What's In a Name?

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Could I really dare to name this New Year?  

I know what He's been teaching me.  About Love and Grace.  


And I know this heart's longing.  For Liberty in Christ.  

Yet, my left brain warns against naming something without first being sure it is fitting.  Even as my right brain reminds me it is good sometimes to take a chance, even to make a mistake.

And His Word exhorts:

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, 
      Nor are your ways My ways,” says the LORD. 
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, 
      So are My ways higher than your ways, 
      And My thoughts than your thoughts."  Isaiah 55: 8-9

And also: 

“Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor?”  Romans 11: 34

While I silently debate the theological wisdom of the naming of a year, I have to laugh as He brings this to mind:

"What's in a name?  That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."  Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

Yes, I will dare to name this year.  I might be right.  And I could, as easily, be wrong.  But what's in a name anyway?  This year will be as sweet- right or wrong- because it will be the Lord's purpose that prevails in the end. 

Standing on the edge of this New Year then, I throw my arms open wide, tilt my head to the Son and shout it with abandon- this, the year of my Freedom!


To follow my journey to Freedom, check out this series.

Joining Emily in offering my Imperfect Prose to Him who makes it all smell sweet! 

Caught

A fog descends.  It's hard to see where I am.  Harder to know how I got here.  To this chasm deep.  Heartbeat quickens and chest tightens.  I grope around for the way out.  Fear rises in my throat, tears blind.  Panicked hands try to climb the steep, slippery walls to escape but to no avail.  I collapse in a heap.  Alone.  Cold.  Tired.  Tears turned to sobs.

Has He forgotten His promises?   Of freedom, joy, peace, abundant life.  Or has He forgotten me?  Even in this place, I know He is able.  The wavering of faith comes with the next question.  Is He willing... for me?  I can feel my heart shattering.

I don't ask Him.  Another has answered the question for me already.  And though my head knows this one is a liar and the father of lies, I believe him.  I rehearse His lies and forget the words of Truth.

Faithful friends and husband rebuke his lies.  Speak Truth to me.  Promise to stand in the gap in prayer for me.  I listen- wanting to believe.  But confusion, discouragement and dismay continue.  The lies come fast and furious now and speak of my ineffectiveness, question my salvation, encourage walking away.

But now he's gone too far.  I know I could never walk away, I'm caught in His grace.  And slowly the fog begins to dissipate.   And I begin to speak to Him.  Pouring out my heart.  Asking the hard questions, the why questions.  And He begins to answer.. with His own questions.  Challenging me root out some more things from my heart.  And to move some obstacles from my path...unbelief, pride, idolatry, prayerlessness, legalism.

He calls me to bow low so He can lift me up.  So, I do.  And He does.  Slowly and tenderly.  Binding my wounds, opening my eyes, mending my broken heart with His promises which are all yes and amen.




Joining Emily in celebrating redemption and making a theology of the arts through my imperfect prose.

Doing Battle

circumstances expose this life as a battlefield.
circumstances of daily life.
the state of my own heart.

attacks abound when i am up more often than down.
why do i always forget that?
as i proclaim God's glory in my life,
the enemy quietly sticks out his foot.
he trips me as i run past.

do i let his schemes silence my testimony? no!
but how do i celebrate victory without wandering into the next trap?
and if i've wandered in, how do i escape quickly?

how do i do this battle?
how to put on the armor?
how to be shrewd yet innocent?

in the quiet of the morning, while little ones sleep in peace,
i pour over the war manual.
make ammunition out of index cards.
and i do battle.

i speak truth over circumstances.
i believe the truth over circumstances.
i summon the Lord of hosts.
i remind Him of His promises.
i remind myself.

we fight together.
He brings victory.
my only duty? to believe that.

Joining Emily in celebrating redemption and making a theology of the arts through my imperfect prose.

My Shoes

Eight years ago, almost to the day, we began.
I finally grabbed hold of His outstretched hand. 
The miry clay, still warm and sticky on bare feet, but no longer able to hold me captive.

My infancy was long.  He's been a patient Father.
An involved and active Father, working many changes in this babe.
But He mostly had to carry me.  Without complaining, He did.

More than six years in, it was time to put walking shoes on.
For a while they were new and uncomfortable.  I was wobbly.
He still had to tie them for me and set me on my feet.
Teetering toward Him, His words were always encouragement.
"That's it.  You've got it.  You're doing it!"
His expectations were for little by little forward motion.

The walking shoes were soon broken in. 
Quickly became worn and a little tight.
I could not go far but they were comfortable and safe.
So He waited until I began asking for new ones.

They are a little big but He says I need the room to grow.
They are not really my style, either.
Made for the outdoors, for climbing and exploring.
Hiking boots? For a girl who likes the safety and security the indoor spaces provide?

I put them on. 
I trust His gifts.  They are good and perfect.
He has shown Himself trustworthy these eight years.
I've had them almost a year. 
I still can't go anywhere in them unless I am holding His hand.
But we like it that way.

My feet are stepping places I never thought possible!
Stomping on strongholds I had long given up hope of overcoming.
Walking into victory.

All the while, stopping frequently, for rest and refreshsment.
Kicking off heavy boots to dip sore feet in still waters.
Lying down in green pastures, with tears streaming, I rejoice in callouses.
Reminders of our adventure so far.

Ahead looms another mountain. 
Ominous and treacherous.  Peak shrouded in dark, angry clouds.
I've been shouting at it to move.
But He wants us to scale it.
And strangely, I do, too!

 Joining Emily in celebrating redemption and making a theology of the arts through my imperfect prose.