On holding the things of this world loosely...

 

 

Hold loosely to the things of this world...

 

The 'things' this world would have us believe are important...

 

The 'things' that even some that walk our same path... who follow our same Saviour...

 

'Things' they would have us believe are an outward sign of His favour...  His blessing.

 

 

Don't be fooled dear one...

 

 

Hold very, very loosely.

 

Regardless of the whispering you hear...

 

Those fears that you don't have 'enough'...

 

That you need 'more'... 'new'... 'different'...

 

Release your grip.

 

Let it go.

 

For you?

 

You are the most beautiful, most precious creation of the Most High God...

 

 

Flesh and bone and spirit and soul.

 

Created in His image.

 

For things far, far greater than the mere eye could ever see.

 

 

You

 

 

... are not of this world....

 

A world in which we so often get completely immersed in...

 

That we so often allow ourselves to become enslaved to...

 

The price is high.

 

For the sheer weight of all these 'things' can become like a millstone.

 

Taking us down... down... down...

 

Further and further away.

 

From peace.

 

Joy.

 

Gratitude.

 

From Jesus.

 

This breathtakingly beautiful world... filled with blessings... oh yes!

 

Yes... from His Hand.

 

It is merely the backdrop to our journey.

 

 

'Home'

 

 

To Him.

 

 

 

xx gracegirl

Truth...

 

 

The Devil knows your name, but calls you by your sin...

 

God knows your sin, but calls you by your name...

 

 

- Ricardo Sanchez

xx gracegirl

Just this...

 

I have no lofty goals of thin-ness... of even greater fitness... (finally) achieving financial freedom...

 

Making a more beautiful home.

 

No bucket-list of faraway travel to finally embark upon...

 

Not this year.

 

 

Old dreams.

 

Dead dreams.

 

 

I must confess that at times my heart... it's heavier than a (Jesus-free) heart should be...

 

 ...on the cusp of a gloriously

 

unwritten

 

new year.

 

Questions are many.

 

Answers?

 

Few.

 

 

Heaven

is

silent.

 

 

 Dark thoughts overwhelm...

 

Their tendrils seem to reach the deepest parts of me.

 

Shrouded in a fog that threatens to close in and strangle.

 

Suffocate.

 

My heart can barely whisper...

 

"Hold onto me dear God...

 

Don't let go.

 

For I just can't hold on to You anymore.

 

My strength...

 

It fails.

 

Me.

 

We have barely started.

 

Already I am tired.

 

Exhausted.

 

Afraid.

 

 

No.

 

No goals.

 

No lists.

 

No ideals to achieve and tick off.

 

 

 

Only this...

 

Gratitude

 

regardless...

 

Gratitude

 

 in spite of...

 

Gratitude

 

even when...

 

 

...even though...

 

 

Just this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Storm

 

 

 

You knew.

 

"Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of Him to the other side, while He dismissed the crowd."

 

You sent them out...

 

Knowing.

 

"After He had dismissed them, He went up on a mountainside by Himself to pray..."

 

And then You withdrew...

 

Alone.

 

To pray.

 

Who were You praying for Lord?

 

Was Your heart aching for John?

 

Family...

 

Cruelly beheaded earlier?

 

Were You praying about that?

 

And yet...You knew about that too.

 

Surely.

 

Or were You praying for them?

 

That band of men who drew close to You... closer than any others.

 

Disciples.

 

Who knew You, but yet... didn't...

 

Disciples.

 

Who had just witnessed You feeding a multitude.

 

Multiplying food...

 

Concerned about more than just their souls...

 

Bread and Fish for the mortal body...

 

"...and the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it..."

 

You knew Lord...

You weren't caught unawares.

Surprised.

You knew that there was going to be a storm.

Not once did You try to protect them from it.

You didn't urge them to stay with You.

You gave no timely advice of shelter?
 

 Storm.
 

You sent them into that storm...

 

You.


 

Knowing.

 

Knowing that even though they had just seen miracles abound...

 

They would look around them at the crashing waves.

 

Water raining down in torrents.

 

Gale force winds... whipping as if to steal the very breath from their bodies.

And they would forget.

Forget what they had just seen.

 

Lord You knew.  You knew that Peter... oh Peter...

 

Hot-headed, impulsive Peter...

 

You knew that he needed more.

You knew... that in the storm?

In the fear and the failing of the walk-on-water-that-wasn't?

That sometimes we need that.

Failure.

 

Peter didn't know that, of course.

 

But then again... do we ever?

 

We want the miracles.

 

Yes.

 

But we forget... that miracles are made in the storm.

 

I forget.

 

Often.

 

I forget that You know.

You know the incredible battle about to play out...

You know my bold-mouthed, small-faithed heart...

So much in common with that rough fisherman.

 

And still You send me out.

 

Into the storm.

No warning to seek shelter.

No still, small Voice to guide me away from the squall.

You send me out.
 

Because that is just where You want me.

Caught in the storm.

 

And then?

 You withdraw.

 

And I feel alone.

 

Abandoned.

 

Whipped about.

 

Because sometimes the wind is against me.

 

And I flail, thrashing in stinging salt-water waves that crash overhead.

 

Threatening to suck the very life out of me...

 

When all I can whisper... all I can breathe in hot fear-soaked breaths is:

 

"Lord... if it is You..."

 

If. 

 

Even though I have just seen miracles.

 

Just seen Provision.

 

Far above and more than I can ever conceive of.

 

"Lord... if it is You..."

 

And You know.

 

Praying.

 

Interceding.

 

For me.

 

Modern-day Peter.

 

 

 

Matthew 14 v 22 - 23

 NIV

 



xx gracegirl

of faith and courage...

 

Faith...

 

The Substance of things hoped for...

 

Things hoped for, but not yet seen... with the eye.

 

Seen though, with the heart.

 

They are known with the heart... the spirit feels them... claims them.

 

Even though they are still hidden...

 

This kind of faith... the kind of faith that holds out its hand in the dark?

 

It takes courage.

 

A great deal of courage.

 

And the precious things hoped for...

 

For aren't they always so infinitely precious...?

 

Those that we cup with gentle hands... and bring before Him... almost too afraid to place them at His feet...

 

For fear of disappointment.

 

For fear.

He understands...

He knows.

 

Those fragile needs...?

 

It doesn't matter what they are... really.

 

Only one question begs answering...

 

"Do you believe what Jesus said...  Do you believe what He said in His Word...?

 

The answer to this question... a question which will be flung at you every second of the day...

 

This answer?

 

It is crucial.

 

For it determines the outcome of the battle...

 

 And do not be mistaken... where this kind of faith is required... there is always a battle.

 

Always.

 

It rages in your heart... it rages in your mind.

 

It rages all around you.

 

Unseen.

 

But there.

 

No matter what the situation.

 

The challenge remains the same...

 

Do you believe what He says is true... even today?

 

Will you trust Him regardless...?

 

It takes faith.

 

Faith... which requires great courage.

 

Stand up... Hold your head up high.

 

Tuck the words of Your King deep in your heart.

 

And keep on walking...

 

Thanking Him for it every day... for it is done.

 

Present tense.

 

Unseen...

 

But done.

 

 

 

 

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see..."

 

Hebrews 11 v 1

NIV

xx gracegirl
 

 

what my heart needs reminding of...

 

He will feed His flock like a shepherd.

He will carry the lambs in His arms, holding them close to His heart.

He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young...

 

Isaiah 40 v 11

(NIV)

Emphasis mine

 

 

 

 

Every now and then, when fear and lies and distraction and well-meant opinions and
not-so-well-meant condemnations...

When these come scratching at the door of my heart...

Hissing and smirking at my insecurities...

Whispering their untruths to my fearful heart...

 

Then I need reminding, Jesus...

My heart... my spirit... my mind.

I need Your words...

 

Your truth.

 

To cut through the black.

 

To bring the Light.

 

That You...

The One who loved me first...

That You see my mothers-heart and know the lies that threaten.
That You know the failings I fear.

That before time for us came to be...

 You knew every step... every battle... every victory that was to come...

 

For me.

A Mother.

 

And for him.

Entrusted.

  The one whom You formed in my belly.

The one whose little heart beat with mine.

The one who shares the very fabric of my being.

 

And that even then... all those centuries ago...even then.

You knew...

That there would come a time that I would need Your promise...

You knew the heart of this Mother would need reminding...

That You will not let go.

Of a Mother who trusts...

You.
 

That You will feed.

The one she trusts You with.

That You will... 

Carry.

Gently lead... me.

Me...
 

And the one you blessed me with.

 

Always.


 

xx gracegirl

 

 

 

 

it's all about you

It really is so easy to get lost and confused amidst the chocolate bunnies and sweet, sugary eggs... isn't it?

Fluffy, yellow chicks and pink bows...

They seem to be everywhere.

And the things people say... and the way the world describes it.

Easter.

And everyone has an opinion... and some so righteous and pious that it makes you want to choke on the saccharine sweetness of it all.

Makes you want to spit it right out of your mouth and scrub your very skin with the hypocritical stink of it.

And there seems to be this great divide... the Christians on the one side and the rest of the world on the other... and even the Christians can't agree... can't get it right.

So how on earth are you supposed to navigate your way around the holy egos... the hypocrisy... the do-as-I-say-don't-do-as-I-do...

How on earth... when wars are waged in His Name and children lie bleeding in dusty deserts and starve to death in forgotten countries... how on earth... when Christians go about living lives that scream hypocrisy 6 / 7 of the time and spend 1 / 7 in self-righteous judgment of the ones who don't fit... who are not pure... clean enough.

How on earth when there is so much pain and fear and dirt in this world...

So much hurt and so many hurting.

Ask a Christian and we will tell you that Easter is holy.  Even as we fill our mouths with yet another chocolate rabbit... we will tell you that it is the holiest of days.

We will say that Easter is about Him.

Jesus.

The Christ.

Good Friday is when He was crucified... the baby in the manger... killed.

Dead. 

On a Cross.

Bruised and bleeding... His lifeblood ebbing away...

... while we eat chocolate.

It is not, you know.

It's not that simple.

Yes... it IS about Him.

Jesus.

The Christ.

But it's about so much more.

So, so much...

You see... Easter is about you.

You...

It's about a Holy God who loves you... not a bleached-purer-than-snow-white you... for there is no such thing.

It's not about a pure, sin-free you... no matter what we say... there is no such thing either.

Christians sin.

Sometimes we forget.

But yes... we sin.

All the time.

No matter what we say.

No matter how many fingers we point.

We are not perfect... perfection placed on earth... called to judge the 'imperfect'?

No.

Only He is perfect.

No... it's about a man... a Man who is God... who is alive...

A God who is no longer a baby... and we forget that sometimes.

A God who was man for a mere 33 years...

A God...

Who loves you.

You!

Desperately.

Fiercely.

Jealously.

Who knew you... YOU... before you were conceived... who saw your unformed body within your Mother's womb.

Who loved you then... has loved you unceasingly.

Who loves you now.

Right now.

Who hears the questions that your heart screams out... the questions that nobody else hears...

The questions you wouldn't want anybody else to hear... because you are so afraid of the answers.

A God who sees your shame.

Yes... shame.... and no matter how hard you try to forget... It always creeps back.

Settles on you like a fog.

Shame.

A God...

Who sees your tears that fall in the dark... He counts them... did you know that?

...every, single tear that has cut a groove through your spirit...

He sees the desperation.

The fear.

Easter is about all this.

And more...

Much, much more...

Easter is about a war.

A dark, bloody, fierce, violently unceasing WAR... and the prize?

For yes... there is a prize.

 

Isn't there always?

 

Spoils for the conquorer?

 

The prize for the victor here on earth?

You.

You are the prize.

You are what this war is all about.

And make no mistake... do not be fooled... this war is real.

It is waged every second of every minute of every hour... all around you.

Unseen.

It is fought... all around you.

And this war is exceedingly fierce... for one reason...

And that reason?

It is perhaps an unlikely war... perhaps because it is not waged with human hands... human weapons.

For, although the battle rages on... the war itself...? It has already been won.

The war of the ages was won... Two thousand years ago.

On a Cross.

The baby-become-man-become The Christ!

When He took it all... your filth... your hurt... your sickness... your fears... your pride...

Clutched it to His chest... willingly... and thought of one thing only as they drove the iron spikes through His hands...

As they mocked Him... spat on Him.

As they drove the iron spike through His feet...

As his lungs fought for air... the pain engulfing...as He choked on blood... His blood.

As that blood ran down staining filthy, the dirt... the dust.

 

He thought of one thing only.

You.

And on that day... in THAT battle... the fiercest and bloodiest of wars... the war of the ages... was won. 

It was won.

No matter what is said... no matter what is whispered in your head.. your heart.

He won.

Jesus.

The Christ... He is the Victor.

But the battle... the battle for the spoils...

For you...

This will wage on for a time still.

And He will not stop looking.

He will not stop calling... for you.

Your name.

You are enough.

As you are.

Enough.

For even though your heart whispers secrets... that vibrate through your very soul... that you could never...

You could never be enough... who would want you? 

I know those voices too.

They slither around in your heart... their slimy tentacles reach inside your head... sickening taunts that remind you of your sin.

Remind you of your failures.

Your past.

Your future.

That you could never be loved...

They. Lie.

Lie.

Hear this one thing today...

There is nothing that you could do to make Him love you one tiny bit more...

There is nothing you could ever do... ever... to make Him love you any less...

He knows YOU.

He chooses YOU.

Forget the chocolate.

The bunnies.

The fluffy, yellow chicks.

The opinions and lies and egos and hypocrisy.

Easter is about you.

It always was.

And it will always be...

He will never stop calling your name...

He... Jesus... The Christ.

He is all about you...

YOU ... as you are... right now.

You are His one... His ONE reason.

You.

xx gracegirl

you knew...

For twelve years you bled.
 

Every day.
 

Twelve, long years you watched helplessly, as your life blood flowed away... unquenched.

Nothing could stop it.  No doctor, no healer, no remedy... nothing worked.
 

Nothing.
 

You must have been tired.  All the time.  The Bible speaks not of this, but it's true... you would have been chronically tired. 

Exhausted.

Anaemic.

I am sure that fear became your constant companion?  It must have...

I often wonder whether you were betrothed to someone?  Married to someone?

The Bible says nothing of this either... your personal life.  How old you were... whether you had ever known the joy of feeling a baby move in your belly.  Whether you knew the security of a husband's love, at least.... before.

 

But none of these things are mentioned.

Just that you bled... for so long... too long.

The rest I read between the lines... that you were desperate. 

 

Scared. 

Ostracised.

Alone.

Lonely.

Did you call out to Him?  Beg Him... for mercy... for healing?

Did you wonder where He was... whether He really cared?

I would have. 
At times my faith is like a wave on the ocean.  One moment it swells... full of hope... and then... it crashes.
 Splits... fractures... Splashes into a million directions... waiting for the next pregnant moment.

But you... Did they whisper about you?  Did you walk about your daily duties... the market... the washing... did you walk about with your head hanging low...? Knowing that you couldn't LOOK... That it would hurt too much to see their faces... their expressions of disgust.
 

Knowing shame.

 

Did they gossip amongst themselves... righteously of course... about your sin... what evil sin you could have done that made Him punish you as He did?

 I can just imagine.

Did you carry Shame like a mantel on bowed shoulders? 

The other women would have avoided you. 

Actually... everyone would have.  Nobody would have spoken to you... they would have looked away as you hurried past.

You were unclean... You would have made them, ceremonially unclean.

Oh the sickening shame... with you every day... and nobody to help.

Nobody to Free...

Unclean... Did you feel that way?  Unclean?

Did you feel dirty? Did you too, feel forgotten?  As if for a brief second, God turned His face from you... never to look upon you again.

Did your heart ache ... did you feel a desperation so intense, that it almost tore the fabric of your being?

And then... that day... when you heard of Him? 

The One they called 'The Healer..'?  Did you know immediately?  Did your spirit surge with hope, or was it just a flutter at first... a quiet stirring?  Did you wonder whether the stories that made their way back to your village were rumours... or Truth... come at last?

No.

I think you KNEW. 

I think your heart must have beaten wildly... I imagine you bent low over the well... drawing water. Heaving heavy buckets with a body that is tired... from blood loss.

And then?  You hear some talk.... and you strain to hear... strain to hear what the other women are saying... can it be, you think?  He is HERE?

The One who heals?  The One who speaks Freedom?

Can it finally be?

For a second everything inside you goes still... quiet... and then!
You run...  wildly... dropping your bucket of water on the way... the drops spilling on the dry, dusty ground... an offering... like blood.

But you don't notice. Desperation spurs you on... breathless you try to locate the sound... your heart is beating in your ears... your breath comes ragged.

You are close... you see the crowds.  I imagine your tears starting to fall.  Disappointment threatens to crush your spirit... How will you get close?  How will you get past the ones who follow him?  Disciples they call them? They hedge Him in.  Protectively... against the pushing, thronging crowds... They stand like soldiers... guarding... they won't let you close.

 

Unclean.

 

Did you panic, I wonder?  Did your heart start beating erratically... did your throat threaten to close up... Did you feel frantic... so close to the One whom your spirit knew...

even if you didn't... yet. 
 

And then... I see you dropping to the ground... crawling... trying to protect your head from the trampling feet of the crowd... trying to see where His feet are... the dust stinging your eyes... streaking your face with dirty tears.
You know... if you can only touch His hem... only touch...
You push forward... hands in soil, eyes on hem... you keep pushing... the desperation in your face tangible... your hands reaching... almost there.... almost there...

A man's foot crushes your right hand... the pain! It's almost too much too bear... but you inch your way forward...

Your tears flow freely now.... but you keep crawling... because you know... by now something has ignited within you... you are a prisoner seeking Freedom...

You KNOW.... That this man Jesus... that He is the One... how were you to know then, as you fought your way forward through the dust and grime... that His blood would be spilt... like yours... but that His would redeem... yours.

Clean made Unclean, to redeem unclean to make clean.

You.

Me.

The moment your hand brushes that dusty hem... that dirty, soiled hem... you feel it...

Oh you feel it... power surges through your body! Something changes!

 

Everything changes!

Someone must have noticed you by now.  Did they draw back in fear... disgust? 
Did it still matter to you?
 How could you explain... how would they ever be made to understand?

But then... You hear His voice... "Someone touched me...." His disciples look at Him in confusion. 

Your world stops. 

 

Silence settles on the crowd. 

How could He know? 

How could He possibly have known?

 That in all the hundreds pushing against Him... shouting His Name... how did He know that you...

YOU... the Unclean one... that you... had dared to touch Him.

Were you afraid, when trembling, you stood up to face Him?  Did fear have a choke-hold around your throat as you stumbled over words... tripped over a multitude of explanations that would not see you cast out... Condemned... Unclean?

And then... when He moved through the few still brave enough to stand around the filth of Unclean... when He... the Holy One... took YOUR hands and looked at you and smiled... What did your heart feel dear one?  Was He the first to touch your hand in twelve long years?  Did your skin register the touch of Another... when He looked you in the eye and told you that your faith... your FAITH had healed you?  When He said it again... louder this time, so that everyone could hear... could HEAR that you were free... Clean... Healed!

Redeemed.

Ransomed.

 

Did you weep?

I know you did.

How could you not...

Freedom had come for you...

Redemption had called YOUR name!

You knew, didn't you?

You knew.

xx gracegirl