Can’t Go Around It, Must Go Through It

Do you remember Red Rover. Did you play the game as a child where you called out “Red Rover, Red Rover….” to the opposing wall of linked-armed children? This is a game I remember well.

But what I remember most is the phraseology of the child’s game that went something like this– can’t go over it, can’t go around it, can’t go under it, must go through it. And so with steely eyes, and a huffing and puffing of all my might, and as much determination as a grade schooler can muster up, I would go running toward the chain link fence of gangly arms and attempt to break through. If you played this you remember the feeling of bouncing off the flesh and falling down on the ground, defeated and giggling if you failed. But if you won… well you were prideful, and pompous and celebrated the victory. You had smashed through the linked arms, broken the wall of defenses and crashed through the best efforts of your peers.

Dread has moved in, invaded my space, and is encroaching on my personal bubble. Do you know that space that is yours alone into which no one is allowed to enter? Dread is there. She is causing me to feel uncomfortable. She is robbing me of Peace. Dread steals Hope and belief in the best outcome. But what magnifies the discomfort is that I have given her space in my heart. Just handed it to to her. Dread, you may have a big chunk of me today. Take what you need.

So like the child whose turn it is to run the gauntlet of linked flesh and bone, I usher Dread out the front door, withdraw the invitation she sneakily stole to the party which is my life, and I run with Hope.

That which I dread, I have to run through. I can’t go over, around, or under. I will walk through it knowing that through Him all things are possible.

I may hurt. I may sting. I may feel disappointment. But I choose not to dread.

I choose Bold. I choose Courage. I choose God’s hand in mine, linked as I run into the wall, into the
obstacles.

I have over a half a century of life to look back on and see that He was there. Lifting me, encouraging me, carrying me, and teaching me.

With Him, we will toss Dread under the proverbial bus. We will take back that which she has stolen. We will set a place with fresh flowers and fine linens at the table of life for Hope. And open the books to learn all that He has for me from this chapter.

This is not a child’s game, this running the gauntlet of life. And I am not Brave, like a grown-up. I do not have Courage, like a mature adult facing the challenges of life. But rather,I am like a child nestled in my fear. I am vulnerable and scared. I long for someone else to take my turn. I wait until I have to go, to go and face the wall. I want to be last. Or worse, not go at all– into the wall.

But through Him all things are possible. in adversity and in challenge. So I grab the hand of the Friend of the Afraid and say, let’s run hard, this race together. I am white-knuckling the hand of The One Who Made Me and relying on His strength to knock down Dread.

And as I release Worry and release Distrust, I slowly gain Peace. And I gain the knowledge that right there in the bruised flesh from striving and straining against the wall, He sits with open arms. Right there as I tumble down, not laughing nor giggling in a pile of defeat, He is there to wipe the tear. He comforts me. He embraces me. He dusts me off so I can get back into the game with renewed Hope and renewed Courage.

And this time He has ushered the school-yard bully Dread, off the playground. I have called on His name. I have yielded my struggle to Him. I have sought help from The Advocate. And I am not afraid.

Can’t go around it, must go through it. Let’s Go God.

Sweet Forgiveness

The prayer cottage.

A place to go and sit before the Lord in prayer and supplication. Small and welcoming.

But in this season the prayer cottage for this sinful soul, is one of the heart. My heart.

And this dwelling place needs dusting off.

Spring cleaning is needed in this place.

The get out the rubber gloves, the bucket of cleaning supplies, the harsh abrasive cleaning products and start with the baseboards kind.  A fresh coat of white paint and crisp linen curtains, exteriors would make this little prayer cottage look clean and white and prepared for prayer.Externals.  Superficial tending to will allow her to appear to be dressed in her Sunday best.  Ready for visitors.  Those in need of what she offers.

Freshly planted window boxes dripping with color, vibrant and showy take the eye off the truth, place it squarely on the exterior and the shell, the mask. The outer.

But  changing  externals does just that.  It doesn’t get down to the muck and the dirt, the soiled and the sin.  When what needs changing is a rewiring, a change in the fundamentals, the foundation.  The beating heart that pumps the blood.  The place of life. And all of lifes joy and pain.

Just as the Easter finery and freshly polished nails  can cover what lies within.

These heart places which need to be released of unforgiveness, anger, bitterness, distrust, disappointment need cleansing.  They need to be washed in the blood.  A paradox.  Cleaned by blood.  White by blood. The envy, jealousy, scraped off the walls of the heart and dumped in the trash, put on the curb, and carried off.  For good.

These dirty corners here in the dwelling place of the soul, the hearts yuck ,need to come clean. Room inspection is required, the looking under and over and around for all that is ugly and unpleasing to the One who made me.

We huddle over His word and with furrowed brow wrestle with forgiveness, the word.  The meaning.  God’s description and desire for us in this realm. God’s heart.  We process the weight of its importance to Him. We discuss  the kind thats all out, no holes barred.  The no holding on to any of it.  The surgically removing every cell of this cancer.  And the gift that comes with walking it out, forgiveness. Put words on what it bears and brings to the abundant life.

Hundreds of years of life huddle over the word, in one room in one house on one night. Many of us contributing a  half century or more of life to the count.

And its still there, the weight of forgiveness and unforgiveness.  And we still seek His Grace and His Mercy. We still want to receive it and offer it.  Offer it, give it–grant it.

I still need to jump off and jump in. I need Hope as a life jacket, and Grace as a buoy marking my way on this sea. And Mercy charting the maps around the rocks and the sandbars. I want nothing in the way of this path to the cross.

“The Cross was the place where God and sinful man merged with a tremendous collision and where the way to life was opened.  But all the cost and pain of the collision was absorbed by the heart of God.” — Oswald Chamber, “My Utmost For His Highest”

Lord, blow sweet and gentle winds of forgiveness into the sails of this ship. And take me into the pitch and toss of seas safely to the harbor of your Love and Grace.

Merciful hands of God, Merciful touch of God, Abundant Life-Giver God.

I thank you for your Cross.


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Message In A Bottle And Other Places

I love a sweet story.

Heck, I  just love story and stories. Stories allow us to peek into places and people and amazingly woven lives.  Lives lived out colored in hope.  Drawn in love.  Painted with wonder.

But I especially love tucked away stories that have a tender sweet hiddeness to them.

The ones that call you  to look a little deeper, seek a little longer, and go a little further with the eyes of your heart. To see the good, the miracle, the Grace.

Do you have one.  I’d love to hear a piece of it.  A part of it.  Or all of it.

Because stories encourage and stir us and point us toward hope.

The hope of the what’s to come.  The hope of God’s hand in our tomorrow and our today.

I love the creative ways of God.  And how he finds us ,speaks to us in and through our circumstances, through our families, and through the lives around us.

And just like a message in a bottle, sometimes they are tucked away a little bit.

Precious girl of mine was asked to walk on the beach.  And there buried in the sand was a message in a Coke bottle asking her to go to the prom.  A man after my own heart, tucking away a little bit.  Creating a stumble upon moment to pop this little milestone question.  Creating a moment of discovery and surprise.  And allowing a sweet moment of joy.  Simple sweet joy.

So I am heading out to look for the sweet simple joy today.

And I’m bending my ear to hear His stories of Grace.  Your stories of Grace.

And to look for buried messages of His love.  And the messages of His love which are out in plain view.

I asked for two groups to pray for me.  And I see God moving already in that area.

Thank you my friends.  Thank you my God.

Your messages wrapped in Love are Gift.

You offer us Hope.  Bring us Hope.  Show us Hope.  Deliver Hope. Your message, your word is clear, so clear.  Thank you for sending us Hope.  By the cross and through your Son.

May we see all that you have for us this day.

Wishing His Grace,

wynnegraceappears

This Is Hope

I’m glad from the inside out, ecstatic; I’ve pitched my tent in the land of hope. – Acts 2:26

“So speak encouraging words to one another.  Build up hope so you’ll all be together in this, no one left out, no one left behind. –1 Thessalonians 5:11

And this is hope.

Do you see Her. Present yet hidden.

Bright yet shadowed.

Brilliantly encouraging, pouring her Love out  in the darkness.

She gleams and shimmers and lights the unknown.

Whispering, come, take a step.

Take another, in Faith, don’t stay back.

Her invitation, gold leafed and signed with the pen of Grace, is issued in Love, hand-delivered.

She is confident, bold.

Boldly expectant.

She looks into the future and states with Love its good, its great, its waiting for you.

Did you see her uninvite despair to her party.  No gold-leaf invitations to the Dance.

She guarantees fear will not be apart of her life celebration.

Can you hear her, see her, and smell her fragrance.  Its sweet like jasmine vine with bees all swarming, buzzing all around.

Tell me you see her.

You will encourage me if you have.  If you do.  If you’re certain of Her.  Will you tell me how you held out for Her.  How you longed for Her and she lifted you on the days when you were weak and wet with tears.

And this is Hope.

Did you hear her quiet the spirit and still the heart.

Clearing the way for Joy.  Marking the path for Mercy and Grace.

She is pointing us, leading us to the heart of God.

Did you hear her behind the dark cloud singing her Heavenly praise notes of encouragement.

If you did, testify to it.

Tell of it.

Spread her around.

Her song is tender, her words are gentle, her spirit is calm.

This is Hope. I long for her today.