With Gratitude

send some rain

would You send some rain
cause the earth is dry
and needs to drink again
or maybe not
not today
maybe You'll provide in other ways
and if that's the case
we'll give thanks to You
with gratitude
a lesson learned in how to thirst for You
how to bless the very sun that warms our face
if You never send us rain
-nichole nordeman

On paper, this might seem a strange time to be pondering gratitude, to attempt a continual immersing of my soul in a pool of thanks. Much to be disquieted in spirit over, at least by any mortal standard. And yet I find my weary, lonely heart returning to this prostrate position, facedown before the Giver of All Good Gifts, grateful for all, for all is gift, all is good that He works together. He is doubtlessly at work here.

In my deepest places, the most true and least seen, I sense a quiet resignation. No lament or mournful accusation over grievances endured, no fanfare or dramatic unveiling of higher wisdom attained. Reticent with genuine gratitude, green and small with the newness and promise of Spring, a tender budding. Giving up my say, my false semblance of control, my call for rain. Accepting as a gift that all is good, whether I can discern the inherent goodness or not. Withstanding the drying and the heat, focusing my intention to bless the kiss of warmth upon my face. Trusting at last the Orchestrator I claimed to trust all along, and catching back up to His masterful melody when I inevitably begin to fumble with the notes. Changing not my circumstances but my approach. Even if nothing else ever changes. Recognizing that it is well, that all is well, whether floating on peace like a river or through sorrow like sea billows, when Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

For I was not placed here to merely measure up, and the standard to which I aspire is far from mortal. My business is with here, with now. With a life abundant not once this or after that but in the present. To be present. Existing in this moment that is, that I may meet I Am. Thirsting after nothing else but His presence that quenches. Convinced again of His intricate designs, His boundless power, His overwhelming love, what else have I to do but surrender, to fall before Him with heart and soulfelt thanks? Understanding that it is not mine to understand, only to accept from the One who is and always has been exactly what He said He is, to believe what I have always said I do.

With gratitude.

Instead of Sheep.

*Thank you, Irving Berlin, for putting my 2010 to song. In 1954.*

When I'm worried and I can't sleep
I count my blessings instead of sheep
And I fall asleep
Counting my blessings

When my bankroll is getting small
I think of when I had none at all
And I fall asleep
Counting my blessings

I think about a nursery
And I picture curly heads
And one by one I count them
As they slumber in their beds

If you're worried and you can't sleep
Just count your blessings instead of sheep
And you'll fall asleep
Counting your blessings

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year To You & Yours
(From Me & Mine.)

Change

just enough light for the step i'm on.
stormie omartian

Recently I had an epiphany. Most of you already have this truth tucked away snugly in your hearts where it radiates warmth and makes you secure and happy. Until this epiphany popped randomly into my mind one day, my heart was hypothermic, my attitude dismal and gross, and I was succeeding only in making myself and my husband and anyone else who had to live with me fearful and miserable. What's even more embarrassing is that the truth had made it's way to my heart before, and if I'm honest, it never really left my mind. But maybe you know what I mean when I say the cerebral, intellectual understanding of some truths is nowhere near as potent as the profound, deep in your heart and gut identification with them. When a truth becomes part of your makeup, of how you exist, a thread in the fabric of your being, and not just the words of a sentence strung coldly together in your hazy thoughtspace. And so I'd like to change the mode and location of transportation: everything shifted when this epiphany melted it's way through the layers of slushy sleet and hard-packed snow and solid ice of my heart and lit everything on fire.

The epiphany is this: God is powerful.

So powerful that if He wanted to, He could today make one of several things I know of and a few million more I don't happen and completely turn everything around for us. That is not hard for Him. When He looks at our situation, He doesn't say, "Well I'll be," and sit down stumped, fist to His cheek, trying to figure out what the heck to do next. No that's what I do, and usually my choice of words isn't so benign and flailing would more accurately describe the motion of my fists. Because I had forgotten that although right now everything seems weird and somewhat scary and out of my control, that's not how it seems to God at all. When did I decide projecting my mental state onto the Creator of the Universe was a good idea? (Whole other issue.) This epiphany, like all great and important ones, is multi-faceted. Not only is God powerful, He loves me. Or should I say, is in fact powerful enough to love me exactly the way I am. And so it follows that if He is able to change everything instantly but doesn't, because I know He loves me, that means right here is exactly where I'm supposed to be, where He wants me to be. Which changes my responsibility to the present. If God's as flabbergasted as I am at the latest turn of events, we can both be kinda moody and upset and complain about it. But since He's not, since I am convinced now that He has me exactly where I am on purpose, and He loves me and wants more for and from me, my conviction becomes that I not only have to survive this season, I must find a way to thrive in it. Make no mistake, He could move me with ease. And make no mistake, He has promised me life and that more abundantly every second of every day, not just when I get to where I want to be. And so my charge is to do it here, to do it now, to thrive where there are no answers and not a single, tiny thing has changed.

It's called being faithful, and He has set a perfect example for me.

And so, imperfectly, I have set out to adjust not my circumstances or my future but my outlook. To approach each day not as one more meaningless box to check off on my way to real living, but as the organic, moving, breathing, essence of my real living. It's not a mistake. God doesn't make those. He's far too powerful, and to believe otherwise is to discredit Him. And it's for my good. He loves me and has promised me that, and I have never known Him to be a liar. With this gift in hand: knowledge of the intention and lovingkindness of God in every situation, what choice do I have but to walk in faith and joy? Releasing my claim to the future, trusting Him, hoping in His sovereign power, believing that He knows what He's doing, and that He loves me. Seeking the ways He wants to use me to be a blessing to the people He places in my path every day, and the specific purposes He has for every beat of my heart and every breath from my lungs. For there is much He has for me, but I'm usually too busy doing anything and everything else to notice it. Killing my time, not using it.

And therein lies the change. Not of my circumstances, because that's not really the point. The change is in me. In how I view my God who is in control, and His loving expectations of me. Want to know why I'm so convinced they're loving expectations? Because when I wasn't requiring much of myself but was instead just passing through life as though I were sleepwalking, well I've already described what life was like for me and those closest to me then. Since I've begun holding myself more closely to His requirements of me, I've been living. And it's been beautiful and good and I've been humbled. I have to admit, a big part of that humbling comes from the fact that I can only do it with moderate success. Even though I know exactly how great life is when I keep myself in this holy mindset, I still falter and have to recalibrate and keep coming back to the epiphany. Often.

But the change has begun - and that's something.

Blessed Are

If a fair weather friend is one who only sticks around for the easy stuff and bails when life gets real, I've been a bad weather friend lately.

Summer blazed this year. Under that oppressive heat, internally I was on the verge of spontaneous combustion. For days, weeks even, I couldn't make it through the day without being in nearly constant prayer, referring regularly to scripture that would pop into my head, clinging to it like my only lifeline. I was desperate, and I knew it. My utter dependence on my Heavenly Father was a given, and I leaned heavily. Which meant that in the midst of painful chaos, my soul was finding unparalleled nourishment and I was graciously sustained through several infernal heat waves. As I said, it was a hot summer.

The air is beginning to change. A coolness has crept in, gently stirring things up with subtle welcome breezes. And I find myself making it through my days completely on my own. Or at least without a genuine thought of or word to the One Who daily saved me mere weeks ago. What I'm most ashamed of is the timing when I do find myself thinking of Him or talking to Him, or searching His Word - it's when those last vestiges of heat make me start to sweat, when my fears and doubts begin to bubble up and need to be calmed and cooled. When the bad weather returns, so do I to Him.

I am not ok with that.

Because the truth is, I do recognize that I need Him every day. Even in the mid-70s without a cloud in the sky. Every single breath that fills my lungs, beat that fills my heart, and thought that fills my mind depends on Him in Whom I live and move and have my being. My need is constant, even if my perception of that truth isn't. I am desperate for Him. But that's the ironic truth and priceless beauty of suffering: in moment by moment survival, you experience the extravagant riches of intimacy and communion with God. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. As I clung to Him with my last shreds of strength and relied upon Him for my next breath, I knew Him in a way I never have before. With complete intention, I swore my undying devotion and closeness, declaring that it would never fade, now that I'd tasted the sweetness.

But when my eyes don't open in a flood of tears and anxiety isn't already tearing at my heart before my alarm sounds, my snooze button is what I think I need more than my time in His Word. A constant soundtrack of music or phone calls fills my drive time, not fervent prayers from my heart's wretched depths. Not that those other things are wrong. Sleep is important, as are the benefits to my soul that music and the people I love bring me. But still. There was something powerful and profound about those days where my next moment was uncertain, except that I trusted the One who held it. This fair weather distance is breaking my heart.

And so I will make the effort to be the friend I want to be. In every season. To train my mind to recognize my still constant need for Him. To attune my heart to the rhythm of His, aching for the beats to synch. That as I emerge from my time of mourning and His comfort, I may find my heart pure.

That I may see God.