On Sticks and Stones

Words come in a permanent form. No eraser. I hand my words out on a daily basis. Along with my words I have, several times, handed out my own God-made eraser, apologies and repentance.

Forgiveness helps. A remorseful heart is powerful. But there is just something about words that find the layers of your heart you never knew existed and they grow there. And then one day, these words you had forgotten, have dominion over you.

I was told lots of words growing up. Words that shaped me. Words that held me back for a while.

I was told I have lots of joy. Sometimes I was told I had too much joy. I was told I am short…I was told that a lot. But there are several moments that are strikingly etched into my memory. They were only moments, seconds even. One word was predominant and it continued to be thrown in my direction. I tried my best to dodge and dismiss this word.

Faith. I believe the exact reoccurring statement was, “Brianne, you have the gift of faith.”

I’ve let several people into my heart and I’ve given free access into my mind. I know that this can be dangerous and I have reaped the consequences of being so open. But I just have never been a completely closed off person. I love people. I love to know people. I want people to know me too. The real me. So I am usually in a constant state of, “What do you want to know about me?”

When you let a lot of people see you, you get used to hearing a lot of things about yourself and believing them.

My mirror is dusty, it’s crystal reflective glass is tainted by the rust of this world, who I think I am, the sins I know I’ve committed. I know the truth, but to be honest, I rarely see white snow. My friends and family help knock my own mirror, they shake it up, and as some of the dust falls away, I begin to see this very pure and beautiful reflection. It looks a lot like Jesus.

These same people keep this word, faith, marching in my direction.

Let me be honest, I didn’t like it at all.

Dr. Wess Stafford, president of Compassion International (shout out to the ministry I labor at!), recently released his new book Just a Minute. In his book he challenges the old saying, “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” It’s just not true and he expounds on this.

In his book are vibrant collections of stories from people whose lives have been changed in literally just a minute, because of something said to them when they were a child. Some have been changed for the better; others have been discouraged for what seems lifetime.

When I was thinking of my very own “just a minute” moment, the word faith, and all those who spoke it to me, was the first thing that came to mind.

When I was in youth group years ago, my pastor came up to me one day and said, “Brianne, do you know you have the gift of faith?” And that was it. He walked off after that. I was utterly offended.

Of course, there was something deeper to my disgust of being known as a girl with faith. I profoundly desired to be known for something of “greater” value. Most people in my youth group were beyond talented. Incredible public speakers. Musicians. Beautiful. Athletic. Brilliant. And here I was, with just faith.

Exactly one week later my bible study leader had us girls take a Spiritual Gifts test. Mine number one gift, faith. Again, I was kind of dismayed.

Several years later I am in an Australian Rainforest with Youth with a Mission. Our speaker for the past week was a powerful and eccentric speaker. After 5 days of teaching we came to the last session where we would take communion and spend time in praise and worship. The speaker said that he would like to come around and pray over the people he had gotten to know over the past week. He made it clear that if he did not get to know us, he would have someone else come pray over us. I had not even sat down with him once. I am pretty sure he did not even know my name.

The session began. My group leader came and prayed over me. She left and I continued in prayer. All of a sudden I felt someone standing in front of me and he grabbed me by the shoulders, I opened my eyes and there he was, our speaker, looking me square in the eyes and saying over and over again, “You have an incredible gift of faith.”

Now, at this point, I was still annoyed when people said that. Can’t a girl get a break? Isn’t there something else captivating about me besides this invisible faith that I do not even understand? But part of me was intrigued. God was pursuing me to acknowledge the gift He had given.

This speaker continued to say that though we had not spoken the whole week he saw light follow me wherever I went. He knew it was my faith. Then he prayed for me and the prayer shocked me. He did not thank God for my faith or ask my faith to increase. He asked God that I would accept my gift of faith and walk forward in confidence with it. He prayed that I would claim my faith and stop pushing it off.

A few years later I started working at Compassion International. My boss had me take the StregnthsFinder test, a secular test that helps define your strengths. It is incredible. I highly recommend it.

I wasn’t sure what my results would be, communicator? Organizer? Developing people? Ideation? Strategizing? I could not wait.

The results came back with my top 5, number one being the strongest. My number one was faith. It found me out even in a secular, business book.

I am indelibly grateful that God gave me this gift even though I rejected it. He pursued me and opened my eyes until I did accept it.

His words are magnificent. They are higher, more powerful and more substantial than any word ever spoken by a human being.

His words are living.

What words were spoken to you in just a moment that changed you forever?

One Word.

She strikes again. Almost a year later.  “She” being the words, the writer, the other companion I have. But she’s neglected. And she knows it. Sorry, luv. Too much happened this year. Reflection almost became an enemy to survival.

But, I do miss you. Please come back. See, here is what’s happening:

I don’t feel like I am being ushered into the New Year. I feel like I am being hurled. 2011 has picked up my memories, my events, my going heres and theres…he’s waded them all up, along with me, and he’s aiming me at 2012.

Marrying my love. Very new.

I have been overwhelmed; almost overcome, by new experiences, new people, a new life. New mercies. New loving-kindnesses. Lots of new.  It’s all still so new, it does not have a hint of fading or that beginning smell of dust.

Marriage. Living in Florida. New job position. New puppy. New home (twice). Lots of traveling. Did I mention that I love cooking now? That’s really new!

I did not just forsake my writing (again) I crept away from pursuing to know God. Mostly, I just did a really good job of maintaining. But, maintaining and more horrifically, complacency, is such an enemy to love.

I am utterly shocked that 2012 is about to make his appearance. But, I have a plan; more importantly, I have a word.

About three years ago, my boss (at the time) introduced me to a different kind of New Year’s Resolution. If you know me, you know I am not a resolutions kind of gal. More like a, “It’s midnight! I’ll have that sip of champagne and a kiss and go to bed now!” kind of gal. But, I liked what he shared and it has stuck.

One word. That’s it.

It is a discipline of seeking the Holy Spirit to reveal to you the word that God has for you in the upcoming year. Read more about.

So far I have had:

Love

Worship

Obey

It is a spiritual discipline. Each year I thought I understood why the word was given to me. Alas, each year the Lord has used the word in my life in a way I did not expect.

He’s like that.

This year my word is one I do not even remotely understand. I have tried to change it many times. But, I know which word was given to me.

Pleasing.

I am waiting on a little more revelation. I am sure it will take about 365 days.

If you are so inclined, please ask the Holy Spirit to reveal to you the word He has for you in 2012. And then share it. I’d love that.

Love Taught Me to Be Quiet

Isn’t this just like me? A new post… approximately 11 months overdue. It’s almost a talent to not write this long.

Something and someone has silenced me over the past months.

It’s paralysis meets complete unoriginality. They buried themselves into my mind and they’ve rendered my senses inoperative. Brutes! How could they?

But then I suppose it was also two other culprits, love and Love.

It’s gone something like this…

If you take note from my previous post, there was a man.

Exhibit A:

 

Man: Jeremy McKoy

And this man decided we should be together. I agreed!

Exhibit B:

Us. Together.

Then he left on an assignment to Afghanistan:

Exhibit C:

Jer in Afghanistan. Me in lower left corner. Not in Afghanistan.

Then he came back.

Exhibit D:

Reunited.

And then something incredible happened…this man, who has been so steady and confident in his love for me since before he was deployed, gave me a ring and asked me to be his wife.

Exhibit E:

He put a ring on it.

And now I am a fiancée! Planning a wedding.

Exhibit F:

Me. On break from wedding planning.

There it is. Life has been so beautifully abnormal.

Another thing happened in 2010. I. Stopped. Writing.

I did not just stop writing on my blog (that’s not unusual!). This year has marked the year where I did not fill up countless numbers of journals… I only completed one journal. One. Journal. This is highly abnormal of me.

Despite the attempts of my incredible fiancé who encouraged me to write more and to explore this love of mine, I just couldn’t.

I felt disabled.

Even more, my oh so expressive side was…inexpressive. I could hardly come up with a coherent sentence to tell Jeremy, my Lord, or the people around me about how much I cared about them. How much I love them.

The other day I think I caught a glimpse of revelation that is making its way into my being.

I am overwhelmed by love. My only response has been silence.

Is this love that I cannot describe or convey or analyze? Is this love that creeps into my heart without any preparation on my part and speaks, “Quiet. Your words will only tarnish the life Love leads in you.”

So I am left to glean from all that I see Him doing. To grow in the midst of His ever expanding love in my life.

Expressing myself and steeping in the fancies of love will come, I hope. Right now I drink Loves richness. I put the cup down. And I am quiet.

I am not so far Him as I am when I retreat into my mind. Love has brought me out. Exposed me for who I am. Wrapped me up in what I do not deserve.

Only Love could silence this much too bubbly, exceedingly expressive, ever-reacting woman.

Love calls me by name. Love requests my silence.

I comply.

Love will have His way.

The days emerge without regret, in innocence.
Coated thick with His love, new mercies.
I wake-up energetically to greet it; this cunning little day.
Introduce myself, “Today I’ll do my living in you. In your hours. In your space.”

All the moments and the memories; the harshness and inconclusiveness of the days pound on my heart. Provoking. Cyclical.

I always know His name.

The days are evil…I hear.

So, He secures my undivided devotion. My focus stays steady.

I see myself apart from Him…I am weak, uncouth, unstable.

Then He shows me in Him; wonderfully made.

Holy as He is holy.
Capable of love.
Capable to bring Him delight.

Peace reigns in with each day; He lets me understand His will a little more.

Then there was February 8. Another day I greeted, “I will know You and Your goodness in this day.”

In this day, He had a miraculous kind of surprise…his name is, Jeremy.

After my roommate Meredith and my dear friend Emily (rock stars that they are) helped him plot and plan – at 9:15 am my eyes greeted him as did my whole being when I flung myself into his arms. He had made the trek from Florida into Compassion’s building.

In this day I understood, a little bit more, His unrelenting goodness. And He chose His son, Jeremy. A man well acquainted with His heart to expose such mysteries within me.

Then the whisper in my heart as I am trying (and not succeeding) to take it all in, “I came that you might know me too although, my journey was quite longer.”

It is a strange thing when one day, over a course of weeks or perhaps months, even years, all of a sudden a desire, through fruition and an outstretched Arm, has a name. The desire has a personality. It has green eyes and a strong grip. It has a steady voice and it has a love for the Lord that quiets your heart. “It” is actually a “he” and he is Jeremy.

Seemingly and so suddenly the prayer is no longer the receipt of the desire but for the wisdom and ability to walk well with the desire, this man. To honor the Lord for He has lavished kindness on me in His grace. To obey His voice for His sovereignty is on display.

Through this all, the posture of my heart remains resolved in what I have always wanted to be:

To be a woman who brings to my Lord the sacrifice of worship through obedience. To understand His will and to trust Him. To know Him.

In the grand and shinning truth of Love I have come to know that all the attacks and doubts and past hurts seem so very weak and insignificant. My heart is strengthened by knowing the Lord, to know His love.

And so now, a new journey and a new name; living inside my heart – a world of brilliance and grace and strength. A man who honors the King.

Jeremy, hello.

because of Love.

Sweet coconut tickles my nose as it floats away from my teacup.

Black tea at Montague’s. Welcome to my Sunday.

The sun is sneaky bright this afternoon. Like she threw off winter and is making her own path.

This day culminates into defiance (the sun refusing the season) and my heart watches. Makes me want to defy something too; usually my perceptions. I know I can’t come close to dreaming as big as He can.

Unimaginable, it’s the signature of His will. Love, the path He leads me on as He takes me through the story.

The purpose of this post is to point you somewhere else. I heard a sermon the other day (podcast it!) from Mark Driscoll of Mars Hill Church in Seattle called Trial: Suffer to Worship.  (You can click on this link and then click “Audio only” or you can go to iTunes, search Mark Driscoll and then you can download the sermon for free).

It was truly challenging to listen to and now the Holy Spirit is busy at work as He establishes and reproofs me to make me a woman holy as Jesus is holy.

Mark Dirscoll makes the case that when a Christian suffers there is an opportunity to truly examine ourselves, an opportunity to become better worshippers. He states,

Suffering is an amazing opportunity in which we get to know:

• where our hope truly is
• where our identity is ultimately fashioned
• who our real God is
  

I won’t steal the Holy Spirit’s resounding movement, I am sure He has some message for your heart, maybe different than the one He had for me when I listened to the message. If you have a moment please listen to it and let me know your thoughts. Hopefully, and soon, I will expand more on what my heart knows of this lesson.

To close, this was heavy to listen to only because it clear that the life of a Christian truly is one marked by suffering. More so, a crescendo of praise is to ensue in this time as opposed to what the world has for us, a heart of despair.

In this I rejoice: my heart will not settle. It will not become as some form of concrete laid down and left to dry. I am, inwardly, churned and shaken. Cracked and broken. The mark of Love, oh how severe! How magnificent! Thrashed within, praise throughout.

swollen heart.

Insert inspirational thought here: _____
Insert understanding and peace and that brilliant, “Oh yeah. Okay. I can do this” moment here:____

Where my heart rejects deception and presses forward. Seeking life, reacting to Truth. Moving freely in His grace.

The quieting of His love.
Humming to His song.
Pursuing Love that conquers and pushes out fear…my failure.

You’re dancing in that white dress, child. No condemnation. No impurity. No unrighteousness.

The weight of weakness seeping into my heart. Saturating me with its heavy ideas. Saddling my life. The mind. My movement. Then in the quiet, “Oh daughter, your faith…it is more precious than gold.”

I heard when Love calls your name, you lose yourself.

Sometimes I throw things:
my expired speculations that brew in desperation, in quiet caves, in dark gardens.
chains so corroded and mutilated.
my love, because I heard she has wings.

I want:
my brown hair back.
what illuminates my hazel eyes.
freckles that dust my face.

To vomit:
the tongue that stabs.
lies that paralyze.
the murky film which veils the eyes and ruptures the heart.

I have heard everything is rubbish in light of knowing Him. Everything. If only to hear His voice more clearly, to understand the steadiness of His gaze.

And then there was October. That month which tries to find its place. In it I knew the Lord. The blanket of His love and caress of His words. He says to me, “Know me.” He says to me, “Watch me.”

There is the response, the psalm, the submission.

The barren woman says, “There is none holy like the Lord; there is none besides You; there is no rock like our God” (2 Samuel 2:2-3).

The desolate and humbled king proclaims, “…and He does according to His will among the host of heaven and among the inhabitants of the earth; and none can stay His hand or say to Him, What have You done?” (Daniel 4:35)

He who lost everything cries out, “I know that You can do all things and that no purpose of Yours can be thwarted” (Job 42:2).

The slain Lamb testifies, “Not my will, but Yours, be done” (Luke 22:42).

And the weary daughter who Loves the Father teaches her heart, “Only You Lord, I only desire to receive from Your hands.”

So then there is life and living and love.
There is beauty that defies the billboards of our misconceptions and collapses what the world asks us to hunger for.

To be a woman who fears the Lord.
To know a man who honors the King.

Brianne Michelle.
Weaves in and out of tears. Stalks joy. Loves neighbor. Knows Father.
Welcomes November…

“you’re Not Really you.”

She masters her cage.

There was a poem throwing itself around in my blood.

Something about a bird and a cage.

Ah, yes! Don’t they all work birds into their masterpieces, their sonnets?

I don’t care. Sometimes a poem finds you out and it’s about something borrowed, something blue. Perhaps we should hand the skepticism of our own minds over to the depleting work of rigor mortis. Just be honest. Just write.

---

I told her she was free.
Re-mastered the lock, dissolved the key.

“Don’t be stubborn, you’ve not had a good home.”
Her heart kept a boring tempo – an unkempt metronome.

Occupy the space in the sky!
I’m giving you a voice, another try.
Lift yrslf with the flaking dead skin.
Transcend the roof of my home. Be bold – know no whim.

She shuffles her claws in linear motion.
Neither phased nor impressed with my clean notion.
Opens her cracked beak
And violently speaks,

“I’ve only known this rusted tin and you, always watching me.
Now you loftily proclaim I’m released from gravity?”

In an attempt to explain,
“Bird of my house, don’t be alarmed. I bring wisdom from above.
This is not some trick, this is love.”

Then the cage dissipates.
The bird gone, a fake.

A Voice deep inside,
“That bird is not real, the bird is a lie.
In her parables you hide.
In her bleak feathers you confide.”

“You march around, so confidently.
You search for your cage. You seek modestly.”

“Child! You have wings yet you stumble on feet.
Woman! The cage was never your home. You live in me.”

“I bring bright shiny lights from above.
This is no trick. I am Love.”

“In the backdoors and attics of your mind you retreat.
But open your veins, accept a new beat.
You know my voice
You are my sheep.”

“Call me your Love. I’m not just some Sir.
You are beautiful. You’re not just some bird.”

-briMichelle

Eh, well…my words, unfettered. Amateur, I know. But I was honest.

Sometimes late at night I go to sleep and think about how much of me I didn’t let be me and how much of me I let Him release. He kisses my cheek, whispers me to sleep, “Freedom you’re given. My daughter, you’ve been set free.”

Let it fall.

My favorite season is fall.

File that right next to, “loves birthday cake ice cream” and “usually writes with a candle lit.”

The clouds are touching the ground tonight. They blur the city lights and announce to the people as they blow by, “Fall is here.”

It’s October 5^th and winter is not wasting her time. In the midst of it all, the pumpkin picking and the festive arrangements being laid on doorsteps, there is me. Pacing the corridors of my mind. Slamming closed doors to overworked thoughts, opening them again, then on again with the slamming.

Last fall did not meet me with the joy I usually know.

October 2008 was truly a difficult month for me. I happened upon one of those dreadful nights where my heart blistered and cracked then fell out by way of my mouth, my nose, my eyes.

The details of that night won’t leave me. There is a very specific desire I stammered around and then spoke out loud. I still hope, as much as I did that night, that my words entered heaven with urgency.

This past year of time with Him has been marked by what I let fall from me and into His hands last October, our conversations frequently coming back to “that night last fall”. It’s not referred to as anything else; we both know which conversation is being addressed.

Words fail us in those moments; that’s just how it is. And so much of me failed too. The strength I believed I had, the vibrant trust I was sure was weaved throughout my being. All of a sudden brokenness had a night and a date and a time.

This past September was spent stepping lightly in each day, as I knew October was coming again. And it’s here; I’m in it…an anniversary of sorts.

It seems that my heart was scalped and for 365 days the Lord has continued to poke and prod around. And what a most horrific way to heal a wound! But I hear it’s best to get all the shrapnel out before you close the patient back up.

Through this all there is a bitterness that knows my name and asks for my attention.

“But let us not grow weary!” He beckons my mind, my soul, my heart. Bitterness and disbelief may pound on my desires and ask for me to flirt with them but the Lover does not fool around with such small requests. He asks for my life, in its entirety.

So my eyes stay on Him and He teaches me to love. To be a woman that loves and loves Him and loves well.

Yesterday I made a choice: to embrace October. But not just to embrace this month, to embrace the sovereign Lord within October.

My heart has seen a love that creates a new man. Love that can transform what we only thought could be tweaked.

With my heart I pronounce a toast, “Here’s to the prodding, the exposing and the sorrow that will birth life. To the walking forward every day in His love as it is He who raises the woman up to be able to say, ‘I want what you want Lord.’”

At times, it seems too much but there is always His faint voice, “In who else’s hands would you place this.”

And always the steady answer of my heart, “Only Yours Lord. Only in Your hands.”

“Open up my door Lord, to whatever makes me love you more.” – mewithoutYou

“Lord, I give You permission to cut.” -Catherine Hilger

…and for not leaving me.

 

Paris Je T'aime - a loved indie. This scene is what "you're so easy to leave" feels like to me.

I can recall to mind without any uncertainty my first break up and how it felt.

So can my parents, my sister, my brother and I’m also sure the neighbor who heard as my heartache was swallowed in the moon, me and all my sobs. The night went on and many slept but I knew no such reprieve.

Seems dramatic when I think back on it. But isn’t it always when we’re talking about love unkempt? Or what we thought love was. Or what we thought love could be.

This is not a story of bitterness.
Or a story of prolonged brokenness.

That particular story (the first break-up) was one of a certain sound and certain beat my heart made when I first started to believe that I was easy to leave.

“Bri Michelle, you’re so easy to leave.”

The growing takes time because youth works against us. Understanding Father’s love takes time. Coming to the place of the very sincere agreement, “My desire is to know Christ, I count all else as rubbish” takes dying. And of course…that takes time.

And the years go by. The sound of the beat of my heart changes.
Some notes stay the course, other harmonies incorporated, a new chord learned, a crescendo dropped. It all morphs and contorts – moving to the wave of the Conductor’s hand.

People will leave. We know it so well.
People will run. Because of fear, because of inability to commit, because of confusion…

It is a very strange thing when we allow Father to truly establish our heart’s in His truth. All of a sudden, the lies begin to look very small and weak. Grand Love moves mountains and those lies were only able to skip a few stones.

Flash-forward: Six years after this break-up and after many other stories that looked like the confirmation, “You are easy to leave”, I heard Him.

His assurance that He will never leave me. I’ve heard it before in a very watered down state. The repetition of this truth threatened any real understanding from emerging. But now…

 “Bri Michelle, how can I leave you? How can I give you up? ”

The slightest hum of Truth can dismantle and dissolve the lies we thought forever slashed us and took away our character, even our ability to love.

This I call to mind: the lies never saw me. They don’t know me. Truth sees me, knows me. Truth created me. And in a most holy and severe moment Truth marched to the cross and because of this I will never know separation from Love.

In my lifetime I will hear many people say, “Goodbye” or, “I choose to leave you” and I am sure I will say it too (is it not that there is a time and a season for everything?)

Yet my hope is in this: I will never hear those words from His mouth, He will never abandon.

Hosea 11:8-9

“How can I give you up, Ephraim? 
      
How can I hand you over, Israel? 
      
How can I treat you like Admah? 
      
How can I make you like Zeboiim? 
      
My heart is changed within me; all my compassion is aroused.

I will not carry out my fierce anger, nor will I turn and devastate Ephraim.
For I am God, and not man – the Holy One among you.”

My sweet Jesus, thank you for loving me…and not leaving me. -Selah.

The Art of being Translucent

 

So much to say…

And the burden of all the words and thoughts threatens my vulnerability.

It is all a very complicated kind of striving: To maintain a soft heart preceded by hope and trust. Yet I know sincere and devote relationships will flourish, there will be life and living and knowing.

My words find their dedication in the King…even the words I wish faith could banish. Those words marked with doubt, those words marred by the world, the words that steep apart from His character. 

It is a mysterious thing to trust and love Him, even though we have not seen Him. So it is a miracle, this faith. This Him inside of us. His pursuit keeps me close and, though grossly frustrated with it at times, my writing is the gateway – my response to His initiative…

These past months I’ve written a lot but while the writing has not been a problem, creativity continues to dodge my every page. Which makes the writing less eloquent but probably more articulate. And in the end it has ushered me even deeper into the way of the Lord.

I once read a piece of advice from a writer, “Keep writing, everyday. Always. Even when you don’t have anything to write, write about that.” 

So I keep writing for Him, to Him and in the process I am deciphered.

At times, and most sporadically I come back to this blog and say, oh yes…yes, I write to people at times. Tonight is one of those nights (I nearly forgot my login and password. And have you noticed? This is a new blog).

If I might share some of the things I have written in my absence:

March 3, 2009

Beauty interrupts me.
Hello Beauty.
I would not be so welcoming of any other distraction (or maybe it is me that is the distraction?)

You loosen the static words, mundane and sticking to my heart.
They wage the war of complacency with their words, “This is the way it is and it’s like this.”
Provoking me to navigate through my tragedy (or as my dear friend Seth once stated, maybe it is a comedy).

Yesterday was meek. Not even like a day.
Some kind of shy attempt to produce time and space for us to do our living in. Then this morning I woke up, remnants of yesterday burrowing in my heart.
How awkward those days when I don’t feel real. There are too many unknowns and so much waiting to be running around and doing. So life feels like some kind of upside down dream.

He wounds me with Truth. Because truly, there is a time when the clinging and the trusting and the obedience of faith must be this very beautiful and fierce firmness. Perhaps it is that first shinning moment when you know Love knows you and Love loves you.