Monday, November 24, 2014

walking on water

We are walking on water. 

It hit me this morning during my "quiet time" with Jesus. I was reading and praying and drinking, arguably, too much coffee. My devotional was about giving thanks in all circumstances as an act of spiritual obedience. It's not easy. The best way to explain what happened next is to say the Holy Spirit hijacked my morning and took me to another passage of scripture entirely (he's funny like that.)

I found myself in Matthew 14:22-36. The story of Peter walking on the water resonates with me. Peter is not challenging Jesus when he says "If it is you, command me to come to you!" He is exhibiting bold, unwavering trust. He knows only Jesus can give him the strength and the ability to do the impossible. And he's right! But moments later he loses sight of that simple truth, and that is when he sinks. 

Isn't this the perfect picture of how we live? My faith is bold, my trust runs deep. I can thank God for my circumstances, I can trust that He is using them for my good and His glory. Until ugly, nasty fear and doubt creeps in and pulls me under. Suddenly I catch myself drowning in a sea of anxiety. It rushes over my head. I panic. 

The truth is, anxiety feels a lot like drowning. So frantically Peter calls out "Lord save me!

I've been there. I've so been there. 

There are deep pains. There are hurts that you think can never be erased. There are fears and struggles and disappointments.  

The life we have been called to live is impossible. We simply cannot do it on our own. To give thanks in the worst circumstances? To lift our hands in praise when we are weary and burdened? To put the needs of others before ourselves? To trust that God is working in every situation? It's like walking on water. That's why we cannot do it without Him. 

We are walking on water, one step at a time. Sometimes we sink. But before we even utter those three simple words, He's already there, reaching His hand out to save. 

[throwback: more thoughts on anxiety here]

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

on my wind...

revving up, s l o w i n g  d o w n. stop then go. 
hear the sounds of cars passing right outside my window
it's locked closed but air seeps through it's worn-down weatherstrip
that empty space, it leaves a crack
that's the way it goes. 

he doesn't care if he's welcome
anyone will tell you that
permeating hidden spaces, buried deep in this old house
too hot in summer, too cold in winter:
extreme and uninvited. 

try your hardest just to fight it
resist with air conditioning and manufactured heat. 
fill that space with new air, breathing life into these rafters 
but that old window can't be trusted
she'll let the bought air out

so now it's cold and I should've seen it coming 
it's happened time and time again
the Indian summer is all too cunning
he'll have you believing he's a faithful friend.
when that October breeze wraps itself around you..
don't buy it. don't give in.
this tired game we play so often, I know it all too well. 
he doesn't need an open the door, he much prefers creeping in
so batten your hatches and play pretend
tell yourself you're safe. 
but wait.

boy you take the cake
I've made my share of mistakes  
but you are-- by far-- my greatest disappointment

revving up, slowing down. that's the way it goes. 
the problem with old houses... 
all the old windows. 


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