Let Freedom Ring

"A bruised reed He will not break, and a smoldering wick He will not snuff out, till He leads justice to Victory." Matthew 12:20

Thick, hot summer air...red, ripe watermelon dripping down tender faces...tiny dancers running through firetruck waterworks...laughter and firecrackers lighting the air...

Banners of red, white, and blue...

Independence Day...

Let freedom ring...

But, from where does true freedom ring?

Independence (by definition) is when someone or something is free from the influence or control of another.

But if you are independent of someone or something, are you still not under the control of oneself?...

As Keller writes,"perhaps the most damaging statements that have ever been said about us are those things we have said about ourselves. Most have a never-ending loop of self-talk that berates them for being foolish, stupid, a failure, a loser."

Self can be a most viscious, fear-filled taskmaster, a place of distorted perception lacking Truth.

True freedom is always rooted in dependence. In total surrender to the One who gracefully waves His Banner of Love over us as He mercifully teaches us to glance at self and stare at Him.

Total surrender to the One who says, 'Come as you are, broken, messy, and bruised. Just come to me'...

Independence destroys intimacy, and transparency generates humility.

The opposite of self-anxiety is humility, and His humility paves the Way to our freedom.

Humility allows the One to shine His Light into our self-deprecating inner monologue replacing it with His Truth, 'You are redeemed, accepted, cherished, gifted, blessed beyond measure.'

"Spiritual maturity is more like returning to the embrace of the Father you have been missing than growing out of need for your father's presence and touch. Our posture toward God the Father is to be that of Christ in us: increasingly, simply, and humbly seeking to embrace him for all of who he is and to allow his heart to reform our hearts with his love." Richard R. Dunn

When true freedom rings, you no longer want to be an independent, just a slave to Christ...a steward of His grace-blessings...

When true freedom rings, you can no longer play it "safe" with your heart, but long to live dangerously...to love as He loves...

"Is he-quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion," said Lucy.

"That you will dearie, and no mistake," said Mrs. Beaver, "if there's anyone who can appear before Aslan without his knees knocking, they're either braver than most or else just silly."

"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.

"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver. "Don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you."C.S. Lewis, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wadrobe

This world is indeed a reckless world full of unimaginable pain and suffering, and yet when we stay in the seemingly "safe" confines of self, we find a reckless end.

True freedom is living dangerously for Him that we might see more of His unimaginable mercy, grace, and glory...

For He is not safe, but He is good and He has come to set the captives free...

Every day an offering to Him, to love as He loves

May He give me the faith-filled courage...

Let Freedom Ring...

The Other Spouse

"The kiss of daily, present communion, is that which we pant after to be repeated day after day...O lover of our souls, be not strange to us; let the lips of Thy blessing meet the lips of our asking; let the lips of Thy fullness touch the lips of our need, and straightway the kiss will be effected." Spurgeon

Father's Day morning, I awake to a mop of Red curls tickling my nose as tiny toes brush softly against his father's chest.

True to her early bird-nature, our Bird's brown eyes peer through tussled hair as she chirps from her roll-away bed perch.

Blue-eyes, our warrior boy, emerges from his closet cave in need of some wrestling.

I breathe in these three in a hotel room in Virginia, as I look to my "I do" man. In them, I cannot see where I begin and he ends; they are one flesh pointing to the Heavens displaying the divine mystery of us.

Each beautiful child giving me a larger picture of the man I love.

This man who began our story by choosing me has always understood that he married a woman with an untamed heart who longs to love hard and more often than not falls short; he has left space for the Lover of my soul, the other spouse...the Bridegroom.

And yet, my greatest lasting joys on this earth reside in the moments of refining relationship with this man as we love each other in His grace, with His Truth, and by His sacrifice, as we painfully lose more of ourself to gain more of Him...the mystery of one flesh...one flesh where I no longer see where I begin and he ends just more of our Father.

A marriage of three...this place where Red curls, Blue-eyes, and Bird get their first glimpses of worship within the body of Christ...our family...broken and messy in us; a divine mystery in Him.

Manna Moments

Three weeks ago, my knees hit the cold, sterile floor of the hospital ER; my body taking on the posture of my heart after a myriad of words rush towards me, "chest pains, heart rate is at 180, it is an attack, we will try to shock his heart back in rhythm."

I cry out for my Father's perspective. I grieve the momentary losses of this world with the lover of my soul. I offer thanksgiving that my dad's fate is sealed in Him. I mercifully ask for tears and laughter.

They put my earthly father to sleep, and uncertain if he will wake up in our arms or the glory of His Father's embrace, I cling all the tighter to my Heavenly Father's promises, shakily asking for His will to be done, not mine.

Out of words, I allow His Word to rain down on my soul through tears. I hold fast to the words of Isaiah; I sing His psalms.

For a moment, I look up from the solace of His Word, and through blurry eyes, I see bright white teeth framed by ebony skin walk past me boldly urging, "Don't stop what you are doing. It is working." Words spoken by a doctor who knew not why I was there. The Father moving to me through another; the eyes of my heart a little less blurry, receiving His divine message to me. The unseen becomes so clear when the seen is chaos. His comfort not only surrounds, it abounds. Thank you, Abba.

Shocked back to rhythm. My father awakes cracking jokes; his ER room erupts in laughter. The Father answers me in grace, laughter amongst tears. Thank you, Abba.

I sit in the ICU soothed by the steady beep of machines and cherished memories. I drift to peanut butter-banana sandwiches; worn-out moccasin house-shoes; the brown leather Bible on the nightstand copyright 1978, the year before I was born; your "yes" must be "yes" and "no" must be "no;" promises are never meant to be broken...constants of my dad; lessons learned.

Lewis Smedes writes, "that promising is the means to freedom. In promising, you limit options now, in order to have wonderful, fuller options later. You curb your freedom now, so that you can be free to be there in the future for people who trust you. 'You have created a small sanctuary of trust within the jungle of unpredictability.'"

My promise-keeping dad with the unpredictable heartbeat.

Every heartbeat can be an attack...an attack on the continually changing seen in exchange for the constant of the unseen...an attack on the fearful and fallible self-protection for the further understanding of the provision of Christ...He is our Sanctuary within the jungle of unpredictability.

Within each heartbeat is a divine mystery, a manna moment for the soul, just as the Israelites nourished themselves on the mystery that rained down from the Heavens.

The unknown of each heartbeat holds the possibility of faith-picking with the Great Promise Keeper...

His Promise is our freedom if we but trust the mystery of the manna.

"He that has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith to the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna." Revelation 2:17

Brokedown Palace

Delicate fingers tiptoe across my hand settling into a steady grip; this trust-lock of her hand and heart. I glance behind...

Bird is crowned in baby's breath, and my baby-mine takes my breath away with one look...

She dons a dress with angel-wings for all to see as a myriad of unseen angels' wings surround her, His baby-mine...

Framed in lily of the valley, this same intricate lace wrapped around her six years ago as the water-sign was made declaring her heritage in Him. Indeed, she is a daughter of the King, and beautifully intricate are His blessings for her...

In all white with piercing, reflective brown eyes that seek beyond words, she is a vision of all that is lovely, honorable, and pure in a single breath...could these soul-searching eyes of hers be an inherited trait of our King!?...the Kingdom belongs to such as these...

Suddenly her trust-lock tightens as she looks to me, and the ugly snake of self contricts my heart...

The self-loathing question threatens, "How can I lead this beautiful double portion of His when I am just a broke-down palace?"

The whisper, "my grace is sufficient"...

In His mercy, He lifts my eyes...

In His mercy, He reminds me of who He is...He has crushed the snake's head....

The Lover of souls whispers, "my grace is sufficient...you are my palace"

I am a broke-down palace, yet...

By His mercy, I am His palace; I refuse to settle for a cottage.

It is my posture that leads, not perfection; His grace is sufficient for the rest.

By His mercy, I am learning to love the pain of His rebuilding.

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you understand what He is doing. He is letting the drains right, and stopping the leaks in the roof, and so on: you knew that those jobs needed doing and you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably, and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is He up to?

The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of-throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself."

C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

Birth Pains

"Hear, my son, your father's instruction, and forsake not the teaching of your mother." Proverbs 1:8

A baby is born; the spilling of blood heralding first breaths. Christ's blood heralds new Life. Blood, this symbol of sacrifice. Yet, it is not the mother's blood that binds, but her sacrifices. Mother-child, there is no other earthly relationship quite as tangled and messy yet beautifully bound; the first moments of motherhood true to its continued nature. Only His blood makes sense of it all.

A mother sacrifices and a mother damages. His Mercy and Grace fill in the gaps; Forgiveness paving the Way.

All who mother learn true joy is always birthed out of pain, and every moment is a teachable moment, more so of self than child...the birth pains never end...the birth pains are His grace-blessings where the controlling-self is sacrificed, that the anointed oil of faith may flow down...the birth pains are the letting go...

Forsake not the teaching of your mother...the love sacrifice, this place where pain and joy reside in the faith worship of Him...this is the courageous teaching of a mother...

Our little ones will outgrow our nest, and yet, they will never outgrow the unbreaking Truth bond, the sacrificial love of Christ.

My prayer today and every day is that I leave more of the indelible marks of Him and less of the marks of "me." Praise Him whose blood covers it ALL.

To all who mother, to all the unsung heroes:

I am continually humbled by your courage...

Poetic Power

I sift through the "business" of a household...the returning of correspondance, the orchestrating of schedules and just as my self-pitying flesh rears its ugly head in the "drudgery" of details, a love note appears on my screen....

Inbox: "mae"

Bird's poem....these words for a "poetic power" contest sent by her teacher....

Spring

The flowers bloom.

The trees grow.

In Spring, it is Easter time.

Everything is beautiful.

We eat apples in Spring.

The birds sing.

Yes, Bird...you, indeed, sing....you are speaking the language of your Teacher...

Spring...

There is a spring of living water.....a fountain flowing from Emmanuel's veins....a flooding of grace and mercy making all things new...Hope rising...

The flowers bloom...

"The grass withers and the flowers fade, but the Word of our Lord stands forever"....when we meet the Word through the Word, we bloom wherever He plants us....wildflowers in His vast garden of eternity...Hope rising...

The trees grow...

From a tree, where sorrow and love flow mingled down, redemption....this love pouring on us "the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit; that we may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord".... our roots deepen in His assurance; we offer His grace-shade to the weary...Hope rising...

In Spring, it is Easter time. Everything is beautiful....

Pink tutus, delicate fingers, swirling and twirling, hearts stretching, laughter bubbling...Bird dances in a fit of giggles....an outward expression of inward joy....Bird who once fearfully shivered behind my wings, now flies out...her esteem rising...the discovery of who He made her to be showing its first buds....new Life emerging outside of our nest...Hope rising...

We eat apples in Spring....

In the beginning, forbidden fruit was eaten, and all was spoiled...the winter of death emerged....But, Truth died and rose....the Way of Life made apparent, and now His unseen fruit hangs all around us ripe for the faith-picking...we feast on apples for He has come....we feast for we are the apple of His eye...Hope rising...

The birds sing.....

"For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them"....His workmanship....workmanship in greek: poema....His workmanship; His poem....Indeed, our Bird sings....for she is His workmanship, His poem....our Bird sings the melody of Her King...Hope rising...

Spring.

The flowers bloom.

The trees grow.

In Spring, it is Easter time.

Everything is beautiful.

We eat apples in Spring.

The birds sing.

Beautiful Bird,

Continue to sing and dance for your King...You are His poetic power.

In His Shadow

Red curls studies the black amorphous voids as he moves through his days, his fascination building....these shadows that follow us.....over and over the question, "What is a shadow?" Explanations come both scientific and artistic.....each one echoing back hollow....none satisfying his growing intensity for more....

Blue-eyes sits on the brick wall, a babbling of words, sharing his heart in the undertones, the explained in the unexplained of being. I see his self-inked "tattoo." I pray our King's cross is tattooed on his heart, not just his flesh; Red curls emerges in the shadow again asking....and suddenly, the Light became clear to the void....

How often the open spirits of children are used as a megaphone shouting His brilliance....this explained in the unexplained of being; humility training our ears to listen....

Red curls, this one who cannot be rushed....Red curls, this one who instinctively wrestles in order to understand....yes, Red curls needs an answer to shadow....my Teacher calls to me, 'let me show you'...Like a giddy schoolgirl, I race to the written-Truth asking the Ancient of Days to define shadow as He created it to be...

"And I have put my words in your mouth and covered you in the SHADOW of my hand, establishing the heavens and laying the foundations of the earth, and saying to Zion,'You are my people.'" Isaiah 51:16

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will ABIDE in the SHADOW of the Almighty." Psalm 91:1

"Keep me as the apple of your eye; Hide me in the SHADOW of your wings." Psalm 17:8

tsalal (hebrew): shadow, protection, shelter

Abiding in the Shadow....we live in the protective shadow of the cross...God's light, His holiness is so bright we cannot come face to face, "you cannot see my face, for man shall not see me and live"....His presence must shine through the Way casting a beautiful protective shadow around us....

We are His people...we are the apple of His eye...the haunting, misshapen, changing shadows of this world, the what-if's, if only's, the shame, the guilt, the despair may threaten, but they cannot overtake us....His was the victory, and we rest in the shelter of His unchanging shadow....

tsalal: shadow, protection, shelter

tsalal rooted in tselem (hebrew): hovering over

When the Ancient of Days was establishing the Heavens, the Spirit hovered over the waters....this same Spirit hovers over our hearts keeping us in the rest of our Mighty Mediator's shadow surrounded by the glory of our God....

Spurgeon wrote, "The Holy Spirit consoles, but Jesus is the consolation. The Holy Spirit is the comforter, but Jesus is the comfort." The only Way to Life is living in the Truth-filled shadow of our Light's cross. Let us make Him the apple of our eyes through humilty and trust.

This is the Shadow, Red curls. Mercy and Grace fully lived; Bask in its glory. Remember where you stand. Love His Shadow