Water-Walking

 

One of my favorite books is John Ortberg’s, If You Want to Walk on Water, You’ve Got to Get Out of the Boat. It’s built around the story of Peter walking on the water.

Imagine for a moment what it must have been like for Peter to step out onto the waves in pitch darkness with a storm howling around him.

Ortberg says, “The water is rough. The waves are high. The wind is strong. There’s a storm out there. And if you get out of the boat—whatever your boat might happen to be—there’s a good chance you might sink. But if you don’t get out of the boat, there’s a guaranteed certainty that you will never walk on the water.”

When life gets difficult we all have a tendency to hunker down and take fewer risks. We shift our focus to preventing further loss, guarding what we value, and maintaining the status quo.

But then along comes Jesus at the most inconvenient time and He asks us to take a leap of faith we never expected—especially not right now.

In those moments, we have an opportunity to walk on water but doing so requires stepping outside of our comfort zones. Ortberg says, “Your boat is whatever represents safety and security to you apart from God Himself. Your boat is whatever you are tempted to put your trust in, especially when life gets a little stormy.”

In the biblical story, Peter decides to take the risk. We usually stop just after that when Peter begins to sink and Jesus reaches out his hand to save him. But I’m fascinated by what happens after this. The next verse says, “When they climbed into the boat, the wind died down” (Matthew 14:32).

Have you considered what that verse is saying between the lines? Peter got to walk on the water with Jesus all the way back to the boat! And when they made it, the storm subsided.

Jesus may be asking you to step out of the boat in some area of your life today. You look around you and think, “Not now, Lord! Wait until things settle down!” We’re not sure about walking on water in general, but if we’re going to do it we’d much rather have the lake as smooth as glass and not even a breeze blowing.

But if you dare to take that step of faith despite your fear, it may be the very thing that brings you closer to Jesus, lets you experience more than you ever imagined with Him, and perhaps even leads you to the moment when the storm finally subsides.

 
from Rain on Me: Devotions of Hope and Encouragement for Difficult Times 

Does it feel like Jesus is asking you or someone you care about to take a step of faith with Him? If so, leave a comment and I will pray for you (I'd appreciate your prayers too).

Let's pray for each other...

Tell us how we can pray for you (or someone you love) or just stop by to pray for someone else today on www.incourage.me.

The JOY Challenge: Day 10 - Saying (and Saving) Grace

I'm deliberately finding joy for forty days. To start from day one click here.    

Each morning before we go into the world, husband and I sit down, grasp hands, ask for grace on our day.

 

I don't remember how this began...I think as an anxious newlywed I feared that he would not come home again. I prayed mostly for safety in those days.

 

As time went on, other requests slipped in...work, those we loved, our desire to have a family.

 

It still feels awkward much of the time, this coming together.

 

You think it would be easy, natural...after all, our lips meet without any commotion.

 

But there is something about the bringing together of souls—of two becoming one—in a real, tangible way that never feels like we think it should.

 

So we stumble our way through the words, often distracted, sometimes simply doing so in obligation.

 

But STILL, still, God somehow meets us there. I know it. I feel it.

 

And those prayers are the tie that binds, the cord that leads our hearts back together when we're prone to stray.

 

So we say grace every morning...and then we receive it.

 

Enough for that moment, enough for that day.

 

And, sometimes, when we least expect it, joy quietly slips in too.

 

Would you like to join me in the Joy challenge? Just share one thing that brings you joy. I'll have random giveaways for people who comment or subscribe during the next forty days. And you never know when it could be you...  

Discovering the Beauty in Our Brokenness

I'm a guest poster for Pearl Girls today. I first met Margaret McSweeney, the founder of Pearl Girls, at a conference years ago. I was inspired by her kind heart and extraordinary vision for making a difference in the lives of women. Pearl Girls does so in a variety of ways and I hope you'll stop by their site to find out more and become a part of the work they're doing.

As I sit in Panera Café this morning, the sky outside is grey and rain splatters the pavement. The trees are a brilliant green. A few months ago a much more sinister storm snapped and stripped their branches bare. For weeks all we could see was destruction along the sides of highways and in the middle of yards. But then the weather slowly grew warmer and a miracle began to happen. One day I noticed that those trees, despite it all, were blooming in their brokenness. The first time I caught a glimpse of tiny buds next to shattered branches I drew in my breath with awe. Each tree seemed to reach its hands toward heaven as if to say, “All of it, Lord, I give all of it to you—the beauty and the pain"....to read the rest and enter to win a copy of my book go to the Pearl Girls blog.

Praying for you...

I recently shared that I'm part of a new site called (in)courage...an online home for the hearts of women. We've compared it to a beach house where we can gather.

 

This week I've caught glimpses of stories...heartache, happiness, both at times. And I've found myself praying for the women who come, praying for you. I do so when I wake up in the morning, drive to work, log off my laptop late at night.

So we're taking some time at (in)courage simply to pray for each other. I hope you'll stop by and let us know how we can pray for you too.

And I also want to take a moment to pray for you here...

Lord,

Thank you for your daughters.

You know each one by name, how many hairs are on her head, how many cares are in her heart.

So I ask today first for her to feel your LOVE—not in the vague, theological way we sometimes do sitting in church on Sunday but instead real, full, wrapping around her heart in a way that heals.

I also ask for her to know JOY—not the temporary, uncertain kind of positivity we stumble upon when life is good but instead the overflowing, steady, "fill you up inside" kind that stays despite circumstances.

I also ask for GRACE—not the kind that hides imperfections and brings shame, but instead the sort that sets us free, allows us to open ourselves up, because we know we are not all we will become and yet we are loved as we are along the way.

And for those whispered requests that are specific to her, the ones I feel the ache for without knowing exactly what it means, I pray you will provide too. You are a God of details, a God of knowing, a God who comes personally into our world. Come into hers today in just the way she needs.

Thank you for inviting us to talk to you about each other. We know you hear and you care even more than we do.

Amen.

How can we pray for you? Leave a comment here or on (in)courage to let us know.

She Remarks

Settling into the plane I reach for the book in my bag. It is Purple Cow by Seth Godin--a business title about being remarkable. It shares some wisdom, yes, and yet only skims the surface of the heart.

Settling into my seat at She Speaks on Friday night Lysa Terkeurst takes the stage. She tells her title--Finding Your Remarkable. Then words spill from her of how the true meaning of remarkable is not making others notice us but instead inspiring them to speak of Him. Contrast--it is a different approach entirely.

As I listen, I think back to a week ago. Drifting off to sleep I ponder how we are told as writers to build our "platforms." This has always tugged at my soul a bit. And on that evening the verse, "But I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself" (John 12:32 NIV) comes to mind. It is Jesus speaking and it seems then He whispers to my heart another sentence...

In the Kingdom, there are no platforms--only crosses.

We reach others not by standing on a platform of our own making. No, we raise a cross with our words and lives. Then He draws near those who need what He has called us to offer.

At She Speaks, I know again this is true, real, right.

Settling into my spirit I tuck this remarkable realization deep inside. And I know, somehow, that it will guide and ground me in all the ways that matter most.  

Finishing Together

  

Update: A big "thank you!" to Mark and Keri from KLRC for featuring this post on the Morning Show. KLRC is an amazing Christian radio station that has won about a zillion awards. You can listen to them online at klrc.com or read the KLRC Morning Show blog.

Sunday morning we place our bikes on the back of the truck, head down the road, and set out to ride. The sky is brilliant blue, colors pop like fireworks as we whiz by, friendly joggers and fellow bikers wave hello.

This is how we start--fresh, easy, sure that it will always be this way.

Then miles pass, who knows how many? And my legs begin to ache just a little. Thirst comes and the sun, once cheerful, feels hot on my neck.

He is ahead on the trail, not feeling it as I do. I find all of a sudden that we are in different places, going at different paces.

Then I regain strength and pass him when he's not looking. He laughs, surprised. Out of my view, I only hear the whir of wheels behind me letting me know he is still there.

Now and then we catch up to each other and chat about what is happening in our lives. He encourages me up a long hill. I giggle as I try to zig-zag around him.

It is toward the end of the ride, finally, and the weariness hits me like a weight. He is ahead, pushing hard to the finish. All at once I feel a fear. I call his name. "Wait!"

He turns, concerned, and comes back to my side. "What's wrong?" he asks.

I tell him, "I just want us to finish together."

Then a kaleidoscope of almost ten years flashes through my mind—a wedding day, white dress, one-bedroom apartment, countless dinners with friends, our first house, our first dog, tears, laughter, kitchen table, warm bed, lost jobs, found jobs, church services, disagreements, making up, grad school, holidays, hopes for the future.

And I realize, as in today, that staying close to anyone in life—husband, family, friends—takes great effort no matter how much we love them. One speeds up, the other slows down. Then the pattern reverses. Sometimes we are together and other times in life's busyness we only hear the whir of wheels somewhere close to us.

Rounding a corner, my thoughts are interrupted as I glimpse our truck. I had not realized how near we were to the end. Do any of us?

We reach it side-by-side. That is all that matters now.

We said we would finish together.

We did.

And we will.

 

p.s. Jenni Saake is giving away a copy of my book, Rain on Me, on her blog www.HarvestingHope.blogspot.com. Friday is the last day to enter. She has an amazing heart for encouraging women so I hope you'll stop by!

Filled to Overflowing

Candles flicker, lit and low. Music gently draw us out of the world and reminds us of another. We meet together in the sanctuary and share communion.

I watch as His daughters take the small cups. In the candlelight I think of stories I've heard, poured out from some of these hearts behind closed counseling doors. I think of my own ragged journey. And I feel at once this ache, this longing for all of us to somehow be whole.

Then I think of each cup and how they are the same but we are so different. How can one thing be what we all need?

Then I realize that as we drink those drops are transformed.

Yes, that one with the frightened look in her eyes drinks and the cup becomes peace

The other who has a shattered heart swallows hope.

A woman who lives with unrealistic expectations tastes grace.

For the One whose cup we take has said His name is "I am...." He is the answer to every question, the fulfillment of every need, the end to all the roads we travel in this life.

So these cups are not the same at all—they are, each one, just what His daughter thirsts for in that moment.

Then I say, "Let us drink a gallon—not a cup! I will drain every bit dry."

But this also, my heart knows...that only a little is enough. Like the few loaves and fishes feeding a multitude He multiplies in ways we do not understand. Those sips are sufficient for the empty spaces in our hearts. They flow down, in and around, touching even the places we ourselves have not yet seen.

The candles flicker again and I lift tiny lip of the glass to my mouth.

Every drop tastes like mystery and joy and Home. 

I am filled to overflowing.

The Journey of the Heart

In my mind's eye I stand, arms open, at the beginning of a road. The sky is purple—splashed with sunset, the end of day and the start of night. I stare, wide-eyed, trying to see to what’s next. But I can glimpse no further than the tips of my fingers.

I look within, search old maps of experiences, call on wisdom shared, lessons learned, but here and now none of it seems to fit.
 
I sigh, feet rooted to the ground. Longing to stay, longing to go…not knowing which is stronger.
 
I feel the familiarity of this place. I have been here before. I do not know what to name it—in my mind it has been many things…the “waiting” or the “becoming” or the “crossroads.”
 
I laugh then because although I have known it many times in so many ways I do not know it all. For each time it is different and the same. Like my husband—altogether familiar and yet each day an engaging mystery.

I stand and stare into the fog and I see Someone approaching. Slowly He comes at first, then with speed, until He is at my side.
 
“Yes, finally,” I think, “Now He will lead me to some glorious adventure.”

But, no, movement does not come from next to me. Nor words. Nor anything.
 
Only a stillness and quiet.

I fidget. Scratch tip of shoe across dirt. Sigh. Stretch. Shiver.

Yet none of my hints move Him. Steadfast, He remains.
 
“Let us go, Lord,” I eventually say like a whisper.

No response.

“Surely, it is time to go,” I insist, “There is much to be done and the time is short.”

And yet the stillness stays.

It goes on so long that I begin to ache, and fight, and think that I will faint from waiting.

But then something happens, a shift inside, beyond my perception.
 
I begin to notice what is all around me…and Who is beside me.
 
I listen to His heartbeat, hear His breath in-and-out, memorize the lines and scars on His hands.
 
And I realize, somehow, that this staying is more important than the going. Yes, for all the roads in the world could not lead me back to where I am now—by His side.
 
It is still difficult to remain, for I am a wandering one, but this is where I belong. And we will go, He and I, when the time is right. And I will have learned that it is not about where the road leads but the One who is leading me.

And this staying, I am discovering, is the real journey of the heart.    

Criss-Crossed

I stand at a crossroads of my life. I finish grad school in less than a month. It has been a long journey, this one. It began over four years ago. I will have my masters degree in counseling.

I laugh sometimes at this--for in many ways I know less now than I did when I started. Yes, being let into the hallowed halls of hearts has humbled me. I find I do not judge as quickly, stereotype without thinking, assume I understand the whys and hows of others' lives. For this I am grateful.

I am not the same person I was when I started. No, this journey has shaped me, bit by bit. Like exercise forms a muscle so my character has changed, altered. More grace has been added, insecurity has been stripped away (although I still struggle sometimes). I am more of who I am yet still not all I will become.

I had a vision when I set first foot on this road that I would end it with more answers than questions. But, no, this is the gift I did not expect. That this journey, above all, has taught me to ask more deeply, to question more thoroughly, to seek understanding as never before.

So I stand looking into the future. I am relieved to be here, glad to have made it to the next chapter, and yet disappointed in a way that once again life is not about closure but about continuing.

This I have learned: Whenever I finish a sentence with, "When I..." it is actually a line that will never be done. Life is one glorious run-on, full of hyphens, semi-colons, commas, ellipses. The only real period is our last breath.

Until then we are writing, writing, words criss-crossed over the page--our hearts held by the hand of the Author. 

And only He can write "The End."