Importance

I have a small book of things I want to do with my future children. Important things that I got to experience and so I know and remember their tastes, or those that I didn't and I can't wait to discover alongside my own littles. 

Things that will mean something and things that will create a more magical childhood. 

But in the back of that book, I've also slipped some letters. Words of encouragement for my sons. Sage pieces for my daughters. Things I wish I'd known when I was a child. There are also letters to my husband. Because I believe that when you begin a family, you create something, and you get to decide how it is made, how to cultivate it, what is necessary. There are things I will not fold on concerning my future children. There are things I want to instill in all of them, and I want my husband right beside me as I do it. 

I want it to be an us thing. 

A we thing. 

A together thing. 

And this is one. 

I don't just want to preach this to my daughters. I want to live it out, and I want to marry a man who will illustrate it with a ferocity only matched by me. 

This is important to me. 

"I don't want my daughter to grow up in a world where she has to constantly wonder if she's beautiful enough. I want my daughter to grow up in a world where she constantly wonders why beauty is the most important thing for a woman to possess. Why is it greater and more valuable than qualities and characteristics like humility, kindness, gentleness, encouragement, a wild heart, a fierce spirit, strong shoulders, bravery, ingenuity, compassion, wisdom, intelligence, curiosity, and a life for Christ?
I want that to be the question of her existence, the one she presses towards daily to prove wrong.
Why does it matter most?
I want my daughter to hear words out of my mouth like, "You are smart. You are generous. You are selfless. You are capable. You can learn this. You can discover that. You can do it. You are courageous. You are plenty and abundant. You are cherished. You are incredible. You are Christ-like." And when someone looks at her and says to her, "You are beautiful," I want her to turn to them and tell them that that will not woo her, it will not win her heart, it will not rest in her bones with the weight that other words might.
She doesn't need to know if she's beautiful or not.
She needs to know if you noticed that she can climb mountains. If you saw that she can dance for hours on end because her legs have strength. If you understand that she not only recites poetry, but hears it thrumming through her blood daily. If you place worth on the fact that she is practical and able. She needs to know if you will ask her about Neruda and Dickens and Tolstoy. If you will reach your arms around her waist when she is ninety. If you can tell by that twinkle in her eye that she knows some of the answers before you, and if you're okay with that. She needs to know what your price is. And if it's only how she looks and who she is, rather than who she can be and what she does, then you are not the man for her.
She needs to know if you care that she is more than.
I want my daughters to view the world differently. Not by way of a rose-colored lens of beauty, but with all the greys and blues and smaller colors that we often forget. I want them to question everything in balance with what is around them and their abilities.
I want my daughters to feel eternity on their backs and an endlessness that brings hope, the weight of glory with insistence.
I do not want to subject my daughters to the cage of being beautiful, the confines of loveliness. I want them to have more.
I want them to be more."

Just you and me

Can we climb a mountain together? 
Just you and me? 
Our feet tired and swollen and dusty after trekking miles long. We stop by the rivers and soak them. We collect smooth stones and you skip them, once, twice, three, or four times, but I don't. I could never skip a rock. Our backpacks are weighed down by branches and the books we decided to carry, small johnny jump-ups pressed between the pages. My hair sticks to the sweat on the back of my neck, and your hands and face are weathered and brown. We watch every sunset and every sunrise. Starlings whistle above us. Sometimes we climb the trees just to watch the stars and constellations blink or to glimpse the moon a little fuller, a little brighter. I recite poetry aloud to you, my voice echoing through the seemingly endless length of woods surrounding us. You read from Dickens at night, next to the campfire while the warmth crawls across our faces and dries the tears hot on our cheeks when tragedies strike the fictional. And in the dawn, oh in the dawn, we wash our hair in the lightest of light with lavender soap and river water. Often we tremble with exhaustion, but more often we relish the long days spent in the wilderness and forest and adventuring. Wanderlust is fulfilled. The earth becomes our backyard. We are discoverers. 
Can we climb a mountain together?
Just you and me?

Shrugging off anchors.

In church, we've been going through the story of Joseph, and today we talked about guilt and forgiveness and grace. I like reading about Joseph because there's reconciliation and weeping. It's one of the only times in the Bible when it's actually written that a man cries. Most of the time we're left guessing what the characters are feeling, the state of their emotions. But not with Joseph.
Joseph sobs.
When he first meets Benjamin, he sobs so hard that he has to leave the room to keep up his charade. I love that. I feel like I know him because of that.

This morning Pastor Mark talked about the guilt that the brothers felt. How they lived for twenty-two years harboring a secret, unsure whether Joseph was alive or dead, but certain that they could not confess what they had done. He spoke of their fear. There is a part in chapter forty-two of Genesis, when the brothers are explaining who they are, and they say that they are twelve brothers. Ten of them are present, Benjamin is at home, and one—Joseph, one is no more.
One is no more.
They still count him. They still consider him a brother, alive or dead. They still think of him daily.

They have carried Joseph with them, and the grief and shame and despair and bitterness over what they have done, for the past twenty-two years since the day they exchanged him for twenty pieces of silver.

Their brother never left them. He was a weight on their back since the moment he was dragged away by the slave-traders.

I think we all carry weights like that. I know that I have. But that is so wrong. That is so wrong of us to do. Pastor Mark said today, That is an affront to God. And it is. It is a slap in His face to bear useless burdens of guilt and bitterness and anger and resentment and animosity. To say to Him, This one? This one is just too big for You. Not even You could understand. I've got to keep it on, I have to wear it, it makes me who I am. It took me a long time to see that. That that is a sin. Years, actually. But one day I sat on the edge of my bed, weeping, and realizing that this was on me. All of my condemnation and guilt and perpetual suffering, that was my doing. And I had to get over myself. I remember clenching my fists and pressing them onto my thighs while I heard the words my Pastor had said that morning in church, over and over again in my head.

Don't you dare be condemned. 

And then and there, I had to own up to my shortcomings.
I had to let it all go.
I had to forgive.

I am pleading with you now, if you haven't, do the same. Just get over yourself. Don't walk around blaming yourself or others. Don't harbor those sour feelings. Don't wallow in bitterness and unforgiveness. Don't let that weight hang on your back. Don't walk around with an anchor around your neck.
Shrug it off.
Because we can never truly be alive in Christ unless we take off our own guilt and put on his yoke and burden. It is not our job to judge the heaviness of our shame and sufferings as too much for the Carpenter to carry. And I think it's important that we tell each other that. That we say, It's okay. It's okay to feel sorry about something. It's okay to be in pain about something. It's okay to let experiences and choices you or someone else has made shape you in some way. What is not okay, is if you dwell in that. If you live there, and you refuse to let it all go and forgive. It is not okay to let that rule your life. I think we're scared to say those things. I think we're afraid of being thought of as un-compassionate or unfeeling or harsh. But it is too detrimental to stay silent about this. And I will not be quiet anymore. I will not let you drown for my fear of being severe and inconsiderate.

Do not let unforgiveness and guilt sink you.

Don't live with something you don't have to. Confess it. Cry about it. Grow from it. Let it go. We all make mistakes. We all sin. We all mess up. We don't all have to choose to go down with our guilt and suffering. We don't all have to wear anchors. In truth, no one does. So be bigger than you make yourself out to be. Be more forgiving, more understanding, more intentional. Do not be one of Joseph's brothers, waiting twenty-two years to be redeemed and forgiven. Be a Joseph. Name your past Manasseh and forget about it, and then call your present and future Ephraim, and expect plenteousness.

Animosity and guilt are not only worth nothing, but they are devices that will suffocate you and engulf your existence. They will pull you further from the One who loves you most. They will make you a stranger to Him. And they will cause you to sin, and create a rift between you and He who can save you.
Don't go down in a ship with the national guard standing by, arms outstretched and ready to catch you.
It would be a tragedy, because it would be your choice.
There is so much more of a wondrous life for you if you get over yourself. Christ has so many more valuable things for you to do than to spend your time feeling sorry for yourself. There is devotion and adoration and beauty, if you only take a breath and surrender. I promise that it is worth it. I know it doesn't seem like it would be, I have been in that position. I once locked myself up in bitterness and then caged myself with guilt. And it feels like there is no way out. But I want you to know, you need to know, there is. You don't have to continue in the way that you are. You don't have to be the same. You don't have to wear that heavy weight. You can shrug it off. You can be redeemed and relieved and renewed. And it is so much more beautiful than you can imagine. Friends, it is so much more glorious to worship and follow Him if we are not trapped by the things we have or have not done.

Hurt and guilt are all-consuming, but only if you let them be. Grace is ever-present, but only when you accept it.

I was a bridesmaid more than once, I am a gatekeeper always

It's a quiet Sunday morning here in my little house. There are white hydrangeas on my table, a growing sunlight in the window, and warm coffee in my clover pot. I read Mark 13 this morning. I liked the end best, when Jesus spoke of how we are watchmen, servants, and gatekeepers, and we are awaiting his arrival home, but unsure of the hour or the day. There is so much truth in that, so much anticipation and edge of the seat-ness. So much impatience.

I was discouraged the other morning. I had been at home alone for a little less than a week, and much like today, I was up in the early hours and at my kitchen table. There was the sun, tea steeping beside me, a branch of eucalyptus on the breakfast tray. I was painting and waking up. I was also half-heartedly scrolling through my friends' lives. Sometimes I do that in the morning, just to make sure they're okay, just to see if I can pray for anyone, just to know what they've been doing and where they are.
Many of them are still donning on the white dresses and getting on their knees with a ring in their pocket. They are walking down the aisle and standing underneath huge floral arches. Others are past that now. They have swollen bellies and tiny babies and piles of wooden blocks all over the floors of their new homes. They are creating families and memories and growing, growing, growing.
And the thought has arrived to me again.
This is only the beginning.

I know it is, because I have heard the stories. I know other women. They talk about how they have been a bridesmaid at least fourteen times and they laugh as they say that there are still weddings every summer. And I laugh with them, but inside I begin to panic, because when I go home and look at my two dresses hanging on my wall or the bouquets on my desk and bookshelf, I think, I can't keep doing this. There's no way. I'll break in half. I imagine adding twelve more dresses of chiffon and lace to my closet and suddenly I can't see straight anymore. You can only hang and dry-out so many posies before you become overwhelmed. Before you need to give up.
I am full of love and joy for the people close to me who decide to become one with each other. I'm brimming with it. But it's not endless, it's not a boundless love. It took me so long to say that, let alone accept it, because I thought people would hate me once they knew. But it's the truth, and sometimes I am ashamed of it, and rightfully so. I'm not a machine, but I am also a flawed human. I get tired of being happy for everyone all of the time. I grow impatient with my own state of being. Jealousy creeps in, ugly little thoughts rear their heads. Why not me? I often find myself thinking. What am I doing wrong?
I hate days like that, when my desperation becomes so evident that it chokes me and I feel dirty. Days when I throw my hands in the air and stop being the gatekeeper. I go into the house and tell all the servants we've been stupid, the Master has no idea what He's doing and He's not coming back. And I try to take control. I leave the gate unattended in the throes of my impatient anger, my blood thrumming hot in my ears and cheeks, sure that I am right in this.
Certain that He has left me.
Certain that I have to do it all myself now.

I'm really good at not waiting for things. I'm also really good at lying to myself. I'm trying to change that though. I'm trying to get over myself, to stand at my post, to live patience constantly.
It's difficult.
I find though, that in those desperate moments, I am only thinking of myself. And while I don't have the ambition to be unceasingly happy, I don't want to be selfish either. So I have this faith that this is the year Christ will release me of that burden. And I already know how He will do that, I just have to accept it, be consumed by it, become smaller because of it.
Every woman who is single should reach a point when she realizes that while having a husband would be nice, she doesn't necessarily need one. She can still serve the Savior without a man. She can still help people without a man. She can still live life abundantly without a man. Knowing that, presents a sad restlessness in her heart, but knowing that, will also make her better.
I want a husband.
I don't need a husband though.
Potential is not fulfilled by a person of the opposite sex. It's fulfilled by enrapturement and complete devotion to Christ. No matter how many dresses I hang in my closet and on my wall, I am supposed to press on towards the mark. No matter how many bouquets I dry, I am supposed to keep climbing. No matter who is with who while I am with no one, I am supposed to remain at the gate. If I only hold my nieces and nephews and my friends' children in my arms, I am supposed to be satisfied. I want you to know, that last one kills me. It really does.
To stop being selfish requires thinking of yourself less, learning humility. A man on instagram wrote this morning,
"I've found the more I try to not let the people around me feel lonely, the less I feel it myself. Or to say it another way, the more I love the people around me in a way that isn't about me, the more I feel full and healthy."
That resonates with me. Because although it is okay and somewhat justifiable for me to get tired of being happy for everyone who has what I don't, it's not very Christlike. And what I want the most out of this life is to be like Christ. To be His only.

I am making it a point to feel less discouragement and less jealousy, and to throw myself wholly into friendships and family. I want to foster growth in people. To give them a beautiful space where they feel safe and warm, somewhere they want to be. I want to offer more of myself to things that are important: causes, charities, movements, words, fellowship. I want to encourage people more. I want to be a shoulder, a strong back, a helper, a guide. I want to be interested in people, to hear their stories and listen to their voices. I want to be passionate. I want to change things. I want to do things. I want to make things.
I want the pile of knitted baby blankets in my bedroom to grow, and then I want to give them away, one by one. And I want to be glad as I do it.
This message isn't just for me though. It's not just for single women, or even just for single people for that matter. Because I know some of you have mistakenly believed that it would all be different once you're married, it would all be different once you've started a family, but now that you've done that and it's still the same, you don't know where to go. These words are for you too, and here is where you should go.
To Him.
Sell out for Christ. Everything you are and everything you have should begin to shrink as you do this. You will find yourself simpler, your life tinier, and you will be thankful for it because it means that you can serve Him better, with more heart. It's not easy, I know. There will be a day when I hang a third dress up, and I'll probably cry. There will be a week when I give more than one blanket away, and I will sob. But I will stay at the gate. I have faith in Him and I trust in Him.
I know that He is coming home to me.
So gain perspective on this with me. Jesus is important. People are important. And the fewer moments we dwell on ourselves, the more time we can give to those who need it and are worthy of it. To wallow in self-pity is not only unattractive, but it's also addicting and infectious. It will rub off on those around you, I promise you that. And personally, I would rather create a world of humble, kind, heart-givers who are servants of the Carpenter and constantly on the lookout for those in need, than a world of fist-shakers who look to themselves only. Broaden your gaze, light your lamps, and do things that are important, for He is coming back and we must needs be ready. I don't want to be caught inside the house, pining at my table for someone I'm not even sure of when He arrives home. I want my banners ready, strung up above the door and shivering in the cool breeze. I want my gaze fixed out towards the path, and I want to quiver with excitement when I first see Him approaching. I want to run to Him, dashing through the field because that way is shorter, my voice echoing back to the servants as I announce His arrival, and I want Him to catch me in His arms and swing me around as we laugh.

This is a turning point for me, this year. I'm standing on the cusp of making important decisions again, and I am determined to make them bright and worthwhile. I don't want to live desperately anymore. I don't want to live impatiently anymore. I want to be beautiful and smart and kind, but most importantly, I want to be a grace-giver and grace-bringer. I want to demonstrate and illustrate Jesus in a manner that is anchored and certain and authentic. I want to live out my own words. For you see, I was journaling the other morning, and I wrote about how I wasn't overlooked, but undiscovered. And I needn't sit still any longer, but go climb mountains and build bridges, because that's where the sort of man I want is, climbing mountains and building bridges. Part of being a gatekeeper is trusting that the Master knows what is best and has prepared a path for you. That's why you still look for Him daily, you hope in Him entirely.
And so I have to go.
I have to climb mountains.
I have to build bridges.

I am daring to shake off my impatience and discontentment this year. Are you willing to as well?

The words from the man on instagram are those of Ian Pratt. He is wiser than I think he knows, so go check him out. It is important to note as well that I feel that wanting a husband while you are a single woman is healthy and Christ-driven. Here are my thoughts on that. 
Also, Trader Joe's is currently stocked with ranunculus and hydrangeas. Go. Go now. 

Being a comforter by way of the Comforter

I think we all come to a point in our walk with Christ when we get it. We understand that He is everything and all, and life without Him is insufferable. We don't want to wake up without the Carpenter. We don't want to exist in a world without the opportunity for redemption and grace to overtake us. We don't want to walk around without worship constantly written on our lips, but not only that, it seems impossible to do so. We are so changed and changing so much, that it becomes hard to remember who we used to be or could be without Him. Everything else pales in comparison to His proposal. We want nothing more than to be the bride of Christ.
I'm there now.
I woke up this morning, and before I rolled out of bed I thought,
I am so uninterested in a life without my Savior. 
There is a part in the beginning of "Pilgrim's Progress" when Christian turns from his family because he cannot convince them to come with him. And he leaves them, saying, "Life! Life! Eternal life!" as if it's something that could replace them, or was worth more than them. I always had trouble with that. It's hard for me to imagine turning away from my family. Leaving them behind because I have inadequate words to convince them of the truth. It just never settled with me, the idea of walking away from those dearest to my heart for something that so many people doubt and is so fantastic that it requires increasing amounts of faith daily.
Now it's different.
The Lord will slowly overtake you. He ruptures small pieces of your heart and soul, and fills them with Himself, but He does it subtly. So subtly that sometimes you don't even notice, until one day you wake up and want nothing but Him. Till one morning you realize that you would deny yourself anything to be His. The cost is great, but it becomes less and less as you sell yourself to Him more and more.

It's almost five years ago now that I sat in a church I hated, but now love, on a Resurrection Sunday. My pastor told the story of how Christ died for us, and then he said,
You owe Him everything. You could live a hundred times over, and still not deserve what He's done for you. So we ought to at least give Him our short existences. He calls for at least that.
And I cringed in my seat as he said the next part. I can still remember my fists getting tight and the way my stomach began to hurt.
If you're life isn't all about Jesus, you may want to rethink where you stand with Him. It is necessary that you sacrifice everything else for Him. He should be the greatest thing, He should be your all.
He wasn't that to me, back then. I sat in that church and I could think of many things to add to the phrase, "Jesus and..."
Jesus and my family.
Jesus and school.
Jesus and books.
Jesus and friends.
Jesus and a big house.
Jesus and success.
Jesus and victories.
Jesus and perfection.
Jesus and understanding.
Jesus and a future husband.
Jesus and everything I wanted, could want, and will want.
I was so uninterested in a life that was only about Jesus. It gave me knots in my gut and my chest got tight as I tried to think about Him being the most important and only thing in my life. It seemed impossible. I couldn't fathom it without feeling sick.

I've noticed that I do things slowly. I learned to love the things I love over a long period of time. I fell into friendship with Kirsten over a number of years and letters. I grew in faith through days and weeks and months. I changed who I am, little by little, part by part, piece by piece. I acquired a taste for coffee over the course of a summer. I accumulated a tiny library of my own, book after book after book.
And softly, gently, without my knowledge, Christ drew me to His side and by the time I noticed, I was far removed from this earth and enraptured with Him in a manner that renders me able to leave all this behind without qualms or regrets.
I am so incredibly small now.

This year has been really hard. Some things are so heavy in this life. I haven't experienced many of them personally, but recently a few have come close to my heart, and I've noticed more and more how much my friends have experienced loss and pain and suffering.
I have to confess to you, I don't know what to say to people anymore. I don't even know how to write things that might matter to them, or comfort them. I don't know how to be there. And I want to. I want to be present and impactful and kind and gentle. I want to be in their lives in a way that is something they need, a sweet spirit, a shoulder, a strong back. I've spent so many nights on my knees because of this. It's eating at me. It hurts sometimes, how unsure I am, how difficult it is to open my mouth. Because this is a new desire for me. I think this is a season of big things, and suddenly I've uncovered in my heart the yearning to say what needs to be said. Not just to listen to people, but to speak life and peace and hope into them.
It's so hard.
But as Jesus has become more apparent to me in all things, as He has enveloped me more in His arms, I find that I don't need to do those things, nor do I have to worry about those things. He is sufficient. When it's not "Jesus and..." but just "Jesus," you only have to have faith that He will speak for you. Because your heart is His. It's what He wants to say, and what He wants to say is never wrong. It is intentional and beautiful. It is right, always right. It is perfect.
I try too hard.
I get in the way.
But I am learning not only to be tiny, but to be still as well, and to let Him be there by me and oftentimes in the place of me.

I am nothing incredible without the Carpenter. Nothing at all. Not next to nothing, not partly something, not a little bit of this.
I am nothing without Him.
And I want nothing to do with anything that has nothing to do with Him. I am running from everything, my hands over my ears, and I am shouting, Life, eternal life! Because it makes sense now. I get it now. And I am confident that through these hardships and trials, He is growing me in a new way and something big will come of this. Something of Him.
I have faith that while I feel inadequate and unprepared for what my heart is burning to do, He will take hold of my hand, He will move my pen, He will put the words in my mouth. I have confidence in that. I believe that. I need to believe that.
Because I need you all to know.
I want to be His representative.
I want to be used.
I want to be a vessel.
I want to be salt.

I want to be a comforter.

As I become more His and He becomes more mine, I see how to do that. And it begins with "Jesus."
That's all.
Him, alone.

Spring come quickly

I am so ready to be done with Winter term and go home. I am tired of living off of chocolate and tea and cucumbers. I am tired of staying up till two in the morning because if I don't, I won't finish all my finals. I am tired of not having time to do small things like bake bread and paint and knit. I am tired of reading about macroeconomic policies and how to fix the economy, because the truth is, I don't even care. I am tired of not being able to go running. I am tired of not having a moment of the day to write. I am tired of the fact that my idea of taking a break from homework is doing the easier homework.
I am tired.

I just want to lay on the roof with my sister and find the big dipper and tell her my heart.
I just want calm and peace and slow days.
I just want to sit on the porch with "Anne of Green Gables" and Oswald Chambers.
I just don't want to be tired anymore.

7

He jutted his chin out towards her the way he used to when they were eight and she told him she could beat him to the end of the sidewalk but never did. "I can take care of myself Emma."

She rolled her eyes at him the way she used to when they were fourteen and he told her he could make anything grow and always did. "That's obvious Garland. But that's not what I'm implying."

They sat together in the dirt like they had for years and years and years, their palms pressed onto the cool ground, their fingers stained as they dug small holes and gently thrust the tulip bulbs into them. It was simple repetition for them, they had done it so many times before. 

They had done everything together before.

Emma pressed her hands against her thighs and looked directly at him. "I'm on the one who needs this. I need you to fulfill the order." 

He kept digging. "I will fulfill it Emma." Still digging. "But I will fulfill it under the rules of our contract."

"What if I want a new contract?" She looked away now. "What if I want to renegotiate?"

Garland bent over, his forearms straining as he pulled the pile of dirt forward and spread it over the bulbs. "We agreed years ago Emma. I'm not going to renegotiate just because of your conscience."
"What if you don't make the quota?"
"I will."
"What if you don't?"
"I will."
He was insufferable. She was sweeter than ever. They were facing one another, no longer digging side-by-side, but their foreheads almost touching as they leaned forward. 

"I"m just offering a little helping hand, some support," she said at the dirt, not willing to look at his face for fear of outright rejection.

"And I'm appreciative," he told her with his kindest voice, "but I don't need any help Emma."
He saw the tear slide down her cheek and fall onto her hand as she continued to dig. But these were his struggles, and though they were close as a brother a sister, his struggles were his struggles. Garland was never the sort of man who would pile his hardships on another's shoulders simply for the sake of doing so. He was a storm-weatherer, an uncanny tulip grower with tough skin. He stopped digging and pressed his hands on top of hers. "I'll be fine Emma. I promise."
She looked up at him, her hot breath on his face and silent tears leaving trails on her dirty cheeks. "I wish I could believe that."
He closed the space between their foreheads and pressed his against hers in a gentle manner. "You care too much."
It took her a moment to compose herself, he was so close to her face. Their lips so near. Never in the twenty years they had known one another had their lips been that close. She was undone. She pulled away, with a harsh movement that she knew she would regret later that night as she laid in bed and tossed, unable to sleep and thinking about his skin on hers. "I don't. Not really. I just want my order, else I'll have some very angry brides this spring." 

Garland laughed. Whether out of embarrassment or just because she couldn't be sure. "Of course." He pressed his hands back into the dirt, away from her, away from the air and the oxygen around her. He suffocated his hands in the earth the way he felt like she was suffocating him with her constant denial of his feelings. "The tulips are your greatest concern. That's why you're crying as you try to make a professional business transaction with me."
She wiped her eyes and laid down on the dirty earth, pressing her head to the ground and leaving her face upwards to the grey sky. "You're insufferable," she told the vast expanse above her.
Garland continued to dig. If he was insufferable, she was stubborn. And a heartbreaker. Laying there on his land next to the bulbs they had always planted together with her chest rising and falling angrily and dirt smeared all over her thighs, she was a heartbreaker. She did this every year, came and broke his heart and refused him.

Garland didn't know it then, as he pressed another bulb into the ground and eyed the woman laying front of him with an aching desperation that spoke of years of chasing, this year would be different.
Heartbreak would be no more.
Love was to abound. 

He couldn't know that though. After all, things looked exceptionally bleak and they sky was very grey that morning. One never suspects good things on a grey day. It's contrary.

Small I am

It is hard for me to spill my thoughts lately. They seem so heavy and dark and brooding and wet that I feel a small part guilty for shoving them at people and saying, Here. Take these, would you? I can't hold them anymore. 
But they're not all like that.
Last month I wrote in my journal, I can't see the silver lining in this. And I don't think there is one. I was angry at God, and not without reason. But He was patient with me. Even still, when there are the mornings when I wake up wanting to scream in anger and frustration, even then, He blesses me.
This month is better. It's not easier, but it is better. The struggles have shifted and the tragedy lives elsewhere in my heart, not in that tender place near my spirit that makes me want to shake my fist at the Carpenter. It's in a different place. Still present, but with a different presence. And now I can seek comfort in the one who can offer it most readily and beautifully. That is good. That is better than how it was last month.

And those good thoughts, the lighter ones? They've grown in number.

I was driving away from home group the other night, feeling the best I have felt in a long time. We had talked about Christ and how His forgiveness is unfathomable, how it doesn't end. One of the men there was sitting next to me, and he got really excited and he said with a choked up voice, You know what's really incredible? God has the ability to forgive everyone. No matter what they've done, what they've been through, who they are, He can forgive them. And He will forgive them if they ask. He will do that.
There are some moments in my life when I feel very small.
And as I was driving away, I put the radio on and Joel Houston of Hillsong United was sharing his testimony. And he said something that piled on top of that wonderfulness I was already bringing home with me. He said, God does not fail at things. He does not make mistakes. He does not mess up. And we don't have to worry about His plans, because they're wonderful, they're beautiful, they are not going to fail. Because God does not fail. We may fail, but God does not fail.
I felt even smaller.

There is this verse in the Psalms, where it talks about how God keeps our tears in a bottle. I know for a fact that He has all of mine bottled up from that night as I drove home sobbing and my car was full of the sound of an Australian man's voice saying things I needed to hear.
I love that I know I will never get tired of hearing the same things about Jesus that I do every week. I love that you can devote years to Him, and still cry when you think about what He gave for you. I love how Christianity renews itself daily.

Spring is coming friends. I'm welcoming her with open arms. This winter has been trying. But I'm tired of this bitterness. I'm tired of being an Eeyore when I could be a Christopher Robin. I'm tired of my soggy thoughts dripping everywhere I go. And while I know and understand that it is okay to grieve and feel bad sometimes, I want to count those blessings again, like I was doing only weeks ago. I want that back.

I just want to wake up and have my first thought be light again.