for when it happens... {letters to my four}

there are some things i've learned as i come to the mid point of my life,  and should i be given another 37, almost 36 years, i'm sure i will learn a lot more.

i could come to this place in my life and focus on the one thing that seems to dog my every step,

you will mess up.

not if.

not maybe.

but when.

there will be a myriad of reasons, sweet ones. there will be circumstances beyond your control and there will be details that are very much a part of you and the action you take.  

it's just how it is.

and you can take a look at your mess and feel hopeless.

like you have messed up so badly that there is no way to fix it.

i think i was there.

no, that's not true.

i know i was there.

you may know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God has placed a call on your life.  made it clearer than anything and you keep taking the next step forward each day because you know, eventually, you are going to get there.

and then, you trip. 

you land flat on your face.

you drip with the mess you landed yourself in.

and the one who deceives, he comes close and he whispers those words that sink deep and your heart will sink deeper still.

failure

worthless

un-usable

and you may think that all you are good for is to be placed high up on that shelf of the broken,

the useless,

the screw-ups.

and that focus? the one that zeros in on the mess? 

it will keep you there.

my bible study leader, miss sue, the one who keeps placing me at her table each session, she finds me and tells me to come again for the next one. who cares that i have a newborn! didn't i know how many arms would hold her?  

so i go, and i soak it in. i soak in the message of mercy and i let God get to the tender places that fester with hurt and pain and, dare i say it, anger.

but still i believed, no matter how wrongly, that sure, He can get to those places, heal them and clean them up, but now i'll just be a cleaned up, healed up, broken and useless screw-up saint high up there on the shelf.

right?

that's how it works, isn't it?

oh - i pray that i show you differently.

i pray that you all see it differently than i ever saw it.

because He is becoming what i crave - i can't get enough of Him. this Jesus who continually takes your mama-who-messes-up every. day. and He keeps bending down in the sand and writing out that plan.  He does.  He really does. 

and this is what i learned in that study on james: 

 he was one of the Lord's brothers who mocked Him and called Him mad. 

he was the half-brother of Jesus who didn't believe, but became the head of the Early Church in Jerusalem.

he messed up.

all those years, growing up with Jesus, living life with Creator God and he didn't see. he didn't see His Savior standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

instead, he called Jesus crazy.

but even then, God had a call on his life.

even then.

it never changed.

it never wavered.

"for I know the plans I have for you", declares the Lord, "plans for welfare 

and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. then you will call upon Me 

and come and pray to Me, and I will hear you. you will seek Me and find Me 

when you seek Me with all your heart."

jeremiah 29:11-13

you aren't going to take Him by surprise when you mess up.

He already knows.

His plan covers all that.

no, it probably would have been best if you don't make the choices that you will, that maybe you should have looked a bit closer at the path before you tripped and fell, but where you can only see a bit of the road ahead,  He sees the whole world held in His Hands.

if you find yourself dusty and hidden high up on a saintly shelf, know this - Jesus didn't put you there.

you did.

so climb down - wrestle with Him if you have to, let Him work out in you what needs to be worked out. you may find yourself limping afterwards a bit, but keep walking, little one.

keep walking.

the path ahead of you is all part of His plan...

letting go...{day 3}

 

so we buy a home and move in officially on the very first of june and i remember how i woke up to the sound of rain on the roof while the sky was still dark that night.

it seemed like a blessing of sorts, because He knows how much i love the rain.


and then the sky seemed to dry up. didn't let go of one drop for four long months and we finally let our yard go because i couldn't keep up and he was changing jobs and this little one changing the shape of me kept me in a state of green and i'm sure whatever colour that lawn lost was somehow permanently transferred to my face.


temperatures climbing up past 100 and the lack of moisture quickly turn what was thriving and growing into something brittle and bleached and it hurt to look at.

he heard that fall is a good time to seed, just before the cold of winter comes and spring is still so far away and i stand at the kitchen window and watch as he walks around the yard scattering grass seed while the rain is coming down in sheets.

he keeps sowing while the rain keeps pouring and by the time he looks up at me and catches my eye, that hood pulled up over his head isn't really needed anymore.


our lives can look a bit like that.

or...more accurately, mine can at least.


life can seem so full of blessing until suddenly that sky above is void of any moisture, any relief from the unrelenting heat of the sun.

death sneaks in and steals someone we love...

families are broken apart and that breech lays open, aching for someone to cross over...

words are spoken that can never be taken back...

friendships drift apart and no one knows how to close that gap...

misunderstandings spark an anger that can rage for a lifetime...


and suddenly, all that is left is a shell dry and brittle with patches here and there that are worn down to dirt by feet that carelessly run over.


it can hurt to look at,

hurt to be near,

and it can seem like irreparable damage has been done and what once was green with life will always be this dark and dull and you can either rip it all up,

give up hope and accept that this is how it will always look,


or you can fill your hands with a hope barely breathing in the waiting and release it into ground parched and hardened when the heat is done scalding and the cold winds begin to blow in...


because this whole summer?  while my body has been swelling with a girl-baby that is now stretching and climbing up my ribs deep in the dark of me, i have been desperately waiting for autumn.

i  knew the rain would come back.


i knew that to walk through each hot, dry day would bring the relief of cooler weather and the beauty of jeweled leaves and cozy blankets and warm fires to sip hot cocoa by.

the last two months, He has been asking me to let go of a number of things...


my wish for family has been one of them.


that part of my heart has been dry and brittle and bleached fragile for a while.

and it seems that whenever my heart would lift up my broken to Him, the heat would come even stronger and soon, it felt that there was nothing left to do but let it all go...

let the hot winds blow and ride it all out

and keep my eyes on that sky wide and blue and void of any clouds.


and I see Him now, sowing the hope that i let go of in all those worn and dirt-filled places.


the landscape doesn't look the same,

i don't think that what will grow up in those places will look like what i expected,


but in lifting open hands to Him, and allowing Him to take what i had clenched so tightly, He is using those bruised and broken prayers to raise something beautiful up.



and the rain?

i stand with hands outstretched under clouds that are letting go and leaving me drenched...

o God, You are my God,

earnestly i seek You;

my soul thirsts for you

my body longs for you,

in a dry and weary land 

where there is no water.

i have seen You in the sanctuary

and beheld Your power

and Your glory.

because Your love is better than life,

my lips will glorify You.

psalm 63:1-3

what to expect...

He spoke it in the quiet of the new year.  that promise of a new thing;

of a way in the wilderness and rivers in a desert.


i thought He was referencing my circumstances.

i should have known He was looking at my heart.

and it came after those 10 long months of wondering,

those 2 months of deciding it was all done,

finished,

complete.


it came in the form of that unexpected extra pink line and i sat down,

hushed,

overwhelmed,

and a tiny bit scared.


because that day had been filled with all of my failures as a mother,

frustrations and impatience coming to a head and they saw the worst of me, those 3 that want to be so close,

and that smallest one, the one whose body is deep within but whose presence i can't feel except for the green tinged moments and the overwhelming cravings for salt,

and i don't want to mess them up.

all week i've been carrying the burden of that recording playing over and over and over,

you're a failure. you're a failure as a mama. 

over and over it played until He stopped it in the dark of last night.


i walked out of the sanctuary of our church and straight into moments only He could have orchestrated ~ five women who reached out and spoke life and hope into a heart that felt as dry and wasted as it has ever felt.  and in those words, as the tears started falling and the hope started filling, i felt it ~ i felt those rivers start rushing into the places parched and dying.


when we love Him,we carry Life within us, whether we are mothers or not.  we carry the ability to speak Life into the heart of another and who knows if that is the moment that the river is released, if that new thing sparks into being.



this mother's day holds more than i expected or dreamed,

but it is filled with Life, no matter how small.

and no matter how tiny,

hope is dancing in the dark...

happy mother's day...

open and waiting...

my life is marked by brokenness.

as, i am sure, every person is to some extent whether the pain is large or small.


this jar of clay,

like that pitcher of clay that sat out in the hot sun all summer...

we both share our scars.

i remember, as a young bride-to-be, holding the smooth and cool vessel on that hot september evening surrounded by women celebrating this new stage i was entering into.

i remember imagining the thirst it would quench,

the table it would grace,

the beauty it would add...


10 years later,

weakened by the elements

and little clumsy hands,

that mouth gapes wide

as the lip gives way

and i bend down to pick up the broken pieces.


it's still salvageable.

still usable,

only now?


it's a little scarred.


water drips and dribbles out where it shouldn't,

but it still sits open, waiting to be filled.


open and waiting...

is that what He asks us to be?

and it's lent and i've committed to letting things go

while adding one thing in.

and every morning i read them

these words from paul that make this heart of mine pound...


and it's this one in particular that hits hard as i sit beside what is cracked and glued back together,

as the fragrance of those flowers fill what is open,

what is waiting,

and settles around me,

but we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.

(2 corinthians 4:7 ESV)

our mouths gape open in pain and shock and fear,

as what shatters around us leaves us grasping to pull all those shards in close.

but in our clumsy hands, those shards draw blood,

sink the pain in deeper.


but when He, with Those Hands that bear Their own scars of Love,

when They reach down and gather up and bind together 

and make what is broken

full of worth again,

those fissures?

they only add to the beauty of a life filled with Him.

they give testament to His Power that is made perfect in our fragile weakness.

yes, we have been given a treasure...

miry clay filled up with Him.

for when the prayers are broken...

it's as i pulled the cloth over the surface of the tv stand that i paused and said it out loud,

the life you ask us to lead is too hard, Jesus.  i don't think i can do it.  do You see how often i fail?

and He saw it, in the early hours of this morning,

how i became impatient and spoke harshly and brushed aside what seemed important to them but not so important to me...

i saw the slump in olivia's shoulders,

lyla's tears,

elias' disgruntled sigh.

and He saw it too.


i had read it in again the other night, that passage on love and traded that word for my own name,

kimberley is patient,
kimberley is kind...

and i was neither or any of those things on this morning that even a coffee couldn't save.

dust dusts dust,

and as the cloth becomes blackened with the remnants of our life lived this week,

my heart grows heavier.


what's the use in trying when what is learned in the dark can't be put into practice once dawn arrives?


i stand at the counter slicing through leafy green lettuce and ruby red tomatoes as the dinner hour approaches.

i pull out my little black moleskin with the pages pasted in,

the ones that paul wrote to the colossians to encourage and strengthen,

the ones i'm trying to know fully in mind and heart by the time 2013 rolls in.

i flip it to week 9 and begin to whisper the words over grated cheese,

He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together...

and the grating slows as His answer to my broken prayer comes like a balm over all those raw places..
.

the life He asks me to live really is too hard for me to accomplish.


He is asking the impossible of the ones that choose to follow Him,


because it is only in Him that the weak become strong,

the foolish become wise,

the broken are held together,


and as their small tummies are filled,

my heart begins to overflow...

1318. those pussy willows on my kitchen table
1319. that fresh snowfall outside
1320. the surprise of a shoveled walk and drive

1321. 4 extra children in this house
1322. playdough-making-helpers
1323. the laughter in this house

1324. that amaryllis shoot
1325. the green flecks in tony's eyes
1326. the hope of spring

1327. those tears she cries
1328. freshly bathed children
1329.the smell of fresh baking in my hair

1330. little sleep
1331. whispering i'm sorry in the early hours
1332. those tears that release grief

1333. the bottom of the laundry pile
1334. that smile at the end of the millionth time-out
1335. quiet moments of starbucks - just me and that chai

1336. those dry and brittle leaves
1337. those goldfish scattered across the floor
1338. the love of a father for a daughter

 

when the wind howls...

it's as the wind is howling on the eve of the first day of lent that i find myself bent over in the posture of prayer

and vomit dripping from my hair.


barely able to catch  my breath as my body gives in to what my stomach tries to lose

and i can't see through the tears.


he has the blanket pulled back as i stumble into bed.

pulls me in close against him to calm the tremors that i can't seem to shake.


and it's in the brief respite that i catch a glimpse into what the season means.


we are sick with sin.

sin that consumes, sours our souls.

and the purging of that which makes us sick is ugly,

leaves us feeling raw and vulnerable 

and barely able to lift one's head.


and all i want is a glass of water.

all my soul really needs is the Person Who calls Himself the Living Water -

when i bring my sin-sickness to Him and ask Him to clean my heart all out,

to heal me...

and when He does

He fills me up with Himself.

the very God Who took on flesh,

experienced hunger and pain and sorrow and death,

gives of Himself to quench the parched places left over from the ravages of sin.


so i take it in,

even as my body rebels through the early hours of the morning,

as i feel my humanness - the truth that i am dust - as the dark of the night becomes the dawn of ash wednesday...

i let the words penned by paul that i am trying to plant deep wash over me as i press the cool, wet cloth against my face,

...being strengthened with all power according to His glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and giving joyful thanks to the Father Who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of His holy people in the kingdom of light.  for He has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son He loves, in Whom there is redemption, the forgiveness of sins.    

colossians 1:11-14

and i feel Jesus near.

when it's not very loud...

i have stood on a frozen field with my face lifted up to a night sky alive and dancing with the blues and greens and purples of the northern lights.

and i have felt the awe of Him.


i have stood on the edge of the land beneath my feet and felt the crash of the waves of an ocean pounding deep.

and i have been shaken with the proof of His power.

i have listened to the wind whip itself into a frenzy, watched the black clouds above me swirl and green and form into the beginnings of a funnel that has one seeking safety.

and i have wondered for His mercy.

i have laid my body down 3 times and listened as another's heartbeat deep within me has filled the air that surrounds me.

and i have known Him as Creator.

but.

it's when harsh words have been loudly spoken,

when one of us is firmly planted in the hall,

the other braced in against the kitchen sink,

and pain flying in all that space between...


when i find myself on the floor of our closet,

tears pouring down and i hear that door open...


when he lowers himself

and brings us both to the same level;

when he says those words that break through the ice,

reaches out his hands,

asks me to look into his eyes,

and we forgive each other...


it's in those moments,

the ones void of lights and noise and movement...

the simple ones

that i come to know Him as

Healer,


Redeemer,

Friend.


and He is there

and so intimately close

in the hush of a gentle whisper...

the month of here {day 8}...and the moments i wish i could take back

there are moments that one wishes they could take back.

today held a few of those.


harsh words written down, a send button pushed and cyber space held what i should have kept back.


there are friends who are sisters and sisters who are friends and love binds us close and in the midst of emotion run high, grace was freely given...

but that wound?

left by my own words?

oh.

one can begin to feel so small.


i remember the freedom i felt in coming to him when i did something stupid...the father who declared me, the married-in-one, his own.

when i didn't understand, or i felt confused, or i just needed guidance in knowing how to find that next step.


i found myself sifting through shelves, through boxes...searching for the bits of him we still have here.

wishing i could hear his voice, longing for the wisdom he would have shared so freely.

instead, i held in my hands one of the many volumes that had been cradled in his through the years.


placed the books of an earthly father right up next to the one of my Heavenly One and turned the pages and read.

the ache is still there...

i think sin is like that most times.

eats away at failed and miserable attempts at control gone awry.


but through the grace of my sister, the echo of a father, the way my Jesus restores...

today isn't a lost cause.

not ruined by what i said.

instead it is step marked by mercy that will journey with me into the next.

and i give thanks on this eighth day of this month that finds me here...even when days are marred and misunderstood.

flung macaroni...

i heard the breaking before i stood up.

i heard her gasp and her little feet dance and her instant, mama, i'm sorry!


but it was enough.

that one final breaking that broke open my tongue and i stood in the middle of flung macaroni and the shards of pottery couldn't have cut deeper than my words that spilled out.

i heard her run to her room, sobbing.  my little girl who isn't quite four, and i knelt in the mess and watched elias dance in the cheese, reveling in the sensation of squishing the squishy into the carpet.

lyla placed a dishtowel in my hands.

~

and i gathered up the scattered into the blue and white linen checks...the displaced and the broken...and drew up the corners.

rinsed out the dishrag until the water ran clear and bent down again to wash the colours off the floor.

but my heart?

those colours are deep and the old nature fights hard to live and my tears are never enough to wipe it all away...

~

she isn't one to hide away for long.

i watched her, from the corner of my eye, slowly wander down the hall.

she watched me, still on my knees, tears on my face, cleaning the last of her spill.

she pressed against the wall, trying to remain hidden, as i stood up and walked to the couch.

the words i had shouted still resonating in the air-space between us...


~

and they catch in my throat, for the briefest of moments, but they do and i face a choice.

i don't really have to ever say them.


but we are broken, she and i, in these moments of silence and uncertainty.

where i am the mama and she is but the child who wonders what happens if the mama chooses to take her love away?

and i wouldn't,

not ever,

but it's there, always there, in each one of us.

what happens if i stop being worthy of love?


and i can see it there, in her big chocolate brown eyes; that question that haunts and i forget about the choice and just. jump. in.

olivia, i am so sorry.  so very sorry for the words that i said.  i need your forgiveness.


and because she is olivia and because she loves ferociously, i only had to tenderly say her name before she had flung herself in my arms.

~

there are fissures in every person.

ones that bleed and break and fester.

the ones that seem to have a life of their own, always gasping to know, do you love me?




and it's an insatiable beast because it goes looking in all the wrong places.

for there is only One Place, One Person, Who can clamp those jaws down.


and His Name is Jesus.


the fissures may remain, the broken pieces may collect in a heap; but He loves the brokenhearted, the ones who aren't quite whole.

He loves the lonely and the hurting, the questioning and the longing.

He even loves the broken mama who breaks small hearts with pointed words.

but His love isn't passive, it's active and strong.

and it strengthens and changes,

it fills a mouth that spewed ugly, with words that bind and heal.

He will never give up, never stop transforming a heart bent before Him until every breath that catches is caught in praise for Him...


~

and i am sure of this, that He Who began a good work in you

will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.

philippians 1:6 esv

He knows...

but do i?

He knows the depths of my heart, how i long to speak out of the darkness of my sinfulness ~ to cause as much pain as i deem has been inflicted on me.

the want to be vindicated, the showing that i am not as how i have been painted to be.

i read somewhere this evening the truth that if i am more focused on the sins of others, i haven't truly begun to repent.

there is rich truth in this simple yet harsh statement...have i truly come to the place where i am humbled enough to see myself as i truly am?

and who am i?

i am made of dust.

dirt.

clay.

mix tears of hurt and complaint in with all that earth and you are left with a muddy mess.

daily, do i see my true human state?  or do i grab hold of the grace so freely given and blithely wander throughout my minutes ignoring the stains, that harsh word quickly spoken, that hurt feeling that begins to fester into a blister of bitterness...

if i were to be honest (and even if i wasn't, you would know...) i choose the easy cloak of blitheness to wear over repentance every. single. day.

half-mumbled in prayers that are already being invaded by dreams as i drift off, safely cocooned in the warmth of my blankets and His Grace.

do i truly understand the cost of repentance?  could i recognize what repentance looks like - not in the life of the person next to me, but in my own?

He says, in His Holy Word, the sacrifices He finds acceptable are that of a broken and contrite heart.

do i know what that looks like?

i know what my broken heart looks like in the unexpected loss of my father-in-law.

i know what it looks like to watch tony walk through this dark valley with all it's ugly twists and turns.

i know what it looks like to watch all of my hopes and dreams for my life here slowly die.

what it feels like to face the tearing away from friendships that i hold so very dear.

what it looks like to watch my children hurt others and be hurt.

yes ~ my heart has been broken, but has it ever been broken in repentance over hurting my Heavenly Father?  over falling short?

do i find myself caught up in the wonder of the big-ness of His Grace and the horrid, putrid stench of my sin?

no.

sadly, no...

i feel as though my heart has blinders and i wonder, how does one begin to take them down? how do i begin to view my life as it truly is; constantly striving against the ugly stain of sin that constantly mars each of my days?

and yet...

still, still a life covered by the blood of His sacrifice...

i don't ask, rhetoric.  i ask because i truly want to know.

His grace, so vast and all encompassing and my sin, so invasive, so warped...how do i see the depth of each so that i am completely repulsed by one and wholly humbled by the other?

i long to know.  i long to be changed ~ to truly taste and see the goodness of His undeserved Grace and live with the wonder of Him.

i want to live wild with the joy of His love...

i want to know...

as i think on His sacrifice...

(source)

May thy cross be to me
    as the tree that sweetens my bitter Marahs,
    as the rod that blossoms with life and beauty,
    as the brazen serpent that calls forth the look of faith.

By thy cross crucify my every sin;
Use it to increase my intimacy with thyself;
Make it the ground of all my comfort,
    the liveliness of all my duties,
    the sum of all thy gospel promises,
    the comfort of all my afflictions,
    the vigour of my love, thankfulness, graces,
    the very essence of my religion;

And by it give me that rest without rest,
    the rest of ceaseless praise.

--The Valley of Vision

what would yours say...

it's been a while since something has moved me so deeply. maybe because of the hopelessness i have felt in my own life when only one side of the cardboard had been written on. maybe because of the hopelessness i sometimes feel as i fall on my knees in prayer for the ones i love who have walked away from Him.

defined by how used up i was...

but as i've learned, and still am learning, each piece of cardboard has two sides.

two.

that means that even if i can only read one side...



...He is writing something amazing on the other.

...defined by how filled up i am in Jesus!

what would yours say?

ps. remember to pause the music on the little ipod to the right...:)

the princess and the tomboy...

lyla is a glorious combination of tomboy and girly-girl. she loves to be outside with her daddy and dig in the dirt or kick a ball around or dog pile on him when he lays back in the grass to relax. she doesn't mind getting dirty.

she also loves to follow me into the bathroom, climb up on the potty and sit with her chin in her hands and ask *whatcha doin', mama?" as i brush on a bit of this and dab on a bit of that to my face. she giggles with glee as i open up my iridescent pot of purple (a very grave shopping mistake...) and swipe some colour across her eyelids. she's even been known to borrow my very expensive make-up brushes and hide them in her treasure chest. (a.k.a: the *just her size* potty she is terrified of using)

so when she brought this book over to me the other day to read, i wasn't all that surprised.

it has all the elements of suspense (for a 2 year old) and rescuing that most little girls dream of. as she studies each picture and absorbs each word, she doesn't move for fear, i'm sure, of discovering that the ending changes...that the princess doesn't get rescued in the end. (i'm sorry if i ruined it for you...)

last night i cried as i read it to her for the 20th time. as she snuggled up in my arms, the truth of the story struck me. a princess decided she didn't want to be a princess...left the safety of her Father's castle in disguise and got covered in mud as she tried to be just like the street children. discovering that she did indeed long to be a princess, she hurried back to the castle only to discover that the secret entrance she had left through was now locked. that meant she would have to go through the front entrance.

the very public, very pristine front entrance.

which would now be covered from the mud caked onto her shoes.

which would now be witnessed by whomever happened to be wandering by, or working near.

and who answered the door? the very person she had run away from - her Daddy.

and who welcomed her in, cleaned her up and tucked her into bed? her Daddy.

and who assured her, after her fervent promises to never stray again, that while she would stray, He would always welcome her back? her Daddy.

lyla loves that part. she always tenderly strokes the King's face on the last page and studies Him for a moment before she asks me to read it again.

and i do, because the message needs to sink into my heart a bit deeper.

someone wise said to me today that it might be time for me to take a break from blogging about the loss of my reputation from foolish mistakes made so long ago - because that isn't who i am anymore.

and how i long to lay claim to that promise and live in that freedom.

but i haven't.

because my eyes have been glued to the mud on my shoes instead focused on the One who has cleaned me off and tucked me into the safety of His arms.

focused on the words, the shunning, the looks from those in town who refuse to release me from the trappings of who i was.

wondering how i could ever live in the freedom of being a new creation when my mistakes were so public and still on the lips of so many.

and the burden becomes heavier, my steps a bit slower, my eyes a bit more downcast once again.

but today, after that simple comment made in love, i realized two things on my way home:

~i am not the first to have made a mistake. jeremiah described Israel's repentance when he said:
"...' i have been disciplined. restore me and i will return, because you are the Lord my God. after i strayed, i repented; after i came to understand, i beat my breast. i was ashamed and humiliated because i bore the disgrace of my youth'."

and God in His mercy replied:
"...'My heart yearns for him, i have great compassion for him,' declares the Lord. 'set up road signs; put up guideposts. take note of the highway, the road that you take. return o virgin Israel, return to your towns. how long will you wander, o unfaithful daughter?'". (jer 31:18b-19, 20b-21a)

and while i'm not the first to make a mistake, i have made plenty of them. but in the making of the mistakes, in the repenting and disciplining, i also have a call to use my mistakes as guideposts, warnings if you will, to keep my so easily distracted eyes turned firmly onto my Savior. because it is only through Him that i can find my restoration.

and what is the second of the two things you may ask? (if you've made it this far...) while it's important to have guideposts set up, it's dangerous to just stand there and focus on them. why? my Father said it so plainly through the prophet isaiah:
"forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. see, i am doing a new thing! now it springs up; do you not perceive it? i am making a new way in the desert and streams in the wasteland." (isa. 43:18-19)

if there is any beauty, any springs of refreshment coming out of my wasted years, i don't want to miss it by standing still, focusing on the mirage of *what-if''s* and *if-only's*. i want to dive head first into the cleansing pool of the oasis He has provided through my pain and emerge new, changed...completely and fully His.

so it is here that i'm choosing to step forward in the promise that i am a new creation in Him (2 cor5:17), allowing my mistakes, even the hurtful whispers around me, to be guideposts, reminders of where i've been and where i never want to go again.

it's time to glance down once more, find that the mud has been lovingly removed from my shoes, and focus on my Father's face.

and i promise that the next post will be lighter...and full of pictures - we had our family photos taken today:).