Nothin' Left to Lose

This morning, the sun shone through my blinds, hitting my face and rudely awakening me. I could only see out of one eye; the other was clouded with coconut oil from my makeup remover. The taste of vanilla and peanut butter from dessert last night still lingered in my mouth. Glamorous.

I stumbled to the kettle in the kitchen and put water on for tea. The dog jumped off the bed in the other room and came for a good morning greeting. Clunk. Click Clack Click Clack. The sound of builders working on the house next door made him growl. I smiled.

I was grateful for mornings. Dad told me once that the morning was the clear time. There was joy in rising, he said, strength in the steadiness of the sun. The darkness of struggle was always left in yesterday. There needed never be a shadow with Him. 

The world was changing, my heart was open and increasingly more free. But with more discernment came more warfare. Voices came into my mind and shouted at me and I couldn't think, couldn't even turn away. Night was when they attacked, when I was tired, when I was too weak to fight. Lies entered my mind and then attempted to settle as truths in my spirit. They spoke over my destiny, over my worth, over my identity, the woman I am and the woman I will become. They spoke over my darkest fears, the things I fear the most. They told me, without fail, that I would never be free.

The cold inside this heart that's now unfolding

is trying to thaw,

but things frozen up inside

keep falling out.

But it's better that they leave,

anyway.

If you had told me a year ago that today, I would be living in Sydney, doing life with the craziest people I've ever laid eyes on, I would have laughed. If you had told me I would leave everything I know and not only go, but stay in a strange country, I would have called you crazy. If you had told me that I would lose everything I had, but find the greatest Love in all of eternity, I would have politely nodded my head and wondered what the hell you were talking about.

But here I am, sitting under a tree in the Crow's Nest, waiting at a bus stop with no bench, eating a drumstick in the dark, wondering when I will get to meet with Jesus again. I see Him everywhere now. I see His kindness in the eyes of the poor. I see the glint of mischief in His eye when a child laughs. I see His power when the thunder rolls across the desert and threatens to soak the whole earth in glorious rain. And I see Him in me sometimes, when I open my mouth and out pops a song no one's ever heard before. He is beauty, you see, and beauty has begun to wrap me into itself, into its recesses of light. He is taking the poor cinder of my conscience, carried it back to His workshop, and is making it a true thing, radiant, clear. I have been close and tasted of the real love of my Christ, and it has started to consume my life.

See, I've been runnin' for a long time,

Trying to find my refuge.

Never stopping long enough to see

That I can find my rest

Under the weight

Of His sweet shadow.

As we get closer to Jesus, to beautiful Holy Spirit, and ultimately to the heart of Father, we encounter more and more resistance. We are threatening the very center of the Devil's power, and He quakes in His shoes when he sees us getting close to God. Church should not be the most exciting thing in your life. Nor should missions, playing a guitar in worship, seeing deaf ears hear, watching people get saved, or seeing all the kingdoms of the earth transformed. It is simply the pure Presence of Jesus, what He is, who He is, the love He carries and the Truth of His Being.

But there's a cost, a fight for Truth Himself.

See, we're in this HUGE battle for freedom, bigger than we can fathom, and just being close to our beautiful Jesus is the answer to victory. It is when we begin to yield all our heart, our fear, our addictions, our worry, our insufficiency to Him and let him unearth whatever He wants, it is then that we encounter incredible resistance, then that we start to battle for our very lives. 

Sometimes we can't feel Him, sometimes we don't even have enough strength to cry out for help. Sometimes we feel tied down, like we cannot lift our hands or move, for the spirit of fear comes on us, and we are immobilized. Sometimes we think that we can't come to Him because there's too much "stuff" in the way.

He's never been afraid to deal with our stuff. His love comes in again. He takes those fears that we never thought we would be rid of, removes them from us, and fills us with love in their place. As I go deeper into Christ, the deeper He goes in my spirit and pulls out things I would rather had stayed buried, things I didn't even know were constricting me, slowly killing me.

I want to be close to Him. That's all I've ever wanted. I want to dive again into Him, into deeper waters. I feel the resistance, but I will not be turned away from Him, though much tries to entangle me. I'll never be satisfied with shallow again. Why would we splash when we can plunge in and swim in the deep blue depths? He wants to blow up all my paradigms with His love, wants to blow up the smallness of my own thinking about myself, wants to take me deeper in Him than I ever imagined. I must eat of Him daily, He must be in me my food and water and breath, or I will die.

He has set all of this up, every facet. I did nothing to get here but follow the little clues He left. It hits me afresh every day that He is the greatest treasure I could ever find or own or possess. He is ever close, so close to me. I cherish the wind of His whisper, even the hint of His being around me, the thought of Him thinking of me. I feel Him now, these days, more strong in me than ever. And I love Him so much... More than I could ever write in lifetimes of books.

I've made up my mind.

Until the darkness disappears

And the dawn has fully come,

In spite of shadows and fears-

I will go to the mountain with You.

All my love,

B

The King And I

The driver stopped by the side of the road across from the gate of the palace. Cars zoomed by the stationary tuktuk, so close they would shave my arm off if I put it out the window. He turned around, looking at me with a crooked smile on his bright face.

 

"It ok if I stop to give thanks to my king?"

 

I had seem him bow before, an incline of his head and both hands put together in front of his face before statues of Buddha. It always happened when we were in the middle of driving down busy roads, and in those moments the only thing on my mind was the condition of his sanity. Sometimes he just nodded his head in the direction of the monument and honked his horn.

 

But this time he came to a complete stop. He turned his body to face the gates, and he bowed. Twice. He muttered a sentence that I couldn't understand. Somehow, I knew it was different than all the other times.

 

And I wondered why.

 

He pulled away from the curb and started chatting away in his broken English.

 

"You see big Buddha? There is school. If child from poor familiy, they can go there for education. My king pay for it. He is good king. You see palace? My king have 3 daughters and 1 son. All live there in palace. There is school for king's army. They protect my King. My king 86 year old. Long live my king."

 

See, you can't love a statue. You can't get to know it. It can't teach you about kindness and wisdom and love. You can't crawl into its arms at the end of a long day. It doesn’t cry or laugh with you, share a joke with you, run into the unknown with you. It can't protect you from evil. There is no twinkle in its eye or spring in its step. It can't feel. It is incapable of loving you.

 

But you can love a man. 

I used to be a beggar on the side of the road, but He brought me into his house and made me a daughter, strong and free. I am a warrior now. It is who I knew I would be from the moment I was born. It is my destiny. I used to sit at home and hear of His battles out in the wilds, but now I am grown, and My heart burns for victory. I do not fight the darkness for myself, for it has already been defeated. I fight because my King is perfect. He is strong, and wise, and honourable, and He deserves the throne He has. And I love Him so, more than anything. That is why I fight: that Love Himself would reign.

See, there is a man that I love more than my own life, who I would die to follow. There is a King who I can call mine.

And He's sure as hell ain't a statue.

All my love,

B

 

No Sleep and Sweet Dreams

I can’t sleep. Our flight was delayed nine hours and we didn’t get to bed until 3:30 am. The air conditioning is beautiful, and I have never been more tired. All I want is to rest. But I can’t sleep.

What day is it today? I don’t remember anymore.

I go out and sit on the balcony. The sun is just coming up over the ancient city of Hanoi. The people get up and go to bed with the sun, and the streets are already swarming with people. Horns beep, not angrily, but an intermittent form of communication between lumbering trucks and the hundreds of tiny scooters and motorcycles that clog the intersections and roundabouts. Two beeps if you are passing on the right. Three to warn a pedestrian. A long and angry blast if someone tries to do something stupid. No one ever stops. It is a beautiful creature, flowing in and out of the streets, fluid and effortless.

The women are covered head to toe, though it is a horrific 97 degrees with humidity. They wear stockings under their high-heeled sandals, long pants, jackets, hats, and even scarves to cover their faces completely. Usually there are two people on a scooter, perhaps three. Some girl pulls out her phone to text her boyfriend. A cage full of chickens drives by, looking quite unimpressed strapped on the back of an old Vespa. One woman has at least 100 pounds of fruit in crates stacked around her. I wonder how her bike manages.

The road is dusty and downright dirty. Occasionally the smell of noodles floats across the air, sometimes a putrid combination of waste and too much sweat. There is barley laid out on large tarps, and traffic politely avoids running it over. Bark from cinnamon trees is laid out to dry. Voices are raised in an argument about how much mangos should cost. Barefoot children chase each other in and out of traffic, seemingly oblivious to danger. A shirtless man sits in his little plastic chair and watches the people go by while he eats his noodles.

I faintly remember when my dreams used to look a lot different. I wanted a house on a big piece of land. A car, a fireplace, and coffee every morning with pancakes. Of someone to make dinner with and do laundry for. A degree, an occasional mission trip to the third world. To be put together, to be polished, respected, secure.

But in this moment, those dreams seem so funny now, so far away from this chaos, this messy place.

The season has changed.

I realize that somehow, I want to live in this dirt and love the people who hate me. To gladly give all that I have to people who can never repay me; Not only my money, but my life, my very self. I now dream of no running water and sweat and blood and tears. Of being broken again and again by Jesus, so that I may love the world as He does. To fade slowly from the polished things of the world into the hidden recesses of the poor and broken.

 And I’m not entirely sure when it happened.

Won’t you tell me, Lover of my soul

Where do You feed Your flock?

Where do You lead Your beloved ones

To rest in the heat of the day?

For I wish to be wrapped all around you.

Let your dreams be changed. 

Beth

Thoughts of a Recovering Chronic Planner

This is the story of a little girl.

Life was an endless adventure for her, magical and full of light. Sometimes she wondered what she would do when she grew up to be big. She saw the cows that got sick on the farm and thought maybe she would become an animal doctor to fix them. She danced in Janie's ballet class for 2 years and thought that she could become a dancer. She saw Daddy sang wherever he went, and thought maybe she could sing. And she saw people that hurt, and knew she wanted to help take away their pain so they would smile again. In any case, she knew she was born to change the world.

See, once man was with God,

Before time had been woven together.

Before this present shadow.

And it was then that my destiny

Was whispered into my ear,

Breathed into my little, eager heart.

The Dream is not something I must find, try to obtain, a goal to be reached. Not a degree I can buy, a house I can build, a man I can marry. My destiny is not a fork in the road that I can miss, a path that I must follow step-by-step until I reach my destination. 

My Dream draws me in from far off, pulls me ever closer, entices me forward. It is more than what my mind can think, but not beyond what my heart can desire.

"Jesus, what shall I do to inherit eternal life with you? What is it I am to do to change the world?"

"Heal all the things that are barren in the earth. Dance wildly, that the world may see My joy. Work with your hands, that they may see I am strong. Sing the song I give you with all your strength. Trade your beautiful clothes for plain rags and sit with the poor, that they may know I yearn to listen to them. Wash the feet of murderers and thieves, that they would know they are clean. Give the hungry bread. Give the thirsty water that they may live. Open blind eyes that they can see again, open deaf ears that the people may hear Me, raise the dead that the world may become alive again."

The Great and Awesome Creator, 

Who wrought each cell together of this poor dust I call my flesh, 

Who breathed life into that dust and gave me breath,

Who bridged the gulf that separated my soul from His, 

He has given me my Dream. 

As I am won over with all I find Him to be, as my heart begins to hear again the Voice that sang life into me, my destiny becomes nearer and nearer, though I do not know how. As my heart bends beneath the weight of His promise, I draw nearer, unwittingly, to the dreams I once had in my heart as a child, the dreams He sang over me before time began.

Dream beautiful dreams tonight, Beloved.

All my love,

B

"The work we do is nothing more than a means of transforming our love for Christ into something concrete. I didn't have to find Jesus. Jesus found me and chose me. A strong vocation is based on being possessed by Christ. He is the Life that I want to live. He is the Light that I want to radiate. He is the Love with which I want to love. He is the Joy that I want to share. He is the Peace that I want to show. Jesus is everything to me. Without Him, I can do nothing." 

-Mother Teresa

Why Easter is Different This Year

I had a life once.

A life without emotion, without feeling. 

An empty faith, worthless words, empty worship. 

A cold heart that would not move from my chest. 

I sought to live, but all was dull, you see. 

Dead.

I had heard of Him from books. I had heard whispers that He worked miracles, that His love was greater than anything any eye had seen. I had heard that He was the God who Saves, but I did not feel saved from anything. I had come to the end of myself. My song had left. 

And then I saw Him.

The Crucified Savior, the Risen Messiah. The First and the Last, before and behind, beyond all that the rich imagination could devise, beyond all that the hungriest heart could long for. His skin shone, his hands and feet were pierced. His eyes held so much love I could not bear it. He knew everything in me; I knew it.

When I saw Him, I fell at his feet as one dead. And He laid His right hand upon me, and He said,

“Fear not,

Since you were precious in My sight,

You have been honored,

And I have loved you;

 I am the First and the Last and the Living One.”

When He was crucified and died, rose up and came up out of a grave, the very fabric of history, of my life was torn to pieces. It changed everything.

I have felt the power of His resurrection in my blood, coursing through this old woman that fades day by day. I am alive as He is alive, and His love pulses in my very bones, as deep as it is universal, as conscious as it is unspeakable.

I am lost, you see, without my Christ. He did not die just so that I may be close to Him and never be guilty again, He rose and defeated death forever, that I may live anew and never die. 

How precious He has become to me! Not a distant God who shuts His ears to my hurt, but a Messiah who has loved each part of me since time was woven together. He has remembered me from age to age, has given me life and life indeed.

Where I am going I do not know. I have nothing, can do nothing without His Presence. I have tasted His salvation and new life, and now I cannot go on without Him. He is my only option. If the Grave and the Cross are but a tale, I am finished, for without Him I am just dirt, an empty vessel of flesh and bones. I need the strength that lies in His arms, I need the tenderness that resides in His eyes, I need the love that’s in His heart.

He is all I have.

And that, my Beloved, is why Easter is different this year.

All my love, 

B

Sometimes You Just Need a Drink.

“If you're thirsty, you may drink.”

For a second she stared here and there, wondering who had spoken. Then the voice said again, 

“If you are thirsty, come and drink.” 

She realized that it was the lion speaking. Anyway, she had seen its lips move this time, and the voice was not like a man's. It was deeper, wilder, and stronger; a sort of heavy, golden voice. It did not make her any less frightened than she had been before, but it made her frightened in rather a different way.

“Are you not thirsty?” said the Lion.

“I'm dying of thirst,” said Jill.

“Then drink,” said the Lion.

“May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?” said Jill.

The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.
The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.

“Will you promise not to - do anything to me, if I do come?” said Jill.

“I make no promise,” said the Lion.

Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.

“Do you eat girls?” she said.

“I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,” said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.

"I daren't come and drink," said Jill.

"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.

"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then."

"There is no other stream," said the Lion.

I am nearing the end of my time here in Katunga. That is a strange thought indeed, for it seemed like yesterday I arrived here, mind clouded and in need of something more than what I knew, a rest for my soul, a time to not strive to be, but just be with God. A time to ask, to seek the Truth of Jesus Christ, whom I had heard of my whole life but am only now coming to really know in my very heart of hearts. 

I have changed, you see. I have learned to rest. To boil all the churchy lingo and theology I knew down to the simple joy of knowing Jesus and abiding in Him alone. To not love humanity or even every person, but just the person that is in front of me in this moment. To love when it's illogical and irrelevant. To seek not the God of America or the Church or Christianity, but the God of the Universe, of eternity and time and space, Creator of man's curiousity and longing. To abide in the knowledge of who He is and the passion of His love.

But most of all, I have become painfully aware, now more than ever before, of the Great War within my soul. There has always been a battle in man's soul between the world and his God. For as much as we deny it, we love the world and all that it holds for us. It was and is the fall of man: that we chose the world over our only True Love. Though I have come to know the Perfect Love of the Father in Heaven, I feel the draw of the world and its gold. I hear the call of it, loud, lustful, dark and beautiful. I feel the new woman I am in Christ fight tooth-and-nail against the angry, selfish, old woman I was before I found the Great Love... The I in me who so often yearns for shadows.

We think that by living as the world does we will find some answer to the emptiness in our souls, our thirst for purpose and meaning. We think that somehow, we can do both: live with one foot in the shadows and one foot in glory.  But though we give the world everything it asks for, it will not release us. It gives us exactly what our lustful flesh desires, only to break our minds and waste us until we are numb and there is nothing left to love.

And yet I see Him now, ever-increasingly my true Reality: the Lion of Judah. He is the answer we seek, the only way we can feel whole again. He is the only Stream. The Living Water. The need for Him is transcendent of time and culture. It disregards age and qualifications and beauty. He is the destination that every human soul seeks. I may choose to fill myself with the things of this world that I know will leave me dry, but there is no answer in them to the many questions and deep longings in my heart. There is no other way to quench the thirst in me than by the Living Water, Jesus Christ my River, my Everything.

When a hungry man dreams,

He looks, and eats

But he awakes, and his soul is still empty.

When a thirsty man dreams,

He looks, He drinks,

But He awakes,

And his soul still thirsts.

But when I dream,

I dreams of You,

Of a song in the night

Of gladness, dance, celebration

on the mountain of God,

of rivers and streams 

flowing from every high mountain,

of bread enough for all nations,

Born from the increase of the earth,

Of rain to grow that which has been sown

Of ears and eyes to open to truth and understanding,

Of a tabernacle that cannot be shaken,

Of a city on a hill for the broken to come,

Of a road that the redeemed walk.

And I awake

And You are still with me,

And hunger and thirst finally cease.

Live thirsty today and always.

Love,

B

Poetry and Roast Potatoes

The morning was cold, and I was glad for that. The heat wave had ended last Thursday, taking with it sleepless nights, scrambled brains and groggy mornings. The nights were clear now, and cool enough to wear coveralls. The stars shone above me, a million strange lights staring back at me as I stumbled out the door and tried to find my gumboots. All was quiet. Even the magpies had stopped their hideous screeching. The dog stirred from her chair on the porch and trailed behind me. I asked Caroline the Canadian how she slept. She mumbled something about ice hockey. I smiled against the dark.

You are mine and I am Yours

Until time is no more

And the stars have burnt out,

Their glory faded.

But Your glory will go on unto eternity,

Oh God of my fathers

Oh God, the Just and Mighty One,

King forever.

The barn was dark when we arrived at the dairy. I hit my head on the pink hose for the second time in a week and mumbled a few unintelligible curses under my breath. Milking cows was unglamorous but somehow gratifying. I thought I'd hate it after a while, but I had grown to love it somehow. Maybe I'm going crazy. I sang a Jenn Johnson song. The flies were still stuck to the cold metal walls. At least they're not in swarms today. The cups fell off once in a while, not as much as the afternoon but enough to make you contemplate throwing a small tantrum. Number 2568 had mastitis in her front-left quarter. Nasty stuff, mastitis. The hum of the machine made one cow blur into another. I finished sweeping the yard when the sun finally peeked over the horizon in all her glory, turning the very air around me into an other-worldly pink hue. I drove the gross mastitis milk down and fed it to the pigs. Waste not, want not. The dog ran off and came back covered in God-knows-what. I exiled her to the back of the Ute.

I remember

When You first came to me,

Eyes blazing

A love so strong

It swallowed me up and

Spit my old self out.

And even now,

The very thought of You

Engulfs my heart with eternity

And I am undone.

I put the kettle on to boil, trying not to make my usual ruckus and wake the whole house. Breakfast was instant coffee and muesli (a strange form of granola). I cracked open my beloved George MacDonald book.

To the heart of God, the one and only goal of the human race-- the refuge and home off all and each, he must set out and go, or the last glimmer of humanity will die from him. Whoever will love must cease to be a slave and become a child of God.

I stared out the window. The sky was blue now through the gum trees. The dog ran by the window with my towel she had stolen off the clothesline. Damn dog. The goats, Sally and Alphy, ambled by the window. A milk truck drove by. My mind drifted.

How much nearer my soul cannot thy hands come! Yea, with a comfort, Father, that I have never yet even imagined, for how shall my imagination overtake Thy swift heart? I care not for the pain, so long as my Spirit is strong. If Your love, which is better than life, will receive my spirit, then surely Thy tenderness will make it great.

The dust got everywhere. In your eyes, in your clothes, in your boots. I looked in the mirror of the tractor and noticed a few more lines on my face from squinting in the sun. For God's sake, I'm only twenty. The cows stampeded up to the gate as I drove through with the silage feeder. The tractor had no AC but I didn't dare open the window for fear of the flies. How could I forget my water bottle on a day like this? Watching the cows run up to me, ears flapping, I couldn't help but laugh. Mommy! Mommy! I had always liked cows, but who would've guessed I'd end up taking care of 700 of the buggers?

You are to me

A river in the desert

A fountain in desolation

A spring for the poor and thirsty

And You say You'll pour water

On they who are thirsty,

And flood the dry ground 

With enough glory

For all nations

And I am so thirsty

For something more than water.

Was it bad that I liked this life? This beautifully simple, lowly, humble life? My mind was free to wander the day away in dreams and poetry, my heart uncomplicated by the messes of this world. I suddenly wondered if I should be doing something more... important. Something like feeding orphans in Mozambique or living with the homeless. Something commissioned to me by the voice of The Lord Himself, loud and strong. I imagined myself as a nomad, wandering the wilds of the world, preaching the gospel with words of power and people being drawn inexplicably to the Spirit of God in me by the droves. So how did I get here again?

But I wouldn't trade anything for being here in the middle of nowhere. I remember days of old with fondness, and I have dreams in my mind's eye I yearn to see, but these days, I am more alive than I've ever been. He is with me, strong and real. His Presence before my face, His tug at my heart when I go to sleep at night, His words that overflow from me unwittingly. I can hear Him again.

From age to age, I have loved thee.

I, who took a million years to create a human soul,

I have loved thee.

And I knew in my heart of hearts that he had sent me here. I had asked Him for rest, and He had given me a rest that would sustain to the end. I had asked Him for love enough for the world, and He had given me enough love for this moment, more love than I needed, enough to love the person in front of me. I had asked Him to guide me, and he had led me here, to the most unlikely of places, to bring His Kingdom to a place devoid of hope.

Everyone went to bed after we watched TV and ate roast potatoes for a while in the sitting room. There's usually not much else to do after work. Sometimes we talk about Jesus. Sometimes we talk about sex. Sometimes we eat grilled cheese, sometimes I make banana pancakes enough for all of us. Sometimes we drive half an hour on a perfectly straight road to buy ice cream at Maccas. Sometimes we go to the beach (don't let the name fool you, it's only a river). We are just one big family here, us girls on Katunga-Picola Road. I never thought I'd have sisters that say the f-word so much. I loved them. I did. Not because they were lovable all the time, but because they were human. They were hungry. They were thirsty. And though they didn't know it, they were poor.

And after everyone else went to bed, He told me to pick up my pen and write.

So I did. It had become a place of rest for me, a place where all thoughts could become known. It helped me remember His promises. It helped me escape the voice in my head telling me I would never be enough. And sometimes, it just helped pass the time when the flies were too bad to go outside. He whispered sweet things into my ear when all was quiet but the wind. All the worries of my past life, they faded in the quiet, in the beige stillness, the rosy glow. I loved Him more than silver or gold could ever satisfy. I loved Him forever.

The sun is but a reflection on the clouds

And the crickets begin to sing in harmony

To You, oh Great and Mighty King.

How You love Your children! 

How You see our longings,

Yearn to bear every heartache,

Every burden.

In my waking and my lying down,

You are my Great Love.

I am little,

But I am Yours.