me personally enough I want to trust You.

Lord,

The truth is I’m tired. Tired of trying, pushing, waiting, aching, hurting. And yet, I find myself in the shower tonight worshipping You. What else am I supposed to do? If it is a test, all these things that keep happening and this distance I feel for people, friends I dearly love and yet at others times feel so close to, I still want to believe the best right now. I still want to believe You can restore things to better than before. You can make me smile. Again. You can touch 

fmf: truth.

I want to do this big commentary about how I’m tired of myself and in general but I’m just going to put this verse I read in proverbs last night (I can’t believe I made it to Proverbs in my bible in a year plan. It’s awesome and shocking) because focusing on Jesus is better. And it is too easy to sink in sorrow right now.

“The blessing of the LORD brings [true] riches, And He adds no sorrow to it [for it comes as a blessing from God].”

‭‭PROVERBS‬ ‭10:22‬ ‭AMP‬

I totally want to see this and also I’m little confused as to why it says God as no sorrow to the blessing because it comes Him. It really makes me wonder yet again, You’re always happy, God? But you suffer with us? But you are love so it delights you to bless me when I’m sad or happy or mad or whatever because that’s who you are: good at your center. Hmm.

at tears within me.

God,

I’ve lost my mind. Really. Can someone be this emotional? I never said I wanted a child. Well, with Michael I did. Not for right reasons though. I was so overcome with the fact he thought I could write or that I could raise someone. A baby. I am one, you know? My emotions are all over the place. I can’t stop touching the incision, the place where there will be a scar. God, I should trust you with this healing. I am afraid of what’s on the other side. I want to be held now, so tightly. I want to be told everything will be alright and weep wh

FMF: should.

So, I’m trying something new: writing letters to God in actual paragraphs. This is as close as I got in 5 minutes. I don’t think it’s that bad. I honestly thought it would be a poem. I’m so used to breaking up my words that putting them together is weird and almost foreign.  

Everything feels that way. This letter is about my recovery of healing from a hysterectomy. I’ve wanted to write about this for awhile, but have felt afraid. I don’t how to articulate the sorrow, the way I saw God show me His face. The compassion of the nurses and the way I learned as much as I want to talk, so does everyone else. There was a night nurse I learned this from. We all long to be heard.

She fed me jello and lingered with me when other patients needed her. We talked (well, I don’t know how much talking I did with my medicine loopiness) about books and TV. She told me about buzz lightyear and woody. I immediately smiled when she said she got her nephew a pull string Woody. Her smile was glorious. What I felt in my heart to be heard, noticed and seen, I saw in her eyes. 

It showed me how when God wants to spend time with us even in very difficult circumstances, it isn’t a “hey, do this for me, would you?” It’s more, hey, I wouldn’t mind if you asked me questions and I share my heart with you. I don’t always want you to do something. I want to be with you. And you with me.

All I’ve thought about since coming home from the hospital is, how does a woman leave her children to go take care of others who may or may not acknowledge her? And do it with such joy, patience and kindness at 12 AM, 2 AM…? It was Jesus right before me as I was weak and sad and alone, but when He spoke, something quieted. I just wanted to stay there with the ginger ale and the jello, the smile.

Presence changes everything, especially when you’re still enough to appreciate not only the receiving, but the giving of ears to listen too.

I could go on, but it will make me cry most likely too. Learning a lot about myself lately. Like this:

 

And this:


I’m on the launch team for this new devotional book from Bonnie & ughh, so good. There’s probably going to be more graphics and rambles until I review later this month, so look out for those. ☺️

All this aside, the fact that I’ve been afraid to write here and this came out clearly shows the lie I’ve been believing I’m not a writer with no purpose is just that: a lie. Oh Lord, let Your light and love be my trust. My hope. All these new things that feel risky, You will continue to light the way and keep my feet from slipping. You will uphold me with Your unfailing love. Support me. And when my emotions swirl and spill before You, may Your comforts delight me. Thank You for healing me today.

with grace pouring over

i check my email,
seeing a sender
i don’t recognize.
a welcome in
launching a book
with likeminded
people, who see
the simplicity in
mundane tuesdays—
holding a gray cat
agaunst your chest
as she presses her
paws close, silently—
i scram at being
selected randomly,
when Jesus full well
He loves surprising
me.

I’m sitting here watching this message about Jesus and guardrails, when my phone buzzes. because i’ve been easily distracted today, i stopped it and looked. I really wonder what Jesus’ face looked like watching me: “Oh..she’s about to scream…5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

Me: OH MY GOSH, JESUS!!!! NO WAY!! AHHHH!!!!!!! EEEEEEE! YESSSSS!!!! *dances in chair, screams more*

I don’t know if I thanked Him, but Jesus? Thank You, You’re timing is perfecto. Out of 1000 entires, I was randomly selected…nah, I was You selected. You are the best at surprising, surprises.

I didn’t expect to get an email saying I was chosen to be part of Emily Freeman’s launch team for her new book, but whoa.

I didn’t even ask you before filling out the application. Just said, “Ughh, I really want to do this!” and did.

Then after a few counts: “should I have asked You?” “I probably should have.” “What if I typed something wrong?!” (this last crashed quietly against my heart after I got the email.)

And You said: wait.

And boom: screaming like a child me.

Your grace, this, took my breath away. (seriously, i sounded like a might have asthma…)

I’d love some more, please. Get me to stare at Your beauty, rather than me.

Labels

Meg Lynch

*A sort-of note to almost-nine-year-old Meg

Dear Sweetheart,

You are about to turn nine and enter into a new season of your life.

You are expecting new friends, more learning, and hearing about Jesus every single day. You are so excited.

Just a few months ago, you looked your principal in the face and squealed, “I’m going to a CHRISTIAN school next year!” He saw your excitement and joined in your joy. He said they would be missing you, but they were so happy for you.

The first day of school, you will be introduced to things like cursive, multiplication and division, and phonics…things you’ve never even dreamed existed. You are also asked to recite all the Bible verses you can remember, but you don’t know any.

In that moment, you will feel it: they all know more than you. You can’t read the pretty squiggles and swirls…

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leaving presence in place

i hear his anger
in my dream—
what is wrong
with all of you?!
he wants to be
a lone, without
love beside, behind
before & i can’t quit
staring. the desk he is
sitting in, scatters work,
home; life disheveled
his face. i notice the
woman at his right
try holding hands,
but he thwarts away
after a moment. i am
standing a few feet
away with i love you
drumming under breath
i lost for fear’s sake-

my dreams are getting memorable, i feel i’m living every one. i wake up with this feeling i’m still where the dream took place. with this dream, i woke up today & thought: jesus, is that you?  i seriously laid there & thought yes, that’s you in the crack in the shutter (which is white). but i swore i saw a face smiling at me. & i wanted to touch his robe, but i looked on, dumbfounded.

there was comfort among the rain still poring out my pains. God, you really do see me & no matter how my dreams whisper, quite the contrary, your gaze stays precious, honored upon me.

& all i can hear in all these crazy thoughts , you are whispering: you matter to me. heavy as the rain outside, you’ve flooding me (just as i asked yesterday) with this truth. i saw this morning, yesterday, the day before & probably every day before.

you are good, faithful, in my wondering, blindness, God. thank you for carrying me this far, for carding me to your chest as a sheep, for smiling on mr when i don’t think i deserve it, for healing on your wing, and the compassion that never ends.

i know you are fighting the depression with those hands that clothe the lilies, rain, summer sun, & winter my soul has felt left in.

but i know you are God. you’ve collected the tears i’ve cried, heard every sigh & groan, anger i let convince me it’s best to be alone, complain. but still, you haven’t let me go. you have brought me low to lift my head again & again, up,to remind me you haven’t gone anywhere. nor do you plan.

you’ve just been moving the pace love goes.

slow. patient. kind. understanding. hopeful.

i ask that as people come to celebrate me today  (a day after my birth), you hold me with your righteous right hand  & replace this rolling sorrow with a smile that softens me. and i’d like to dance in rain, so if you could make that happen, the tears will probably spill gratitude.

have i mentioned i love you?

by the hem

  

I know I’ve been talking about this song for at least two other posts, but that’s probably because God knows these lyrics are like a prayer to him. 

Because I’m good at faking it. The “I’m fine, I don’t need help” persona. Is that the right word?  I’m good at keeping silent about how I feel because I don’t know how to explain what God sees inside my heart. That asking for help hurts. Asking for love risks rejection, more from people around you, than God. When searching for God, it is coming with everything you are: fears, fragility, pride, and hoping his robe feels as light as his burden. Which I (or any of us) never are to him.

He’ll lift the veil when he is ready, but until then I am left with the mystery of his love. His desire for me.

Also, I really want to give Sara Groves all these drawings I’ve done of her lyrics. And hug her. And say thank you. 

That’s be one heck of a mystery if she ever stumbled upon this. I think I’d conclude it was God, though.