Though I walk through the valley, it's only a shadow...

God is good. The words of saints, ancient and new born ring loud in my spirit. In the face of tragedy and triumph the words that should resound from burning hearts should be as such. To cry the phrase of Job, or even David. God is good. 

My heart is learning lessons hard this past week as beloved sister passes from earth into eternity. Grace isn't walking faithfully through death and loss, grace is saying at the end of the beginning without her... God is good. To cry from broken heart, "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me..." The truest test of grace in the midst of losing is this, I am not offended, I choose to worship. 

Tomorrow is this wild girl's birthday and I can only imagine that she would have approached 26 with the same wide eyes as she viewed all of life. It seems as though her common theme of life was how she could love to the full. I can only put imagination to flight now as she is before the God of eternity learning the true fullness of the heavy love, the Agape Himself. And here I know the meaning of the words that man wrote to a tune we all know; bending beneath the weight of Your wind and mercy. How He loves! 

I cannot say with all certainty the thoughts that ran through sweet one's mind as she saw Him for the first time, but I can only imagine that at that moment it was Love. The heart aching, worth writing a million songs for LOVE! The tree bending, ocean rising, mountain dividing love! My heart is not certain of much in trying times, but I am certain of this. She knows love. 

And now I need to know Love. I am learning how to survive without knowing for certain how the Unknown chooses to work. My finite mind says how unfair, and my heart cries pain. But I choose to worship, I choose to praise! Though You slay me, still I choose to worship! My heart aches as I try to comprehend how my earthly second papa might feel right now, and I can see his life as it aligns with parts of a story that I am familiar with, and I heard him utter the words of that man Job. Certainly God's hand is in this! He speaks with wavering tones as tears streak his fatherly form. This man is broken, but there is One who identifies with his brokenness. The man of sorrows, aquatinted with grief! 

Jesus...

So we lean. In misunderstanding, in grief... we lean! And my heart finds solace in the words of C.S. Lewis "I believe in God as I believe in the sun, not because I see it, but because by it I see everything." With unveiled face I see Him, and I lean into the invisible, ever present God who identifies with my pain.

I find peace.

To all the broken: You will survive!

        

"My soul magnifies the Lord! And my spirit rejoices in God my savior, for He has looked upon the humble estate of His servant." 

The words of a poor virgin woman echo throughout eternity, written on the expanse of time because of her devotion to a God she could not yet see. Yet even still, she chose to believe in the good things. He is not a stoic detached God, but an ever near, ever present Father... waiting for the cry of obedience in the dark. 

This Christmas as I read through the story of Jesus in the gospels I am reminded of the simple faithfulness of a mother that survived much to be impregnated with the very savior of the world. The author and finisher of faith. The man that was destined to die from the moment he was born, and still, she chose the good parts! Mary whose reputation was on the line, and I'm certain even her heart was breaking at the prospect of birthing such great risk. Yet even still, she chose to believe in the goodness of God. A son! Prophesied and promised! Yet destined to die. Mary at the foot of the cross, remembering the promise of her first born son... and her eyes meet the cry of the song she sang from the start. "He has helped His servant Israel, in remembrance of His mercy..."

Can you see it now? Can you imagine the pain of Mother for child? The promise taken, yet given. 

Can you identify with mother of Grace? The promise, the impregnation, the gift taken and seemingly erased. Can you feel your broken heart? All the promises you thought God had spoken... only to be taken away. This time of year is like a mirror reflecting in our hearts the last year's trials and triumphs. The failures and... broken promises. Where you thought you might be, and where you're still not. 

This Christmas I challenge and provoke my heart, and your's too, be like Mary and choose the good parts. The simple and the in the moment promises. The eucharisteo gifts that bring thanksgiving to lips. The promises for today... for even tomorrow isn't promised. Today may look bleak and empty, like that field full of snow, but beneath the cold and dark of snow there is LIFE! Even promises tarry, but wait, spring will come. 

Remember in trial, she spoke the words God etched into time... "My soul magnifies the Lord..."

This Christmas remember the Man of Grace that came to fulfill every longing in the hearts of men, through Him... you will survive. 

Keep heart, you will survive.

One night with Molly Brown.

Wide eyed and whining we meet this fur covered yearling of four legs. Her tail wagged sweet when your eyes met hers and you could feel the desperation in the heart of this little orphan. It's strange how the human heart can surge with emotion over a being that could never share a single word with you. 

And so began an evening of grace, trying to find peace in whimpers. Her soft head nuzzled beneath my chin and I could feel her tiny body heave with each breath of safe quiet she could take in. For this tiny ball of grace, peace is found in the heartbeat of one willing to just love her through the night... and so we did. Husband took over midway through the night, and his heart was met strong with emotion for a creature that depended on his hands for food, love and grace. Sleep was far from the ears that could hear the cries of this tiny orphan in the night. And this is when I learned what the Father of Grace was trying to teach me. My heart yearns long as I meditate on truth fighting hard for light.

Tiny grace orphan could never offer us love or words of adoration, and yet we were willing to give her all that our hearts could bear. And our hearts broke in such a vulnerable light when we woke up the next morning. We could not offer this small one everything she needed. Small grace eyes in my lap for the last time makes me realize this truth screaming loud for my heart to hear. 

I can love this tiny orphan of grace, but not love the orphan of grace that the church walks past as she freezes in the cold of neglect all year long. Heart brakes screech as truth awakens my soul. Ouch.

One night with sweet Molly Brown and I can feel my heart as it is groaning for love to come forth from my heart for the fatherless. Tiny grace with wide eyes and tail wagging sweet could never love in the image of the Father, but orphan in darkness brought to life could. Who will I choose to love, and spend nights with eyes wide awake as I comfort the whimpering of the pain of a broken heart? Every two hours strong husband loved tiny grace into darkness, and all I could think was what if we were loving the orphans of the Father's heart into morning light? 

My heart is broken as I am moved by compassion to love after one night with sweet Molly Brown.

I can't breathe! : A runners perspective.

I am almost one whole month strong into changing my life one mile at a time. Each time my foot connects with the earth I feel a deep desire to keep pushing forward surging through me. I love running. 

I hate running.

Part of me keeps putting foot to pavement to prove myself wrong, and the other part is just wishing I could hold on for ten more minutes, ten more seconds! My body hurts, my lungs HURT! My legs hurt! Everything hurts, but its a strange desire to keep pressing on for some prize that others around me can't necessarily see. It's the innate desire to keep going even in the face of adversity. In my case adversity is every ache and pain caused by my own will to just run! So I just kept on runnin'... I can hear the words of Forrest Gump every time I walk out the door with my shoes laced up!

Run Krystle, run!

It's funny how spiritual it all is when you think about it. All the times when Paul talks about running the race, keeping persistent faith... running to attain a goal that most can't see with the naked eye. 

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:1, 2 ESV)

Jesus RAN to the Cross if you will and many around him could not see the prize that he was running for. His eyes stayed steadfast on the joy set before him. At the end of the race he won the greatest prize ever. And I was ransomed, redeemed and forgiven! I can only with like-heart commit myself to life. To run the race with endurance, to set my eyes upon the Prize and pursue the faith! Though like my physical body desires to quit, my flesh desires the same. 

Running is never easy, whether it's running for the gold medal in a race with all your friends, or running the race of faith when no one is looking. All that matters is that you keep your eyes on the Prize and keep pressing in to the goal at hand! 

In the meantime I am okay with shortness of breath and a body that hurts! For though my pain is deep my heart is ALIVE!!!

The necessity.

Yearning deep within me is a cry that is rousing the deaf ears of my heart. A cry that says, there has to be more than this. Something more like a mystery hidden around the corner awaiting to be found. It is the glory of God to conceal a matter, and the glory of Kings to search it out. Proverbs 25:2 I realize that I am embarking on a lifelong game of hide and seek with the God of ages. The man Christ that desires the digging, so He hands me a shovel. I am hungry for the concealed matters of His heart.

Something screams loud telling me that the seeking is the greatest place to be found. Blessings to be had and bestowed. Yet, I feel alone in this vast jungle of treasure hunting with Jesus. I feel the necessity of the seeking. To hunt for the hidden glory in my day to day is such a gift. This earth is only the beginning of my searching certainly!

It seems as though I am in this constant state of deeply seeking, it's as though the God of ages always keeps me in places where I HAVE to seek to survive. I was not meant for complacency. My times are in His hands! But, it seems like there is pain and sanctification in the seeking. It blesses my heart to know that when I step into eternity I will no longer have to deal with the pain of affliction or sanctification. There I will be made perfectly whole in Him, and my seeking will be seen in a new light. A light of great desire and a new life definition to constantly stand with the living creatures as I cry HOLY! 

Oh to see for the first time that aspect of God that I have never seen before! Like a million blazing sunsets, or billions of star filled sky's lit by full moon, but with a new seeking, a new seeing. A seeing like I saw it for the first time ever! Do you remember the first time you saw a sunset, and were struck instantly by beauty? Or do you remember your first starry night? Nor do I. Renew my awe oh God! Until I step into fullness with You!

Deeper longings.

I am set ablaze like a fire wild in the wind. My heart leaps at the expectation of the coming season, and I can certainly feel the change rolling in peaceful violent on the horizon. This is the embarkation. Nothing will be the same.

I have started reading the book One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. I have found what feels like the missing link to the puzzle I have struggled for years to piece together. In my heart and upon my lips, I am finding gratitude like a river rushing forward from my being. She calls it as the Greek Eucharisteo. Something even lays hidden in that word that longs for thankfulness. I can hear it every time I speak it out loud. Eucharisteo. Eucharisteo! The word itself means "to give thanks". And it is mentioned every time Jesus gives thanks. Thanks the Father. Gives thanks and breaks bread. Gives thanks and multiplies! This word of grandeur. This word of gratitude! How simple, and yet greatly complex. The fullness of the realization of beauty lies resting within this word. I have missed it. Most of my saved life I have missed the most important part! My gratitude towards the One who bestows all gifts!

I feel like Sherlock uncovering the mystery. My magnifying lens large before my eyes, searching for the pieces that lay waiting for me to find them. The keys to JOY!!! I have found myself with pen and paper, wide eyed and amazed like a child, at the gifts God has bestowed upon me in my every day. These little treasures that I have passed up in the busyness of life. The moments that I was sure to have lost in time. I have beheld God in His magnificence! In the HERE and NOW! As Voskamp says in her book. I am getting to know the I Am. The very present God. The God that resides in the now moments. The gifts He's just longing for us to acknowledge. Not once a year Christmas gifts, but everyday treasures that He's hidden in our self-proclaimed mundane. Beauty.

Call me a treasure hunter. For Glory! For the gifts that make my heart skip a beat. My heart has longed for me to commit to such simplicity! And so it has begun, my journal, my pen and I are embarking on a journey to find one thousand numbered gifts in my every day to give God the glory for. My eyes strain to find the simplest... my heart skips a beat when I find another one! Tonight #13 the way the clouds are set in wisps at sunset. coral hues and baby blues. So simple and poetic. Just like the sky He has strung before our eyes. Yet I gaze into sunsets 26 years and never notice like I do tonight. The beauty that's been there all along, just waiting for me to give thanks for it! Eucharisteo.

I suppose it's not even about the thanks giving that is being made, but rather what God is doing in my heart. A miracle! Only God can come and change the heart of man. And not the "try to change, but set in old senile way" but real, life-altering, gasping for air when you've gone too deep, change. Voskamp explains it cleverly clear in her book. Thanksgiving always precedes the miracle! "Father, I thank that you have heard me..." John 11:41 And then the miracle of a dead man rising! Thanksgiving raises the dead! Not to say that my heart has been dead, but it would sometimes begin to smell of the flesh that has gone without life for far too long. But there it is. The miracle. The life change. Who could say to Lazarus in the moment of blood surging life into his veins again, "Hey Laz, you're just a dead man, you'll never change!". Never! The man felt the rush of breath in his lungs after being emptied. He would never be the same. And oh, it began with the simple word. Eucharisteo. How beautiful.

I will try and post again soon as I travel further into the world of beauty and hunting for the gifts! Please get this book and see for yourself what I'm talking about. Your heart will not regret it. He's a good Father, and every good and perfect gift is HIS!

With all marvel and wonder,
Krystle

A burning and shining lamp.

We are the total sum of all the moments we have ever lived. Whether good or bad we reflect them all completely in our current moments. All the healed spots, wounded hearts and patched bruises. Sometimes the sum of our lives equates to something we never imagined. Moments in the sun followed by periods of extensive darkness.

My heat has been heavy lately for friends that I once knew and those I didn't quite know, but still loved dearly. I have been hit by the weight of the cost of following Christ. My eyes have been opened to the harsh reality of those I once knew who are actually still pursuing Him fervently. I am watching as men and women that I went to bible school with, and looked up to greatly, are no longer loving and following Jesus. I suppose that theologians and scholars would say that they were never truly converted if this were the case, but I see something else entirely. I see prodigals. I see broken hearts. I see wounds that have never healed... and I see sons and daughters missing the greatest relationship they will ever have. A relationship with their Father.

I am searching for words, through Holy Spirit, on how to pray and speak to these hurting friends. I can only wish that I would be in those moments of conversation like Jesus with skin on. My heart yearns within me for the returning of the children to their Father. Oh God, let them return. I know that sometimes we aren't quite as burning and shining as we would like to be as lamps to this world, but I believe that as a church our words can bring healing, or push these sons and daughters further away. I pray that our hearts would begin to cry, COME HOME!!

Imagine with me for a moment... brokenhearted and deeply wounded a son turns his back on his father. With a darkened heart he asks his father for everything he owes him. The broken son leaves with a chip on his shoulder to squander the wealth of his father who worked his life expecting his son to spend his inheritance well. The son spends everything he has within him during a season of rebellion and disgrace. One morning the son wakes up and realizes the hole that he has cultivated within his own heart, and he realized that the time spent wasting his inheritance brought him nowhere near happiness. The son wakes up within a new brokenness that he's never had before. Reluctantly he starts his journey back to his father. As he walks over the hill to his father's house he sees something that he could have never imagined. His father was standing waiting for his son with open arms... and as tears stream down his face he welcomes his son home! No words of condemnation are spoken, but rather love and welcoming comes from his lips. For his son's homecoming he throws a party, a bash to say to the world, "MY SON HAS RETURNED TO ME!!"

Come home, come home! He's waiting.