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{ Oh, He Will. Oh, He Will. }

There's something dismissive about an alarm.

And something irresistible when it's God.

I woke up this morning at 4:59 a.m. My alarm was set for 5 a.m. I had to smile. Had my alarm gone through with its work, I might have been tempted to kick it off. Ugh, 5 a.m. is early. The night wasn't nearly long enough. I'm. Not. Moving. From. This. Spot.

But when the alarm failed to sing me awake, and instead I woke "on my own" and sensed nothing but God calling my name. A mom-version of the child Samuel, hearing the voice of God calling. Immediately my eyes pulled open. The shutters flung wide. I'm here! I'm awake! I'm up!

Within five minutes I was standing and waiting for coffee, a lit candle in my hand, ready to carry and cup up whatever God had waiting for me. I was rushed. I was feeling it in my spirit, as though if I didn't hurry, He would move on. Go wake up another daughter in another house who was ready for His words. I wanted it to be me. Desper…
Recent posts

{ IT'S YOUR BREATH IN OUR LUNGS }

I've been encouraged to write. Challenged. Read it on pages and in between lines. Heard it in a song. Write, write, write. The ones who know me so well... they tell me. "Where are you? Why aren't you doing this thing that you were given to do?" And... I don't know. I've got kids, man. I've got responsibilities and stuffed calendars and I just sometimes want to sit in my comfy pants and eat Starburst Jellybeans and binge on a favorite show. Sometimes... a lot of times... I think: what could I possibly have to offer? I can't even get caught up on laundry. I feel like I'm kind of a mess. There's not much inspirational about that.

But, I'll admit... when it's quiet? When I have space to hear the strum of my heart and the pounding of dreams racing through my head, like the agile feet of a runner, Reebok's smacking the asphalt? I feel it. I feel it right now. My spirit is knocking on a door I keep on locking up. Oh sure, pull the laptop o…

{ WE BURY DREAMS }

It feels extravagant.

A little silly.

I sit down with a plate of eggs, feta, chives. I fill a mason jar with exactly 8 oz. of cold milk. And I sit. I open a window, light a candle, and I sit.

My feet buzz with the history of busy. With the pressure of me on them all day, roaming the house, what could be done, should be done... what I'm too tired, too stressed, too hassled by kiddos to do. My feet pound the paneled floors, the carpeted steps. They think about hitting the treadmill.

The heels cup and burn with the relief of being done. For now.

This morning my alarm went off unexpectedly at 5:30 a.m. I have it preset just in case I think I'm going to get up and have some pocket of quiet before kids and school and diapers and all the all hits. And then before bed, sometimes the middle of the night, I go, "Nah." and turn it off. Tell Jesus that if He wants to meet with me, He can wake me up.

Pretty sure I turned the alarm off.

My husband nudged me this morning as it was …

Your Love is Fierce...

I was so angry. So painfully, gut-wrenchingly, angry.
I didn’t know that’s what it was.
January was exhausting, sickly, draining. It clipped fast on the heels of December and holidays and before I knew it, what should have been a day to celebrate my beautiful niece, was a reminder that she wasn’t here. And I was a mess all day. Cried about everything. I had a purple heart on the calendar and I was destroyed.
I went to choir practice the following Wednesday. I usually always want to go. This week, I didn’t. I felt shattered and exposed and I knew that any song, every song, would set me off. I knew I needed to go, something deep in my spirit knew, but I was so apprehensive. One chorus. One bridge. One well-meaning repeat and I would be undone. I had been breaking and re-breaking in a thousand different ways since October. I was falling apart in every direction.
I had to leave during practice once that night. Went into the ladies room and sobbed so loud, before I could stop myself. My grief …

{ I've Heard the Whisper ... }

Nobody likes to sit in the dark.
That’s what I tell him as I flip on the light so he can clearly see his granola bar, handful of Froot Loops and his Star Wars vitamins.
No one wants darkness.  It’s heavy and depressing.  Oppressing. It feels sneaky and devious. It can feel scary and hopeless.  It’s a wet blanket on the warm fire of a sun-filled day. It snuffs out all the hope and brilliance, ideas and dreams, that you had during the day. In the dark it all shifts. It all feels worn and tired, old and pointless; you feel lost in a forest of trees with eyes and faces and arms and you wonder why you ever thought you could find your way out or change the world.
The darkness can be such a storyteller of lies.
The darkness can be such a sanctuary for the Teller of all the lies. 
And the darkness can be banished... just. like. that.
“Let there be light.”

God proved in the very beginning, before elephants and man and oceans and babies... He proved first that beyond creating, beyond teaching leaves …

{ You Don't Miss a Thing }

There are days when things feel a little winsome.  A little magical.  When I feel like I am those things in those days.  That there is an otherwordly grasp.  A song I can’t hear, have never heard, but completely know.  Every chord.  Every strain.  Every dotted half note.  I hang on every tone as though it’s a good word.  I’m walking around, but I feel like I’m dancing.  I am dancing.
Today was one of those days. It didn’t start out in an extraordinary fashion, but then again, maybe it did.  It started dark and early, like every morning. I actually pushed myself out of bed even earlier in an effort to have a come to Jesus moment. I wanted it. Needed it. Went looking for it, like a nighttime snack.  But instead of my head in the freezer searching for the next pint of mint chocolate chip, my hands were around a mug and my heart was looking for Him.  Expecting Him. 

I read some verses. Said a small prayer. Waited for the alarm to get my oldest up for school, since the sun wouldn’t be up f…