With Arms Wide Open

It's that time of year again.  You know the one I mean. Christmas. Did you catch that? Christmas. There it was again.  Love.  Anticipation.  Hope. It's that time of year when joy and jingles are intertwined and happy and merry are in every ear.  Christmas morning was always my favorite.  More often than not I was awake at three and watching the clock until five.  (My poor parents.) There is something about a Christmas tree... wrapped up in lights... sparkling with ornaments... lit by a star... Shining over those things that had been taunting me for weeks.  Just a thin layer of paper between me and the things that my family had chosen just for me.   The gifts. The gifts are my favorite part. There's something about a person when they're given the perfect gift.  Something resonates within... and shines its way out.  There's something about knowing that someone loved you well enough to know what you wanted... what...

Thursday afternoon, with my tummy full of food and my heart full of family, I stood at the bottom of a set of stairs I have looked up many times.  I didn't stand at the bottom for very long.  I took them two at a time- dodging the creaks like a thief.  It's funny how a set of stairs can bring back so many memories.  Amazing memories {racing down for Christmas mornings} .  Painful memories {missed steps and stubbed toes} .  Crazy memories {a brother just behind the corner, waiting to scare me} .  Bad memories {stomped feet and hurled words} .  Funny memories {Mom.  Seriously.  When are you going to paint these stairs??} .  Beautiful memories {a grand entrance for a senior prom} . Above those stairs was my bedroom.  My safe place.  The harbor of my dreams and hopes and ambitions.  It was my space.  It was the place where I carved the initials of all the boys I ever had a crush on into my bedpost.  I...

How many blog posts under the sun must center on Robert Frost's famous words... The Road Not Taken.   How many aspiring writers dream of penning a poem so well loved, so well remembered, so meaningful.  How many of us have claimed with pride, "YES!  That's my story!"  How many of us have slathered those words over old wounds... covered pieces of our past under that banner.  You know the one I mean... And yet, there's a part of that poem that often gets looked over.  We claim the last three lines for our own.  "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." But what about the pause before the thunder... "I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence..." With a sigh.  Somehow, I don't imagine he meant a sigh of satisfaction. Maybe a sigh of longing.  Of regret. I can slather that picture over so many place in my life.  Places where two choice...

It was quiet in my mind that first time.  Peaceful.  Sorta like this: It changes.  Sometimes we meet here: Or here: (If you're wondering, I get the chair on the left because I'm His favorite.)  Once we met here: But then He remembered who He was dealing with, and we met here instead: (It's like He knows me or something.) Tonight we're meeting in my current favorite place: The last few days have knocked me to my knees.  Thankfully, that's right where I needed to be.  See, I have a litany of things to discuss, and this might take a while.  I'm not going to feel better until I get this off my chest, and He's pretty patient about that kind of thing.  A friend reminded me tonight that He desires truth in the innermost being... and it's in the hidden places... the secret place... that He will make me know wisdom... Wisdom... which is first of all is first of all pure...

I marvel at Your power, Lord.  I am in awe of what You can do.  I love and fear the work of Your hands. I ache for the people displaced from their homes.  I pray for peace and love and mercy on the East Coast. And every time I turn on the news, I see what You're doing in my heart. I watch people run from what You are capable of, and I know the pull and stretch of those muscles.  I see boarded up shops, and I feel the hammer in my hand nailing boards over the doors of my heart.  I look at the people lined up watching the water from a safe place... curious and awed... envious of those who are brave enough to get a front-seat view.   I have felt your ocean rising up over my feet... and I have pulled them out of the water. I can feel the brewing of a storm. I'm not running this time. Father, I will meet You on my knees in this city in my heart .  You correct, chasten, discipline, scourge those You love.  I know that it's a good work...

Have you ever been around one of those people? You know the ones I mean. The peaceful ones. The holy ones. The ones who reek of Jesus. The ones who are so close to the Lord that your sins bubble to the surface just by being around them. The ones who can tell what's going on inside... just by looking at you. The ones who bring you to a place of confession before you see them because you know what will happen if you don't. I am not one of those people.  I'm one of the other ones.  I am the one crying in my car because someone called me for prayer and how can I pray over her knowing what else came out of my mouth today?   Here I am again.  Wearing my heart condition on my sleeve.  A great pastor spoke this week to remind a church packed full of young people who are intent on knowing Him that repentance is not just wiping the slate and asking God to change your heart.  It is more than just turning away.  It's more than a one time...

Yesterday I was thinking about Bicknell First Baptist Church home. I was wondering who I would be if I had not wandered through those doors... at just the right time.  I was wondering what might have happened with my life if I had not pulled on my bandana and taken off my shoes and settled down in the pew like it was my couch. If I had not let them see the wounds.  If I had not opened to the healing... responded to the Healer. Sometimes it takes knowing who I'm not to find out who You are. The power flashed first.  And then it went dark.  Three whole breaths of still air.  And then the lights crashed back in.  Just long enough to stumble.  Just long enough to have to feel for the boundaries of the shapes around me. Just long enough to know that beyond everything I am... is everything You are. When I try to grasp it... try to bear it... try to understand it... How can we rally behind one child by the thousands... and not fall on our fa...