Knocking

I can feel the knocking, pounding away and echoing throughout my entire body, echoing throughout my brain. But I can't seem to find the door. I want to open, I want to let it in and make the banging cease, but when I'm surrounded by walls that have no openings, how can I succeed?
What is truth? Tell me that I might inscribe it all around me—big letters, bold colors, words that I can hang onto. Find a crack, mind the gaps, make a way to enter. Or is it exit? Do I need to let something in or just get out to whatever's waiting on the other side?

Knocking, knocking, knocking...but then suddenly I see I'm the one who's knocking. I'm the one awaiting admittance. Admittance from a world I created too securely, a world that hides me from the world. What am I afraid they will see? What am I afraid they won't see? I am me. They are not even them. They are him and her, he and she, tall and short, blue and brown, green and hazel, dark and light—they are not them. The mass thins, individuals appear, all knocking, knocking, knocking...wanting to be free. I have found my door, I will help set them free.

Blinded By Brokenness

(John 20:11-20)

Can you imagine the confusion in the angels' faces as they asked Mary Magdalene, "Woman, why are you weeping?" They had just witnessed the pinnacle of supernatural battles between the kingdoms of darkness and light, and watched as Jesus emerged as the triumphant victor. I don't pretend to be an expert on the emotional levels of angels, but I would imagine they were incredibly excited about the recent events! Commissioned with the privilege to announce to all who came to the tomb that Jesus had arisen and won the battle over not only His own life, but also that of all of mankind as well, they had to have been confused to find this woman sobbing. 

"They have taken away my Lord," she explained as the reason for her tears. Didn't she hear anything Jesus had been preaching these last couple of years? Weeks even? Did she want Him to stay dead? Of course He's not going to lie in a stone box! He's just won the most epic battle of all time! People in love say the craziest things, for truly, she must love Him deeply to weep that way. 

And then Mary turned around, and looked right at Jesus. What mirth He must have had in His eyes as He waited excitedly for her to recognize Him. He gently asked the same question the angels did, "Woman, why are you weeping?" But still, she did not know Him. She looked right at Him, heard His voice, and still assumed Him to be someone else because the brokenness of her heart and the pain she felt blinded her from seeing the very one she was looking for. I can't help realizing I've done the same thing. 

How many times have I sat so consumed by my frustration, pain, and confusion, that I don't even recognize Jesus when He's right in front of me saying, "I'm right here, waiting for you to come to Me so I can comfort you." The truth is, He's never far away and always ready to take me into His arms and show me more of His overwhelming goodness. I just get so caught up in my own world and emotions that I forget sometimes and begin crying out, "Where are you?! I can't find you Abba!" And then, when I'm still enough to listen, the best part comes. Just like He did with Mary, He calls my name. Suddenly I'm reminded that He's right there, that He's never left and never will, and that all those things I was worried about don't matter, because He's in control. 

No one calls my name quite like he does either. He doesn't just speak a title that I've come to recognize as referring to me. His call speaks to the deepest places of my spirit and stirs up a royal identity that He put in me. It is an intimate and gentle touch on the most vulnerable and raw places of my being that says, "I know you, I've seen all of you and I delight in you." 

His goodness continues to amaze and overwhelm me. 

Yet Another Blogger

I've decided to join the blogging world. I know, I know—just about everyone and her sister is joining as well! It's almost like the new substitution for tupperware and jewelry parties (and chocolate, and candles, and makeup, etc). No offense whatsoever to people who host those parties, I just never quite understood them; although, I didn't mind the excuse to talk with girlfriends and eat chocolate. Actually, any reason to eat chocolate is good with me! (Excuse me while I grab some from my bowl of happiness. Yes, I have one, don't judge.)
Ahem, I digress.
I can't help feeling silly about creating a blog because I don't really have a common theme to write about. I don't have a new adorable mini me  to share pictures and cute anecdotes about. Cooking I do, but pictures of food creations probably won't make it here. I'm not promoting a home business. I like traveling, but don't do enough of it to write about. What do I plan to share then?
I like words. Scratch that, I love words. I love creating with them. Mulling them about, pushing and pulling on them until they reflect the picture I desire. They are my art medium, the blank page an exciting canvas. If you haven't started to think I'm crazy I commend and thank you. If you have, I understand and hope you'll hang around long enough to be thoroughly convinced, and perhaps join me. Life's just a lot more fun this way. I'm half joking. Maybe less than half.
If you follow my blog you'll find questions and musings on answers. You'll find random thoughts about all categories of subjects. You'll hear laughter, find mistakes, and question conclusions.
You can tell me if you like them, you can tell me if you dislike them, but just remember they're me. Or at least a part of me, and I realize I'm still growing. I've got a long ways to go, but this is my way of starting.
It is a beginning of learning to share words that I feel a need to say. So I'm saying them here. To whomever might want to listen and marvel at life along with me.

But He'll Stink!

I've read the story of Lazarus many times, but this section stayed with me today. John 11:39-40 "Jesus said, 'Remove the stone.' Martha, the sister of the deceased, said to Him, 'Lord, by this time there will be a stench, for he has been dead four days.' Jesus said to her, 'Did I not say to you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?'"
Poor Martha, it is easy to remember her as the doubting sister, the one who had her priorities wrong. Unfortunately, I find myself relating to her all too often. Jesus was about to do an incredible miracle of raising a man from the dead. Not dead for a couple of minutes or hours either, but dead for four days, plenty of time for his body to begin rotting and decomposing. The build up in heaven was probably full of excitement as the angels watched Lazarus' spirit prepare to return to his body at the call of the King. I imagine them nudging each other saying, "Watch this! Jesus is going to amaze everybody with another miracle!"
But Martha was worried about the smell. Jesus told them to roll back the stone so that He could restore life to her brother, but Martha was concerned about the stink it might make. It struck me when I read the passage how often I have had a similar response. How many opportunities have I passed up for fear of looking funny, sounding weird, making a scene, or in some way making people uncomfortable with the possible "smell" that might result? Can you imagine if Jesus had responded with something along the lines of, 'You're right, Martha. He probably does smell horribly. Never mind with the stone guys! Leave it there. We'll just go grieve back at the house, it's better than enduring that smell."
It sounds absurd, but if I realized what I've passed up, wouldn't my excuses suddenly sound the same?
Reading on in the story, Lazarus comes forward despite his sister's misgivings; and no where was a smell mentioned. I don't know if Jesus' miracle included supernaturally removing inhaling any lingering effects of death, or if they were simply so shocked and over joyed to have Lazarus back that it suddenly became a minor concern and they forgot to mention it. Either way, it wasn't an issue. If God calls you to something, He'll be faithful to cover the details.
God help me to not let the fear of a "stench" hold me back from what you want to do in me and through me.

Laughter

Bubbling, skipping sounds that pile up one on top of the other until they fall and scatter in a hundred directions. Sounds that make the whole body shake with uncontrolled mirth. It fills the face with happy wrinkles and seeps from the eyes in tears of unrestrained joy. What a funny thing is this laughter. It throws off restraints of composure and turns the head red, contorts the body in odd shapes and twists the face until its expression is unreadable. Yet we call it beauty! Unrefined by learned attempts at perfection, it is cast in spontaneous bursts of joy.