Beautiful

Dry, crusty ground
No life to be found
She kneels down undone
Surrendered, broken, her head to the dust
Tears break through
And wet the desolate earth
A tiny sign of life

Her heart speaks:
I am broken
A daughter yes, but I see what I am
Without Him
My pulse lacks life
Unless He’s near.
I cannot fear
I cannot hide
I must embrace exposure
And let your life grow inside

A simple breath
She knows He’s near
All around is lifeless
But He whispers in her ear
This whisper produces hope
And where once a tear had soaked
A stem begins to appear

A sign of life!
She can hardly believe
That Father could grow
Something out of her zero point

Slowly she rises
Aching, but looking towards
Her source of life.
He shines down light
And her eyes come alive

She lifts one arm
Now the other
Her feet shift and begin to move
Now she’s spinning
Laughter overtaking her
And the stem becomes a flower

As she dances around
It grows higher
And shoots colors
She’s never known
Into the atmosphere
Until everywhere
There is life and growth

She dances now in freedom
Her smile aglow
Basking in the beauty
That only He could have made
Out of the broken shell that she was.

“You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of the dust. Oh, you make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of us…” by Gungor

Shouts of Deliverance

“You are a hiding place for me; you preserve me from trouble; you surround me with shouts of deliverance.
Selah.”
-Psalm 32:7

A whisper erupted deep from her soul. “You are my hiding place…”
Her throat burning, the tears finally escaped their fragile prison. The fear weighing down her heart like physical pressure was too much to bear. She had nowhere left to go, and they were coming. She could hear her pursuers, but she was incapable of getting away. She herself was in a prison, a fortified one built strong over years and years of decision and unfortunate generational circumstances. Now, though she tried to run from her enemies, she had come to a wall—the wall she knew she would reach but wanted to deny it. But now, facing it, she couldn’t. Looking up, she could see no end—it seemed to reach to the heavens and beyond.
She knew one thing in her life. There was One who was faithful, always. It was to Him she now whispered. She should have turned to him earlier, before things got out of hand, but her ego and self-dependence kept her from admitting her weakness. One thing about this Man was that one must receive His help, being willing to admit dependence even in times of strength. She now knew she was never truly strong on her own. She gave in to temptations every time until her “friends” revealed themselves as her enemies, right when it was too late to escape. She had built this world for herself. Born into it in one sense, but cultivating it her whole life until it consumed. She didn’t “reverse the curse” when she had the chance.
Her heart beat wildly as a storm began to stir the atmosphere. The trees nearby trembled in anticipation of the violent gusts, and the debris from the ground whirled around her like a mini tornado. Her pursuers were yelling, not too far off now, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying. A storm. Would this kill her, or would her enemies? Her fear only doubled.
“You are my hiding place.” A brief calm lit up her heart, and she became aware of her breathing, which gave her hope. It was born, as if shooting out from seed, within her, while all around chaos, fear, and uncertainty reigned in their kingdom. She opened her eyes, and the storm picked up, whipping her hair into her eyes. She ran into the haven of the trees on her right, seeking to escape the wrath of the wind, hoping to hide from the ruthlessness of her enemies.
Then, piercing through her heightened panic, she saw a rock located on a small hill, not too far away into this forest. Focusing her eyes, she could see there was an opening. It was some sort of cave. A proper hideout? Once again, hope fluttered in her heart at the notion.
“You are my hiding place!” she said it to affirm this hope that unrelentingly kept poking its head out of the grave that was her life. She headed for the cave, determination rising up, ignoring the shouts and insults of her pursuers. For they were voices she could do without, always taunting, trying to drown out His voice with accusation after accusation.
No—she would not look back in fear. She would move toward her provided safety until she reached it.
The wind was against her. It knocked her to the ground several times, growing stronger every minute. But the cave was getting bigger in her sight, and she felt His hand guiding her there.
She finally arrived at the entrance to the cave, almost out of breath, but using the remaining air she had in her lungs to let out short bursts of laughter. The opening to the cave was wide enough for her to easily crawl into, but low enough to hide her from anyone’s sight and protect her from the harsh winds. She ducked inside. It was pitch dark, but there was light in her soul. She knew this was provision from the faithful One.
“You are my hiding place.” She waited in stillness for the storm to pass and for her enemies to finally give up their search. But she could now make out their screams more clearly. They were tempting her, taunting her, trying to evoke a response from her. But she said not a word, despite the pull. Here in this hiding place she could think more clearly, without distraction. She knew if she responded to the threats or to the promising alluring “pleasures” her pursuers offered, she would regret it, because she always did. The voices kept coming.
Until beauty pervaded the atmosphere. She caught her breath at the sound. It was a full-throated yell, fierce, furious, full of conviction and passion. It eradicated all the other voices, as if they had all shriveled up and died instantly. The beauty of the yell pierced her soul and awakened her spirit. It was a war call, an anthem of deliverance that seemed to go on for several minutes. She let herself drown in it. Transformation was carried in that voice. And she knew this—this was for her. This was the Man called Love. The faithful One. The voice carried on for however long He saw fit, then stopped, as if on cue.
Sweet silence engulfed her. No more wind, no more voices. Peace. She knew she was changed, standing there in that cave.
Then, to her shock, a hand reached through the opening. She could see it, for the light it cast overcame the darkness of the haven. It was wounded. It was inviting her to step out. When she did, the man to whom the hand belonged embraced her firmly, and they both exchanged tears of joy. Love had gotten His beloved back. Then he spoke with authority, moving her onto a new path she would tread for eternity.
“The storm had to come, child, in order to lead you to the hiding place. Nothing that comes is without reason, and I am always with you. Now, go, listen to my voice, and bring my Kingdom to reign in this world I have placed you in. You have come home!” Joy lit up His eyes.

Father, my home is You. Selah.

The Take Over

He was at the end. He had nothing to give, nowhere to go, nothing to say. This moment was the culmination of his life up to this point—a time to reflect. A time to regret. To regret not giving more when he could have. Now it seemed his one gift to the world would be to rid it of his presence.
He was not a man without love. No—he had more love in his fragile heart now than he had ever had before. He loved his world. He shared its pains and loads, heartbreaks and tender moments. He was like anyone else. But he could not help anyone else. He lost his chance. No one trusted him enough to even receive from him. He was an outcast. It was a world full of outcasts, though. This he now knew.
Oh how he longed, standing on the edge of the rocky cliff, to be able to do something great—to make some dent in the world. But his absence would be the biggest dent, for the people who knew him would be relieved. Relief was a gift so many needed. And the people who didn’t know him would never have to.
Wrong thinking? Maybe. But there was really nothing left. He could no longer see into the future—he had no future. He had tried everything and failed.
Spent. Empty. Lost.
He sank to the ground. The sun was setting, casting orange hues on the rock he knelt on. He could see his own shadow, taunting him. Why? Why didn’t you become a better person? Now you are only a shadow of your potential self, and you can never regain what you lost.
His now grown out hair blew in the wind. The air was fresh, but he didn’t want to breathe. The beauty around him threatened to tug at his heart, to pull him back into life somehow, but he resisted. Bowing his head, he slowly sank lower until his forehead touched the rough ground, no doubt leaving indents in his flesh. But that was the last thing he was aware of. As the memories flashed through his mind, the faces of the people he had hurt, the sobs overtook him, body and soul. He cried into the dust, his tears joining creation and becoming one more mark of a pained soul in this desperate world. Just one more. Would anyone care? Could his tears change anything?
He cried for the twins. He cried for Sarah. He cried for Mom and Dad. He cried for the homeless man whom he had always ignored until it was too late and he was found dead on the street. He cried for the brokenness of humanity, the brokenness of his own soul. He didn’t know how long he knelt or how long the sobs coursed through his body, but he didn’t try to stop it. No—something needed to be finished here. These tears must write the end of his story.
A sudden awareness of another presence awakened his heart. He took a deep breath and let out one last sob, a loud one. But he did not raise himself from the ground. He did not even have the strength to walk to the edge and jump. Apparently this would be his resting place. Maybe his own sorrow would kill him.
Stillness.
A whisper of movement, then a hovering.
Gentle contact.
Someone was on top of him, like a light blanket, almost comforting.
A perfect covering.
The man called Asher was no more. Another had taken his place. They breathed together as the wind stilled, and for once in his life Asher felt at peace. It was good to know he could not be seen, even if no one was around to see him.
Did he know this presence? It was somehow familiar, but new at the same time.
A voice came. Soft, but strong with conviction.
“My son, you have come to the end of yourself. This is how it must be. You must become nothing so I can become everything. Then, life will spring forth!”
Asher didn’t respond. What could he say? Wasn’t he already reduced to nothing?
“Let go, Asher. Let go of the regret and the pain. For even in holding onto those things you are still trying to grasp at meaning with your own effort.”
He began to cry again, this presence on his back becoming weightier. It was heavy, a relentless pressure but still comforting. Now a whisper.
“Surrender!”
The weight of the word caused him to lay flat on his stomach. Then—from somewhere deep inside, a guttural scream burst forth—
“I give uuuuuuuup!!” He said it into the earth, but it reverberated throughout the canyon, echoing back to his own ears. Then the strangest thing happened. It was as if the presence that was with him now became part of him. He had become something other than himself. He was lifted up from the ground and placed on his feet with a renewed vigor, a stronger heart. He looked down at the rocky surface that had recently become his altar, and one remnant tear escaped from his cheek and fell to the ground. Asher smiled, and it felt like breaking out of prison. He looked out to the beautiful horizon one last time, painted orange and purple and crimson, then turned and walked away into his new life.
Sometime later Asher, now reunited with his twin daughters and his wife Sarah, now living a life laid down for others, returned to the spot of his “take over,” as he called it. It was his first time returning to the sight since that night. And there, right where he had laid and cried, was a lone rose amidst the rocks. It was a color he had never seen before, as if from Heaven itself, and it stood out against everything around it. Life. Asher smiled to himself and thanked God that out of death had come life. He would make his dent in the world, and mercy would be the song he would sing.

Stirring

God is stirring within me. I won’t mask him, I won’t call him something else. Because when I invited him into my life, he came in. And now he is stirring. He lives inside, so when he breathes, I breathe. Sometimes I breathe differently because I forget to let him live. What a tragedy.
God died voluntarily to give us life—his life. If we think we are living when he is not, we are wrong. Dead wrong. So either we are dead or alive.
When God stirs, I must allow it. I must let him come all the way through, for only then will my life have any meaning or make any positive difference.
I am waiting. I am letting him grab a hold of my heart and make it beat again. It beats with beauty, it beats with pain, but it only beats when his touch lingers or his fingers work the blood through it.
Sometimes I think God cries, and usually we are not aware. I think he cries when we forget about him, or when we push him away because we believe we are not good enough for his love, or we don’t feel good about ourselves. I think he cries when we are insecure. I mean, how painful would it be if, with all your heart you desire to love someone, even to the point of being willing to die for them, and they don’t know it, or they forgot about your immense love, or they reject you out of their own pain. Where will your love go? You will still love, but that love will not find its proper home.
I want to let God make my heart beat. I am weak. I sin. I am selfish and I make multiple mistakes per day. But God does not change. If I don’t let him love me, I hinder the change I want to see in me and others.
I want to let God’s tears move me. I want to cry with him for those who have not yet seen, who have not yet known the intensity of his love.
Stir, God. Stir within—awaken me. Because if I want to truly live, you must come out. Thank you for your love. I commit to knowing it better, to seeking it out day by day as one starving.
I want to be like you.

Cover

What do you see?
What do you see??
Do you see my heart beating?
I feel it is dead
It is dead without Him
So please don’t see me

My weakness so plain
It weighs on my soul
But why do I care
If it’s for You, I’m told?

I want to be held
I want to be loved
I can only do so much
I’ve got to give up

Being loved is enough
Knowing Him is enough
I want to please Him
But I already do

My heart must believe
My soul must give in
To His relentless faithfulness
In the face of my reckless sin

My heart is so hard
I have a critical eye
I have negative words
My flesh needs to die

But You never fail
You’re strong and unmoved
So I am still used

I can’t comprehend
Your love so vast
It’s hard to believe
That You look past
But I guess to be
A good person at all
I’ve got to believe
That You are All

Shame and Art

We are each infused with the life and nature of our Creator, made in His image, set apart from all other creatures to think, speak, and live like God. Not to be God, but to be reflections of Him. How far we have fallen. Right? That’s what we would say. What a shame, what Eve did, what she made Adam do, that we now have fallen so far away from our original purpose. What a shame that we cannot be as we once were—whole, pure sons and daughters who lived in intimate fellowship with the One who breathes life into everything and who loves radically and infinitely.

What a shame.

And yet, something deep inside calls to us, pulls out of us a desire for things beyond this realm, for a life we seem to know but have never experienced. Many of us turn to art and creativity to try to express these deep unfulfilled longings. We are trying to get back to who we really are; we are trying to find the One we first fell in love with.

But we are ashamed.

Nothing comes out quite right. There are walls seemingly surrounding us, people gloating over us, failures and weaknesses taunting us. Sins we cannot master over.
A friend recently told me of a time she was talking to a leader in a church. This leader said that one of the biggest issues and hindrances plaguing our generation of Christian young people is shame. What an obstacle this has been! I think I know without even having to ask that we have all hid our faces in shame multiple times, probably even within the past week. And it is keeping us from moving forward, from emerging, from living beyond the status quo! Our destinies are being jeopardized by shame!
We want God to use us, we want to create beautiful things just like He does, we want to find His heart in our prophetic creations. But shame holds us back. We think we are not good enough to be used, that we have too many fears, make too many mistakes.

Why can’t we get past this?

It is because we feel like there is something wrong with us. We need the revelation that God knows we will mess up! But He does not see us that way. If we are born again, He truly only sees His Son. Because that is what He chose to see. And when He sees His Son, who gave up everything for His heart and glory, He cannot help but love. So you see, His love is never taken from us. If we will only confess our sins in openness and surrender them to His great love, He will take them from us. For good.

Shame is an unnecessary block to our growth.
It is a needless enemy to our creativity.

God can and will use all our broken pieces from our messed up lives to bring about good in our generation.
They are waiting. You know who some of them are, you don’t know who others are. But they are waiting for the sons and daughters of God to be revealed.
Let the Creator use your brokenness to set our generation free! Only He can do something so amazing. Stop hiding behind shame, because Jesus looks at us as if we have never sinned. There is no limit to what He can do with that!

Beginning

I'm at the end. I can feel the last fibers of the rope roughly slipping through my grasp. My weakness is amplified by the second as my only hope becomes mere threads. I know I will fall. And yet I hold on anyway. It is simply too daring to believe that there is anything beyond the yawning abyss below me. I am frightened, for what will happen when I lose control and fall into the unknown? Now only one fiber remains in my sweating fist, and I want to give up. Maybe what is down there is better than this barely surviving state. My shoulders ache, and my whole body is parched. I cannot take the pressure of hanging on any longer--it has consumed my focus, sucked life from me. Maybe the unknown could in fact be a glaring opportunity for adventure--a whole new realm where creativity thrives and true love pulses through hearts that are alive. A place where beauty awakens destiny and purpose. Will I find my Creator if I only let go? I'm at the end--so I have a decision to make. Will I let it happen to me so I confess my wrong because it is the only thing left to do, or will I willingly give up because I know already I have always been at the end of myself? I've heard it said that at the end of yourself is a beautiful place to begin. Well, here goes. I'm letting go. Creator--consume me! I'm falling into your abyss. I don't know what I will find, but I'm ready to be overtaken. I can't do this anymore, so I surrender to your love.