pain & glory

You are here,
ever near
You meet me where the bottom was
You take broken,
vile and twisted
Cross-blood turns it beautiful
Hold me closely,
heart so fragile,
Hands that bled to never bruise
Hear the heartbeat,
Trust Your history
For Your good glory all things used

Five Minute Friday: Tender

Tender.

Go.

Today I am grateful for Jesus' tenderness toward me, for His intimate acquaintance with grief and suffering, joy and frustration. My heart is frustratingly tender these days, but such a condition compels me to place it continually in the only hands that are scarred but never inflict them. His tender mercies sustain me, from the magnitude of redemption to favorite cereals on sale, and every detail in between. 

But His tender care does not prevent tears or heartache. In fact, those are frequently His tools. Hugs from friends that unavoidably spurt forth unchecked emotion, emails from overseas read in public, lonely nights, and reserved conversations with friends. Everything about this deployment has me isolated to Jesus alone. What other mercy is at times so gut-wrenching and yet so deeply comforting?

Stop.

And now my five minutes are up. I look back at the two tiny paragraphs I have mustered up. Words just are not enough these days, neither in quantity or quality. But thank you, Jesus, for your Spirit who fills in my words with much better ones as You tenderly pray for me at the Throne of grace.

heart migration

Where buds of life slow burst to bloom

And flowers know not winter's tomb

Where bees and butterflies flit free

And rays embrace in balmy glee

Yes, where the birds fly south

Oh, where the birds fly south

Lacking chill of ice and winds

Lushest green that never ends

Sunsmile of heaven ever warm

Grass and laughter shining charm

Oh, where the birds fly south

Yes, where the birds fly south

Where life is rich but fragile not

Where no bad things need be forgot

Where no creature knows decay

No parents grieve the child they lay

Oh, where the birds fly south

Yes, where the birds fly south

Refuge that all life does seek

From bold and brave to poor and weak

Shelter, haven in life's night

Branches strong and hopeful bright

Yes, where the birds fly south

Oh, where the birds fly south

Allure my soul to seek it out

And to profuse in others' drought

Cross-life, my heart, ever to glow

As south sun draws the birds to go

Yes, where the birds fly south

Oh, where the birds fly south

Five Minute Friday: Awake

It's Five Minute Friday! Today's prompt: awake.

GO.

Just a little while ago I woke up from a nap. Praise the Lord for naps! Incredible how useless wakefulness is when rest is left to the wind.

(Fun to watch Ju-Be waking up almost daily--courtesy to her for the pic!)

I truly believe that one of the hardest lessons the Lord is trying to teach me in this season is to rest. After four whirlwind years of college, followed by nearly two years of life with at least four other friends at a time, resting has been a difficult discipline to master...or even attempt at times. 

Especially now with so much alone time, it is easy to feel that I am resting when I am actually only lonely. Solitude and rest are two very different things, though I would submit that solitude is often an integral part of rest for me.

The point being: if I am going to live a life that is fully awake, I must make room for the Lord to rejuvenate me and provide me with all the energy that wakeful living requires. My heart longs to be awakened to gratitude, to grasping each day for what it is, a gift. Awake to opportunities that require hard decisions and all the blood, sweat and tears my little heart can give.

I want to live in wakefulness, not in bleary-eyed grogginess for these precious days. Lord, teach me to nap, not only physically, but spiritually, mentally, emotionally as well. For the sake of all these other people on the planet that you love so much, let me live a life fully AWAKE!

Wipe the sleepy from my heart

Eyes to love the days' new start

Joy for walking life's great length

Peace for resting in Your strength

STOP.

Or, in the words of my dear friend, Sally: "Awokened!"

surreal

One-quarter of the way through deployment, and the word that comes to mind? Surreal.

My marriage is surreal.

It is maintained by silent prayers throughout the day, hours, sweet and precious and few, that I behold his face upon this same screen, attempts at reading books and books of the Bible in tandem, and the emails we wake up to that were sent while the other was sleeping.

My struggle is surreal.

Ha! Well, praise the Lord, it is surreal today. Some days (if not most?) it is very real, very raw, very uncontrollable and painful. But today I pause to look at this day and wonder over the fact that it has been so dreaded for more than a year. 

And my community is largely surreal.

Some friends check in more than others, and some people ask how I'm doing while others do not, but I almost always walk away from conversations in awe of the fact that I will never truly communicate the experience well. Unless you have experienced it, you, yes, you reading these words at this moment, have no idea what life is like. And even those of us who have been or are now in the thick of it lead such different lives that our take on things can be altogether opposite at times.

But this is reality: I am married to a man who is not here. Today is the 96th day that my heart has been moving or stationed away from me. I won't bore your with all the meals, holidays and big life events we've celebrated apart, but this is my life. 

And it's weird. 

Some days calling it weird would be cruel and grossly understated, but today it is just bizarre. 

This is my life. And no one else understands exactly what it is like. In fact, it often seems that everyone else is moving along normally and treating me normally while I, in this snow globe called "deployment," am uselessly pantomiming the true state of my heart and life.

And the odd thing is, some days it becomes normal for me. 

Such a growing experience, honestly, in giving grace. I pray my heart is this year softened toward those whose lives feel anything but normal. 

Yet my hope is this, today and always, though feelings shift (sometimes swing): that Christ is near and fully aware, entirely understanding, thoroughly empathetic, perfectly compassionate.