He makes all things new

He's making me new.

Washing me in grace.

Fresh starts.

New dawns.

And I'm ready to hope again.

How can I not hope

when Jesus loves like this.

How can I resist

when He sees my struggle

and never once condemns.

I hold myself back,

unworthy of His holiness.

But He draws closer

and He covers me.

Always covers me.

His cloak about my shoulders.

Trading places.

My sin for His righteousness.

He paid for it all.

Spilling blood as the highest price.

And He knew what He was getting.

Knew my failures, 

knew my faults.

And still He says,

"I did it for the joy you are to me."

My heart cannot contain this love

can't even begin to understand it.

But I'm giving myself up to it.

Jesus Prince of Peace

"The people who walk in darkness
      will see a great light.
   For those who live in a land of deep darkness,
      a light will shine...

 For a child is born to us,
      a son is given to us.
   The government will rest on his shoulders.
      And he will be called:
   Wonderful Counselor, 

Mighty God,
      Everlasting Father, 

Prince of Peace."

                           ~Isaiah 9: 2, 6

Dearest Jesus,

You offer me peace.

In the last minute hustle of christmas shopping.  

When clerks are rude and customers are rowdy.  

In the frantic holiday baking and the merry present making.  

When my house is a mess and my sinus is dripping. 

You offer me peace.

In my mad dash of wrapping and secretive stashing.

When my kids eat all the sugar cookies and are driving me batty.

Through stubborn winter colds and piles of dirty clothes.

When the husband works late and the babies stay awake.

You offer me peace.

Hands held out, Your gift to me.

And I receive you with joy.

My Prince.

My Peace.

*written and posted Dec. 2010

heart gifts

I found this picture and a poem I wrote in 2008 tucked in my journal yesterday.  With my mom flying out in the morning, sleepless nights, and even longer days ahead I needed this reminder that I'm not alone.  

To my Jesus, who is everything to me

You are the sun 

that bathes my world in a thankful glow

that chases shadows far from me

that warms and renews my soul

You are golden Light

You are the bright splash of dancing leaves

against a clear blue sky

a sudden gentle breeze

the thrill of joy in my children's eyes

You are all of these

You are the tiny arms of a little child

wound tight around my neck

the tug of love upon my heart

when I hold your gifts to me

You are the warmest feelings that I get

You are the gentle whispered kiss of night

the peaceful sound of a dreaming house

the knowledge that everything will be alright

You are the arms holding me tight

our secret place

Our Secret Place

I hear your voice now whispering

secrets longing to be told

And the clamor that surrounds me

drowns out heaven's gentle toll

Lead me to our secret place, Lord

take me through that narrow gate

Where all weariness and struggle

is banished by the light of your face

My hand in yours we'll walk along

our hearts melting into one

And the silence will brim with words

You speak

here in our secret place

"I will give you the treasures of darkness, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the LORD, the God of Israel, who summons you by name." {Isaiah 45:3} 

meeting needs

God is stretching me  (and no, I'm not just referring to my pregnancy!)
He's stretching my faith, my heart, my hands.  

He's daring me to be uncomfortable.  He's inviting me to live on the edge--to give out of my own need--without expecting anything in return but still having faith that He will provide.

And I'm not very stretchy sometimes.

My husband sees needs and he is moved to do something.  I am moved, but so often feel incapable of doing anything.  I wait for abundance to give.  He gives all he has.  He comes home telling me about families in need and his plans to help lighten their burden and I stare at unpaid bills piling on our table and I feel my heart grow numb.  "God will take care of us,"  he says with confidence streaming through eyes lined by stress from his venture into the instability of self-employment.  And I know it is true.  God has always taken care of us.  We have been so immensely blessed.  I am surrounded by robust, rosy-cheeked children in a beautiful home.  We may live week to week, but there are some that live hour to hour.

Keep my heart soft, Lord

Keep my faith strong

Keep my hands open, Lord

Knowing you are the Giver

Of all I that I own

Keep my heart soft, Lord

Keep my faith strong

Keep my hands open, Lord

Knowing the greatest gift 

Is you and you alone

"In everything I did, I showed you that by this kind of hard work we must help the weak, remembering the words the Lord Jesus himself said: 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'"  Acts 20: 35

Being His.

Valentine's day is just around the corner.

And Love is in the air.

Love IS the air I breathe.

It fills my lungs, lingers in my senses, reminding me that I am loved.

Deeply.

Divinely.

By a Savior who is the very definition of love.

It's written on His hands.

My name.

Tattooed on nail scarred palms.

It's in the shape of a cross,  the gentle breath of grace, my hiding place.

I am loved.

Extravagantly.

Fanatically.

So my Jesus tells me.

In love letters He writes me when I'm still enough to listen.

In sweet serenades from chickadees and little lilting voices.

Warm blankets and tender looks.

And my love for him?

So meager.

Meted out in half-finished devotions.

Exhausted metaphors.

A half-lit flame I'm ashamed to have let sputter.

Jesus-whispers fill my soul, "Be Mine."

"I am already yours."

My heart longs to answer.

Throw blazing logs of love on this fire.

Let the desire of heaven spark my own.
Turn these cold ashes into burning embers.
Jesus is waiting.

(If you visited this page and there was no picture:  my little ones published this post before it was finished!  LoL.)

fragile: a theme?

FRAGILE.  

Yep.  There it was.  Pasted on my 1970's suitcase.  Revealing the truth even through a staged photograph.  

Might as well be pasted on my forehead.

I really don't like to be fragile.  Much less feel fragile.  I'd rather have it all together.  I'd rather be strong, accomplished, and resilient.

Anything but fragile.

But fragile is what I've been of late.

And I'm learning what I consider weakness just may be a prerequisite for a strength outside my own.

When I finally exhaust all my resources, when I'm empty of every "me" solution, God's Spirit floods my dry reservoirs.  Rushing, replenishing waves of living water anxiously stream unhindered through me.

Sitting precariously

on the Potter's wheel

spinning...spinning

life is a blur

a smudged painting

a dizzy "busy"ness

Gentle hands bending

these frail walls

from within

The lightest touch

transforming them

His vessel

a holy residence 

The strongest clay

it doesn't yield

it must be soft

to bend, to feel

the hands that shape

this empty urn

To fill this void

God-water churns 

For more poetry, see these posts. 

A glimpse

Jennifer at Studio JRU hosts a beautiful event she calls "A glimpse".  It's a wonderful opportunity to share the extraordinary glimpses of our God in the everyday ordinary.  One image crowds my heart today...

This was waiting for me in my inbox.

A gift from a beautiful friend that I've never met.

But one who has walked the path neither of us would have chosen.

One who knows the sorrow of losing...

And the need to remember.

One who comforts others in the midst of her own grief.

Much like another Friend I know.

A man acquainted with my every sorrow.

A God who captures tears in his jar of remembering.

One who carries me when I am weary.

Who promises beauty for ashes,

the oil of joy for mourning,

and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.

The One who invites us to comfort others

With the same comfort we receive from Him.

His hands mending hearts through our tentative touch.

Thank you, Holly, for remembering my Titus.

This is twice you have blessed me-- the first was a necklace you gave away on your blog and it has meant so much to me, and has been such a precious keepsake of my little boy in heaven.

And Thank you, my Abba, for carefully handling my heart and mending all the broken places.