He Calls My Name

A month or so ago, a friend asked me if I'd ever heard the Lord call me by name. At the time, I told him no. The next day I asked another friend who'd been present for the first conversation if it was odd that my gut reaction to his question had been "He doesn't call me Lisa." She commented that, no, it wasn't particularly strange.

He doesn't call me Lisa. Well, I suppose sometimes he does. But it's not the name he generally uses. There's another name. One that has been hard for me to come to terms with, but one that increasingly speaks many deep and lovely things to me.

And tonight, when I finally went to Him, after a day of wrestling, and avoiding, and wanting to get it all together before I came to Him, it was that name that he used. That name that He used to draw me into a space of making some choices to think differently. That name that He used to remind me that I am deeply loved. That name that He used to remind me of the incalculable grace offered to me.

He calls me by name. And I am His.

Such a precious truth.

Come Rescue Me

I’m having a hard morning.

The words to an old worship song are running through my head today, stirring bittersweet thoughts:

I cry out
for Your hand of mercy to heal me
I am weak
and I need your love to free me
O Lord
My Rock
My strength in weakness
Come rescue me, O Lord

I’m trying so hard to be okay. But I’m just not there today.

I’m tired. Exhausted really. I haven’t slept in 3 nights again. And I can deal with the nights when there’s a dream, or something going on, because at least then I have a reason for my exhaustion the next morning. But nights like last night, where I wake over and over again, when I know I’ve been dreaming, but nothing remains, and I’m unsettled, fearful, on edge, those nights are just a little bit hard to take. And there’s been a lot of those nights lately.

I miss the days when I could see a big picture. I’ve always been a big picture kind of girl. I love the details, but only when I can see the picture they form. These days I feel a bit like I’m drowning in fragments or puzzle pieces. Hundreds of them poking and niggling at me, needing to be acknowledged, but refusing to fall into any sort of orderly picture.

Most days, I’m coping pretty well. Most days I can manage to have deep joy in the midst of the confusion. But every once in a while (and today is one of those days) I have a day where everything inside me collapses. Where I want nothing so much as to sob my eyes out, and then head back to bed for the next eight hours (sometimes I sleep more restfully during the day than I do at night.) Where all the things left undone, all the places and relationships that still need healing begin to overwhelm the many places of my life, the many relationship and things that have already been healed. Where I feel incompetent, childish, and unclean. Where I wish for a hug and someone to hold me while I cry, and assure me that I’m still okay. And where my heart begins crying out for mercy and healing. For rescue.

And I cling to the rest of the words to the song…

You are my hope.
And Your promise never fails me.
And my desire is to follow You forever.

For You are good. For you are good.
For You are good to me.

The Mission of the Church

Another thought from Henri Nouwen...

The Mission of the Church

There are more people on this planet outside the Church than inside it. Millions have been baptised, millions have not. Millions participate in the celebration of the Lord's Supper, but millions do not.

The Church as the body of Christ, as Christ living in the world, has a larger task than to support, nurture, and guide its own members. It is also called to be a witness for the love of God made visible in Jesus. Before his death Jesus prayed for his followers, "As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world" (John 17:18). Part of the essence of being the Church is being a living witness for Christ in the world.