Words for the match-holders

I wrote this post back in December. I spoke on a podcast + went to a retreat-like happening by an organization, Wildfire Collective, whose purpose is to teach teen girls to live the wild, untamed life of faith-- and give them avenues to do so. It is when I first heard their vision that these words arose up in my heart.

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"For those who feel as if they are both too much and not enough." <--- the time I first read this, I did not think there could be any other group of words that better expressed the way I felt and still feel.

Too much emotion.
Not enough bravery.
Too much mess.
Not enough beauty.
Too much trying.
Not enough confidence.
Too much fat.
Not enough muscle.
Too much independence.
Not enough elegance.
Too much naiveté.
Not enough wisdom.
Too much weakness.
Not enough self-control.
Too much wavering.
Not enough consistency.

Both too much and not enough for them.
Both too much and not enough for me.
Both too much and not enough for God.

 But then there are the day, hours, seconds that I am okay. On top of the world, actually. Why is that?

Yeah, the answer is hard and I don't like it.

Because my satisfaction? It is not being found in Christ alone, but man. The source to which I look for my joy is temporary, and the security is fleeting. This world is imperfect. It is good to love the people but never to put your faith in them-- or anything else besides Him.

Admitting is cake. But the next step is killer. Yes, I believe. But am I willing to live it out? How does one go about not living for man?

It sure does feel good though, doesn't it? In the moment? And it's easier, too. Because Jesus, he assures us that choosing Him won't be. It is a fight against our flesh and a war against the Enemy. A war already won, but still to be fought.

The direct effects of insecurity don't seem too bad. Fix this here, do that there. But I can only plug so many holes before water pours in and puts out my match.

 Y'all? It. Is. HARD. To die to myself, to take up my cross. I almost never get it right. And most of the time, I can't seem to get a taste of the part that is supposed to make it all worth it.

But I know it is there. So I keep on for His sake. No matter how many times I go back and forth, faltering and wanting to give up-- no, in spite of it all, I raise my barley-lit match and release it to the land. That's all it takes. God says, "Watch this." Bigger and bigger becomes the wildfire.

And I know I am not alone.

We have to stick together. We must be encouragers, and those who push each other on. We must protect each others' matches to keep our wildfires going.

So here we are, match-lifters. Raise 'em up-- that thing about us, the Spirit of the Living God inside us, waiting to get started--and let them loose. Once the wildfires start, it's gonna take a heck of a lot to try and stop them.

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The wild girl is secure & unstoppable. A force to be reckoned with, for she loves her Jesus. 

Before the Resurrection

1... 2.

Day 2.

A world filled with sorrow, doubt, hopelessness, confusion, darkness. Death is mocking in its seeming defeat. The worst act of torture and evil ever to be done had just been witnessed. 

"Crucify him! Crucify him!" 

The cross is cause for celebration, but celebration doesn't feel right yet. Not now. I need to sit and stay awhile in the ache and devastation and anger first-- because He died. He died and suffered immeasurably hard. I cannot even come close to comprehending it. No words or emotions can do justice to it. Maybe that's the reason I am spending more time today staring at a blank computer screen than putting words on it. 

On my most recent trip overseas last month, the Lord reminded me of my sinful, wretched nature and my weakness. It was the first time in years that I shed tears in in prayer-- and they did not come shyly. I sat alone in a sacred space, singing out these words to Him: 

"And can it be that I should gain

An interest in the Savior's blood?

Died He for me, who caused His pain?

For me, who Him to death pursued?

Amazing love! How can it be

That Thou my God shouldst die for me?

... So free, so infinite His grace;

Emptied Himself of all but love"

Of all but love. What a kind of love, that would do such a thing. 

People mourned to the full before the resurrection. All they could hold onto in the waiting was Hope. Were Jesus' promises enough for them to keep the faith? Even as He lay in the tomb? 

They did not know what was coming. It wasn't over. 

And yet-- He waited three days. He let the darkness roll around in the dirt and feel its way in the world, knowing the world wasn't for it to keep. And He didn't do it just because He "felt like it." 

It takes the acknowledgement and lament of His extreme anguish to get to the sincerity of declaration and celebration of His rising. When did I reach the point where I thought of death on the cross as "just another" thing Jesus did? When did I forget that it was me who put Him on it? 

And here I am, bitterly regretful of my nail polish color choice. I don't get it. The What and the Why of the Cross-- how do they not fill my thoughts day and night?

Today has consisted of a lingering, painful ache in remembrance. The tomb with someone in it, not the empty one. It does the heart and soul well to let hurt-- because we know we aren't intended to stay there forever. The count doesn't end on 2.