My Favorite Memory - Father's Day Special.

I worked at Starbucks, I was just settling in to a comfy chair in the sunshine and looking forward to eating my pastry and drinking my coffee when a co-worker sat down next to me. He had his lunch break too I guess. We were classmates as well as co-workers, and he decided then was as good a time as any to ask about my life. "What is your favorite memory of your dad?"... well that came out of nowhere. I smiled, and said as plainly as possible, "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." You see, I had my hesitations in sharing my life with people I wouldn't consider close to me, but at the same time he happened to ask about one of my favorite subjects on the entire planet- my Dad, and holding back wasn't much of an option for me. Unfortunately for him, if he thought he was going to get a fun 5 minute story, he was wrong...he has just lost his lunch time.

I had to think about it for a minute, I tried to tell him funny stories of when my siblings and I were children, how my dad would give us bull rides and play out characters for each bull. The strong one was "Daisy", the pansy bull was "Butch" (see what he did there?), we would climb on his back and our mom would let us out of the gate (otherwise known as a pillow cushion), he would gently buck us around until we laughed so hard we couldn't hold on anymore. My co-worker looked at me with a big silly smile, and I was so discontent with my answer.

"Listen," I said, "I'm sure you love your dad and I bet he's awesome... but my Dad is unlike anyone I know. I talk to him almost every day. I've felt loved and wanted by my Dad everyday of my life. I don't have just one favorite memory for you." My co-worker assured me that was okay, he was happy to listen to them all. "What a weirdo," I thought. But I happily obliged, and talked his ear off about one man for the remainder of our thirty minute lunch. When our lunch was over I went back to work feeling like I had just stood in the fresh air on the top of a mountain for a whole day. I couldn't wait to get off of work and call my Dad.

As soon as I jumped in my car I called him, I had a twenty minute drive from work to home, and more often than not this was our daily catch up time anyways. "DAD! GUESS WHAT!" I shouted when he answered the phone. "What is it Ash?" He seemed a little put off by my unknown excitment. "I got to talk about you during my lunch break!" (yes I was a 23 year old adult here). He laughed... I miss that laugh. I told him all about the conversation, and how I was so thankful for a Dad like him. I told him that I believed God was good because of him. "Oh Ashley, I'm not anything special, but I'm so glad you feel loved by me." Was his response. Not anything special?! Really?! I told him I know a lot of girls who don't have dad's or who have dad's they aren't connected too, he really was something special. The conversation slightly shifted from there...

"You know Ash, I was sitting in the church parking lot the other day waiting for my ride to the mine." [Please note here that my dad hadn't stepped foot in an actual church in probably over a decade. He just carpooled to the mine with his buddies, and they all parked at the church and went from there] continuing on he said ... "I was sitting in that parking lot and I remembered that God said our righteousness is as filthy rags, and I thought 'man, if everyone's righteousness is of filthy rags...mine are shitty diapers.'" I couldn't agree more with him, I had shitty diapers too. He continued on, "But then I thought to myself, well...if God wants me and my shitty diapers, I have to give it to Him. I have to let Him have them, have me, and He can make whatever He wants of me from there." We ended our conversation an hour or more later. I'll spare you the rest... But I will never forget that conversation.

My dad was the least religious man there was, he was a miner...and he cussed like one too. He was vocal about his dislike for "scumbags" and if he didn't like you, he didn't like you, but he brought holiday dinner to his lonely buddies he knew from the local diner. He watched reality TV and smoked two packs a day. His road rage was short lived but very real, and he would apologize for laughing at dirty jokes while laughing at the dirty joke. He would chuckle and shake his head at you while he smiled and muttered "you're pissing me off." He was so real, and so far from perfect, that to me he was perfect. And while most people elevate the deceased blocking out their faults after their death as a sort of coping mechanism. I remember my Dad's faults, I cherish them and laugh at them still...like I did then. I loved how wonderfully unapologetically human he was.

My times with him are my favorite memory. I couldn't count just count one or two or fifty. Because once I start, it's quite hard to stop:

Learning to dance with him at 3 years old in our small living room and still dancing with him in that same small living room at age 24 is my favorite memory.

Helping him pick out a shirt for the day and being so frusterated that he took longer to get ready than I did is my favorite memory.

Holding his hand or locking arms as we walked from store to store even as an adult is my favorite memory.

Long drives and him keeping me awake with music and dashboard drumming is my favorite memory.

Sharing one dang couch for years and fighting over cushion space is my favorite memory.

Driving on his lap at 5 years old is my favorite memory.

Him becoming my friend as I walked into my 20's and still feeling like his baby girl all at the same time is my favorite memory.

Him staying on the phone with me, half listening to my story, half listening to the baseball game until he got caught is my favorite memory.

Driving at 2am to the gas station to get "snacks" because "A pepsi sounds nice" is my favorite memory.

Sitting at the counter at our small town diner is my favorite memory, whether we were talking or both reading a piece of the newspaper.

We always fought over who had cuter feet (I still think I do). Favorite memory.

Growing out his beard as long as he could until I came to visit...only to shave it because I liked seeing his face, is another favorite of mine.

Convincing him that we should have "lunch" before 4pm on a daily basis is my favorite memory.

Taking me to shop at my favorite small boutique in his flannel shirt and logging boots and activly helping me pick out the cutest purse is my favorite memory.

Packing my overnight bags for sleepovers and filling it with ding dong's and ho ho's for me and friends is a favorite memory.

Learning to drive a stick shift up the small path on the side of a mountain...another favorite memory.

Going for drives through town late at night teaching me to harmonzie with him using our favorite hymns "As the Deer" and "More Precious Than Silver", once again...my favorite memory.

And so for Father's day, when I wish I could buy him one more card and a gift he "didn't know what to do with" (hardest person to shop for... favorite memory), instead I go over what made him my Dad, and it's so sweet to me. If he was here he would say that this blog was enough, that I didn't need to get him anything for Father's Day because this was more special than any gift I could buy him. And I would know deep down he meant it, but I would still buy him a thermos or a gift card to "The Olive Garden" since he "loved those damn breadsticks." Because I know what he didn't: that he was special, and he deserved every useless gift, every handwritten note, and every gratitude filled phone call I could ever bring his way. When you have the best dad in the world, that's just what you do.

This picture was totally his idea. I was the guilty party who took it.

Dark Rooms

We live in a time where everyone knows everything about us. That's mostly our own fault, Facebook asks me What are you thinking? and you know what, I tell Facebook...every time... exactly what I'm thinking. But most of the time I won't dig into the depths of my thoughts, I skim the surface of my mind for a basic, perhaps funny, or a slightly profound thought, and that's what I tell the world.

I don't share what keeps me up at night, or the subtle changes I'm recognizing in my psyche as I process through the twists and turns of my life. Those things are precious, those things are painful, and still so unknown to me that I wouldn't know HOW to broadcast it, much less feel like it is appropriate. 

I have wanted to write again for some time. But all I can write about is what is seeping from my skin, my deep self. It normally releases into the atmosphere in the form of tears, or yelling, or a weird giggle that I wish would go away. It sounds like silliness but it's not, it's uncertainty. To write it down is so vulnerable, but to keep it in is detrimental. Is it weird that I hope few actually read this?...what am I saying only a few do anyways!

What would I write but the truth...and the truth is I'm scared, I'm terrified of life right now. It has been wonderful, it has been excruciating, and I just feel like I'm sitting in the middle of a dark room with my head spinning. Is that gruesome? Yeah, I guess a little.

How do you deal with your downfalls? How do you embrace your weakness? How many times can one person say they're sorry? Welcome to my world...have you been there too? Weakness is ugly, and only those who don't feel weak at the moment would instruct you to embrace it. I know because I've done it...right in the middle of my stronger moments. But when you feel weak, yeah that's not advice you easily adhere to. 

So here I am feeling wonderful, feeling terrible...and I'm looking for God. What is He like? I know that He's real, I've been too convinced in times past to doubt that. I'm not asking of His existence, I'm asking for His consistence. What is He composed of, what is His nature? I've met people that have told me He's cruel. But that's not what I've ever found. And even now when I feel like I deserve to be turned away instead I'm met with mercy. Lord help me, I can barely stand it!

I found myself bawling in my car two days ago, overwhelmed that I'm nothing like Him. I cried because the ones that love me most are the ones I can be the most terrible to (you know who you are!), especially when it comes to THE ONE that loves me most. Love Himself- He's so relentless, and I'm here with an empty flask of perfume once poured out looking at Him like: Oops! It's all gone now! I've got nothing left. I feel like I should be the last to talk, the last to pray, the last to sing, then all of His stories come crashing over me, all of His parables that He told the crowds wash my wounds. And in my undeserving state I try to push it away, not because I don't want it, but because it's so hard to accept. 

That's why I know He's real, I know He's real because the world condemns, they even condemn Him. The world shames, the church shames (though in my case most have not), and I shame myself. But not Jesus, not this One that won't leave. He's different- if my mind made Him up, He wouldn't be so nice right now. He tells me His ancient stories again and again, reminding me that he is 'The Lord God Gracious, The Lord God Merciful, Slow to Anger, Abounding in Steadfast Love...' (Exodus 34) He tells me again that He has my ring and my robe, and sandals for my newly swollen pregnant-lady feet (Luke 15). He reminds me that He is indeed the God of Abraham, Issac, and Jacob (Exodus 3), men with stories, men drenched in humanity and failure, and the one's God has decided to make His name known through. He's the God that chose a prostitute as the lineage for His perfect Son (Matthew 1). He says to me in stillness, "Let's talk, I never leave, I never forsake...(Duet. 31)" He knocks on the door I'm so hesitant to open, scared that I will find arms calked back ready to cast stones, but still He whispers to me through it, 'Open to Me, My love, My dove, My perfect one...' (Song of Solomon 5). And I know that slowly I will, after all, it's lonely in this dark little room.

Dignifying Dirt

"...then the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature." Genesis 2:8

There we were: a million little pieces of crushed rocks and roots. We were what mother's now make their son's and daughter's wash off before they eat lunch. We were messy, we were nothing, we had not yet taken form or breathed our first breath... we were dirt. 

I don't know what made Him do it the way He did- the cosmos came from one word, the animals in similar fashion. And then there was us: man. We were made from particles already created, when He had gathered up the seas we were exposed. Soon we would tread upon the clay from whence we came, our newly fashioned feet, our gloriously beaming bodies. But first we had to be pieced together...from dust. 

I see the Ageless eyes looking at a heaping mound of dirt. Twinkling. Ecstatic. He saw something there in that red, brown, rocky powder. He saw fingers and toes, muscles and bones, more than a frame- He saw potential. He saw image bearers, He saw glorious dreamers and risk takers, He saw a declaration to the rest of creation of His goodness and nature. 

Yep, that was us...dirt. 

Wait, what else was there tangled within this soon to be living thing? Ah, yes...sin. It wasn't present in the moment we know that, but it loomed not far ahead. He wasn't oblivious, He knew. He knew we would choose self one day. It looked like pleasure and fulfillment, it looked harmless and sweet... and it would take us out. 

And He considered.

Undeterred by the shadow of death that He foreknew...He dug in. Tilling us up, spreading us out, fashioning, forming, molding. We laid there still- lifeless until He breathed into our deflated lungs. Our eyes opened, we were perfect, we were complete, we laid there and looked at Him and had no idea we would mess it up, and He didn't tell us, because that wasn't the point. 

He made us because out of every part of Him oozed perfect Wisdom and perfect Love. He sees how He wants to see, and with that does what He wants to do.

He saw this powdery substance, treaded on by beasts, home to roots and leaves, undignified... and in His wild creativity and fiery love He gave dignity to the dirt. What has been walked upon, what has been taken for granted, dismissed, and forgotten- He dignified. What was messy and undefined He brought life to, and I am convinced that He has asked us...post dirt, to do the same. 

While I cannot create something from nothing, and I have no ability to make humans from dust, I can see how He sees. I can give dignity to the undignified. They don't have to ask for it, I didn't... I was dirt, what did I know? But He gave it anyway, He pulled us up, brushed us off, breathed into our lungs, and called what was not as though it was.

I believe that I have been wrong in my views of humanity. In my own pain and experience of dirt, I have written people off. I have stereotyped. I have acted superior forgetting underneath my nails a distant home...dirt. 

I want to join His perspective, I want to dignify the "dirt". I want eyes to see what doesn't clearly present itself in my neighbor; regardless of what lies behind or before them, I want to love. Those who are just plain different than me, the ones I have brushed aside and looked down on; because I am still broken and my eyes are dim... I want to love. I don't want to come from over them, I want to dig in, side-by-side, tilling and sowing dignity into lives that need to know they are worth it, that they are seen, and they are loved.

We may have made excuses for our closed off hearts and our hands in our pockets, not so quick to reach out; uncomfortable with those a little messy, those not like us, muddied by life and even their own decisions. But I'm asking Him to help me change: because from the dust, He saw man...and He made man in His own image. 

Living in Yesterday

Time. How we measure life. Seconds build to minutes and then to hours. Soon enough (quite often too soon) the hours result in days passing by, months, and then years. I've heard it said we ought to "live in the present" and I think for the most part I've agreed. It's not a bad rule to follow after all, we're in the present right now. Right...now. Right now. But what about five hours ago or yesterday? What constitutes the present moment of our lives? When did last week become history, the past...not as important as right now?

I'm fighting against time. Actually in more ways than one, after all it is 2:30 in the morning and I can't sleep. Why? Because I have 9 days left of my life in Kansas City. I'm fighting to fit in the present, and reconcile my history here.  I read a quote this evening that said, "The pain now is part of the happiness then. That's the deal." And that is the deal indeed. Without the joy and happiness attached to a person or a season of life, the level of sorrow is significantly lower. Have you ever left a place or a relationship with a sigh of relief? I have, and it wasn't because it was awesome that's for sure. But that sinking feeling in your chest as you see time closing in on you, that's because of joy, because of the people, the history, the journey. 

Now I'm not saying each and every season is solely bliss. Heaven knows my 3 years in Kansas City have been far from that alone. In my first 6 months I lost my step-dad, 18 months later my precious Daddy, and in-between I watched my sister from a computer screen as she laid in a hospital for months at a time fighting to keep her babies alive within her womb. Those my friends, were not joyful times. But I tell you what, from that pain I've been given eyes to see, ears to hear, and a heart that has been expanded in my chest. I see starry nights differently, hear other people's stories with more empathy, and love with more gratitude than ever before. I did all that in Kansas City, away from my family, but leaning on a new one...

I've lived with my best friends. I've eaten more cookies than should be permitted in one's lifetime. I've had more living room sing-alongs, dance parties, and heart-to-hearts than I ever could have dreamed. I've talked-it-out, shook-it-off, and let-it-go. I've hugged longer, laughed until I cried from the other side of the wall, and sighed deep content sighs over my kitchen sink. I've cooked over a stove with at least 4 other girls at the same time, worked out and then went on a milkshake run, and power cleaned faster than I thought possible. I've learned their mannerisms, laughed at their quirks, and appreciated them more because of those very same things. I found Jesus in hidden spaces, worked my dream job, and dared to push that dream a little further.   

I've been loved. In-spite of myself, everyday. I've been celebrated, encouraged, and strengthened. I've been held up, understood, and challenged. These people have rallied around me, fought for my destiny, and cried over my losses. 

I could go on and on. I'm looking at my story and the one's who have helped the writing process. I want to make sense of it all, knowing deep down this season of life will continue to unfold in the chapters before me. Yet I'm still trying to take away all that I can right now. I'm taking in expressions from precious faces, listening to laughs and tucking them away, driving down streets and memorizing trees. I'm realizing that my present is made up of history. A big extravagant history. I've been written up to this point by many moments from my yesterday's. It's as though I've been chiseled away at by victories and embarrassments, by disagreements and compromises. I've been molded by dirty dishes, packed out schedules, and learning to say no. I'm shaped by other people's twinkling eyes, guitar melodies, and forgiveness. All of these things are making me, me. And right now...right now. Right now. I'm living in my yesterday's.

Letter to a Little Girl

If I could tell you one thing I would tell you that you are precious. Before you learned to do a single thing, you were more valuable than all the money in the world. You were priceless, worth more than jewels, success, and all my dreams multiplied by a million.

If I could continue on with my words, I would tell you that you make me smile, even when I can't see you. Before you could say my name I enjoyed you, probably more than you enjoyed me. You made me feel homesick when I was away, you made me not want to leave the room when I was near.

When I'm with you I see the flowers better and fall more in love with the water at our feet. You make it new again, you make it fun again. Every song sounds like one we should dance to, every tear you cry should be noticed and tended to. I want to taste everything you taste and smell all that you smell; wondering if we are experiencing the same thing. It's new to you, it's not for me, but afterwards I love it more than before.

With you, messy hair is cute and morning breath is sweet, at least for me. I want to show you the world and protect you from it all at the same time. I see you years from now full of beauty and destiny, and yet...you'll always be the quirky baby blonde that runs funny and talks with a lisp.

If I could tell you a little more, I would tell you that God is good and life is hard. But don't get discouraged with that equation, because where God is there is hope, and hope changes the way we see everything. Making even this often hard life... wonderful!

I would tell you to dream big, big dreams. I would also tell you that the small things matter. You will experience more small things than big, but it's those insignificant day to day's that make you great when the moments of greatness fall upon you.

I would tell you to ask questions and to search them out. Ask hard questions and don't give up finding out the truth. I would tell you to feel what is inside of you. When you are happy, feel it. When you feel sad, cry it out. When you are excited, shout really loud in your room, or your car, or in a park, anywhere...just please feel it. 

You have the cutest little voice now- singing songs only you understand, and I would tell you to keep on singing. You were made to sing. We were all made to sing. Nature likes to sing too, open your ears to hear her. 

Read books and tell yourself stories as you walk past giant trees and rushing rivers. 

I would tell you to look up at least once a day and give yourself permission to wonder, to be amazed, and once you find God, take the time to thank Him too. Jump in the leaves, play in the snow, run barefoot in the sand, lay down in fresh grass.  Look for beauty in unsuspected places, once you look you'll start to find it.

I don't know it all, I am still a long way from figuring it all out. But if I could tell you anything, I would tell you that you could never be loved more than you are right now. Long before school grades and sports teams. Right now when you love makeup only because your Mommy does, and your tiny feet shuffle around in my shoes. Right now when the only boy in your life is Daddy, and Mommy is your best friend.

Long before you ever felt like you deserved or didn't deserve it...

You are lovely.

You are worth fighting for.

You are loved.

Immanuel.

December is passing through my fingers quicker than I can blog about it. But what I most desire to write about this month has to be written about very early on, so as to allow time to think upon the subject for the rest of the month.

December holds so much in it, there is so much to enjoy about this time of year. Peppermint mochas for instance, or scarves, the Christmas lights, the family, the sweets, the Charlie Brown Christmas Special. I mean really, the list could go on...

and on...

and on.

The list is so plentiful, so wonderful, that is slightly easy to lose a great opportunity in the midst of the holiday cheer. Of course by this time, some of you may be getting a hunch, you may think I'm going to start talking about Jesus and how on Christmas time we must remember the "Reason for the Season". Well, you are right. Remembrance is powerful, the Bible calls us again and again to remember, to think upon and meditate on. It would be great if we remembered the Lord daily, if we re-told His story to ourselves, to others, in our heads, in a song, in a journal, anything. But we have this little snippet of time at the end of the year, a month called December, and while there are the swirls of atheists protesting the Nativity or Christians protesting the Paganism of the season I can't help but notice the benefits: a 25-day stretch of the gospel being proclaimed through the shopping malls, on cards, on billboards, on every radio station possible!

"Long lay the world, in sin and error pining, 

till He appeared and the soul felt it's worth. 

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices

 for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn..." 

There is something more beautiful than a house decked out in twinkling lights. Something more pleasant to gaze upon. There is something more wonderful than presents stuffed under an ornamented tree. And even more meaningful than spending extra time with your family (if you know me...you know that is a big statement). Because long ago, the Creator became the created. God, high and lofty, the One who stretches the heavens out like a garment, Who puts spirit in man, and is the Author of time, stepped into His story. He came in controversy: His mother being a young engaged woman not yet knowing a man making her womb His home. He came in humility: born in a  barn with a few animals as His greeting committee. He came in tribulation: a king seeking to put him to death for fear of His predicted future reign. The real quencher of all these (and many more) factors is that...HE CAME! 

You know, I have tried to write this blog about 3 to 5 times now, and each time I start I just end up staring at the screen. I'll get out a sentence and then backspace and start over. If there is one story I can't do justice to, it's this one. It's so beautiful, it's profound, and it sounds crazy! God became a baby - so that He could become a man- so that He could take us back to His Father, as the Repairer of the Breach. The Ultimate Missionary. God is saying so much about Himself as He put on human flesh.

Can you believe that the Lord of Hosts knows what it is like to be wrapped in swaddling clothes? Jesus was dependent on another for food, for shelter, for warmth, and protection. Transcendent and Perfect Light became confined to flesh and bones. What does this say about His humility? Do you believe He can relate to you in your pains, in your loneliness, in your vulnerability? How far will He reach for your friendship? Can we say again, "He doesn't know what it's like to be me?" when He is indeed Immanuel, God with us.

I could go on and on as I think out loud on this entry. My own questions and thoughts overflowing at the baby who has changed everything. A short blog on God Incarnate will never do, but then again someday we will stare at this Jewish Man, the firstborn from the dead, the Living Word of God, and we will wonder at His kindness, we will wonder at His humanity, we will rejoice over His willingness to chase down this wandering race.

My encouragement to you is to take advantage of this Holiday Season, to slowly, in your day-to-day activities think upon these things. Take a passage like John 1 and chew on it "In the beginning was the Word...and the Word was God...and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us..." Maybe take "O Holy Night" or "O Come All Ye Faithful" and sing it over and over again until your heart starts to connect to the words in a deep and meaningful way. It is not a difficult thing, at least it is not meant to be. It doesn't even require you to sit long periods of time, the holiday's are busy, so take it with you. Sing as you shop, remember Him as you bake, it's all the same to Him; I just encourage you to not wait until Christmas Eve or Christmas morning, for the sake of knowing Him more and honoring His immeasurable humility.

The bonus? How does wonder filling your heart sound? Or how about thankfulness and knowing the love God has for you in a deeper way? Talk about presents!



Merry Christmas!

The Mystery Man

Why did you read this blog? Did you think I was going to unveil my Mystery Man? Well, you're right. You nosey little reader.

I met Him a little over six years ago now, I was young and really messed up. I had agreed to go to a weekend getaway with a couple people I barely knew, there were a lot of people talking about it and so I jumped on board, I was desperate enough in my broken life to try a weekend getaway with strangers.  I had a boyfriend at the time, he rolled up my sleeping bag (since we would truly be roughing it), gave me a smooch and told me he'd see me when I got back. Little did I know...

It was like He met me at the door, that Mystery Man. We spent the whole weekend rubbing elbows and dancing around my broken heart. It wasn't until Saturday night that it was official, I was leaving it all and following Him. You see, I listened to a friend of His talk about Him, and it was like the light in my dark little room got flipped on, I saw clearly; and even though my dark little room was full of dark little things I was so undone by Love. I knew this Mystery Man would repair the repairable, and wash away the stains. I knew all of His life He had me set before His eyes. I was His reason.

Have you ever felt utterly loved? If you haven't let me tell you. It is powerful. In that moment of utter love, it's the only food you need to eat, it's the only air required to breathe. That's it. You've won life in that moment of rapture. Often, you spend the rest of your life wounded with love and going after the One who's done it (which is exactly what I've done).

I have followed Jesus ever since that day (there you have it...He's my Mystery Man). Last night I sat in the back of the prayer room and while the worship filled the room, my heart was full of gratitude for the cross of Christ. The girl sang "You so loved the world that You came down..."and I remembered again that giant, incalculable, wonderful heart of God and His plan for humanity. Then as I wondered at His cross and His love, I began to think about the very Mystery that is Christ. He is the Mystery of God. From the first bite of sin God promised man that He will bring man's wandering heart back to Himself. Throughout the Law, the Psalms, and the Prophets, He hints (often quite loudly) at His glorious Plan. But none of us would have guessed it looked like a baby lying in a manger. Who would have supposed it looked like a carpenter serving His family for 30 years in obscurity? Who would have even sort of thought it looked like a cross beam? That God would die for the disobedient ones?

Is His heart that big? 

His love that real? 

Is His justice so thorough? 

His mercy so great?

Have you been brought into the Mystery of God? Has His Secret been revealed to your heart? If you know Jesus is the Son of God. If you know that He "so loved the world that He came down". If you believe in his death on the cross, His complete (body, soul, spirit) resurrection three days later, His ascension to the right hand of the Father, and His soon and imminent return. Then you have been given the Mystery of God. (If your not already pausing here, please do so now and breathe that in.)

This undoes my little heart! I can't contain it. He let me know about His Son, He breathed life on His Gospel as it fell upon my heart. And now here I sit, full of gratitude and wonder; astonished that I've been told, confident of His ability to do the same for others. Oh Lord use me as a conduit of Your precious Mystery! 

His cross woos this heart and assures it of love, and the fact that He has unfolded His Mystery to me makes my insides dance around like crazy. Like every part of me is weeping, and laughing, and singing. Yet all that I can do is softly whisper, "Thank you" over and over again.

"...that their hearts may be encouraged, being knit together in love, to reach all the riches of full assurance of understanding and the knowledge of God’s mystery, which is Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." Colossians 2:2