In telling the story of Caleb, I should first excuse myself by saying that I'm not the first nor is mine the only version. I can offer nothing about it, except for what I heard directly from his mouth.

First I must tell that Caleb lived in a place very nearly the same as ours. It is marked by one street, crowded with bodies busily flying and flitting to their occupations and whims and agendas. Some go to work, others to play, some go to take hold of their dreams, and they flood the street with noise and feet and a swirl of colors and shapes and sizes. The busier they get, the bigger they grow, up and up and up until they cast such long shadows on one another that it seems sometimes as if the ground of the street shall never see the light of day again. This is just the sort of street that Caleb's Mother brought he and his brother and sister on one of the busiest days of the year. She had, after all, three mouths to feed and bodies to clothe, and just enough money to do both.
Caleb was a good sort of boy, the kind of boy whose Mother can trust to keep care of his brother and sister should she need to enter a store by herself. But Caleb was, to be sure, of the more curious nature. On this particular day, his attention was captivated by a peculiar looking bug, and upon chasing it, he almost caught it. When it had eluded his hand for the last time, Caleb found himself quite lost from his mother and brother and sister. Though he searched between the busy bodies of those around him, he was very nearly trampled in the effort, and his family was no where to be seen.

With a heave of a sob, little Caleb sat himself upon a curb on the far side of the street, and laid his little head upon his hands. "I shall never find Mother, or brother or sister," cried he, and he let himself shed a few tears, for after all, nobody was here to witness him, and he decided all brave boys must at some point have gotten themselves lost from their Mother, and Caleb felt quite sure that this circumstance, above any, was worthy of a few tears.

It's not unusual that little boys believe themselves to be capable of crying more than they truly are, and Caleb found, after only a few moments, that he had grown quite weary of crying. His head soon grew heavy on his own hands, so he lay himself sideways on the narrow curb.

It was not too long before he began to think of sleepy things, which we all know cannot be described, or else one wakes up. Just as he was quite nearly asleep, Caleb fancied that he heard voices. Now, we all know that on the busy street where bodies were bustling in front of him there were many voices shouting and laughing and calling to one another, but Caleb's voices were not any of these. These voices sounded so lovely that Caleb thought to himself, "I must now be dreaming,".

But the moment he had the thought he knew it to be impossible, for he opened his eyes and could still see all of the large people passing hurriedly alongside of him.

"Well, what is this now? If I am not asleep and yet I hear these voices still, they must be real," thought Caleb. Little boys have no trouble believing what their parents would often scoff at, for little boys still believe the world is large enough that it can fit in things that cannot be explained. They have not yet convinced themselves that if something cannot be proven, it does not exist, because to a little boy, the whole world is a mystery and a fancy in itself. That is why little boys' dreams are so much more entertaining to watch, if we could. They include lots of fanciful creatures and darlings, and the whole lot of them would so far surpass all of our fairy tales to date that it would quite nearly shame every author.
Caleb kept his ear to the curb, listening to the glorious voices whose seemed now to be growing louder, which of course they were. The more Caleb listened, the louder the lovely voices grew until he was quite surprised that none of the busy feet near him had stopped their movement. In fact, as he listened, the street itself seemed to grow so distant, its noises and its sights. This too, Caleb was not the least disturbed by. For little boys are still yet novices to the ways things are, and they are quite ready to believe in anything fanciful, which is probably why everything that is fanciful happens to them. They have not yet suffocated magic by calling it mere imagination.
And Caleb could very nearly make out the words of the voices he heard, partly because they were being repeated over and over in beautiful cadence. It became so much for Caleb that he felt his arms light up with goose pimples and he couldn't help but shiver with excitement, for the goose pimples in themselves are a such a delightful feeling.

Finally, when all Caleb heard was the multitude of voices, he sat straight up in wonder at all of the large people who seemed undisturbed. But the moment he lifted up his little body, the lovely voices were quite nearly silenced by the harsh sound of the large feet and the large voices that now seemed grating and ridiculous to Caleb's little ears.
"Well!" Cried Caleb, and he stared down at the place where his head had been laying, trying very hard to figure out what was the matter with the place. And that is when he first saw it. Just next to where his right ear had been laying, there was a a very small beam of light escaping into the darkened street. Caleb bent to examine it, and saw that the light actually shown from behind a very tiny door, almost too tiny for even Caleb to see at first. And yet as soon as Caleb had recognized the light and the door, both began to become larger. I do not say that they grew larger, because that would not be true. They simply were larger. And the longer Caleb beheld them, the larger and more beautiful they became. The door was not like any Caleb had seen, its carvings so ornate, its wood shining as if it were lit up. And the light that poured from the door seemed at once as lovely as the voices, and then Caleb could not decide whether it was the light or the voices he was actually seeing, for the light carried the voices and the two seemed one.
Caleb clapped his little hands in excitement, for as he sat, the door grew to the size where he fancied he could actually fit inside of it. Caleb scrambled towards it, and just as he did, the door seemed suddenly so large that it stopped him in his tracks. It now was as enormous as the tall people, and yet it was larger then even they. Now Caleb was not sure whether or not he was meant to enter it all, for it seemed to magnificent for someone as small as he to pass through. The same force with which his elation came, a profound misery passed over Caleb, for he so wanted to get through he door to the lovely light and voices. But just as Caleb was very nearly crying with disappointment, he heard someone call his name.
He knew it was not anyone on the street behind him, because again the entire street and people were now only a blur, like a distant dream that Caleb was not sure truly existed. All he knew now were the door and the light, and as he stared up at the lovely door, he heard it call him again.
"Yes, I'm here," Caleb said, all the while chastising himself for not adding a "ma'am" or "sir", for in truth he could not tell whether the voice was that of a man or a woman. It was just lovely, and in its loveliness there was a wholeness that needed no differentiation.
"Well open the door, already, we have been waiting for you," said the lovely voice with an even lovelier laugh. Caleb could not collect his excitement and tripped towards the door, which as he stepped nearer seemed to fit him perfectly now. He reached out and pulled at the enchanting nob, and the brilliant light and voices seemed to blind him.
How different everything seemed to Caleb then! As soon as Caleb had opened the door it was is if the voices and light had carried him passed the threshold. He rubbed his little eyes, for we all know that when we step from a dark room into a lit one, our eyes have a hard time with it. What he could see when he finally could, I will have a hard time explaining, for it is nothing like what we've seen here. In fact, even little Caleb could never explain it without much difficulty and halting, and many, "Oh there is nothing quite like it!" muttered over and over until the his listeners grew tired of his tale. "It as if the very buds of spring time and the glory of the sun in the height of summertime have kissed and the whole world applauds at the same moment", was the best description he could muster and it is, indeed, the only one we all use when telling the tale. Of course we cannot assume it to look like our springtime or summertime, and Caleb himself says there is no true sun in its sky, but again, Caleb was only a little boy when he saw the place. There is nothing that is colored like our world would be, for everything is exactly what it ought to be and therefore no two things are alike. The trees and rocks and rivers and fishes and birds are all the friendliest, most welcoming things, not at all like how they are here, where they are either aloof to our existence or afraid. Here they welcomed Caleb, and for a little boy to be in a world where nothing seemed naughty and everything new him and allowed him to play, you will understand why he took so long to finally see anyone. He had quite a day of frolicking and running as fast as he wanted, falling many times and yet it did not hurt him. This was the best part of all, for his Mother would have been quite upset, Caleb was sure, if he had returned with ruined clothes and cut up legs. While I can, I must tell you that this whole time Caleb often had thoughts like this: "Oh how fond Mother would be of this place! And Brother and Sister too!" For Caleb was a kind boy who loved his family very much. But his former fear at being lost had been entirely replaced with the notion that he was somehow as found as he could possibly get, which he was.
The voices that Caleb had at first heard were, indeed, the light itself. For in this place, the whole of it seemed to be speaking. The words of it were something like a jolly prayer, and although he cannot repeat the exact words of it now, Caleb speaks of it often.
When finally Caleb had played as much as he liked, (though in this place it was not possible to grow weary of playing) Caleb grew instead more curious about other things, and wondered to himself, "Who was it that called me here?" The moment he thought it, a figure appeared before him. Behind the door the beings are not at all like us, and yet they are exactly how we ought to have been.
A little girl appeared before Caleb, (we will call her a little girl because that is what she was but yet there was not the same feeling of "differentness" that Caleb often felt when he was with other little girls. He felt as if he knew this one, and she him.) She was one of the loveliest creatures he had seen, yet it wasn't that she was wearing her own loveliness. It was Somebody Else's, and Caleb felt quite sure he had met the Somebody she was wearing, for he felt at home around her. The girl was not exactly smiling, she simply was what a smile ought to have been. This, however, did not surprise Caleb; he had felt when he first stepped through the door an absence of anything that seemed other than joy and delight. For here, in this world, there was no room for anything that did not quite fit, and sadness, despair, anger, disappointment, had long ago been pushed out.
"Why, I feel as though I know you," Caleb said with a delighted laugh, which echoed off of the happy wood and sent the air around him giggling. The girl nodded, "Yes, and I know you. But I suppose what you see is Him, for He is what makes all of us know one another." Caleb was not sure he understood completely, but he felt in his heart that agreed.
"I feel as though I know Him, then," Caleb said, too happy to be confused. The girl nodded again, and the smile that she had seemed to grow larger, "Yes, that is why you're here of course, He asked you to come." The little girl gestured with her lovely hand for Caleb to follow her, and before her emerged a path lined with wildflowers who looked at once so wild and so happy that Caleb longed to touch one. He followed eagerly behind the girl, for Caleb felt undoubtedly that he was quite welcome here.
When they had not walked very far the little girl turned around to Caleb and let out a happy laugh, "Stay here, for He is coming." And with that, she was gone. Caleb did not feel lonely, however, or upset that she had left. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that she should leave at that moment. For everything in that world happens precisely when it ought to, and nothing happens that is not full of a lovely purpose. But while Caleb stood he felt rising his little heart a joy and a hope so strong that he wondered whether or not his little body could contain it all. He laughed again and again, with the sort of laugh that sends a room of others laughing and smiling at the sound of it. And just when Caleb knew he could not grow more happy, he saw Him. He was at once more familiar than Caleb's own mother, and all the same more different than anyone Caleb had ever seen. His face was lit up with kindness, and whatever piece of Him was reflected in the little girl was discovered in His features. Caleb felt a thrill of pleasure and fascination race through his little body even looking at the Man, and could not help but run to Him. The Man's laugh seemed to make the world around him laugh in agreement, and with his embrace, Caleb felt quite at home. There was nothing else that mattered in Caleb's little mind at that moment than this Man and his opinion of Caleb.
"I've been waiting for you Caleb," said the Man, and Caleb pulled away to look at the beautiful face before him. Caleb still cannot describe the face, for it was nothing like a face and yet it was exactly how every face ought to be.
"I've been waiting for you," replied Caleb happily, for in his little heart, Caleb knew he too had been waiting for this Man, even if he had not always known it.
I cannot tell of all the happy and lovely things that were said between the Man and Caleb, but anyone who knows Caleb can attest to the different boy he was after the day he walked through the door. He no longer tried to be brave or good, he simply was both brave and good, but without the reticent pride that comes from behaving well on your own. All that can be said is that the Man spoke such good things to Caleb and that Caleb fiercely believed all of the wonderful things that Man promised him and said about him.
The time had come for Caleb to leave, for he felt in his heart that it was right that he not stay here forever, as much as he would have liked. The memory of the street outside of the door and all of the large people and his own Mother and Brother and Sister seemed to grow larger in front of him. Caleb looked towards the Man, but he had gone, which Caleb had expected even as he looked for him. The little girl had replaced him, but even her features had begun to fade, and she was but a lovely haze before him, leading him by the hand towards the door.
"Wait," said Caleb, and the little girl paused, and waited as if she had known he had questions to ask. "Why could not everyone on the street see the light and hear the voices?"
Many might think Caleb would have asked these questions first, but the moment he stepped through the door there was no room in his mind for doubts or sad thoughts. We must remember that he was, after all, a little boy. The little girl did not stop smiling, but somehow her smile seemed more tender, "It is not that they can not see the light or hear the voices, Caleb," said she. "It is that they choose not to." Caleb felt at once that her words were right, for even while the voices and the door grew, he saw the large busy people moving away from him and around it, which at the time he had thought meant they did not see it. He saw now, rather, that they did see it and were irritated by its brightness and bigness.
"But how come the door is not always so large and so lovely?" Caleb remembering now how small the door at first had been, that he fancied it a speck of light on the sidewalk, and how it only became larger as he stared at it. The girl answered, "It is always large and lovely, but the people have chosen to make themselves larger than it, and they have forgotten how to get small enough to fit in."
"Why doesn't He stop them?" Caleb felt now a deep sadness for the people on the street, and as his heart grew more sad the world around him seemed more dim.
"Because He cannot make them want to come inside, they must choose it for themselves," The little girl said.
"But don't they know what lies behind this door, and how much more lovely it is than all of the things on the street?" Caleb knew in his little heart, in that moment, that nothing in all the world could compare with the one he had entered that day.
The little girl shook her head sadly, "They know but they have let themselves believe that their world is greater. And so they cannot enter, even if they tried now. They'd have to think less of their world, and of themselves. For that is how you got in, Caleb."
Caleb could not just then remember the sequence of events that led him to discovering the door, but when he began to try and remember he found at once that he did remember. He had been frightened and lonely and lost, a combination which makes all little boys sleepy. And Caleb could not keep himself from falling asleep, and when he had laid down his head he heard the voices and saw the light, and had suddenly grown quite curious over it. And the more he wondered at it, the bigger it became.
"Will I always fit in, now?" Caleb felt, for the first time since he passed through the door, that he was afraid. He felt afraid of not seeing the Man again, or the little girl, whom he loved although he hardly knew her.
The girl nodded her little head, "So long as you choose to look at it and not get yourself too large, you can fit. It never changes sizes. You do."
Caleb felt determination rise in his little body, "Then I shall always make it bigger than I," said he. Through the hazy distance he knew the little girl had smiled again.
"That is good, Caleb," said the little girl, though her lovely voice was fading and Caleb heard another voice saying his name. When he blinked again, he was back on the curb, staring at the large feet and the large bodies, hearing his mother's voice crying out his name, "Oh Caleb!" Said his Mother, rushing to him and gathering his little body in her arms. I will not waste time to tell that, as all mothers do when they fancy they've lost or misplaced a child and they find it again, there was a surplus of tears and many "Thank Heavens" said, and Caleb never got so many kisses as he did in the next few days.
For the rest of his life, though, Caleb was talking about the door and lived in such a way that people wondered at his general smallness, and how he never made too much of what he could do or needed to get done. For as Caleb promised, he never made himself so big that the door was not bigger still.

"There is a road that leads to Heaven. It is both narrow and wide, both flat and steep, both restful and treacherous. There is a Man who walks this road, back and forth, back and forth He goes. He races with the strong, He nurses the wounded, He calms the afraid; there is not a single one who has traversed this road who has not, at some point, met with Him. He is both gentle and stern, both full of love for good and hate for evil, both full of youth, and yet older than any other. He has a wise and noble brow, hands that are strong but tender, and a gaze that strengthens just as surely as it penetrates.

As He walked one early morning, on a wide portion in one of the most pleasant valleys of the road, he came upon a little girl, curled in a tiny ball, crying rather pathetic looking tears.

Ever full of compassion, the Man stooped to her, "Little Girl, what troubles You?"

The little girl turned her tear-streaked face to the Man, not realizing who He was, "It seems as though I shall never make it to the end."

The Man fixed His knowing eyes on her, "The end of what?"

"Why, this road," she sniffled, gesturing towards the lovely portion of path where she sat.

"The best way to find out is to keep walking, don't you think?" The Man looked down kindly at the little girl, who huffed a big huff, and shook her little curl-covered head. And although she had not meant to, the little girl replied with a voice that sounded very much like a whine, "But it isn't just about me!"

The Man bent his head nearer to the little girl, "Isn't it though?"

The girl sobbed a tiny bit more, "No! Can't You see the other little children that are so much further down this road than I?"

The Man stood and shaded his kind eyes, barely making out the forms of little bodies quite a ways down from where he stood.

"I can see the others," the Man replied thoughtfully, "But I do not know that their progress has anything to do with yours."

The little girl sniffled miserably again, and as most children do when adults' responses do not suit them, she jutted out her bottom lip, which trembled perilously. "Oh but it does! It means that I shall never catch up with them," sighed she, crossing her little arms over her chest.

The Man nodded again, "Maybe not."

To his calm reply, the little girl's eyes filled with fresh tears, "Then what ever shall I do?"

The Man stooped again to her level, and grasping her shoulders, pulled her gently to her feet. "You may keep walking. And even if you should never catch up with them, at least you will still be traveling the same road as they. You will see all that they've seen, taste all they've tasted, if only you'll not tarry here, or worse yet, give up."

The little girl felt her little heart growing more brave with the kind Man's words. She squared her little shoulders and did her best to swallow down her tears, which we all know for a little girl can be quite a triumph in itself. She thought over what he'd said, realizing that although not quite so fast or far as they, she was just as able and willing to keep at the path if it meant she could experience all that her friends had.

But just as quickly as her heart grew bold, a whisper of a doubt sent it crashing down again. "But I am all alone, and they, they at least have one another!" The little girl cried.

The Man's eyes grew tender towards her.He gathered her against his chest and let her cry, which was truly hard to do, she realized, while situated so comfortably in the Man's kind embrace.

When she could not manage one more tear, the Man extended to her one of His large hands, "I will walk with you, if you like. Then you won't be alone."

The little eyes on the little girl grew rather big, considering her size. Her litte heart took flight, like a hummingbird's wings, "Oh, would you?" The Man nodded and smiled the kindest smile down at her as she placed her little hand in his.

It wasn't many steps before the little girl found all thoughts of her companions, whose progress had caused her so much grief before, were erased by the kind company of the strong Man who held her hand and warmed her heart. The road now seemed neither lonely, nor long, so long as she had Him."

How We Grow

Lately there has been this idea growing in my mind, and I keep encountering it wherever I turn. The most recent podcast I listen to is about it, Chad and I flip the channel to GodTV and Sid Roth is talking about it, the book I randomly pick up on the desk is earmarked to the exact page about it. Seriously. Its kind of a creepy, inescapable sort of thing that keeps evolving until I finally look it square in the face and give words to the impressions on my heart. So this is it.

My grandmommy used to always say, (who knows why she was always saying this, but she did) that "the thin just get thinner, and the fat get fatter." I always kind of bristled at that statement, because I was never sure which side I was on...and if I were thin, that was exciting and sort of liberating in a way, but if I was fat, well that just added an impossible anxiety. You get the idea. But there is this spiritual side of this statement that I can't resist pointing out today.

Do you ever notice that people who are really passionate about Jesus just keep going deeper? Its like they just keep getting larger and larger ideas about life and God, and soon its not just every other word they say is life-giving, its every word they say. They just ooze encouragement, and when you ask about their walk with God, they have a sparkle in their eye and a skip in their step and they seem indefatigable. And you wonder, will I ever get there?

Its probably pretty useless to outline the people who first take babysteps away from the "good life" of prayer and devotionals, tired of the routine, and bored with the faith...and a few years down the road they would rather call themselves cannibals than Christians, and they'd rather discuss the goodness of humanity than the greatness of God. And then you wonder, did they ever really meet with God? Did they ever really feel Him stirring in their hearts? Because if they did, they couldn't just walk away from it.

And maybe you're kind of like me sometimes, and one extreme looks unattainable, and the other looks totally unappealing. I heard some words recently from a pastor about how spiritual hunger and physical hunger work in opposite ways. Normally, people eat in the physical when they're hungry...and once they eat a certain amount, they aren't hungry anymore. (Notice I didn't say they stop eating, because if its a bag of pretzel mnm's in my hand, hunger or no hunger, I feel compelled to finish it) But in the spiritual, when you're not feeling hungry, all you have to do is start feeding yourself and you realize, you're hungry. And the more you eat, the more hungry you get. And so its like this endless stream of eating and hunger and eating and hunger, except there isn't obesity or gorging in the spiritual realm. Its more like Eden, when she is in the middle of a growth spurt, and all of the sudden it doesn't matter if its sweet peas or sweet potatoes or formula or milk or whatever, she could eat for an eternity. And her little body metabolizes the food and she grows more, so she eats more, and then she grows more and...in effort to not bore you, I will digress.

I was thinking this morning while I fixed my coffee that, I wonder why some people can get away with only putting a packet of splenda in their cup and they're fine, and why I am gagging unless mine has two heaping tablespoons of sugar. Literally. And then I thought, I bet its because those people haven't had real sugar in their coffee in so long that they think splenda actually tastes good. (I've probably just upset a bunch of splenda-loving people out there, who are spewing at their computer reasons why real sugar pales in comparison to artificial sweeteners...but I know they're dillusional, probably because of the chemicals in their sweeteners anyhow) Anyway, I was thinking that if they knew how good sugar was, they'd toss out their yellow or blue or pink packets. I think its the same way with Jesus. Sometimes I'm content to just live off of fifteen minute reads in the Bible, and a few worship songs, just because I've forgotten what it feels like to read something and pour over it for an hour, and be totally touched to the core of my heart in a way nothing else can touch me...but if I could remember that feeling in its perfection and entirety, I wouldn't be content with anything less.

And that's why I think the spiritually "fat" just keep getting bigger. Their memories are thick with moments like that, where they walk away and their hearts are practically screaming "God is with me!!!" And so they have to keep going back for more.
And sometimes I look at those people and feel discouraged, like I won't ever get there, or that I was once there but I can't figure out how to get back. This morning, the Lord just reminded me though how His economy works. His is not like America's. He doesn't have a certain amount of money in the bank or gold in the reserve that is exhausted at a certain point. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills...and in a non-monetary way, He has riches that are eternal for all of us. There is space enough in Him for all of us to press in. And if you wake up and feel satiated already, and you think, I just don't feel like I need God, go get with Him. Your feelings don't determine reality. And the more time You spend, the more You'll want. The more you feast off His word or in prayer or in worship, the more space you'll create in your spiritual stomach for Him. He is always waiting, always ready to run to welcome you. Its good for me to often remind myself, when I'm tempted to compare my spiritual lot with someone else's, that God never shorthands us. We do it to ourselves. So, hungry or not, go get some.

"The whole outlook of mankind might be changed if we could all believe that we dwell under a friendly sky and that the God of heaven, although exalted in power and majesty, is eager to be friends with us." -AW Tozer

Apparently the world's worst storm was chasing us yesterday as we exchanged Abilene, Texas for a flight back to Indianapolis. In between strapping Eden into the baby bjorn and boarding our last leg of the journey from Atlanta home, I felt sure there was a silent sadness that was creeping in the clouds behind us: that one haunting sadness of bags still unpacked, neatly stacked by our bed, and the realization that I am thousands of miles (okay maybe just 1000 miles) from the people I so love and miss. I hate even the dreading of that moment, and yesterday on the plane I was about to get lost in the feeling when I remembered some words the Lord had put on my heart a few weeks ago: "Frame your heart to the burden."

I'm naturally a happy person, maybe a little bit pensive at times and a tad bit too intense for some people (my apologies), but I generally wake up in the morning feeling excited for the day. I have loved my life all of my life. Not in a prideful way, but in a, I-will-do-the-best-I-can-with-what-I've-got-and-what-I've-got-might-not-be-alot-to-some-people-but-to-me-its-the-essence/extent-of-my-potential. (Its probably illegal to write a sentence like that, but I think you know what I mean). I love the man I married, I love the baby God gave us, I love my family, I love the skin I'm in (or at least I am trying to-- albeit I spent years of my life examining and obsessing over its flaws) and I love...love love love...the fact that I am a victim of grace. (I got that from a book I read yesterday, maybe its one of those well-known Christian colloquialisms, but I hadn't heard it til about noon yesterday and therefore its truth is pretty striking still).

In the past year, however, I have found it more of a struggle at certain points, to wake up blooming with hope. Its been a point of shame for me, and something I hate to even acknowledge. I, who have been given so much to be thankful for, have had the audacity to grumble in my spirit. (My spirit is shuddering even at the thought-- 1 Corinthians 10 makes it very clear how God feels toward complainers). In the wake of the wonderful gift of marriage and this baby and new friends in Indianapolis, I've been hit also with the reality of living away from my family, and the missing of certain people who had become necessary to my everyday welfare. And there are many moments I have found myself comparing my lot to others, whose families are down the street, around the corner, and who are irreparably connected to their hometown, their friends, their place of being presently that they have no need for new friends. And I've muttered under my breath, cried in my car, and tried to figure out a way to get home, to manipulate friendships to fit my needs, and to bother Chad until he does something about it. And quite often, I wish I could see a bunch of trials laid out on a table in Heaven and be able to handpick mine. "Lord," I say, "I could so much better handle financial stress or trouble with a friend or something else...just don't split my heart like this." This, I admit, is totally and completely wrong. Not the missing, not the momentary sadness, but the sense of entitlement to have life on my terms. As if I own my life.

"Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup, you have made my lot secure." Psalm 16:5

I usually have the hardest time with it when I'm freshly home from a visit to Texas. The people, the companionship, the warmth is so accessible to my memory that it makes everything seem paled in comparison. I was anticipating this sadness a few weeks before Christmas, knowing I'd be home for a substantial amount of time and I was asking the Lord how to prepare myself and possibly how to prevent my turning into the worst version of myself.

Very clearly, I heard the Lord say, "Charis, frame your heart to the burden. I've placed you neither by accident nor by punishment in your present circumstance. I know that this very burden is the exact trial I've chosen for you, and if you lean into Me, rather than try to squirm away or exchange it for something else, I'll teach you not only to survive, but to thrive in the face of it."

So yesterday, following the lone line of weary passengers onto the plane, I mentally stood up to the gathering clouds in my heart and told them: "The Lord has promised me that I can thrive in the midst, in the very heart of the trial. And I choose that inheritance." I have to and must learn to frame my heart to the burden, and let the clouds that promise trial produce fruit in my life. I woke up this morning and remembered this verse:
"For ground that drinks the rain which often falls on it and brings forth vegetation useful to those for whose sake it is also tilled, receives a blessing from God; but if it yields thorns and thistles, it is worthless and close to being cursed, and it ends up being burned." Hebrews 6:8-9

I don't believe I'm alone in having a specifically assigned trial, or even a circumstantially assigned one. Whatever your burden is, whether its grad school or that one teacher or maybe even the fact that happiness is so much more of a task for you this season in your life...maybe you can take comfort in the Truth that God is faithful to use the trials we go through, and more than that, He is with us in the midst of them, and His voice and instruction will be LIFE to us if we listen and lean into Jesus. He is sturdy enough, surely. He has joy enough for all of us to glean off. And He can teach us to say what David says at the end of Psalm 16:

"The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places; Indeed, my heritage is beautiful to me. I will bless the LORD who has counseled me; Indeed, my mind instructs me in the night. I have set the LORD continually before me; Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken. Therefore my heart is glad and my glory rejoices; My flesh also will dwell securely. For You will not abandon my soul to Sheol; Nor will You allow Your Holy One to undergo decay. You will make known to me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy; In Your right hand there are pleasures forever."

The Power of Words

I am learning to really value the power of words. It may sound hokie, but I really believe the words we speak about ourselves either strengthen the Spirit's work, or quench it. God created the world by speaking it into being...and I believe He highly values words because He knows the power of words.
In the New Testament, the majority of Jesus' miracles take place because He speaks healing to a person, or deliverance. He doesn't get on the ground and wrestle demons out, massage sicknesses from a person's body, or do a dance to raise someone from the dead. He uses His words. I think this is also why God puts so much emphasis on calling Satan the father of lies. The devil speaks lies to us, and his words have the power to enslave us if we're not listening for the Good Shepherd's voice, and dwelling on His word, and words about us and who we are. If I've not convinced you that words are powerful, go read for yourself, and if I'm wrong, feel free to correct me.
Over the past few months I keep finding so many verses that emphasize the power of the spoken word.
"Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruit" proverbs 18:21

"if any of you love life and desire to see many good days, keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking lies." psalm 34:13

"If anyone does not stumble in what he SAYS, he is a perfect man, able also to bridle his whole body. The tongue is a fire, the very world of iniquity, the tongue is set among our members as that which defiles the entire body, and sets fire on the course of our life, and is set on fire by hell." James 3: 2,6

And so I've been praying about and trying to apply this lesson in large and small instances in my every day life.

Exhibit A: When Chad asks me if I want a Dairy Queen Blizzard, instead of just saying yes, I've been trying to say, "Actually Chad, I am not really a sweets kind of person. Sugar and desserts just aren't for me. I actually don't enjoy blizzards." Inside, my innerself is gawking at me in disbelief. She's reminding me that I drink sugar in the morning, with a few scoops of coffee...but I keep trying to talk myself out of my sweet tooth. Okay so maybe this isn't the best example, as I have yet to really break myself of a sweet tooth.

A better example is trying to speak against insecurity. Chad and I spent the better part of our engagement collecting marital counsel from every godly couple who was willing to share with us. Some of these couples listened to me cry my eyes out about a bunch of lies I had believed about marraige, about Chad, about myself. One man in particular began to always address me by saying, "Charis, because you are insecure..." and he would go on from there. A few months into marriage we were still hanging out with this couple a lot, and he would continually tell me how insecure I was. One night, on our way home from their house, I was feeling really bothered by it. And I felt like in my heart the Lord just said, "You're bothered because he is not speaking the truth about who you are." Jesus did not die so that I could waver back and forth between insecurity and security. I turned to Chad and announced, "I am not insecure." He was suprised, and laughed a little bit, and then agreed with me. I started to really take care to not call myself insecure, even if I felt a little insecure every now and then...because in reality, insecurity is not who I am. Its probably been a little bit over nine months, and I can't tell you the last time I spent even an hour wasting my time over insecure thoughts. Praise God.

This whole emphasis on the power of words has really been taking a toll on my wit, sadly. I can't be as self-degrading as I would normally. I can't call myself lazy, untalented, unathletic, flakey, a terrible friend...etc. I actually have to really watch my tongue. And guard my mind. But what I've noticed is that I really feel better most days. When the laundry has piled up around the house and I am sitting with Eden on the floor thinking about how little motivation I have to actually work, I say out loud "I am made to be productive, and I am not a lethargic human. I love to work hard and be diligent." And the funny thing is, no lightening strikes me. In fact, I feel more motivated. Maybe its because my words become little cheerleaders, rather than little doom-bringers. (And I probably sound insane to anyone who happens to be listening to me, but if anyone is listening to me talk to myself while I am inside my own home, they probably are a little cooky too)

Taking my words captive has even helped me in relationships: A few months ago there was a situation in my life that was so difficult for me, that even the mention of someone's name brought up so much emotion in my heart that I had to literally stop talking about it. I began to just tell the Lord when I was bothered, and I started trying to speak life back into my heart towards this person. I started saying how much I enjoyed this person, how much I valued them, how I wanted to love them. And in just a few months, I began to realize I really did love them. My heart had changed. My words had paved a way for my emotions to follow. My dad always told me when I was younger that God's word at work in our mind should be the head of our train, and our emotions should be the caboose. We don't follow our feelings, we follow the reality of God's words and basically turn our back on emotions until they line up with what God says about us and towards us. Its amazing how effective positive words are.

Someone once suggested that the enemy can't read minds, but he can hear our words. If that's the case, I am going to walk around telling him exactly who I want to be in the Lord. Shouldn't we all? Speak a little bit of life back into our lives.

"How would you treat someone who has lied to you as many times as your fears have?"

I spent this afternoon attempting to breathe life back into the limp branches and flattened needles of our fake Christmas tree. Half way through arranging Chad's childhood ornaments (most of them some sort of candy icon) I remembered my experience putting up this same tree last year, albeit it was less limpid and neglected at the time. I was alone in our house, a week before Thanksgiving, watching Father of the Bride 2 on TV and blubbering like a lunatic. When Chad got home and found me, most likely mascara-streaked and covered in fake pine needles (the genius of having a fake tree is that it mimics a real pine's uncanny ability to lose as many needles as possible in the shortest amount of time). I told him I was just really touched by the movie. A week and three pregnancy tests later, I was a crumpled mess on our bathroom floor...so much for movies touching my heart.

The Sunday we found out we were pregnant, a man got on stage at the church we were going to and said he felt like he had a word of encouragement for someone in the congregation. "There is a door that is opening in some one's life, and it is going to be ushering in a whole new season and circumstance in that person's life. And this person is going to feel like it cannot be of God, and will be tempted to believe God is not in the situation. The truth, however, is that God is right behind the door, and this new circumstance is part of His perfect plan for your life." With those words, the man sat down. And literally I heard in my heart, "You are pregnant". I rebuked the voice, went on listening to our pastor, and spent the rest of the day unsuccessfully trying to repress this strange sense in my heart that perhaps that word was for me. At about eight that night, I asked Chad if we could go get a pregnancy test...you know, just for fun. He indulged me, rolling his eyes the whole time. I didn't mention the feeling I had in church, or the strange urgency I felt to see if I had heard correctly. The minute I saw those little blue lines appear, I slumped to the floor, and felt a huge weight of fear fall onto my heart. What would happen to Chad and I? Where would my youth go? How was I supposed to be someone else's mom when only a few years ago I was sobbing about going to college on my mom's bed, begging her to read me Green Eggs and Ham just once more?

The minute all of those memories flashed into my mind today, I turned around to see Chad carrying my little brown-eyed nugget down from her afternoon nap, and she was staring right at me like she knew what I'd been remembering. That tiny little bundle of life and joy is last year's greatest fear, incarnate. I almost laughed out loud.

Of course, a few days after taking those pregnancy tests, the Lord basically told me that whatever I had fear about, I had permission to believe the opposite would be true regarding having a baby. So I spent the next nine months believing the this baby would bring joy, intimacy, peace, youth, and new life into our home. Eden is all of those things and more. The day she was born, after the tests were performed, the nurses had checked in for the last time, and the family had gotten their fill, Chad and I were finally alone in the hospital room just looking at Eden. Out of nowhere, Chad said, "God knew something we didn't. I wonder how many other good things God has for us that we're just too afraid to say yes too."

What is ironic about the timing of all of these memories, and the haphazard way Chad and I decided to just put the darn tree up today rather than when we get back from Texas, is that I was sitting in church today and felt the Lord start to address the things I am afraid of now.

Lately I have been realizing how much of my life I live in reaction to things I am afraid of, rather than in response to God. I have an audience in my mind that I consult (in my imagination only) about nearly every decision in my life. (if I'm alone in this, I may or may not be outing myself as insane) They are a particularly dreary bunch, full of criticism, cynicism, and bitterness. They represent all of the people who I assume are judging my life. And with their rather vocal opinions on my every decision, they keep me walking a very fine line. At the end of the sermon today I felt like the Lord asked me to just hang up the proverbial phone on them. I gasped and grimaced and second-guessed. I feel badly, really I do. I am ditching some of the finest critics in the world by doing this, but I guess the Lord knows better than I do. With that said, I am going to be keep this blog updated more frequently. (The voices in my head are shaking their heads, raising their eyebrows, sighing those deeply disappointed sighs.)

Nearly every day, I feel like writing about something the Lord has laid on my heart or convicted me of, some sin area I have just realized is in my life, but the audience in my head reminds that most people might assume that I'm writing because I'm pretty impressed with myself, or that I'm pretty super-spiritual and arrogant, and that I think everyone wants to read my blog, or that I'm really a shabby writer and nobody has time to entertain thoughts from a person who spends her days entertaining a three-month-old. And in fear of seeming this way to people, I usually just let those urges to write slip by.

But for some reason today I thought about the people I love in my life, and how much I want them to walk out into their callings, not matter what they are. I want Jackie Blankenship to decorate and be crafty as much as possible, and dance her heart out on stage because it blesses me all the way to my toes. I want Meredith Smith to make as many friends as possible, and be the sweetheart of every fraternity because she is so good at making people feel at home. I want Alissa Mazzenga to keep painting, because every time I see something she's done, I want to pass on to Heaven and Glory. I want Shaylee Simeone to keep singing, because there is something about the liquid clarity of her gift that makes me want to die. I want Jess Graham to keep taking pictures because she manages to photograph the life in a moment. I want Morgan Pilcher to keep travelling and loving every minute of a new life, because I somehow vicariously go with her. I think you get the idea. Everyone brings something to the table, and some people bring a lot more than others. I am not sure if writing is what I bring, but I do know that stuff gets put on my heart and when I don't share it I feel like I am word-constipated...(lovely Charis, just lovely). I feel like I have to get it out somehow.

And so, instead of being afraid of myself, of how I might seem, of how others might hate it, I just want to let you know that I will be trying to be obedient to overcome those fears, and just write when it comes upon me. And whatever you do, just go do it. Don't sit in fear, wringing your hands over every one's opinions and worrying about your own self-concept. So what if there are nineteen million people in photography already? Be the number nineteen million and one. Even if you're not the best, just offer it up anyway. And God isn't the voice in your head. He never asked you to be the best, He just wants you to use what you've got to whatever capacity He asks. Fear never keeps you safe. It keeps you stuck.

"Your way was in the sea, and your paths in the waters, and Your footprints may not be known."



I had a friend once tell me that when God is doing one thing, He is doing ten thousand things. There are sometimes in my life where I feel like I can't discern the activity of God in my heart, but I know He is working. If I've agreed to let His Spirit inhabit me, than I can rest assured He never rests. He is working on me every day, every minute, because His delight is in finishing the good work He started. But sometimes the theme of a certain season in my life isn't really clear until I'm out of the season. It's like a murky pool of thoughts and verses and words that are carving out a greater space for God in me, and I'm not really sure how to label what He is doing. Maybe part of that is due to my own inability to sit still and ask Him, but sometimes I think He loves gigantic surprises, and once a season ends, He likes to map out for me exactly what was going on while I was unaware.



Other times, though, its almost like God announces to me before a season even begins that we're going to be learning a very specific lesson. (Before I go making myself sound like a perfect prophet, let me clarify: walking with God for me is sometimes like driving through an area where a radio station is coming in and out...the impressions on my heart, random recurring thoughts in my head, someone else's words are all ways that I believe God speaks, and sometimes I think He spoke something and I am way off...the beauty of grace. But other times, the most encouraging of times, I grab hold of an impression and circumstances prove that I did in fact "hear" right.) A few months ago, while listening to a sermon, the words "renewed mind" fell like a ton of bricks onto my heart. And suddenly everyone around me was talking about, debating about, looking for the definition of a renewed mind.



"Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you my prove what the will of God is, that which is good, and acceptable and perfect." Romans 12:10

"But we have the mind of Christ." 1 Corinthians 2:16

"For the mind set according to the flesh is death, but the mind set on the Spirit is life and peace." Romans 8:6

These are just a few of those familiar verses, ones my mom used to make me memorize in song-like cadences, that over the past few weeks have been circulating over and over in my head. But what is the mind of Christ? What is the renewed mind? Why, if I have the mind of Christ, do I not always experience life and peace? And those are some of the questions I had over the past few weeks.

I was standing in my closet the other day, contemplating some of my own shortcomings, and I heard the voices of people I love telling me, "Charis, don't believe those lies." As much as I appreciate the people who want me to walk in security and peace, I've always been frustrated by that answer to my own insecurities because sometimes the things that I am thinking aren't necessarily lies.

Exhibit a: When I talk about how I don't have Charlize Theron's legs, I can't really rebuke that thought as a lie, because its true. I actually don't have mile long legs.

So I'm standing in my closet, realizing this root to all of my frustration, and about to throw in the towel on trying to renew my mind when all the sudden the Lord sets this thought in my mind: "It's not whether or not the thought is true or false, Charis, its just that the thought isn't worthy of your attention."

Ok, wow. Why does a thought have to be worthy of my attention in order for me to dwell on it? Because I have the mind of Christ. And His mind is pretty stinking special. It's pretty controversial. It's pretty supernatural. And it's a mind that is holy-- set apart--kingly. He's given me the ability to have His mind, and whatever isn't worthy of His attention isn't worthy of mine. He is calling me up to His level, not asking to sit in the corner while I pour over facebook, magazines or celebrities' pictures, feeling worse and worse about my God-given body, ability, etc. To think that I subject the Holy Spirit to such ridiculous things kind of makes me want to gag. Certainly, He has better things to do.

A few days later I was sitting in our computer room, sipping hot chocolate, watching Eden stretch and coo on her special little mat, and I started contemplating life and the different people in it. All of the sudden I started having jealous thoughts. And the Holy Spirit was waving His arms in my head saying: "Please say goodbye to this thought." But I kept it circulating, and I even justified it: "It's natural for me to feel jealous of this [insert jealous thought here]." And with that, I turned around, and started my quiet time. At the very end of it, I decided to do the random open-up-the-Bible-to-see-if-God-is-speaking act, and the Bible fell to James 3. "But if you have bitter jealousy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not be arrogant and so lie against the truth. This wisdom is not that which comes down from above, but is earthly, natural, demonic."

I nearly fell out of my chair. What is natural for the human heart is to rage against the things of God, and jealousy is just one of those oh so beautiful attributes that I find most becoming when I'm indulging my flesh. But in that moment I paired natural with the words demonic, and I shuddered. And asked God to forgive me. He began to iterate to me how obsolete the idea of a neutral thought is. There is no middle ground, no "no-man's land"...if a thought isn't for God, it's against Him. Over and over again during these past weeks, the Lord has been helping me to stop before I indulge in what I think is "natural". When it comes to drawing a line in the sand, I will not ever be caught on the wrong side of Life. He has been too good to me for me to get lazy.

We're not even halfway done, I have a feeling. I think this is a life-long season, and having a renewed mind is a full-time job. I can't afford to be lackadaisical about it. Its amazing how the more I clear out of my head that isn't of God, the more open space He has to fill with things that are of God. And the best news is, God doesn't hold grudges. So if one day I'm really bad at renewing my mind, we're still on speaking terms the next morning, and He is just as willing, wanting, that I might have the mind of Christ.
"...you lay aside the old self, which is being corrupted in accordance with the lusts of deceit, and that you be renewed in the spirit of your mind and put on the new self which in the likeness of God has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth." Ephesians 4:22-24