Gift of Bravery

But I'm afraid.

Oh, but why?!
It's fear, you know, that gives these giants (my enemies) all their strength.

Destroy the fear, destroy the giant.
They're made of paper anyway...

- - -

I cross rocky hillside to a favorite old spot. The boulder sits just where it did last time, warmed by the mountain sun.
Some things never change.


Years change though. And ages.
And I'm here both to ponder and to give thanks.

It's strange how much birthday wishes can move a soul. (or is it?)
I give thanks for them. And for the friends that gave them, and for the promises they have claimed over this little life.

But even more, today I'm thankful for one thing:
Bravery.

For blue-green eyes more than a fist full of years my junior, brave enough to stand up to me and say they expected more, better, higher, from me their friend.

And I reel and wince, and then I melt. Because I know they speak the truth.

For a little voice, rarely heard, barely raised in the babble that broke my stressed-out reasoning into pieces.
That broke me into pieces--

"In brokenness we find blessings."

And I stop and stare, and then smile. Because I know they speak the truth.

For another, strong and quiet, warning me of my own fearful power to destroy while I treck across western plains.
Half "I'm right here with you," half "you have absolutely no excuse."

And I realize, I need more of this. I crave more of this.
I might need it more than the rest of the world put together.
I need to be pushed, challenged, reminded.
And not just by my critics.

I need it from my friends.

I need more brave friends.

These three? they're keepers.
And they've given me the best of the best this birthday.

thanks guys.

Because He is, was, does. [Glorious Fast - Part VIII]

"Then shall thy light break forth as the morning,

and thine health shall spring forth speedily:

and thy righteousness shall go before thee;

and the glory of the LORD shall [go behind thee]

Then shalt thou call, and the LORD shall answer;

thou shalt cry and He shall say

'Here I am!'

Then shall thy light rise in obscurity

and thy darkness be as the noon day:

And the LORD shall guide thee continually,

and satisfy thy soul in drought.

And thou shalt be like a watered garden

and like a spring of water, whose waters fail not.

And they that shall be of thee shall build the old waste places...

and thou shalt be called

'The repairer of the breach'"

Enough said. 

Light, and strength, and holiness. 

A front runner and a rear guard. 

A new name out of nowhere. 

A confident step. A satisfied soul.

An unfailing spring.

A rebuilder of dreams? 

God's dreams?

How can that even be?

Surely there must be more. 

More than brokenness. More than choosing to go hungry.

More than gut wrenching chain-cutting.

More than mercy with power to undo.

More than banishing fear with love.

More than following Him back to finish off my tormentors.

More than giving away my only slice of bread.

More than opening my arms to hold what's dying,

         to see it raised up, or love it till it's gone.

I mean, that's a lot. But that can't be all.

No, it isn't all. There's one more thing.

To realize that after all this, I'm still nothing, will always be nothing.

And I'm saved, and I get to help save, 

because He is, was, does, all this.

"Is this not the fast that I have chosen?"

Yes. 

And I choose it too.

Relentless Pursuit

We waste hours and days in pursuit of answers from God.

When the answer to every question is to be found in the pursuit of God.


That's what I learned this morning.

- - -

Memories from the past week, compliments of Instagram (seannebblett)

The sight sister and brother-in-law will see from their balcony in Oklahoma farm country

Reunion of 8 out of 10 sibs.

Stick up to the knee wall, post and beam from there.

Andrew working his chain saw art

balancing act, on a wobbly floor joist, with an iPhone

fabricating things most people buy from the hardware store

sparklers at Chantée and Luke's Oklahoma reception

uncomplicated. little ones. (love)

And off they go!

Love With Your Eyes [Glorious Fast - Part VII]

"...and that thou bring the poor that are [afflicted] to thy house?

When thou seest the naked, that thou cover him, 

and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh?"

There are times, many times, when answers are not enough.
When the most eloquently chosen words are still a mockery...

Because what are words when I am dying of leprosy, and you are not?
What are words when I am naked, and you are warmly clothed?
What are words when we could have been siblings, when our fates could have been reversed, but you turn away because you'd rather not see my open sores?

I'll tell you exactly what words are then. Even, at times, the well meaning ones...

Shame. Shame and mockery...

Ok, whatever. So I won't talk.
Oh, but what is silence!?

-  -  -  -  -

Many feel as though they don't have the words anyway.
I'm here to go on record saying that that is no limitation.
You can still "bring," you can still "cover..."

You can still open your arms and wrap them around the neck of a dying, reeking, sick child the Highest, and hold them to your heart, unguarded.
You can look steady and strong into the eyes of the naked and afraid, and prove to them that love can see past their lack.

Oh, and you might get the stench of death all over you.
But you might also release a soul from the grip of shame.

Dirty work? You might call it that. I don't.
You know Jesus touched the leprous skin to make it whole.

Oh, love with your hands, your arms, your eyes...
And if your hands get covered in grime, no matter.

Have you ever, have you ever watched darkened eyes light up?

Love Gives

Ten days out. Long days of school, a trip to the east coast for a funeral, late nights, early mornings, (over and over again) and emails and work and volunteering piling up unmercifully--

Joy is still on the throne.

I can't explain it. Why we trip down the road at twilight the five of us that remain, and laugh instead of cry.

I can't explain it except to say that our joy is unutterably full.
And it doesn't even seem like they're gone.
They aren't really... They're closer than they were when she slept upstairs.
Even if we only exchange maybe one email a week.

The joy of giving far outshines the joy of having.

I can't explain it.
I feel no need to try.

Almost every table and windowsill in the house boasts their faces in some form.
And almost every conversation includes references to "Lukey and Chantée."

Something tells me that for some time, that's how it'll stay.