Do You TRUST Me?

As a young adult, when I was training to be a peer counselor, one of the ice breaker activities leading up to our class session, was the infamous “trust fall”.  You know the one, one partner stands with arms folded, waiting with bated breath, to fall into the arms of the stranger they’ve just been introduced to.  I grew to detest these activities and warm ups, much preferring to sit behind a desk and drown in copious note taking, over these matters of the heart.

This week, God is pushing and stretching, and coaching me to endure, and to trust.  And I must admit I feel like he’s standing behind me, urging me to do the whole trust fall thing again.  To let you in on a secret, I can already feel my defiance rising to the surface.  “I can’t do it God.  I can’t see you. I can’t hear you this week. You’ve been silent.” 

I fight and struggle with Him on this whole matter of trust.  I’m not very good at depending.  Of abiding.  Of sitting with Him and trusting that he’s got it.  That he’s got me.  Because, sometimes, it’s hard to get that he does.  And to be honest, sometimes I think I can do it myself.  Or do it more quickly.  Or get better results, if I just sit down in my desk and hunker down with my lesson.

Do you trust Him?  Totally?  Completely, with your life?  What holds you back? What makes it easy? How has he proven himself faithful to you?

I remind myself that in order to fall, I need to trust in the promise of who he says he is and what he promises he will do for us:

*I will guide you along the best pathway for your life.  I will advise you and watch over you~ Psalm 32:8

*I will be your God throughout your lifetime-until your hair is white with age.  I made you, and I will care for you.  I will carry you along and save you. ~Isaiah 46:4

*I will remain loyal to you. ~Isaiah 54:10

*I will have compassion on you. ~Isaiah 54:7

*I am on your side. ~Isaiah 54:15

*I will bless you. ~ Isaiah 66:3

*I will comfort you. ~ Isaiah 66: 13

I’m looking to him and placing all of my “stuff” in his hands.  I’m trusting that his promises are true.  And even with fear, I’m choosing to trust that he will catch me.  Because, when I come to the end of myself, which is more often than not, he does again and again, faithfully.

Faith through the Fog

The evening drive was going as expected.  The night so clear, stars could be counted from windshield gaze.  Clear tar.  New tar, illuminating the broken orange lines.  Radio cushioning the silence of the open road.  Songs and the low soothing voice of the dj keeping company.  Up close, as if with cup of tea.  Comforted on this lonely night.  This lonely night with the highway man.

It came in clouds first.  Broken pieces as if cotton baton.  Cozying up to the high beams.  Passing through.  Ghost-like.  Song on the radio breaking now.  Searching for its spot.  Signals lost.  Faith in music fading.  Now, alone.  Silence, but for the hum of the engine, echoing in the night.  Fog.  Thick.  Heavy.  Blinding fog.   Settling in.  Enveloping me on my journey.

I wonder, have you been there, just now, on my highway?  Lost, but a half-mile down the road, unable to see around you.  Unaware of your company on the stretch just ahead.  Unwilling to wait for the daybreak, because, well because the air is too think, and the night, oh the night, just too long?

I’ve been there too, friend.  Stuck on the foggy nights.  By the side of the road.  Hands gripped so tightly around the wheel they begin blistering.  "Not more blisters", for skin is already so cracked and so raw, from the highway travels before.

And faith? So tiny, almost as translucent as the fog that slips through my wheels.  Or as the winter breath that escapes out my lips.  Here and then…well and then, somehow invisible.

What do you when your road becomes foggy? And you can no longer see the road mapped out ahead. The steps needed to take forward.  Or even, if you should instead stand starkly still.

Because its the faith that the fog will lift, which is the hardest of all.  Not knowing the timelines of when the clearing will come.  How far the struggle needs to be.  How long your endurance will take you. The squinting and the inching forward through the depth of the mystery.

But ahead, in a clearing, stands the roadside diner.  Travelling folk seek shelter here to wait for the fog to lift.  Stories are shared about the journey.  The fear and the difficulties and the decisions about when to pull over, and when to move forward.  Worries of what was coming ahead. And somehow in the sharing, over apple pie and day old coffee, the travellers trust that the fog will lift.  That they will get home. Hopes renewed.  Faith revived.

For those of us stuck on the side of the highway today, or for those of us with hands gripped tight inching forward ahead, may I suggest we pull over to that road side shelter?  The one with the light on.  The one where the travellers sit, waiting for the storm to pass, seeking comfort and shelter.  To find fresh encouragement, new found strength, and most importantly, to meet with the Man who will sit with us here.  The one who knows the roads, the weather conditions, and the endurance that we will need to journey on. For He always gives us shelter as He is our greatest Comforter. Even on the foggy days.

~He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God, and I am trusting Him~Psalm 91:2

As God Sees You

Yesterday I had the pleasure of celebrating a dear friend’s birthday.  God’s interweaving of events in our lives has provided us fertile soil for forging a good friendship.  I respect and honor this woman for her character, dedication, strength, and her good humor when the going gets tough. She is a woman I look up to and am honored to call my friend. 

After fits of laughter over an un-needed dessert following dinner, my friend and I along with our beloved mutual friend (who I will blog on another time-be forewarned!), slumped our sorry selves in my car and made our way to a neighboring spa to treat the birthday girl to a facial. As I lay alone in my relaxation room, I anticipated the pampering that lay ahead.  Nature music, and white sanitized towels the back drop for an hour long escape into bliss.

The woman entered softly, in her lab coat and cushioned shoes, smelling of fine perfume and began the treatment.  The warm towels graced my cheekbone, leaving me feeling comforted like a baby and protected in the hands of my esthetician extraordinaire.

As I was drifting off into sleepy day dream, taking in the rich smell of my cucumber tea tree exfoliate something caught me off guard.  A bright light, with its bulbs glaring down inches from my eyelids suddenly forbid me to open my eyes.  The stool drug forward and her weight fell heavy next to the massage table.  “Hmmm’s” and “haww’s” interrupted my peaceful reverie as she examined my face far too closely.

“You have cold recently?” asked the Spanish accent, pointing out the dry areas above my lip, just below my nose.  “When the last time you have a facial?” she continued.   “What product you use to wash your face?”  (Do you mean before or after I collapse in a heap at ten p.m.?) I could feel the judgment seeping in. 

“You need one”.  It was not going to be a relaxing evening.

She went on to point out problem areas.  “Brown *age* spots”, “blackheads”, “open pores”, “closed pores”…and on and on and, I wanted the bright light OFF.

And later, much later,  the whole forty five dollar experience got me thinking about God’s character and what I love most about Him and to let you in on a secret, none of it involves bright examination lighting and over zealous estheticians.

The thing is, I know he sees my junk.  And it’s a lot uglier than blackheads and age spots, trust me.  He sees all the less than stellar moments, the short cuts I try to take, the patterns I repeat like a well stitched quilt; my selfishness, my at times proverbial un-weeded garden, and he loves on me, even if. 

And it’s really hard, sometimes next to impossible, I think to accept that.   The depth of His love for us as we scramble, and strive, and strain, and scurry, and stress, all while looking a whole lot messier than we would on that estheticians table under that high intensity light.  The anger, the jealousy, the irritation, the frustration, the insecurity, and on, and on and on.  Our human condition. He sees past it and instead tells us,

You’re beautiful.

You’re enough.

You’re accepted.

I have great plans for you.

I love you perfectly.

 I delight in you.

I forgive you.

I pursue you.

I long for you.

I will rescue you.

I will redeem you.

I have given my life for YOU.

~My prayer for you today, is that you would, at least a little more, begin to know and feel how God sees you.~

When she no longer asks for a song...

A former journalist from The Washington Post, became an overnight best-seller with his non-fiction book, “The Outliers”.  Malcolm Gladwell, the author, argues that anyone can become an expert in something if they devote 10,000 hours to the particular field.  He looks at phenomenon of National Hockey League player’s birth dates tending to fall in the earlier months of the year, which lends them overall more practice time than their summer baby counterparts.

I’m telling you this because over the past four years I’ve become an expert. In. The. Song.  “Jesus Loves Me”.  Now, I’m no expert when it comes to music but I can sing renditions never before heard of in this particular tune.  Alto.  Soprano (Nobody said they were good renditions).  Baritone.  Reggae.  Jazz. Hip Hop.  I tease, but ever since I could swaddle my little bundle of joy in a baby blanket, I have sung this to her at bedtime.

As she’s grown out of diapers, and into big girl panties, she asks for it predictably at night before her good nights to the world. “Mommy, Jesus loves me?”  From crib, to grown up bed.  “Mamma, Can you sing Jesus Loves Me?”. And the months and the years continue to pass and you’d think she would want me to mix it up a little.

Trust me.  I’ve tried. 

But, it always comes back to that song.  And the other night, we were rocking and cuddling.  Some of our best moments of the day. Stories read.  Teeth brushed.  Prayers said.  Kisses given.  Blankets tucked. And as her eyelashes spread open, up, she gazed up with her sleepy stare and our eyes met. 

“Mamma, Jesus Loves Me?” 

"How about "Twinkle Twinkle"? "Mary Had a Little...." "Frere Jacques?"  "Baa Baa..."

"No, mommy, Jesus Loves Me!"

It started off being a tired song.  Flat.  Not present… “…this I know…for the bible tells me so….” And then He gripped me.

“Christy, she is not going to ask for a song forever.”

And the breath was taken out of me as my eyes welled up.  Because the thought had never crossed my mind before.  These treasured moments that are such a regular part of our day, and are forever  beautiful and pressed on my heart like cemented hand prints, will some day, become a memory.

This morning, after months and months of sitting adjacent at the breakfast table, she set her plate across from mine. We ate our toast, discussed the day, and I felt like she had already flown a little farther from our nest.

Tonight, I sang, “Jesus Loves Me” and held her oh so tight. For, today, God has us here, and for now, I am so very thankful she still asks for her song.

Today, let's be thankful for our present treasures.  What key moments are you thankful for?

 ~"...always be thankful."~

Colossians 3:15

Give us this day our daily bread

It’s no news flash that prayer can be tough.  Awkward at times.  And the whole thing may feel superficial, like wishing on a star, but I promise you, when you get into a routine with it, you will experience its benefits and it will CHANGE YOU. From the inside out.  For better or for…TRANSFORMED.

So bear with me today as we sit and contemplate the power of prayer.  If you’ve never been a prayER, except in “get out of jail free” type moments, or in attempts at meditation with instead thoughts drifting off to your much needed grocery list, I’d offer a few easy, do-able suggestions to get things started.  We will call it Prayer 101..And go with me on this, as I am so on this journey as well.

1)      Set aside a time-even 5 short minutes to start to sit and have quiet time with God. Bring your coffee. Bring your I-phone.  Bring your attitude.  Bring it all.  If you can’t spare 5 minutes in the morning, set your alarm to get up early.  Make this a priority.  It will, I PROMISE, set the stage for the type of day you will have.  If you’re a night hawk and can stay up past 9:45 p.m. (I don’t fall in this category), spend your quiet time before bed.

2)      Start with Gratitude. What are the things you are thankful for? Big and small.  If you have a hard time finding them, start with the fact that you can sit, in liberty, and freedom, and worship your Maker.

3)    Take revenue of your shortcomings from the previous 24 hours.  Be honest. Name them. If you feel uncomfortable at this stage with the word or concept of “sin”-start with areas that you consider your weaknesses.  Things you struggle with.  Even destructive thoughts you have. Less than stellar moments in traffic or at work.

4)      Ask for help & forgiveness to start afresh.  Believe you’ve received it.  Let it go. If you are stuck in a pit of blame, God wants to release you from this.  Desperately.  Because it infects and affects every future situation you encounter.

5)      Ask for what you need.  Areas in your life you wish to improve.  Character you want to develop.  Debts you need to get out of.  Job interviews you are getting prepared for.  Daycare spots you are looking to find.  Direction.  Guidance.  Decisions.  Needed friends.  Existing ones.  Health.  Conflict.  Anything and everything that is on your heart.  Anything.

6)    Thank God for hearing you.

As an aside, don’t worry at all about the how to’s. The concern is with, who you are meeting in prayer. Who are you talking to?  If you do this sitting down, standing up, on your knees, in your car, or in the bathtub, it doesn’t matter.   The importance is the position of your heart and who you are reaching out to.  If you don’t yet know who you are reaching out to, start there.  Ask where he is.  How he can meet you.  Ask him who he is.  This can be done silently in meditation, or you can speak out loud.  I’ve found over the years, that praying out loud (as if speaking to a friend) is the best way that I connect and feel heard by God (and it keeps me from drifting off about grocery lists).  If you are worried about your husband or loved one finding you alone in a room talking to your self, in fear that you may be shipped off to the nearest hospital, find a time when you won’t be interrupted or self conscious. J

The important thing is to keep making yourself available to Him.  Meeting with Him consistently.  After all, how could we sustain any of our relationships and friendships if we didn’t talk to the people we love? Lastly, if we want to fall in love with someone, we need to spend time seeking them out and getting to know them too.  Jesus frequently spent time in prayer with his father.  And, I don't know about you, but I'm guessing if he needed it, then I probably need it as well.  Feel free to share your Prayer 101's as well...

~The next morning Jesus awoke long before daybreak and went out alone into the wilderness to pray.~ Mark 1:35

Home

The brown haired woman looked to be in her late fifties.  Her fingernails perfectly manicured, hands lotioned smooth. Personal grooming; immaculate.  Glasses low enough on the bridge of her nose to expose her well made-up eyes.  Tailored suits with buttons.  Many buttons.  Collar pressed and everything, well, everything just-so.

The clanking of the keys around her wrist tapped on the cherry wood bank desk.  The room smelled of paper and success.  She leaned forward, downward, at me, “but do you have any assets?”

I was twenty eight years old, fresh off the plane from England, returning to my small town bank.  The one I had visited countless times as a child and young adult.  Returning with a bag on my shoulder.  And hopes in my heart.  “Like you mean, stuff I own?”, I asked.  Sheepishly.

And then my mind slipped off to a day dream.  The past four years of adventure and exploration.  Growth as a woman.  Confidence gained.  Identity sculpted.  Friendships forged.   Career climbing.  Worlds explored.  Cultures visited.  Relationships developed. Battles fought in this thing called life.  Tests of integrity.  Deeply searching.  Seeking.  Enduring.  Moments of brokenness.  All of the years.  Oh, all of the years.

I drove away angry.  Assets.  Assets?

“You should be here”, I remembered as she pointed at the graph, the financial one, of my tick box existence.  The 25-30 category.  Where ski-doos, two-storey’s, two vehicles, and two wed-locked people usually fall.

And then the tears came.  Big, silent, fat ones that puddled on my down-filled jacket.  Falling so loud, the discouragement echoed in the car.  Not quite measuring up-again.  Wishing God had made me more “normal” so I would be content in the keeping up with the Jones’ kind of life. “I’m not where I expected I would be”, I whispered.

For a little while the longing was painful.  No, it was humbling.  And then with discipline and concentration, several months later I got where I wanted to be, at least financially.    Then I experienced it.  For a moment;  this feeling of being home.  Of arriving. Of making it.

But, as with any achievement that's settled and conquered, like the coming of winter, the longing came back again.  To want more.  To needing to reach a place.  Somewhere.  Something.  Someone.  Just one place, only to reach it and find the feeling slip through my hands. Again.

          

Do you know that you are meant for so much more than this?

Than just this place. 

Just this job.

Just this situation. 

Just this bank account.

Just this health issue.

Just this home. 

That your divine purpose is just that, divine. That the longing and the thirst, the unquenchable, exhausting, unending thirst, is meant to be filled by the very person who knows your name. Who knows your heart.

Who is your home.

In all places. 

At all times.  In all ways.  Always.

And he meets you here.  Open-armed.  Every day.  Waiting for you. Regardless of what you’ve done, or where you’ve been.  Or how very tired you are.  Or how small and miniscule your faith may feel.  He whispers, “I love you child, Welcome Home.”   He has such a grand adventure to take you on.

 ~Nothing in all of creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God~Romans 8:39

Heart Vacancy

Growing up my family had the privilege to take summer holidays on the road.  Two to three weeks of back seat bliss.  The suns rays reflecting through the windows of our Mercury Monarch.  Doodle crafts and I-spy filling the afternoon time.  Butterscotch candies soothing our restless souls.  Adventure filled hearts, craving and anticipating the new found State with its different road signs and architecture.  Never before seen restaurants and stores.  Giving me a travel bug at the age of six that I’ve not quite been able to shake.

My sisters and I thigh-to-thigh on the shag seat cover.  Seat belt latches hot, the only relief the muggy air streaming in beyond my father’s reflection in the rear view mirror.  Mom’s arm around his head rest.  Studying the back of her elbow, which I grew to memorize like the back of my hand.

Lunchtime relief found in a diner.  Chocolate milk and grilled cheese sandwich filled tummies.  Treasure hunting for toys beyond the cash register, just before the exit sign.  All on our family vacation.

The rubber of the tires hot and sticky to the pavement. Pulling in slow to the alleyway, covered by a hotel awning.  Sign, red, and poignant, like words of a Savior, “Vacancy” flashing, welcoming.  Beckoning. 

Suitcases fumbled and doors shut sturdy.  Exploring our new found temporary home.  Endless hallways of carpet and lighting.  Smells of chlorine and room service comfort.  Crisp white clean sheets, perfect edges and order.  Excitement looming as we soak in the brochures.  Itinerary and imagination wedded in bliss.

I wonder, like my hotels as a child, does your heart hold a vacancy sign? Because I know that it holds many rooms. 

Open ones. 

Clean ones. 

Never before used ones.

I know too, there are cluttered ones.

Messy ones. 

Ones where room service has not visited in a very long time.

I know that at times on my road trip, I had many signs for inviting Jesus in.  At times, mostly after cleaning, I flicked the switch to alert him to a welcomed stay.  Others, embarrassed by disorganization, or lack of hotel staffing, I’ve allowed him to drive by and find an alternate place for the night. 

But lately, I’ve kept my light on, vacancy sign flashing, despite letters missing, carpets being cleaned, sheets being pressed; I’ve let him in.  His visits, always moving.  Life altering.  Purifying.  Clarifying.  But more importantly, filling, beautifying, and intimate. 

Because, it’s the only way he can get to us.  To hold us.  To grip our lives.  To reform our character.  To reshape our hearts.  In this heart vacancy of ours.

Let’s keep our lights on.

~Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.~  Proverbs 4:23

Little Boxes

The fun thing about being a parent is it gives you license to make a complete and utter fool of yourself, and it’s perfectly acceptable.  On a near daily basis, I have the opportunity to get in touch with my “silly side”, and in a no hold barred approach, I can sing, dance, speak with a foreign accent, and just all around be someone other than my 9 to 5 self.  My daughter, I believe, cherishes these moments with me above all others.  “Silly Mommy”, she giggles, as she grins her toothy smile.

In our household, part of the silliness seems to be stimulated by music.  I refuse to cancel my cable subscription, not for the television, but for the 24 hour access we have to a wide range of radio songs.  In addition to Christian Contemporary Music, one of our favorites is a station called “Kids Stuff”.  We dance, sing, play instruments, and groove out to kids music from all eras and all countries.  The station provides fertile soil for ones ridiculousness to grow. And I love every minute of it.

Recently during one of our “jam sessions”, I was brought back to a song I had heard from my childhood, entitled, “Little Boxes”, you may remember it:

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky,
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses
All went to the university,
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same,
And there's doctors and lawyers,
And business executives,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And, as always, I got thinking.  This time, about ticky tack.  And, how the biggest part of my human struggle consists of wanting to be made of it.  So, I can look just the same.  And mostly, have some reassurance that I’ve done it right.  In my little box on the hillside.  With my daughter and our dog. In my drive to the university. Little boxes just the same.

The thing that God is revealing to me, is I’m not cut out for ticky tack.  And no matter how much I try to twist and squeeze and mold myself in that little box, his design for me and for my life, takes on its own shape, in its own time, with its own color, and he doesn’t really call me to be just the same. And, the good news is He doesn’t call you to be either.

While Jesus didn’t talk on ticky tack, he did speak in metaphors, often referring to wide and narrow gates. He selected a motley crew of disciples to follow him through that gate, and in fact asked them to leave their little boxes made of ticky tack on the side of the road.  And I forget this in my ganders through the Urban Barn, secretly longing for the latest in home furnishings.  This whole thing about narrow gates.

So friend, today, let’s be okay with putting our little boxes on the side of our roads, looking ahead to the narrow gate where Jesus calls us to follow.  Let us welcome, celebrate, and be encouraged by the adventure and excitement He will lead us on.  The adventure that does not involve ticky tack, or anything that resembles looking the same.

~You will show me the way of life, granting me the joy of your presence and the pleasures of living with you forever.~ Psalm 16:11

Called

The blue shag carpet collected between my fingers and toes as if springtime grass.  The handles of my white dresser drawers, like old castle door knockers, challenged me in a staring contest.  Black out blinds pulled nearly shut.  Afternoon sun peeking in the room beckoning and reminding me of the fun just beyond our front door.  The fun I wasn’t having.  It was nap-time.  I was five or six years old.  But, I wasn’t tired.  After all, I was about to have a very serious conversation. 

With head bowed gracefully, thoughts organized around perfect words and sequences, I mustered up all of the will I could and whispered my defence argument:

"Dear God, 

I'm a likeable kid.  I haven't done too many bad things.  I'll be good and do good, I promise.  Just please....I beg of you...please don't ever ask me to be a nun." Amen.

It's laughable now, I know.  But decades ago I spent the day in angst about this particular concern.  The idea that God had a say in my future.  That he also had a plan for my life and it may just be something I hadn't set my heart on.  My idealistic, romance loving, fairy-tailed, bride dreaming self worried that this man in the sky would take her dreams away from her.  And instead, saddle her with cranky, uptight roommates, as she yawned another Hallelujah.  Not to mention those hideous habits.

It was my first experience with the knowledge of a calling.  And maybe it was on the backdrop of a Cathecism class, or an existential conversation with my mom, but the idea mildly stressed me out.  And suddenly I had to distance myself from this God and his Jesus who let the little children come to him.  He couldn't be trusted if he was going to rope me into something like the nun hood.

Years passed and like many of you I spent my twenties trying to figure “it” out.  What I was supposed to do.  Who I was supposed to marry.  Where I was supposed to study.  Eager to answer the phone of a calling.  Confused about ringtones and messengers.

Existential struggles that were hard on my moldable heart and permeable mind. More often than not, taking myself off the crossroads of life, preferring to sit in the neighboring field, than make a wrong directional decision.  In a crop of confusion, feeling alone and misunderstood. Wishing the universe would be a little more direct with its communication.

Alas, decades later and I’m not a nun.  And after flights overseas and years spent in different cities, I’m back in my childhood one.  I’m a mom.  My fairy-tale romance, anything but linear, and still unconcluded.  

And the calling?  It’s quite simple.  It turns out the phone did ring. Multiple times in fact.  I answered it.  Sometimes.  I listened.  Partly.  Busy, doing dishes, or watching a good show on tv.  Other times, too tired to answer.  Not wanting to be interrupted in my selfish container of life.  But, in moments of trial or time spent too long in the crops of confusion I held the receiver, cupped in both hands, really listening.  And in these moments, this is what His phone call told me to do:

Accept my love.

Bring me your brokenness.

Know I’m your Savior.

Trust me.

Get to know me.

Talk with me.

Listen.

Answer your phone.

God’s calling on our lives is quite simple.  You just need to pick up the phone.

~Then Jesus told her, I am the Messiah~ John 4:26

{This post is in response to Holley Gerth's blog, for the entry: In God's heart I am...Called.  Check out her inspiring writings at www.holleygerth.com}

Enough

Elementary school field days, as a child, were my least favorite of the year.  Something about the colored ribbons and the set-up of orange pylons made my hair stand on end.  The competition was palpable in the air. Looming above and around us like a bad stench that could not be denied.

Jennifer Nikkels was the fastest runner in our grade despite her short stature.  She was one of those early developed children.  An Olympic shape already growing and molding over her 8 year old skeleton.  She could jump higher, run faster, and throw farther than all of her classmates.  The envy permeated my early childhood self, eating away at my good qualities.  I wanted to be better.  I wanted to be first.

The beauty of growing up in a small town is it permits you to be first in something.  Sometimes, many things.  By sheer numbers, the giftings are spread seemingly fairer. Children were seen and recognized.  By teachers.  By our peers.  By our selves.  It was water for my thirsty adolescent soul.  People telling me I was first again.  Suddenly, feeling enough.

When school ended, my high school diploma, along with my ‘enough’ status were packed away in a shoebox at the bottom of my closet. With the competition over, I once again stood alone, looking for orange pylons and a graph with my first and last name waiting to be graded and ranked.  But the teachers had gone home. The small town, now smaller. Drives to the city to attend college classes, more endless.  Exhaustion setting in.  About this game.  This game of being enough.

And then it happened.  I entered the auditorium 5 years later with the ghost of my medals and my papers of success.  I sat down on a chair, U2 blasting, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” resonating deep in my soul.  I glanced down to find a letter.  A love letter, written for me.  It read:

Dear Child,

~You may not know me, but I know everything about you.  I know when you sit down and when you stand up. ~

The letter went on to describe who I was in God.  How he saw me.  His thoughts about me.  It revealed his character.  And sure, it was written and compiled by a member in the church.  But they were words that were taken from His word put together in a beautiful poem, that timely ended up in my striving hands and changed my life forever.

That single day, God entered in, telling me that I alone, in him, was enough.  The weights were put down, the pressure slid off and freedom was found, not in ranking systems, or grades, or athletic success, or degrees of niceness, or beauty, or the game of life, but alone in him.  In our dance together.

I woke up this morning with old thoughts that there was more I needed to achieve.  That in my slippers, and with my coffee, my 33 year old self needed more.  To do more, to be better, to attain something.  My dreams and desires mean much to God.  Everything in fact because my heart is hidden in His.  He knows my adult self.  He has seen me grow and change.  He sees my struggles.  My wrestling.  My heartache.  My longings.  In it all, he whispers, daughter, you right now, in your apparent deficiencies, are enough.  And not, the house that you're wanting, the financial place that you're working towards, the mate that you are seeking, the degree you’re earning, will make better or worse, who you are and how I see you.

Today, my friend, my beautiful beloved friend: As we set up our pylons and get ready for another race;  as we look all around us to see where we think we may rank,  know that just as you are,  right now,  are more than enough.  Because you belong to him who is too.

{this post is in response to Holley Gerth’s theme for the week:  In God’s heart I am…enough.  Check out her blog at www.holleygerth.com}

Chris Tomlin Lyrics-All of You is More than Enough

All of you is more than enough for all of me
For every thirst and every need
You satisfy me with your love
And all I have in you is more than enough

You are my supply
My breath of life
Still more awesome than I know
You are my reward
Worth living for
Still more awesome than I know

And all of you is more than enough for all of me
For every thirst and every need
You satisfy me with your love
And all I have in you is more than enough

You are my supply
My breath of life
Still more awesome than I know
You're my coming King
You're my everything
Still more awesome than I know

And all of you is more than enough for all of me
For every thirst and every need
You satisfy me with your love
And all I have in you is more than enough

More than all I am
More than all I need
You are more than enough for me
More than all I know
More than all I can say
You are more than enough