Part 2: He is here for the hurting and broken

After yesterday’s post, I decided to add part 2 for all those hurting and broken in their world right now. We’ve all been there. We’ve all felt the gritty sands blowing around us in the desert times. But we can also learn the peace of the Spirit of God in the middle of our sorrows. We can learn to emerge triumphant in the strength of Jesus.

Here is the documentary for Desert Song, another worshipful addition to Hillsong’s latest album, This is Our God. The song immediately follows the documentary in the following video.

He is here for the sick and the dying

It is an eternal theme and urging to worship in spirit and in truth. It is stirring in my heart, in the heart of our church and worship ministry, in our leaders, in our lives. Lift God, lift Jesus higher and higher. In all seasons, in all pain and hurt, and all triumph and prosperity, lift our Lord as he deserves the highest place.

Hillsong’s latest live album, This is Our God, was released recently and beats with heaven’s heart. Glorify God. Here is a documentary on the album as a whole as well as one specific song, Healer. Take 9 minutes out of your day to watch this.

 

And here is the song, Healer, sung by Mike & the Hillsong team.

the water pump is working again

I have a very obvious tell when it comes to intimacy with God. I’ve realized over the last couple years that as long as I’m seeking God, searching Him out, desiring more of Him, I’m singing. Not necessarily on stage…just singing here and there without even realizing it. It’s an unstoppable well when I’m spiritually lit, and it’s a sure sign that I’ve neglected my first Love when the songs cease, when the well dries up. It’s as if my spirit is communing with God subconsciously throughout the day. And as I do so, I find my spirit soaring. In these times (whether they are difficult times or not), God gives me new and personal worship songs to sing to Him. They may never be published, copyrighted or recorded. They may never be heard by more than the audience of One. They are solely His and I sing them for Him the moment they come to me.  

However, some of the other songs He gives me I believe He wants me to share. One day. They’ve been accumulating over the last two years and, with the fresh life God has given me, have resurfaced. We’ll see.

 

 

All I know is I am grateful for the life once again coursing through my body.

My spirit is free to sing to You!!!

corrected & redirected

I received a timely e-newsletter tonight. It was from Hillsong Music letting me know about new releases, pre-orders, and other deals. While I’m always interested in the outputs of a place I call “my first home,” I was drawn more-so tonight to the free teaching download from Robert Fergusson. While at leadership college in Sydney, I undoubtedly loved Robert’s style, character, and demeanor the most. Today I still consider him my favorite Bible teacher (RT Kendall is definitely up there too). Needless to say, I ordered the download and spent the next 40 minutes experiencing (yet again) the grace of God.

I might call the last 9 months of my existence an unfortunate pregnancy. From September till now, I’ve allowed the non-fruits of the Spirit to take root within my heart and soul. I willingly became a host to the sin of not loving God with all my heart, soul, mind, strength. In the roar of life, school, and work I loved my Self and my Wants and my Life more than loving anyone else. I was becoming the Christian that attends church on Sundays and Wednesdays, helps out volunteering, hangs out with fellow church-goers, but doesn’t spend a drop of time in prayer and in the Word throughout the week. It hasn’t gone unnoticed in my eyes. I am fully aware, fully conscious, fully guilty. But a chasm separates the cliffs of knowledge from those of repentance. Only those who choose to actually walk the rough wooden bridge, each plank dripping with the blood of Jesus, experience a changed heart. For 9 months I’ve toed the edge of the cliff of analytical reason, stubbornly refusing to take a step of faith. No wonder I’m searching desperately for my identity. In my quest to find Me, I’ve wandered away from God, the One all individual fulfillment lies in. 

I longed – at the end of Robert’s message – with a heart craving its maker. I cried with repentant tears when Robert gave an altar call. There were no people to witness my hands up in the air or my knees on the floor. It was just me and my gracious Father.

For the first time in a long time my heart feels tender again, willing to change, desperate to spend time with Him. I’ve wanted to be used by God, but I must first be made usable, pliable, humble, obedient. I want to be back in His presence, serving Him, loving on Him, rejoicing with Him, worshipping Him, and living a life of faith-filled adventure with Him. I just want to be His again as I’ve found I’m a lousy keeper of myself.

eye-spy an eye-witness to my eye-dentity

I figured I should blog since I haven’t for about a week now. This one is just uninspired, uncreative, and simply for unleashing my mind.

It is very apparent and real that I’m searching for who I am, what makes up the insides of me, my heart, my brain, my personality. I’m on a kick right now trying to discover (scientifically and analytically) that definition.

• In the last week, I’ve checked out books on personality and career profiles to match those personalities (such as Do What You Are, a must-read according to a highly respected professor of mine). 
• Additionally I’m reading another book (Never Be Lied to Again) on how to read people in hopes that I’ll gain an upper hand on my communication skills. Don’t worry. I’m not a compulsive liar and am not paranoid that I’m lied to every second of the day; I just want to know how to read people’s tells.
• Soon I will read another book on utilizing those learned skills through persuasive communication. (That professor also highly recommended Artful Persuasion, one I’ll eventually get my paws on.)
• Tonight I took 2 different IQ tests (just refer to me as ‘nerd,’ not because of a brainy score, but because of the fact that I had to take the IQ test to fulfill the compulsive urge and then take a different one in order to verify the validity of the score).
• In addition to those 2 tests I also took 2 personality tests tonight. The Myer Briggs test labeled me as an ENTJ (Extraverted, Intuitive, Thinking, Judging)–or Rational Fieldmarshal according to the other test’s interpretation–just like Hillary Clinton, Napoleon, and some back-in-the-day US presidents.) Dude. I almost wet myself out of fear. Eye-opening and frightening all at once.
• A few days ago I reread the printout of my Clifton StrenghtsFinder “Living Your Strengths” test: in case you’re wondering, my profile is Intellection, Connectedness, Restorative, Learner, Input. Super-dee-duper!
• And finally, I went back over my DISC profile ORCC/MHM administers to every employee (something I am grateful for). High C and High D. I like to think, organize my thoughts, and get things done. No BS please.

I’m piecing together all of this for some reason. I just need to know who I am, where I’m headed, what the heck I like to do, how I go about doing it, and with whom to work alongside. 

If you by chance have a good idea of who I am and what the heck I’m meant to do with my life, please let me know. I’m obviously considering every other opinion out there as it is. Why not seek more valuable input?

p.s. I shall soon write a blog where almost every word has a link to a picture or website. I shall.

Still There

I wrestled with you again last night. One time in my life I dreamed at you with open eyes. Now you crawl into my nightmares and resume the lead the role. They say we struggle not against flesh and blood, but you are flesh and blood. And it is so much more.

Just hours ago I desperately sought freedom from your vicious hold. Mute chase scenes, violent struggles, and presumable fears tie me up every time you jam your foot into the door of my subconscious. And sadly last night you succeeded. Those people fell victim to your deceitful conniving ways and I was left voiceless and unbelieved. 

You died years ago but your voice still echoes and your face still reflects predatory devastation. Your clones stalk me challenging my spirit. What do you still represent in me? My God, why is he still allowed near me? I have named him: Coarse Reality And Imposing Guilt. No, you will not destroy me.

You put up a wickedly admirable fight last night. So today I will fight back and reclaim the lands you stole.  

…too afraid

today i realized the shoebox of regretful moments i have in life are centered about one unfortunate characteristic. People-Pleasing. what would people think of me? these missed opportunities unavoidably cloaked me in the uneasy and awkward sensation that intrudes with Embarrassment. and of course they were always unwelcome and always accompanied by Fear. they may seem simple but they are lightly laced with grief as i sample them again today. 

elementary school. annual fall festival outdoor carnival. cake walks, dunking booth, a jail, duck pond, and face painting. i’d spent my very last ticket on the magnetic fishing game retrieving a plastic toy that’d be stored in my closet for next summer’s garage sale. i can make a nickel or two off of that. that october day, in the front of my mind, i knew the family would be leaving promptly as the Texas sun went to sleep. don’t be late. before i successfully located them, a cool and highly influential Tracy Ellis bounded up to me with her face freshly painted. i was wowed. wowed yet ticketless. generously she offered me a few quarters to get my face entirely done camouflage-style. i wanted it so bad. but more so i wanted to keep my parents happy. my (foolish) reasoning led me to believe i’d be grounded for months after a spanking with that splintered wooden paddle. i sulked, refused her offer, and found my mom, filling her in on the recent events and the good-girl response I had returned to Tracy. “why didn’t you do it?!” my mother asked, confused at my decline. well, because i was too afraid.

middle school. 8th grade volleyball season comes to a close. it was my first year ever playing the sport and as it turned out, i was fairly decent. Shannon and Liz excitedly encouraged my continued career: high school team participation. i mentally scanned the future and surveyed the layout. spandex shorts and large crowds of people in those wooden bleachers? and each person had TWO ogling eyes? on me? not a chance in the world. vulnerability? no way. and so i let a newfound enjoyable delight drain in a matter of a moment’s decision. i would never play the sport competitively again. i was simply too afraid.

high school. a developing passion to sing. i stood in the large church and belted out a tune along with the crowd at rock the nations. little did i know Rachel was listening in. she leaned in and said, “you’ve got a nice voice. you should try out for the school choir.” i contemplated the offer, blushing at the compliment. but i contemplated for four years and never stepped foot in the choir room. tryouts? singing in front of someone? out loud? and so i dismissed the idea over and over until i graduated. i sang on stage in public for the first time august 2005. i was 23. 23 silent years and then i let my voice out of its box. but never did i sing in high school because i was too afraid.

college. freshman walk-on to a division one basketball team. scrawny and short. high school highlight videos lost amid the surrounding standout talent. from the first day i stepped foot on the lacquered university floor until the last day of the season i was purely intimidated by my head coach. all talent and ability walked out of the gym at the same time People-Pleasing walked into my head. i had let the paranoia of failure in front of my coach become reality. as it played out in my head so it played out in my game, my shot, my instinct. my former talents and abilities were locked within a cage i fashioned with my own hands. days after the season ended so did my self-imposed restriction. i let loose and played as if no one watched. i played for myself and not my coach. Tasha and Ty stared in disbelief at a teammate seemingly unrecognizable. one piped up, “where have you been all along? why didn’t you play like that during the season?” you guessed it. an entire year choked and buried. i was too afraid.

a lesson learned: don’t miss out. no matter how simple the situation may be, no matter how little the loss may seem at the time, don’t allow your temporary, short term fears become lifelong regrets.

hopeful

she is at winter’s mercy. a fool nonetheless. caught in the season of bitterness, lifelessness, and hopelessness, the snow deserts stretch the length of her heart. what lies beneath is only dormant. a light and steady pulse faithfully remains undetected by the grieving eye. she is blistered by winds, numbed by cold, with bones aching for warm light, warm blood. here she is again, crying. icicles on her cheeks and puffs of icy air convince her she is still alive. wake the sleeping heartbeat. decrescendo – winter. crescendo – spring. in a chorus of vitality the season erupts. green blankets and tree limbs speckled with pinks, purples, and ivory. grey eyes turn blue as the clouds part. she walks upright again, her wintry blanket folded in the back of her trunk for another day, another time, another place, another season. not now, for now is spring.

procrastinating

Right now I should be working on a midterm essay that is due tomorrow. Instead I’m dilly-dallying and a-what-not. Perhaps lollygagging.

I’d love to tell you about my awfully perfected habit of procrastination. Don’t really want to right now. Maybe later. So shoot me.

We Need to Talk

Someone-I-Know wrote this.

We need to talk. I’ve got a lot I need to say to all of the People in my World.

…to my Plate: “You’re too full.”

…to my Time: “You’re too gone.”

…to my Eyes: “You’re too tired.”

…to my Mind: “You’re too scattered.”

…to my Soul: “You’re too frazzled.”

…to my Heart: “You’re too torn.”

…to my Body: “You’re too ‘this’, you’re too ‘that.’”

…to my Face: “You’re too worn.”

…to my Will: “You’re too stubborn.”

…to my Facade: “You’re too convincing.”

…to my Scream: “You’re too muffled.”

…to my Tears: “You’re too frequent.”

…to my Breath: “You’re too short.”

…to my World: “You’re slipping from me.”

…to mySelf: “You’re falling.”