Archives For Surrender

Jump

Iscript didn’t think I’d be posting tonight, but there is just something about community I can’t resist. And when a bunch of gals who just can’t get enough of God’s heart get together and want to ask Him for words to write. .  .Well, now, that’s speaking my language.

Trusting Him. With our words. With our hearts. With our minds. With our imaginations. I desire more of that kind of heart, girls. Don’t you?

Which is why I am joining in with Lisa-Jo’s community of Five-Minute Friday writers and seeing what happens when I read a prompt and type straight on, for five minutes.

Here goes.

jump

The prompt is JUMP.

I tell you I want more of You and I wait for You to answer. You whisper in love-notes scrawled on lined white. I desire less of me, more of You–my words meaningless unless I write from a true place. I can do no one any good unless I listen to your heart for me, first.

Which is why I tell you I agree I must die.

You tell me how much you love these girls of Yours who come. You know their names. You know how they long to hear Your voice and need to be gathered up and how I long to be a part of a community that is authentic and raw and unafraid to say the hard things.

I am tired of hiding.

I am tired of pretending.

I am tired of silence and trying to say the “right” thing.

I want truth. I want hope. I want to listen first and follow second. I want to feel the texture of Your hand, know the sway of your robe as You walk, showing the way.

I will go where You go. I will trust You. You begin in me again and the jump into faith that you invite me into, with You, is always where I most want to be.

STOP Five Minute FridayI’m over at More to Be today sharing about sisterhood. I would love to hear your heart about what sisterhood means to you, my sister and friend.

Love,

Jennifersignaturescript

 

April 18, 2013 — 34 Comments
In Surrender
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It might be time to get up now

In the last couple of posts here, I wrote about surrender. This is a topic I write about a lot, in this space. It is what I share here and here. It is what prompts me to ask the Father again, “Remind me how everything I need is within me. Tell me again that You adore me and that I am enough. Strip this heart of mine clean that I may see You and receive You and walk the way my Brother did, my King. I want to be with You like He was while He was here on earth, spending each day by Your side.”

And He never tires of leaning in close, smiling at me in that way He does, to tell me again. “Girl, you are mine. There is not one thing I would do differently if I made you all over again. Please, stay here, with Me.”

Now, it is the staying here with God part that I want to talk about.

One thing I love about blog posts: I can say just a little bit about what I am thinking–in these tidy little snippets here and there. . . It’s super convenient, and expedient, too. But I need to return here to this idea of surrendering to the Holy Spirit within us, what it looks like to stay with God, because I want to clarify something.

Girl it might be time to get up

When I write how we need to surrender our will to God and rest with Him and know that He is the One in control and not us . . . When I write how we don’t need to strive to be more than we are because, in Him, we are complete. . . I don’t mean that abandoning the posture of striving and assuming the posture of being with God means that we sit around with God and do nothing.

I am not advocating doing nothing.

He has given us these amazing lives of ours to actually do something with them. Loving, in His name, is one of the two commandments Jesus shares as the most important for us to follow. Loving Jesus and loving others may begin with us sitting still to soak up God’s presence.  Absolutely. The Holy Spirit is in us, and sitting still with God helps us to remember we are not alone.

We need to sit sometimes, but we need to go, sometimes, too.

God gives us specific desires in our hearts to experience Him uniquely, moment by moment, based on our personalities and temperaments .  . . He shows us what we love to do, and He invites us on adventures with Him so we can experience even more the life He is in us. He marries the desires of our hearts with His invitations to love. We love His children through the things He has given us to love doing while on earth. Sitting still is one of the ways we can help ourselves hear His still, small voice within us and give ourselves the Sabbath rest He calls us to. Resting is an act of obedience to God . . . and it is good for us.

But sometimes, our call to obedience, our call to surrender, is not a call to rest.

Here’s the tension: In the surrendering, we are striving towards God, in the most beautiful way. We are choosing Him. We surrender our old selves and let Him clothe us with His righteousness. We recognize we can’t earn God’s love and grace; we can’t earn a gift, especially one we can never deserve.

Surrendering the old self and believing we don’t need to be the one in control takes obedience. And obedience to God is choosing connection with Him, whatever He calls us to do.

Perhaps obedience is sitting still, watching waves break at the ocean shore. Perhaps it is taking out the garbage and serving our family and driving the kids around and cleaning up after the dog. Perhaps it is packing our bags and going across the world and serving His children in need . . . or simply loving our neighbor down the hall or across the street.

Surrendering can mean sitting still, and it can also mean moving. The thing is, in each answer of obedience–whether sitting still in His presence or clinging to His hand as you rescue an impoverished child across the world–you are moving with God. Each act of obedience, each act of surrendering, each act of believing He is enough and we are enough, with Him, is being with Him, abiding with Him, moving with Him.

Even in our rest, and even in our going, we can abide.

Jesus could do anything in the will of His Father. He submitted His will to God. He experienced the freedom that comes from knowing His Father was the one in charge. He chose that kind of Life, just like we have the opportunity to choose this same kind of Life and freedom, too.

We are called to be obedient. We are called to abide–be with, live in Jesus’ presence, tune our hearts and minds to the posture of the Holy Spirit within us, our Guide that does not fail.

Perhaps one of the greatest challenges Christians face is not being willing to surrender our will to God and not being obedient to the Spirit that is within us. We might spend our lives trying to earn salvation by doing stuff for Jesus under the guise that we are doing that stuff with Him.

Let’s not confuse doing things for God with doing things with God. There is nothing worth doing that we can do on our own.

At my kitchen counter, as I assemble a meal for a friend, I hear Kim Walker-Smith sing loud through the speakers: “I don’t want to camp out and stay in one place, God” . .” She seeks His voice, “What are you doing, what are you saying  . . . I want to be with you tonight. . . I need you more . . Your presence is life to me . . . I need more of your presence every day, every day, God.” This is my prayer for us, here.

His presence is the beginning girls.  We can’t do a thing without it.

Oh, Father, I am so thankful we don’t have to.

Do you feel the tension between staying and going, as you abide, girls? How is He calling you to move with Him? I would love to hear a bit about your journey with Him now.

March 13, 2013 — 8 Comments
In Adventure, Life and Death, Surrender
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How we all need, desperately, to be seen

Do you see me?

Father, I see her dancing, her eyes looking for me, her pink lips turned in a smile.

“Are you watching? Do you see me?”

I see you, dear one, your floaty pink twirls and pointed toes. I see how you lean, stretch, then turn and turn–arms overhead, head back, back arched, lemony hair pushed back from your eyes.

She is tender, Father. She takes in my emotions, a subtle sadness, a wave of irritation on my brow. Her sweet eyes look into mine before she declares, “Nobody loves me!”  Eyes so big, watching mine.  Waiting. . .

For the rest of the post, please click here and meet me over at my friend Michele-Lyn’s, at A Life Surrendered, where I am delighted to be guest posting today.

 

February 4, 2013 — Leave a comment
In Faith, Joy, Love, Surrender , ,
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Stretch

Five minutes of writing, going with Lisa-Jo’s prompt and watching what happens . . . And then, the best part, connecting with beautiful community after.  Want to join in, too?  Today’s prompt is S t r e t c h:

GO

[I] type up the email, the one that took me six months of discovering and one month of delaying to finally have the courage to do it.  I write that I know what it is like to feel like silence is better than telling.  I know what it feels like to feel broken and small but not really, as I also know what it feels like to do whatever it takes to make yourself feel big and important and smart and like you have it all together.  I know what it feels like to die inside, not even knowing it is happening — thinking that the choice you make is the only one you could possibly make. There is no other way to live — to die.  I know what it is like to think the only life is the one created by the self, fought hard for, sacrificed for, worth giving everything for.  I know what it is like to feel ready to end the life He’s given rather than tell a soul what I was about to do . .

And I tell the high school ministry coordinator that I want to mentor girls because I still live in that place sometimes, the place where the only answer is the one you feel you have to come up with yourself.  Vulnerability is not an option.  Only success.  Only perfection.  Only victory.  I know what it is like to exercise for hours in your room — before and after running for two hours with the boys, at track practice.  I know what it is like thinking the perfect outfit for the day is worth hurting the relationship of your younger sister for.

I send the email because there is a new story I live out now, and I crave to hear the stories of the girls who are living their teenage years now, for the first time.  I stretch here, afraid but sure. I must do this.  They must know what He says: You are My girls.

STOP

Five Minute Friday

August 16, 2012 — 31 Comments
In Adventure, Surrender , ,
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What to do when you forget

In Your name, I remember I have strength, to do all things, no matter how scary and unfamiliar they feel.

I remember, in Your name, I walk with You, never alone.  You prepare a place for me, a table before me, where I sit, always in Your presence, resting, breathing deep.

I remember, in Your name, I am mighty, a warrior who fights for hearts who yet do not know they are saved.  I am a daughter who is fierce and gentle, compassionate and angry, for what breaks Your heart.  And I go where You go, not turning left, nor right, but staying on the path You have for me, where  You guide me, Your hand outstretched, Light shining in dark.

In Your name, I stretch out my hands and am flooded with strength, my hands healing, my mind seeing pain You long to mend.  I am flooded with Your presence — all around me, pulsing through me — and I pour out, living waters bringing hope and peace — calmness, to turbulent storms.

In Your name, I rise up — only with and for You — strong because You are strong; fearless because You go before me; confident that I am carried, that every tear is counted, that You have a good plan for me and that I can trust You, no matter what twist and turn in the road tempts me away.

In Your name, I stand fast, sure, my tools Your words within me, the truth of who I am, in You, Your girl, leaning in close to hear Your breathing, Your heartbeat the rhythm of Life I crave and seek.

In Your name, I count the blessings of redemption, of my pain turning beautiful, with Your glory.  Lacking nothing, I was lost and now am found.  I am filled with gladness, all pain given over to You, all doubt and suffering laid down at Your feet.  I lay myself down and give You glory.  I die and live, saying goodbye to what I was before, and rejoicing in Heaven, now, with You.

In Your name, I write these words, a prayer — for me, and for Your girls here — to remember that You see us and do not leave our side.  The truth of who we are and what is for us to do, coming only from You.  Let us not push forward, on our own way, Father, in our own strength, for our own glory.  Let us remember that all challenges before us are opportunities to trust You, see You, lean in and listen to the words You do speak to our hearts.  Remind us that You are not silent, that You live in us and whisper to Your girls the truth, again and again, of who we are.

Remind us that You are our guide, our Strong One that makes all weaknesses, in You, strength.  Remind us that You are the Father who can’t stand to look away from us, be apart from us.  Remind us that You give us all things, all goodness, and in trusting You, all beauty and joy come forth.  Let us wait on You, expectant, confident to move, as strong oaks planted in good soil, nourished by water that always sustains, never fails . . . is all we ever need.

So grateful to be here, with you, friends.  Truly. We are all gathered up together, strengthened by Him.

In His love,

Jennifer

August 6, 2012 — 10 Comments
In Faith, Identity, Surrender, Truth, Words in Me
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Adventure, Jesus style

Do you know my friend, Denise, over at Denise in Bloom?  I got to meet her face-to-face once, last fall, and I hope I get to do it again, someday soon.  She is one of those people who helps you lean in and seek those faithful whispers you just know come only from the Father.  She waits on Him.  She trusts Him.  And she helps show me how, too.  I am so delighted to be guest posting over at her beautiful place today.

Over at Denise’s I share about my tiny issue with needing to have control and that invitation from Jesus to jump into a certain boat with Him and go down some rapids, . . oh, and then jump out of the boat and keep swimming, while I have no idea where I’m going . . . And, oh, did I mention that Jesus thinks this is all completely fun?!

Don’t you want to know what happens next?

How do you feel about the word “surrender”?  Freedom, anxiety, excitement, fear?  Come on over and let me know, over there . .

 

 

July 16, 2012 — 2 Comments
In Adventure, Surrender
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When you want to own the story

[W]ould you go on the trip if you couldn’t tell the story?

My husband offers me the question our friend and fellow mission trip team member asked him, personally, earlier that day.

We three sit in darkness, two of my own children sleeping against me, in the back seat, threading our way back from Tijuana, to the Tecate, Mexico ranch after spending hours with children we had wrapped our arms around a few days before, orphans from El Ciudad de Angeles.

It is a good question, I think —  the question of story, stirring within me someplace deep as I wrestle words to form an answer.  For throughout this week on a mission trip to Tecate, Mexico, with the team, I have found no words to scratch out.  Just the opposite of last year, when I felt His words in me was part of why I had come.

And it pains me.  The very morning before she asked the question, I had made fists to God and believed, for a moment, that no, there is no story to tell.  Sitting in the dining hall, as flies buzzed around tables, I looked out to the hill where I stuccoed and played with the kids and held tiny hands and sang and danced, lifting up voices to Heaven, and willingly {perhaps even eagerly} agreed with the enemy’s whispers that still, I have nothing to give.

Because I find myself, time and again, wanting to hold the reigns on what God does. I want to know, and be given the angle, for the Story.

My journal burns words of frustration and angst:

I want to push against You. I want to be right, holding out on my own.  And I flail.  I have no words to tell a story, with You.  And I wish I could tell it on my own.  Help me to want to lay my burdens down.  Let me remember who I am.  Help me to believe in Whose I am.

You don’t speak to me here — when I felt you flow through me in words in this place last year.  And I feel myself making agreements toward believing I am my failings — that all my insecurities are the truest things about me.  I sit here, feeling that, of course, You won’t come.  You did come for me, in the past, but why would you do it again?  And I feel so alone here. Tell me the truth, Father.

And I know that it is not for words — the telling of story in mere written and spoken language — on this trip, that I came.

Gather close, My love.  Let me hold you in My arms.  You are a part of Me, so no words are ever your own. Believe that they are there.  I give My children, My girls, a voice.

And there it is, the truth that the story He tells to our hearts is not one to be held, so simply, in one’s hands.  It is the movement of life, His breath prompting us to act, with our lives.  The story He writes within us is one that we can’t help — with all our hearts — to tell.

For without the story, we are nothing.

And remember, my dear one, words are just the beginning.

What else is there but the story?  

Tomorrow, I begin again.

[C]ounting gifts:

  • Beauty and dirt and flies and kids singing praise at the top of their lungs.
  • New family, serving together, as we journeyed together this spring and summer, hearts stretching to what He had for us, in Mexico.
  • All 25 kids on the team being so sad to leave Tecate, wishing we could stay another week, another two weeks, a whole month, the whole summer.
  • Desire to communicate more deeply by learning Spanish together, as a group.
  • Flour ball, hula hoops, jump rope, jacks, games of War.
  • Prayers that held us up, kept us united as a team, kept us safe and leaning on Him.
  • His financial provisions from dear friends that made it possible for families to go and be blessed.
  • Arms wrapped around tight, hearing stories of the Father’s love.
  • Walking to the crosses on the hill, singing, all voices united, all family, in His name.

On In Around button

July 2, 2012 — 14 Comments
In Faith, Mission Trip, Surrender, Voice
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Identity Claimed

My friend Julie leans in and reminds us who we are, the voice of the Father in her singing sweetly over us, words we want more than anything to hear:

Her sweet words are said with authority, with conviction, and they feel like whispers straight to the center of my heart. “We are called his bride, his beloved, his chosen one, the apple of his eye and the very thing that takes his breath away.”

She pauses, asks us to let His truth sink in, and then she says His words to us again,

You are his beloved, and beloved you are so much more than you’ve dared to hope or believe about yourself.  There is nothing, no sin, no choice, no habit, no amount of hiding or control, nothing that can separate us from his love.

There are damaged parts in all of our hearts, obvious wounds, or ones we try to diminish and simply call a part of our personality, and it’s into these places that Jesus wants to come and heal and bestow our true identities. And all of us, we need a new identity in our hearts. We need a new identity in the deepest places of our being.

I soak in each beautiful, hope-filled word.

Three years ago, trembling and desperate, I asked the Father what He calls me, how He delights in me, how He sees me when He looks at me, when He thinks of me.  He was pressing in to my heart, after years of me running away from Him, and I had come face to face with wounds I had covered for over twenty years, one wound from the choice to have an abortion, and which I kept a secret since I was sixteen.  Other wounds existed from me twisting life situations and words into lies so that I believed (1) I wasn’t good enough; (2) I didn’t have a voice; and (3) my worth was in only what I achieved, not in who I was.

I was living in a false place, a place shrouded in shame and darkness, where silence and self-condemnation felt sure and true.

In my journal, August 10, 2009, I write,

Lord, I need so much to let myself seek You with my whole heart — and to let go of  the false belief that past sins make me who I am — that I am horrible and selfish and cannot change.
 
Lord, please, I pray, let me know — believe — and live in the truth of my name You have bestowed on me, the name You have for me.  Lord, who is this daughter of Yours?  Let me live in Your identity for me and not my own.  I pray for courage to drop the sin that hinders my race to You.  Let me live with my eyes fully on You, on Your truth, grace, and love.  Lord, I know I am broken.  Please make me feel that that is okay — that You are enough to repair this brokenness and make me truly, truly new.

And the Father, as He always does, when we want to let Him in, breaks through, His words a blast of light into my darkness, the shroud ripped off, the new life reborn.

Dear child, My child, My precious girl, My little one, My sweet one, you are loved.  I adore you.  Come to Me, where there is no fear.  I long to hold you.

{And then He says it, like it was the most normal thing in the world to call me another name I had never heard before . . }

Sarabeth, My sweet, My dear one, yes, I have been with you.  Let the old life fall.  New seedlings I will plant.  Let me water and fertilize them.  You are a flower about to bloom, my dear one.  Let me care for you, tend your soil, keep you healthy and reach the sun.  My sun is warm and will nurture you.  Stretch . . {and here, I am missing a page in my journal I accidentally ripped out a week later, as I handed my friends words from my journal that He had said to them, not noticing that I was losing the rest of what He said.}

Quickly, with excitement, I Google the name and find that Sarabeth means “princess of God”.  I am not who I thought I was.  I am redeemed, made new, a child adorned in love and truth. I want to believe this.  I want to live in this new identity He gives.

But it is almost too beautiful to believe.

Weeks later, on a trip to the nursery to buy some large plants that I hope will help hide the rows of garbage cans and stacks of kids’ bikes in our sideyard, I hear the name again.  Walking down rows of foliage and sweet-smelling beauty, I am intrigued by the thick, soft surface of the leaves on a set of plants in the back.  They are tall, noble, and richly green, but the branches bear no flowers, and I can’t find a tag to indicate what kind of plants these are.  I sweet man working at the nursery comes up and asks me if I have any questions.

“Yes, I love this plant, but what is is called, and will it bloom?”

“These are princess flowers, and they will produce beautiful, deeply purple blooms soon.  See all the buds here?  They are just getting ready to open.”

My knees almost buckle right there in the back of the store.

A year later, I meet my dear Julie, a friend who fights for my heart and who speaks truth into me and whom I feel I have known all my life.  Five weeks after meeting her for the first time, we meet to go on a hike, one early December morning.  Jumping out of her car, she says she has something for me, and she takes from her front seat a painting she made of flowers, full of color and in bloom.  On the back she wrote “What Grows in the Waiting” . . “For His flower.”

I had never told her my name.

I share pieces of this story at My Girls on Monday, as Julie asked me to, and I feel shy and vulnerable.  {I am nervous about writing it here, too.} But the Father is always doing a new thing, leaning in to bring healing to our wounded hearts, and that morning, after sharing my story of the Father speaking to my heart about my new name, I felt Him calling me to be bolder, trust Him more with my true identity.  He asks me to let Him stretch me here — let Him help me further claim the truth of who I am.

And that is why you might soon be seeing a slightly different tag line on the header of “You Are My Girls”.  Rather than “Pursuing Identity and Truth”, the verb “pursuing” is going to be a replaced with a verb that celebrates more the claiming the truth of who we already are.

What, really, is there to pursue?

We are already His.  And He will help us believe it.

What, dear friend, does He call you?  Might you ask Him, right now?



March 28, 2012 — 35 Comments
In Identity, Surrender, Truth, Words in Me
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Eyes and heart afresh

[F]ather, too many times I wake up in the mornings, stumbling out, my heart fumbling to find You, forgetting I am already found.

But not today.

Today I will sit with You; I will walk with You.  I will remember, this moment, that you restore me to You; nothing gets in the way of You.

If I let You in, if I seek You with an open heart to what You have, I will not miss Your beating heart, Your hand extended, Your adventure and beauty and rest.

I write here to help my mind turn itself towards You, for the joy of writing words You tuck away in my heart, waiting to be discovered — and to help me slow.  When I write, I am usually sitting down.  I am not hurriedly cleaning up the house, planning the next meal and the next activity with the kids, preparing for a talk, reading . . .  I am sitting here, waiting and leaning in.

In everything I do, in whatever activity I pursue, I want to wait on You and lean in.

And I will experience Your joy, for You will be near.

And I will experience Your glory, for Your name will be glorified in all I do.

And I will experience peace, for Your presence will fill me with contentment that is true.

Fill me, Father, with all that You have for me.  Strip me of anything that is not of You.

I will be made anew.  Always Spring.  Always a new beginning.

I am a new creation, the past wiped clean.  This moment, each moment, raining down Your glory.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! (2 Corinthians 5:17)

{ I can’t help but share a song that I love that captures, so beautifully, so joyfully, the hope that we find in Him.}

What are you experiencing with the Father today, as you step further into claiming that beautiful creation that is you?

March 21, 2012 — 6 Comments
In Intimacy, Prayer, Surrender
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Stripped Bare

[I] stumble into My Girls, half-awake or half-asleep, I don’t know.  For weeks now I have felt weary, wondering if leading this group of women who come, without commitment, is still what He has for me.

When we began, the two of us, my Father and I, He said to open up that front door of mine and let His girls come in.  He has prepared a place for me, and here, in this house He gave, He wants to lead me toward remembering that.

And gathering with His girls is part of the remembering.

I don’t share what I thought I would, with these women circled up on couches, my sweet, sleepy dog flopped down in the middle of us, on the rug.  I don’t share how He laid me flat with the intimate beauty of Genesis 3:1, His feet treading in His garden in the cool of the day.  I wait, hidden behind a tree, with Adam, wondering where my Father wants me to go.  

{Where are you?

Yes, where am I? And I step out, timidly, one foot still nestled safely behind the tree.

You do not cower, but shine.  My love, there is beauty, here, walking in the garden, with Me.}

His words stir me as I sit here with my friends, my back pressed against the hard, black wood of my chair, and my own words surprise me in how they tumble out, untamed, unplanned.

“We are here, His girls, with so much to offer, a beauty to claim and share . . . and I am tired  . . . ”  {I don’t like to admit that I am tired.}

I am weary with believing the lie that what I need to offer to these friends who come, and come again, is a heart of profundity, wisdom, and guidance.  I feel my insecurity rise, in this safe place, knowing, on the contrary, He began this group as a place to strip away all the rules of small groups that usually intimidate, tie me down.

I am fully His when I realize how inadequate and unqualified I really am, without Him — and how absolutely perfect this feeling of inadequacy and desperation really is.

So He calls me to let Him strip away all the weights that I have picked up, along the way, as I’ve led this group — these burdens that make my feet drag when He calls me out from behind the tree, where I hide, to walk.

His girls, my friends, remind me of the truth of what My girls is – why this group draws them out of their homes, their work, away from their to-do lists, their piles of things to get done:

There is no required commitment, here.  His girls can come any Monday they feel led to come.

There is no study.  We step aside and provide a space to listen, and respond, to the voice of the Holy Spirit.

There is no homework, no rotating snack schedule, no regular outside social calendar.

There is no agenda, no script, no set prayers, no list of “to-do’s”.

We gather in the kitchen around cups of tea and coffee and we share our hearts.

We move over to the front room, pray, invite the Holy Spirit to enter this space, and we listen and we confess and we lay down the sins so we can pick up more of what He has.

We listen — for we are desperate for Him.  We are desperate, eager and thirsty and hungry, craving His voice in us, His Life.

We let words find their way out and let each other, our friends, gently peel back the layers of our hiding so that we are stripped bare, wide open, exposed, free.

A friend’s email to me this morning is the love of the Father, reminding what is true:

‘My Girls’  has been MORE than just a gathering of Christian women to me.  It has become that sacred place, that only He will call me to, when I need to hear His voice, or see His actions, or to share what is on my heart. . .He is showing me that “My Girls” is a safe place to come to, to receive His Love and to give His Love.   It is where He comforts us through the grace of prayer and tender hugs from other women, some who we may have just met that day.  We shower each other with His Love and when I leave, I feel my spirit lifted.

He helps us be willing to go to the vulnerable places together, one of His girls going first, and then another, until we are all remembering how watching the Father’s feet tread through the thick carpeted grass, looking for us, is not the same as stepping out from behind the tree, recognizing that He knows how we are each lost, without Him.

Together, we remember, how He longs for us to come out from behind what we are hiding, purified by His Son’s blood, and feel what it means to live, feeling completely inadequate and unqualified to do anything well without Him.

And so we grab each other’s hands while we seek His, and, together, with our Father, we leave the false safety of the tree in the garden.

And we walk.

I am so grateful for your presence here.  Don’t you just love how we are all in this together, all wanting to come out of hiding, someway, somehow?  How might I pray for you?

March 20, 2012 — 14 Comments
In Community, Surrender, Truth
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A Pure Heart to mend broken things

[I] listen to “Come Away” in this circle of sisters, letting Him stir me, asking His help for me to be stretched wide, heart stripped,

Bare.

Will you listen to this song, with me?  {Subscribers, click here.}

Father, how do I let you in? Where do you want me to come away, with You?

Remember, I am pure. I am pure.

There must be time for things to not be complicated.

My whispers are not hidden — but they can become lost, unheard, in the rush of noise.

Make sure there is time to be slow.

I have a rhythm. Your heart stays calm, with Me.

It knows my nearness — and that I am safe.

Lay down broken things, and I will heal.

Lay down doubt and worry — all these things you take on yourself — and I will bring guidance for your soul.

Remember that rest — with Me — is a heart free from worry.

I have you.

Do you hear Him speaking, girls?

Do you hear Him speaking — to you?

March 13, 2012 — 16 Comments
In Surrender, Truth, Words in Me
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Empty

[I] spend 31 days writing to forget myself, thinking that putting pen to paper, finger to key, my heart will move toward Him more and away from myself, focusing on the ways I fill myself with me instead of Him, what I need to lay down in order to say ‘yes’ to death, to awakening, for the dawn to come to life.

And I still can focus on me, so easily, all the while thinking I am living like I want to be more like Him.

I know without Him — without my mind and heart and body spread out, wide open, flayed — I close up tight, searching for more to fill me up.  More things, more attention, more control, more power, more fame.

And I become disgusting — this fullness, this empty nothingness.

For I need only Him.

And I forget this; and I say ‘yes’ to the world and ‘no’ to Life.  And the death to self I think I seek {but not really} leaves me hanging dry, broken, cold.

The red scarf blowing out, bloody, when the white flag begs to signal

surrender.

March 8, 2012 — 18 Comments
In Five-Minute Friday, Surrender
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In the mess

[I] lay in bed, watching light tiptoe soft behind the shade, and search for words, looking for hope, peace, life coming.  Here I am, deciding for myself what beauty is.  And I stop.

Sometimes beauty isn’t all gentle, beautiful quiet, with birds singing and breezes blowing sweet flowers’ breath through a stretched-wide open window.

Sometimes it is just messy.

And it is raw.

Pulling myself up, my usually early-bird mind feeling groggy and slow, my daughter comes in to tell me, worry in her eyes, “The boys are fighting.”

And I pull on my teal shammy robe, the one I’ve had since college, the cloth that has been wrapped around me through years of mornings of both love and strife and hope and confusion.

And there they are, two angry, frustrated bodies all tangled, rolling around on the wool-patched rug.  Almost silent, no words here, just a confused mess of emotions, arms wrapped here, legs bent and pressed in.

Frustration and anger, compounded by lack of sleep {it is difficult for a night owl and an early bird to share a room, sometimes}, result in quiet and fierce energy.  I separate them, my body instinctively placing itself in the middle of the storm.  In a moment the walls come down, and there are tears.

They each blame each other for the beginning of the fight, but words aren’t making much sense.

And I know how, in our frailty, our humanness, these bodies of our just don’t have the strength, the peace within us, by ourselves, to live with love, each moment, without anger welling up and urging us on, to fight.

Fight for what we think we deserve, what we want, what we crave.

I want to fight, too.  I am tired, too.  I am weary, too.

And as I remember the struggle of these two little boys, their bodies exploding with emotion they feel they can’t contain, I want to claim this beauty of needing the Father so clearly.  Light tiptoeing silent behind white morning shades or not.

Beauty isn’t just in light dancing, but in the tangled mess here, on the floor.

Here, in the mess, in the noise and confusion and tangled disorder of our hearts, we need Him.

And He will meet us here, if we let Him.

Beautifully.

But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me (2 Corinthians 12:9).

What mess are you in the middle of?   How might you feel all tangled up, worn out, weary?   How can I pray for you?  

March 7, 2012 — 6 Comments
In Love, Surrender
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To Bloom

[S]tretch out this day long before me, Your gift, Your girl wrapped up in what You bring.

I trust You, Your kindness always with me, Your heart always beating.

You sing me songs that You invite me to enter, lullabies and symphonies, music I feel on my skin as I hold tight to Your hand.

Never leave me, Father.  I cling to You with all I am, my heart empty and cold, with no love in it, without You.

These hands holding on to nothing but air, chasing my agenda, the temptations of this world, without Your whisper, Your reminder of whose daughter I am.

Let me die today, to all that I want to do that is not what You bring.  I sleep until You wake me up, to Your glory, beauty all around me.

I live only to know You, to go where You go, to give voice to truth and lay down my will that leads me astray.

Sweet flower, bloom now, Your fragrance I cannot resist.  I see deep within that heart — and that goodness in you is true, if you trust it, if you believe I am in you.  Breathe deeply now, child. Inhale the fragrance of My robe, My flesh that loved, here, in My Father’s name, and died.  I am more than what you see.  I am more than what you know.  And I reveal more of myself to you. My daughters, gather, and trust.  Sisters, believe that there is much in store that will not pass away, and what you have been given now is for you to use for My good, for My glory.  I see — and I delight in — each movement, each thought held captive for Me — for Me to bring beauty to it and set you free from all chains.

 

March 6, 2012 — 17 Comments
In Faith, Identity, Intimacy, Surrender, Words in Me
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Just open that door, sweet girl

[A]t first I think no one is coming, and I think I’m okay with that.  It has been just one other time at My Girls, when no one came up to my front door, and I trusted it, as the group that met that morning was smaller, but beautiful still — a twosome, just Him and me.  But this morning, I really thought people were coming; so I keep tidying up, looking out the window once and a while, and wait.

We usually meet in the kitchen for coffee and tea and catch up chatter around 9:30 or so, and it is almost 10 o’clock now.  Hmmm.  I wonder, Father, what You are up to.

He has been pressing into me, showing how much I do need community around me, as much as my pride entices me to hide and pretend like everything is okay, when it’s not.  Maybe that is what is going on — He is going to let me pour out my heart to Him, today, just the two of us.  Maybe this heart that is aching to confess doens’t need to do it publicly.  Awesome.  I am perfectly okay with that.

When this group started three years ago, I wrestled just a bit with the Father’s will that the group would be open, to whomever wanted to walk through my front door that day.  He said to let go of friendships I had been holding on to tightly.  He would bring new friends.  He said to let go of my control in worrying what the group would look like, how many would gather, how to prepare when I didn’t even know for sure who would come.

But He always told me to not worry about those details.  They are His sheep, His girls who follow His voice; He leads them where He wills, and they choose to follow.  He will bring those who are thirsty to be here.  He will bring hearts that are open and longing to connect.  He will lead.  His Spirit will flood this place; but I must step down.

I am not the leader.

I only must open those doors He’s given.  I don’t feel compelled to complicate the plan with trays of pretty food.  I just can’t do it all.  Getting the house picked up, making coffee and getting the kettle hot, for tea, is all I do.  {And that is a challenge, sometimes.}  But the only thing I must do is this.

Listen.

Trust.

Do my best to get out of the way.

I open up the door of this house He’s given and say ‘yes’, please, come on in.

I need this.

I need to be honest with His girls before my God.

I need to step aside and believe I just don’t have the right answer, the right thing to say.  But He does.  And He can say it, through me, through this community.

And at 10 o’clock, the door bell rings, and then another friend, and then another.

Here we go, Father.  You gather us up.

I will go where you lead.  Help me to see You.  Help me to follow.

~~~

Tomorrow I will share what this past Monday morning at My Girls looked like, as He led us toward being even more real with each other — these women I’ve known for years now — and encouraged us to peel back even more layers of our hearts.

He wants us to stop hiding. {And I don’t know if we even knew we were.}

Would you like to share, here — encourage this community — in how He has led you to step down, trust Him more, and follow?

Father,  bless us today.  Show us freedom — the joy in releasing to You all fear, all doubt.  Abolish anything that is getting in the way of us trusting You fully.  Increase our faith in You.  Let Your love in us reign.

February 29, 2012 — 14 Comments
In Community, Faith, Surrender
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Heartache Valentine

[S]ometimes it just wells up, the disbelief, the lie that I know is a lie but I find hard to resist anyway . . .

that I am loved like this. . . that I am wanted like this . . .

I am good at finding an excuse to not have faith.

I am good at saying I want to believe and acting like I don’t.

Everything in me rebels against You, Father, more often than I let myself see.

But You see.

And You love me.

Sometimes I just need Your arms around me, holding me close, telling me again, it’s going to be alright — that when I fall You don’t turn away but rush in, open arms.

You see the choice to fall, the initial turning away from You, and still . . .

You love me.

I wait here, needing to hear Your words, Your breath in my heart wiping away all the sin, cleansing me again.

Tell me again, Whose and who I am.

Tell, us, Father, Your girls.

You love me.

Happy Valentine’s Day, His girls!  I pray His love, His richest blessings, pour out upon you today, drenching you completely.  You are adored, right here, right now. I say ‘yes’ with you, to believe.  

February 14, 2012 — 4 Comments
In Love, Prayer, Surrender, Truth
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Trust

GO

[I] don’t want to go here:  think about trust, consider all the ways I need to trust more, surrender more, be more.  I know all this isn’t true . . . and He will give me all I need.

But, yes, there it is again — the doubt.

I have trouble trusting You, Father, around so many things.  Well, I trust You — that You will do a mighty work in me.  What I don’t like is what is required of me.  I want You to just wave a magic wand, Father.  (I know You can) and just fix me.  Fix this broken stuff that rattles around inside me, making an angry, anxious clang.  It isn’t a beautiful sound, Father.  I wonder what You hear when You listen to the beating of my heart.

Let me let this all go, Father — trust You when You say I have everything I need to step out, love well, open up this door of  my heart and let You in, into all the mess.  I am past trying to get it all cleaned up, even when I thought I could do it, for You.

I can’t.

And that isn’t what You asked me to do.

Let me fall hard, Father, into Your arms.  Let me feel those are Your arms around me when my husband holds me tight, that it is the music of Your voice when my children call me, once more, to tuck them in, sing them another song, give them another backrub, when I feel I have nothing left to give.

With You, I am beautiful.  With You, I am love.  With You, I will trust. I choose to, even though I begin with kicking and screaming until You hold me tighter, in the safety of Your arms, and this little girl heart of Yours finally breathes deep and relaxes.

I am tired, Father, of thinking I am trying to love well, serve well, when I am doing none of those things when I am not looking to You to help me trust.  You know better than I do.  Right?

Thank You.

STOP.

Dear girl, hold on tight.  Don’t let go.  I don’t let go.  Yes, kicking and screaming, pushing into Me and running away.   I keep the pace.  I don’t tire and won’t get tired of running toward you, or waiting outside the door.  But it is exhausting, isn’t it?  Waiting for Me to save, when you know, in your heart, I already have?  I already have rescued you, daughter.  Dear one, relax now.  That hummingbird this morning is you, flitting around, so busy, trying so hard to hover steadfast, to slow, but you still don’t trust that all the balls won’t fall if you do.  Do you know what it means to slow, to hear Me?  I know you do.  The hummingbird’s wings are beautiful as it dances, its wings beating to a rhythm that keep its still, when it is going fast.  I will move you, at the pace I set, and you will move quickly sometimes, but I will keep you strong — your weaknesses, My delight in the opportunities it gives you to see Me work. I know it can be hard for you to see Me otherwise.  My darling girl, I am the trusting heart, the beating heart, the cry of a girl in the night whose heart aches to be held and heard.  Surrendering is freedom.  You know that.  Stay there.

Deep breath, now, girls.  What would pour out of you, for five-minutes, on the topic of “trust”?

February 10, 2012 — 14 Comments
In Five-Minute Friday, Surrender, Words in Me
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What do you love?

I have to remember who and what I love in order to love Him well.

I remember the first time my husband asked me what I love.  Married for almost 14 years, sharing adventures together living on both sides of the country, partnering to raise three children — he then suddenly asks me what I love.  My reaction startles me:  I am anxious, distrusting, defensive.  Why does he ask, “What do I love?” . . . .

I am thrilled to be guest posting today over at sweet Christina’s beautiful and encouraging place MommaDaybyDay.  Click HERE to head on over there and read more!

So we can connect further, would you also like to join me over at You Are My Girls Community?  I would love to connect with you over there :)

January 11, 2012 — 1 Comment
In Desire, Identity, Surrender
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We Are In Training

The other day, I went for a run while my daughter was in ballet. This is something I don’t take for granted. I love running, love the freedom it gives me as I move through the outdoors. I am especially grateful for these opportunities to run, as it is only recently that He urged me to go out and give it a go again, after a back injury in college forced me to take an 18 year break. (There are other pains, now, as I am older, so that I still can’t do this as often as I’d like, but my back feels fine!) When I am running, I feel His peace in me, that contentment that comes in the place of surrender. I am so grateful that He strengthened my back, that He is with me, and this posture of gratefulness makes my heart want to draw Him close.

When I head back to pick up my daughter, I feel His words wash over me: “You are in training.” I want to take it in, asking Him to help me absorb more of what He meant. I know His words refer to something else than just running, and He prompts me to think of my high school reunion, my choosing Him, the previous weekend last fall — a choice that meant so much more.

The previous Saturday night, I attended my 20th high school reunion, an event I initially was not going to attend. The event turned out to be pleasant, positive, a nice time of catching up with classmates I hadn’t seen for more than a decade. But as I wrote about in another post, my initial reaction to even the invitation for the reunion brought about fearfulness in me. On an almost mythic level it was something bigger, something more than just the reunion itself. He wants to bring redemption to every place in my heart, and with the invitation my heart was being stirred to choose Him in the fear, to recognize that this fear signified a deeper wounding as well as a lack of trust in Him that He wanted to take away. In a nutshell, He invited me to trust Him, to go where He asked me to go, and I would have missed out on an adventure with Him and further healing of my heart, if I had given in to fear, chosen my way, stayed home, and not submitted to His will for me.

John Eldredge refers to these struggles within our heart — the pull and tug between following our own will and submitting to God’s will for us –as representations of the “larger story” that is our life. There is more to our life than what we see. Every choice we make points to a larger battle for our hearts, a battle that began before the earth was created, definitely before any of us set our young feet upon its soil. Each choice is one for darkness or light, for death or Life, for ourselves or God. The larger story includes the battle in heaven between God’s angels and His betrayer, Satan, who desired to choose his way rather than God’s. It includes our Father’s victory and His sending Satan from heaven and down to earth. It includes the fall of humankind, in the Garden, when Adam and Eve trusted that they knew what was good for them rather than their Father. It includes our King, Jesus, coming as a human and showing us what it means to choose the Father, with everything He had, sacrificing Himself to take away the sin that, since the Fall, separates our hearts and God’s.

We are in training. Each choice can take us on a journey with/to, or without/from, God. The struggle my heart felt in making the simple decision to attend my high school reunion reminds me that the battle for my heart is not over. He comes for me, every day, each moment, asking me to decide whether He is enough for me.

There is a battle for our hearts. We can turn and enter into the battle, wielding the weapons of His work upon the cross and participate in the fight for our hearts, turning to Him in surrender and for His redemption. Or we can let the battle overtake us and lose the opportunity to see our warrior rescue us when we submit, when we trust Him and follow His lead. You are in training. You are a warrior participating, with your King, in a battle for hearts, in a battle for your own, and others. Each training opportunity He gives us is one where we can’t afford to turn away, one in which we can’t afford to miss.

In Hebrews, we are exhorted to move boldly toward Him, stepping into our training, the new life He has for us. In our faith, He desires for us to trust Him more, take more risks in His name, lay it all down. No more baby steps, but full strides:

For everyone who partakes only of milk is not accustomed to the word of righteousness, for he is an infant. But solid food is for the mature, who because of practice have their senses trained to discern good and evil. Therefore, leaving the elementary teaching about the Christ, let us press on to maturity, not laying again a foundation of repentance from dead works and of faith toward God (5: 13-14, 6:1).

“You are in training.”

We are being trained to become the person the Creator intended for us to be. It is a life-long process, but one in which each choice we make matters. We must trust Him, our running coach, looking ahead to Him who already marked the course for us. With Him showing us the way, we just need to follow. What can encourage us is that our coach isn’t on the sidelines, but next to us, cheering us on the path He has already set. He gives us choices to follow His course and not our own — training us to cast aside the lies that lure us to put myself and our plans before His, our plans which robs us of all joy, and follow His course, the good plan He has for us. We must trust His words, and go where He asks us to go. He is our hope, our Savior, our redeemer. We must remember He does not fail and loves us more than we can imagine.

Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart (Hebrews 12:1-3).

Father, help us to follow You, with all our hearts. Help us to not let any opportunity you give us to choose You to slip away. Let our hearts run to you with everything we are. We want to win this race unencumbered and choose you with a full heart. Continue to remind us we are your girls. Continue to remind us we are in training. Continue to remind us we are Yours.

What does your training look like now?  What are you going through?  How can I pray for you ?

Grateful to be out there, running with you, our coach by our side,

Jennifer 

{Returned to this post this morning, revised from the archives — 11.13.10}

December 29, 2011 — 2 Comments
In Adventure, Faith, Surrender, Words in Me
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Faith Dancing

Father, you know how I feel about dancing–how I don’t feel very coordinated and how I am terribly self-conscious, and yet You give me the picture of us, Your girls, dancing with You, together, and You continue to speak to me about my heart and how You see us all dancing. And last year, when I first heard You say it, Father, You know how much that pierced my heart in its beauty. But, girls, I also had so much trouble receiving it. The enemy is so quick to come and condemn, to strive to harden our hearts, to get us to reject the voice of the Father. Truly, the Father says things to our hearts that can seem too good to be true. But when we do receive His words, accept that they are true, we grab that hand of His and say, “yes, I trust You, let’s go”.

Girls, our Father loves to take the rug out from under us (in a good way!), and reveal to each of us things that we have kept hidden, even to ourselves — things we never knew were there but that we can recognize, when He brings them to light, are true. What joy He has in Him! What delight it must bring Him to see His children step away from the shadows and into His light! And, so, thus, the topic of dancing, girls. He got me last year, at the beginning of this blog — and today — with dancing.

When Jesus invites me into the garden with Him — into my heart united with Him — we are often dancing. He shows me beauty, and encourages me to go on adventures in the garden with Him, amidst the beauty of sweet flowers, of green grass that tickles my legs, of sweeping mountain ranges that go beyond the scope of my vision, of blue waterfalls that crash majestically to the pools below. Everything glorifies His Name. And I am there, with Him — sometimes walking, occasionally running, once rafting down the waterfalls and once swinging from trees, but, quite often, and this had always perplexed me: dancing.

Girls, I am not a dancer. In public, I am often too self-conscious to let the music inspire my body to move gracefully, with any decent coordination. Two years ago, when my youngest brother got married, my husband dedicated a song to me (a fast one) and it was so difficult for me to go out to the middle of the dance floor in front of everyone. I love music, and I do enjoy dancing (usually with my 5 year old daughter at home!), but when it comes to dancing in public, I am often filled with anxiety. So, when I find myself with the opportunity to dance with Jesus, in this garden of my heart, I am actually a bit stunned by the whole idea. In my insecurity around dancing, even with Jesus, I am hoping I am doing it right. Even though I know He loves me and just loves my being with Him, I still feel like my dancing is not beautiful enough. If I am going to dance with Jesus, I want to be good at it. I want to be graceful and lovely and comfortable with the whole experience. I want Him to want to keep dancing with me.

Do you see the problem?  In His love, the Father leads me to Psalm 51, beginning with verse 7:

Purify me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;

Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

Make me to hear joy and gladness,

Let the bones which You have broken rejoice.

Hide Your face from my sins

And blot out all my iniquities.

Create in me a clean heart, O God,

And renew a steadfast spirit within me.

Do not cast me away from Your presence

And do not take Your Holy Spirit from me.

Restore to me the joy of Your salvation

And sustain me with a willing spirit.

Then I will teach transgressors Your ways,

And sinners will be converted to You.

Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, the God of my salvation;

Then my tongue will joyfully sing of Your righteousness.

O Lord, open my lips,

That my mouth may declare Your praise.

For You do not delight in sacrifice, otherwise I would give it;

You are not pleased with burnt offering.

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;

A broken and a contrite heart, O God, You will not despise.

By Your favor do good to Zion;

Build the walls of Jerusalem.

Then You will delight in righteous sacrifices,

In burnt offering and whole burnt offering;

Then young bulls will be offered on Your altar.

I let His truth wash over me, penetrate my heart. He then points me to the same verses in The Message.

7-15 Soak me in your laundry and I’ll come out clean,

scrub me and I’ll have a snow-white life.

Tune me in to foot-tapping songs,

set these once-broken bones to dancing.

Don’t look too close for blemishes,

give me a clean bill of health.

God, make a fresh start in me,

shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life.

16-17 Going through the motions doesn’t please you,

a flawless performance is nothing to you.

I learned God-worship

when my pride was shattered.

Heart-shattered lives ready for love

don’t for a moment escape God’s notice.

18-19 Make Zion the place you delight in,

repair Jerusalem’s broken-down walls.

Then you’ll get real worship from us,

acts of worship small and large,

Including all the bulls

they can heave onto your altar!

And then, after reading these words, I asked Him to point out my transgressions, to cleanse my heart so it is united with Him. And this is what He says:

My daughter, I do not forsake you. Believe Me. You need to believe Me. In heaven you will dance. Your heart dances with Me now. When you say ‘yes’ to My invitation, My arms around you, holding your heart, the music of My love flows in you, and the dance begins. This is not a mistake, My love.

Your words penetrate me, Father. I repent of my wilfull, self-focused heart. Thank you for coming for me again, for always coming, for inviting me to dance.

Girls, a dance requires intimacy, a giving up of ourselves, an awareness of our space, our existence in a place, our role with our partner. There is touch and there is trust. There is risk and letting go and seeking beauty and giving over. When we follow the lead dancer, our partner, the dance is beautiful. In this dance we are not alone. With Him, our heart is always dancing. Most importantly, and for this truth I am so grateful, there is no other dance.

How are you being invited to dance, as you look ahead, anticipating what He has for you, this coming year?

I returned to this post this morning, revising it after first writing it last year, November 3, before You Are My Girls was off the ground.  Today, we are invited to dance with Him together. What will it look like?  How will it feel?  Where will it be?

So grateful for you here, reading this now, fellow dancer,

Jennifer

December 28, 2011 — 5 Comments
In Dancing, Faith, Identity, Surrender, Words in Me
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