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.

Over and Out.

I’m heading out for Ethiopia this afternoon and I must say I’m pumped, giddy, excited, rollin’ on the floor happy. I believe it’s going to shake so many people’s lives, including my own. I’m expecting to see God’s power move in, through, and around us. Please pray for the lives we encounter and that LASTING fruit will be a result. Please pray for the spiritual atmosphere as well as the practical, logistical side of things (transportation, luggage, health, etc). All in all, we need your prayer!

Thank you to all my friends and family for the incredible support you’ve given with this spur-of-the-moment trip. I’m loving you and missing you. Can’t wait to share some pictures and stories.

Until then, here’s one I just took that properly displays my enthusiasm right now…

 

Peace. Out.

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.

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.  

i took my own advice

so after writing “…too afraid” the other day, i’ve decided to branch out in my actions. anytime i suggest to myself not to do something because i’ll look stupid, sound stupid, or just be stupid i’m going to rethink the situation. even if it would only be a little loss i’ll reconsider. 

i’m sitting in my car passing time (and not kidney stones) as i wait for my next class to start. i found a little roadside spot by a park. thank heavens i’m in the shade. i can only handle one bodily freakout at the time and heatstroke is not the one on the list right now. nor is dehydration. the one on the list is stomach knots after eating wendy’s fries and a frosty. oof.

i noticed this is the ‘rough’ part of the du campus: a pair of charcoal and ash nike tennis shoes hang from the telephone line above; the playground is only 2 short stories tall and not one mother watching her kid is wearing diamond studs; a hole-in-the-wall chinese restaurant looms nearby, a sure sign of the ghetto. my eyes dart back and forth assuring my safety from the gangs of du.

back to my point. i took my advice about not missing out on opportunities (as a matter of fact, one of these days i am going to run into a face painting booth and get my face painted camouflage). and back to the cause of the stomach ache. wendy’s. i sat here in the car and stuffed every fry into my mouth and chased them with the creamy goodness of a frosty. by the way, wendy’s now have vanilla frosties. bull crap. frosties are chocolate and that’s all i have to say about that. rename your vanilla frosty because it isn’t one. call it coldy or chilly or snowy but NOT frosty. seriously, that’s the worst marketing blunder of all time.

and back to the point. for years now i’ve had one constant irritation with wendy’s. for people with small mouths and pencil lips like me, their spoons are just too frickin’ big! they’re extra deep and extra long. sure it’s a bonus for us fast food americans that want to heap as much product into our mouths at once before our gag reflexes sound the digestive alarm. but for those of us with wee mouths, it’s a nuisance. my main problem with the spoon is that i’m used to other utensils that allow me to drag my lips across it as i remove it from my mouth, guaranteeing no speck of food remains. clean and shiny. wendy’s spoons, you don’t allow me to do that. if i attempt to drag my lips across your deep spoon belly, i get frosty on the corners of my mouth. and who can spare one drop of wasted frosty? nay. not i. 

while i continued to enjoy my frosty and simultaneously loathe the spoon, i caught a glimpse of redemption. wendy’s customer satisfaction hotline was written on the bag. 1-888-624-8140. “talk to us,” it read. years of being peeved at their spoon and i wanted to let them know exactly what i thought. i hesitated. i’d sound stupid for merely calling to let them know about the depth of their spoon and its incompatibility with little mouthed people. i almost passed the opportunity by. 

needless to say i did it. i left a 20 second recording on their comments and suggestions hot line. i told them bluntly: their spoon was too deep and too big (i eased the severity of the comment by letting them know i loved wendy’s – although my stomach cramp tells me i flat out lied).

i like this new sense of adventure however simplistic it may be. i suggest you try some variation of it, depending on who you are and what your personal and self-imposed limitations are. if you agree with me about the vanilla frosty thing maybe we could join fast food forces and make a change in this world by suggesting they change the name. it’s vital that we do so. 

…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.

voluntary insanity

one and two and three and four…

i get on kicks–random and often spontaneous infatuations with a topic, event, or activity. i throw myself into something wholeheartedly until 1) i lose all interest or 2) i complete the task at hand in a ridiculous amount of time. ridiculous here means “short, compact, obsessively crammed.” my latest craze: rock band.

i had full access to the game over the last two nights. needless to say, full access is dangerous when it comes to my crazes. 1) i already have a desire to learn the drums or at least hits things in a safe environment. your snare doesn’t punch back. the kick pedal might in a freak accident, but the toms and snare are just weaklings asking for you to sock them in the eye. and 2) i’m a rock band fanatic. there you go; i confessed. so what was whitney thinking when she left me alone in her house with the console, the game, drumsticks, and no padded walls??  

two nights ago i began a solo tour with my punked out created character i labeled sdj. should you not know what sdj means 1) actually take some time to get to know me or 2) read this. whichever is easiest and most conducive to your sanity. do i dare say sdj was on magazine covers, had her name in lights on stage, got a birdie tattoo and new do, smashed a blazing gong on stage, and even had a “best of” album out on the market? i, i mean sdj, was living it up.

ok people, here’s the freakish part. i couldn’t stop playing. literally. it was as if my eyes could not peel away from the tube. my hands froze to my drumstick sword. my mind told me i was a failure if i did not conquer the game in the little amount of time i had with it. so i played 58 of 58 songs (on medium level – i’m no ‘hard’ or ‘expert’ leveler yet) in a matter of about 5 to 6 hours. maybe more. who’s counting? one and two and three and four…

1 freak. 2 nights.

1 game. 2 drumsticks.

1 craze subdued. 2 bloodshot eyes. 

1) i need help. 2) i need help.