A New Day, Broken, life making, The Mucky Stuff, The Vulnerable Side, When It Gets Dark

Coming Home

I let go. I let go of the writing. I let go of the processing. I let go of the feelings in an effort to stop The Terrible Awful I couldn’t seem to get away from. Because to write is to feel and to feel The Terrible Awful? To feel the grief, the pain, the death…So much death. So much loss. No, I could not feel it anymore. Because that pain was too great, and so in my effort to survive, I turned it off. I went numb. But in the going numb, I didn’t just numb the pain. I numbed the joy. I numbed the beauty. I numbed the technicolor rainbow pushing itself out from under the rain clouds. I messed up that day I put pen down. The day I no longer let ink bleed black into notepads, desperately hoping my heart would stop bleeding as well.

Little did I know the avenue I’d be walking a year ago when I started writing again. And now, seven journals later I have more than just words brimming. I have thoughts. I have feelings. I have tears. I have so many tears. But I have laughter. And I have smiles. And I have memories. Memories that do more than just dance around the grief I so much want to ignore. I have memories of joy, and love, and beauty. I have moments forever tucked away in this mind of mine. Moments I cherish. Moments I would sacrifice for a thousand times over. Moments I will never get back, and so I tuck them deep into this soul of mine and I hold them oh the more closer to me. And I have truth. I have so much truth. Truth that shines so much brighter than those lies ever could. Truth that reminds me that there is wonderful joy ahead. Truth that speaks to my soul that this story, this story with so much pain and death and ache and brokenness is not over. That there is a plan and a purpose, and that I am loved with everlasting love. A love that reaches into the fathoms of depths and widths and heights and breadths, more so than any of my imaginations could invent or build. Yes, I have truth. And I have spirit. Spirit made manifest from He who creates. Spirit that will never wither away. Spirit that is fed from the life breath of a God who sees more in me than I will ever know. Spirit from the bread of life, He who feeds me. Yes, I have spirit. And I have truth.

I still have so much to work through. Questions I do not understand. Why my dad died so young, and why he will never walk me down the aisle, or see my children, or have another talk with me. Why my brother at 34 was taken all the more too early. And why he could not be rescued from his disease of addiction, of pain and trauma. Why his healing had to be a heavenly versus earthly. Why this disease ravages my body, and keeps me from the career I’ve always wanted, keeps me at the grace and generosity of others instead of allowing me to support myself. Yes, I have so many questions. And I have anger. I have so much anger, and confusion, and I speak it out to Him daily. “Why won’t you take this thorn from me? And why won’t you change my life, and bring the prosperity you promised? And where are those plans to prosper and not to harm me? Where are they?!”  Yes, I have questions. And they may never be answered in this wilderness of life I walk through. But I will not  be afraid to do the feeling. Because perfect Love casts out fear. And God is Love. And Love is in me, because He is in me. And manna will still fall. And the seas will still part. And the rock will still bring forth life giving water. Even in the question, even in the feeling, even in the grief. That technicolor rainbow will still speaks to the promise even with the rain clouds. But He will not flood the earth again. And He will not flood this soul. And death will not bear a sting.

So here’s to starting over, to the writing I love, to new seasons, to feeling all the feelings, to life abundant even with the chance of The Terrible Awful, to technicolor rainbows and promises they bring. And most of all, to spirit and truth. Beautiful, confusing at times, yet ever so consistent and life giving Spirit and Truth.

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Dear Love, Holy Moments, life making, Praise Songs

He Brings Grace Like FireFlies

It is the end of summer. And my soul aches to say goodbye to it. Number two pencils have begun to  fill jars instead of sweet tea and crisp burst of air invade mornings hinting to a new season. So many have eagerly awaited the fall, and as each leaf drops there is a momentary celebration as they anticipate all the more to come: bonfires, holidays, and that inspiration that seems to accompany the season. But for me, I can’t help but wish I could have a few more days of summer. All I can think is where did the time go? How did this season, this season full of so much fun, so much to do, end so quickly? And my heart chews while I look out the window. And I realize I am watching time pass right in front of me, stillness is only a trick of the eye, and even in my awareness it is a magic trick I can not figure.  

I am southern through and through. And I roll around in the hot season like a dog on grass, mouth open, tongue out, tail wagging. It is the magic of the season that I cling to. Summer days, summer nights, and memories that smear into ideas. Memories of childhood. Memories of running through sprinklers with my brothers and sister, while wearing that swimsuit-the one with the iridescent purple- all day long and deep into night, catching fireflies in between gloppy spoonfuls of half melted ice cream, memories of laughter, so much laughter. Is that why it calls to me still? On nights so humid that I feel the curtain of vapor that hangs heavy in the air, my own theater, with its cicada symphony tuning up, readying its song, making melody in its own kind of chaos. The conductor taps for attention, and suddenly light. My mind its own kind of camera. And there is action. As fireflies light up the sky, light up the trees, light up the air, swooping, jumping, gliding. Its own miniature ballet. And I, all child and wonder, am captivated by the season. I sit in my front row seat with mouth ajar, and memories smear into idea. Yes, it is the magic of the season that I cling to.

I watch them. Those tiny dancers in the sky. I wonder why they charm me so much. But I find myself watching, glued to their choreography. I cannot look away. They are brief moments of joy, arranged in sequence, one after the other, for my delight, for my pleasure. Moments of grace. Moments of joy.

Yes.

Moments of joy.

The phrase catches me off guard. Had I forgotten joy? In the midst of sitting out the season I loved so much, in the midst of watching rather than experiencing, had I forgotten about the very thing that makes me smile? When was the last time I felt joyful? When was the last time I sought it out, looked for it as often as I look for my keys? When was the last time I considered myself a joyful person? Consider it all Joy, brothers, when you fall into various trials. Trials? Yes, I had that. But joy? I’m not so sure. Consider it all joy when you fall. Fall? Yes, it feels like a fall. I hear the oomph as I hit the hard pavement of a broken world. I look down to scratched knees and trickling blood. I feel the burn of air to exposed nerves. So many exposed nerves. So much burning. I fell. I fall. I keep falling. Trial after trial after trial. How do I find joy in the fall, in the falling into?

My mind comes back to the moment. I am sitting under full moon in the land where fireflies come together. One by one they unite in their synchronized  dance. I smile. I half giggle. I reach for them. I remember. I remember the nights mom sent me outside with a jar in hand. A jar to catch as many as I could, jumping into the air, hands cupping into the sky to seize the moment (moments of grace? Moments of joy?), to seize those dancers, but what else? It is more than just bug catching that made those nights so memorable. It is more than just creatures pulled to jar.

It is joy. Joy that sweeps in and out of those days and nights. It is joy that sweeps in and out of these. Like a child I run here and there with my jar, catching them like fireflies, hoarding them in my little catcher, determined to gather, determined to keep my stock, determined to press face hard against glass and watch the glow. The wom!, wom!, wom! of light that fills air, fills sky. If but only for a brief moment it is enough, it is enough to fill dark moments with hope, for another glow, and another, and another. And like a child addicted to the thrill I watch. I whisper. I watch, quiet and still, careful not to scare the magic of hope away. It is sacred. These summer nights thick and muggy. It is sacred. These nights of magic as I watch grace spread out and fill the backyard, fill the trees, fill the air. And bouts of light appear. Suddenly, and just as quickly it is gone. The moment fickle. But I do not care. Because the magic has thrilled me. He has thrilled me! And I am child once more, bubbling laughter out and over like a fountain, like a fountain of pure joy. And I know. I know my help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. And so I run, I run into His creation, I run into thick, muggy, humid life and I let drops of vapor cling to me. Because it is hot, and it is stale. But in the hot, in the stale, whether it be middle or end (does it really matter?) yes, in the hot the fireflies come. In the hot the magic bursts into open air. In the hot, not in the cold, life comes out of crooks and crannies, birthing, birthing, always birthing. And light is found. Yes, in the hot it comes. In the trials. Consider it all joy when you fall into trials. Consider it all joy, for it is in the hot, in the trial that hope can thrill. It is in the trial that the fireflies burst their light. He brings grace like fireflies. And it is only in the hot, muggy nights I see them. Only in the dark is their magic spectacular. Only in the trial does the wonder come. Yes, I see it now. Consider it joy when you fall into various trials. Consider it joy, clap hands in wonder with each catch. Knowing that the testing of your faith, the catching of these moments produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect, complete, lacking in nothing.
It is the end of summer. And my soul aches to say goodbye to it. But I hold my jar, full of grace, full of joy. Little glowing reminders of the hope He has for me. My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. And I see Him in every glow in that jar. He is my grace. He is my joy. He brings grace like fireflies. And light, light, always light, sometimes in moments, sometimes in hours, sometimes in whole seasons. And no matter its length, I do not care, Because the light has thrilled me, and I know, I know, my help comes from the Lord. For I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine.

 

Psalm 121:2 | James 1:2-4 | Song of Songs 6:3

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Adventure Makers, Gospel, life making, The Mucky Stuff, The Plans He Has for You

Let Down Your Nets

He does not call us to the easy, you and me. He never promised it even once. Put out into the deep, He says. Put out into the deep, let down your nets for a catch.  No, He does not call us to the easy. But neither does He call us to the small. His desire for us is to have a bountiful catch. More so than I could ever want for myself. More so than you could ever imagine for yours. But the call requires the necessity of the deep. And so we must, in order to have gain, reach deep into deep. We must go into the unknown, the unseen, the murky, and reach down for a deep, deep catch.

He is calling me to deeper waters. That I know. He spoke those words over me two months ago. He did not promise to tell me the name of those waters, or how far I would go. But He did promise not to leave me or forsake me in those waters. And now I am here. Knee deep, wanting to go farther, and yet, nervous. Nervous because I do not know if I have the faith or the trust to walk into the murky. Nervous because I know that no matter the outcome, it will be hard, and I do not feel strong. Nervous because I do not have a finish line in sight, and I don’t know how much endurance I can muster.

I never thought I would be back here. I never thought I would be called to this place again. This place of hurt and pain. And it needs no name, because we each call it something different. But we all know that place. That place that needles at our side. That place that keeps us awake through the longest night. That place that brings tears over and over, deep sighs, and long frustrations. That place that makes us ask, “why” in a multitude of groans. Yes, we all know that place.  

And we don’t always want to go. And we certainly would never walk into those waters if we saw what was to come. And yet He calls us. He calls to you and He calls to me. Soft and full, He calls us. He calls us forward into waters we would not go into otherwise.

And that call requires the necessity of the deep. It is required, it is mandated.  We must, in order to have gain, reach into the deep. For there is no gain in the shallow. There is no adventure in the shallow. There isn’t even room to store in the shallow. No, for by its very definition gain must require depths. And that is what He wants for us: Gain.  Gain so much farther out of my scope of imagination than I am capable of. Gain so far from the realm I deem important. Gain that is ever inexplicably more. Gain that refreshes and replenishes what that enemy sin took from us. Yes, His desire for us is a bountiful catch. An abundant catch. I came that they may have life and have it abundant. And in the deepest places of your heart you know, that it is your desire as well. And in the deepest places of your heart, you hear the whispers for more. And you wake up with the ache of a soul that longs for more. And you walk through days with a soul that lunges towards the hope for more.  And as the sun sets into night, so does your gaze onto the more that is to come. In the deepest places of your heart, you hear the whispers for more. Because we were made for that catch. We were created to know the bountiful.

But to know that catch, to understand what it truly means, we must go to places we have never been before. We must reach down into the deep. Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls. Your waves have rolled over me.

No, I don’t want to go. It may not be the inspirational answer, and it may not be the christian answer, but I do not want to go. Because it is different, and it is scary, and it is dark. It is a place I have never been to before. And it is a place in which I must give up everything. But when we go to the deep, it is there and only there that we find life abundant. And when we go to the deep it is there and only there that our hearts no longer whisper for more. And when we go to the deep it is there that we find our catch.

When He had finished speaking, He said to Simon,”Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” Simon answered and said, “Master, we worked hard all night and caught nothing, but I will do as you say and let down the nets.” When they had done this, they enclosed a great quantity of fish, and their nets began to break; so they signaled to their partners in the other boat for them to come and help them. And they came and filled both of the boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw that, he fell down at Jesus’ feet saying, “Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!” For amazement had seized him and all his companions because of the catch of fish which they had taken;”

We do not just find our catch, we find abundant catch. We find a catch that fills us. We find catch that spills over into the lives of others, and fills them as well. And we are seized with amazement at the One before us, the One who lead us to that catch.
No, He does not call us to the easy, you and me. And He never promised he would. But there is more to experience than the easy. There is adventure. There is a love story. There is life. You need only to put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.

John 10:10| Psalm  42:7| Luke 5: 4-9

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life making, The Mucky Stuff, The Vulnerable Side

Always Winter and Never Christmas

I laid in bed all day. Some moments curled into a ball tighter than I can curl my fist. Other moments with groans deep and husky, gasping out a pain that struck so deep I could not tell if it was physical or emotional. I never thought I’d be here again. I never thought I’d feel this, this pain. Not again. I never expected to be in this place of waiting. Again.

Yet here I am. Sick, once more, hurting once more, waiting once more. And as I look through the window spotted with thick drops of rain, I ask myself a question, unwilling to hear the answer: How long? How long will this carry? How long do I go through this?

Does your heart wonder? Does it wander? Do you look to the night sky for a babe king to bring hope?  Do you hear your heart, your soul cry out in anger, in pain, as I do? How long? How long Oh Lord. How long? How long does this ache carry? How long does this urge to be more, to do more, to know more last? How long?

And I know it all too well. I know it as I lay in my bed. I know it as I walk downtown streets.  I know as I look up to a full sky with stars that paint pictures of something more. I know too well.

Always winter and never Christmas. My heart falls to the ground as I learn the true meaning of the phrase. I sit in the middle of my apartment and cry. How long oh Lord? How long must I hurt? How long must this be the best way I serve you? In pain? It seems such a paradox. The very antithesis of what He came to give. I came that they may have life, and have it abundant. I look at my body, eaten up by disease, gaunt and bony. This is abundant? I ask him. This is what you came to give me?

Always winter and never Christmas.

Does your heart wonder? Does it wander? Do you ask Him as I do? This is abundant? This is what you came to give me?

In that day you will not question Me about anything. Truly, truly, I say to you, if you ask the Father for anything in My name, He will give it to you. Until now you have asked for nothing in My name; ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be made full.

If you ask the Father for anything… Anything. Can this be true? I sit and wonder. Anything.

What do I want? I sit and think. I curl back up into that ball tighter than my fist. I cry. I think. What do I want? What do I really want? I want this disease to be gone. I want to finally rid myself of this disease. This disease that consumes. This disease that overwhelms. This disease that makes me do the very thing that I do not want to do. What do I want? I want to be healed of this disease. Not that one. Not the one the doctors see and monitor. Not the one that brought me to this night. No, I want to be healed of this disease of sin that consumes and overwhelms. I want to be made new.  This is what I ask. This is what I want. This! In my heart of hearts. In the deepest places, this is what I want. Have mercy on me, Oh God, because of your unfailing love. Heal me. Make me new. For it is by your stripes we are healed, it was your sacrifice. Blot out the stains of my sin. Heal me. Make me new. Wash me, and I will be white as snow. Oh give me back my joy again, you have broken me, now let me rejoice. Heal me. Make me new. Remove the stain of my guilt. Create in me a clean heart, Oh my God, renew a right spirit in me. Heal me. Make me new. Do not take me away from your presence. Oh God, do not take your Holy Spirit from me. Do not let this disease have hold on me. Heal me. Make me new. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and make me willing to obey you. Heal me. Make me new. Give me a heart that seeks yours. Strip me of this disease. This disease that ravages the soul, that eats its fill on the selfishness of the heart. The only thing in me that is truly mine. The only thing that was never from You. Let me be only what you have made me to be. Let my heart hold only what has been placed into it by you. Take this disease, take my sin. Heal me. Make me new.

If you ask the Father for anything.

Truly, truly, I say to you.

If you ask the Father for anything, in My name.

If you ask in My name, He will give it to you.

Oh, that you would give it to me. In Jesus name, Oh Father. Heal me. Make me new. Above all else, give me a heart that seeks after Yours. For you have come that we may have life. That it would be abundant. Oh Father, heal this heart. This heart that wonders. This heart that wanders. This heart eaten by disease. And give me a heart of flesh.

Does your heart wonder? Does it wander? Do you ask Him as I do? This is abundant? This is what you came to give me? Oh that we may know life abundant. Oh that our joy may be made full. Oh that even in the cry of ‘how long’ we may have healing. Healing in our bones. Healing in our lives. Healing in all of the broken places. But most of all, healing in our hearts. That we may know life abundant. So that our joy may be made full.

|John 10:10|John 16:23,24| Psalm 51|

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life making, More and More

They Must Fill

I looked at it. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I didn’t need it. Nor did I even have use for it. I saw the beauty that took up space in my own life, and I knew I was safe.I was more than safe, I was comfortable. I was comforted. But it was so shiny. So alluring. So desirous. And so I looked. And then I wanted. And then I compared to what I had. And suddenly, what I had was no longer so beautiful. But it was there, and it took up space. Over crowded space. And suddenly, I saw my deficiency. I saw my lack. I saw how little I was worth. And I believed it. I became like Eve. And there in the garden I chose my sin. My sin to believe I was deficient. My sin to believe I was worthless. My sin to believe I was lacking. And suddenly, as I looked at it- that forbidden fruit- rather than be so shiny and alluring it merely mirrored everything about me that was without. And I believed the lie, and chose to partake. Because when one is deficient they must fill. And I needed my fill. If for no other reason than to take away the ache. An ache all caused because I indulged a look. An ache all caused because I believed the lie. I became like Eve. The woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was desirable to make one wise, she took from its fruit and ate; and she gave also to her husband with her, and he ate. She ate. And she gave to others, and they ate. I ate. When one is deficient they must fill. And so we fill. With forbidden fruit. With what was never meant to fill. With what could not fill. We become like Eve.

How often have we become like Eve. How often have we looked. How often has it become  delight to our eyes? How often do we take and eat? And we hold and we partake but we are not filled. And it does not satisfy. And we are not comforted. But rather, harassed by the very thing that made us look in the first place. And we are not comfortable. But rather, squirm in our places as we realize we were never meant to be here. And we cannot be ourselves. For ourselves have been overtaken by a lie. Ourselves are no longer good enough. And so instead we compete, and instead we compare, and instead we commiserate. And then, when we realize we will never be enough, and never win this race, we hide. We hide, and we cover.

When the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was desirable to make one wise, she took from its fruit and ate; and she gave also to her husband with her, and he ate. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loin coverings.

And all this circles in my mind as I hear little ones laughing in the back seat of my car. They want to throw balls after church. Actually they want to “frow balls”. “Miss Bethany, is that ok? Can we frow balls when we get home?” This is what they ask me. And I become silly and they laugh and they ask another question. And on and on the little ones continue in their ramblings.  I hear them speak to one another. To me. Laughing. Talking. Speaking all sorts of words and nonsense that they don’t even realize they are saying. They are comfortable. And so they speak. To me. To themselves. To the brothers and the sister. They speak out of comfort, not even listening to themselves. And I realize, I want to be like that. I want to talk like that. I want to have comfort like that. I want to have need that needs nothing but presence. I want comfort like that. The kind that is safe, and trusting. The kind that asks questions. Not just doing, but asking. Comfort that has no other need but presence. No other fill but presence. They only need me there. To listen, to hear. My presence is what comforts them. Not the shiny. Not the alluring. Only presence. They’ve been with me time and time again. Years and years. And when we are together, they need only my presence. Let me have comfort like this. Let me be satisfied like this. Let me be filled like this. Let me need nothing but His presence. Let nothing be covered, let nothing be hidden. Let my heart want not what the heart wants but let my heart want what He wants. Let love aches and heart breaks be for the aches and breaks of His heart, not my own. Let me be filled only by Him. Let me partake only of Him. And when I look, let me look on Him.

Genesis 3:6-7

 

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Adventure Makers, Healing From the Inside Out, life making

Constant Humanity

I don’t get being human. I don’t get emotions and chemicals and spirit and soul and mind and thoughts and feelings and screw ups and get rights. The only thing I get about being human is that it is hard.

It is hard.

Trials come and temptations go and sometimes we get it right but most times we don’t. How many times have I asked myself when I would finally get it right? How many times have I longed for more years on my resume of life. Years that would give me more experience. More maturity. More understanding. More knowing the right move to take. But humanity is never an easy question. It is not an arrival.  We don’t get to the right place by chance, or years, or any other accomplishment. After all, how can we. We are not the remedy.

We are not the remedy. I am not the remedy. I want so much to be. I want so much to get things right. How many times do I turn around to see that once again I have fallen. I made the wrong choice. I fell into the wrong action. Or rather, I walked deliberately into the wrong action. I am not the remedy. And this sin, this sin that entered into my humanity, it is the disease.

I remember the day that my doctors told me there was no other medicine to take. I remember the day they told me I had taken them all. In a world full of instant gratification and never ending choices, I was an exception. This disease was an exception.

“What do you mean I’ve taken them all?”

“What do you mean there aren’t any other options?”

It didn’t seem possible. Not in this culture of the world is my oyster. This world full of never ending possibilities and full life adventures. In a culture that says you can never have enough, that there is always another way, it is hard to accept the word no.

“There is nothing else we can do for you.”

The end of the rope had been met. There were no more options. No more remedies.

And how often does humanity feel the same. We strive and struggle, seeking options and opportunities that we never really know if we are going to meet. We strive and struggle because we think we are the remedy. We are the better. We are the hero. But we are not the remedy. We are not the better.  We are not the hero.

He is our only remedy. He is our only better. He is our only hero.

He is the lead in this story. We are not the lead. We are extras, walking back and forth on a stage. But no one comes to the theater to see the extras. They come to see the lead. To see the plot. And we, we are not the plot. These stories of ours, they are not the plot. His love, His death, His sacrifice. His blood, offered to us, changing us, flowing through us. Giving life and power. That is the plot. That is the story. And that is the remedy.

It is not my fixing. My power. It is the power of Him in me.

For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ. For it is the power of God for salvation. For remedy. It is His power in us that brings remedy. For in it, in the gospel, the righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith; just as it is written, But the righteous man shall live by faith.”

We live by faith. As righteous men we live by faith. We live for the main character. For the plot that changes everything. We live for the gospel, and through it gain power, salvation, remedy.

We do not just pray for revival. We do not just hope for revival. We live for it. We live in it. Through the power of the gospel. Through the power of salvation. Through the power of God. Power living in us. Power flowing through us. Power remedying our ever constant humanity.

|Romans 1:16-17|

 

 

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Dear Love, life making

The Greatest of These

The trouble with this disease is that it drags, it blurs.

Its raining. I spent my morning listening, refocusing, reading. Just being with Him. I forget to just be. For such a homebody like me, I am rarely home. I am instead out. Running. Doing. And then that disease starts running in stride next to me and before I know it I am caught up in the blur. I am going through the motions without really seeing anything. I am focused on nothing, I am nothing. My goal is merely to get through. Get through the moments, get through the hours, get through the days. It is all a blur. Moments blur into moments, hours into hours, days into days. I have no recollection of anything. No recognition. People have become forgotten. Life has become make shift. Another day, another dollar. Another meaningless day, another meaningless dollar. When did those leaves begin to change, when did he tell me he was in trouble, when did her heart start hurting? I am focused on nothing. I am nothing.
When I forget what matters, I lose sight of the moment. When I lose sight of the moment, I lose sight of the kingdom.
If I do not have love, I am nothing.
Days and dollars are meaningless without love. Errands are meaningless without love. Doing is meaningless without love.
Those aren’t my words, they are His. If I do not have love, I am nothing. I have become a noisy gong and clanging cymbals. I’m just noise. Noise with no impact, no motion. It profits me nothing. I gain no increase. I am just as in debt as I was before. I am nothing.
I run and blur. I do and blur. I forget and blur. And suddenly the disorganized mess catches up with me but the memories of the days and weeks past do not, they merely blur. And the faces and lives are no longer vibrant. They are merely blurred. And then I realize the very thing I came to do has not been done. I do not want memories of blurred faces, blurred hearts. I want pointed, concentrated hearts. I want to know them. I want to know faces. I want to see twitches and movements and expressions and know. I want to have love. I want to have love for the ones around. I want to be love for the ones around. I want to stop with the blurring and dragging and give more to the noticing and loving. I want to be something. I will not be background noise. I will not be a noisy gong. A useless gong. I want to be here. Present. In this moment. I want to be in the action. In the action of hearts. Three things will last forever- faith, hope, and love. – the greatest of these is love.
I want the greatest of these.
|I Corinthians 13:1-3, 13|
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