It just came out of nowhere.
Everything has been lately. Maybe it always will.
It takes a scary process to figure out how powerful things from out of nowhere really are.
It came out of nowhere. Everything about it was unexpected. Everything about it is uncertain and nothing about it makes sense.
I
didn't
see
it
coming.
My callings came out of nowhere. My opportunities came out of nowhere. My answers to prayer came out of nowhere. My life took a turn out of nowhere and I'm beginning to thank God for everything that comes out of nowhere, even if I have to breathe deeply and tell myself that the wind won't overpower me.
It makes me hold tighter to His hand. Maybe that's why He does it.
His intricate plans come out of nowhere. Even the ones slow in coming.
Maybe I can catch a glimpse of how Peter felt, when God's divine words fired out of his mouth in a flaming flood of fulfillment, and his calling and destiny hit him out of nowhere, even though he'd been preparing for it for three years.
Esther, it's time to step up. I know you've been an obscure orphan your whole life, but now it's time to be queen and save the nation by risking your life.
Moses, you ran, but now it's time to go back and deliver the nation. Had to wake you out of your life's slumber with a burning bush.
Elisha, it's time to leave the farm and run after the prophet, because you're going to take his place, and destiny's mantle is going to sweep into your life with a flame's speed.
David, come out from that field for a moment. It's time to anoint you king.
Thursday, August 9, 2018
You don't know what happens in the silence.
They don't tell you. That's the point.
The development in the dark, the moments in the shadows, the memories behind the scenes. What they don't see.
The gap of time when people don't speak, the mundane weeks of no new thing, conversations void of your life. What they don't hear.
The dreams put on hold indefinitely, what lives inside your heart, the whirlwind of your inner life, and how you're really Joseph inside. What they don't know.
The time I spent here, when all I wanted was to be there.
When someday I'm at the side of Jesus, and I sit next to Him and He bends His head toward me as we talk, I will ask Him what He did all those years, and what His life was like.
Because it will always matter.
They don't tell you. That's the point.
The development in the dark, the moments in the shadows, the memories behind the scenes. What they don't see.
The gap of time when people don't speak, the mundane weeks of no new thing, conversations void of your life. What they don't hear.
The dreams put on hold indefinitely, what lives inside your heart, the whirlwind of your inner life, and how you're really Joseph inside. What they don't know.
The time I spent here, when all I wanted was to be there.
When someday I'm at the side of Jesus, and I sit next to Him and He bends His head toward me as we talk, I will ask Him what He did all those years, and what His life was like.
Because it will always matter.
Sunday, February 25, 2018
Come
Come
Come, they're calling
We need you more than ever
The world is breaking at the seams
And how much longer can we go?
Leave, they're shouting
Leave your home behind
Time is running out for us
The sun is setting on our streets
And we don't know how to find the light
Where? they're crying
Where are you to be seen?
How can we believe in what we do not know?
We have yet to find our preacher
We shout your name from the hills
We plead our needs from the streets
We sense Someone stretching His hand toward our homes
But we don't know His name
Whom? they're asking
Whom shall He send?
And who will come to us?
Whoever you are,
Come
Come, they're calling
We need you more than ever
The world is breaking at the seams
And how much longer can we go?
Leave, they're shouting
Leave your home behind
Time is running out for us
The sun is setting on our streets
And we don't know how to find the light
Where? they're crying
Where are you to be seen?
How can we believe in what we do not know?
We have yet to find our preacher
We shout your name from the hills
We plead our needs from the streets
We sense Someone stretching His hand toward our homes
But we don't know His name
Whom? they're asking
Whom shall He send?
And who will come to us?
Whoever you are,
Come
Monday, February 19, 2018
If I Follow
Though you can't see
Where I'll lead you
Come and follow
Come and see what
I'll do with you
It's a long way there
With pain to bear
But you just need
Me with you
All the way through
Come out of your dwelling
Away from your life
I'll show you great things
And work in your life
Replace the losses
And heal all your heart
I'm going to use you
And set you apart
If you will follow
And give me your heart.
Where I'll lead you
Come and follow
Come and see what
I'll do with you
It's a long way there
With pain to bear
But you just need
Me with you
All the way through
Come out of your dwelling
Away from your life
I'll show you great things
And work in your life
Replace the losses
And heal all your heart
I'm going to use you
And set you apart
If you will follow
And give me your heart.
What It Is (a page from last year)
I'm not actually climbing a mountain.
Sometimes I wish I were. I wish that the wind I talk about was actually whistling in my ears. I wish the road I envision was tangible beneath my feet. I wish my clothes would grow wet and my hair heavy with the water that I'm not actually wading through.
No, I'm simply living day by day.
Always, the future lies in a vision of highs and lows, waterfalls I behold and ditches I fall into. But I don't actually touch the poetry. I meet it the same way that I meet today and all the days before.
I wake up, and I live. I talk, breathe, think, pace, listen, go into mental frenzies and emotional whirlwinds, pray, read, and keep on thinking. And then I sleep and wake and do it all again. I'm not sure I necessarily know what season I'm in until I'm through, because it's hard to tell when I can only be in this very small space at a time, and today is painted quite similar to yesterday, and the Artist's brush strokes the canvas ever so slowly.
Time is moving, but I don't always sense movement.
Maybe because I'm not actually on a train or trekking a mysterious, fog-laden road atop a cliff. Maybe I don't feel movement because I am simply lying awake in bed contemplating the ceiling, just like last night and the night before, and possibly tomorrow night. Because I'm caught up in this inescapable thing called time, and time is not a mountain or valley or sunset, but simply a thing that goes by unseen and untouched.
It's just something I live through.
And so I simply live and breathe everyday in a seemingly blank canvas, look back at how my steps curved, and paint someone else a picture of hope.
Sometimes I wish I were. I wish that the wind I talk about was actually whistling in my ears. I wish the road I envision was tangible beneath my feet. I wish my clothes would grow wet and my hair heavy with the water that I'm not actually wading through.
No, I'm simply living day by day.
Always, the future lies in a vision of highs and lows, waterfalls I behold and ditches I fall into. But I don't actually touch the poetry. I meet it the same way that I meet today and all the days before.
I wake up, and I live. I talk, breathe, think, pace, listen, go into mental frenzies and emotional whirlwinds, pray, read, and keep on thinking. And then I sleep and wake and do it all again. I'm not sure I necessarily know what season I'm in until I'm through, because it's hard to tell when I can only be in this very small space at a time, and today is painted quite similar to yesterday, and the Artist's brush strokes the canvas ever so slowly.
Time is moving, but I don't always sense movement.
Maybe because I'm not actually on a train or trekking a mysterious, fog-laden road atop a cliff. Maybe I don't feel movement because I am simply lying awake in bed contemplating the ceiling, just like last night and the night before, and possibly tomorrow night. Because I'm caught up in this inescapable thing called time, and time is not a mountain or valley or sunset, but simply a thing that goes by unseen and untouched.
It's just something I live through.
And so I simply live and breathe everyday in a seemingly blank canvas, look back at how my steps curved, and paint someone else a picture of hope.
Saturday, February 17, 2018
The story of Solomon.
Wisest man that ever lived. Knew it my whole life. Was taught from the age of frilly socks and tight curls that when God had appeared to him in a dream, he'd asked for wisdom.
Guess I never thought to see him as a human. Or as someone who was ever young and unsure.
It was kind of weird, when I began flipping through these divine pages and found myself empathizing with him, more than with the man after God's own heart.
Young. Tender. Alone. Paying tribute to his God. Meeting destiny in a dream.
God, you've done great things for other people. But I'm not great like them.
How did I get here anyway?
I have no idea what I'm doing.
Make me wise.
I don't know how the ones before me did it. They're gone now, and their legacy came with a flood of responsibility, growing every day.
They plowed and planted, and have left their hard-won world on my shoulders. How can I carry this mantle?
Make me wise. How will I make it otherwise?
Wisest man that ever lived. Knew it my whole life. Was taught from the age of frilly socks and tight curls that when God had appeared to him in a dream, he'd asked for wisdom.
Guess I never thought to see him as a human. Or as someone who was ever young and unsure.
It was kind of weird, when I began flipping through these divine pages and found myself empathizing with him, more than with the man after God's own heart.
Young. Tender. Alone. Paying tribute to his God. Meeting destiny in a dream.
God, you've done great things for other people. But I'm not great like them.
How did I get here anyway?
I have no idea what I'm doing.
Make me wise.
I don't know how the ones before me did it. They're gone now, and their legacy came with a flood of responsibility, growing every day.
They plowed and planted, and have left their hard-won world on my shoulders. How can I carry this mantle?
Make me wise. How will I make it otherwise?
Sunday, December 31, 2017
Excerpt From October
It's hard. It hurts. But it's not as bad as you would think. In fact, if you were to take your mind off of it completely, you would float and sing and not feel a thing.
Because
the
pain
changes
you.
"You have taught my feet to dance upon disappointment."
I found that quote a while ago, and it's gained real meaning in my life recently. Specifically in the moment when I found it possible.
I am embracing the life that did not turn out the way I always thought it would.
I count it all joy when I let go and feel the final sting.
I Know it's not me and that it's coming from Heaven, when suddenly I am able to do what I never wanted to.
There's so much freedom when you lose control and can dance along the road that you can't see down. When expectations are gone and so you must become new. When you throw away your made-up map and follow that single star instead.
I
am
being
made
new.
He's making me more like Him.
I never knew it could be this hard and yet so smooth. The sting subdued by the song you begin to sing. The frustration withered by faith in the dark. The disappointment shadowed by the dance.
I
am
free.
Because
the
pain
changes
you.
"You have taught my feet to dance upon disappointment."
I found that quote a while ago, and it's gained real meaning in my life recently. Specifically in the moment when I found it possible.
I am embracing the life that did not turn out the way I always thought it would.
I count it all joy when I let go and feel the final sting.
I Know it's not me and that it's coming from Heaven, when suddenly I am able to do what I never wanted to.
There's so much freedom when you lose control and can dance along the road that you can't see down. When expectations are gone and so you must become new. When you throw away your made-up map and follow that single star instead.
I
am
being
made
new.
He's making me more like Him.
I never knew it could be this hard and yet so smooth. The sting subdued by the song you begin to sing. The frustration withered by faith in the dark. The disappointment shadowed by the dance.
I
am
free.
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