Category: Life From The Word

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TESTING 

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 

How many of us have read this scripture and didn’t realize it was meant to encourage the Israelites to stop resisting God and to obey Him in accepting that they are going to be in exile for 70 years? In a foreign land under a foreign king, who was called God’s servant. In this world we live in, it’s easy to want to resist and fight when we are in uncomfortable positions, under pressures from every side. And yet, God told the Israelites to get comfortable – build houses, plant produce, have families, increase in number, seek the peace and prosperity of the land they are in, and live. Like really live. Not live the life they knew before, not go back to the place they had destroyed by their own hands, the one where they wandered and were drowning in their sin, unrepentant in their hard hearts. They had long abandoned the God they knew before and chose to make themselves god, chose to follow after their own hearts and decided that they were fine doing so because they wouldn’t be destroyed because God was their backup option. 

And when the rug was swept out from under them, they fell hard. They couldn’t believe that anything like that would ever happen to them. Yet that is the deception I understood for myself. I didn’t really know God. I was under the bondage of my own selfishness and lack of understanding. I was abandoned and alone. Here on this earth, I don’t feel at home. I feel uncertainty. Insecurity. Turmoil. I know what it is like to wander in the dark and not even realize how dark it is. 

Then, You came. You tested me. You asked me to lay down what I once knew. I struggled to accept it. You tested me, more than most can imagine, and I soon began to understand the word testing. Every step of this journey with You, has been one test after the other. I’ve made it 10 years to the day I said YES to you. 10 years has somehow morphed into what feels like an eternity, like there was scarcely a time before I met You face-to-face yet merely a blip in my lifetime. That night, when You stepped in, shook My world, and changed the course of My future, that night was just the beginning. I know now that faith isn’t just one time thing, it’s not just an experience, it’s a testing – of my will and control. 

That’s what He was doing with the Israelites. He wanted to see how they would respond to testing. Would they choose to embrace the life they would have to live ahead of them, in the midst of the unknown, let it challenge everything they’ve ever known, shake it, and reshape it? Would they look for how He would move in spite of them being in a foreign land and how they would be apart of that plan? 

If I could see what’s in front of me, it wouldn’t be called faith. As I sit here and remember that night 10 years ago, on my knees in tears, finally understanding that I was never abandoned, that I had a Father who loves me, that I could find strength, and I would choose to go all in, knowing full well what I would be laying down under the Cross – the version of me would scarcely fathom to what was to come. Because faith in Him, isn’t based on merely human elements, it was birthed under pressure, refined to resolved to keep fighting. 

I’ve had valleys of darkness to climb out of and mountain top moments where I experienced miracles beyond my imagination. He has sustained me in ways I still have yet to uncover. What He sparked and awoke within me that night, could not have anticipated what He would fuel and provoke within me in the years to come. If I chose to stay cemented in what I once knew, I would never have known what I do now. The world we live in, isn’t meant to be a permanent home. We are in exile, but not as punishment, but actually that we might live. That others might know that He is God.  That I may know that He is God. It can be easy for me to get tunnel vision regarding my own life and miss the big picture. 

But God.

In the last year alone, I’ve learned how to actually give this fire away with a fresh passion for Your word. I’ve learned to sing songs of praise through my heart language, the tongue I was born in. I’ve started to see the Gospel with new vision, in ways I have yet to be able to put to words. I’ve begun to not be moved by the chaos of the world around me, but rather choosing taking it with a stride of trust in You. Situations around me are now beginning with “What is Your will here, Lord? How are you moving? How can I trust you to move?” All because You are teaching me to live, to truly live. 

Oh Lord, all my words fall short, for what do I have to give to my King? All I have is gratitude. Thank You for not giving up on me. Thank you for being the God who stays, shatters my anxieties, provides for my every need especially when my faith is weak. Thank you for being close. For ushering peace and faith into situations that still yet seem hopeless. You are the safest place for me to be. Thank You for being a refuge and place of security. For lifting me up out of situations time and again and into faithfulness. My redeemer, my friend. It’s unbelievable the journey You’ve taken me on. 

Help me when I question You, when I fight You, when I lose sight of You, when my mind and heart get fixated on what isn’t true, when I disobey You, when I forget that I am owned by You. Thank You for redeeming me and making me a remnant in this world that is not my home. Help me do Your will and to lay down my ideas. Even if this isn’t home, I don’t want to be resisting to how You want to move amongst its peoples. Help me really live as You have asked – I don’t want to waste it. 

It’s been just a delight to follow You. And I know we are just getting started. What You have in store for me is beyond my wildest dreams. This is when the real journey begins. So I brace myself for the testing to come. 

Here’s to the next 10 years with You my Lord. 

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Dear about to be 16 year old me,

If you had only known where you would be now. If you would have only known where you all would be after making that life-altering decision. You were so courageous. If you had known that in that moment of faith, that this is where you would be today, I know you wouldn’t have been as terrified out of your mind. I know you were frightened and alone, but look at the woman you have become. And who they would all become. In that fever ridden body in that police station, you were shaking and petrified of what he would do when he found out and now he’s gone forever. Oh my dear, if I could hold you and tell you everything would be okay. If I could hold you and tell you that you would soon understand that you no longer had to be unnerved every time you stepped outside, expecting to see him everywhere you went. You no long had to wrestle with anxious thoughts of what could happen. 

You just wanted someone to believe you when you let the light in on what had happened to you. Everyone you cared about slammed the door in your face, as the truth poured out. Suddenly you feel more abandoned than you could have imagined. Then the shame crept in. As blame hit its blow from every person that you thought mattered, you retreated into that dark, foreign room and let the guilt eat at your soul. If I could only hold you and tell you it would be okay. That this war would end someday sooner than you could’ve imagined. That you would be accepted by those who chose you, even if the ones who bore you didn’t. Not because of what he had done or what you thought you had allowed to happen, but just because of you. That you would learn who and what family really means. If you knew that wholeness was not an alien, unimaginable, unattainable possibility, but a reality you would stand in, securely placed in a place of safety today. That the weight of the world no longer had to sit on your shoulders. That a love so deep would break down the walls and come crashing in to rescue you.

Darling, it wasn’t easy to say goodbye to everything and everyone you’ve ever known. It was hard saying goodbye that night as you packed a few things, trying not to crumble under the weight of every anxious thought creeping and rotting within you. It was difficult to imagine what life would become when you walked out those doors and when you left those you loved behind. But you knew the cycle of abuse had to end. That the destruction that wreaked havoc for those six years had to end, even if it meant doing the complicated thing. The pattern of misuse had to end. It couldn’t happen to anyone else or to you any longer. 

A decade later, I can tell you my dear, that you couldn’t have began to even imagine who you would become. That restoration would come. That a new family would come. That the old family would come back too. That you would thrive, instead of survive. That you would enter a life of technicolor grace. That you would be made complete once again. That you were not damaged goods but a healing so deep would enter into every fiber of your very being. That you would be awakened to life in ways you never knew were possible. That a new song would be on your lips. That you would have a new name. That a freedom would arise within you and that you no longer would have to stay in that place of fear. That every tear would not be wasted, that the shadow of death no longer remained, by the redemptive hand of the One who makes all things new. That you would come alive to be who you were meant to be.

That you would forgive. And that it would set you free. 

It doesn’t mean it’s been easy. Or will be easy. This journey you will begin will be full of obstacles, highs and lows, mountains to climb, and deep valleys that seem endless in their nature.

Less than 6 months ago, almost a decade later, you will get the closure you could have never anticipated. And suddenly the wondering ends. The uncertainty ends. No longer would you have to guess how they felt about you. No longer will you have to look at the past and think about what it could have been if you had never left. Sitting in the same room that the trauma happened in, on that couch next to his deathbed, with him looking a dwarf of the man he had been, everything came to halt and you will have to absorb the fact that it is over. The war is over. Let peace wash over you. Say goodbye to mistrust and the hazy years you once knew.

And hold on. The light will come. 

About to be 26 year old you

P.S. The next few years for you will be hard. You’ll deal with court cases, disownment, summer school, college, and constant change around you. But you were never alone.

To the family who abandoned me: I forgive you. 

To the father who abused me: I forgive you. Even from the grave, I forgive you. I wish you knew just how much I forgive you. 

To the place of safety I spent my first 2 weeks in and the staff that welcomed me with open arms: thank you.

To the one who laid aside all the arguments and chose compassion to rescue me: thank you. 

To the family who took me in even though it was scary: thank you. 

To the bikers who protected me in that courtroom: thank you. 

To the parents would later adopt me as an adult and love me unconditionally: thank you. 

To the church would be soon become my community: thank you.

To the friends I needed along the way, those who’ve stayed and those who are gone: thank you. 

To the people who helped processed it with me into the late night and walk with me through every step of my healing: thank you.

To the siblings who overcame just as much in their own ways too: thank you. I’m sorry you had to go through it too. I love so very much my darling brothers and sister.

To the God who never left or forsook me, who redeemed my story, who loved me to the Cross: thank you. 

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TWENTY-FOUR

When I began year 23 on this earth, I was in the valley. The entire weight of the world felt on my shoulders and I felt as if I was in a place I did not belong. After graduation, everything in my life felt like it was spinning out of control. I was not where I wanted to be and I didn’t even know who I was anymore. It was a season of heavy unbelief in my life, unbelief in my identity, in my security, in my purpose, and I was even at a point of unbelief in God. I was at a crossroad in my faith journey, a place where it was time to decided which voices I was going to listen to and believe.

Thus I embarked on a spiritual journey in the valley of decision. A valley from which I had to climb out of, for it was depleting all that I am as if I was stuck between walls caving in. I felt like I had forgotten who I was. My whole life has been this giant roller coaster, with hard climbs and stomach drop plunges that seem more common than a straightforward path. I knew my story would never be a simple one because my history tells me that. I knew I wanted to live a life of excitement and adventure, yet I had lost sight of that in the midst of the uncomfortability of my circumstances. I had lost sight of who I was created to be. I had forgotten that I was never promised a life of ease. Honestly, I had to realize that I would never have a straightforward life, a cute house, a perfect family with a white picket fence and a 9-5 job was definitely out of the question. Besides, to leave a legacy, who would want to blend right in with everyone else, right?

So, after having a massive meltdown right before my birthday, I knew something had to change. I had to change. I might have lost all sense of control but I had to chose what to do next, who I would choose to become. I laid myself bear before God and a friend on that day and had a decision to make: if everything was stripped away, if I had nothing at all, if I lost all control, would I still believe that my God is good and is out for my good?

In spite of everything I had already been through, did I want God more than anything else, anyone else or did I want the things I desired more than God? Would I want them if God wasn’t really in or for them?

Emotions bear, eyes raw from tears, heart tired from anxiety, a sudden wave of conviction hit. I knew in that moment, I had committed such idolatry in my heart, wanting a sense of control in my life more than Jesus as my all. My own pride had gotten in the way of really listening. I realized I was in a cycle of nailing Jesus on that Cross over and over again because I was too scared to trust Him in fully resurrected form. How does one truly walk by faith, even when they cannot see? I kept hearing from everyone around me that His plans were to prosper me, but how could I believe that when I couldn’t see it? How could I believe it when I felt like nothing had changed in the last 365 days? I felt like Job, stripped of all good things in my life, left out in the cold. My mind had reeked havoc, my thoughts didn’t line up with His.

I know from my history, that PEACE was a promise He kept. Yet I had forgotten that too. “Though He slays me, yet will I hope in Him,” Job confesses in chapter 13 of his story. Too often I think my prayers have to be answered instantaneously. But that’s not in God’s track record. He answers when it’s the proper time for me to receive the response. I know He can and will do all things, no plan of His could ever be thwarted. So I took it upon year 23 to strip it all back and rebuild. Did I want it if He wasn’t in it? Who would I be if I only had Jesus?

I let Him wash over me with peace and heard Him say, “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no human mind has conceived the things I have prepared for you. Not anyone, no even YOU! In this time of uncertainty, I am doing a work to uncover the truth about the deep, rooted lies you have come to believe.” Not even me. For this reason, I embarked on a spiritual journey, choosing to daily evaluate my thoughts and circumstances with the thought in mind, “What am I believing and what do I NEED to hear from Jesus? What is the truth?” The goal was to allow the process of renewal of the mind to be taken to a practical level.

Today, as I write these words, after 365 days of deliberately choosing faith over fear, it is obvious my thinking has changed. My core beliefs of who I am do not always stand in strong defense against the lies of that devil who seeks to destroy me daily. I can’t say that it was an overnight thing. It often required rereading the list over and over, whenever I felt like I was losing sight of what was truth and some truths I need to hear multiple times. Examining your heart is a beautiful thing. The choice daily to listen to the right voices is difficult, but rewarding. It wasn’t easy but this journey launched me forward into truly enjoying my life and not allowing my joy to hinge on my circumstances.

So, thank you year 23, by the grace of God, for pushing me forward, for reminding me who I was created to be, for new vision, for deeper friendships, for testing and growing me. Thank you for activating me in faith, for causing me to believe in who I was meant to be, for enticing me into walking out in trust. For healing, restoring, and rebuilding me into a more disciplined, more confident, and more genuinely alive woman. For drawing out my vulnerability and honesty, causing others to feel invited to be themselves too. For allowing me to radiate strength with an all-in attitude that I had lost track of. Thank you for awakening me unto life. Twenty-four, I can’t wait for what you have in store.

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You Still Bare My Signature

“So love Me or hate Me,
I’m not going anywhere.
Leave Me or take Me,
You still bare My signature.
Know Me or not,
Seen or forgot,
I’m not walking out on you.”

Chris Renzema, How To Be Yours

I still act like an orphan, I guess. I do. I act like God isn’t worthy of trust, like He doesn’t want the best for me as His child. It is hard for me to fathom because it seems as if my life is out of control. Which begs the question, whose control is my life in? Am I grabbing it and holding on so tight that I’m stuck? The unknown is too frightening of a thing to think about.

Yet somehow, I’ve become comfortable with my uncomfortable life. How does that even make sense? I don’t have the 9-5. I don’t have the regular, set hours. In fact, I have the wildest day-to-day compared to everyone around me, who knows when they go to work and when they are off, 365 days a year, unlike me, who gets to know less than a week out. Still, I’ve become comfortable. I don’t want to take any new risks because that would mean jeopardizing what I already kind of have control over.

I don’t want to take a risk and fail. I’ve already been forced to take so many risks in life already. Is an ordinary, simple life too much to ask for? Is it not what I deserve after all I’ve been through?

What I deserve? What a ridiculous thing to say. What do I deserve?

I’m a sinner. I deserve death. I’ve chosen to place my trust in everything but God. Why would He do anything for me now that I’ve rejected Him and His ways? Why can’t I trust in His provision when it is so obvious and evident throughout history, especially my own life? His fingerprints are everywhere!

No wonder I’m stuck. No wonder winter won’t end.

My head is spinning. My thinking is askew. What I’m believing is so wrong. But even as God holds me as I cry on the floor, I struggle to know how to be His.

“Child, I’m not going anywhere. No matter how hurt or confused you might feel, you still bare my signature. I’m not walking out on you.”

Why have I doubted Your goodness? Why have I lost sight of all that He has already done? He didn’t give up on His people throughout time, even when they wanted nothing to do with Him. He didn’t give up on me, even when I walked out on Him. But I’m terrified.

Being exposed is scary. It feels like danger encroaches on every side. At the same time, risk brings potential for more. For more than familiarity, something grandiose and arresting. Something life-altering and wonderful. Imagine the places you could go when you get back up and step into daunting, uncharted territory.

He’s not done with you.

Nothing I can do will ever make me good enough to deserve anything. I doubt, cry, scream, question, or condemn myself to death.

“Child, it’s time to sing a new song, to allow me to tend the soil, to reach toward the light because death is gone with the winter.”

It’s time for the shift of my perceived source of life back to You. The truth is the death of Jesus is sufficient proof of the trustworthiness of the heart of God. I have no reason to doubt, fear or cower. No reason to hide because the Cross ultimately says it all: I am free and forgiven. I am adopted. I am loved.

No matter the things I’ve done, no matter the things that have happened to me, the future isn’t controlled or dictated by those things. It is dictated by the Creator of everything and whatever He wants, He will do.

“I’m not walking out on you.”

It’s time to stop singing the song of defeat. It’s time to come back to life. Awake my soul for death is dead and gone. What I have proclaimed dead, God has pulled out of the grave. It’s time to be renewed, to drink of fresh, living water.

Prodigal, come home.

Your God who is rich in mercy, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ. For it is by grace you have been saved.

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A New Thing

“Behold I am doing a new thing do you not perceive it springing forth? I am making away in the wilderness, rivers are bursting in the desert.” – Isaiah 43:19

The elders wept when the old became new in Ezra Ch. 3. Too often we think that the new looks glamorous. Yet somehow the old does too. I know I miss how things were. Everything was so simple then; my life was planned out and structured. It seems just as awfully complicated these days. Nothing in my life is set and I feel like I have no end goal. Everything I once knew has flipped upside down. It can seem overwhelming. But let’s be real, the old had its problems too. It was fallen, broken, just coasting through.

Sometimes the only way to get through the new, is to not be so stuck in what could’ve been that you miss out on the goodness of this season. It’s easy to stay in what’s comfortable, not wanting changing, accepting that where you are is where you’ll be forever. That’s how the Israelites ended up as exiles to begin with. They probably thought it would be safer to stay in their oppression because it was at least known.

If the story of the exiles tells us anything, is that God will do what he wants whether we agreed to it or not. He will make a way. In this case, He literally put His agenda on the heart of an ungodly man in a foreign kingdom and made a Way in what seemed like an identity wilderness. Not just any way, He provided the means, the method, and the provision for it.

Yeah, I’ve screwed up. I admit, I’ve lost sight of what really matters. I’ve gotten angry at the process and how long it seems to be taking. I’ve forgotten that He’s enough. I’ve come to Him with my agenda and my plan. Maybe the real reason I feel stuck because I won’t do it His way.

Maybe what I should be doing is going back to where I started and begin again. The beauty of the cry of the elders when the temple was rebuilt, is that they were transported back to where they started. Back when it was all about entering in and wanting nothing else but to simply be in His presence. To simply be. How am I supposed to understand the beauty of what He’s done already when I’ve lost sight of it? How am I supposed to draw others into His Presence if I’m on the outside looking in?

All that matters in the end is this: do I want Him? Do I truly want Him and nothing else? Or do I want what He can do for me? Do I want the one who taught the waves to dance? Who chose the color of my eyes? Who is separated night from day to mark out time for our blessing? Do I want the one who died so we could have a life together instead of being apart?

If I get stuck in the thoughts that roll in my head, the what could’ve been or what could be, that where I get truly lost. The lines between old and new get blurred so easily and the cycle repeats itself.

“Behold I am doing a new thing.”

I want nothing else more. Maybe the new thing springing forth is a greater desire to simply sit at His feet. To thank Him for His goodness and what He has done. To trust that He doesn’t need to keep proving Himself when He already did with the cross. To turn the cry of my heart from what I want to declaration of the truth.

For He is good, His faithful love endures forever.

Do I truly believe that? Do I?

May my weeping and crying out in praise be as indistinguishable as the cry of those will be held His presence anew on that day when the temple foundation was rebuilt.

For the old is now new.

It’s not easy being in winter. It’s bare, cold and lonely. But without winter, without a season of burial, a season of night, we wouldn’t rejoice as boldly. Oh how magnificent is the blossom when the bright, glorious, radiant sun rises. Our God loves taking our breath away. He is worthy even in the darkness. His banner over us is love and He is trustworthy to complete what He started.

Your season will come. It will. Just not when and how you think it will. In the meantime, breath the cold into your lungs, allow Him to strengthen you, and rest in the wonder.