The lost cost

Finally, a breath of fresh air. Sniff...so this is what it feels like. I'll take it, even if it comes with a little snow. So, for a few moments while my mind is clear, I wonder about myself: WHAT happened there?! And as I chew on one thought, another bubble pops and with the sticky on my face, a kalidescopic formulation begins to build a massive sculpture of colorful wads of bubble gum...tasted, chewed, then saved for nostalgic value. (Pop.)

I wonder if I care too much what others will think before I speak or act...

Does it matter to me what people say about me? ...

The answer to this question will influence my choices, words, and relationships. Is that freeing me or costing me? (Pop.) I want to explore this attribute of humanness and search out the truth in order to restore freedom back to life.

Jesus once said, "The truth will set you free..."

Truth results in freedom because it exposes, separates, and stabilizes the core issues. To sit on the fence and chew gray bubble gum may be unthreatening and colloquial; however, in essence, it is just that...gray. Uninviting, indifferent, diseased. I fool myself to think that this is peace when in actuality it is the only action done by pure lazyness. (Pop.)

I threw a party. The invitation was to those who were willing to come dressed their worst in clothes that they already had in their closet. Basically, it was a challenege for guests to ruin their reputations for one night by changing their outward appearance alone. The turnout was surprisingly good. What happened that night was that freedom was given room to just be. Each of us had come at a cost and had laid down our pride, and we talked with a new openness and vulnerability.

But generally, I squirm under truth like this, although it ignites me inside. I want to believe that truth is core in my life and I will pay for it at any cost. But truth at the cost of my reputation...(pop.) Am I willing to walk in this kind of freedom...

I have learned new information in the past few weeks. I have seen people hiding and lying in order to preserve their reputation. Instead, it actually cost them their reputation. And I wonder why I cover myself up when what I really need is to know that I am loved just as I am...
Broken. (Pop.)
Weak. (Pop.)
Unworthy. (Pop.)

Reputation is fragile. Truth is foundational.

John 15:19 "If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you."

I have learned that being hated does not mean there is something wrong with the way I'm doing things. I have learned that Jesus did not defend His reputation. In the moments that He was being accused, He remained in love and truth, and remained confident in who He was and what He was here to do. (Pop.) Am I remaining in His love? Foundational in His truth? Confident in who I am and what I am here to do?

My heart longs to say yes.

I choose to pay the cost of freedom. To live no longer gray. (Pop.) Lord, help me.

Ezekiel 2:5-7:
"And whether they listen
or fail to listen...
they will know
that a prophet has been among them.
And you, son of man,
do not be afraid of them
or their words.
Do not be afraid,
though briers and thorns
are all around you
and you live among scorpions.
Do not be afraid
of what they say
or terrified by them,
though they are a rebellious house.
You must speak my words to them, whether they listen or fail to listen..."

After all, the only alternative is a free piece of gray bubble gum disguised in peace.

Today I choose...

If I were a pet, the kind of pet I would be is the kind that is locked in the basement in the dark (while the sun shines on all the others outside) with just enough water to survive. It is receiving nothing to meet its needs, and is on either the verge of death or a revolution.

Well, that's melodramatic.

I know. But it is real to me today. It's the picture of a hidden room in my heart. And I need to get out of the basement, out of the dark, find a new owner, and get some food. Or... burn that room down and let the little rodent die, bury it and move on. Because the snack I had yesterday isn't enough food to last me for today. And the sun that shone on my face yesterday, can't fulfill me for today when I`m locked in the darkness.

Now, that's realistic.

"By wisdom a house is built,
and through understanding it is established;
through knowledge its rooms are filled
with rare and beautiful treasures."

Proverbs 24:3

Overcoming the need to be GREAT.

Goodbye greatness. Hello humility.

It has been an interesting few days.

First, the family News. The convincing clues of innocence formed a menagerie we all wanted to believe in. Pushing all doubts behind us and choosing to be intentional about believing, we allowed ourselves to be persuaded.

After all, Love always believes the best. Always trusts. Always hopes. Always perseveres.

Wow...talk about making yourself vulnerable enough to looking like a gullible idiot!

Are you seriously supposed to believe the best even when there is a possibility that you are being lied to and manipulated? Even when there's a possibility that this situation will end up with even more pain? You mean, you don't accuse because that's what Satan does and you might end up consipiring with him?

Yes. Because there are no conditions for loving that way: No room for it in unconditional love. This is vulnerability in its purest form. Willingly submitted to the point of humility. To the point of death. And reputation. Because herein lies the secret to the "unconditional" part.

As you may already suspect, although the weekend started with Belief, it didn't end that way.

Initially, the performance came along for a while, and it was a good performance. And we so wanted to believe, and it became easier. And then, the Truth came in the sting of betrayal and mockery was pushed aside in favor of forgiveness and shadows of love (as we still know it).

What have I learned?
I have potential for failure. This is not morbid or sad. It is reality. The tip of humility. The moment I think I am any better than the least of these is the moment in which I fall from grace.

I have also learned practically how words hold the power of death and life. Specifically, I'd like to talk about lies. Lies are typically spoken to me when there is something I want to hear. That's why they're so powerful, and they're so easy to believe. They clone themselves as though they were to spread life, when they do not. How can I learn to tell if there is life or death coming from words when "love always believes the best"? Is it that extent to which I must humble myself to the point of becoming a fool?

Did people think Jesus was a fool? Yes. Did He defend or fight for His reputation? No. Not with words. He fought with His actions. He layed down His life for His friends. So does this mean that believing the best means laying down my reputation to fight for someone else's?

All I know is that Jesus already did the work. And words that are followed up with action are the only true words. Words that wash up on the shore are only seaweed: Of the sea, but not in the sea. The heart is in the action.

So how do I make sure I am loving not only with my words but with my actions as well? It's an overwhelming task fit only for a servant who esteems her master's tasks far more than her own. To extend His Kingdom before her own. To extend His arms within her own without conditions to liars and thieves.

So today I wonder, what is He asking of me?

To love
beyond my ability
I need His stability
to find nobility
Lower
Lesser
No longer
hiding under
the turbulent wind of
my reputation
my ego
my right to be right
But
serve sinners
just like me
and make dinners
without a fee
And love them
like He loved me
And to let my
words
be
few
and my actions
many.
-------------
This is my selfishness washed up at the edge of the sea...
to love with my heart and less debris.

What's love anyway?

Love.

I am convinced that if I were to truly know what love meant, it would change me completely.

I am convinced that I have created countless bucketfuls of "love sand castles" in which I have proudly presented what love is and what love does to myself. For instance, I know that it hugs when it feels like it and, well, sometimes when it doesn't. I know that it tries to humbly let someone else go first, even when it wants you to just hurry up so we can get this over with. It speaks softly, not rudely...even when the words still sting. But when the feeble conditions of my love-towers have been kicked over after a long day at the beach, what I have seen is that these "sand fortresses" are merely a shadow of the unconditional love that I have craved to have.

Transforming, unconditional love. I am still convinced that I don't understand this. But knowledge alone puffs up; it is love that builds up. So am I searching for "knowledge" alone or digging deeper than that?

Enter: Commercial Break
Right now, I am wondering why the picture of sandy beaches and sand castles are playing a role in my heart's forensics. And I don't want to answer that either.
Sand. There is no substance to it. Nothing can be built on it. It can sustain only: nothing.
Sand castles. Castles are supposed to be fortresses. Strong towers. Sure, if they're not made of sand. That is plainly ironic.
The beach. A place where sand is...and I am. I am at the beach. But where must I go to find the kind of love that I need so desperately for new ground? My heart needs a new picture.
End: Commerial Break.

I am convinced that love is not knowledge.

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." (1 Cor. 13:13)

So love is more impressive than faith. But...what?...how can this be?...Faith only the size of a mustard seed can move a mountain! Is love really stronger then that?

...what is love moving in my life?

And love is more compelling than hope. Hope doesn't disappoint. Hope will never be put to shame. Through hope, strength is renewed.

...how is love being satisfied, unashamed and strengthened in my life?

Enter: New picture

So I had this picture one day that I was on the absolute tip of a mountain peak. The peak was so tiny that everything I had carried with me to get up there was falling off of me...back down the mountain. I looked down and almost went with it the load I carried. I needed something to cling to because I was losing my balance. Looking down would send me down.

I looked up. And in the picture, there was a foot extended towards me from above and I grabbed onto the big toe and clung as the last pieces of me rolled down the mountain. My life was saved. Just barely. And I squeezed as though my life depended on it. It did. And I somehow knew what I hadn't known before. That I was somehow safe as long as I was clinging to...

His foot.

Love begins

generous

with a new address

birthed at the base

and extending

upwards

towards

the peak

Where all my pretenses,

defenses

packages

and sandy castles

roll away

because I can hold them

no longer

and all that is left is

looking up

Take me to this place

Where I will

be

and love

with

no conditions.

Painting with BLUE

I still remember one of the saddest poems I ever heard (from a pizza commercial). It started with a small child, who walked out of darkness under a solitary spotlight as though doing a monologue on stage. Her eyes, her voice, the hole in her heart...commanded my attention as though it were real...

"I am a gaping void

where loneliness resides

The song in my heart

Turns mournful

and off-key

Where have you gone?

Where have you gone?"

It reminds me of something I read in a book about modifying your child's behavior that an unhappy child is a healthy child. It seems paradoxical, but they said it because they feel that:
"unhappiness motivates change."
True enough. That knowledge has often changed the way I view temper tantrums. Instead of feeling sad as I walk away, I know that it is a pivitol moment forming their future choices.

But child behavior is not my point. My point is adult behavior. More specifically, my behavior. When I feel sad, is it just a self-pityful, whiny, temper tantrum? Or am I using it for the basis to motivate change within me.

Another cup of coffee
mind swirling
around the mug
Another attempt to bury
emotions curling
just needing a hug

Don't be threatened by thoughts
just change them
exchange them
renew the BLUE
with thoughts of Who
can rearrange them.

Just decided to do a little dusting over here, don't mind me...

I look through a gallery of paintings done by a friend and smile. She must feel complete, I decide. What a blessing it must be to do what it is you are created to do.

And so I think. And wonder. And ask. What is it that I have been created to be? Will I know it when I am doing it? Will it come easy and be easy or will I have to work at it to get it just right? Will I be generous or secretive? Will it be all for Him or is it meant to be shared?

It seems like I spend so many moments waiting, watching, hoping...and not enough reflecting, rejoicing, being. I have been given an incredible gift. What is it. What am I doing with it? Has it changed me? Has it changed the way I interact or does my lack of constant perspective cause me to counteract it's supposed powers of freedom...

Thinking. Prayerful. Wonderful God. So many thoughts to be marvelled at. Being romanced, embraced, loved. Just as I am. Really? Now?

Secrets for my heart waiting to be told on His baited breath. Then, a whisper, a heart, a confirmation extends my feeling of faith. But faith is not a feeling. Neither is grace. A moment of clarity is followed by hours of mystified silence. I balance them between my spirit and fist. Remind. Rewind. Entertwine. And then try to mesh two totally opposite arguments together inside my spirit...Collide!

A stride in the right direction. A narrow road.
Vines.
Mines.
Signs.
I grab my blanket and crawl into this. Bliss. Reminisce. A moment so clear. Tomorrow austere. I cling. Sing. Bring. An offering. A heart. To trust His heart.
Dust.
Must.
I thrust my head upon His shoulders.
Combust!
The dream forms notes of fragrant music...from within me.
I cannot control it, but it must not stop. Don't stop now. Show me how. To live. Fully. Yours.
No more scores.
No chores.
Just open doors.
And Your chest of drawers...filled to the brim for me.

The ABOMINATION

TONIGHT my cooking was
Purely Inedible
The fact that they all agreed…
That’s Incredible
Perplexed, I try to analyze
The spontaneity
In which I had devised
the tender glaze
of my demise…
Cuz I know it wasn’t the way
With which
I fried the noodles
Without a hitch
And it wasn’t the zuccini
Frozen and thawed
That truly made the dish
Become flawed
Perhaps it was the sausage balls
Wetter than Niagra Falls
Soggy, raw, and hardly meat
They gave away that I did cheat
Or maybe it was stale bread chunks
I threw right in
Thinking proudly with a grin
That surely this will make me win
Italian salad dressing truly
was a unique flavour
Although not enough to fully savour
When mixed with the tomato treat
It stubbornly professed defeat
Surely it was the combination
That created this abomination
As I sit back and think, think, think
It’s not ONE thing that made it stink
But nonetheless there was not one link
To keep it from the kitchen sink
Don’t know whether to laugh
Or cry
But tomorrow I shall
Give it another try…