Thursday, 19 March 2015

drowning

My faith is not something that I can simply stop and start, because He remains.

You see maybe in my head I waver.

The biggest tidal wave I have ever known hits me. Smack off my feet. And it is overwhelming as I start to drown. 

Unexpected, unimaginable. 

I'm flat out done with all of this. 

God this is not a battle I can fight. Not this time. Not this day.

You're just going to have to find some person else. 

That's what all of my insides cried. 

Suddenly you feel like you're being stretchered off of the scene. Friends feed you. They hold you up. They let you cry. 

But in all this rushing around. In all this relief effort I begin to wonder what on earth God thinks He is doing. 

Right at the bottom of who I am I know He has a bigger plan. But I'm telling you now God this is not what it was supposed to look like, and I think you messed up somewhere because it is entirely impossible for me to see where this is going.  

To catch a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel. 


and my heart breaks. 

This time, it's real and it's proper and there's nothing I can do to stop it. 

I know my mood by whether I can feel my eyes glinting. They always give me away. The deepest parts of how I am feeling reveal themselves on the surface. And sometimes it's the only way I myself can tell. 

And now I just feel all the light go. This lack of energy cannot be overcome by sleeping earlier and longer. This time it's my very being: my very life blood. 

Say hello. This is me. At the end of myself. 

Howdy. 

But all my heart tells me of is threads of memories about Ann Voskamp's ladders: the ones where in an upside down Kingdom the only way up is down. 

And I cannot for the life of me remember the whys and the whats, the ins and the outs of all Ann says. But I remember enough. 

I remember that it's at the bottom of myself that He can best reveal Himself.

And so, somehow, I cling on. 

And it's in this place of desperation. Of clinging on. That mustard seed of faith reveals itself and I begin to see the mountains move. 

God is good. 

Painfully, purely, redemptively. He is good. 

And He reigns. 

Truth shall prevail. 

Friday, 13 February 2015

here lies the miracle unfolding

I wonder if it has become an almost idealistic approach. Stepping out of the boat, taking the risk. You know, everyone talks about it but rare few mention the hard nitty gritty that it brings.

I am sure that in the long run I will see the bigger picture, I am sure one day I will be able to look back and understand this long haul, but here and now it sure as anything isn't like what you imagine.

Then again, what do you imagine? I don't know - but it sure wasn't this.

It's been not far off of 7 weeks, and with each day that ticks by I wonder where all this is really going. Because this treading into the unknown mostly just feels like the nowhere at all.

It's not like there's no light at the end of the tunnel - it's like there's no tunnel at all. And I have grown impatient. Informing God that this just cannot do and really He just has to do something about it all.

Give me some direction. Some purpose. A dream even?

And yet I come back to this word, thrive - it's like it sits just slightly above, in such a manner as to say it isn't within my attainability. I circle it, wondering as to how it can become something I see flowing from within me. How can I become one whom thrives? Especially when I am actually not even exactly certain as to what thriving really looks like.

But somehow it isn't this useless want for the future. Or this ridiculous hunt for something more.

Somehow it all IS about the nitty gritty. It is about the rolling up of the sleeves, and the getting down into the dirt. Somehow it is about taking a STAND when we are being told to sit, it is about rising when the night is still dark, it is a call to show up right where you are.

It is about recognising each and everything as the good and Holy work I am called to do. It is about not disqualifying or discounting or excusing myself. Somehow it is about becoming attentive to myself.

It is about learning to shut everything else down once in a while and sit with a blank screen and a blinking cursor...

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right until the words begin to fall again.

It is about waiting up and praying hard. Not out of worry but out of faith.

It is a call to serve, and serve fully. even when i hate it.

Even when I feel demeaned, and demoralised, disrespected and dishonoured. Even when I know it is a marvel for it to have been formed by these hands, but yet it goes unrecognised.

It is a call to serve amidst the backchat, the gossip - the lies told and the dreams unmet.

It is a call to hug, and hug tight, when you feel like all that strength has gone. It is about being the mum you are, even without the title. The producer, the director, the manager, the assistant. It is about filling the role and filling it whole - even without the recognition or the title.

It is a call to serve, and serve fully.

because I AM.

He is.

I AM.

He is.





I can give myself permission to dread the future but only whilst that isn't destroying the Now.


I got up, and I left the tension. The tension of being pulled in two directions and not really having the choice. I left the tension of a manager incapable, to a manager nonexistent. I left a tension that left me unable to move from the exhaustion of hours that i couldn't count and breaks that just didn't seem to appear.

and I fell into the hands of a tension that rests solely on God. I pray.

He really does follow through. And I know there is not any ground to stand on when it comes to worrying, but feeling frustrated is a whole other board game and I sure can't figure the rules out myself.

You see I want a flash of lighting or a big booming voice - well atleast my frustrated head does. But my learning-to-lean heart is speaking something softer through, it is teaching me to step into and step back. Stepping into the water in of myself and stepping back in of my ideals and plans and agendas - allowing space for Him to reign.




We visited this big ol' house, Ellie and I. And her mum and dad. It was quite a trail following it around the curves and the beds. But somehow I ended up sitting and waiting at the top of the stairs whilst she stood and waited at the bottom. With about 10 floors in between.

And maybe that is what makes me worried - well not worried, not frustrated - I cannot seem to place the word, but anyhow that is what makes me scream. Because God, I really cannot stand the idea of me sitting waiting at the top of the stairs whilst you stand and wait at the bottom.

Sometimes I wonder about getting up and just going down there to find you. I really would love to abandon my post.

And yet in some sort of earth shaking miracle you stand with me there, and I keep waiting.

The storm seems to rage, often gaining momentum. But I pray that I will stand. I will be immovable. And I will thrive.

Because I AM.

and because I AM, I can.

here lies the miracle unfolding.

Sunday, 18 January 2015

For that moment when the plan is jerked from under your feet

I don’t know what to say.

I am not God. And I really can’t see what God is doing right now.

I want to be able to explain it, or do something about it. Because this situation is crazily unfair, ridiculously hard to sit in and my oh my this is taking trusting God to a place I have not entirely experienced.

I don’t know how you bring yourself to talk about it. The rowing emotions must be bringing you to your knees, because as angry or as frustrated or even as upset you might get, at the end of the day it is simply utterly disappointing.

Then we spoke to those girls, we shared our heart and I don’t know how you did it. Because it is all very well to say that when you’re walking with God it doesn’t always feel like He is there. It is all very well to say it, but when you are in the middle of it, when you’re not just in the middle but you’re sinking in it, that is hard.

I’ve ran away from speaking out of my place of disappointment: hard faith - the stuff that comes when we step into the long haul.

You stepped onto that water and with all my might I want you to stay there, to stay there without looking at the waves, and yet every part of me is in wonder that you haven’t stepped back into the boat, grabbed the oars and rowed in your own direction.

It would be understandable.

But that kite string. That kite string that enables you to fly, oh it really does feel trapping right now. It feels like you are being put in a box, and your horizons are being shrunk down. And yet, because we have seen God at work.

Because we walk within miracles.

Because we have an awareness of all that He is doing around us.

Somehow that tension of the kite string must be something that lets us feel at peace. Because those free fall moments when the string is not taut are scary times - so may that string catch us once more, may His tugs pull us back into dancing around amongst the winds.

All I can find within myself to cry out is hold on. Hold on and keep breathing.

Not that sort of holding on where someone runs off to get something or just has to do something and they’re asking you to simply wait without doing anything. I mean HOLD ON, grasp firmly the promises of God.

Look back to those times over and over and over and over again where we have seen Him move. Those mountains have hopped in utter abandonment time and time again,

it’s almost embarrassing.

We walk within miracles.

And so I step out and stand on truth and say that this is one too. Somehow this is a miracle. Somehow this is a greater fulfilment of the bigger picture.

It feels like He has dropped the brush altogether. Or maybe He’s left it on the side in that art room which means it may never show up again.

And yet this is wildly not the truth because really He is painting and refining to the most minute detail.

He has got this. It’ll be alright. We are in this for the long haul wherever it heads.

And keep breathing. We were once in a room together with Danielle Strickland preaching and she taught us spiritual breathing. So I remind you now to keep breathing.

Breathe out all the mess, the hurt, the hard, the frustrations – everything standing in the way.

and breathe in His peace, and love, and joy. And hope.

HOLD on to that hope that you are breathing in.

Let it stay there and rest. Because He has got this. We spring that one at each other for always. He has got this. But it is truth to a level neither of us are able to comprehend and yet have glimpsed at. He has got this.

I scream at Him with you and then I quieten too and realise that this is something more than you and Him and you want Him to come through and honour it all.

I hold your arms up, but He has the power.

May His glory be.

I hope this reaches you on a good day.


It doesn’t always feel like God pulls through, we are following what we thought was His plan and somehow it is jerked from underneath our feet. It’s a hard place to find yourself. He has got it & that’s what I write on today.