The Reason.

A deep, deep breath fills your entire lungs, all the way to the bottom, to the intercostals, into your back. It is crisp and cool. After a long time of tense muscles and struggle to remain balanced, your hands join together and lips utter "namaste." Cool pillows, warm hugs, safe homes.

The human condition is filled with really beautiful moments. Moments of repose, peace, and clarity. The are interspersed between hours, lifetimes, seconds of the grind-- pain and mediocrity.

In the gospels, there are many recordings of Jesus healing men and women by the touch of his hand or sound of his voice. Fatal diseases and lifelong struggles were gone. The blind could see, the paralyzed could walk. In my own life, prayer for healing is something I am constantly seeking.

The afflictions of depression and anxiety run deep in my life. More than just a mess of pills and doctors appointments and constantly feeling tired. My mind occasionally stops in its tracks and drops all of my rational thoughts through the floor. My emotions slam into overdrive and I am suddenly governed by visceral, tangible, flighty, raw feelings.

What a terrible word, "feelings." feelings. feelings.

My body and mouth become void of my soul, functioning on their own. My words jump into superspeed and tumble to the floor, like a pile of film suddenly exposed to the light. They shake and change to glass, flying across the room. Almost always, there is someone I love in the path.

My eyes bulge, fascinated by what I am seeing. Detached, I am curios and awed by the movement.

When it is over, I find myself sitting on my own bed, confused by the offended face staring at me and my own tears on my cheeks. I know it was me. It was all my fault. I am overcome with sorrow, and put another pebble in the pile.

The pebbles nearly reach the ceiling, each one a representation. They all hold a mistake. Reasons for my self hatred. I fill up the spaces of my life with these stones and carry them around in my pockets.

So I pray. I pray relentlessly to touch the robe of Jesus Christ. For Him to look at me and say "Get up and walk, my daughter, for you have been healed."

The Lord is all powerful and completely gracious, and I yearn for him with all my being. So here I am, ready to be healed. Help me almighty God-- I cry out to you! The shouts echo around me.

Yet I am continually answered with either no or wait. I don't know which. Is it wrong for me to keep praying to be healed? When should I simply pray to be accepting of my diseases? Am I an amputee praying for the regrowth of my arm? I have no idea.

So when brief moments of peace flutter into my life, I do not take them for granted. I savor the quiet, the calm. I sit with a smile on my lips and soak in the warm sun. Because of these struggles I see so much beauty in unconventional places. The ticking of a clock. The colors of light. The way he smells.

I know that God loves me more than my own mind can understand. He looks at me like a lover, a father, a creator. He knows the hairs on my head and every breath I take. Whenever I have a panic attack, He reminds me that I was never in control in the first place. When I throw fists at Him, He whispers "You are beautiful." He replaces my room full of pebbles with scripture and love.


I am a chaotic mess most of the time. I am a cracked bowl, an empty cup.

But that's the point then, really, isn't it?

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." 
-2 Corinthians 12:9

I will continue to pray for God to heal me, but more than that I will pray for HIS perfect and sovereign will to be done. Calm is only found amid the chaos. Joy can only surface among a sea of suffering.



Only through destruction can there be beauty.

Good News!

Something new is happening to me. My chest has this weird, bubbly, warm feeling. It's almost like the functioning of my organs is creating too much friction. My hands dance, unable to stay still. My limbs twitch with restlessness. My voice sounds somehow quieter than before, my gaze more gentle as though my very features have softened.

I am a new creation--completely enraptured by the Holy Spirit. For the first time, I have reached an understanding of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The Gospel (synonymous with the Good News) is that I am a filthy sinner. I deserve death for the evil that resides within my deepest soul. I am inescapably soiled. Worse still, I am trapped by the ultimate claustrophobia found within the realization that every one who has ever walked this earth is in the same boat. Well... all except for one.

Jesus Christ lived a perfect life in the face of unimaginably, inescapably difficult circumstances. He was slaughtered in a gruesome and public manner, rejected by the world, and isolated by God. Christ cried out and asked that the cup of this horrific murder could be passed from him -- but God denied him. The son of man obeyed, desiring God's will to be done over his own.

As Jesus hung on the cross, God turned His back from him. This was so in order that God would never have to turn his back on me. In that moment, my punishment was lifted. The wrath of God was taken out on the sweet Jesus 2,000 years ago instead of me.

My heart is prone to wander. I turn my back on the perfect lamb's sacrifice and turn to my own selfish desires. Yet God promises that His mercies for me are NEW every morning. This is grace. And as sin increases, so does the grace increase also.

Now, I am changed from the inside out by a part of God living within me-- the Holy Spirit. My desires do a 180 and I am left with utter delight in my gentle Savior. I long to pray because when my eyes are closed, the creator of the universe listens to my heart. I read scripture because God has written me this very intimate letter meant personally for me to understand the purpose of life. I serve others because I can't help it. I so desperately want them to understand the Gospel. I want them to feel deep joy rooted to their very core. Sin calls to me, but by the grace of God I am not seduced.

I am a NEW creation, no longer bound to sin but free from condemnation. I am a child of God - an heir to His kingdom. I am a saint. I am free of the oppression of American society because I am simply a momentary visitor to the world. A sojourner. There is a room waiting for me in Heaven, where I shall live for all of time.

I will not taste death. Judgement and ridicule from people in my life rolls off my back because I am free to dwell within the love of Yahweh. I no longer have to shout and fight to prove that I am worthy of affirmation, because I am eternally affirmed through my identity in Christ.

The best part is that I could study this phenomenon of the Good News every single day for the rest of my life and would never have scratched the surface. I am indescribably humbled and more grateful than words could ever express.

It makes my chest have this weird, bubbly, warm feeling.

The die has been cast.

"The die has been cast. The decision has been made.
I am a disciple of Jesus.
Therefore, I won’t look back, let up, slow down, back away or be still.
My past is redeemed, my present is empowered and my future is secure.
I’m done with low living, sight waking, small planning, smooth knees, colorless dreams, tame visions, mundane talking, cheap giving and dwarfed goals.
I no longer need preeminence, prosperity, position, promotions, praise or popularity.
I don’t have to win, be first, be right, recognized, regarded or rewarded.
I now live by faith, lean on His presence, love with patience, live by prayer and labor with power.
My goal is God’s glory, my face is set, my pace is fast, my road is narrow, my way is rough, my companions are few, my guide is reliable and my mission is clear.
I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back, deluded or delayed.
I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the presence of adversity, negotiate at the table of the enemy, ponder at the pool of popularity or meander in the maze of mediocrity.
I won’t give up, shut up, let up or slow up until I have stayed up, stored up, prayed up, paid up and spoken up for the cause of Christ.
I must go till He comes, give till I drop, preach till all know and work till He stops me.
Christ has qualified me to become a part of the Fellowship of the Unashamed.
I am His and He is mine."

-The Fellowship of the Unashamed, as shared by Tullian Tchividjian in his sermon Jesus + Nothing = Everything
http://www.thevillagechurch.net/sermon/jesus-plus-nothing-equals-everything/

Patent-leather shoes.

I am a very introspective person. I can sit around for hours and hours, all on my own, thinking. It has often times lead me down strange paths, into the unknown abyss of wondering why I was ever created, if there is any purpose to life... yada yada yada.

Weird thing is... I have found the answer. The path that lead me to this epiphany was in realizing that I hate myself. 

Woah woah woah, don't check out. This isn't THAT kind of blog. Simmer.

Ever since I had a bowl cut in the 90's, I have known that I am a sinner. I am disgusting. I am awful. That God finds my very nature to be putrid. My self image has been wrapped around this idea that I am deeply broken and appalling. 

I'm not sure if children are always taught of God's wrath first because it is meant to scare the pink-cheeked, middle-class, patent-leather-shoed children of America into submission... or if small minds are only capable of avoiding the negative. Regardless of the origin, I knew to fear God. I knew that if I didn't say my prayers right, or missed a Sunday, or swore at my sister, that I would be condemned to hell (which, disclaimer, is not scriptural truth... HELLO.)

I had a running scoreboard in my head, something similar to the house points at Hogwarts. 10 points to sin! 50 points to righteousness! It was a race of sorts, my soul balancing in the middle. My ideology was focused upon the idea that sin separates man from God. I knew that scripture refers to the idea that all sin is equal. All sin is equal before the eyes of God, meaning that rolling my eyes at my mother and murder are equally horrific to God. This is all true.

Yet, I missed something big along the way. 

My middle name is Grace, did you know that? Lindsey Grace Clegg. Do you know what grace means? I didn't. 

GRACE [gr-ae-s[ Noun: Divine love and protection bestowed freely on people.

Sins are like the bottom of the ocean floor. Human lies, and views their sin as shallow, near the beach. Human rapes, and this sin is viewed to be at the depths of the deep. But grace is the top of the still, still water. God's love is the the ocean, filling in all the inequities of the floor of the sea and allowing grace to cover everything.

Once you confess with your mouth that God is LORD and believe in your heart, then the Heavenly Father sees you from atop the still waters. This idea absolutely blows my mind. I cannot fully understand why God shows us grace, or why His mercies and love are never ceasing. 

It is, truly, comforting to know how much of God I do not understand. I will never come to understand grace, and why God chose for me to partake in it. Yet if we had a God that we were able to understand, there would be no need for faith. There would be no need for His love. Without love given freely, there would be no cross. Without the cross, God never would have turned His back on Jesus during the final hours. Without God having turned His back on His only son, He would have to turn His back on me. 

At the end of the day, here is what I know:

-I am a sinner, and deserve God's wrath

-God loves me freely anyway. 

I relish the beautiful, paradoxical juxtaposition between the wrath of the fear-inspiring God and His all consuming love for us. Jesus took all of the punishment we deserve for having sinned on the cross. The old is gone, and the new is come. The veil was torn, and there is no longer any need for the old law. There is no guilt in the promise of eternal life in bliss, because it is GIVEN FREELY. It is given with grace. 

I am still that rotten 5 year old with the patent-leather shoes. But I am a rotten little tramp who has learned that God doesn't look at my sin. Instead, He looks into my heart and sees that I believe He is LORD, and allows my waters to be stilled with grace. 

I can now view myself as lovely, because I have been reborn to be so. I am in the image of God. I am the daughter of an all-sufficient King. Jesus ransomed me, hanging on the hillside. 

"There is NO condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. Because you belong to Him, the power of the life-giving spirit has freed you from the power of sin that leads to death." 

                                      -Romans 8-1-2

A night in the ER with Peter

            “It’s okay sis, don’t worry,” The boy said. “Our God gives and takes away.”

This was Peter’s statement on the night of June 21^st, 2012. I was with Peter in a van that belongs to the camp where we both work, being rushed to the hospital in Boone--nearly a half hour away. His twin sister, Arielle, was with us as well and it was clear that she feared desperately for her brother’s life.

            We were headed to the hospital because Peter was in the middle of a very serious panic attack, which was causing skyrocketing blood pressure and confusion about his surroundings. It was 9 pm and night was starting to fall. The sun was setting as we sped over gravel roads, providing a stunning background in juxtaposition with the panic and fear filling up the vehicle.

Besides Peter and Arielle, there were two nurses in the van. One was the driver and the other was along in case the boy started to seize or pass out during the drive. I was there because the sister knew that I suffer from severe anxiety attacks and that I would know what to do.

I had been in the middle of worship team practice in the chapel at camp when the head guys counselor ran up to me and said “One of the guys on staff is having a panic attack. We need you.” Without hesitating, I ran from the stage up to the sound booth where I found Peter laying on the ground, many of the guy counselors crowded around him shouting his name.

I asked the crowd to move and knelt down next to the boy that had fallen. “What is happening to me?” he asked me when he saw my face.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” I told him. “I just need you to squeeze my hand really tight and start breathing as slowly as you can.

“I’m not sure where I am or what’s going on. I don’t remember falling. Why am I on the ground? I don’t feel right.”

“I know, Peter it’s okay. You’re having a panic attack,” I told him. “Your mind thinks that there is something very big and scary to fear, even though there is nothing wrong. All of your systems are gearing up for you to fight or run away. Your body is fearing death.”

“Lindsey, I don’t feel okay. I can’t breathe.”

It was then that the nurses came to the scene and took over. His blood pressure was 188 over 120, and they knew he needed to go to the emergency room—now. The decision was quickly made that he couldn’t walk by himself, so the head guys counselor and I took his arms around our shoulders and made our way down the narrow staircase of the sound booth and across the lobby.

When we opened the doors to go outside and get him into the waiting suburban, a hundred campers and counselors waiting to go inside for evening chapel greeted us. The setting was tense, silent, and fearful. Campers looked questioningly to their counselors for explanation, who then looked to us. All I could say was, “Pray.”

The half hour drive to the nearest hospital was one of the most God filled moments of my life. The nurses were focused on getting us to the hospital, so conversation was left to Peter, Arielle, and me. I grabbed Peter’s bible out of his backpack and opened it to a passage in Isaiah 40.

      “Look up and see: who created these?
      He brings out the starry host by number; He calls all of them by name.
      Because of His great power and strength, not one of them is missing…
      Do you not know? Have you not heard?
      Yahweh is the everlasting God, the Creator of the whole earth.
      He never grows faint or weary; there is no limit to His understanding.
      He gives strength to the weary and strengthens the powerless.
      Youths may faint and grow weary, and young men stumble and fall,
      but those who trust in the LORD will renew their strength;
      they will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary;
      they will walk and not faint!”

I read loudly to be heard over the tires on gravel road and the nurse on the phone. I wasn’t sure if Peter was hearing me, so I shouted his name. He looked back at me as though realizing that I was there for the first time.

“Peter,” I asked, ”Did you know that this God, the one who made all the stars, He is right here with us in the van? He’s right here Peter. He thinks about you so often it can’t be numbered. Yahweh is with you Peter.”

After a moment of searching the van with his eyes, Peter focused on my face. “I think I forgot about that," he paused. "You’re right… He’s here.”

Arielle realized that her brother had regained lucidity and took the moment to recount stories from their childhood.

“Peter, do you remember when we were little and one of us would cry, and mom and dad would put us next to each other and we would stop? I’m right here, Peter.” It was more than evident in her voice the deep love she shared with her brother. It was a love bigger than growing up together—they were bound by the unabashed knowledge that God is truly the root of all love.

Arielle began praying for her brother aloud and then the nurses and I took turns as well. We prayed for peace in Peter’s heart and the hands of our mighty God placed firmly around him. We prayed for understanding of sovereignty and that Christ’s light would banish any evil in our presence. We prayed for an abundance of mercy, grace, and healing.

I’m not sure how much Peter remembers from those moments, but his body stopped shaking while we were praying. Later in the night he would tell me that amongst all the confusion, he knew that lots of people were praying for him and that it kept him calm.

After our prayer was finished, Peter began to battle with his seatbelt. He was straining physically to turn his body all the way around in his seat. The nurse in the driver’s seat was confused by his actions and reached out her hand to stop him.

 Peter mumbled something about the sky and continued to wrestle his way around. Finally, he froze.

“Look!” Peter cried. “Look at that sunset. I think… I think God painted it just for me.”

There was a sound, somewhere between a gulp of tears and a guffaw of laughter. “He did Peter, He painted it just for you,” cooed Arielle.

“It’s like it’s coming right at me! I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. I’ve never even really noticed the sunset before."

We all turned to see the last wisps of the sun disappearing behind the curve of the road. Arielle continued to choke up.

With perfect calm and the orange sky reflecting in his eyes, Peter looked at Arielle for the first time all night and spoke, “It’s okay sis, don’t worry. Our God gives and takes away.”

Later that evening, Peter made a full recovery and walked out of the ER on his own, a big smile on his face. It was undeniable that God had revealed himself to Peter, a hand of healing outstretched. I will not soon forget the events of that night--for God is good and faithful. To see the work of God is to taste heaven.

“The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him, and He delivers them.” 
–Psalm 34:7

Obsession.

True beauty is discovering your own inadequacy while standing in the light of the King.

Inadequacy is a haunting word. We run from it, dive under a rock and hide. No one ever admits that they are inadequate. We live our lives spending money we don't have and devoting time we shouldn't waste to proving our own adequacy. Our modern society leads us to believe that life is about proving our righteousness on a curve compared to others.

A staggering amount of self-declared Christians in America (including myself) spend their efforts trying to emulate a cheap reflection of Christ instead of having a relationship with Him. Focus is spent upon acting pure rather than dealing with the darkness within. They try to fool other people into thinking they are sinless in hopes that they will be looked up to, respected. They strive to avoid questioning and judgement, believing that this is the key to the kingdom.

The truth is that Christ prefers us in a state of weakness. In Matthew 5:3-5, Jesus says "Blessed are the poor of spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven... Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth."

God knows the darkness within. He sees all of our failures and there is absolutely no covering it up. When we allow ourselves to admit our imperfections and truly sinful nature, that is when we can draw near to Christ. In our weakness, He makes us strong. In our emptiness, He fills us up with His love. In our brokenness, God's grace fills in all the cracks and makes us whole.

This last week at camp, I was able to share a part of my testimony with a chapel full of middle schoolers. I shared with them about my experience of being bullied in middle school, as well as my ongoing struggle with depression and anxiety. I have always battled with sharing my testimony publicly and generally haven't had the courage to do it in the past. God gave me strength that night, and the Spirit guided my words. When I finally admitted these struggles, fears, and weaknesses; God used me like He never has before. I was able to see the pain I have gone through touch the lives of other young men and women. Young girls came up to me in tears thanking me for my story, and many counselors shared that deep conversations were sparked that night in their cabins. If I had let my pride stop me, some of those campers wouldn't have gotten to know Christ that night the way they did. Soli gloria Dei--all glory be to God.

Nobody is moved by a person who pretends to be perfect. This is the greatest lesson that God is teaching me right now. I am becoming obsessed with the true love of Yahweh. He holds me close at all times, and carries me when I am weak. I have been having panic attacks lately and even been passing out due to my anxiety. The beautiful thing is that it forces me to rely on Christ's strength at all times. Instead of mourning the loss of my "perfectly strong" facade, I celebrate God's goodness in the times of my distress. I am a beautifully broken King's kid, and He loves me despite my past and wretched sins. I feel His grace and tender caring love around me as His mercies are refreshed each morning.

The nature of God's unconditional, agape love points directly to the cross. Allowing oneself to be meek, humble, and broken before the creator of the universe is a life worthy of the gospel. Live worthy of the gospel, and watch your life change infront of your very eyes.

Find yourself obsessed with His true love, and watch Him fill you up with a peace and joy like you could never imagine.

Noise.

I am tired of all the noise.

Life barrels on, and all I feel is my flesh demanding, demanding, demanding. My soul aches for heaven yet the realities of this place slam me back to the ground with every breath I take. It is so easy to get sucked into the expectations of an unrelentingly meaningless and shallow society. All smile without compassion. No one ever wants to know the answer to how-are-you's. Every worldly thing shines with seduction. Arpeggiated voices sound of laughter like bells and voices drip with inviting secrets and promises of forgetting reality. There is a constant ringing in my ears.

I'm tired of it. Absolutely sick. This world has nothing for me.

If all I had was life here, I would be out. Off the face of this planet. Dead by my own hands. It sounds horrible, but life without God is horrible. The astounding thing is that God loves us so much that he will grant us life without Him if it is what we choose. My will is truly so free that I can pick desolation, denial, anger, or apathy as a life worthy of idolatry. He won't pull us away from the decisions we make. He will sit across the room from you with open hands every time you spit on Him, but He will never draw you near without you first coming near to Him.

And the second my eyes fall away from Mount Calvary and the veil that was torn, my flesh would demand my isolation from God, because being a Christian is pretty much the hardest thing in the world. Because God doesn't care if you are happy. He cares that you are His. Through God you will be rewarded with all of the desires of your heart within his will and an eternity of joy and peace. But on this earth, you are rewarded with suffering. Pain that never ceases. Noise that never stops.

So why would I want to be here? How could I desire anything of this world? Well, I don't. Most of the time I don't want to be present.

And yet the truth is that I am saved by Christ, and my presence on earth demands that I have purpose here. My life is intended to mean something and I have the reassurance of health. If I didn't have meaning, God wouldn't hesitate to take my life away. What a demanding, harsh, stunning, obsessive, remarkable, inescapable reality. His love is water pouring over my head, startling me with it's goodness and terrifying me by its depth.

The world is noise. Sensory assaulting, mind numbing, relentless noise. Yahweh's melody is the only peace. I sing with fervor for my savior. And with Him, I live.

"Waiting" by P4CM

"So it seemed that it was cool for everyone to be in a relationship but me.
So I took matters into my own hands, and ended up with him.
Him who showed characteristics of a liar and a thief.
So why was I surprised when he broke into my heart?
I called 911 but I was cardiac arrested for aiding and abetting cause it was me who let him in.
Claiming we were "just friends."

It was already decided for me from first date that even if he wasn't I was going to make him the one.
You know, I was tired of being alone and I simply made up in my mind that it was about that time, so I decided to drag him along for the ride, cause I was always the bridesmaid and never the bride.
A virgin in the physical but mentally just a grown woman on the corner in heat who was tired of the wait.
So I was going to make him the one.

He had a form of Godliness, but not much.
But but hey, I can change him! So I'll take him. He's close, enough.
Ready to sell my aorta for a quarter not knowing the value of what used to be.
Arteries so clogged with my will that it blocked His will from flowing through me.
So I thank Christ that it gave this heart an attack, flat line obscured vision put me flat on my back.
Through my ignorance He saw, so through my sternum he sawed to crack open my chest to transplant Psalm 51:10--a renewed heart and a renewed spirit within me--so that I thoroughly understand and better yet fully comprehend how much I need to wait... for you.

See, the bad thing is that I knew he wasn't you from the beginning.
Cause in the beginning was the Word and he didn't even sound or shine like your son.
Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks and all he could whisper were sweet empty nothings, which meant nothing.
He couldn't even pray when I needed him to and asking hin to fast would be absurd so forget about being cleansed and washed with water through the Word.

But I know you.
You're already praying for me.
Even though you haven't met me let me assure you that I will wait for you.
I will no longer date, socialize, or communicate with carbon copies of you to appease my bordom or to quench my thirst for attention and short lived compliments from sorta-kindas.
You know, he's sorta kinda right but sorta kinda wrong.
His first name's Luke, last name Wrong.

I won't settle for false companionship.
I won't lay in the embrace of his arms attempting to find some closeness but never feeling so far apart cause I just want to be held. Because all I have to do is say no.
No more almost sessions of almost coming close. Passing winks and buying drinks and "Imma imma imma flirt."
Who flirts with the ideology of, "can you just tell me how much I can get away with and still be saved?"

No more. I'll stay in my bed, alone, and write poems about how I will wait for you.
He won't even come close. Our fingers won't even interlock. We won't even exchange breath because I have thoughts that are saved that as God our Father only equips YOU to open.
I will no longer be graded down from so called friends and family talks talking about concern for my biological clock when I serve the author of time...
who is not subject to time but I am subject to Him and He has the ability to stop, fast forward, pause, rewind at any given time so
if we could role play you would be Abraham and I would be Sarah, or you could be Isaac and I'll be Rebecca-- a servant's answered prayer, "I am bone of your bone and flesh of your flesh,
made up of your rib, Adam."
And once me meet, like electrons I will be bound to your nucleus completely indivisible, atom.
We even speak the same math; 1 + 1 +1 = 3 which really equals 1 if you add'em.

We were all created in his image, but you have the ability to respect, detect, and even reflect the Son.
If I were to explain what you look like you would have to look like a star, a son of the Sun and I would gain energy simply from the light that you shine on me.
I would need you in order to complete my photosynthesis.
I await your revelation but again from the genesis, I will wait for you...

and I will know you.
Because when you speak, I will be reminded of Solomon's wisdom. Your ability to lead will remind me of Moses. Your faith will remind me of Abraham. Your confidence in God's word will remind me of Daniel. Your inspiration will remind me of paul. Your heart for God will remind me of David. Your attention to detail will remind me of Noah. Your integrity will remind me of Joseph. Your ability to abandon your own will will remind me of the disciples.
But your ability to love selflessly and unconditionally will remind me of Christ.
I won't need to identify you by any special Matthews or any special Marks, cause His word will be tatted all over your heart.

And you will know me, and you will find me
where the boldness of Esther meets the warm closeness of Ruth.
Where the hospitality of Lydia is aligned with the submission of Mary which is engulfed in the tears of a praying Hannah.
I will be the one drenched in Proverbs 31, waiting for you.

But to my Father, my Father who has known me before I was birthed into this earth, only if you should see fit.
I seek your will above mine so even if you call me to a life of singleness I will be content, for you are the one who was sent.
You are the greatest love story ever told, the greatest love ever known.
You are forever my judge and I'm forever your witness.
and I pray that I always find it my mission to go about my Father's business.
I will always be yours, and I will always wait for you Lord, more than the watchmen wait for the morning.

More than the watchmen wait for the morning, I will wait."





-written and performed in spoken word by Janet, official P4CM poet.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=igCj3jsbcqs

Evil and Truth

"Do not be overcome with evil, but overcome evil with good." -Romans 12:21

A tight, thick air fills my dimly lit evening room, slowly creeping toward my resting body. Evil sits at the foot of my bed, his chin resting calmly on his hands, eyes peering at me with cool interest. His eyes dance quizzically as he sees my hand absentmindedly reach for a small heart necklace that was once an anchor to me. With an undetectable flick of the wrist, the air tangibly shifts. Wispy silver chains slink around me, immobilizing the wrists that I did not realize were clenched. My eyes are resting on a cool gray wall that was, moments ago, melancholy. It changes silently, giving way to a frightening picture show flashing images of shame and confusion from my past. My face lights up with pain. I never have been one who could hide emotion.

Malice eventually grows bored and turns his gaze to someone else. I am left motionless, completely numb. People wordlessly buzz in and out of the room. My fist slowly falls open, revealing a glimmering dust that comprises what is left of the necklace. It settles around the room, making sure that I breathe it in at all times.

Sleep seduces me. Time races forward and I feel like I am upside down and underwater.

I suddenly hear a great clash, like twisting metal and some great shrieking animal. The sound deeply startles me, as though my ears had been full for years and are finally free. I find my orientation and look up to see Sin's chilly facade slipping as a middle-eastern man with rough hands and kind eyes strides across the floor.

I realize that they are fighting for me. Fighting over my soul. Evil and Truth, locked in a battle that had began before I was born.

I flash suddenly back into my room, and things look different. Everything speaks with a hard, sharp focus. There are a million reasons to cover my eyes, but I breathe deeply and know that I don't have to. I recall the face of Beauty stepping in front of me, lifting His arms in my honor.


.
.
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Christ will never leave you or forsake you. In your darkest times, He is there. I am learning that the sadness I am haunted by on this earth is nothing compared to the joy I will have spending eternity with my creator. I can dance and laugh and sing without fear of the future.

"The thief does not come but to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it abundantly." -John 10:10

like marbles from my mouth

moisture fills the air
melting away any facade held dear
paint drips in the rain
my head aches with memories
eyes search the room
looking for someone to hold on to

the feeling increases
my face transparent
eyes closed
as I realize how strange I must seem
how little I belong here

the new words feel bitter on my tongue
unwelcome change yanks on my arm
pulls me down
I drop my gaze
knowing I need to walk away
unsure of what to do with these unspoken thoughts
dropping like marbles from my mouth
I leave them wordlessly at your feet
backing away into my shame

my arms feel cold
my bed too spacious
I wish time could tumble forward
furiously trickle past this limbo
jump into welcome arms
knowing all the pain had its purpose

for now, I sit
hugging my legs
chin tucked down
listening to my own breathing
the clock
ticks
too loudly in my ears
relentless

nostalgia grabs me by the throat
and my flesh eagerly replies
too willing to scream
betraying my soul
locked in a devious battle

I am bolted down to this place
paralyzed by mediocrity and residual stains
from a sinful world
I slam my eyes upward
and hear Yahweh's voice whisper for the first time

I feel a single drop of grace
splash on my cheek
stuck glistening on my eyelashes

I start from the cold
blink twice and realize
this, is home.

the noose around my neck

While reading through Luke on this Easter weekend, it is easy to hate the Biblical Bad Guys. Luke does such a good job of laying out the antagonists and protagonists, clearly black and white. The Pharisees--man you just really love to hate those guys!

First, they arrest Jesus without reason. They could have done it earlier on in the temple in a peaceful manner, but no, they waited until the cover of darkness and came with swords and clubs. Okay, strike one Pharisees. You come armed for an innocent man in the middle of the night? Not okay.

Then jump forward to the morning. They drag Jesus infront of the council, the high priest, and a huge crowd and ask Him point blank, "Tell us, are you the Messiah? Are you claiming to be the son of God?" Jesus says, yep that's what I've been telling you all along. What do the Pharisees do? Weeeell let's take him to Pilot for questioning. Then when Pilot finds no fault in Him, hey let's drag him to Herod! Strike two guys. Everyone keeps telling you of Jesus' innocence, and yet you scream for his murder.

The worst though, just the worst, is when the crowd roars for the release of Barabbas. They are given the choice to have Jesus--a clearly innocent man--or Barabbas--a known murderer--walking around society. They chose Barabbas. STRIKE THREE, GUYS!

Oh and you know who else is just so easy to disgust? Judas. Judas Iscariot, one of the twelve apostles, who sold the whereabouts of Jesus to the Pharisees in the first place for 30 pieces of silver. Then he has the nerve to walk up to Jesus and kiss his face. Jesus questions him, "Judas, would you betray the son of man with a kiss?" OH SNAP! You know, at least Judas has the decency to go and hang himself after it is finished.

Then there's Peter. Peter, one of the men that Jesus calls brother. Jesus TELLS Peter that he is going to deny Him. "Before the rooster crows tomorrow morning, you will deny three times that you even know me," Jesus tells him TO HIS FACE. And what does Peter say? "Lord, I am ready to go to prison with you, even to die with you." You would think that after hearing something like this, that maybe Peter would think twice at his life decisions. Maybe he could, say, chose not to go in the morning to avoid DENYING THE SON OF GOD! Eh, whatever says Peter. Then, when a little servant girl, of all people, says "Hey this man was one of Jesus' followers!" Peter freaks out and says not once, but three times, "Woman I do not even know him! I don't know what you are talking about!" You would think that maybe the first one or two times he would have a red flag, but no. Three times, Peter. Three times.

Such stupid men, you think, while reading this story. It is so easy to liken yourself to Mary or Mary Magdelene, thinking "if I had been there, I would have kissed his feet and wept. I would have been faithful. I would have tried to stop the injustice." The bad guys were just inherently evil. It even says in scripture that Satan entered Judas before he became a total sellout and betrayed the Messiah sent to save the world.

And yet, deep down, there is something more. Like a pill that doesn't go down quite right, or a wound that never seems to heal properly--there is a catch to these scriptures from Luke. At first glance, I see those who are soaked in the river of Jesus' blood and I so easily blame them. I see Christ standing on the shore, clean of sin and looking toward the sky. I picture myself walking to the shore and grasping onto the pristine robes of the lamb, my Messiah. I keep trying to look at His face, but I have to turn away. I am forced to cast my eyes downward. This is when I see that my grip is dripping with blood, ruining the robes covering the sweet Jesus.

When I finally let myself think about who these men were, I see that I am them.

I am Peter, every time I choose not to speak about the man who came to earth to save me and instead try to enforce my own will above His. I am Judas, every time I forgo the truths I know to be holy and choose instead to drink, swear, gossip, lust, show impatience. I am the Pharisees, every time I choose not to show forgiveness and love. When I deny Christ even in my thoughts, He hears. He knows that through my sin, I have taken up the mallet and helped to drive the nails into his feet. Through my viscousness I have flogged His back, ripping open His flesh. He knows that I deserve the wrath of God.



...and yet, He loves me. He looks down at my bloodied hands and accepts the wounds. He takes me gently by the face and whispers, "For you, my child."

His sacrificial love has such depth that it leaves me absolutely terrified. My body physically shakes when I finally realize the true gravity of what happened on that hilltop near Jerusalem. I am overcome with disgust at myself, and try to focus on that. I can't bare to move past this because if I do, it means that everything I have gathered around myself here on earth, everything to which I have devoted my entire life, everything in which I have found my identity--everything is worthless. That ecclesiastes is true. That Philippians is true. That the word of God is completely, utterly, undeniably true. If I let myself look upon the face of Jesus, it would mean that to die would truly be gain.

I wear a cross around my neck, but have never given it a lot of thought. I have always considered myself to be a good Christian girl. Wearing the cross necklace was just part of the get-up. Yet I am staggered by the realization of what this pendant means. I am wearing the murder weapon of my Savior. I am wearing a gun, a knife, a noose. In the past, I have let people's questioning gaze on my Christian regalia give me a little boost of selfish confidence. I have thought to myself that by decorating myself with Christian symbols that I could somehow prove to everyone else that I am above them, above all of this, and already with the King of eternity.

I look at the cross hanging around my neck now and see who it is for. I see that it is for the Pharisees, for Judas, for Peter, and every creature on God's earth. It symbolizes the love so awe-inspiring that it makes me tremble. The cross is not for me, Lindsey. No, indeed, the cross is for me--Lindsey Daughter of Yahweh, God's child. His princess, His sweetheart, His child. I am His. I have torn at His flesh with my sin, but He will never let go.

I now humbly wear this noose around my neck, knowing that one day I will be with the man who willingly wore it in my place.

You gave me these fists

You gave me eyes that stay wide open
for better or worse, I watch
you gave me small hands that reach out
grasping
let me hold on to you
you let me paint the sky my own colors
my hands slip on the slick paint
smearing some on your clothes

You gave me a mind that never stops searching
never silences
You gave me a spirit to be redeemed
You gave me skin that feels so much pain
You let me suffer
let me scream

You gave me a chest that feels fear
tightens when alone
aches for home
breaks for many
You let me hear the great dissonances of life
and the melody of the ocean

You gave me feet that dance
and kick sand at the ignorant
You gave me these fists that pound your flesh
and are thrown to the sky
You gave me a tongue too quick
deceivingly delicate

You gave me love for others, easily given
easily used up
easily taken
You gave me arms that love to be held
shoulders that can turn cold
but offer themselves to the hurting
You gave me discernment, wit, sarcasm, and the inability to keep my mouth shut in the face of adversity

You let me move
let me weep
let me writhe
and dance
hide
fall
speak.

You made me small, too fragile
thin enough to be snapped in two
so that I must find You
glue me up
tuck my hair behind my ears
punish and tempt me

At the end of it all you are jealous.

I run and you trip me
I search and you say TURN TO ME
I hate myself and you stop me
grab me by these fists and say
"Remember me.

Remember who I am
Remember what I do
Remember that at the end of the day, after boys have used up your spirit and eyes have judged and words have pierced
that you are ACCEPTED because of me

Remember what I have done for you
Remember who hangs in blood for you
Remember that I made you.

I made you.
I made those hands, that heart, those fists.
I made you.

I made you beautiful."