Oregon. Laughter. Waterfall.

I'm sitting at my computer in sweats and a t-shirt, drinking steaming homemade Chai tea, face scrubbed clean of makeup. It's raining outside. I'm exhausted. I'm listening to chill music. I went camping this past weekend, so being clean, in clean sweats and having clean hair feels incredible.

This past weekend was a challenge for me. I was invited by a friend to go camping near Roseburg, Oregon, with her former college group from Suburban Christian Church. I headed to Oregon on Monday the 21st, and spent a few days with my friend before we drove down to Corvallis to meet up at Suburban on Friday with the group of campers who were heading in earlier than others. 

First of all: I love camping. And I absolutely love meeting new people. But this weekend, God had a lesson for me.

When we arrived at our campsite and had finished setting up, and the rest of the campers arrived, we ate dinner and played a few games that helped us familiarize ourselves with each other. Normally, I'm pretty good at meeting people and starting up conversations, but for some reason this weekend, I was scared. Terrified of messing up and of letting people down. I hadn't realized I had slipped back into the fear of man until Saturday afternoon. I was invited multiple times to go hiking with a few different groups of people during free time Saturday, but I declined. I suppose that I was nervous that I wouldn't be able to keep up (I have exercise-induced asthma... LAME excuse not to go hiking!) or that I'd not know how to strike up conversation. Essentially, I was being a complete bore and absolutely ridiculous. 

Instead of hiking, I went down to the river and sat against one of the concrete pillars holding up one side of the bridge. I brought my Bible and notebook down with me and set them both down under a plant growing on the side of the concrete and rocks I was sitting on. I took a sip of my tea from my mug... and just listened.

Have you ever sat beside a river and just let the noise of the water wash over you? It's healing. It's cleansing. It's exhilarating. As I was sitting, a thought popped into my head.

"Em... what are you afraid of?" 

Confused, I answered. "Sickness. Pain...being caged...?" I wasn't entirely sure where this was going.

"No." The thought echoed, persistent, "What are you afraid of? Why are you afraid to speak to people? Why are you afraid to interact?" 

I was blown away. Here I was, sitting alone by a river, feeling sorry for myself, when I had clearly been asked and sought after by multiple people. I had been given opportunity to engage in numerous activities and tasks, and had backed out on each one. Seriously, how silly can I be? 

I spent some time in prayer and talking to God about my fears of people, and He so graciously reminded me that His strength is sufficient, and that my joy can be found in Him, not in the approval or thoughts of man. GOODNESS how freeing that can be! 

I'd love to say that I didn't give it another thought that weekend, but that would be lying. However, I did make an effort to be interactive with the rest of the group, and as I let myself out of my shell more, I received an incredible amount of acceptance, understanding, and love from those around me. I was talking with a friend about this, and she brought up an interesting question:

How often do we miss the love and grace that's offered or poured out to us, just because we are so intent on ourselves and our "protection"? I tend to completely, if unintentionally, ignore what's being set right in front of me out of concern for myself. I had realized this half a year ago, but I didn't realize how incredibly easy it was to slip back into this. Once I opened up, though... dang. God used my time so well. I was privileged to be able to share my complete story with two of my new friends, and stay up late talking with a friend about life, passions, dreams, and all the in-between things. 

Moral of this post: Trust. Don't let the little things get in the way. Deep down, there will always be a bit of insecurity. It's sad, but true, and being human and sinners, I don't think that it will ever go away. Thankfully, we serve a God, a Daddy, who is bigger, and stronger, and so much more on fire with passion for us that we can ever imagine. He will always carry us through, and when it's too much for us, that's where He begins to work most powerfully, because that is where we need to surrender. It was hard to learn surrender this weekend, but it ended up being a beautiful exchange, and in turn I was able to experience incredible grace and joy.

So, sitting here, in my sweats and finishing up my Chai... I'm entirely thankful to claim the love of my Daddy who fought for me, and will continue to fight for me. Thanks Jesus, for Your gentle and passionate ways of reminding me of my fragility and Your unending strength.

Rain. Pour. Flood.

Raindrops. They basically define the Northwest United States. We joke about "liquid sunshine" and about how you know you're from the Northwest when you don't own an umbrella, but own about 4 NorthFace raincoats. We play in the rain, we walk in the rain, we sing in the rain, we drink coffee in the rain. It's a way of life here. We don't let it hinder us. Yes, we would rather have sunshine, but the rain is such a constant companion that we are accustomed to dancing in it as skillfully as we dance under the sunshine.

Raindrops. I've been reading Psalm 104 over and over for the past few weeks, and GOODNESS. I've never heard so much about life-giving water. The psalmist speaks of God's intense and beautiful glory, His passion for His creation, His life-breathing, drenching, soaking, purifying rain that invokes in the plants and the beasts of the land the desire to thrive. The waters flee at the sound of His name, yet they flow and rush over the inhabitants of the land when the appointed time has come. After the flood that Noah and his family survived, God gave us a promise that He wouldn't flood the earth with water again.

I went on a hike yesterday with my friend, and when we reached the top of this huge hill (Angel's Rest, Oregon), you could see for miles around. We could see out over the Colombia river into Washington State, and we could see the clouds unleashing their water over the land a few miles away, heading towards us. We read Psalm 104 just as it began to rain, and the power of those words combined with the physical rain that the heavens were unleashing brought bouts of giggles from both of us. I've been sensing the re-occurring theme of rain. Songs keep coming up on Pandora about rain, I watched a movie last night where moments of beauty happened in the rain, and I woke up to rain this morning.    

JESUS. I desire rain.

What if the rain that we speak about doesn't just come in physical form? What if the rain that Psalm 104 expounds on isn't just the rain that falls from the clouds above, but is also the rain of Jesus' presence and love, falling from the heavens in a tangible and incredible, soaking way? What if when we woke up in the morning and looked out the window and saw sunshine, we thanked God for His life-giving rain that was to fall that day? WHAT IF WE PRAYED FOR RAIN?

JESUS. I want rain. I want YOU. I want YOUR rain on my face, Your floodwaters drowning me, Your raindrops splattering all over me and drenching me in YOUR presence and in YOUR power. I want You to flood us not with the physical water, Lord, but with Your rushing waters of passion and love and the desire to thrive in YOUR name! I want to feel Your rain splashing on my feet, rushing in streams and rivers and lakes and oceans over this world, over these dry and dusty, desolate lands and hearts. I want to sing of Your rain, I want to dance in Your rain, I want to climb the mountains around and look over the valleys and the towns and see Your rain.

Rain down on us, Lord. Rain down. Open the floodgates of heaven. Let all these songs that shout of Your rain begin to shout even louder as my desire, as the desire of passionate hearts around the world cry out and yearn for Your rain. Let Your rain come, Father. We will cry out, we will never relent, we will speak of Your rain and of Your glorious life water until You come to bring us into Your kingdom. Flood us, Father. Drench us. Consume us. 

Bring on the rain.

GOLLY! This is real life.

Let me just open this little post with a fabulous verse from one of my favorite books in the Bible:

"Wearing a linen ephod, David was dancing before the Lord with all his might," -2 Samuel 6:14 (I encourage you to read the entire passage, though, because it both speaks of God's holy power, and it's hilarious. Just a side note.) I've had a ton of realizations and deep thoughts lately, and I just wanted to take a second and praise Jesus. So, join with me as I give all the glory to HIM!

I am stoked for life, because Jesus is in life, which means life is exquisite, and lovely, and no matter what happens, I can have JOY, and I have PURPOSE, and I can sing and dance and shout and look like a complete fool, and people can stare at me and make fun of me, and I don't have to worry because I am flawed, and I know it, and I know that I am exceptionally beautiful to my Daddy, Jesus, and He is all that matters to me right now, and is the One who lifts my head in EVERY circumstance, and He has SO much power and has given me SO much potential and love for people and for life, and a passion to see healing and restoration brought to our generation and to our world, and HE is the center of my passions and I look to HIM for direction, and He knows of every imperfection in me and still loves me, and I can do nothing to change that; I can dance unashamedly before my God and sing with all of my might (those are worth repeating, so much FREEDOM in these actions!), I am so thankful and in awe and completely blown away that I am my Beloved's, and He is mine!

Storytelling.

Art. It's something that I've always wanted to be good at. As far back as I can remember, I've admired art. I've always envied good artists, or those who are so creative that everything that they do or say seems beautiful, just because you know they have amazing art skills.

This week, I embarked on a journey to find out why this meant so much to me.

Sometimes my life is so messy that I just want to create; to be in control of something that is beautiful, and perfect, and flowing, and meaningful.

And so I begin to draw, and to paint, and to write poetry and songs and short stories, I begin to collage pictures together that represent something noble and beautiful to me. I begin to strive for perfection, and every single time I am disappointed. I look back into my sketch book and look at the pictures that I've previously drawn--sloppy and misguided figures that vaguely resemble the picture I remember having in my mind at the moment. I move away from drawing and enter the musically-oriented door in my mind, stepping into a room that I know well, full of instruments and melodies and intricate harmonies that if I could just write down, if I could just figure them out long enough to get one stanza out on paper, out in the open, I know I would reach success. But even this isn't attainable.

I found something out this week. Life is messy. I am messy. Therefore everything I create will be messy, or flawed at some point. With this realization came another decision: I give up. I give up trying to attain perfection. I give up trying to control life. I give up my desire to be more talented than artists around me, because that desire will just drive bitterness and frustration deep into my soul.

However, I will not give up creating. I will not give up painting, and drawing, and writing, and singing, and loving every second of it, because that, too, would drain me completely. Rather, I will change my focus. I will not create perfection.

I will aspire to bring into sight or sound that which is lovely, beautiful, flawed, fierce, speaking of the One who created every talent that I, and those around me, possess. I will tell stories. And I will continue to seek His face as He brings me farther along this path, closer to His presence, to His art.

Spinning.

Some days, my life takes a turn and suddenly, I'm staring down a road that I don't recognize. I'm left gazing down a dusty path that seems too harsh, or too uncomfortable, or too unfamiliar for me to travel down. And so I sit down, and I wait. For what? I'm not sure. Maybe I wait for a car to come along, so I can ride along the dusty path in comfort, letting the air conditioning and the radio carry me along. Maybe it's a truck that I'm waiting for, then I'll get to my destination faster, even if I am riding on a bumpy road in the back of a truck. I'll get a little dirty, but hey! I get to the end quicker.

As I sit at the beginning of my own little road, I wonder if I'm waiting for another path to reveal itself, to open up, to conjure itself into being. And, as I sit staring down this existing road, I wonder. What am I really doing here?

I spend so much time waiting and waiting, wondering where my life is going to go and how I'm going to get to my destination, what I'm going to eat or do on the way there... where I'm doing to live, work, and who I'm going to meet. I waste my time daydreaming about how my life will be, hoping something comes along that will sweep me up and carry me towards the end of whatever I'm trying to accomplish faster.... when really, the answer to my pondering is staring right at me. All I have to do is take a step forward.

This is what my life looked like six months ago. I was in Africa, working with a team of 12 other YWAM students and leaders, visiting orphanages and picking up trash on streets around our home. I was doing street ministry on a daily basis, praying over people, performing skits, singing songs, preaching, giving my testimony. I was going to drug rehab programs and hanging out with people whose lives were just as messed up as mine--albeit in a different way. I was experiencing freedom through holding African children, tickling them, chasing them, making faces at them, rubbing their little backs during church while they slept, draped across my lap. 

Now I am home. I sleep, eat, hang out with my family, and look for work. I go to church, I wonder what is next. 

This past Saturday night, I received some major revelations from God, words of life were spoke over me and my eyes were opened to things that I had never before considered. And I had one incredible realization: 

I have given up on freedom. 

Wait, what? Ninety percent of my blog posts are about freedom, how could I have given up on it? I have been experiencing freedom to a degree since I have been home, but really... I have given up on it's true and pure form. Arriving home, I slowly let myself forget what it was like to wake up in the morning and give the day to God, and then really listen to Him throughout the day for direction. I forgot what it was like to drink water from the tap and open my fridge and have food in it, and stop and take a moment to thank Him for what I have when I know others have so little. I forgot what it was like to truly worship Him, with every aspect of my life, rather than just when I hear a good song that convicts me or moves me in my spirit. I forgot what He was like.

What am I really doing here? This is the question I have been asking myself for the past few days. Am I really, truly seeking my Father's face? Am I really, honestly wanting to grow closer? I think about spending time with Him a lot, but am I really willing to go there? 

And I find myself nodding. I thirst for Him more now that I ever have before, and I think that's because I know what He is like. I know His presence, and I know that I have been running from it. And so here I am. Wrecked, and vulnerable, and wanting Him so badly that I ache, because His presence and direction is so worth it to me. I am willing to go there, willing to bare myself to Him, willing to come out of hiding, because really... He is the only One who can bring me everything I need. Including true freedom.

"My dove in the clefts of the rock,

    in the hiding places on the mountainside,

show me your face,

    let me hear your voice;

for your voice is sweet,

    and your face is lovely."

Song of Songs 2:14 

Reflection

midnight. uncertainty.

silent crystalline drops experiencing gravity

working against flesh 

and kissing the ground beneath.

heart competing in a sprint

racing itself to the finish.

legs pumping, feet embracing asphalt 

pushing faster, farther 

from confusion, apathy.

trying to catch up to

passion.

grasping, pulling, aching.

breathing labored,

soot, ash, frustration.

heart-cry wrenching

from repentant lips;

calling, calling, calling.

dawn. safety.

fragile light consumes deep blackness

eating away pain

and loosing freedom over chains.

captivity no longer an option

sweetness cascades into the brokenness

drenching the empty, heartless, emotional.

weakness morphing, becoming

joyful melody, courage.

fire breaks free

feeding those bound to love,

passion.

weaving, creating, instilling. 

drive intensified,

raging, ferocious, lovely

battle-cry tearing

throughout warrior's body,

freeing, freeing, freeing.

dusk. peace.