Quiet Sacredness

I can talk a lot. A lot, a lot. And often my talk veers towards the non-sensible. I can go off on tangents and loose focus and babble unceasingly.

I am saying nothing.

Yet, I am saying everything.

Where my words can be incessant chatter, my heart is crying out, “Please listen to me!” Listen to the cry of my heart to be heard. To be validated. That I am, despite all my failures, enough. My talk is communicating the deep cry within – my soul desperate to break free of shame.

My precious mom has said this to me for years: I am not portraying myself when I talk so much. When I strive and fight for acceptance. When I attempt to show my worth through words and intelligence and learnedness. I’m not the “me” she knows. Don’t get me wrong I can talk joyfully for hours about something that excites me, but when it’s about being seen as enough? It shows.

I am soon walking into my 48th year. And I am tired. Tired of trying to measure up. To be enough. Or to use the shame language of Dr. Brown, shadowed by the cultural expectation of a woman to be – Thin. Pretty. Un-opinionated. It’s not me. However, being  bullish and chatty isn’t me either.

Instead I’ve decided to embrace who God made me to be. Not thin, but curved and vibrant. Not pretty, per se, but sometimes plain, sometimes gorgeous. Rarely not opinionated, but always graceful. Listening. Thoughtful. Passionate.

And to embrace quiet. To grow comfortable with waiting for others to share. To be less anxious about sharing my opinions than hearing the ideas of others. To still myself. Live into thoughtful response. To be, finally, who God has created me to be.

The sacred mess transformed into a quiet sacredness.

I’d appreciate your prayers.
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Holding Hands

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We live in a world that takes everything to extremes.

Success is measured by money and power. Talent is determined by worldwide fame. Physical touch means sexual intimacy.

In earlier years, I was a driven person with over-reaching expectations for myself. I believed my spiritual maturity was validated by my outward appearance, relationship status and/or worldly impact. Something drove me to want what I could never achieve and that something was certainly NOT God. Always pushing myself into a societal mold (even a Christian one) did nothing but increase my anxiety until I was ripe for a mental breakdown.

In the last few years my definition of success has changed. I’m no longer driven by the old rules. I’ve found myself completely in love with a new way.

Unhurried.

Unambitious for worldly pursuits.

Unashamed.

Post-modern society doesn’t have much use for the slow, soft and gentle. The minimalist. Where “enough” is not hoarding, but a sufficient amount for the day.  We are constantly in a rush to be “something” and do “important things” – with no idea what those are.

I find myself enamoured with new things. The quiet of nature. Hours of silence. Driving to work in intercession. Longing for more, but content with what God gives. And even taking joy in the wait.

Success now means obedience and the fruit of the spirit.

Talent is using the gifts He gave me for His glory.

Touch means conveying love and hope and grace in the simplicity of holding someone’s hand.

 

P.S:  This post came from a quiet drive home from work in the midst of a snowfall. Maybe not the best time to let your mind wander, but it is what it is. I admit it: I miss holding hands with a man. Yet, what a delight to know that when that happens in my future I am able to give and submit and love in ways I couldn’t have a few short years ago. To God be the Glory. Only and always. XOXO

 

 

 

 

 

 

With Full Abandon

 

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With full abandon.

That’s how I long to love.

To rush forward passionately. Joyfully. Fearlessly.

Yet with fear is how I’ve always loved. Always afraid of love dying. Or moving on. Or fading away.

A little girl, terrified. My mother ten minutes late. Fearing the worst. She who I loved the most leaving me behind.

A young woman. First romance. Push. Pushing love away. A self-fulfilling prophecy.

Older. Getting my very own first dog. And still afraid to love too much. For the inevitable day will come. And she will go. So, I hold something back.

What do I give up if I love with full abandon? Do I give up a cage of my own making for true freedom?

What do I risk if I love completely?

Much.

I could get hurt. My loves will die, move on, fade away. And even more – they could hurt me. Lash out and do damage.

Yet.

What do I risk if I don’t love with complete passion? What will I miss out on? By tying love to conditions? By holding back in fear?

Steadfast love.

Again. And again the scriptures tell of God’s steadfast love for us. Despite our sin. Our absolute rejection of him. Worse – our replacement of Him with pale substitutes. And yet: love. Steadfast love. And if I am to be an example of His life and character and walk in imago dei… shouldn’t I embrace the love? With full abandon?

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.” 1 John 4:18

Fear has to do with punishment. My fearful love is wrapped up in a reprimand I may deserve, but Jesus has redeemed me from.

Perfect love drives out all fear. All terror. All hesitation of intimacy. Perfect love opens us to a grace too beautiful to imagine.

What have I been hiding myself from?