go here now.
well, not right now. eh, maybe.  

mostly i mean, instead of here, go there. from now on. ok? ok.

i am the desert
waiting for clouds that will never spill here 

rivers don't run through
the sea cannot overflow enough to reach  

the night is my sole relief

the voice called and i went
i went because the voice called

but the Voice has been silent
no. silent seems too strong a word
he has been what he will always be
its my heart, my soul, my body that have been...maybe...hidden
deep in his side so that i cannot hear or see or even feel
at least not in the ways i'd grown accustomed to do such things
i am learning a new way

i assure you, friends, i am not lost
i am not forgotten, i am not without hope
it's just dark and quiet in this space
but i am finding contentment
i'm finding that if i rest, if i trust,
if i forego my desperate desire for control
i can feel him breathing

i don't know what it is he is breathing into or over
but His breath is life
and knowing that is truly enough
it is more than enough

So i pray, friends, that he breathes in your direction, over all that is hollow and lifeless. and if he happens to be breathing in another direction not yours, may you hear him breathing and have hope that somewhere he is bringing something back to life, at work, making all things new

thoughts on an anniversary

Today marks two years from the day that I left to start my second adventure in Kolkata. I have felt the nearness of this day for the last few months and have wallowed in the grief of what I, so foolishly, deemed to be a life I had lost. My expectations had been incredibly high. I had dreams and desires and I assumed they were god-given. I never once thought that he might have a plan other than the one I saw so clearly laid out. To my surprise, and as you all know, I was wrong. I felt robbed.  I was confused, angry and overwhelmed by grief. I don’t know if I was more angry at God or myself. Whatever the case, I let myself grow bitter and calloused, tossing aside everything I knew to be true and deciding God had deceived me. (It feels so sacrilegious to say that but I want be honest.) I think back to this day last year and it amazes me just how dark and hopeless I have been. Sure, I had lucid moments when I was aware of God’s goodness and the reality that his plans are far greater than my petty ideas. And He has always been kind and faithful to remind me. His grace has been enough. But I am fickle and I forget to take what I need of it.
As I walked home today I decided that, though I ache constantly to be back there, I don’t want this day to be a sad one. Instead, I want this day to remind me that God is faithful, that he is good, that he sees us and knows our deepest and our darkest and loves us. I want this day to remind me that He gave me five and a half wonderfully difficult and gloriously beautiful months in the City of Joy. Five and half months of a life not my own, a life better than one I could have constructed for myself. I want to always remember that for five and half months, he chose to reveal himself to me through a colorful land and its beautiful people. Most of all I want this day to always remind me that he knows my inmost longings, he feels my deepest aches, he hears my terrible groans and understands them better than I do. And, in all of these, he sits with me and waits for me to remember him and remember that He is always and ever enough.

So today I celebrate these things: dreams lived, the unfathomable love and goodness of my Author, and the reality of grace. I celebrate them with cake and wine and a friend who is always ready to celebrate these little moments with me.
Thanks be to God 

my sin, not in part but the whole, is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more

one of my very best friends recently gave birth to her second child, a beautiful little girl. I received a copy of her birth story a few days ago, just after she'd finished writing. this would be her first homebirth and every preparation had been made to make it a perfect one. I was overjoyed as I read her words and was particularly overwhelmed by her retelling of a most difficult moment...

"this was "the wall" that I had to get over. it was so big though, and I began to doubt whether I could really give birth on my own, without some kind of medication or intervention. I began to say, like a chant, "i need something for this." and "i need to go in." I got back into the pool of water, which gave me immediate relief, until my next contraction and then I was back to my mantra... 

the next time I started with my chant [the birthing assistant] said, "...instead of 'i need something' why don't you say, 'i have everything I need'" and so I changed my mantra."

my eyes welled as I read on. the strength and grace with which she faced the following moments inspired me far more than I expected. see, I've been chanting a very dangerous mantra, one that has left me feeling hopeless and needy. i've been wandering around telling myself that I need something more, that, if I don't find and possess that "something", I won't be happy. I won't be whole. I won't be any good. but that night, as I finished reading the details of the beautiful winter night that lovely little Nina Joon took her first breath of earth's air, I changed my mantra. 

I have every thing I need. I lack nothing. I will not be in want. 

& I am ever thankful to Nina Joon and her beautiful mama for reminding me.