be okay.

This cycle never ends,

We gotta fall, in order to mend.

It's a brand new day...

It's brand new day,

For the first time in such a long, long time,

I know, I'll be okay.

Everyone has a different reason why, at the end of a tragedy, they are happy to have come through it. For me, I'm happy, no ecstatic to know that I can trust my God to go through any journey with me and never, ever let me down. The nights were dark and still can be, and I hate the pain I went through. Sometimes I hate the distasteful distrust it left in my mouth as a bitter after-taste, but as I feel the Sonshine, I can't help but feel a gratitude grow just a little. I wouldn't know Him the way I do now, I wouldn't be who I am now, I wouldn't feel what I feel, or trust Him, or desire Him, or be as humbled as I am without it.

I've always wanted to be that woman that can rise above circumstances, that knows a deeper peace, that has a greater faith and trust, but now I know in a much deeper way, those things only come through the darkest hours. I'm not anywhere close to where I want to be, nor do I look forward to the circumstances I know I will need to encounter to get there, but I do know I can face those trials, those tragedies with a greater faith and trust that He will come through. Somehow, He will be with me to bandage, heal and comfort when I think all is lost. I will find myself unfaithful again, distrusting in my pain, but I know, He is always present, even in my infidelity. That brings a sort of peace to face anything knowing I won't be yanked from His hand, when I falter, He will be greater, when I question, He won't flinch.

Before, in the immaturity of life (which I still inhabit most of the time), I feared the feeling of joy, wondering when it would be snatched away again. When tragedy finally befell, it became proof of never being able to trust rather than understanding pain and sorrow as an inevitable part of this world, never determining the heart of God, but always giving a chance to reveal more of His tenderness. For a moment, as the skies break and hope streaks in fresh and new, I begin to realize, happiness, pain, prosperity and despair are transient moments in time, not truth. Truth is His heart, His life, His presence, His promise, His comfort, His love, His hope, His strength, His wisdom.

I will face many more trials, many more pains, many more losses. This doesn't make me cursed, terrible, rejected, or even somehow unblessed. It means I'm human, fragile, and subject to a world of harsh realities and grand beauties. But in every one of them, who I am, my heart, my spirit and my salvation, are tucked away, safe and sound, thriving in the hand of my Creator. I will always be okay.

It's a brand new day, and for the first time, in such a long, long time, I know, I'll be okay. In fact, I'll be better than okay, I'll be blessed.

Happy Birthday Lisa

Tomorrow is my sisters birthday. Well technically, it's in 19 minutes, but who's counting? I was thinking of her today; who and what she is and how she has and does impact my life.

A few weeks ago, my mother and I had taken a ride out to Vacaville to search out some items my sister wanted for Christmas. I found myself walking through muck and mud in 4 inch heals and designer jeans. We laughed as I gingerly and futility tried to not appear as much of a priss as I was. I picked through where to step, feeling my heals sink into the ground, watching as my mother pointed and laughed. My ineptness of the moment cracked us both up and I commented on how I felt like such a city-slicker and my sister was such a country-bumpkin. How did we both come from our mother?

Later I learned my sister did not much appreciate the derogatory term I had used, and much to my dismay, it hurt her feelings. And truth be told, I felt terrible. It was not in any way shape or form what I had meant, but none the less, the wording was terrible and inaccurate. For all my articulation, I fall woefully short on many occasions to use words that really convey what I am feeling.

See, in that moment, I felt my inadequacy and it made me laugh. My sister has this unique ability to move in and out of many extremes with a sort of ease and grace I never seem to be able to muster. She wears cowboy boots as easily as platforms, jeans as easily as a designer dress. Somehow she inhabits the mysterious quality of inhabiting every place, moment and action as though it was made for her. Where I fumble and stumble over a little dirt, she can streak her face with mud and look better than Garbo on her best day.

I remember being in awe of my sister. She was always a little larger than life. Everything seemed to expand when she walked into a room. Men fell over themselves while women were either in love or hate with her, never being able to stay in one long. Grace expressed in movement and ease, presence bigger than reality, everything stood still while she happened by. Never fully aware of the effect she had, she always assumed it was her looks that stopped traffic. Little did she know, it was always so much more. Heartfelt warmth, genuine love and concern for others. Intelligence sparkling in her drawing everyone in to conversation, while her mind and heart never stop working. All of these forces coming together in a ridiculous package that should not be as possible as it is. She fits anywhere, anytime, any place, and owns it. It was quite a shadow to grow up under. Undefinable and needing of no pretense, or silly attempts to chameleon her way into making people like or love her, the basic ingredients of who she is naturally produced a sort of unpracticed sophistication; fierce elegance in a tiny package. It still, to this day, is amazing to watch.

I grew up inherently knowing, but never really being able to appreciate this stunning exemplification of extremes of life, so instead I sought to mimic it in every way possible. I think I am safe to say, my useless fight with a little grime proves my point of her uniqueness and my very ordinary inability to adapt as easily. At times it frustrated me to no end. At other times I used her easy fame as any younger sibling would: to gain notoriety myself. "Oh, yeah I'm Lisa Angella's sister. Yeah, that Lisa Angella." But still, jealousy comes easy in younger siblings and I had my share. As I grew though and watched her live no easy life, a deep sense of respect spawned from a once immature jealousy. Who she is, was hard fought for, and thus, has no cheap after-taste. The gold she is will leave no green stain on a finger.

Never have I seen someone with more dignity under fire. Her pure heart and confidence somehow shielded her from ever really being aware of the sort of power of her presence and life. I almost view her move to the country as an inevitability; no confined space can restrain her long. Wide open places seem to be more fitting. Freedom in raw power as she races a horse down a fence, or walks along the canal that runs along her road. Grander visions of unrestrained beauty. No pretense, just life. A vulnerability that can't be restrained by fences and quarter acre yards. She needs to breathe and the world needs to breathe with her, thus, no congested city road can stand to hold her.

While I spend an hour getting ready for work, she slaps on her boots and walks out to feed her horses. I come home and trade the pumps for uggs taking off the layers, moving from makeup artist to homebody with a necessary determination, becoming an essentially different person; yet she moves from those same boots to slippers to flip-flops to leopard skin pumps, never shading to her surroundings, rather her surrounds shading to her. Where I struggle for my image, hers comes easily and carefree, unabashed and unashamed. Few in life ever attain this sort of easy confidence, but somehow, she was born with it.

I will always fade into the background just slightly when she walks in a room, still feeling that typical reverence to an older sister, but it doesn't chafe the way it used to. The older I have gotten, the more respect for her I gain, the more life the Lord puts under my belt, the more I realize, when something of magnitude and beauty comes my way, taking a back seat is an honor. I'm proud to be her younger sister, to be excited to point the world her direction and say "Isn't she amazing? Isn't she wonderful? Be forever changed by her grace and love and heart!" In a way, I'm still that annoying kid sister that followed her around all the time. And while following her, she has taught me how to wear myself as comfortably as she wears herself. I may not be as good at it as she is, but she has alway lead the way, a fearless elder sister, carving a path for a younger, less attuned youth to follow. I can go there since she has paved the way.

The same strength she possess to bail hay, she extends to her faith. The same desire for beauty that causes her soul to long seeps out of her pores and onto all who come near. Those sort of qualities rarely find their satisfaction in the conformation that is required of sky-scrapers and traffic lights, but rather in a world that she can fight to tame much the same way she tames a horse. Passion restrained, only by need.

I envy her, her place in the world. Her easy maneuverability, grace and confidence. I still struggle to discover my own, but her life gives me hope. Her ability to be undefined or constrained, while still charming the pants off anyone that meets her is a thing of mind-boggling proportions. Thank God she never went into politics... on the other-side.

Happy birthday sister. I can't tell you how proud I am to call you my older sister. You still hold the same majesty to me you did when we were kids. I still want to be your best friend and do all the things you do. I still want your approval and desire your pride. You have forever made me who I am, for better or worse and I hope that makes you proud. No diamond in the rough, you are a polished stone, presented to the world as a true treasure. Never hide yourself, but always know how naturally and easily you carry your true heart on your sleeve. It's a site to behold and am I truly honored I have a front row privileged seat as your sister. I adore you so much. I'd give you my candy-bar any day all over again.

Trust revamped

So much lately I've struggled with what it looks like to trust. Mine has been ironically and completely shattered in so many ways in the last year, how is trust not foolish when it seems make a fool?

Appearances are so deceiving. One minute someone is devoted, loving, caring, present and desirous... the next, running the opposite direction as fast as their feet will carry them. I left myself wide open. Hoodwinked, fooled, tricked and broken. I trusted and I was disappointed. I can't even begin to describe the crushing blow to the heart, mind and self-confidence... and that was just a human.

When it comes to God, the water gets even murkier. He calls to a trust, a faith, a belief that requires something beyond the norm. The desire to throw myself into His arms and let His peace chase away all my fears and anxieties is overpowering and glittering in its possibilities of freedom of soul and spirit, but something holds me back. Glaring scars, reminders of falling so hard on an unforgiving pavement of reality of circumstances holds my heart in check. As if I was waiting for a lover to fail me again, I secretly wait for Him to not come through. My doubt feels heretical and at the same time I am blame myself while being unable to solve it. Stuck between the hard spot and the rock of life and spirit, I wait quietly for my salvation. I believe, help my unbelief.

How do you know something is God? We want to attribute every good thing, allowing it to somehow bolster our already weak and tormented faith, but every disappointment is somehow excused away. I just didn't understand the will of God, right? Simple enough, too simple it would seem. Thomas Merton said "If you find God easily, maybe it isn't God you are finding." Does He need me to make excuses for Him? If He does, what's the point?

So I stand confused and wondering, where is the faith of the child I should posses, as well as the wisdom of a serpent and why should I be asking? What does it mean to trust You, yet again, I ask.

I finally met someone who thinks as deeply as me, only they are an avid agnostic. Life is more about biological development. God may or may not be real. We are all a cosmic sort of chaos and purposelessness. It's so hard for me to talk to them. Everyday I face these questions, but also face the deep, heart wrenching hunger that keeps me bent and on my knees. If none of this is real, more of a fool than ever am I, but I throw my lots in and stake my claim on the belief that what is written, what I have to know, what I have to believe is real. My alternative, where my existence is so small and so insignificant, that every bad thing that happens is purely a moment of chaos, its more faith than I can muster to go there.

My heart is set on a God that loves me. My head is wrapped in the knowledge of a more perfect being and my hope is centered on a relationship between myself and an infinite being. Circumstantially, my heart settles as I realize there are some things I will never explain, know or understand and because of that I am happy.

Still, the murky waters exist as I struggle with this faith and its expression. It's hard to know that something can be so fulfilling and so requiring at the same time. I'm satisfied. Broken, but satisfied. I'm hurting, but breathing and smiling. Happy, but melancholy. I will never make excuses, pacifications or justifications for who or what I am. I'm happy to be me. As awful and wonderful as I am. In that though, I realize, I take a risk. I refuse to settle and because of it, it may be a lonely road.

A little more jaded, a little more cautious and a little more cynical, I realize with my most recent loss, the standards are higher and higher. I won't be fooled again. Once shame on me, twice shame on everyone else in the world. And to be honest, if anything, it's my faith that raises that bar.

I can't settle for just any job, any boyfriend, any friend, any place in this life. It's all wrapped in and around my faith and somehow that makes life a little less easy to just choke down. I can't just go with the flow and hope everything turns out. I want the best of the best. A career that is about this God I love; a love that is about this God I know. I trusted everything to just turn out once and I have that scar to remember, now I'm stuck knowing all I can do is trust an invisible source and pray His promises are more true than they have seemed.

There's a song I listen to all the time. One of the lines says "I'm hanging on another day, just to see what You throw my way." I know the feeling. My trust is remaining in my weakened state of faith a fresh face in a crowd of the guilty. I make no excuses. I make no justifications. I believe because I believe, but my selfishness tells me to demand the fulfillment of the promises He makes easily and frequently.

I am a created being, but in that state, I know my dependency. Lord, have mercy on Your clay. I am only what I am created into. I only have the faith You give me to have, the hope You in part and the belief You extend. Where else am I to go? Have mercy, great mercy on me Hosanna.

Happy Birthday Lord

I'm sitting, staring out the window into a rainy Christmas Day. Every thing's a little different than I thought it would be. People have come and gone throughout this year, places and faces have changed. Tragedy and triumph have intermingled, bringing a sense of expectancy that seems to be more permanent than anything.

There are holes that still exist. Holes that haven't been filled, reasons yet to be explained. Love and pain swirl and whirl, coming into some sort of sick and twisted alignment. Both make sense, both exist and both remain and in that acceptance, my soul heaves a giant sigh. As if I've been waiting to exhale. The questions of whether or not the Great God I know can be enough, can show up in miraculous ways, if He is everything He promises to be and more, if He's reliable, trustworthy, good, true and right have begun to settle, become answered, giving the peace I always secretly hoped they would. The most important of which, can and will He heal, begin to be fulfilled and I watch myself come back to life slowly, methodically, gently and with a bit of beautiful melancholy.

Most of the time I am starkly aware of a Presence I have never known before. My greatest Source of healing has come from the greatest source of comfort I have ever known. As I was ripped, torn and broken, there was a heavenly compassion that rushed in, a bandage of gracious presence that enfolded and wrapped it's arms around me holding me together enough to continue living.

Another in the series of tragedies that my life has known, ripping away at bone, marrow and spirit, but this one somehow different. This one somehow purposed and therefore worse and more personal. I'm surprisingly not mad or angry though. It's as though He knew, He was prepared, knowing as He would render, the bandaging would have to be swift, powerful and complete.

I had no idea it was there, for a while I couldn't see, feel or know anything besides searing death and overwhelming pain, but as I dug in, as I breathed into it, as I let it have it's way, as I succumb to the death, raising fists to heaven, hell and the mirror, I waited. I waited for salvation, for some form of life to come from so much death for reasons, for explanations for a hope that wasn't transient and dependent on my own feeble attempts to create it. I needed substance. I needed resurrection power to come in and have it's way. I needed meaning, purpose, reality in this life of faith I live to come and be just what I needed it to be: real.

And it was.

Every moment I thought I was at the end of my rope, a felt a tender squeeze from an already present Lord. A word of encouragement from a friend. A verse I had never read quite that way before. A song that spoke so deeply to my broken heart it seemed to have been written by my hand rather than another. An inexplicable moment of great love and comfort from a place I can only describe as the Lover of My Soul. These small moments of Great Rescue, of unhindered presence and love have won me over. They have found their way into the deep, jaded, hurting, fearful, doubtful, angry, wounded, places and poured oil over them, gently speaking in a healing awareness that has stolen my heart and settled my spirit.

Even now, as I penned these great mysteries, in a sudden moment a burst of light cut through as the rain immediately stopped and a sunset that would bring a tear to Van Gogh's eye opened up. My dark room lit up like noon so instantly I had to get up and look out the window. I was stunned and romanced by this sky of fire and ice. I could fairly see His beauty being expressed onto the open atmosphere. My heart was dazzled and softened as I heard Him whisper He will create for me as He created this sunset. An overwhelming sense of worth and value broke into my bedraggled spirit as His desire to love me, to be near me, bless me and just talk with me enveloped me.

My fear, doubt, anger, hurt, depression, anxiety and infidelity create no sense of caution in Him. There are no reprisals for my forgetfulness of His amazing love and presence. There is no retribution for my failings, only the truth, reality and greatness of His love that covers my multitude of wounds, failings, fears, joys, loves, mixed motives, controlling tendencies and angry tantrums.

I have no right to be honored, to be loved by a God so great and grand, but I was created for relationship with Him and in that, I partake with a hunger and desperation I consider heavenly. I was created to be desperate and desperate I am while also knowing the satiation He brings. I am at once fulfilled and stirred, cursed to be in love with a God that I cannot see only in the everyday beauties and in the healed scars along the walls of my heart. He brings a smile to my face and a hope for my future. Grace must wound, once again.

I have received many messages in my life. I have been stolen from in the deepest ways imaginable, the ugliest scenarios and in the most cruel ways. But there has never been a more real message than the love, presence, experience, hope, reality and healing of Jesus. That is the most important, real, message in the world. My value is built in and from and around Him. No one can take that from me. Whether or not I am perfect and succeed or fail in the eyes of those around me, I can turn, look into His face, and ask "Who do you say I am? Tell me, are these things true?" He comes back and shows me a sunset and promises to create with me. He ignores the question knowing the most powerful answer is to leave them unacknowledged. Why answer a lie in the form of a question. Instead, He partakes in me, telling me if He values me, what else matters? Nothing. Nothing at all. If God is for me, who can be against me. I am loved and taken care of, pursued and passionately cared for. I am His pride and joy. That is enough. Enough for life, love, joy and peace. I am overjoyed and taken care of. Happy Birthday Lord. Happy Birthday and thank you for Your gift to me of You.

A Double Portion

I've watched another dream disappear, another desire be unsatisfied; an another almost hope, deferred and crushed. With violence and force, what I thought was a beautiful blessing, became another weapon, ripping at an already fragile heart. I cry out, "I thought this was my proof of Your love. I thought this was Your goodness for me, how did I lose it? Was it me, the world, or You that crushed my bones and broke my heart? How long with I receive a lesser portion?"

Back to start, square one, more broken, scorned, forgotten than ever. An orphan with their nose pressed against the window, breath fogging up the glass against the bitter cold. Someone looks out from the revelry happening inside. Their eyes meet mine, hope surges as they smile, then slowly shut the drapes. My head and heart fall, dejected yet again. I pray I may one day understand why I wasn't invited in. What's my great flaw, my great deformity?

As I turn to go, the door opens and I watch You, the Guest of Honor walk out. You don't invite me in, but join me in my walk home with me.

My lesser portion still hurts. My stolen heart still aches, but it's less lonely. I muse, how long will I stay here? How long will I be rejected, scorned, unlucky? When will my curse lift, my karma change, my talisman work?

You offer no easy answer, no promises that satisfy. The usuals aren't working, platitudes only bringing ironic pain as I believe them less and less. There is no word that will cure, no hope that will heal right now. There is no magic pill. Rejection and loss have a nasty way of seeming permanent and consuming. Some messages are just that powerful. Fighting them is futile.

So You don't. In Your infinite wisdom You know enough violence and rendering has occurred. Don't convince me, don't plead, argue, yell or patronize. Just walk me home. Just hold my hand as the tears silently stream. Just leave the party to sit as I belaboredly breath through another death, another loss, another wound.

You ask no hope, no faith, no great joy or display of wisdom from me. Somehow You would rather be with my depression than a hundred drunken fools. It's not the healthy that need a doctor.

You and I both know only time will show me who the victor really will be. You seem sure its You, I fear hoping for a happy ending. Seems more safe to settle for surety of disappointment. The current circumstance would appear to be p keeps my heart bleeding for more, back up Your version of truth.

You know I'm stuck between the power of the two messages. A reality of loss but a reality of blessing. In my lack of faith I ask You not to get my hopes up. Don't promise what You can't or won't deliver. My doubt doesn't seem to bother You. Well it bothers me. It doesn't fade You, but scares the hell out of me. I want a hope, a faith, a peace, but I can't seem to muster them. I'll just stay stuck if You don't mind.

As we sit outside in the misty, wet, cold night, we can both still hear the party raging inside. I look at You, tears in my eyes, angry confused, and lost. You pull me against You. I bury my head in Your neck as I cry harder, feeling every bitter emotion. Memories flash, waves of loss crushing, rolling, building momentum. I sob harder and harder, feeling my stomach roll with the pain, the rejection, the loss, the betrayal, all seeping from my pores, pain being pulled from my very bones and marrow. I find myself mumbling "No, no, no...." hoping if I deny it enough, the loss won't be real. I feel myself fight against a reality I can't control, don't understand and and feels so undeserved, unfair. I pound Your chest and rock, hating every second of my cursed existence, wondering what's the point of ever hoping for more.

"Don't ask me to have faith!" I yell. "Don't ask me to believe You want to bless! How can I?!"

As I begin to calm down, the emotions exhausting themselves and me, I still feel my stomach churn with hurt, stress and fear. After a few moments of letting me calm, I hear You take a breath, about to speak. I cringe instinctively.

I find myself surprised by Your words, neither comforting, nor painful. Truth is funny that way.

"Your not the first to come here. You're in good company. You have more faith than you know, right now is the proof. Hope will come, joy will come, understanding will come. Your bleeding, open, my enemy looks victorious. But we never stay in the grave, we don't know how. I'm proud of you."

I pause. You wait.

"This is what You meant when You said 'portion' isn't it? It's not the party, the celebration, the happiness. When You said 'portion' You meant right now, when I am ravaged by life and You choose to leave the festivities to join me, a disillusioned soul."

You look back at me, silent as that truth sinks in. You know there are still questions.

"Will it always be this way? Will we always be in survival mode?"

Without any condemnation, but infinite compassion, You simply ask back, "Would it matter right now?"

Immediately I know, no, it wouldn't. Not right now. However blessed I am tomorrow, today hurts. However good or bad yesterday was, this moments brings all the fear, the pain, the past into focus. You will be sovereign either way. But pain or joy, my portion will not change. My peace is decided, my heart solicited, even in its blind, hurting, ungracious state.

I may be rejected, cursed, scorned or unblessed, by my standards or the worlds standards, but my portion is mine. Nothing can take away the decision of the Guest of Honor to honor me. In my anger, hurt, depression, fear, doubt and hopelessness, He has come to comfort and mourn with me. He consoles and counsels me and simply waits for my heart to come home. My vision askew, my mind confused, my eyes blinded by tears, I am chosen and honored. His goal is eternal, my heart and soul for His. That's my unfailing portion.

The amazing grace and rescue is His choice and purpose to build my faith. As the walls of Jerusalem were built slowly, over time with setbacks and hardships, His patience, confidence and persistence build my walls. My lack of faith is no surprise, in fact it's the reason and purpose. Grace must wound and as I am wounded, I feel His grace through the pain. His intention and love are expressed as part of the purpose, building a deeper faith and understanding, a greater intimacy and a more real experience of my portion.

As I come full circle, still feeling deep, deep pain, I realize the walls are being built, my table is set my portion served and it is double. I am the miracle, the work of His hand, the party, and He is my faith, my hope, my heart and my reason when I have none. He wounds to bandage, tears to heal and crushes to build. He went to the party as the Guest of Honor to find me, knowing I would be rejected. He went to leave, to walk me home. No one else may know, but I do and once again, that is a double portion. This is what it looks like to roar, to be concerned and careful with my heart and to come capture it. This is what looks like to trust, to believe, to open and build intimacy. This is what it looks like to heal.

"And behold, a woman who had been suffering from a hemorrhage for twelve years, came up from behind Him and touched the fringe of His cloak; for she was saying to herself, 'If only I touch His garment, I shall get well (or be saved).'

But Jesus, turning and seeing her said, 'Daughter, take courage; Your faith has made you well.' And at once the woman was made well." - Matt 9:20-23