To All The Dreamers and The Old Souls...

Some days, memories linger on the edge of my consciousness. Some are sweet like honey as they fall into my mind, and some leave a bitter taste in my mouth. Some that resurrect feelings of hope, and some that cause me to clench my fists in desperation. Some are from my past, pulling me back to a time that I would have forgotten if it weren't for the memories that are so real I can still see them now. Some are from my future, calling me forward to a time that I have never seen but somehow hunger for. Either way, I am surrounded by memories on all sides.

We all live in the present, or so we're told. We are told that this moment now, that we experience, is what is true, is what is real. We know that it is the year of 2016, that it's April now, because the lilacs bloom and the Oregon natives can finally be seen wearing their shorts.

But I must admit it... The present is not always where I am living. Sometimes, I am more present in my past or my future than in the moment I am in, the moment that is the most important. I often spend my days reveling in what was or dreaming about what's to come than I do looking at the person in front of me and really seeing them and hearing them. I know that my past has the ability to shape me, and my future has the ability to lead me, but I give them so much power over right now.

I yearn for the grace and strength to be able to live here. To be able to love fully, not remember love as it was before or as it will be. I know Love Himself calls to us from the past or future, but most of all from the beautiful and perfect Present. I have a deep-down feeling that if a generation of people can start to cultivate this type of resting into their days, than everything will change. I think real Love dwells in the Present, and that, after all, is what we are all searching for.

I love memories. They are gifts. They are truly a wonder to be able to experience. And dreaming? That's one of the greatest gifts I have ever known. But I must give this moment it's proper place. First.

To all my dreamers who love to dream,
And to my old souls who love to remember,
Know that you are free.

Love, 
B

The Month of Dreams

November is the month of dreams.

I would never have guessed that before.

The past five months have been anything but full of dreams. The fight I've warred has been the most terrifying of my whole life. There were moments so dark I thought I was going mad. I felt attacked in the innermost part of who I am... my identity as a daughter of the Most High. All the knowledge of the authority I had in Christ seemed to be forgotten. I felt like a victim of something I couldn't control. I knew that God always spoke life over me, but most of the time, all I heard was death.

Death over my dreams.

I guess the month of November is like that. Everything is dying, going to sleep. The last of the leaves fall from the trees, and with them a sadness falls over the land as the color of life fades to gray. Dreams of anything green or growing seem so distant... Impossible, even.

What can I say, God? That I need you to be more than I thought You could be. I feel weak and full of fear. But Your love... it is more than anything I ever thought about You. I have nothing to give You... nothing beautiful about me that would draw You to me. But still, I feel Your love for me. And it's all I've ever wanted. I need to know that they desires that once burned in my heart for You aren't gone forever! I need to know that freedom is not a figment of my imagination. I need to know that dreams can live again.

Some of you have experienced times like this, when dreams aren't anywhere to be found, and some of you haven't. In either case, there's something you need to know.

Your dreams will live again.

They might come back looking different than you had originally planned them. Your heart may have to let go of some things you never wanted to let die. Your heart may end up wanting things you never knew existed before. You might have to be courageous and sacrifice things you've been trying to hold onto.

November may not look like the month of dreams. But in the middle of the dying colors and the grayness comes a new hope that is steady and unchanging. Let Him redefine the things you hold in Your heart. Let Him kill the things that don't belong so that what is lasting can remain. We only have one life. Let us not waste it on what others would have us do. Let us pour it out as a sacrifice at the feet of the only One who deserves it.

I promise it's worth it.

--


"Here you are, my darling," God says.
A dandelion, pure and catching.
She kisses a breath to cast the truth
and it blankets over thirsty bones
and awakens the fallen warriors that forgot their Father.
"Here you are, my darling.
Know who you're fighting for."
She is not alone.

The warriors roll up from the valley
with fists of flowers to kiss.
Together they remembered.
The Lord has spoken.

-Stephanie Stuckey

The Weapon of Thankfulness

It's late. Everyone has gone to bed except dear Jenny, who's in the kitchen making homemade chicken soup. The night is cold. My Christmas lights shine dimly on my wall and memories float around my mind like little orbs of light. They are all good ones.

I am so thankful for this life. For the people I am privileged to spend my days with. For a family that loves and understands me no matter what. For friends that blew past my expectation of what friends could be. For a Love that doesn't fail me, no matter what. Even the memories that used to be bitter in my mouth, the Lover has turned them sweet. It's as if all has been redeemed. I suppose it has...

It's been a very dark season these past few months. I would argue the most dark I have ever had. Sometimes darkness grabs us by the throat and tells us we do not have a voice. The Enemy comes to steal our destiny, kill us, and destroy our identity. He did not play kind. He never does.

In those moments, I felt nothing but despair. But something has begun to rise in my heart, something so much bigger than circumstance. It's thankfulness. Not for anything I have or have done, but for someone who is everything to me, who has given me treasure that no one can see. My Jesus... He is so different than I thought Him to be before. He is much more powerful, much more kind, much more full of love than I could fathom. He is past all that I can understand, and that is what is so beautiful about Him, because no matter how deep I go into who He is, I know that He is undeniably, infinitely good. He is the definition of light and love and beauty. And He loves me! How can that be? 

No matter where I go or what I do, He is always faithful. His heart holds treasures that I cannot even imagine. He is the Truth even when I cannot see it. Just to have Him close, to know Him near, to share in friendship and so much more with the One who died for me... nothing could ever mean more.

Thankfulness is more than a word we use once a year in November. It's more than a list you recite. It's an attitude of the heart. It's a sharp, fiery sword that cuts through depression and disease and darkness. It's a balm that covers your wounded heart and begins to heal. It's the substance of grace. It comes from the heart of Jesus.

Ask Him who He is today. Ask Him to give you a heart that can see what you have been given. And ask Him to show you His love. He will, every time. 

All my love,

B

Rooibos Tea

Today I woke up with dreams in my eyes and an adventure in my bones. The morning was crisp and clear and splashes of orange were on the ground as the leaves finally started to fall and die. There was fog on the road as I drove out to my parents house. The puppy, wriggling with excitement, greeted me at the door. I read George MacDonald with Dad by the fire and we both commented how rich the words came. The smell of wet earth, decaying leaves and blue sky hit my nose and it was as if I was a child again, running free against the cold and effortlessly sweeping life along with her passion. Fall was here. My heart felt like it was spring.

I home to find a box of Rooibos tea sitting on the counter. I stood there for a moment and stared at it. I knew that Sara must have seen it at the store and bought it, due to my incessant rambling about how much I adored it. I eagerly ripped open a package and smelled the teabag. Tears welled up in my eyes as memories flooded back.

Mornings at the apartment on Rose Bay, talking horses and country living and Jesus with Carla.

Late nights songwriting on the back patio at the Lane Cove house, Tyson curled up by my side.

Winter rainstorms at Grandmas, rationing the precious tea so that I could have just one more cup to remember...

As I curl up here with my steaming cup of red tea, I realize that it's been a long year. But the taste makes me remember that not all days have to rush. They can just be. And He knows what my heart longs for. It is in quiet moments like these that He whispers, "I have not forgotten." He still knows what makes me come alive. He always will.

Climbing Everest

I watched the movie "Everest" today. It was full of danger, stormy chaos and death, but it didn't leave me sad. It left me with a sense of longing for adventure, a sense that my dreams could grow again, bigger and brighter than I thought before.

I sat in bed and felt all my dreams return to me, stronger and better and more clear than before. I cried because I felt like all my dreams had been stolen, somehow, and I had lost my strength to hope for them anymore. I felt the fearlessness of living a full life, or at least the hunger for it. I felt love, real love, the extravagant kind that looks beyond the time and sees into the time beyond. If I close my eyes I can see the mountains, the mountains, and the longing seems to awaken my soul in a way that I have not felt in so long...

I long to live in the place where dreams are alive and passion for life bleeds red onto the ground where I walk. I want to live in the present but believe in what could be. I want to have an adventure, a beautiful story that's full and complete and holds nothing back. 

It's ok to dream. He loves our dreaming and He loves the dreamer's passion for what might be.

How do I embrace the season that I'm in? How do I find contentment in every season? How do I love in the midst of dullness? Only He can do it. And He will, I know now that not one dream is forgotten by Him. That's all I needed to know, really. As Amy Carmichael once said, "What a loving memory He has.."

Momma Sandy

I lived next door to her for nearly my entire life and hadn't an inkling what kind of a woman Sandy really was.

She seemed fairly normal on most accounts... spunky, fake pink nails that were a teeny bit too long, gray hair that came down to her ears, and deep wrinkles that made her face shine with the beauty of age. Her husband, Bud, had died in 2001, and she still lived alone in the house on the hill, the new house they built her since hers burnt down some years ago.

I had stopped by earlier this summer when the Lord had diverted me from my normal running route and told me to stop and wet my head with her garden hose (for the record, it was hot). I ended up praying for her and found out very quickly that she knew the Holy Spirit. I didn't realize how much the Lord had set up that encounter until today, when I walked by and again, felt the undeniable urge to stop.

All I can say is that I have forgotten the importance of having older wisdom speak into my life. To honor someone older than you and humble yourself by coming under their advice and authority is something especially wonderful when that person is as beautiful and on fire for the Lord as is Sandy.

She told me a lot of stories. About Bud's radical salvation and then baptism by the Holy Spirit. About being delivered of demonic oppression and fighting for salvation for everyone she met. About knowing Jesus more and more every day, by His goodness and His mercy. And intermingled with it all was the sound of revelation, a stumbling block for some and a rock for my weary heart. When did I stop being a hungry child? I thought, laughing in awe at the power of the rama word of God. Layers of knowledge, she said, and Holy Spirit reveals them all to us if we will wait to hear them. 

She prayed for me. I felt joy and peace as she covered my mind and heart with the blood of Jesus and rebuked the Enemy. She prayed warring angels that would go with me and guardian angels that would surround me. I felt them. I also felt the Lord rejoicing at the power of two generations agreeing, at a daughter looking to a mother and freely receiving the gifts and revelation that she has fought for over decades. It was something special I have not felt before.

In that moment, I was reminded of something the Lord had told me almost a year before.

Not many people should be able to speak into your life. Guard who you let close to your heart. I will show you who those people are.

In the Kingdom, the power of agreement is strong. If the agreement binds together two generations, that power is magnified tenfold. I am so thankful for the grace and wisdom of God to surround us with people who will speak His truth into our lives. We are always paving a way for our children and the next generation to follow in what victory we have already attained. I hope I am one of those women someday. A Momma Sandy.

Song of the Sea

I saw the sea today. It sang to me, a sweet haunting lull that drowned out the rain's rhythm. The sun danced on my skin. The wind hurt my ears and whipped my hair and made my eyes shine. They had seen some dull days, but the light filled them again like liquid gold that dripped down into my bones and told me it would not be dark again.

I will come when you call, Oh Great Love.

Grandpa wore a hat that made him look like John Paul Jones, and I giggled when he exchanged a jab with Grandma as they chipped mussels off the wet rock, slippery with seaweed. Mom and Dad were bundled against the wind, their lumpy jackets and mismatched colors bold against the green-brown. I felt joy bubble in my chest. It was a beautifully new feeling.

Truly, I thought. I have a good and faithful inheritance.

There had been so many empty words. They are hardly comfort for someone who has lost her joy. The earth was full of them. The road had been strewn with bones and smelled of death. The Enemy told me I would die too. Soon. Not only my body, but my very spirit. Who I was and would be will wither under endless night. The darkness spoke and blinded my eyes so I could not see. I had forgotten the smell of the sea, the cleansing of the gray raging beauty. In that moment, I could hear the sound of faint weeping. That's Him, I realized. He suffered too.

(Even to your old age, I am He, 
And even to gray hairs, I will carry you!
I have made, and I will bear,

Even I will carry, and will deliver you.)

(Is. 46:14)

As a woman thinks in her heart, so she is, and I had been locked in a cage of fear. He desired truth in the inward parts, and He was removing fear. Fear of being opposed. Fear of being oppressed. Fear of what people would think when they saw His glory. What took its place was freedom. To live boldly, to live with love in my heart and a song on my tongue. I had longed for this. 

(If I doubled your trials, would you still be patient?)

Only if you double my love. And You always do. I want to know Your love more.

(Do not worry about tomorrow, for it will have enough trouble. Think only of this moment. Of the sun filtered through the trees and the sound of quiet and your own hand creating new thoughts and giving heed to wisdom. You do not have to live in fear, you know. You can live free and wild. I do not hurry, and neither should you need to. All my purposes will be finished and complete, but maybe not the time that you think, maybe it will take longer. Maybe it will be shorter. But trust me. I know you. I know you, Beloved. You have my permission to rest. To be you. To dance and sing and sometimes remain quiet and listen to what I have to say. I will give you all you need. Only rest.)

The sea sang her song. I let the notes kiss my face and I joined in.