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I Still Belong to You

I can't make the words come the way I want to. I've tried. I want them to be pretty. I want to be poetic. I want to tell my story in such a way that it unfolds beautifully. But the story is beautiful anyway - no matter how I tell it - because He is redeeming it. Everything the Lord puts His hands on becomes beautiful. So I am just going to tell you like I would if I were sitting at the end of your couch alternately clutching a pillow and talking with my hands.

When I left the flock I lost my identity. I didn't know who I was or what I believed. I could quote all the "right" doctrines. And tell you precisely how scripture "should" be interpreted - with no small amount of cynicism. The only solid thing I had to stand on was the cross.  I could not deny it's transforming power in my life and I clung to it.

For several months I was paralyzed with fear to approach any spiritual topic, to read the bible, to do anything that required independent thinking. I believed a lie that I would become the worst version of myself by leaving the flock. I worried that by walking away from certain relationships, I was walking away from Jesus. I worried that I would self-fulfill the prophecy of rebellion, heresy, and immaturity. I was slow to realize that none of those fears materialized.

At 24 years old I am starting over. The simplest truths completely wreck me. A few refrains of "Jesus Loves Me" and I'm a puddle of tears. It's baffling to me. I've been following Christ since I was a small child - you would think I'd know these things by now. For the first time in my life I'm experiencing humility that isn't forced or full of shame.

I'm getting my identity back. Several weeks ago my pastor at the church I'm attending abandoned his sermon to follow the Lord's prompting and invited us to wrestle with God as we felt led. I began to pray, not knowing where to begin. Gently the Lord put his finger on the lies that I have believed about my identity. He unraveled the fear. And told me in no uncertain terms that I belong to Him. I belong to Him alone. This is truth that no man can touch or take away from me. I can stop fighting, stop making excuses and simply believe Him.

Psalm 73 has been an anchor for me in many ways the last few months.

Psalm 73:21-26 NLT

I still desire Him more than anything on earth. He is the strength of my heart -He is mine forever. I cling to this truth, this promise. No one will take it away.

The Shepherd's Presence

I love to lie on my porch swing and sway in a wide arc. I relish feeling my stomach drop a little with each deep back -- and forth. But tonight the crickets are humming to me. And my swing is rocking slowly, slightly. The barest hint of a breeze kisses my skin. I feel warm and comforted from the very depths.

"He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs into his arms; he will carry them in his bosom..." Isaiah 40:11

I am learning the nature of the true Shepherd. Which is humbling, because in almost 20 years of following Him, I thought I knew Him well. The truth I'm discovering is that I'd been independent from Him, foolishly following and helplessly dependent on the flock rather than the Shepherd Himself.

So I separated from the flock. 

I had no choice. I couldn't any longer distinguish His voice from the bleating around me and the cries from my own mouth. I was overwhelmed and terrified by my inability to hear the clear voice of the Shepherd. Each time I thought I heard Him, I questioned the flock, "Did you hear that too?" and compared it against their cries. I only obeyed if they went with me.

In my panic to escape I tripped and stumbled on every lie in my path, believing I would never again hear the voice of the true Shepherd while distanced from the flock. Some of the lies were spoken over me as I ran, and some were offered up by the enemy of my soul who I'd disregarded for so long I was taking credit for his deceptions as my iniquity. I believed the Shepherd would not pursue me. I was labeled rebellious, a heretic, discordant, immature, and emotional. What would the Shepherd want with me? 

I grew up hearing the story of the Good Shepherd and never imagined myself becoming the wounded stray. I  believed I was alone and felt so lost. I still craved His voice, but I didn't trust myself to hear it clearly. I suppose that's why He let me out into the wilderness before He came after me.

And He most certainly came after me.

In spite of the lies I believed, the Good Shepherd sought me out in a place I never would have believed He still inhabited. And there He sang over me, rejoicing over me and gathered me to Himself. His banner over me is love that I'd wholly forgotten existed.

I am only just learning to trust that I know His voice. This moment on my porch swing encompasses His embrace. If I listen just a bit more I will soon hear the heartbeat of the Shepherd. I am invited to tuck my head against His chest. His breath is in the breezes. The rhythms of His voice are echoed in the leaves, crickets and frogs. Distant thunder rumbles His strength.

Here the Shepherd is present. I am the lamb gathered in His arms and He carries me in His bosom. 

Have you ever experienced a moment where you've felt His presence so poignantly? Share it with me.

Awakening - And coming out of hiding

"Something inside is awakening. Like a dream I once had and forgot. And it's something I'm scared of and something I don't want to stop."
~Sara Groves, Awakening

I am coming to realize that prior to this winter I'd spent the better part of a year numb in my emotions. Perhaps more than that. Somewhere along the way I picked up this idea that my anger is unacceptable in every circumstance - even though it was caused by injustice. There was nothing I could do about that injustice so I had no choice but to ignore the anger and hope it would dissipate over time. I believe that my sadness equated unforgiveness and told myself that I must "get over it" in a hurry before anyone noticed or had much time to comment on it.

I don't think I was really afraid of anyone noticing my change in mood - I know I wear my emotions on my sleeve so some observance couldn't be avoided. It was the demand for an explanation that I feared. Because every reason for my change in countenance sounded like a lame excuse -- after all, He bore all of our iniquities and by His stripes you are healed, so why all this drama? I'm incapable of effectively hiding almost any emotion - so I developed a new tactic: Get over it. Which amounted to this formula of shedding a few tears, praying a few desperate prayers, then "medicating" with busyness or entertainment. This is how I lived - for years. In fear of the consequences of my emotions. It shows if you look over my journals the past few years. You don't have to look far. Two years is encompassed on about twenty pages.

It shouldn't surprise me that I was told I'm too emotional. When I did have an emotional outburst it was an eruption because I'd spent so much energy trying to contain it all. Those outbursts were quickly deemed inappropriate and quelled back into submission. Now my emotions are beginning to thaw -- slowly, unlike the tornadoes I've previously experienced. I'm afraid it's going to be the global-warming of my life that will change climates, erode boundaries and leave me permanently altered. I'm terrified, and I don't know how to prepare for it. I'm giving myself permission to feel, but it quickly gets out of my control. I fight, and sometimes lose against the temptation to revert back to my state of non-feeling.

"If we lose our ability to feel physical pain, we'd be in a very, very bad way. Pain is an important part of surviving and thriving in this world. It's from God. Emotions are the same way. They aren't untrustworthy products of the fall anymore than any other part of our bodies. They are gifts, guard rails, barometers, etc., that help us survive and thrive in a world that is both full of wonderful things and many terrors too... I love Jeremiah, Elijah, Nehemiah and maybe especially Habakkuk for how they feel so much, so honestly and how God doesn't go do the "churchy" thing of telling them what not to feel, but meets them each, in different ways."
I wish I had a link or even a full name for this quote but it's by someone who goes by DanaKX - she commented on this post by Elizabeth Esther. 

I know this is true. I need to remember it. I have a friend who is a microbiologist in the leprosy (Hansen's disease) field. Through her I know well the effects of nerve damage on a body. Yet, I have a hard time relating this truth to my emotions. It seems indulgent and self-centered to care for your emotions in the same way you would a physical wound. But I know that if I don't deal with these things now it will stunt my growth from here forward. Without healing, I will stay in this endless cycle of emotional dysfunction that will effect every relationship. And that is not what I want. I want to thrive in every area and one day be able to minister from this place. The desire to honor God with my life has not gone away.

In order to heal I must acknowledge that there is pain. It's taking me a while but I'm finally learning to do that. I'm trying not to look so much like a deer in the headlights when someone asks me, "What's wrong?" But that question induces momentary panic. I feel like I've been caught someplace I shouldn't be - my countenance does not speak of victory in Christ Jesus. I have yet to be able to produce anything other than an awkward, evasive response that leaves the inquirer more unsatisfied than before. But even that is progress for me - I'm no longer denying, lying, and covering with a smile.

So here's to recovery through uncovering. He's always been faithful to me.

Finding the Fault Line

fault, Fault, Fault, FAULT
The pulse of my pondering
Make the world spin, pumping
Where does the fault lie?
Where is the fault line?
Can the uneven ground
Be repaired or found
Before it makes my world shake, tilt
Break, spill

Clenched fists can't stop a wave
Dig my heels in, learn to stay
Baptized by tsunami
Wash over my body
You are my earthquake
Witness of my heartache
Cast me on your will
Remake, refill

I can count on one hand the number of poems I've written that weren't forced out of me in high school English classes. Rhyme seems awkward to me. But awkward is fitting in this case. 

Build an Altar Here

Can I whisper something in your ear?  It’s not really a secret but it feels like one of those holy things that can only be spoken of in hushed tones inside quiet sanctuaries. Can this be our sanctuary today?

The invitation was for those who need healing. But my wounds aren’t physical. The pain isn’t localized to any place you can lay your hands on. It’s deep. Hidden. Several minutes passed before I convinced myself the invitation was also meant for me. I stepped into the aisle telling myself, “Just get up there. He will do the rest.”

Then a woman whose face I didn’t know was standing in front of me, asking how she could pray.

“My heart. Pray for my heart,” was all I could think to say.

“Physical or emotional?” She asked.

“Emotional…” and I stammered, trying to say more but coming up empty.

So she started to pray as you would expect someone to pray for a stranger with unspoken requests. But then she paused. And my spirit began groaning with utterings too deep for words – quietly, in the pattern I am used to when I don’t know how to pray. She listened, and took my head in her hands. Like a mother, her forehead touched mine, crooning sounds of sympathy.

And then she began to pray with understanding.

{Here is where I want to whisper} Do you catch my meaning? She prayed specifically – as though I’d poured out my heart with her for a lifetime. This stranger prayed like she knew me, reading my heart open. She heard and understood my groanings. My spirit laid me bare, though I did not know it.

In the arms of this woman, I broke. In awe that my Heavenly Father sees me. He hears my heart and whispers my secrets to strangers when I am incapable. The wonder of holy moments such as these steals my breath. When I feel most forgotten and lost – or even when I don’t feel at all – He invades my consciousness, unmistakably informing me that I am seen, heard, understood, and extravagantly loved. He provides guidance and instruction, lighting my path and confirming the direction I am to go. He assures me that I am right where I belong in His hands.

Let there be no mistake. He still works miracles.

In the Old Testament whenever a miracle took place or God did something significant He instructed His people to build an altar in that place so that future generations would pass by the monument and recall the works of a mighty God. Today, this is my altar. A miracle happened here. Will you join me in my worship? 

Hide and Seek Him

If you grew up in a two parent home you are likely familiar with the following scenario: A child is wailing loudly in protest to whichever parent happens to be administering discipline.

"I want my daaaaaaddyyyyyyyy!"

You would often find me so, curled into the back of my closet, sitting on piles of stuffed animals and discarded prom dresses. I would cry for whichever parent had not crossed me - hoping they would hear from the living room on the other side of the wall.

Then there was a day that I opened my mouth to cry for my mother or father and found that I could not call for either. I knew that neither would offer the comfort I sought. My tears became suddenly silent and I whispered,

 "I want my Jesus." 

I sought comfort from the only constant in my life. I didn't need to make a sound in order to be heard.

Today I can recapture my tiny closet sanctuary with perfect clarity. The pattern of my best Sunday dresses, walling me in, are burned into memory. The uneven plaster carelessly applied to walls never meant to be examined so closely. And the words, written in green crayon, "I want my Jesus."

That closet became my refuge. It was there my heart broke for the first time over friendships broken and lost. In that place I felt fully the first effects of loneliness and rejection. Pressed against three walls, I cried, confident each tear was captured by a Savior who loves me. I never cried for anyone else after that first prayer was whispered. My soul found its' resting place.

The place I used to hide taught me to hide myself in Him.

I have been hiding ever since. Not in a closet. These days my soul finds more refuge in the open air, admiring the handiwork of my Heavenly Father. I have sought Him from dried-up drainage canals, and in pine-carpeted woods, in clearings of wildflower fields, graveyards, and winding country roads.

I'm tempted to wrap this up with a nice little bow. I could do a concordance search on the word "hide" and find the deeper meaning, paired with a few quotes from the Psalms to solidify my position. But that wouldn't be real.  The fact is that right now my soul is seeking sanctuary again. I wish so much to return to my closet. I have very little that is familiar to me right now. I am vulnerable. I am broken. I am being humbled. And all I know to do is cry, "I want my Jesus."

True Reflection

Note to self.

Write about why you hide. 

And don't worry about how long it is. 

Don't try to make it pretty. 

Every story does not have to contain an overwhelming moral. 

Otherwise you only have a collection of personal platitudes. 

Be free in your writing. 

Be honest. 

Don't look for the solution all the time. 

Let the hard questions hang for just a little while.

Share when you don't want to. 

Read through your own eyes instead of criticizing through someone else's. 

Hit "publish" without proofing.

It's Only Up to You

I'm not sure that anyone would describe me as a particularly ambitious person. I have a death-fear of disappointment so I tend to keep my goals and expectations low. I am exceptionally good at meeting the status-quo. Sure, I have a few broad life goals - fall in love, get married, have a few babies - but those are things I don't have much control over. I can't necessarily make them happen in a set time frame.

Last week after she rattled off a short-list of things she wants to do in the next couple of years, Jordan asked me, "Bekah, is there anything that you want to do?" I had to answer honestly. I've never thought about it. So I started to. And once I put some things on paper I realized that the things I want to do are not far out of my reach. The only thing standing in my way is me.

This song by Bronze Radio Return came on while I was doing my dreaming. I love these lyrics.

...The crowd stands still
No one's moving they'd just rather stand and wait until
Someone starts to move
Someone starts to move

Shake, Shake, Shake
It's all what you make of it, take what you will
You know, know, know your only mistake
Is if you stand still
So Shake, Shake, Shake,
It's all what you make of it, break it until 
You know, know, know your only mistake 
Is if you stand still
It's only up to you
It's only up to you

Am I the only one who relates to that? It feels like I've been waiting for someone else to make the first move with my life! I'm a capable leader. But I prefer to follow. Forging my way ahead, alone scares the bejeezies out of me. I want to be brave. I want to change. So I will not stand still.

I wrote out a list of 30 things I want to do before I'm 30 years old. Some of them are things I've always wanted to do, and some of them made the list simply because I'm scared to do them. I know that following those conquered fears will be dozens of mini-epiphanies. But I want to share my list here so I'll have some accountable - if only to myself - for actually doing it.

1. Sing in public
2. Own a pair of Tevas
3. Live debt-free
4. Take a photography or Photoshop class
5. Visit Washington DC and see the Presidential Monuments and Holocaust Museum
6. Go sledding (in SNOW!)
7. Complete every page of at least one journal
8. Read the Bible cover to cover
9. Explore a cave
10. Be thoroughly kissed on the stroke of a New Year
11. Order an actual drink at an actual bar
12. Put my feet into the Pacific Ocean
13. Go backpacking up a real mountain
14. Join (and go to) a gym
15. Learn to keep plants alive
16. Save $3,000 (we're working on a "3" theme here, so why not?)
17. Have short hair
18. Visit Europe (I couldn't possibly pinpoint one place. This'll hafta do.)
19. Run a 5k
20. Run a 10k
21. Have my writing published
22. Photograph a wedding
23. Learn how to use fondant
24. Live alone
25. Teach a bible study
26. See a counselor
27. Define my sense of style (Rock it.)
28. Make a swing in the middle of the woods
29. Learn to dance (lessons, anyone?)
30. Buy an original piece of art that I adore

What about you? Is there anything holding you back from dreaming? Do you have a list of goals or dreams?

P.S. I will be coming back to this post periodically to cross off the items I've completed!

The Ready Soul

This post is a part of the Travel Stories series at Prodigal Magazine. 

-------------------------

I was ready. Four hundred forty-four miles of winding, commercialism-free road lay ahead of us. My tiny car was packed for camping along the Natchez Trace Parkway, spanning the distance between Natchez, Mississippi and Nashville, Tennessee.

Two hours into the trip, with rain pouring in sheets, my sister and I realized we forgot something vital – prayer. So we stopped and prayed that God’s will be done on this trip. That we would be His hands and feet to all we encountered. For protection. And almost as an afterthought – that He roll away the rain clouds. Within minutes I was able to open the sunroof, marveling at the love of my Heavenly Father.

Natchez Trace Parkway after the rain

We drove this way for 170 miles until heavy grey clouds began to drop hail onto the road ahead. It took me several seconds to identify this form of precipitation since I’d rarely seen it as a child. There was no mistake when the first piece hit the windshield, sounding like a gunshot. We began to pray, out loud. I wasn’t sure how the glass roof panel of my car would hold up. The hail picked up in speed and size as we continued to drive, scanning the horizon for any kind of shelter. We drove for 2 full miles this way. At the rate we were going and the rate of hailstones falling, we should’ve been hit countless times. Yet, I can count on one hand the number of hailstones that hit my vehicle during that stretch. Five - five pieces of ice. In my eyes we were experiencing a miracle. I don’t know how the Lord protected us, I only know He did.

Finally, we reached a crossroads and followed a truck into a tiny town. The hail was reaching golf-ball size. Immediately we were aware of a deafening screech that took me only seconds to identify where I’d heard the sound before. Twister. The tornado siren turned its din on us, making my heart rate increase two fold. We needed shelter and we needed it fast. My sister pulled up to the French Camp, Mississippi post office where we dashed inside the small cinder block building.

The postal clerk invited us into the back of the building and showed us where she’d cleared space underneath a steel table if we needed to hunker down there. A radio blared gospel music, frequently interrupted with foreboding weather updates. We made nervous small-talk with the Postal Clerk while we tried to reach family and friends to let them know where we were. When the hail finally gave way to rain, we all trooped next door to the French Camp Visitors Center to wait out the rest of the storm. People of all ages milled about. Judging from the “LSU” logos emblazoned across our sweatshirts everyone immediately surmised where we were from and that we’d been traveling the Natchez Trace.

We were introduced to a couple of young ladies with “French Camp Academy” nametags who began filling us in on the day’s events. Tekoa – who is named after the hometown of the Hebrew prophet Amos – informed us that we’d landed in a town with a population of 350 that was home to a Christian boarding school for young people from broken homes. She and Summer told us about the work they did with the Academy and the teenage girls they mentored. I felt a tug on my heart, sensing they were of kindred spirit so I said, “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you girls love Jesus a whole lot. Otherwise, I don’t think you’d be doing this out here. Am I right?” Smiles spread across their faces. They affirmed my suspicions and began openly sharing their passion for being examples of purity to the young girls in their lives.

Tears pricked my eyes. They were speaking our language. After several minutes exchanging testimonies and stories I was overcome by the providence of being stranded in this town with these people. It was apparent with every passing moment that God planted us there for a purpose.

By the early afternoon the storms passed and sun was peeking out. Summer and Tekoa began making plans to go back to work, preparing for a conference that evening. It was apparent from their discussion they were shorthanded. My sister and I looked at each other. We knew. This was why we were here. Our campsite in Northeast Mississippi could wait. I nervously offered our services to the girls, telling them we were available to help in whatever necessary capacity – making beds, cleaning toilets, mopping floors, or whatever else they needed. Sure, we sounded crazy. But I also knew with every beat of my heart that this is where God wanted us.

So we went to work! We shared stories while we made beds and marveled at the hand of God so obvious in each of our lives. That night Tekoa invited us back to her apartment for dinner where we shared heartbreaks and healing. My sister and I were both convicted and encouraged. We felt Jesus Christ in the flesh when they offered us hot showers and put us up for the night. The next morning we were speechless as we drove past swaths of tornado damaged trees within a mile of where we'd taken shelter. God truly protected us.

French Camp, MS at Sunrise

Prior to the trip I’d been meditating on this quote by Oswald Chambers, “Be ready for the sudden surprise visits of God. A ready person never needs to get ready. Think of the time we waste trying to get ready when God has called! The burning bush is a symbol of everything that surrounds the ready soul, it is ablaze with the presence of God.” For one day my soul was ready – ready for God to interrupt with anything. He filled that day with miracles and divine appointments. Remembering this trip always makes me wonder; if the Lord can do so much with a ready soul surrendered for one day, what can he do with a ready soul surrendered to Him for a lifetime?

In the Hands of the Potter

I've recently encountered circumstances that have made me come face to face with things that I don't like in myself. Perhaps it's being in a new house church surrounded by new friends that has made me strikingly aware of the impressions I am making. I've seen these things in myself before. And I always assumed that if I am displeased with myself, how much more is my Heavenly Father displeased?

I think I would probably prefer that the Lord just make me into a little clone of Jesus. It's hard to imagine the Creator of the universe formed and fashioned me - uniquely - to worship Him. I find myself wanting to love Him like others do. I have the privilege of walking with some amazing women of God and I often think to myself, "If only I could be like her. I want the sweet, encouraging spirit of Hollie. I want the hospitality of Deb. I want the steadfastness of Lauren." There are so many beautiful traits in the women around me that I wish I had. I'm constantly comparing myself to others and seeing ways that I just don't measure up.

I was recently praying about this part of who I am that I don't particularly like. It's a part of my personality where it seems most of my problems, struggles and temptations stem from. Once again, I found myself pleading with the Lord, "Please, take this away! I don't want to be this way anymore. I don't want to be this person! I don't like who I am." In that moment, God spoke to my heart saying,

"Who are you to say to me, 'Why have you made me like this?' I made you this way for a reason. I am not going to take it away. I am going to redeem you." 

For years my friends and family have reminded me that this part of who I am is both a weakness and a strength. However, it is only a strength when submitted to the Lord. Those reminders have consistently gone in  one ear and out the other. That's not what I wanted to hear. I wanted someone to help me pray it away. Because all I could see were the glaring weaknesses this brought to my life. All I saw was imperfection and I just wanted Him to cut it out. That's the easy way, right? Just start over? For years now I have wrestled with God over this; never understanding why it wouldn't just go away and wondering how I was failing in my pleading prayers. I was unyielding in my desire to see it gone.

The pressure of the Potters hand

As soon as the Lord spoke to my heart I saw myself as the stubborn lump of clay {of Isaiah 29:16}, refusing to yield to the hand of the Potter and insisting, "I don't like how you have made me." Regardless of my objection this is a part of who I am; a part of who He wants me to be. God reminded me of this passage in Psalm 130:5-7

 "I wait for the Lord, my soul waits and in His word I do hope. My soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning. O Israel, hope in the Lord, for with the Lord there is mercy and with Him is abundant redemption." 

What does He see?

He says that there is abundant redemption - even for the areas of my life that I would've thought were un-redeemable. But the ugliness I see cannot be transformed until I yield to His will and accept this part of who I am. I have to stop fighting Him before transformation can take place. I have wasted so much time just wishing I could be someone else or have some other personality when all I need to do is simply yield myself to Him.

This concept is particularly powerful to me because my earthly father is a Potter. I've grown up alongside the potters wheel and I know that the transformation from a hard, stubborn lump of clay to a beautiful and useful vessel is not an easy one. Stubborn clay is beaten, thrown, drenched in water, sliced and sometimes re-worked several times before it becomes something useful. I know this transformation process won't be easy. But I know I can trust the Potter. Ultimately He will get more glory when I allow Him to redeem beauty from these ashes.

So I choose to hope in the Lord. With Him is abundant redemption.

Are there things you don't like about yourself? Do you believe they can be redeemed?

Pottery photographs are of my Poppie and were taken by me March 2011.

Bond of Sisters, Bond of Christ

Those who know me only through my blog or other social media outlets know me as a singular person. Rebekah Hope. But to those who run in the circles of friends and family I am one part of a duet known as "Bekah and Jordan" or more commonly "The Ward Girls". One part is rarely without the other. My sister and I share something special. Actually, we share most everything - an apartment, a car, clothing, and countless other things. We're rarely apart. We don't think twice about it. It's our "normal". Neither realizes how abnormal or unique this relationship is until we get the funny looks and the exclamations of "It's so great you and your sister can do that! My siblings and I could never..."

But it wasn't always this way. In my early teens I made a lot of the 18 months and 2 grade levels between Jordan and I. I was determined that we would never be on the same playing field in any arena, convinced I was superior as the older, "wiser" sister. As teenagers we fought constantly. I love sharing this story because  watching peoples faces as Jordan and I tandem in the telling is the best part. When they see our relationship now they can hardly believe there was a time we didn't get along - at all. Aside from my own salvation, this is the greatest miracle God has done in my life.

I will never forget the night. At fifteen years old, after a particularly bad argument with Jordan, I was praying on the floor of my bedroom. I couldn't reconcile my desire to please the Lord with the way I acted towards my sister. I knew it wasn't right. But she was my little sister. What did she know? What gave her the right to correct me in anything? God stopped that thought with these words, "That girl in the next room? You need her. She sees the absolute worst parts of you and loves you anyway. I gave her to you for a reason." That night repentance took place. Many cleansing tears were shed. We agreed in prayer for the first time as sisters and we've never been the same since.  

I never would've anticipated how much I would grow to need my sister over the years. In the beginning learning to swallow my pride and allow my sister to address my attitude was rough. But now there are few who can speak into my life with the impact that she does. Jordan is one of the best listeners I know, but when she speaks - pay attention. It's not hard to do because she gets right to the point! (among our friends this is known as "the chin quiver" - when Jordan gets passionate she hits right on the mark!) I love that about her. She speaks the truth to me whether I want to hear it or not. My stubborn heart needs that.

People have told us that we bicker like an old married couple. We laugh, because we know it's true. But it's taught us how to resolve conflicts quickly. There is so much we have learned from each other and continue to learn. After so many years doing everything together it took a bit to adjust to the fact that we have completely separate interests. She can spend hours doing crafts of all kinds (knitting, quilting, sewing, etc. I swear the girl is a 70 year old woman in a 21 year olds body) leaving me completely bored. While I spend hours writing and she's probably read only about a half dozen of my blog posts.

One of the things that I'm most grateful for is that Jordan has taught me how to laugh at myself. I take things way too seriously and make a dramatic big deal out of just about everything. She makes me see things through her eyes and realize how ridiculous I'm being. Jordan reminds me of this verse from Proverbs 31, "She is clothed with strength and dignity and laughs without fear of the future." So often she sees the bigger picture, therefore finding it easier to laugh in the present. There are few things I enjoy more than laughing with my sister.

I have only to look at Jordan to be reminded of the redemptive power of God. There is no way that we would have a relationship apart from Him. I am in awe of the miracle that took place in our relationship 8 years ago and consider it an honor to be a part of this duo. What a privilege to be associated with such a God-fearing, talented, and beautiful young woman!

Jordan, I am so proud of the woman you are growing into. Each talent amazes me with your handmade dresses, beautiful quilts, woven jewelry and perfect pie crusts. Every day I see your heart transformed to look more and more like Jesus. You have the heart of a servant in every way. Thank you for working so tirelessly to serve me. You never complain, though you have every right to. I am so grateful for the example you set for me. I thank God for you, my precious sister. I love you.  

The Cry of Desperation

This is an illustration that I wrote several years ago after reading Luke 18:35-43. I pictured the scene vividly, looking something like this.

The scent of my own sweat was heavy that day as I sat on the edge of the road near Jericho. I listened to the cicadas buzzing, keeping my ears tuned for the sound of footsteps. There hadn't been many travelers on the road that day. I ran my fingers inside my empty alms bowl, wondering if I would be able to find a meal that evening - my only meal for the day. My stomach growled at the thought of food, and I sighed.

In the distance I heard voices, coming towards me slowly. Before long, multitudes of people were passing me by on every side, pressing me to stand and pushing me further off the road. Confused, I asked where all these people were coming from and someone told me, "The Great Rabbi, Jesus of Nazareth, is passing by Jericho!" The Rabbi? Jesus? Could this be the great teacher I'd heard so much about? My cousin told me of how He'd recently healed ten lepers in a village of Galilee. There was rumor that He was the Messiah, the one we'd waited for, our Redeemer. I heard that He healed the blind before. Surely He could heal me. But how would He even see me? There were many people here. I heard voices all around me. How could I get His attention? How do I even know where He is?

Before I could stop myself I lifted my voice and began to cry out, "Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me!" I knew I looked like a madman. "Jesus! Have mercy on me!" I felt heat rush up my face in embarrassment as I struggled to make myself heard over the crowd of voices. The people closest to me grew quiet and I could feel the judgmental stares. I pushed aside my shame and continued to cry, "Have mercy on me, Jesus! Jesus!" Someone shoved against me roughly and said, "Be quiet man! Don't disturb the master with your yelling!" Even still, as the crowd continued to move past me I lifted my voice louder, straining to make myself heard. My mouth and throat were coated with dust stirred by the crowd. I couldn't stop now! I had hope. Hope that I would see the Son of God. Desperation grew in me and I cried out with urgency, "Son of David, have mercy on me! Jesus! Have mercy on me!"

I soon realized that the constant shove toward the city ceased. I paused to listen, trying to understand why they stopped. In the distance a voice gave a command that I couldn't quite hear. People around me started murmuring and whispering. I heard a woman ask, "What is the Master going to say to him?" Him? Who did she mean? Someone nearby muttered in frustration, "The whole crowd is stopping because that blind fool couldn't keep his mouth shut!" I don't think he cared that I heard him. I felt the stillness grow before I heard it. Suddenly, a man took hold of my arm and spoke, "The Master would like to see you. I will lead you to Him." One of His followers began to lead to me through the crowd to the place where Jesus stood. I stumbled behind him, sure that my beating heart could be heard by all those standing in silence around me.

You did not need to tell me the moment I stood before the Son of David. His very presence was one of authority - yet not authority that induced fear. Rather, my heart became still in perfect peace. The multitude collectively held their breath, awaiting His words. Would He rebuke me? Touch me? Send me away? He simply asked me a question, "What do you want me to do for you?" Relief flooded my mind, I felt as though I were a child being offered a wish for my greatest desire. But this was no wish - the man before me was the very Son of God who could bring the impossible to pass. Overcome with emotion, my request came through a sob, "Lord, that I may receive my sight!" Oh! I will never forget His words to me! "Receive your sight; your faith has made you well." Immediately my eyes were opened and I saw! Oh, the light! The Light! The Light of the World flooded my darkness. And from that moment forward I knew I would follow Him.

I plan on following this with a post about the desperate cries of our hearts. But in the meantime...


Have you ever cried out in desperation? What was the response?

Bound to Please

I am a people-pleaser. I always have been. I want to make sure that everyone is happy, but more importantly I want to be sure they are happy with me. Nothing makes me more uneasy than the thought that someone might, possibly be upset with me. This has caused an endless amount of anxiety in my life, because like all of us, I am full of faults. I put my foot in my mouth. Often. I have been known to step on more than a few toes. But this is so desperately not who I want to be. As a result, I learned from a very young age to apologize well, and apologize often. I've since been told that I have an "I'm sorry" problem. I apologize senselessly for the most ridiculous things that are completely out of my control. All because I desperately want those around me to be pleased. Most importantly, I want the Lord to be pleased, but all too often I forget this in my search for human approval.

For example: I didn't graduate from high school in the conventional way. I didn't complete four years and walk across the stage. The way I saw it I "dropped out" and got my GED. Which is true. But I decided to drop out having obtained all necessary credits apart from 1 in English. I went on to earn nearly perfect scores in the English portions of the GED test, and I began working an entire year earlier than most of my peers. But I couldn't get excited about that. I was sure when I received that "General Equivalency Diploma" it might as well  have stamped "loser" across my forehead (despite the fact that many of my home-schooled friends had the same document). I was so ashamed by what I imagined people to be thinking of me, since I certainly didn't think much of myself. So when my parents threw me a surprise graduation party, I was mortified. They revealed that dozens of people were gathered to honor my accomplishments and I secretly wanted to crawl into a hole and cry. I was surprised to find that these people were genuinely proud of me, even if I wasn't proud of myself. It was then I began to see that perhaps my perceptions of how people saw me were not as true as I believed.

Worrying about what others may think of me and the decisions that I make has caused no small amount of anxiety for me, especially in the last year. This fear has unfortunately made me hesitate in the directions God has clearly given to me. So it came as no surprise that the words He spoke to me for this year began with, "Please me."  Please Him. Not "Please your family." or "Please your friends." or "Please your church." or even "Please yourself." His word is to please Him. I spent the last year learning to hear his voice. Now I must learn to obey Him, no matter the cost. His is the only opinion that matters in the end. He alone is the one I will give account to. I would say that I have lost sight of this goal, but the truth is I'm not sure I've ever had sight of it.

If I'm being completely honest the thought of publishing this blog scares me silly. My mind is racing over all the ways that it could be misunderstood or taken out of context. I worry, "Will they think that I'm trying to dismiss godly counsel in favor of my own opinion?" When this couldn't be further from the truth.

The Lord spoke to me saying, "Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things will be added unto you." If I make it my singular goal to seek His kingdom rather than the approval of man, He promises to sustain me. I must let go of the obsession I have with pleasing everyone all the time and turn my attention to pleasing Him alone. This fight to change the way I think has only just begun, but I have no doubt that He will transform what is broken. Instead of being bound to please men, I am bound to please my Heavenly Father. There is no greater delight. He will set me free.

Do you ever struggle with pleasing man vs. pleasing God? How do you overcome this?

Memories of Generosity

This is my letter of Thanksgiving to my Father for the legacy of generosity he is building. 

To My One and Only Poppie, 

I don't know if I've told you how much I've come to admire your generous spirit. As we were growing up I took for granted the way you selflessly gave to those who were down and out. It wasn't until recent years I realized not everyone does that. Hurting souls have always found a haven in the Christ in you. Immigrants, homeless, recovering addicts, the elderly, the unfriendly.. Otherwise known as "the least of these".

I remember being about six years old the first time you picked up a homeless couple. It was a cold winter evening on Airline Highway. The man was pushing the woman in a wheelchair and you offered them a ride. We went by The Salvation Army to find it closed for the night. Instead, you drove them to the place they directed - a wooded area on the edge of a parking lot in a bad part of town. Jordan and I thought their tent was neat. But you knew differently; it was cold. Without hesitation you gave them the old comforters we'd used to keep warm in the van and we said goodbye to our smelly new friends. You went back the next day to take them to a shelter. 

That was the first time I understood what it meant to be homeless. We asked a lot of questions about what we'd seen. It made a lasting impression on me. I forever saw the homeless through different eyes. Eyes of compassion and understanding instead of cynicism and entitlement. (Poppie had no recollection of this whatsoever, but it has been etched in mine and Jordan's cherished memories.)

I can recall many other stories of lives that you touched. You couldn't afford babysitters so Jordan and I always tagged along with you to visit nursing homes, halfway houses, rehab centers and repair work days. Maybe we didn't spend our weekends like our other friends did, but I'm so very grateful that you taught us how to live like Jesus as a way of life - not a Sunday school lesson. This wasn't done out of obligation or preached "because the bible says to do it" and made into a cliche'. It wasn't religious. This was simply how you taught us to live. To see the need and meet it, even when "silver and gold have I none." 

How many times were you burned? Countless. Yet I've never heard you recount those instances. As a child I thought this ordinary - to give to those who eventually stole from or betrayed us. I never questioned why you did it again. It was our "normal". Now I recognize this for what it is - extraordinary. You display an extraordinary spirit of ceaseless generosity, undeterred by wounds the world has inflicted. You have been forgiven so much that you love much. Never have I known you to hesitate. Your right hand never let the left hand know what it was doing. Thank you for consistently modeling compassion and generosity to us.

I hear of families visiting soup kitchens to show their children how to serve. This is their good work. Poppie, you showed us much more than "good works". You showed us what it means to lay down your life; investing your time, money, hard labor, and most importantly you heart into people. 

I am overwhelmed when I think of the number of lives that you have touched and I pray fervently that I will be like the Jesus that I have seen in you over the years. To give without thought of gain or reward. You gave when you had nothing. But I can only imagine the heavenly crowns you have earned in these sixty years, and how many more you will earn, all to lovingly lay those crowns at the feet of Jesus and how blessed that day will be. 

Happy 60th Birthday,  

Your Bekah

Snapshots

Why is it that when someone takes an unannounced blog hiatus, they feel the need to provide excuses or somehow explain the absence? It's an unspoken pressure - and I know I'm not the only blogger who feels it.

So yes, I took an unannounced hiatus. All I know to tell you is that my inspiration fled for a time. But it has returned. My hands are itching to write once again. I can feel the fountain of words bubbling beneath the surface, and I am relieved.

But until the time that those words find their way these digital pages I thought I might share a few pictures with you - my blog followers - of what I've been up to for the last two months. You can actually see where my renewed inspiration comes from.

Jordan and I visited Houston with some dear friends of ours. We took a day trip to Austin, TX where the photo below was taken in this great crafty antique shop on Congress. Austin is a great city!

Me, Jordan {sister}, and Arielle

We had some grand adventures and tried new things (as always) like Coconut water that we got from a Malaysian Restaurant! Jaclyn (our friend in Houston) knows all these great places for great food! We wandered around Chinatown seeing odd sites and avoiding Durian Fruit every time we turned around. Jaclyn and her husband Orlando are as fabulous as my big sisters. And if you know me, you know my big sisters are pretty spectacular.

Jordan, Me, Jaclyn and Arielle

If you have been on Pinterest for any length of time it's likely that you seen this idea to give 60 memories for a fathers 60th birthday. This was inspiration defined! Our beloved Poppie turned 60 years old at the end of October and we managed to gather notes and letters from friends old and new, co-workers, church members, neighbors, and family.

Jordan stamped all 60 envelopes

I was absolutely overwhelmed to see the ways my father has effected so many lives. I plan on publishing what I wrote to him here on the blog sometime soon. This project produced many tears and much laughter, and our Poppie was so very blessed by it.

Tears as they were read aloud.

At the beginning of November Jordan and I decided to take a spontaneous trip back up The Natchez Trace where these adventures happened. This time were were going camping and hiking!

Me at the Parkway Entrance 

We had a great time hiking all 13 miles of trails in Tishomingo State Park. Even though most of the leaves had fallen, it was still beautiful!

Our shadows on Swinging Bridge over Bear Creek

We did a lot of smiling

We also listened to this song a lot on this trip. I love this group. You can download it for free here.

And finally, over this past Thanksgiving weekend, I turned 23.  I had an amazing time with my family and got some great gifts (Thank you Jordan for Bonhoeffer on Radio Theatre). As an excuse to get out of the house Jordan and I took my niece, Leah, and got manicures (in pale neutral shades).

Of course we did. 

I've got to tell you guys that my niece is one of the most amazing teenagers I've ever met. It shouldn't surprise me, because she has some great parents. I enjoyed every moment with her, as you can see from the pictures below.

A very happy birthday indeed

We got our "no evils" a little out of order

And y'all. This chick is gor-ge-ous. If my future children are even half as beautiful as my nieces, this family is going to have to take stock in the weapons industry.

Photo from my shoot with her this weekend.

I can't tell you the last time I've enjoyed my family so much. And still am. We made some lovely memories.

So the loveliness continues. I love the holidays. I love cuddling under a blanket (new new fluffy, fleecy one!) with some tea to watch old Christmas movies. I'm looking forward to an entire month of these kind of indulgences. It's the simple things...

milktea with honey #favorite

I was ashamed, You called me Beautiful.

"When we stop believing that good men exist, we lose the desire to be good women... To believe that you were created to be the masterpiece of God's creation, the height of beauty, an imitation of your Maker's heart; that you hold value by simply being a woman: To begin believing that in the same way you would die to be an incredible woman, there are men that would die to be incredible for you." 

- Lauren Nicole Dubinsky

When I first read this quote five months ago I was afraid to believe it. Afraid that it was mildly sacrilegious. But I wrote it down on a sticky-note and kept it beside my bed, painfully unaware of how desperately I needed to believe that this is truth. At the time I had no idea how deep insecurity was rooted in me. I have been surprised to discover in the last 3 months that I am much more insecure as a 22 year old young woman than I ever was as a teenager. For years, without even realizing it, when someone has paid me a compliment I have graciously accepted it, but inwardly identified a reason that person feels obligated to say such a thing and dismissed their words. Without a second thought. Without realizing that I was essentially making my well-meaning friends and family liars in my eyes.

God brought this thought process to a screeching halt one afternoon while I stood at my bathroom sink. When I looked up into the mirror I heard Him speak to my heart so clearly, "You are beautiful because I have made you that way. And you cannot dismiss that." My mind froze. I could not find a reason to dismiss His words. I knew that He spoke truth. He cannot lie. The weight of His words were so precious and sobering that I fell to my knees right where I was, crying. Grateful tears. Thankful that truth was finally penetrating my heart.

This work in my heart continued as I read Captivating (by John and Stasi Eldredge). I began to see how women are uniquely created to reflect God's beauty in this earth. My beauty is not something I should be ashamed of or try to hide. I have struggled with this for years. After all, "Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain", right? I didn't want to believe that there is anything of beauty in me. The lie that says I am not enough was easier to believe. Growing up in the church, I have heard "You are created in God's image!" until I thought I might puke if someone repeated that tired phrase to me again. That is, until I heard it from my Heavenly Fathers own mouth;

"My Dear Child, you admire the beauty of the sunsets that I paint. Yet do you ever stop to realize that you are more beautiful than these? Because I created you in My image. Am I not more beautiful than a sunset? Who are you to say that my beauty is not in you?" 

My Father knows my heart better than anyone else. He knows that sunsets take my breath away, mountains make me stand in awe, oceans strike me speechless with their thundering. God showed me that in the same way that I marvel at His creation in the earth, He marvels at me because I am a reflection of Him. He is pleased with what He sees. For the first time in my life I understand how He sees me. And I am learning to finally see myself through His eyes. I am learning to embrace and even celebrate the beauty that He's bestowed on me. Not for my own sake, or my own pride. But because I know that I represent the beauty of my Heavenly Father in the earth.

I was ashamed. He called me Beautiful.

I Wonder

I had another post in the works, but this song started playing from a new album I just downloaded by Tara-Leigh Cobble. I decided to share this instead.

Sometimes I wonder how much He knew

Of all the things His love would put Him through

Did He ever pass a tree along His way

and know it was the very tree He'd die upon some day?

And if He did, did His heart break?

Every time He passed it on the street

I wonder if He ever thought

that tree I made will be

The death of me

Oh the irony of His carpentry

Did it serve as a reminder of His legacy?

Did He bear it constantly?

Building with the nails that tore His body?

And if He did, did His heart break?

Every time the metal broke the beam?

Well I wonder if He ever thought

A nail like this will be

The death of me

Well I may never know what crossed His mind

But there's one more question hanging on inside

And did He ever think of me?

2,000 years somewhere across the sea

And if He did, did His heart break?

Even though He died so willingly

Well I wonder if He ever thought

My love for her will be

The death of me

Contentment

I was just sitting here (in my apartment) trying to come up with a sufficient facebook status to sum up my weekend. To sum up how I feel right now. But I don't want to be one of "those people" who uses social media to list every little thing they did that day, knowing you may not care what I did this weekend. You may not care about the little things that make me happy. I am known for {perhaps} being {overly} sentimental. But I can't just let this pass me by without memorializing it somehow. I feel contentment. Better yet, I feel blessed. So allow me to count the blessings that have touched my heart this weekend.

My right eye almost closes when I really smile.

• Balloons, helium, and the various forms of giggling they produce
• Bright blue birthday cake (Yes, the cake itself was dyed blue!)
• Roller skating
• Captivating - this book is challenging me in so many ways
• Hugs and love from my 8 year old niece
• Having the title "my Bekah-wekah" bestowed on me in lieu of "Aunt Bekah"
• Holding the hand of "my 'Mara-Beara" in the grocery store (she really is the sweetest thing EVER)
• Long talks with friends and sisters
• Slow, rainy car rides that give me plenty of time to think, pray and worship
• Technology, allowing me to talk to my best friend every day, despite her being several countries away
• Naps
• Rainy long weekends
• Remembering that this weekend marks 8 years of fellowship with the church body I am a part of

I love the little things. I love that God made me to love the little things. I love seeing Him in them. My heart sighs with contentment on nights like this. I feel His peace washing over me, and I just want to pour gratitude back to Him for all these things so freely given, so grossly undeserved.

"O GOD, My heart is steadfast. 

I will sing and give praise..." 

~Psalm 108:1

Open Letter to Amber

Amber is on a cruise with her husband this week. I wrote her this email last night, and decided that it was too important not to share. Transformation is becoming tangible. 

I am sitting on the floor of my living room in front of our box fan, cooling off. As I write this I have no idea where you are (I mean, a hurricane is sort of bearing down on the Bahamas right now so I would hope and pray you are not there!) and I have no idea when you'll get this.

Let me start off by saying that I have missed you so much this week. For so many reasons. I've wanted to call you up so many times this week and it makes me sad that I can't. But there must be a reason for that because this forces me to write down what is taking place in my body. I want to record these things and never forget how this feels.

My friend and co-worker, Carnisha, started a blog this week called MyLastFatYear.wordpress.com and let me tell you, it is AWESOME! She is on a journey to lose over 70lbs, and has lost over 35 of it in the last year or so. Amazing. I am so proud of her. This blog is chronicling her quest to lose the rest of the weight by January of 2012. She has inspired me. Tuesday she texted me saying that she was thinking about doing 2 workouts that day and I told her, "Go for it! You're a machine." She credited me that night (on twitter) with being responsible for motivating her. As a result, I was motivated and downloaded the "Couch to 5k" app on my phone. This is a 9 week program that eases you into it through walking/jogging intervals. They are 20-30 minute workouts 3 times a week. SO doable. It was 10pm when I downloaded the app but I was determined to start that night.

The first week starts with 60 second spurts of running alternating 90 seconds of walking. I got to the last cycle of running (with Jordan walking/race-walking nearby) and told Jordan, "I can't do it. This last one. I can't do it." My back was seizing with muscle cramps from lack of proper oxygen. My legs were shaking. I thought I was done. But Jordan looked back at me and gently encouraged, "You can do it Bekah. It's 60 seconds. Just push through it." So... I took those words to heart... and, I did it! It took every bit of willpower in me. I pushed out the last 60 seconds with the last chorus of "God is Enough" in my ears (thank you Bebo for introducing me to Lecrae). It was precisely what I needed in that moment. I was elated when I finished. It felt amazing.

And you know what? I just did it again. I hit that "wall" on the second to last circuit. I didn't think I could finish. I was doubling over from the cramps in my back. But I pushed through, with my muscles literally trembling. And the last one was easier. When I was finished I just left my headphones in and started praying and praising God out loud, thanking Him for the strength that he has given me to do this. Thanking Him that I am fearfully and wonderfully made and my body was built to do this. I have been the stubborn one all these years. I have been the one who has refused to make my body do what it was created to. The strength was there all the time, I just had to reach out and grasp it. I can do this, through Christ who strengthens me. This realization literally made me dance in the street. I might have lifted my hands in worship. I might have turned a circle or two. I might have concluded that by taking off in a sprint to the end of the road, simply because I can. I am 22 years old and I have been given a body that is capable of running, because of HIM. And I love Him, Amber. I am in love with the Person who created the veins running through my body taking blood, oxygen and nutrients to every inch of me. I love the One who created the organs that cause me to sweat, crafted my lungs to breathe, shaped my muscles to move. I love that He created chemicals in my brain to release after exercise, giving me this unbelievable, overjoyed feeling and emotion. Everything inside of me points to the wonder of who He is.

I hope you're having a wonderful and relaxing week and that your vacation hasn't been rudely interrupted because of the storm. I miss you, and I love you, and I look forward to sitting down to talk with you when you return.

Love,
Bekah Hope

Have you ever experienced this when exercising? Do you have any advice for me as I embark on this new adventure?