A Proud Moment.

I don't know about you, but sometimes, I'm just so joyfully proud of myself, I can't hold it in. So, here it is: I made my first roast tonight. All pull-y-party and tender, with softened potatoes and onions and carrots. My whole house smelled like the warmth of Sunday dinner. The crock-pot simmered and the scent seeped. Oh, joy. A roast.

Beauty.

They were kind words. Careful words. Healing words. Prophetic words. Powerful words.

"Beauty."

I asked her. How to hurt, how to heal. How to come out of the storm, and find hope, peace. How to grab the right balms, the ailments, the oitments for my wound.

"Beauty."

She replied with simple, slow thought.

There were many I expected. The lies lingering truth preached with drugs, with new idols, with false repair. There were things that portrayed a fast, frantic ease: boys, anger, with-hold.

But her response was different.

"Beauty."

Heal the hurt with beauty.

Gather it in the gardens. Fill in in spaces with flowers. Cover with with oil through music, through baths, through soil.

"Beauty."

Let beauty soothe the space. Let beauty fill the space. Let beauty be the space.

Let beauty be.

How Do You Explain?

How do you explain changing, when you feel judged?

How do you explain fullness, when others display otherwise?

How do you explain beauty, when you feel outside?

How do you explain hurt, when others see only their side?

How do you explain selfishness, when its past repair?

How do you explain joy, when its chosenly withheld?

How do you explain changing, when you are judged?

Wrestling Words.

There were words to me. Perplexed and thoughtful. Still dwelling within. Still harvesting Truth. Still looking for questions, still regarding answers. Words I am unsure of. Words I am full love. Justified and righteous. Careful and chosen. Words of redemption. Words living of love.

"Living the Culture of Miracles."

"Be sensitive go God's Truth." (reconciling both the tender and the tough)

"Trained to be tough."

"To love your husband out of obedience."

"The beauty of the cross, is that we can always say, 'I'm sorry.'"

And perhaps the most vivid to me, is this one I make sense of, and yet, don't know how to embellish with love to friends:

"Living in their sin, and loving it." //

"Loving their sin, and living in it."

~ Quotes remain namesless purposely

Gathered As Love.

Conversation sparkled around the room, women bursting, bustling with hearts full, filled, overflowing. Loved. Lavished in love. The room glowed with warm fire, bursting into quiet flames while the chatter ran on. Our love united as one amongst the couches and pillows, the nooks in the corners, and the caverns created near the hearth. We were as one body. Living in the Word. Worshipping by the Word.

It was twenty two women, gathered as one communion, the common being the Christ. Our paths cross some, but more, our service unites.

And I gather from them. Women who have walked, seen, tasted, the path. The righteousness. The justice. The faithfulness. The faultlessness. The cross. The are ones who have staked their lives on the course, and set the journey before them. Arm in arm in fellowship, bended knee in sovereignty.

And I grow within them. Gaining experience from their years. Leaning in and nurtured by their voices, their stories, their prayers, their tears. They speak of children, grandchildren, people through the years. And I melt into it with them. Feeling like one. Blended within.

The women draw near. To listen. To gather. To be. To do. To love. To serve. They are women who are loved, who love. They are women who abound in love, who put on love.

They are women who live love, who echo love, who reverberate love. They are love, because He is Love.

The Best Wine.

In John 2:1-19, the Scripture tell the story of Jesus' first miracle: Water into wine. As the story goes, there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee that Jesus went to with his friends. At the wedding, they ran out of wine. This was the ultimate embarrassment for the host. Jesus' mother ran to him and pleaded with him to do something.

So Jesus created wine. His own blend. His own aroma. His own balance. His own creation.

The hosts were so surprised that they rushed to exclaim favor on it. (It was customary that wine cheapened in flavor and body as the party ambled because guests were often too drunk to notice by then.) His pride swelled as he realized that they had offered the best at last.

I have a card from Trish dated September 15, 2011. The ending line reads:

I am excited about your new adventure with Mark. Jesus truly brings "the good wine."

Jesus truly has brought the best wine for me in the form of Mark. I have waited and prayed and hoped and wondered, and in His timing, in His form of a miracle, he brought me Mark. I am thankful for Mark. I am thankful for Jesus. I am thankful for waiting for "the best wine".

Rejoice With Those Who Rejoice.

Never before have I known this verse more than in the last three years. Never before have I understood its implications for me, and greater still, for those around me. Never before have I heard the words of my friends so profoundly, and felt their being more than past three years. Never before has their presence mattered to me as much, or more. Never before has the wealth and depth of relationship been understood greater, than in this verse.

"Rejoice with those who rejoice;

Mourn with those who mourn."

Romans 12:15

Thank you for those who have rejoiced with me. Thank you for those who have mourned with me. Thank you to those who have embraced me. Thank you for those who have cared for me. Thank you for those who have listened to me. Thank you for those who have cheered with me.

Thank you to those who unselfishly, un-hesitantly, mourned and rejoiced with and for me. You are Jesus to me. You are God's love to me.

To Live Without Her.

I have had to learn to live without her. I have had to learn to function without her. I have had to learn to force the resistance, to push my way in life. I have had to learn to live without her, and learn the implications that has for me.

This past week, all the more, I have seen how I have learned to live without her. I have felt the scaring, the scab re-appear and the hurt of two years of what was left broken, reek havoc again on my soul. I have had conversations that remind me of just how much I, we, live without her.

I can understand that I have had to learn to live without her. I can't understand places and relationships and conversations that challenge, because I, we, live without her.

But nonetheless, we live without her. Nonetheless, I learn again, to live without her.

~~~~

Oh, how different it would be...

What She Could.

She did what she could.

She acted out of what she had,

Not what she wished she had.

She did what she could,

Not all she could.

~ Elisa Morgan on Mary (of Mark 14)

A Season of Emmanuel.

I left Andrew Peterson's Behold the Lamb concert, my heart stirring with: "Come, Lord Jesus, Come!" As if Emmanuel filled my whole soul and every breath of me illuminated His fullness. It has been a season of Emmanuel. A season of God filling me.

I sat in church with Kelsey and Tom, drinking in Seattle worship, feasting upon the lights and sounds and music and chorus. Listening to the Word spoken with such sincerity and grace and strength, and encompassing the warmth of the two friends by me. My heart was full. Of the Lord. Of worship. Of His wholeness in His people.

We lingered around the table. A spread of games or sugary treats or prime rib or potatoes, all depending which layer of the day we gathered. It was Matt and Allison, their ease and playful mannerisms. It was Jerry and Rachel, their hosting and peaceful providing. It was a family of comfort, of laughter, of silliness, of conversing. It was a table of joined hearts, of meaningful belonging, of Heaven filling a home.

Our fingers alternated between typed keys and construction paper. Our hearts joined in constant companionship. Our bodies resting in the Amelies atrium. We talked, we blogged, we pondered, we teared, we laughed. We spoke of the Father, of Christ, of the Church, of Community, of Classrooms. We share intimate moments, thoughts like priceless gems, jewels gathered in a row. Trish and I. Grace spots. Hearts filling each others, identifying God on the Throne.

The wooden barn beamed of verses, of Scripture told and God in man. Our eyes gleamed upward, the breath in me light and caught. We walked through rooms, soaked in film film, combed through pieces of scripture, artifacts, home. Of God using man. I found myself in awesome wonder, relishing the art of God using man. Of simple Billy Graham, a Carolina farm boy, chosen for speaking to masses masses, of bringing God to man. I ponder, wonder: God in, God using: man.

It is a season of Emmanuel. Of God in me, of God given to me, of God with me. It is a season of His love echoed in people, in hearts that come close and hearts that lay far. It is a season of His fullness, of Glory foretold. It is a season of His promise; his Hope made known. It is a season of a heart that is full, Emmanuel in me.