Held

With all the scheduling of posts I do to accomodate my various weekly series, and my work schedule, I feel like this space often doesn't have the day to day journal feel that it has so often had. I'm hoping to get back to sharing in that manner in the days to come, but lately have really struggled to find words, and to balance the things I want to share with the world with the things that need to be treasured and guarded within me.

That said, let me share a little with you today.

This has been a really hard week. One where the highs were really high, and the lows were really low. There has been relational stuff, and work stuff, and personal stuff, and health stuff. I don't really recommend it, actually. There have been joys of experiencing new things, and struggles with family. There has been the ongoing struggle to find a healthy balance of work and social and rest, and this week has not been a success in that way.

And yet, in a way I haven't experienced in a while, I've been incredibly aware of Jesus drawing near, and offering peace. Not storms being stilled, or necessarily even shelter from the storms, but a stillness and sense of protection in the midst of the buffeting.

Last weekend Kirsten posted a beautiful tribute to her son Ewan on his first birthday. (As a side note, you really need to check out Kirsten's blog, and Ewan's story if you haven't.) One of the songs she used in the video was "Held" by Natalie Grant. Honestly, as I watched the video at the time, I was so caught up in the images she was sharing (and the tears that came in watching the tribute to her special little boy), that I wasn't paying all that much attention to the lyrics of the song.  They are however, very appropriate for Kirsten and James and Ewan's story, and they have stayed with me this week.

One line in particular has played over and over in my head through this week:

"This is what it means to be held."

As I have navigated the highs and lows, the joy and the pain, I have been aware of something underlying it all.  In the middle of the day on Wednesday I paused, considered that underlying sense, and had to smile.  "So that's what 'peace that passes understanding' feels like."  This week, as I've talked with Jesus through all the things that have gone on, I have had peace that has surprised and comforted me.  I have been held.  And I'm so grateful for that

The Only Problem I Have With These Mysteries

Yesterday I came across a song by Caedmon's Call that has long been a favorite, and feels appropriate for the journey I find myself walking out in the present season.

Sometimes I believe all the lies
So I can do the things I should despise
And every day I am swayed
By whatever is on my mind

I hear it all depends on my faith
So I'm feeling precarious
The only problem I have with these mysteries
Is they're so mysterious

And like a consumer I've been thinking
If I could just get a bit more
More than my 15 minutes of faith,
Then I'd be secure

My faith is like shifting sand
Changed by every wave
My faith is like shifting sand
So I stand on grace

I've begged you for some proof
For my Thomas eyes to see
A slithering staff, a leperous hand
And lions resting lazily

A glimpse of your back-side glory
And this soaked altar going ablaze
But you know I've seen so much
I explained it away

Waters rose as my doubts reigned
My sand-castle faith, it slipped away
Found myself standing on your grace
It'd been there all the time

Stand on grace

The only problem I have with these mysteries is they're so mysterious.  And I have explained so much away.  I heard this song and played it several times over, realizing anew what I've known and seen, and reminding myself again of grace, and the need to trust, even in the moments when it really does seem as if the very ground I'm standing upon is soft, and shifting.

Wilderness or Battle: Tired of the Long Way

The weekend was brutal.  Really, the last two or three weeks have been brutal, but I haven't known how to describe them.

I still don't have words, really.

I'm sick today.  Most likely from stress, and a hangover of the many tears shed the last few days.

I had a brutal nightmare this morning at 4 am.

A vivid combination of processing some of the many hard emotions of the weekend, and the blatantly demonic.

At least I was able to fall back asleep for a while after this one.

I'm dealing with a particular icky manifestation of some of what had gone on in the past.

A manifestation that I thought gone, rather permanently.

And life is broken.

Because the weekend was rough, there aren't posts scheduled for this week.  Maybe I'll get to that, but I might not.  It might just have to be a sporadic blogging sort of week.

My heart aches.

I found myself thinking this morning about a post I wrote quite a while back, now. 

I talked about the Dixie Chicks song, "The Long Way Around".

I'm tired of taking the long way, today.  I'm tired of the journey of healing not being instantaneous.  My head reminds me that it usually isn't, that this is not unusual, and that I will walk through this, one step after another, if I can only just manage to keep walking.

It's been two long years now
Since the top of the world came crashing down
And I'm getting' it back on the road now
But I'm taking the long way
Taking the long way around
I'm taking the long way
Taking the long way around
The long
The long way around

Well, I fought with a stranger and I met myself
I opened my mouth and I heard myself
It can get pretty lonely when you show yourself
Guess I could have made it easier on myself
But I, I could never follow
No I, I could never follow
Well, I never seem to do it like anybody else
Maybe someday, someday I'm gonna settle down
If you ever want to find me I can still be found
Taking the long way
Taking the long way around
Taking the long way
Taking the long way around

It's actually been close to three years now, since the events that started some of the crashing in of my world.

And in my more generous moments, I can choose to see all the beauty that has also occurred in those three years.

Or to see the beginning of that crashing in as beginning the journey of healing.

In my more generous and faith and hope-filled moments.

The rest of the time (and even in some of those generous moments)?  I'm tired of taking the long way.

I read these rather telling verses in Exodus the other day, "When Pharaoh finally let the people go, God did not lead them along the main road that runs through Philistine territory, even though that was the shortest route to the Promised Land.  God said, 'If the people are faced with a battle, they might change their mind and return to Egypt.  So God let them in a roundabout way through the wilderness toward the Red Sea."  (Exodus 13:17-18)

"If they're faced with a battle they might change their mind."  He gave them a wilderness instead of a battle.  It doesn't seem like a better option, really.  And granted, the children of Israel aren't exactly known for their happy and compliant spirits. 

I'm tired of the long way.  But I'm not sure that I prefer the battle that seems to be the other option.  And so I find myself, standing, feeling somewhat paralyzed, as I wait to figure what step comes next.

Bless the Lord

My brother T introduced me to this song, and I love how it builds towards the end... He led it in worship on Sunday with his new wife, and it was a powerful moment for me as I sat there...

Bless the Lord (Jeff Deyo)

For your beauty,
For your goodness,
And your wisdom.. Awesome God
Praise the Lord oh my soul, Praise the Lord.

For your power,
For your honor,
And your splendor... Mighty God
Praise the Lord oh my soul, Praise the Lord.
Praise the Lord oh my soul, Praise the Lord.

Chorus:

And I will worship you,
I will bless your name forever,
I will worship you,
Bless the Lord oh my soul, Bless the Lord
Bless the Lord oh my soul, Bless the Lord

For your Kindness
For your Favor,
For your Mercy.. Gracious One
Thank the Lord oh my Soul, Thank the Lord.

For your fire,
For your testing
And your Spirit... Holy One
Thank the Lord oh my Soul, Thank the Lord.
Thank the Lord oh my Soul, Thank the Lord.

Chorus

Bless the Lord oh my Soul,
Bless the Lord oh my Soul, Bless the LORD!

For your Suffering,
For your Anguish
And your sorrow.. humble King,
Bless the Lord oh my soul, Bless the Lord
Bless the Lord oh my soul, Bless the Lord

For your Victory
For your Triumph,
And you'll soon come and reign over all.

And I will worship you, 
I will bless your name forever. 
I will worship you, 
Bless the Lord oh my Soul, Bless the Lord 

And I will worship you, 
I will bless your name forever. 
I will worship you, 
Bless the Lord oh my Soul, Bless the Lord 
Bless the Lord oh my Soul, Bless the Lord 

Bless the Lord oh my Soul,
Bless the Lord oh my Soul,
Bless the Lord oh my Soul,
Bless the Lord oh my Soul, Bless the Lord

After I Feel the Sun on My Face

Whenever I'm walking on a warm spring day, thankful that winter seems to have receded, a lyric that my friend Karla penned tends to come back to me, especially if it's been a particularly rough season of time.

Karla wrote, "And after I feel the sun on my face/ my soul, it will sprout again/ and I might become a tangled mess of love and fear and faith..."

I think of that line, and pray for sprouting.

I think of that line and remember a moment overseas, walking with a friend, when that lyric first hit me.  When I felt that stirring of growth within me, seemingly out of season.

I was thinking of both of those things today as I walked to get lunch and felt the sun on my face, restoring my exhausted body and soul.

I was thinking of how many things changed after that moment overseas, and how it seemed for a season that all growth had been snuffed out.

That there was only death and cold and winter.

I'm feeling the stirrings of growth within me again these days.

It's both a welcome and familar, and totally uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling.

I was reflecting that it seems to have been a long process of germination, these years of time between those first stirrings and now.  And how now I don't expect a sudden growth or sprouting, but more of a slow thing.  I believe that the sudden sprouting can and may happen, but I don't think I invest myself fully in expecting that anymore.

And maybe that's okay too.

Maybe that, too, is growth.

In any case, as exhausted as I am.  As challenging as some facets of life remain, I feel that stirring of growth.

And I welcome it.

Kick at the Darkness

I woke at 3:30.  Blogged yesterday's daily 5 sometime around 4.  At 5 I rolled over again to stare at the clock, and wondering when the night would come to an end, or sleep would finally return.

In the darkness, all of the rational things that help during the day seem to lose power.  I lay there, panicking, exhausted, feeling helpless, praying desperately.

Somewhere in the midst of the night, a Bruce Cockburn lyric I've often heard quoted returned to me "Got to kick at the darkness until it bleeds daylight."

That's what last night felt like.

Somewhere around dawn I drifted off for a few more hours of restless sleep.

I googled the lyric this morning, and it seems apt, especially when you add the line just before it:

Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight
Got to kick at the darkness until it bleeds daylight.

Maybe that lyric returning to me was the whisper of God.  I don't know.  But it helps a little.

Because I lay there frustrated and angry that I was feeling the way I was.  It's been months since I've had a panic episode like this, and I was beginning to be able to believe that they were a thing of the past.  I still pray that one day they will.  That like the depression I struggled with for so many years, there will be healing.

It reminds me, in some ways, that line about kicking at the darkness of the phrase from scripture that played over and over in my head the day I was healed from depression a little over four years ago.  That phrase involved kicking too.  And the image it conjured was one of scarred and bloody feet, but not scars that were fresh - scars that were healing.  There is so much more to that moment, and that story.  It can be shared another time.  But the simple conjuring of that memory by a piece of lyric in the middle of the night was somehow hopeful.  Hopeful that this too can end.

"Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight."

At three and four and five this morning it felt like a fight that would never end.  And really, it hasn't yet.  But daylight is here, and there is some respite in that.  Time to regroup, to remind myself again of truths.  To push back the darkness that overwhelms and entangles, and grab onto truth and light.  To trust that Jesus will somehow bring peace again.

The Path of Peace

This is a photo of the Advent wreath that is sitting on my dresser this year, an altar space of sorts for me.

It took a week longer than usual for the pull of Advent to really grab me this year, for the longing to deeply take hold within me. It wasn't until the last day or two that I really again began to feel the longing for a savior to come.

The first candle, the one in the front, I lit last Sunday for the first time. It's the "hope" candle.

The second candle, the one in the back, I lit tonight. It's the "peace" candle.

I lit both tonight, with music softly playing, and found myself staring at them, slowly contemplating how desperately in need of both hope and peace I've been feeling. How desperately I, and others around me are longing for those things to come.

I struggled to choose music to play as I lit the candles and prayed. I wanted a song about peace, but couldn't choose one that seemed appropriate, so I settled for "The Feast of Seasons" - the Christmas album that Steve Bell put out quite some time ago.

First, "The Magnificat," played:

my soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord
and my spirit exalts in God my saviour
for he has looked with mercy on my lowlinessI ha
and my name will be forever exalted
for the mighty God has done great things for me
and his mercy will reach from age to age
and holy, holy, holy is his name
and holy, holy, holy is his name.
(words and music by John Michael Talbot)

And then this song began to play:

I have not seen the angel Gabriel
standing at the right side of the altar
saying that important line of angels
"do not be afraid"

I have not heard the angel Gabriel
telling me my prayer has been answered
that my heart's desire has been granted
and my wife will bear a son

but I have been answered
and I have been promised
in words that cannot be broken
and the tender mercies of our God
have caused the rising sun
to shine upon us
to guide our feet
into the path of peace

I was not there
when the angel Gabriel
visited the village of Nazareth
home of a young maiden he addressed
as the highly favored one

I did not hear
the angel Gabriel
promise what could not be imagined
answered by a faith without fathom
"let what you have said be done"

but I have been answered
and I have been promised
in words that cannot be broken
and the tender mercies of our God
have caused the rising sun
to shine upon us
to guide our feet
into the path of peace.
(words and music by Jim Croegart)

Those words were both the reminder I needed and the voice of the cry of my heart tonight as I lit candles symbolizing hope and peace and thought of the lack of those things and the deep longing for them to come. I have been answered and promised... and in the tender mercy of God my feet and the feet of all those I love are being guided into the path of peace.

Amen. May it truly be done tonight and in this season.

Holding Onto You

I'm thinking tonight about a lyric my friend Karla Adolphe penned...

My heart is praying these words tonight, for myself and some dear friends... and hearing in the last few lines a quieting response from Jesus...

Holding Onto You

I see a million broken pieces on the floor
I can't believe you'd like to add one more
Meet me where I'm living, meet me where I am
All the stars have melted from my eyes
Only you know how many tears I've cried
Meet me where I'm living, meet me where I am
Holding onto you,
I'm holding onto you,
I'm holding onto you right now

Hush little baby don't say a word
Daddy's coming to get his little girl
Hush little baby, don't do a thing
Daddy's coming he's going to fix everything...

(to buy the song, click here, and scroll to the album "The Cathedral" to find the song)

When Satan Tempts Me to Despair

I didn't know what else to do with myself this morning, so I attended the church I grew up in. It was both the last place on earth that I wanted to be, and the only place I wanted to be. There were lots of people I didn't want to see, who I knew I would need to put on a happy face for (a challenge given that I was in full blown tears 7 times before noon today!). But I also knew my mom would be there, and my dad, and my brother T., and his girlfriend L. That if I went there, there would be a few people with whom I wouldn't need to wear a mask, and few who would offer hugs.

I couldn't really put on a happy face. I told a few people I was FINE (a very useful acronym my mom gave me, that I'm not going to write out just at the moment.) I was way more honest than I intended with another person. Thankfully a person to whom it turned out to be safe to be that honest. And I was grateful when she thanked me for my honesty, because now she knew how she could be praying. I was grateful that L simply asked how I was doing, and knew by looking at my face. That she wrapped an arm around me as the tears came yet again, and rubbed my back. That she listened quietly and understood a little.

T was leading worship this morning, and L was a member of his worship team. And in those moments, as they sang, and I surreptitiously wiped away the tears that were spilling over constantly, Jesus met me.

These lyrics struck deeply this morning:

When Satan tempts me to despair
And tells me of the guilt within,
Upward I look and see Him there
Who made an end of all my sin.
Because the sinless Savior died
My sinful soul is counted free.
For God the just is satisfied
To look on Him and pardon me.

You can find the whole song here, but it was this verse that caught at my heart this morning.

It was definitely a morning, maybe even a day of feeling that despair.

A week ago today I celebrated four years depression free. Today I can tell you that I am in the midst of an incredible battle for my health and sanity, and quite a lot of the time recently I've felt that it was a losing battle.

And I stood there this morning, listening to the promises of those lyrics, and wondering how on earth I would manage to look up. Because it isn't that I haven't known that I needed to look up, to somehow find Jesus' eyes with mine, it's been the battle to be able to look up. I have at times quite literally felt as if my forehead was pinned to the floor. That the fear and the anger and the hatred and the despair that I have so wrestled with were forcibly covering my eyes, turning my head away from Jesus' eyes that I've so desperately needed to meet.

This may be the fight of my life right now. But it is one that I am somehow determined to win. Because existing in this space is just not an option anymore. It's not working. It hasn't worked for quite some time now. And I come back over and over to the question Jesus asked the lame man at the pool, "Do you want to be well?"

I really, really, want to be well.

Daily 5 - Day 75

Today's Daily 5:

1. Hamburgers for supper
2. Getting enough done this morning at work that it was a feasible possibility for me to come home sick this afternoon
3. Sorting pictures from my trip, and smiling at some of the memories
4. The lyrics to the U2 song "Until the End of the World" (which caught at me deeply when I watched the live concert last night on youtube.
5. Bed earlyish tonight. Much needed.
   

Light Of Your Face

There is a line in this song that has been grabbing at my heart for close to two months now. I thought about it again as I fell asleep last night, and as I drove to work this morning.

"Let the light of your face shine down on my heart, and let me FEEL it."

This morning, right now, as I walk again through some challenging spaces, "Let me feel it."

Because I believe that Jesus holds me, and that he loves me. I really do believe all those things. And I've been learning to trust those things too.

But today, when I'm feeling cold and weary, the cry of my heart is for that light to penetrate to a place where I can feel it bringing warmth and restoration deeply.

Testing the lesson from Stan (Can I have more of you?)

This has been a trying week.

I'm feeling stressed on a number of fronts, but mostly the work front.

It's been a week of out of control tensions, whispered conversations, frustrated moments, reminding myself that those are "inside thoughts", and generally just barely making it through to the end of each day.

I'm needing to remind myself that there are other factors playing into this week. That I normally rest well on the weekends, giving me energy to get through another week, and that last weekend I didn't sleep nearly at all, and had very strenuous days as well. That I've been feeling unwell all week, and that that never helps my mood or energy level or ability to cope.

It's been a week of testing my commitment to the lesson I learned via Stan in August. The lesson about not postponing joy. And, I'll readily admit that a lot of that testing has been a failure. That I've spent most of the week longing for the end of the work day to arrive, so that I could head home, and not much of the week looking for the moments of joy in the midst of the challenging work days I've faced.

And yet, my heart is different than it used to be.

The song lyrics that stick in my head are often very telling of my heartspace. In this case, instead of the total overwhelming feeling that is engulfing most of my days this week, in the brief moment this morning when I managed to get quiet and still, I was surprised to discover that the refrain playing through my head was from a Kim Walker song, a simple cry "Can I have more of you?"

That, is a change.

Because generally I would blame a crazy week like this, the combination of the wild emotional and spiritual atmosphere at my office, the sleepless nights, and the resulting exhaustion firmly on God, and be in more of a "Stay away from me" headspace, than an headspace inviting more of Jesus.

And yet, that shift excites me. Because it speaks of changing attitudes. Of positive results from the sometimes exhausting commitment to change long ingrained patterns of thought and action into something that is more focused on joy.

You can hear the entire song that's playing in my head here.

In the meantime, let me leave you with these lyrics, and the challenge to not postpone joy until later, no matter how trying the circumstances.

Because you are good, beyond measure
And my heart longs to give you pleasure
You fulfill all my longings
And all my life I will sing:

God I love you and all you do
your joy lives inside and does me good
Can I have more of you?

Catching my attention:

This post at Hope's blog grabbed me today, because of the lyrics she quoted (though I admit to not particularly enjoying the song) and because of a conversation I had earlier this week about St. Maximillian Kolbe (that video is most definitely worth watching.)

This article about rebuilding from an earthquake in Peru, two years on.

These lyrics. More on that coming sometime soon.

Oh What a Day....

These song lyrics to "Oh What a Day" by Ingrid Michaelson have been resonating in some ways today since I heard it again while my roommate and I were driving in the mountains. While I certainly haven't kissed a bad love relationship goodbye, I'm feeling some of the sentiment in terms of the need to move on from some other things in my life.

Oh what a day is today
Nothing can stand in my way
Now that you've shipped out from under my skin
I think I'm ready to win

Oh what a night is tonight
I think I'm ready to fight
Now that my broken bones all have been healed
I think I'm starting to feel

Something good
Something good
Now that you're gone I can roll on to something good

Oh what a way that we died
Plenty of tears were supplied
My eyes are wrung out and dry as a bone
And I taste much better alone

Something good
Something good
Now that you're gone I can roll on to something good

Oh you know I moved away
From the other side of the door
I don't have to wait anymore for you to come home
Something good
Now that you're gone I can roll on to something good
Something good

He Is.

A friend of mine posted these lyrics recently on her blog, and then was gracious enough to send the song on to me. I've been listening on repeat for the last day or so, needing to hear these words.

He Is

Father let the world fade away

Let me feel your presence in this place

Lord, I’ve never been so weary

How I need to know you’re near me

Father let the world just fade away

Till I’m on my knees

Till my heart can sing

He is

He was

He always will be

Even when it feels like there is no one holding me

Be still my soul

He is

Father let your Holy Spirit sing

Let it calm the storm inside of me

As I stand amazed

Lift my hands and say

He is

He was

He always will be

He lives

He loves

He’s always with me

Even when it feels like there is no one holding me

Be still my soul

Through every fear

and every doubt

and every tear I shed

Down every road

I’m not alone

No matter where I am

He is

He was

And He always will be

He lives

He loves

He’s always with me

Even when it feels like there is no one holding me

Be still my soul

Be still and know

Be still my soul

He is

Lyrical Encouragement

There are many things I need to share at some point about the new route I drive on my morning commute. The number of things along the route that are deeply heart-stretching is really quite astounding.

In the meantime, this morning, as with several other mornings recently, I was listening to music by my friend Karla Adolphe (see also Jacob & Lily and Chair & Microphone Vol. 3 from Enter the Worship Circle). Some of her lyrics struck me deeply again, bringing encouragement to a tired heart:

These, from her first album "Come Home" from the song "Jude":

Somebody come and rescue me
from this desert that I am walking
Look in my heart, and do you see
this little girl, and baby is she talking?
Is she tired?
Is she worn?
Is she broken?
and is she torn?

But You lift me up again
Lift me up again
And You lift me up again

And then, these lyrics from "Chair and Microphone Vol. 3" the song "You are Mine"

Maybe I don't have the strength
Maybe I don't have the faith
You brought me here in forty years
When I know this trip should take a week
I've shed my tears and shed my blood
been out ran some by the flood
and winter steals my songs away
in all of this I've come undone

When you walk through the water
I will be with you
When you pass through the river
those waves they will not overtake you, and
when you walk on the fire
those flames they will not touch you
You are mine
You are mine

I've been a child
I've been a slave
I've grown bitter and learned to pray
I've packed my bags and started back
the cost is just too high to pay

When you walk through the water
I will be with you
When you pass through the river
the waves, they will not overtake you
When you walk on the fire
those flames, they will not touch you
You are mine
You are mine.

I Can't Walk Away

I'm asking "what would happen if..." questions this morning about a lot of things.

Most of them aren't quite ready to share here.

I'm struggling deeply, and, to be honest, in some ways, I'm trying to hide from God. I'm tired. And in the rare occasions I've sensed his hand and leading and voice lately, the things He's asked have been painful and hard, tugging at my already broken heart.

I'm still listening to "Because You Are" on repeat as I drive to work each morning. "I keep singing skyward, it just never rains." Would it make sense if I said that I both desperately desire the rain, and am absolutely horrified at the thought of what it might bring?

I traded emails with a dear friend last night about a decision I needed to make. Her words were helpful in that, at least for a few moments I felt slightly less alone in the midst of some of the things I was walking through. Her words (and the words that formed in my responses) brought deep tears to the surface, and a few of them fell.

Sleep remains elusive. I'm trying not to count nights (four) or panic (too late). It becomes harder to push away the panic and anxiety when I'm not getting adequate rest. The things that haunt me become stronger and stronger as sleep becomes a more distant memory. The growing number of bruises on my arms and legs when I wake each morning tell me a story of struggle, battle, wrestling as I sleep. And that thought too, is draining.

There are days I wish I could leave Jesus behind. Where I wish that somewhere along the way, I'd found joy and peace and fulfilment of the depth I've found in Jesus somewhere else, anywhere else, because then I could leave Jesus without knowing that I was walking away from the one thing that has brought peace and joy and healing. But I can't walk away... even in those moments when I deeply fear what will happen if I keep walking forward. Even in the moments when the panic is thick and deep. I can't walk away. And that is both the most comforting and absolutely terrifying and frustrating thought in existence.

Memories, Quotes, and an oddly poignant evening...

I had an experience tonight that reminded me just how many things can trigger memories. One moment I was standing at the sink, rinsing lettuce leaves for the taco salad I was preparing, and in the next I'd been transported backwards through time and was re-living a moment I'd nearly forgotten. It's a oddly powerful and poignant sort of thing to have that happen.

George is safely at the mechanic, and I even managed to get a full yoga workout in.

I went hunting tonight for a scrapbook like journal I created in the first few years of university. It's full of quotations and thoughts and comics that I'd collected. Favorite things that spoke in different ways to me, or that simply made me laugh. There were a few forgotten treasures in there.

At that time in my life, I was approximately right in the middle of the seven years I suffered from severe depression, before so very unexpectedly encountering God's healing. I was finding it hard to cling to faith, to believe in God, and strongly identified with any statements that made room for my doubts, my struggles, my questions, and my depression to co-exist with a relationship with God. I came upon a few of those quotes tonight as I flipped through that journal, and smiled as they again acted as salve to a tired soul.

The questions are different these days, but there are still questions. The doubts are different, and rarely reach the depths that depression drove them to, but there are sometimes still doubts and uncertainties. I know now, in a way that I didn't know then, that I will never be able to walk away from Jesus - that in Him has been the only joy and fulfillment I've ever really found. I'm learning daily about trust - and how trust mostly exists in the uncertainty. There's not much need to trust if I can know something for certain. But I still appreciate those philosophers, writers and thinkers who offer space for God and those questions and doubts to co-exist.

Quotes like these:

"When we get our spiritual house in order, we'll be dead. This goes on. You arrive at enough certainty to be able to make your way, but it is making it in darkness. Don't expect faith to clear things up for you. It is trust, not certainty." (Flannery O'Connor)

"It is not as a child that I believe and confess Jesus Christ. My hosanna is born of a furnace of doubt." (Fyodor Dostoevsky)

"Without somehow destroying me in the process, how could God reveal himself in a way that would leave no room for doubt? If there were no room for doubt, there would be no room for me." (Frederick Buechner)

I went hunting for that journal, not because of treasures like these that it contained, but because it contained a typed out set of lyrics to the song I mentioned yesterday. "Because You Are" by Everybody Duck.

The partial lyrics I'd put in the journal read as follows:

I can't feel You like others around me
I don't feel like kneeling or closing my eyes
Is there something wrong with my heart that I can't see?
Or do You feel love still when nobody cries?

'Cause I know in my heart how bad I want to touch You
You must sense this love my soul barely contains
No lack of desire in this desert to worship
I keep singing skyward it just never rains

So I'll praise You if I never feel You
And I'll love You cause I know You're there
And if You should choose I'm sure one day I'll feel it
But feeling good's never the reason I cared.

It's funny to me to remember, years later, the space I was existing in when those lyrics first hit a chord. At the time I was just beginning to encounter God in a more "spirit-filled" way. Actually, it would probably be more accurate to say that I was part of a community that encountered God in that way, and that I was desperately hungry to have those sort of personal encounters and relationship with Jesus that they demonstrated for myself, but was equally convinced that it would perhaps never happen for me. Thus the power of lyrics that began, "I can't feel you like others around me."

Five or six years later, after many crazy encounters with Jesus, I've walked for the last year and a half through some very challenging circumstances. I'm more convinced than ever that Jesus speaks and guides and loves. But I'm also in a place of exhaustion, in need of rest and healing and recovery, and, when I came upon this song again earlier this week, I was struck deeply by the lines I quoted yesterday, "No lack of desire in this desert to worship. I keep singing skyward, it just never rains."

So I worship anyway. Even in those moments when it feels like rote memorization. Like a dead practice, instead of a living joy. Because I've learned, too, that eventually the rains always come. I spent the afternoon looking out my office window at the downpour we were having, remembering the many complaints the last years of drought, and praying that in ways that are internal, that impact my heart, the rains will also come, and bring cleansing, healing, refreshment, restoration, and new growth and life.

Because you are

I'm tired, slightly sunburnt, have a huge bruise and lump on my right leg from building a bookcase yesterday, and am feeling like I don't have very much to say at the moment.

There is still so much going on in my heart, but I'm having a bit of a hard time putting words to it these days.

I went to the zoo with a friend this morning. That was fun.

Then I mostly rested for the remainder of the day, and I'm headed to bed very shortly.

I'm thinking a lot about this song lately. "Is there something wrong with my heart that I can't see?... I'll praise you, if I never feel you, and I'll love you, cause I know you're there. And if you should choose I'm sure one day I'll feel it. But feeling good's never the reason I cared. Father I praise you because you are. Jesus I love you because you are. Spirit, I worship you because you are...."

The lyrics of the song are beautiful.

I'm particularly identifying with this line right now, "No lack of desire in this desert to worship. I keep singing skyward, it just never rains."

(Have I mentioned recently that I'm grateful for all of the rain we've been having in the last few weeks, even if I'm not feeling that same rain and refreshing within my soul? The tangible reminder of it in the physical realm is giving me hope.)

I worship you because you are.

Prayers (Starting with Chocolate)

I started the day with chocolate. That's pretty unusual for me these days, and a fairly solid reflection of how I'm doing emotionally. Chocolate before breakfast probably means I'm struggling a bit.

I'm trying to follow the advice from today's quote on the calendar from my friend that sits on my desk: "We shall not be purified by looking at our miseries, but by gazing on him who is all purity and holiness." (Blessed Elizabeth of the Trinity)

I'm struck by the fact that today is the feast day for Saint Thomas the Apostle. I feel a particular affinity for Thomas. When I saw that today was his feast day, I was transported back to a moment in Rome last year. I spent quite a bit of time trying to take a photo of a painting of Thomas with his hand in the wound in Jesus' side. A painting that deeply struck me. If I remember correctly, it was hanging in the Pantheon. I still don't have a good picture of it. All of the photos I have of that painting are blurry, because my hands were trembling too much to hold the camera still enough to take a clear photo. But something about that moment, that painting remains deep within me, and, when I read that today was Thomas' feast day, I was carried back to those few minutes, standing in front of the painting, and I felt again the impact that it had deep within me.

I found myself praying as I drove to work this morning. Praying along with bits and pieces of lyrics from two totally different songs. Lines from a Taylor Swift song, "I was a dreamer before you went and let me down... This ain't a fairy tale... it's too late for you and your white horse to catch me now..." And lines from a U2 song that was playing through my head as I woke, "Nothing to win and nothing left to lose... And you give, and you give, and you give yourself away... and I'm waiting for you... with or without you..." And so I let the lyrics give expression to parts of my heart that were hurting, and I worked to speak blessing over people and things I care about, even though in many ways, my heart is not ready to speak blessing yet - it would rather speak curses.

There are things in my life that were established by God, but the pull from them, as I wait and watch them develop, can at times become so strong that they become my focus. They become a distraction. I start obsessing and worrying, and stop talking with Jesus. I'm tired in the midst of all of that right now, and I'm trying to talk to Jesus, with whatever words my heart can form, even if they're slighty bitter lyrics from a country love song, or lyrics from an Irish rock band that spoke to my heart from the first moment I heard one of their songs (a moment I could still describe for you quite vividly).

And so I wait, and I'm seeking Jesus, and seeking to choose life, to somehow find joy in the midst of this day. (And I started my day with chocolate... a miniature kit kat bar, carrying so many memories of the time I spent in Europe, and a prayer in its own rite today.)