unpoetic beauty .

as we well know , i am a writer . i love to write . i love words . i love paper . i love black pens and sharpies . 

sometimes it's relaxed , pretty , and graceful . 
sometimes it's messy , rushed , and desperate . 

i think it's those times that it is most important to write but also those times i am intimidated to so . not of Him , but of me . 

sometimes our hearts are poetic , a lot of times they are not . 

truthfully actually , i would venture to say they - or mine anyway - is always very much both . 

but the poetic is much easier to let out . it looks so much nicer . it feels 'right' .

but there is no wrong . 
but frustrated , anxious , scarred , annoyed , angry , hurt heart is not bad . 
it never has been and it never will be . 

so right now ? i have a lot in me that is not very poetic . pains that date back for years . some over a decade . 

they are real . 
and it is okay . 

lord , i have tried everything . 

and there in lies the flaw . 

he has not , is not , and will not ever withhold from me but He will not allow me to take from Him or create on my own anything that was always intended as His to be given as a gift . 

so ?? i give up . i quit trying and i am believing . 

i want the gift . i want the giver . but what a double standard to want all of Him if i will not be honest with all of me . 

i'm bringing Him my unpoetic heart and believing for breakthrough on the other side . and i am seeking breakthrough in Truth , of Jesus Himself over breakthrough for my body , my sleep , the list goes on and on . 
i want Him more than what He has , and how will we ever get what He has if we do not first have Him ? 

i want to be okay if the breakthrough doesn't come because i know He's right beside me in the frustration and the pain . 

and an unpoetic journal doesn't have to be an ugly journal . if given the same time an d attention - which it is worthy and deserving of - perhaps it can be even more beautiful .

children teaching children .

as a class this year , we are serving and loving on the children of our church . every sunday i take the stage and lead a room of fifth and sixth graders in worship . [[ oh do i have confidence to build , growth to achieve , and improvements to make but this post isn't about me ; it's about them ]] tonight , as much of our team is overseas on outreach being Jesus to Syrian refugees , i had the privilege of being a little more involved with the kids by helping with small groups . my soul was so encouraged , so fed , so stirred as i listened to these precious girls discuss the story of the Israelites exiled in the wilderness after being led out of slavery in egypt . i sat amazed by their questions and their insight . these girls had the hunger and the bravery to ask the hard questions . the ones we as adults are afraid to ask . it was an honor to sit with them and be trusted with their pure , unrestrained hunger to know God , to understand His character ; to be engaged with them as they connected with these stories as real and so much more than childhood fantasy . . . the glamorous fairy tale ones i remember . they connected with the details of the story , the attitudes of the characters , the presence of God . 

but how could they forget so easily ? if i got rescued from slavery , i would never forget . . . 

but . . God being angry , that doesn't seem right . . . 

sixth graders . voicing the questions i only recently have dared to ask . but it is in that daring the revelation comes and intimacy infuses itself in to our very beings . 

humbled . forced to ask myself the same questions . to wonder and answer in my own heart in truth that i might disciple them in truth ; to shepherd them in putting themselves in the story and apply it in regards to their own lives and in their own worlds . 
to speak in to the character of God so tainted by the world . to share with them the very things i am learning . 
receiving the healing before the wound . 
capturing truth . instilling hope . appreciating grace . 

children of God . 

let the little children come  . . . 

they call me leader , but i call them the same . 

let the children come . . . that they might teach us to be more like them . 
and may i never again take for granted the precious treasure entrusted to my care , 

oh Lord , that you would choose a broken vessel such as me ; that you would choose my not despite my brokenness but because of it . 

Daddy 's girl

Daddy , thank you for all that you are doing in me . thank you for your detail and intricacy ; that you are thorough, that you work swiftly yet gently . thank you that you kill al that is destroying me without killing . . or destroying . . me . 

and so it proves to stand you don't look at me and see as i do or anyone else does but you look at me and see the perfection of Christ , your precious little girl , your bride made white .

sheer delight shining in your eyes ; radiating from your smile .

i run to you , as many times as i find myself any distance from you . i don't make it even a single step for you are all ready there . 

i rejoice in never being apart from you . 

i bring my eyes and heart back home to you .

we dance . 

we sing . 

we play . 

love and intimacy that only grows .

lead me on , 

i want the more - not from but - of you .