Sunday, December 25, 2011

Artistry and ashes

Oh to be an artist and create beautiful images of lovely parables and put sweet romance on display, I'd show the world a romance between man and Christ.
But isn't that what life is for? Oh to be a living representation of the romance between man and Christ. Could He not create far more beautiful a picture than these ashes I try to pass off?
He calls me to be willing, says the picture would be the finest I'd ever seen. Know me Lord, that the world would know You.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

This is what you do, you Open the veins in my heart, as in the time you first romanced me. Oh that each beat might pump love through me, warming cold flesh; and it would fill the hardened words that darkness speaks around me, overflow into emptiness inside. As you call hearts forth to beat, love pumps through to awaken Love, new life spreads wild inside, then to the head as Truth penetrates it's beholder, then to the hands, you place your signent ring upon my finger. Then to the feet and I can remember a whisper you whispered long ago and you said "Go". And it only just now broke through the silence deadening my ears and I remember when you first spoke, like a memory I'm remembering but I've only found it in this moment, perfect truth and perfect beauty. If I perish, I perish, Lord I will wear your signet ring.

Friday, October 7, 2011


Seale, Alabama

Here at last, I pray that I might learn how a sheep abides in his Shepherd after being set free.

It's finding Truth in the mundane.

It's staying set apart from the rituals of routine and habit that institution and organized religion set up for itself.

It's obeying the commands of the Lord written in the precious word that we ought to value more than our next meal.

It's remembering that we are Kingdom builders rather than Kingdom dwellers.

It's remembering that our sole (soul) purpose is to bring Glory to the Lord.

It's allowing the Spirit of God to take full possession of the tent He has made Holy for Himself by power, through one blessed instant in history called Calvary.

Friday, September 16, 2011


With my feet wrapped in peace.

Though I'm distant in word, I am not distant in heart, dear blog. Something wonderful has happened and now I watch the past few weeks replay in front of my eyes as if a movie were on repeat in my head. Almost as though I hadn't lived it myself, but were walking through a dream. And I'm still walking in the dream.

In short, I'm on my way to Alabama to devote my life to the Lord's work, for the vision He placed in my heart, He has allowed me to accept.

I still feel as though I'm dreaming, and for the most part I'm walking in perfect peace. It's not as painful as it should be, leaving a lifetime behind for a new one, because He walks ahead of me. It doesn't hurt like I thought it would. The dream is keeping the peace of the one who dreams. It almost feels as though I could stab myself right through the heart, and I would only bear a dull aching of a pain, somewhere outside of myself. For He is dwelling within, softening the loss, with the gain of the cross. There is no sacrifice in Love. Only life.

Monday, July 25, 2011


It says Nelson on his drivers license and it expired 12 years ago.

He says the picture is a reflection of his soul

He makes his bed on the bottom of a rotting crate, he stumbles in and out of it most days.

He makes his idols out of cigarettes and beer.

He’s a long way from here, oh a long way from here.

He’s been crying for deliverance but couldn’t hear through all the noise

He’s been lost for so long, and his lovers were only decoys.

Oh Nelson my brother the ground you stumble on is new

You can’t see it yet but He’s fighting for you.

The world hates you, and oh how you thirst.

But isn't there One it hated first?

Your feet don’t move well from infection and abuse

you’ve been walking, for a while questioning their use.

You’ve passed the same rock a hundred times before

The cornerstone stands and knocks at your door.

There’s a well beyond the stone

And there's a flute that calls you home.

You feel your heart beat wild to the tune of it's allure.

Your lungs ran out of air and your alive but your not sure

The voices now are silenced and you hear the sweetest lion roar.

You stumble forward wondering how you never heard before

You drop your bottle now, I see hope rising up inside

Your breathless lungs breathe life for the first time.

Your feet begin moving faster than they ever have before.

You run until you reach the water rejected by the world

He’s waiting there with a cup of gold to give to you to hold.

The water purifies your feet and fills your hungry soul.

He draws from the well and pours it out now, He uses it to wash your feet.

“I love you precious friend.” He says. “Take up your cross and follow me.”

Thursday, June 30, 2011


Psalm 27: 13-14

I remain confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the LORD
in the land of the living.
Wait for the LORD;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the LORD.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Little ones to Him belong.

This week is Vacation Bible School, more conveniently deemed, "Pandamania" to entice tiny minds with visions of gigantic creatures wandering freely amidst their usual congregation of pushy siblings, cool older teenagers, boring mom look-alikes and exciting but obnoxious little peers.

It begins promptly at 6:30 (nothing is ever prompt when dozens of kids are involved) and let me assure you, this is one WILD ride. But from 6 to 6:30 we have games, spin art, a bounce house and face painting for the little ones (and the occasional over-enthused parent). During that time I am in charge of painting tiny cheeks and foreheads and sometimes noses with vibrant colors of an unnatural nature (but an exciting appeal). The kiddos are absolutely crazy about facepainting and at 6:30 we usually still have lines and I have to turn down little fellas and tiny ladies and it's sad because they've been waiting for so long.

When 6:30 rolls around we sit down in the sanctuary and sing crazy songs about how God is wild about us. And we dance like we belong in the Happy Hands club (circa Napolean Dynamite era), and I get a little crazy with flailing hands and stomping feet because I know the Love my Father gives, and I sometimes get funny looks from the other crew leaders, but I usually get laughs from the kids so it's worth it. Use the word 'usually' lightly.

We then wait patiently (nobody is ever patient when dozens of kids are involved) for our crew (Crew Amanda, shoutout-what up!!) to be released to begin a journey including a series of adventerous events. One night we found ourselves in the smelly belly of a giant fish. We met Jesus's pal, Peter, we've compiled everyday supplies to be sent to kids in other countries, and we've met a chatty little fella named Chatter and accompanied him on a wild adventure to restore missing Pandas to their homes (still on the edge of my seat with that one...).

Overall, it's been amazing. Watching children praise the God who called them forth is beautiful. Praying that the prayers they pray will take root in the fresh soil within their hearts is a passion. And seeing the smile in a child's face puts one on mine.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011


Sometimes I long for the stories of Jesus in real time. Why do we not see Him struggle with the hurt feelings that come along with being rejected? Or with the insecurities that nudge at the misunderstood man's face. How should I deal with frustration, sadness, rejection, and disappointment.

Why do I water the seed of bitterness in my heart when I know it can lead to unforgiveness and death? And how do I stop it before the roots dig deep.

I find myself fighting back big girl tears, old enough to know better, but hurt enough not to care.

Saturday, June 11, 2011


Thoughts of a world I couldn’t change drowned the wind You sent to save me. Drowning in her streets, and she hid Your face from my eyes, then Your call from my ears.

Wind sent forth by sweet Jesus. He pleads intercession for the life that You gave me. I cry through the sins of my father and breathe redemption deep into my lungs.

Still she lied to me and I forgot what You told me, that I’d never be the same for the knowledge of You.

I forgot when you said You’ve been with me since Your beginning. I forgot when You showed me Your hands holding my heart when it was tiny enough to wrap palms around.

Until you broke through my deafness, breathed life to my veins thirsting for air, and waged war against me for myself. All the while, You write tears down as they fall to the floor like rain.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011



You.You.You. You stir my heart and melt my flesh. You replace mine with yours and I am compelled by You. You. You. You. You. You. How my heart aches for the day we dance forever. May the moments that lay before that time be compelled by love in a word. You.

Friday, May 20, 2011

The vision

Oh God, the vision in my heart. Is it Yours? Resting inside Your precious will, oh help my doubt. Oh God the vision, how it grows. Like that of Betsie and Corrie ten Boom, obedient servants unceasing to the call. A home for restoration to the wounded of this world.

There is no place untouched on this earth by the repercussion of sin, the depravity of the things of the world. May this place hide those within the refuge of your wings.

Your healing touches gently, beautiful, and none can take its place. May I see it to its end but Oh, Father, your will be done, Amen.

A home for Your wounded soldiers to find healing in Your wings. A home for wounded children to find adoption through your Spirit. A home for the lost, rejected, to find their way, oh, once again. Send me, oh Mighty Visionary, may I will go with You to its end.

Sunday, May 15, 2011


When my heart goes out in search of the pieces that it needs to find home again, it shall find my Beloved waiting there, just beyond mountain.

Oh, precious faith, my gift, my guide. My heart dances wild in my chest as He plays the flute for me. Suddenly and all at once, He calls me, like the sweet dew of the morning, only the fragrance never fades.

I know that this is just the way He meant for us to be.

I cannot deny the overwhelming fullness in my soul at His faithfulness to my requests and to the Truth of His Righteousness.

He never fails me, though time and time again I fail Him. So it is, that the desire of my heart is to offer the whole of my existence to serving the call, as if He spoke it into those pieces before they made their way back to me.

Play Your flute, sweet Jesus. Wherever you call. My answer is yes.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

A thought or five.

Jesus, son of man, Son of God. I should like to make this writing as simple as it was when it happened upon me.

As a follower of Jesus, I would be remiss if I neglected to search out the heart of my Savior in order that I may know Him fuller to know myself better, and be transformed in the image of His likeness. That being said, I can find Him in what is probably the easiest book to locate in the United States. The Bible. I often take for granted the ease at which The Lord has given me know Him more.

As I was searching the book of Mathew, in hopes to find His heart in the midst of the beautiful words on the page paralleled within the confines of my heart, I recalled a verse that I will first state to you, Romans 2:4. Or do you show contempt for the riches of His kindness, forbearance and patience, not realizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance? This verse tells me two things, the first is clear in that the Lord is abundantly kind and patient. And the second, these things are intended to lead us to repentance.

Now. Back to Mathew. If one desires to find the compassion of sweet Jesus, he might turn to Mathew. Mathew tells of beautiful events that would bring tears to the sensitive man's eye. Healings, deliverances, compassion and love. Dead men rise, while other 'dead' men discover what it means to be alive. Oh, He is giving me the words.
Look, here: Mathew 9:36 When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.

Savior indeed!!

OK, later in Mathew, we see Jesus denounce the towns and rebuke them, these same towns where He was moved by His compassion to heal the sick and perform miracles by the Hand of the Father. Their eyes witnessed miracles, but perhaps their hearts harnessed pride. Mathew 11:20 Then Jesus began to denounce the towns in which most of his miracles had been performed, because they did not repent.

Wow. Wow! It is here I find that the direct acts of His compassion intended to lead the people to repentance take their toll when the people actively rejected the opportunity He provided them to repent. OK, it's official rebuke time.

Mathew 11:17 We played the flute for you and you did not dance, we have mourned unto you, and ye have not lamented.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

The Gift Of His Word, the lies of the old man.

Oh, if only we knew the calling we have as followers of Jesus! Jesus the Savior, the Redeemer, the Advocate, the High Priest, the Life, the Lord, the Hope.

Everyday fills us with possibilities of diving deeper in to the depth of knowledge that the Word has provided. Unfortunately I often find my mind wandering to things that ought to seem of infinite insignificance because I know what it means to think upon the things of Christ for purposes of the Kingdom of God. And I know that the Word has an answer for me that looks a lot different than the answers that the world might try to scream.

What outfit will I wear today? 1 Peter 3:3-4
Hello! Maybe I should put on some sackcloth and become consistently aware of my vanity.

What restaurant shall I go to for lunch? Oh, I don't know, how about one that serves up flesh and the blood? John 6:53

OK, come on. Of course I recognize that we will be faced with these decisions daily. And I really don't suggest going to a restaurant and inquiring with the waiter about whether or not they serve the bread of Jesus' body or the blood of His well. The purpose is to suggest that what we do with these decisions and how we answer them will dictate the level or the plane that we think upon. Being lead by the spirit strips away vanity, fashion doesn't exist here, and a tasty chicken pasta or a bowl of cookies 'n' cream ice cream suddenly fades to nothingness. Good gracious! Sweet Jesus is calling, can't you hear?

How insignificant are the things of the world, the pleasures that our culture has provided us with to find momentary satisfaction. How much money that ought to be given for His namesake is spent on a gluttonous means to no end that only ends up promoting the weight of sin on my back and yours? Oh! What a pain I have in my heart.

But what a gift, to be an ambassador to the King, the God of hosts. And so I ask God to search out my heart, and I often don't like what is found. Confession: I find my thoughts slipping to jealousy because for some reason I think I deserve more than what I already have, I find pride welling inside the flesh that's burdened me for 25 years; suggesting that I am worthy of doing a good thing and should be recognized for it. Ha! I find doubt creeping in to my ears and drenching my mind whispering that this life is nothing more than a mere fantasy. Yeah, shut it old man. LIES.

Oh, the old man. His adversaries are the same as those of the enemy. Friends. Frenemies. They were my old man's friends, but they are my enemies. I'm so tired of the lies.

And so I look to sweet Jesus my King, I tell Him I don't deserve what I've been offered by Him, forgiveness and a new heart. And that I should like to carry the cross for Him and joyfully give my life over to Him again and again, if He'll have me. Yes, He says. Over and Over, Yes.

Monday, April 25, 2011


Why do you look for the living among the dead? Luke 24:5.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011


I was standing at a gas station today and the wind was blowing wild. I stood there wondering why I couldn't see such a lovely sensation and hoped that it might stay a while. And then I was reminded of the same mystery that betray the earth on Saturday. The same sweet wind, turned black, structuring itself for destruction. And I thought how could such a sweet wind so readily betray it's earth.

All at once I realized this thinking was irrational but thought to myself how beautiful it sounded. That we might belong to something so dear, but then it would turn it's back so swiftly for betrayal. Strange, as I was researching footage from the storm on Saturday, I came across many "artistic" portrayals of tornadoes and storms. Such that would romanticize destruction. I saw one that portrayed a beautiful girl standing in the foreground, arms that appeared to be dancing above her head. There behind her was a tornado strategically doctored in to the picture directly behind her. How could it be, that turning a tornado in to something beautiful is acceptable?

And then I thought that this earth has betray me for all my life. Why should it be so strange that I could finally see it, in the tornado. Beauty, and then destruction. The beautiful things as per the earth, the pride, the money, the power and the lies, the darkness, the lust, the jealousy, oh, the world. She is beautiful, but she is meant to betray you.

Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. Romans 12:12

My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one. They are not of the world, even as I am not of it. Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth. As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world. For them I sanctify myself, that they too may be truly sanctified. John 17

Monday, April 18, 2011

An open letter to the home destroyed on Forestville road

The beginnings of these words seem irrelevant when I think of the terror you must have felt for those few minutes on the Saturday you will remember for the rest of your lives. These words, I offer with overflowing eyes, a heavy heart, and the humble nature of a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ.

I don’t suppose it would help to tell you that I complained this morning about the electricity and how its absence had only slightly inconvenienced me. As my aggravation grew with every passing hour that I could not get cold filtered water from the stainless steel refrigerator, the tornados yesterday seemed a lot smaller than the damage they wreaked across my precious home state.

And then came 9:45 Sunday morning. I headed outside with my un-blow-dried hair and my room-temperature water. I got in my car with all its windows still intact, my car that did not have a tree resting on its roof, my car that had not been flipped on its side. Less than one mile later, I started seeing trees down in my neighbor’s yards. It was getting worse. More trees. Then I started seeing windows outside of their frames, then trees through windows. The first devastated home I saw had been shifted off its foundation, and where its garage had once stood, there only lay the frame of a roof, resting on top of a pile of debris and broken wood.

I turned right on to Forestville road. I didn’t know where to look, I couldn’t find comfort in this landfill of the left-over’s of a tornado. I’m sure my mouth was visibly hanging open, my hand held my cheek in disbelief. I started seeing decks in piles, debris wrapped around trees, shards of metal in yards, likely the missing pieces from the destroyed mobile homes down the street. And then I saw your home. I saw what’s left of your home. I saw a lazy boy and a beautiful lamp in the middle of your yard and for some reason that’s what got me the most. I saw multiple people salvaging things from the inside of the place you lay your head and putting them in to a truck for you. These people, I can only imagine, are neighbors, members of the community recognizing a need and humbly offering the only thing they can; their hearts and their hands. I saw them walking the streets close to yours, dozens of them. I saw them talking with distraught home-owners. I saw them picking up trash. I saw them embracing one another. But I didn’t see you. Your home spoke louder than I imagine you could. The screams of a life of memories literally leveled. A lifetime of a place called home, taken down in a moment.

I write to you to offer all the sympathies and condolences my little hands can give. I write to you to tell you that there are scores of people praying for you and the other victims of this storm. I write to you to tell you that nothing I write will change what has happened, but that I hope you find some comfort in the knowledge that God chose to use you in my life and to be sure, in the lives of others: to humble me, to break me, and then to rebuild me. I pray that you will let Him do the same for the home you lost and for the life you begin rebuilding. I don’t know if you are a believer. If you are, I don’t know where you stand in your faith.

This is what I know, I am a 25 year old woman who has not a doubt about the saving grace of God, and the gift He gave us in Jesus Christ to make all things new. Be encouraged if you can. Trust Him if you can. And if you can’t, ask Him to help your unbelief. At the risk of quoting scripture you’ve heard one too many times, this comes from a heart firm in the belief that He works all things together for the good of those who love Him.

Blessings to you in this difficult time,

Your neighbor

A Tornado's Wrath

My nightmare in real life. The dreams I had weeks ago. Here they are in real time. And I am heartbroken.

Thursday, April 7, 2011


I have recurring dreams of tornadoes. And if you know me, you know that I'm quite afraid of tornadoes. I don't have time to go in to it here, or now. But I frantically seek a place to hide. My hiding place, to protect me from the wrath that tornadoes like to bring alongside them.

I don't know what to make of this.

It's not what I'm running from. It's what I'm running to.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011


In order that God may heal us and bind up our wounds (Jeremiah 30:17), we must allow Him entry in to the depths of the souls that He created within us; the souls that we took in our youth during our disobedience, these souls clothed with flesh; now new, but first corrupt by the war that rages within us .

And we fight the war either with weapons we create or with weapons in the name of the Lord (Ephesians 6:10-18), either for one side or the other (Mathew 12:30). I believe we are either on the defensive or on the offensive.

When I could watch from the sidelines no more, I spent much of my life on the defensive, protecting the inmost places of my heart from rejection and pain, from aloneness and from disappointment. You might be quite surprised to discover the amount of effort it takes to convince oneself of how little you care, to ice ones heart until its numb, or to push X away, before X is taken away. These weapons we create not only push healing further from sight, but can be taken and used against us.

When said battle is over, when the smoke clears and the fire dies down, you never like what you find. Because what's left is an unfortunate mound of weapons of mass destruction, maybe some cannons and machine guns, and a soldier, more wounded than he was before, still clinging to what he was protecting. Underneath the mound you'll find his delicate bruised and torn heart. And healing never comes, because it can't move past the weapons piled on top of it.

By humbly offering ourselves to God, we commit that we would endure whatever He would inflict upon us, that we may be healed by His goodness and Love.

We often overlook what it means to humble ourselves. Humble, low or inferior; to reduce the power of. Humiliate: to cause shame to, to hurt the pride of.

When we humble ourselves, when we put aside the weapons we've been using to protect our hearts from humiliation and admit that God is God, it is then, then that we will be healed.

Monday, April 4, 2011


Thursday, March 31, 2011

unsocial networking

As all (three) of you may recall, nearly a year ago, my pace quickened and my step changed direction as God called me toward His marvelous light. I gave up eating out at all forms of restaurants for approximately 40 days. Grease and fries to the wind, what I found was a desperation within my heart that I had not known before.

So this year, after very little deliberation, and for purposes of earnest seeking (not purposes of traditional value), I offered up something near and dear to my heart. Yes friends, I have given up (drum roll) social networking websites. Goodbye Facebook. Goodbye Twitter.

As has been mentioned on more than one occasion by more than one friend, I was “addicted” to Twitter. While my Twitter use appealed to me for multiple reasons, i.e.; receiving updates about happenings in the world, having encouraging spiritual gems by learned men and women of God, and outputting thoughts and revelations throughout the day for various individuals to “enjoy”, I found myself referring to both accounts countless times throughout the day. Perhaps someone might find what I had to say interesting. Maybe someone “liked” something I posted, or maybe by some miracle I gained more than 30 followers on an account where I only knew approximately 6 people. I found myself mid-conversation, mid-car ride, mid-church service(!), thinking “Oh! That’s good, I should tweet that!”

After having gone without (and I do not mean to sound as if this is some life and death sacrifice) for 21 days, I am learning that having the approval of man (in the form of “likes”, “comments”, and “mentions”) is something I relied on for fulfillment in ways that I can’t explain.

Our behavior must be driven in a way that forces us to be humbled while acknowledging that we were created to glorify God alone. We must be careful to examine our motives and our behavior, with reverence to God’s word. Finally, we must ask God to search our hearts continually and pray that He finds a heart made pure and blameless before Him.

You make me new.

Please pardon my absence.
I sit and write, with full heart but empty mind.
I have little to say of my own words that can make what's happened seem beautiful, but I can assure you, to God's glory, he is faithful to the oppressed and to those who seek Him earnestly and fervently.

It seems so much has happened, to my fall- yet to God's glory that I haven't the words to describe the means to my end- or the means that God plucked me out from the pit that I dug for myself.

I'll keep it short. Short, but not sweet. I made my bed in a place that looked a lot like hell for a little while. As honesty would have me admit, I stepped outside of His peace, and tried to create my own. Without going into much detail, I quickly learned (again) the consequences of an individual depraved. The truth is that it is much harder to find one's way back to the narrow, than it is to wander apart from it, and I've been reaping the consequences of this seed for longer than I'd like to mention. But by God's mercy He has taken the cup from me and given me the precious blood in it's place.

And I'd lay in bed long nights, with what felt like a heart of stone, and a cry that came from somewhere else would plead deliverance from the darkness that surrounded me.
Glory to God, and no credit of my own, I became desperate for the God of Whom I had stepped outside of.
I can see myself in that ocean again. There I was, dark, raining, and under water. The further I sank, the more desolate and dark, and my lungs ran out of air a long time ago, and maybe I died. I can't be sure.

And then, by no strength of my own, I found my way back to the place that my descent began in the first place. And my hungry lungs took a desperate and violent first breathe of air that flooded my spirit and rescued the soul of it's beholder. Resurrected.

You make me new.

Friday, March 4, 2011


On the edge of a canyon I stood,
back to the wind & face to the clouds.
Took a step forward, thought it might be nice to feel like flying for a little while.
God knows, I couldn’t see all the way down.

And He grabbed me right before I jumped, said at the bottom was a fiery ground.
And I’d be sure to burn,
if I didn’t die first
And I answered with tears flowing down.

His feet were muddy by the time they got to me,
Said He’d been walking through the trenches
all from a seed
that grew in my heart, turned in to a plea,
And He’d come to rescue me.

Give grace to a broken heart,
dead flowers breathe life for the first time.
Awaken the dead man sleeping inside,
give voice to this soul of mine

My Bloody hands redeemed by the Vine.

Greenpond, South Carolina

It feels different being back here now. As if I'd been here only for the first time, every tree a landmark for freedom. The rolling hills that might scatter at the sound of God's thunderous voice, and His children would rejoice instead of pondering how such a mystery happened scientifically.

Like the earth moves a little slower, but those that walk it, walk just a little wiser than the wise might think, for it's the foolish things that confound the wise. Like her people walk their days with stamps on their foreheads, and no one needs to ponder at the meaning, because they all have the same ones.

Am I generalizing a people, and overlooking a serious and fatal disease called humanity? Yes, and maybe. But the truth is, Greenpond, South Carolina is a special place. A place too small to be called a town, where people know each and the other, help each other, and love each other. A place my grandfather helped transition into a place called Love. A place that calls me child.