new theme song

this has been the theme that broke into my silent revelry the last two days
a song that has renewed my strength
a song that came in the most perfect of times
every single word seemed to be words my heart recognized
a tune it had forgotten how to sing
yet a melody set deep within
that set me free

Rise

“She is strong but never silent.
Sure of where her strength comes from.”

I feel alive again. I feel empowered. I feel set free.
Restored.
I feel fully loved for all that I am, not shackled by who I am not.
Not shackled in shame.
I don’t have to be anyone else but who God made me to be.
I am enough and I am the Beloved.
The One in whom He delights.
My worth rests on who He is, not who I think I am or others opininon’s lead me to believe.
I feel like I’ve been set free.
Free to live in your unfailing love.
Free to live in the mercy of the Father’s affection.
With my eyes fixed on you
My maker and creator God.
Lover and best friend.

Thank you for rescuing me today.
For turning things around.
For turning my sorrow into joy.
My tears into celebration.
For all the incredible things you did today,
For all the victories that were won.
All I have to say is thank you.
And thank you for hearing my prayer.

Never alone

“The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”

:: Deuteronomy 31:8

“The LORD your God is with you,
he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
He will quiet you with his love,
He will rejoice over you with singing.”

:: Zephaniah 3:17

These are rich promises. Promises we can depend on.
What I’m finding is the Lord is bringing me into deeper dependence on him. To rely on him during a season where I feel the void of not having the peer relationships I once had, the girls I did life with most consistently, feeling the void and with that, the fear that accompanies it, wondering if that void will ever be filled again. And if so, when.

But God has really rescued me in the last couple of days. I reached out to one of my best friends and she really ministered to me through email. We’re that cool. I didn’t feel as alone. And then was able to really hash out a lot with God yesterday. And today He really turned things around and gave me a new perspective, empowered me and made me feel alive again.

He delights in me.
He is always with me.
He rejoices over me.
And he is mighty to save.

He goes before me.

Let your truth lead and guide me.
Let me follow you.

“In your unfailing love you will lead the people you have redeemed;
in your strength you will guide them.”

One of my favorite verses.

He alone is my rock. The one who gives and takes away. Who lovingly provides everything and all that I need.

The God who delights in me.

the god who sees me.

You are the God who sees me.
The one who reminds me that I am never alone.

The one whose voice breaks through even the deepest of heartaches, the fiercest of storms, and the most dense morning fog that only muddles the confusion,

You are the God who sees me.

Who reminds me that I am seen. And I am known.
A truth I can only hear in the silence.
Tucked away.
Far from the noise of all that surrounds me.

A truth I can only hear from your heart to mine.

That though I feel abandoned and alone, that I am seen.
That though I feel unknown and unwanted, I am known and wanted.
That though I feel unlovable, I am loved.

These truths broke through my heart's search on Saturday. During a wilderness retreat for women at our church. It couldn't have come at a more perfect time.

It was the most perfect of storms.
I was in the midst of a move, signaling a transition of support systems and houses, of what once was, to what will be, of ushering in change, whether I was ready or not.
My heart was unsettled. And I felt more alone than ever.

But it was a strange feeling. I knew I would be okay, I just wanted to know how long this void would last. How long this season would be of not having the relationships again that I had just lost.

But in those moments in silence, after taking about an hour to first allow Him to quiet my soul,

I found those words being whispered to my heart,

you are not alone.

It's only in solitude and in the silence where we can be reminded of all that we are.

Ruth Haley Barton says, in solitude, we find we are more than we thought, but we are also less than we thought.

We are reminded of how much our Savior loves us, yet we are less because it is solitude, in resting, that we are reminded that we are not God. We are not the god of our own little universe.

Solitude pulls us back into reality. We come face to face with all that we are. All of our neediness, our limitations, our humannness, our frailty, our need for God.

And it is there we are most loved.

Tenderly and fiercely.

It was there I heard the words I so desperately needed to hear.
The truth that has formed the bedrock to the what I am choosing to believe in the midst of change,

That I am seen and I am known and I am deeply loved.
There wasn't much more that made more sense to me than ever.
Those three things were all my heart needed to move forward that day.
Those words breathed life into my soul and gave me hope.
Gave me strength to face the rest of the day, not anxious, but excited about the new and the change that was being ushered in
because i no longer was going, or feeling like i was going, alone.

You are the God who sees me.
You have heard my prayers and promise to never leave me or forsake me.

I can ground my hope in the promise of your word.
I can choose to trust your word over my feelings. Over my circumstances.
You give me strength to trust you even when I don't see.

You are the solid rock on which I stand.
You are the God who sees me.

A place called home.

The Last of the Pimlico House





A week ago today I left the Pimlico House. After a lot of processing and talking this out with close friends, talking to God about it and a lot of other ways of processing this, I am able to write this.

A place that I realized in the last few months not only was I grieving saying goodbye to those girls and the loss of those relationships, but as I was packing over the weekend I realized I was also grieving saying goodbye to that house, and all it represented for the last three years.

I have been processing and talking about it with friends since then, as I was surprised to feel an attachment to a physical place like that.

I had just gotten done packing up my room and was in the living room. I remember being completely exhausted and was sitting on the floor in the living room. I laid back and was staring at the ceiling.

Then was looking around at the walls, I loved the vibrant colors we had in the living room, the personality and how each little thing on the walls was a piece of all of us. All of a sudden it was as if all of these memories caught me at an unguarded moment and came rushing to the surface.

Tears were quick to follow.

The kind that make you question why you’re even crying because they come upon you so fast.

“this is the first place that was home.”

I realized more of why leaving was so hard for me.

Home is one of those things you stumble upon, something you have longed for and searched for most of your life, to have had it and yet to now be losing it, seemed unreal.

That’s what it is.

This was home for me.

At 25 years old, I had never experienced home or what it meant to feel safe. To have a refuge, a safe haven. A place where you are known and loved, until 3 years ago.

I realized the weight of all I was feeling. it was a loss of those relationships, but it was so much more.

It was losing that which I had searched for endlessly, wondering if it was even true, or even out there. It seemed to betray me. That home was that place I knew was out there and once I stumbled upon it, had to return it. it didn’t’ seem right, it didn’t seem fair.

Everything within me was at war.

I didn’t want to leave.

It was more than a place I lived in the last three years. It was the first place I have ever lived that felt like “home.” This imaginary four-letter-word I have read about for years, heard stories about, heard people talk about with feelings I have never associated with home.

And for the first time, I knew what it felt like to be home.

That day I wrote,

“This was the first place I felt safe. I remember moving in. I knew one of the three girls living there and was moving in with total strangers. Becky, one of those “strangers” came at once to greet me. She helped me move all my stuff in. I was moving all by myself. I couldn’t believe it.

I knew things were going to be different here that point forward.

I remember falling asleep that night feeling at home. A stranger, unfamiliar feeling that never left. Each night I feared it would go away. But it was here to stay….

This is the first place that felt like home. And now it seemed I had only found home to lose it…

Home is one of those strange things, I wonder if I will ever experience this again. Or was this for just a brief moment in time. Will I have this again someday, will I get to experience this with a husband and children, will I ever feel home anywhere again? Or was this just a dream.

This feeling seemed to betray me.”

This home was a place I felt most alive.
A place that was a gift. Just as the relationships and the amazing things the Lord did in each of our lives through that place and through each other and where we were each at in our stories, was also a gift.

I am blessed to have had that home. Blessed to have known those girls.

Blessed to have had a place I called...



Home.

“home is not where you first lived, but where you feel most alive.”

art cannot be divorced from faith

"Art cannot be divorced from faith, for to do so is to literally close our eyes to that beauty of the dying sun setting all around us. Every beauty also suffers. Death spreads all over our lives and therefore faith must be given to see through the darkness, to see through the beauty of "the valley of the shadow of death."

:: Makoto Fujimura, Refractions

romance

“These things can, in an unguarded moment, bring us to our knees with longing for this something or someone who is lost; someone or something only our heart recognizes.”

:: the sacred romance, john eldredge