thoughts.

What if the words I sing
never rise again
lost into the realm
of my audience of One
Uniquely plucking the heartstrings
of the Creator
And forging the keys of the kingdom…

here i am Lord…

Again I stand at the edge of the sand
an old familiar place of wondering
if the next step I take
will suddenly awake
the kingdom within
as the waters part
for this ark

can I again find myself in that place beyond time
beyond fear
beyond doubt
beyond reason and rhyme
in the midst of the water
around me

I desire to stand in the midst of the grand
symphony of divine possibility

where the unseen is real
imagination too small to fill
all that exists in His majesty

So I stand at the edge and He bids me come in
and dance on the hills of expectancy.

Pe’rdida.

Crucify her.

My heart aches…crucify her.

Show no mercy on this enemy of Your court. Finish her. She deserves death.

Brought before me to judge. Year after year. Day after day. Hour after hour. I have sent her back.
“Think about what you have done.” Falsely believing there was any hope for her.
But I was grieved at her pain.
And she reminded me of me.
And I thought in my weak wisdom, this is how it should be.
So her life was prolonged, along with this mystery.

That when they condemend her, it condemend me.
That when they maligned her, they maligned me.
When they whip her, I bleed.

A mystery of suffering.

Why must they beat her? Look at her bleed!
Where is the mercy you so profess?

And with a wave of His Spirit, my eyes began to see
the evil that festered within.
Pride disguised as humility.
Piety and poverty veiling her selfishness.
Brideled by a mute spirit.
Fear of man.
Fear of death.
Hatred and bitterness.
Unforgiveness.
Unbelief.
Self gratification.
Value and worth based in nothing real.
Identity always changing.
Personality always masquerading
She did not serve Him.
She did not love Him.
She did not know Him.

And all of this that infested her,
Seemed to mysteriously seep through me.
The war within.

Precious blood had paid the price for my purity within.
For my peace.
For my freedom.
But only if she dies, can I truly live.

She looks at me again, “mercy,” she screams inside.
Death for her was inevitable,
but the timing was always left to me.
Crucify her.

He approaches in His blood, in His pain, in His suffering.
He approaches her with justice and finality.
“Pick up your cross and follow Me,” He says.
And she must comply.

They stumble together towards the hill of the skull.
But He pauses and returns before me with a question that haunts me.
“Where are her things?”
I look at Him puzzled, hoping He will not do what I believe.
“Where are her hopes, her dreams?”
I thought those were good, I thought those were mine.
But I realize now how they were so entwined,
with her.
And now I must release them to travel to the cross,
fearing in faithlessness that all might be lost.
But I know of His kindness, I know of His faith.
And I am face to face with the sacrifice He made.
If He asks, I must give.

So I reach for a treasure box of words and prayers
visions and dreams, and clinging to it begin to weep.
With an outstreached hand, I begin to release.
Crucify them.

He accepts with knowing eyes, and returns to His way.

And all of me waits silently for the third day.

“He who has found his life shall lose it, and he that has lost his life for My sake shall find it.”
Matthew 10:39
“Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.”
Galatians 5:24-25
“I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”
Galatians 2:20
“Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”
2 Corinthians 5:17

further musings.

Desiring the reality of the unseen.
The world behind the veil.
To consume me.

Hunger is real today
For His Kingdom.
I feel vulnerability in the sitting and the waiting
The tent stretches as I sit.
Further and further.
I sit in the sand watching this tent expand.
breaking from iron clad constructs that looked immovable.
And now they even look safe, falsely, in some light.

Could you really be so kind as to open a door to walk in humility, awakening the desires of our hearts?
That even in serving You, we would be at rest.
Being a child in your throne room would be our labor.
Laboring for more children in your throne room.

A 9 to 5 where I sit in my ever stretching tent waiting for your voice.
Waiting for your instruction.
To dance.
To sing.
To pray.
To be.

To feed.
To cry.
To help.
To see.
The unseen.

You have been given the ministry of mysteries.

Musings.

A song awakens inside.
A familiar song.
An old song.
A distant dream.
I have strength to lay my head down.
And wait.

Is it true?
Is it real?
Is it right?
Is it Him?
Is it His voice I hear churning inside me?
Always beside me.
Churning.
Churning.
Churning.

Am I moving anywhere?
Or gaining anything?
Are you waiting for a reply from the churning inside of me?
Because all I have is strength to lay down my head.
And wait.

Quiet thoughts.
Weak prayers.
His kindness is true.
And real.
And right.

In which of my steps do you delight, O Lord?
Teach me the stillness of your Spirit.
That place of rest.
Of timelessness.
Of restoration.

Prepare me O God for the unawakened moments to come.
Let me wait.
Let me hunger more for your Son.

Jesus, come that I might have true life.
Come that I might have true life.
Come, Jesus.
Come.