daughter day one

“Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.”Luke 8:48

“Daughter.”

In a time and culture where fathers advocated for their daughters, this woman came to Jesus alone and ashamed. She was known to all as unclean, and there was no father to defend her or speak on her behalf.

Upon touching His cloak, she was healed from her ailment, from what made her unclean.

Yet, it is the word “daughter” that restores her identity and heals her soul. In a situation where no other defended her, Jesus chose to be her father. With one word, Jesus filled the lack and accepted her. She was clean. She was directly addressed. She was seen―seen by a man who would call her His child.

I have always been uncomfortable with this relationship of father and daughter. It is the identity of God that I relate to the least. While I never expected God to hurt or betray me in this role, I simply didn’t get it. I didn’t understand who I was in this relationship or who He was. I didn’t know how to be a daughter to a father, and I didn’t know how a father would normally relate to a daughter.

Several months ago, I felt that God was inviting me to discover this with Him. I felt that He wanted me to know Him fully, and this was the relationship that was most awkward for us.

So I did what any daughter who grew up with an absent father would.

I turned around and walked―no―ran the other way. I could not get away fast enough.

Because I know that exploring this would ultimately bring me back to the father I never had, the father who never wanted me.

I spent years trying to heal, forgive, and move forward from the abandonment I experienced at his hand. While in college, I had finally done it. I was at peace that he was not there, and I decided I would forgive him so as to not be eaten alive by the pain and anger I felt toward him. His sin was my sin―just manifested differently.

This was the place I refused to go. I already healed. That was it. I would revisit this no more. So I built up my walls, hardened my heart, and wondered why I felt so empty.

(Pro-tip to those who receive an invitation from the God of the universe, Maker of heaven and earth: take it.)

Last night, my mom and I somehow got on the subject of my father. My mom asked me a question about his new family, and I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. So she told me about an article she found, and I looked it up.

Within seconds, I realized this was the biggest mistake I’d made in quite some time.

What I was looking at was an interview about my father, conducted by a girl who could possibly be my half-sister.

I read about his upbringing in China, which was similar to my mother’s. I read about how he did not want his children to experience not having food or clothing like he once did. I read that he came to America in 1988 and struggled until he learned English and could open his own business.

And I was angry.

In one sentence, he managed to insult both my mother and me, as he didn’t seem to care if we had food or clothing. The factual error of 1988 tells me that no one knows about my part in his history because we were a family in America by 1987. There were no details of how he came to America because that would have to include the ugly story of how he married a woman so that he could join her family, who was beginning to emigrate from their side of the Pacific. And then sired a child with her that he did not raise.

And then at the end of his interview, he boldly proclaimed that what he was most grateful for was that he would not have known Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior had he not come to America.

I was livid.

We may have happened before this, but we still happened. There was no attempt to reconcile, despite having been in contact with one of my uncles for years. This made me furious, but my anger only served to mask the deep hurt that was coming from a wound I thought was long closed.

This was why I didn’t take that invitation. This was why I ran. I had been hurt by this man long enough, and I did not want to invite him to live rent-free in my head once more. It took too much to heal the first time.

I have written countless letters, journal entries, and at least one poem regarding what I was feeling toward him, how I was processing, what I needed to do. And a few years ago, I wrote him an eviction notice. I was free from him. Finally.

I do not regret my life without him, despite having wondered more times than I’d like to admit, “why not me?”, “what would it have been like?” I was sent into the fire early, and from there, one can burn, or one can rise. It’s no one’s choice but your own.

But in the midst of this, God blessed my father and allowed him to gift the character “phoenix” toward my name as part of His plan: before I was even born, God declared that I would be victorious.

I was afraid to come to this place because I did not want the wound to reopen. I feared returning to a place of darkness, anger, hatred. But it seems the difference this time is that the wound is shallow and uninfected, and I am pressed to address it while it is so. And it is God who will have to help me keep it this way because my natural leaning would be to pick at it.

To be here now, as difficult as it is, God had gone to drastic measures to barrel through all of the walls I had built up, for the sole purpose of extending His invitation to me again.

God is a God of second chances, and when your heart is as hard as your head, He will break that rock-hard heart to give you one that beats and lives, and ask you to try again.

A spiritual mentor recently told me that because I have endured this much pain, my capacity for hope is this much greater. My wounds and scars run deep enough that the foundation is set for hope and love to be poured in to fill these broken places.

Months have passed since I was invited on this adventure. I was not ready to accept it then, but I think I am now.

It feels like the first step toward something huge.

I am terrified of the idea, but I am also feeling something I didn’t feel the first time.

Hope.

The one gift my father gave me is also my greatest burden. To bestow the name “phoenix” is ironic and fitting and everything I don’t want to bear. But it is a name that is redeemed because God called me something else.

Daughter.

He saw my lack and chose to fill it. He saw my wound and chose to heal it. With one word, He claimed me as His own―His own daughter. With this word, He chased away the hurt, shame, and lies that I had chosen to believe for much of my life.

He gifted me the bearing of a phoenix to fulfill the promise He made to me with this name. I will be refined with fire in the furnace of affliction. (Isaiah 48:10)

And a phoenix will always rise.

Above the ashes.

I am a daughter―His daughter. And I will learn to live what that means.

This is day one.

One More Choice

I’ve had Facebook for the last 3 elections, and I have never seen things get as personal as this one. Discussions were not being had; people were being talked at. If someone voiced a different opinion, they were not welcomed into the discussion, but belittled and attacked.

And this happened among friends.

The damage has been done, the words have been said, and the wounds have been inflicted. We are tired. We are all tired of hearing one thing or another, and being made to fit into one box or another. We are numb and weak from fighting back.

But I’m asking that we all make one more choice.

Decide if it’s more important for you to be right, or if it’s more important for you to be in right relationship with those in your community and your circle of friends.

These are the people who will go to your kids’ soccer games, run the booster club with you, or sit with you for coffee or a meal. The politicians will continue to be faces in the crowd and our TVs, and they will be perched on a mountaintop we cannot scale. They will never love us back, nor will they feed and clothe us when we are broken.

But we, the people, will be in each other’s lives, day in and day out. We, the people, must be each other’s community, and we must hope for a successful term, whether we voted him in or not.

Because what he does in these next 4 years does not affect only those who voted for him, but it affects all of us and even the world, and the generations that follow. If the captain doesn’t know what he is doing, the ship will sink with all aboard.

So pray for our neighbors, pray for our leaders—both locally and federally. Decide if a relationship is worth it, and say what you need to say in order to mend it or move on from it. Think before you speak and act. Listen before you pass judgment. Learn what it means to truly love, sacrificially and unconditionally, to the point where it is uncomfortable and asks us to give everything we have.

“Love your neighbor as yourself” is not a nice sentiment. It is a command. Love your neighbor. Love your African American neighbor. Love your Mexican neighbor. Love your Asian neighbor. Love your gay neighbor. Love your hypocritical neighbor. Love your white neighbor. Love your Muslim neighbor. Love your racist neighbor.

Love like Christ loved the church and gave all for her.

your Savior has come

I was looking through some prayers and messages I’d written down in my notebook in the course of the last year or so, and I came across this that I honestly don’t even remember writing down. But it was the word that I received from God at the time, and it’s an encouraging one:


Your Savior has come. I am right here with you. You are My child. I see where you’re prone to stumble. Trust Me during those times. Fall into Me when you fall. Make Me where you turn, not yourself, not your old habits, not what you’re used to protecting yourself with, not what you think you deserve. I will protect you. I will catch you when you fall over, and I will heal your wounds. Your Savior has come, Daughter; I am here. I came for you, and you have Me.

“Liar” is not your identity. “Prideful” is not your identity. I wash these names that you have seared into your heart. I remove the scars you’ve inflicted upon yourself on account of those names. Trust Me from now on. These “identities” are no longer there to “save” you. Only I am here to do so. They will trap you and ensnare you if you give them the chance. I will release you. I will set you free.

Fall into Me. Let Me be your identity. Don’t try to live up to what you think I want. I want you. As you are. Let Me make you what I want you to become for My glory. I know you, and I still want you, I can still use you, and I will still use you. I finish what I begin.

Don’t ever lose sight of that.

a prayer for Hong Kong

Three Sundays ago, I browsed my Instagram and Facebook feeds as I was getting ready for church. I was overwhelmed by photos taken by my friends and former students in the midst if a peaceful protest in Hong Kong—a peaceful protest that was interrupted by police armed with tear gas and batons.10628432_536877118441_8472212080523922738_n

These are teenagers and young twenty-year-olds. My heart was and is still heavy concerning over their safety and the future of their city—a city I had fallen in love with long ago. These young people are fighting for their rights as promised to them by China: the right to free election and to be semi-autonomous as they had been for so long. Part of me wanted to stay home and find all the news articles I could on the subject, but I felt I should let the matter sit and go to church, and that God would give me a blessing then.

And He did. There was a devotional sharing from Jesus Calling by Sarah Young that day that spoke to my nerves.

From 22 September:

“TRUST ME AND REFUSE TO WORRY, for I am your Strength and Song. You are feeling wobbly this morning, looking at difficult times looming ahead, measuring them against your own strength. However, they are not today’s tasks–or even tomorrow’s. So leave them in the future and come home to the present, where you will find Me waiting for you. Since I am your Strength, I can empower you to handle each task as it comes. Because I am your Song, I can give you Joy as you work alongside Me.

Keep bringing your mind back to the present moment. Among all My creatures, only humans can anticipate future events. This ability isa blessing, but it becomes a curse whenever it is misused. If you use your magnificent mind to worry about tomorrow, you cloak yourself in dark unbelief. However, when the hope of heaven fills your thoughts, the Light of My Presence envelops you. Though heaven is future, it is also present tense. As you walk in the Light with Me, you have one foot on earth and one foot in heaven.”
Exodus 15:2; 2 Corinthians 10:5; Hebrews 10:23

God also placed Scripture on my heart that more or less let me know He was listening and aware. And it has been my experience for these last nearly dozen years of walking with Him that if God is listening, if God is aware, then God is working, God is prepared. However minute the detail may be, God is very much moving.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all [a]comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6-7

My prayer for Hong Kong stems from 1 Timothy 2:1-2 and Isaiah 9:6. I pray, and ask that we pray together, for the leadership and those in authority in Hong Kong and even Mainland China. And I ask that we remember that ultimately the government stands on a firm foundation. It is on Jesus’ shoulders that Hong Kong rests and is subject to.

One of my students asked me specifically to pray for hope—that whatever the outcome, Hong Kong does not lose hope. She is wise for such a young girl. With God, in God, because of God, there is always hope.

Things escalated again near the end before businesses opened back up and students went back to school, but the protestors have been above reproach throughout the entire situation. The government and officials, however, have been significantly less so.

While the protest itself is done, Hong Kong has a long way to go on the road to desired democracy. While I alone feel powerless to help you or support you on the other side of the ocean, please know—my students, my friends, my family, my beloved Hong Kong—that prayer can moved mountains, and I will be on my knees praying for you every chance I get.

You’re a part of something greater than yourselves. I feel it in my bones.


Since the writing of this entry in my journal, the government has chosen to cancel its meeting with the people and have blamed the Occupy Central movement for deflating its chances at negotiations. Please keep praying for the city, that the corruption will not be tolerated, and that hearts will be changed. No matter the outcome, the new generation has a lot on its shoulders, and Hong Kong will be subjected to many challenges.

home sweet home

Hard to believe I’ve been home for a little over two months now. I keep promising an update, but truth be told, I haven’t really been in the mood to say much. Not a whole lot is going on in my life right now, and I guess I want to write when something takes a turn for the better for me in this chapter. I keep thinking that I want to write when things are finally going properly in my life.

But that’s not why we’re here. That’s not why we write.

We write through the pain and the awkward, through the rough times, through the valley, as well as on the mountain, during times of peace, through healing. Otherwise, it gives a false sense of who we are if all we show is our highlight reel.

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” —Ernest Hemingway

Whether I realized it before or not, I’ve always lived (or survived) like life can only happen after the transition; I just have to hold out until I get through the awkward part and into the life part. That’s when I’ll write. That’s when things get good. That’s when I’ll be alive.

I was reminded yesterday that living happens during transitions as well as during times when roots have become established. And it’s in these times of upheaval where we can live the most freely, simply by choosing to live. “Transition” is kind of a fancy word for “fork.” At this fork, you can choose to go God’s way, or you can choose to take it on yourself. (*Hint: God gets His way eventually, and it’ll really spare you some heartache and wasted effort if you pick the former to begin with. I need to take my own advice on this one.)

These forks are the most exposed area, however, and your indecision can open you up to an ambush from the one who wishes you harm. It’s in these times when the enemy advances his ranks and tries to overtake us. It’s in these moments when we are most vulnerable to his attacks. He got me pretty good just a few nights ago.

I’d been surviving, redirecting what little energy I had left in order to keep me going to the next day and the next and the next. I was not prepared to defend myself. I was not equipped to resist and flee. And so I fell on my face. But rather than dwell and dig myself into a pit and allow my life to spiral out of control like I’m prone to do, I was surprisingly able to get up, dust myself off, and choose to live for Jesus.

It’s in these moments of transition where we can see God work most clearly. In these moments, we can choose God. In this moment, I can choose God. In God there is life, and in that life is the light that overcomes darkness (John 1:4-5).

If Israel simply sought to survive in the desert, would that mentality have allowed for them to get through forty years of wandering? It was one big transition time out of captivity and into freedom, where they had to learn to take on a new identity as a free people and shed their slave identity. They were completely physically removed from what they knew to be a way of life so that they can achieve the promise of something more. The entire identity had to be re-written. You have to be alive to allow for such a shift, or you cannot survive it.

I have not been alive. I have been existing, surviving. I’ve allowed my circumstance to define my being. Unemployed, passed over. Failure. This is the identity I’d taken on in the last five weeks. I survive in hopes that I can live again.

But I’m living now. Or rather, I can live now. Life is happening whether I choose to live it or not. My tomorrows are about as guaranteed as anyone else’s. Each breath I take is a breath borrowed from God.

I have a lot of fear in this time of unknown, this fork. However, the sky’s the limit every single day, especially now. I don’t have to protect God from my fear and lack of faith; He knows they’re there. The only thing to do is bring them to Calvary and leave them at His feet.

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.” —Joshua 1:9

Beyond my strength, beyond my ability, beyond my means, God is greater, bolder, and He is with me always. Because of this, I can have joy even now. There is life and joy in the tension and the transition.

“And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” —Romans 5:3-5

God pours grace with a generous wrist. I will have what I need to make it through.

sealed by Spirit

Sin, by definition in the Bible, is not wronging another person. It is assaulting the glory of God, rebelling against God. Sin, by definition, is a vertical phenomenon. — John Piper

Ephesians 4:30 says not to grieve the Holy Spirit of God, who seals us as God’s own.

To grieve = to oppress or wrong; to inflict sorrow on.

Grief goes beyond anger; it is the intersection of anger and love. It is anger after being stripped of its bite, its bitterness; anger softened by affection, turning it toward the offense and not the offender.

What does it mean to grieve the Holy Spirit?

“Do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God…”

AKA.

Do not stir up this painful anger soaked in love, do not distress Him, do not cause Him to mourn.

“… by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption.”

We carry the Holy Spirit with us everyday: when we love, when we laugh, when we worship.

When we sin.

No wonder David said, “Against You, You only, I have sinned and done what is evil in Your sight.”

Just before this confession, David also described sin to be “transgression” and “iniquity.” And forgiveness is described to “blot out,” to “wash,” to “cleanse.” These words express the seriousness of sin and the great lengths God goes to in removing ours.

Our sin grieves the Holy Spirit.

Grief is anger tamed by love.

The Holy Spirit loves us.

He loved us without beginning. The words used to describe the love of the Father and of the Son apply also to the Spirit. His love is just as eternal, just as sovereign, just as loyal, just as unchanging, just as unfathomable.

He loves us by sanctifying us to be more like our Savior. He marks us as God’s own. When we stray, when we sin, when we grieve Him by our sin, He pursues us and brings us back to Him.

This is why it is only against God that we sin. Yes, we do sin against others, but it is first God that we grieve before all else. It is first God that we offend; He lives in us. Sin is disobeying God’s Law, going against His holiness, denying that He alone satisfies our souls completely and totally, rather than our addictions (which, isn’t the reason why we are addicted to these things because they do not satisfy?).

When Nathan exposed David’s sin, he did not pick at what David had done to others (which were definitely legitimately sin); he instead asked David, “Why have you despised the word of the LORD by doing evil in His sight?”

God’s love is loyal. The Holy Spirit’s love is loyal.

Was it not the Spirit who showed us Christ, who brought us to Calvary, to the base of the cross of Jesus? What love is this, that He should bring me to the place, the moment that would change my life forever?

Because of the Holy Spirit, I can fall in love with Jesus and be His bride. Because He let me see who Jesus was; because He broke my hardened heart and made way for Jesus to rest His throne in it. Because He opened my blind eyes, opened my deaf ears, opened my clenched fist to allow me to see and receive His grace.

He loves me as deeply as my Father and my Savior. He compels me to return after I wound His heart, after I grieve Him. He calls me to confess, to release all the dirtiness of my life into His hands; to repent and replace those things with gifts given by Him for the work of His glory.

No faith is genuine which does not bear the seal of the Spirit. No love, no hope can ever save us, except it be sealed with the Spirit of God, for whatever hath not his seal upon it is spurious. Faith that is unsealed may be a poison, it may be presumption; but faith that is sealed by the Spirit is true, real, genuine faith. — Charles Spurgeon

He calls me His and brands me with Himself to set me apart as His most beloved bride, daughter, friend, and servant. He walks through life with me, and He is a Friend and Helper beyond my wildest dreams.

I do not want to grieve this Friend again. Through I know, in my imperfection, it is inevitable that I will fail and sin, I pray that I will recover quickly, seek Him out immediately, and be willing to be humbled, discipled, changed for the better—because He will not leave me where I land.

Because He loved me, I can love Him back.

What a wonderful gift of grace and love we have.

hemmed in

O Lord, You have searched me and known me.

You have enclosed me behind and before,
And laid Your hand upon me.

Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Or where can I flee from Your presence?
~ Psalm 139: 1, 5, 7

I have a stalker.

Okay, not really. Not at all, actually.

I broke out along my jawline overnight, and after a round of weeping and mourning that my skin is up to its old tricks again, I thought about what else could’ve caused it. And I think I figured it out.

Stress.

As you beautiful people know, I quit my job a little over two weeks ago now, and I’ve been waiting for a position I really want (I’ve also applied to some other places and signed on with a temp agency). As rough as this time has been, there hasn’t been a part of me that’s regretted leaving the Renaissance. I’ve also been very thankful that so many people have been encouraging at this time. I know more than anyone the weight of that decision, and I’m grateful a lot of people understand that.

I think that in this waiting period, God’s trying to get me to make up a bit for the Sabbaths I’d skipped the past decade (hopefully not ALL of them, or else I’d be out for over a year). I’ve been spending time in the Book of Hosea, and what I clearly see in that book is how faithful God is, how patient He is, how loving He is while we are none of these things. And He pursues us and refuses to let us live apart from Him for our sake.

Today, God and I had a pretty good chat. I was thinking about the stress that caused me to break out and realizing how much it just wasn’t worth it. And while I’ve been honest with God as to how I’m doing and feeling, I’m not so sure I was honest as to the depth of it.

I’m nervous. I’m scared. I’m frustrated. I’m annoyed. I’d voiced these (you learn eventually that you can’t hide your feelings from God, and also that you don’t have to protect Him from them. He can handle it) just about every time we talk. But deep down there’s more.

I’m petrified.

I’ve never not been able to take care of myself before. I have student loans coming due in a little less than a month and another round of rent and bills in the next few weeks.

I am literally in a position where I can do nothing about that.

And this verse came to mind earlier: Psalm 139:5 “You have enclosed (NIV says “hem”) me behind and before, and laid Your hand upon me.”

I’m sure many find a lot of comfort and security in that verse, and I probably would’ve as well.

If I weren’t feeling trapped and stuck instead.

God has fenced me in. There is nothing I can do by my own power to escape or take down the fence.

At first, I did what anyone would do in this kind of situation: panic. I was crawling up the walls, frantic for something to do! (Can you tell why I need a Sabbath?)

And then I realized who I was stuck in a yard with.

And it really wasn’t so bad. There are worse people to be trapped with (way worse).

If I was going to be enclosed behind and before from God and with God, I’d best make the most of it. So I pulled a chair up and we chatted and hung out.

The time we spent together drove some truths from my head into my heart: that I am not able to do anything for myself but He is. And because of who He is—because He is good and works in us and for us for the sake of His glory—I am in a safe place.

John Piper said this about Ruth, “She has esteemed God’s protection superior to all others. She has set her heart on God for hope and joy. And when a person does that, God’s honor – not the value of our work – is at stake, and he will be merciful. If you plead God’s value as the source of your hope instead of pleading your value as a reason for God’s blessing, then his unwavering commitment to his own glory engages all his heart for your protection and joy” (excerpt from A Sweet and Bitter Providence by John Piper).

God knows what I’ve got coming at me. He understands the urgency. He knows that these are needs, not desires (I’d desire nothing more than to not pay student loans and rent). And He’s laid His hand upon me.

There is not place I can go to escape Him. There’s nothing I can do to hop this fence and go off to try and fix my life, though days will come when I’d want to, as they have before.

But because the Person in here with me will fight for me, I also know that it is a safe place.

a prayer for Pancho

Pancho Gusto is a gentle person. He’s an older man, probably fifties or early sixties. There is a weight of something like guilt in his lovely green eyes – a physical feature he’s unable to explain since both of his parents were full-blooded Mexican. Pancho is a war veteran. Which war, I can’t quite remember – I want to say Vietnam. He walks with a slight limp from a bullet that is still embedded in his leg.

I met Pancho in 2008. It was a chilly winter day in Orange County, so probably about 68 degrees. I had just walked out of Berean Christian Bookstore in Fullerton, having purchased a jewelry box for a friend’s birthday. Pancho asked me if I had some change so he could get some food. Being that I rarely had cash on hand at the time, I told him I didn’t, but I’d be happy to go with him and buy him a meal nearby.

His jade-colored eyes widened in surprise and while he didn’t seem to step back, it was as though his bewilderment at my offer knocked him backwards a few notches. He very quickly said he’d walk over and meet me so I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable with him in my car. I offered to just walk with him. We crossed the parking lot, talking the entire time. Pancho told me that he’s had a bullet in his leg since the war, that he didn’t want to shoot anyone but others were shooting at him. Memories of the war seemed to weigh heavy on him still.

Yet he spoke of God with reverence and love.

When we got to El Pollo Loco, he quickly told me what he likes (beans and rice, and lots of it) and went to sit outside. I only realize now that he might’ve felt embarrassed or ashamed and didn’t want to sit with the general public in the restaurant. He was probably considering me as well… and this makes me feel kind of sad. This is such a kind man, and there are very few people who will be blessed to know.

I ordered and paid for his meal (a chicken burrito with a side of rice and beans and a soda) and went outside to give it to him. I asked if I could pray for him. He said, “yes,” and we bowed and prayed together. I then went back to my dorm and my cafeteria food.

I’ve been thinking about Pancho for about a week or so now. He started coming to mind recently, and I don’t know why. I hope he is doing well and is alive and healthy, but I have no way of knowing, especially now being 1000 miles away from the place where we first met. At this point, I suppose all I can do is pray and have faith that God has Pancho in His grasp, and that grasp is firm. I wish I could see this nice man again and share a meal of burritos and rice and beans.

Who knows… maybe Pancho will make it to the Northwest at some point. Or maybe I’ll run into him again when I’m visiting the place I once called home. Or maybe we’ll have burritos in heaven.

Please pray for my friend if he comes to mind. Pancho Gusto is a good amicable man who loved good food. This is how I will always remember him.

prayer from a precious heart

(My dear reader, I welcome you to take a journey with me and keep me accountable to this prayer. Pray for me as I come to mind, and walk with me as I take my next steps on this path He’s called me on.)

Beloved, my heart is torn. Who am I to give it to? It is to belong to You, and You will make it habitable for Yourself and Your purposes, yet it is rebellious and ravenous to be filled and loved. Teach me to love whom and what You love and hate what You hate. Give me not a stronger heart but a tender one, able to be broken and recreated to the glory of Your Name; a malleable one, able to be shaped and changed for Your purposes.

Thank You for blessing me with a heart that is strong enough to risk to love and love deeply, but I ask for Your heart that I may risk everything to love even deeper. The risk You took for love far exceeds any attempt I will ever make.

Let my worries and my insecurities be placed in Your hands. Help me trust they will be cared for and worked out there according to Your plan and Your desires. Keep me from trying to snatch them back from You, and focus my heart to see You clearer, love You stronger, and run toward You faster. Bless me to be allowed to break for You, to be redeemed by You, to be completely dependent on You and utterly desperate for You.

My heart I give to You. Mold me as You see fit, refine me in the fire that I may hope to shine more brightly and beautifully than gold and precious silver. Ruin me for the ordinary, and let my life continue to be an extraordinary testament to Your power, love, and faithfulness.

Beloved, in Your hands, I place my hands; in Your heart, I place my heart.

I lay myself at the mercy of Your glory, for the completion of Your love story.

Ruthless Trust

She sits a child in awe of her Father. Heart alive, breath full, soul thankful. God is truly too good to her.

Her heart swells, desiring to know where to continue – Father’s opinion and guiding to show her the way. What a beautiful life He’s given her – with scars that adorn beyond the sparkle of the rarest jewel. What wonderful relationships He’s surrounded her with – people to stand beside her, hands to hold her up, feet to walk with her.

A still, unrelenting peace pierces her heart and moves her to her knees. God is too good to her. Desiring His glory, she seeks His wisdom and counsel, and slowly releases her grips and lays her heart and treasure at His feet. Ruthless trust. This is what she needs to grow. Ephesians 1:18-20 – this is what she needs to pray and believe. Child-like wonder – this is how she needs to worship Him.

Will she hold onto her own will or let God take it and do what He wills with it? To let go is to rip her very being apart, but God is faithful, and God will always get His glory.

I pray that the eyes of my heart may be enlightened, so that I will know what is the hope of His calling, what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, and what is the surpassing greatness of His power toward us who believe in accordance with the working of the strength of His might which He brought about in Christ, when He raised Him from the dead and seated Him at His right hand in the heavenly places. (Eph 1:18-20)

This power that raised Christ from the dead is alive and working. In her. Everyday. How humbling.

How freeing.

[written 30 January 2011]