Hope Archives - You Are My Girls

Together

Here I go, letting the words run, trusting language He gives to tumble out, prompted by the beauty of Lisa-Jo’s prompt, Together. Do you hear the whisper, girls? Do you hear Him speaking? He sings beauty to your heart. It can’t be helped.

[G]ather us up, Father, and we will go where You go.

She picks up her baby, little girl eye’s soft, tender cheeks aglow, eyes shining. There You are.

She feels the pressure of her friend’s hand on her back, prayers lifted to You, her heartache a song woven into something beautiful. Your voice catches, more than a whisper in the wind.

She remembers the beauty of the proposal, when the promise of marriage, the dream of it all, seemed more beautiful than the reality, and she lays it on the cross, knowing this one flesh You’ve united is real. And You sew it all together again, when she hands You the tattered threads of hope-bled-dream.

She cries from some place deep, the yearning of a little girl heart not fulfilled, not seen, not spoken to, and she begs for an answer, pleading for ressurection, a new life to begin in her. For the dead one threatens to pull her under again, to that unspoken dark ground. And You hold her close, hold a mirror to her heart, showing her what You have seen all along, and her tears reflect Your promise, and shine

You come, pulling us together, Your girls, to common ground.

STOP

April 19, 2012 — 39 Comments

In Five-Minute Friday, Hope

Delight

[H]e tells me I am His delight, and I believe Him. I see Him smile when He looks at me, the bright twinkle in His eye, the playfulness when He rejoices, and the sure footing when He walks. He knows where He is going, so I go, too. I don’t know the path much of the time, but I am happy not to know. His shoulders ahead of me, strong and confident, are what I see. More than that for me to know and I would surely stumble.

And with Him I do not fall.

He tells me I am His delight, and He shakes off cobwebs from the past, showing me where He was, even when I didn’t know it. He grabs my hand and shows me what I love, what brings me joy — reminding me what brings me delight, what brings me life — movement and stillness, rushing water and quiet breezes, loving with a heart of surrender, forgetting myself and knowing only Him. He reaches in to the aches of yesterday and redeems today. There is beauty in each corner of pain, each moment of sadness. He has never left, leaning in, weeping, too.

To know delight, one must know sorrow, too.

To believe I am His delight stirs me to want to tell you, too, to be a voice of hope and faith, to want to pray that His adoration of you — you — is more than you can even imagination and dream. His delight in you is light in moments of doubt, stirring love toward hope, bringing joy from darkness, life into death.

You, my sweet sister, are His delight.

Would you like to join me and run with this prompt, too? It’s a fun adventure, letting your fingers flow with Lisa-Jo’s prompt: Delight.

I pray you have a beautiful, weekend, girls, soaking up His love and believing — just a little, even — how much the Father delights in you.

February 17, 2012 — 31 Comments

In Five-Minute Friday, Hope, Identity

The ten by ten inch wooden tile is handed to me at a park while my kids zoom around on scooters and bikes, and my friend’s almost six month old baby tries to stand in her mother’s arms.

The words, arranged in tucked away clumps on the sides of the tile’s face, shout to me, in love:

And my friend smiles and says, “I knew you would love it,” and I do; I love it. My heart jumps when I read the words because their truths resonate deeply and make everything in me stir.

We find what we look for. . .

I have been found, and my claimed heart seeks His all the more because of it. He lets me find Him because I am the found one, the treasured one.

Tell me more . . .

He asks me to tell Him more, and I do — most of the time. But I hold back a lot of my heart often, and the One who always listens, always cares about each detail of my life, each choice I stumble or rise to make, waits and lets me come close, where I can feel His heart beating in mine. He is the present one, the solid one, and I ask for forgiveness for my quietness, my withdrawing from Him.

Captured by His love, pour out your heart like a waterfall overflowing. Your father, who knows each thought, each emotion, each urge and whim that dances through, leans in to hear, not wanting to miss a thing.

Hear me seeing you . . .

I want my words to be a salve, His words in me to press into my heart and take root there. I want to choose the good soil and let my Gardener tend my heart. He brings water to quench my thirst and His light for me to rise and see His face. Father, let me respond to You with joy — and bloom.

See the garden blooming, where the gardener bends low, with care, touching with sure figures each petal, each stalk, each seed taking root and bursting forth from the ground. His care brings forth beauty and promise, life of which He is in charge — if the plant surrenders care of itself and lets the Gardener do the watering.

For I was a stranger and you welcomed me . . .

My hand beats on the door, this door that I have walked through but that I knock on again, even though I am on the other side. For I need Him. There is the door I walk through, to have no separation between myself and my Father, and there are the doors of my heart that my Savior knocks on, asking for permission to come in, to shine light, to bring truth and to heal. For I am no stranger, no lost sheep, no abandoned child, forgotten and out of sight. Does my heart bring with it welcome when He knocks, again? Do I run to Jesus when He asks me to give up the hard thing that separates me from Him, that tears my heart and makes me weak, without Him? Do I accept His offers or reject them? Do I hear His heart beat in the voice of the lonely, the desperate, the cast-off? Do I see?

Open the door when the knock resounds, for there is healing He brings, this Friend-Lord-Savior who knows where the pain lies, the wounds pressing deep. This invitation to welcome Him in turns the world upside down, so that with Him within hearts, the knocking continues, with our hand pressing gently upon that stranger’s door.

Just be . . .

The wounds surface time and again, the belief I am not good enough, that I don’t have a voice, that my heart is cold and not capable of showing love. And You scoop me up and remind me that I am perfectly made, adored, Your daughter in whom You delight. So, I know the truth is that, as each of Your children, I must be special, and I must have a voice, this desire that beats inside me to be communicated and heard. And I also must have a heart, a heart that, when united with Yours — Your heart of tender, fierce compassion, love, and grace — exudes love, too.

There is nothing to be done to be loved more than you are. There is nothing to be done to be more adored, cherished, and welcomed into His arms. And once there, resting in His arms, feeling His heart beat against your chest as you press close, He will show you more how He pursues you, how He longs for you to let Him continue to cleanse and make you whole. We are not fully ourselves — stunningly beautiful and filled with His love — until we let Him let us be fully His.

WE FIND WHAT WE LOOK FOR

tell me more

hear me seeing you

for I was a stranger and you welcomed me

just be

What are you seeking?

What does He long to tell you?

Do you hear Him seeing you?

Do you welcome Him into each door of your heart?

Can you rest, knowing you are enough: His beloved, dearly cherished and adored?

August 4, 2011 — 2 Comments

In Faith, Gifts, Hope

Cries of the Heart

To the Father who redeems, who restores, we loves us beyond what we can ever comprehend, we trust You. We believe You heal.

In a hospital room lies an 18-month old little girl who wandered into the driveway of her home yesterday and was run over by a car. She is in a medically-induced coma, her body broken, her parents’ hearts breaking.

In another bed, in her own home, a young mother lies locked in with her thoughts, blinking her only way of communicating, after suffering a stroke a year and a half ago that has paralyzed her entire body. Her children hug her and she feels it but can’t respond. She has words to say but cannot speak.

A woman’s husband who separated from her a year ago has a heart attack and her heart breaks with this love for him, for the family and father she hopes for her children. She waits on Him and trusts, arms open and tired.

Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light (Matthew 11: 28-30).

Your children cry out to You, Father, and You hear us. Pain does not turn You away, make You indifferent, aloof. You carry the broken-hearted, Your resurrection being our hope, Your life in us helping us bear the trials and suffering of this life. Redeem, Father. Your children cry.

My dear friend at SoulStops wrote a post this week that stirred my heart, as she explored God’s words in Romans 8:28: “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” She shares how Jesus knows each pain we suffer and wants to bring His ultimate healing to every wound. With Jesus’ taking away all of our sin, we are redeemed, all sin wiped away. And the Father does not turn away. He hears His children’s cries. He comes.

May 5, 2011 — 3 Comments

In Faith, Hope, Prayer, Suffering

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