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"somehow we have overlooked the fact this treasure called the heart can also be broken, has been broken, and now lies in pieces down under the surface. When it comes to habits we cannot quit or patterns we cannot stop, anger that flies out of nowhere, fears we cannot overcome, or weaknesses we hate to admit--much of what troubles us comes out of the broken places in our hearts crying out for relief.
Jesus speaks as if we are all brokenhearted. We would do well to trust His perspective on this."
— John Eldredge (Waking the Dead: The Glory of a Heart Fully Alive)

No. Yes.

How is it that I have a hard time saying No to people, yet I have a hard time saying Yes to Elohim?

Why do many of us have a hard timing saying No to people? Fear. I will not apply to everyone, because everyone is unique. But I wish to be well loved and appreciated; I can obtain this by doing whatever others want me to do. Saying No, means looking bad or losing an opportunity to gain acclaim from others.

When Jesus calls and I either ignore or do not obey the call. I say No to Him. His Spirit gently calls in His still small voice….

“Come, talk to me about this. Ask me first, not after you have talked to everyone else.”

“It’s not in accordance to the heart I’ve given you, say No.”

“Leave this chaos, be still in my presence.”

“Come to me for rest.”

“Fear not, I am with you.”

No

Our No’s are not generally spoken out-right or direct rejections of Jesus. But, how often do you sense his call, and in your inaction, say No.

I say Yes to people because I care about me, and I want to be feel good about myself. I say No to Jesus, because I am prideful.

My Yes to people – empty.

My No to Elohim – empty.

How can I refuse the call that brings me the deepest joy? I don't know, but I do more often than I don't.

Hope. It’s the fuel for story and purpose. When it’s lost, the colors fade. Everything tastes a little more bland. The breeze doesn’t make your heart swell. After a while, your perceptions seem normal, and you forget there ever were rich colors and flavorful food, the breeze is only an annoyance.

We all hope for small things. But, have you lost the one hope that makes all other hopes fall into perspective?

Your story, if seen through the right eyes, can be an adventure filled with challenge and experience. The story only makes sense when seen with the end in sight. The end is full of just enough mystery to make it exciting, and just enough certainty to keep it worthwhile. The best part – you are never alone in your story.

If you are losing hope, maybe you need to find, “God in the shadows”.

“Cuz I still haven’t found what I’m lookin’ for…

Every time I here Damian Rice sing "I still haven't found" it makes sense to me. It's such a human cry.

Are we all searching for something?

The next turn in the road, a “lucky break”, an adventure, an exciting ride, peace, appreciation, love, validation, assurance that you “have what it takes”, meaning, joy, the “pot of gold at the end of the rainbow”, home, your place in the world, explanation, security, worth, the knowledge that you are indeed a special and unique individual, purpose.

Maybe we are missing it, because we are looking in all the wrong places.

It sounds like a Sunday school answer –“everything is found in Christ”, or maybe just a Pollyanna explanation for the haunting questions of life. But not only does the Bible answer these questions, the Bible points to The Lord as the fulfillment of our needs.

The Bible says over and over again things like-

“In my presence is fullness of joy”

“Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, I will give you rest.”

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation”

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”

"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.”

Many of these are familiar verses, but perhaps we have for too long spiritualized them or put them in our head-knowledge, and forgot they are also literal.

Do we dishonor our Creator and Savior by saying we give him our lives and worship, yet we look everywhere but in him for what we “still haven’t found”? Do we assume that the unseen end of our desire is earthly?

Honestly, I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. Either because I don’t know what I’m looking for, or I just don’t see what is in front of my face. I have glimpsed it... and the only time I did was in the presence of Christ. Nothing else has ever even come close to strumming that deeper chord.

I’ve “tasted and seen” – The Lord is good. His goodness is tangable… In my human heart, so “prone to wander” I move away from my Lord. But from the Words of God I know - He will fill the God sized void in my heart.

But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. (Matthew 6:33)

You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. (Jeremiah 29:13)

Not there yet.... But on the road.

Anticipation and Remembrance

She looked back. She looked forward.

Christmas Eve. Laying in bed, her new PJ’s on. The excitement and anticipation was like a sweet wave, she could sit and dream of tomorrow forever. When the marrow came, it was wonderful. But was it like she had anticipated?

The days crawled by like the lady bug on the windowsill. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday… finally it was Friday night; tomorrow was the day. She was going horse-back riding. Her eyes closed, her head overflowing with anticipation and wonderment. Her dreams were fitful but sweet – full of horses and cowboys.

There is a space, a void, a gap that exists in all anticipation and remembrance. There is an ideal joy that exists when looking forward and when looking back. It’s like a thirsty-ness or an empty space. Nothing quite satisfies, nothing quite fills. We are fooled into thinking it’s waiting down the road, or we lost it with the innocence of childhood.

When the girl grew she experienced the same things, but in regards to totally different situations. The party, college life, friendships, places. After a while she squelched the anticipation or what could be called, the “inkling of pure joy”. There was a deepness that longed for something so deep and true – pure joy. All of life was only a drop in the bucket. She was craving it, but why waset life wishing for something that didn’t seem to exist.

Day dreaming one day, she remembered the Christmas and the day she went horseback riding. Nostalgia and an almost perfect joy came to mind. But she knew it wasn’t true. Never had those longings been fulfilled – they had only been glimpsed in anticipation and remembrance.

“If I discover within myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world” - C.S. Lewis

Yes, I’m “wasting my life” for something that does exists -- Jesus is my anticipation and remembrance; my home.

Storm

Tired of the fight, tired of the battle.

These people scrape wounds I forgot I had, they touch deeply embedded thorns that were forgotten. Lord, you are calling me. You are asking me to come into your presence. Weary, heavy laden. You give rest. You, the healer of the broken, sustainer of the weak, lover of souls. You, abba call me in this darkness, this storm.

I've begged, I've cried, I've shouted. I hate this storm..... but if it means more of you Abba. It's worth it.

"My child, ask not for the storm to be calmed, but to find me in the storm."

-I found this scribbled from a while back....-nat

~ABBA PURSUES~ (part 2 of "Abba Series")

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

Matthew 11:28

He was numb. He was tired. He was still. Yet, there was a storm, an invisible storm -- of every evil, lie, pain, hurt and bitter thought swirling together into a tornado. His eyes were empty and cold, but under those eyes -- the storm. The storm had been awakened by this heartbreak of rejection and failure. He mechanically stood and walked down the stairs toward the kitchen. What am I doing? The thought of food makes me sick. He turned and saw the door. The door, his mind blocked the storm for enough time to remember a place. It was a summer evening, when there were fireflies and lemonade. His dad had walked in late and seemed troubled, yet resolute. All he could remember was being hastily put to bed, his dad tucking him in with extra care and hesitancy. The next morning dad was gone. The boy had heard the door close the night before. In the weeks, months, and years that followed, winds of pain, lies and bitterness blew into his heart. He captured the winds and held tightly to them. No one told him the winds lied. It’s my fault, I messed up, something is wrong with me, everyone will hurt me, I’ll never trust again. When the winds were strongest, he would crawl behind the clothes rack in his closet. It was dark and safe. He was alone, the door locked everyone but him and silence out. The silence heard his cries and sobs. The silence wasn’t afraid of the wind like everyone else in his life was. The silence did not comfort, but it did not fear or judge the winds. He began to feel that the winds had not ever been from the outside, but were from him. I’m sorry daddy, I’m sorry it was my fault…. As the years passed, a greater evil occurred. He became cold and numb and forgot about the pain. He felt nothing. He didn’t lose his emotions, but he lost his relational connection. I had trusted and ruined everything…. Mom never talked to him about him leaving. She remained silent on the subject, instead, she obsessed about his education, little league, and social life.

Now here he was. A man. Staring at the door. The silence would listen, the winds had been silent for so many years, nothing could rouse them, they were buried so deep in his being. Now This had somehow cut through it all and awakened the beast. He wanted to run, to go back to the closet where he was safe. Yet here he stood in his apartment, mom had moved out of the old house three years back. The closet is where you go when you were little…. How was it that he felt like that little boy? The return of the winds seemed to transport him back. He walked to the front door and grasped the handle, his friends would be partying tonight. He could leave, or he could face the winds that he had once embraced than denied. He could ask the winds “why”, and ask his heart “what.”. He could face the buried winds that had began to blow. He would leave silence out of the loop this time. He remembered what he had read the night before… “Come unto me all ye that weary and heavy laden….” When he looked up, he heard his True and Faithful Father say…. “come to me…..” there was yearning and deep compassion and love that drew with strong cords the heart of the little boy. He somehow knew that to deny the call of His father would cost him years, he closed his eyes grasped the hand and jumped into the abyss……. As he looked up he knew, there was more than silence in that closet…..The Pursuer had been there. Time passed, he looked back and saw - The One that had once spoke truth and peace to the winds and waves- had spoken again. His True and Faithful Father didn’t judge or ignore the winds, He faced the winds and told the winds they were wrong. Even better, He told the boy’s heart that he was a precious child beloved of an ever-faithful Abba.

At A Glance....

She sits on the curb. Her feet are dirty; you wonder if her feet are ever truly clean. She is surrounded by the world. A vender is yelling about something being a "very good price..." There is a loud radio blaring the music of the land: rhythmic, mournful, and compelling. You smell smoke when a gust of wind blows. They must be burning trash this morning. Someone is always burning trash. You continue walking away from the burning trash and shouting venders. As you look further down the street your eyes are clouded by the haziness; the sunlight is trying to get through the haze. You would think it was fog or smoke, but there is neither the moistness of fog, or the choking odor of smoke. Now there is only a hint of smoke in the breeze. A moterbike whizzes past with three full grown men crammed on. Seeing the exhaust from the bike you realize the haze is smog. What you would expect - soft rays of morning sunlight are not present, rather the haze and ever present odor of exhaust, smoke, and spices. As you walk past a stand you see a man is selling round crispy pastry, boiled in oil. Than you look back at the little girl, she still sits alone, one hand grasped around a burlap bag. She has on an orange skirt with the hem coming out, it appears to have been coming out for many months now. There are stains on the hem and you can see places where the fabric is worn with only a thin layer of weaved threads remaining. Her shirt is too small, showing her skinny brown waistline. She is small and frail, yet strong and almost hardened to the world. Your mind tells you children are innocent and precious, in need of protection. This child seems hardened and strong, yet very broken. The bead work on her shirt seems almost pathetic, beautiful reds, burgundies, purples, and aquas sewn into what was once a rich orange shirt. They seem out of place on a dirty, hungry child. The touch of finery on such a desperate child makes you wonder if she had always lived this way.

Her eyes scan you. Seeming to judge and evaluate every inch of your appearance, and maybe even your heart. You look into her eyes than look away quickly. Those eyes are dark with the deep darkness that is embedded in her soul. Then something in you weeps. How long has she been this way. How long has her heart been in these chains of darkness, confusion, and sin. You want to grasp her shoulders and ask "How long have you been in these chains? Do you even know what freedom is?" you would even go so far as to hold her close, kiss her cheek an whisper "I love you," though you don't know her. But no one would know these thoughts crossed your mind. Because you glance at her as you walk a bit slower, but you don't stop. You are seemingly unmoved by this childs eyes. you walk on.............

This child's deepest need is not a new dress, a full meal, or even a happy home. Rather she needs Jesus Christ our Robe of Righteousness, Our Bread of Heaven, Our loving Heavenly Father.

As you walk on down the street, your busy life ahead, your To Do list in your pocket along with your ticket for your comfortable bubble of a home, it hits you - the WORLD is full of people with the same basic need as this nameless child. Some hide it under smiling faces, rich clothing, rituals, pleasures, diversions, education, or money. Yet the brokenness of sin invades the heart and soul of every living person. The chains of bondage are obvious in this child’s eyes, but even the smiling eyes of your friends are covering a deeper bondage and sorrow.

And than you remember the words of Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised,

"How shall they hear without a preacher......?"

"Pray ye therefore that the Lord of the Harvest would send forth laborers...."

Hopeless to Hopeful

"The contrast in the eyes and faces of the many street children and the hostel children was stark. The children who know the love of Jesus, have joy and light in their eyes. Many of the street children have eyes filled with darkness, bondage, and loneliness. I praise the Lord for the Mekala family, and all the Christians that are sharing the love of Jesus Christ to the people of India."

~Quotes for Bless India Newsletter

http://www.blessindia.com/

~ABBA SINGS~ (first in 3 part "Abba Series")

The LORD thy God in the midst of thee [is] mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing. (KJV)

He will exult over you with loud singing. (ESV)

~Zephaniah 3:17~

It was early. To early. I opened my eyes and felt the wave of "this bed is comfortable, go back to sleep" soak into me. I closed my eyes and sighed. I loved lying in bed doing nothing. What's today, where am I, what am I doing? The questions floated in my mind. I drift off. Than I awake with a start. Get up! Oh yes, I was planning on waking at a decent hour. True, I didn't have to DO anything until 11. Hear I was in a strange place. I had been so busy the past two weeks, my time with God had been a rushed. "I need you Jesus, Thank you for being with me." I was feeling the absence of my conversation and communion with my Lord.

I got dressed, packed my bag and ate something. Then out the door. As I strolled down the gravel lane I talked to God, confessing my lack of attention to our relationship.

Through the dewy field I walked, my feet were drenched in the moisture of the grass. I exulted in the morning sun's warmness, and the sounds of creation. I looked down at the river, it was misty. I enjoyed the sounds, sights and smells of Gods creation as I usually would. As I swung back in forth on the rope swing, it's gentle sway went with my swaying song on praise.

For some reason I thought of the verse that says God sings over his children. Visions of a father holding his little child and singing songs about her; how she is lovely and special, and how she will grow into a great women.The vision of a mother holding her child, singing in a soft voice, singing her love. Or a van bumping down the road, the family singing a made-up song about the family, the children's names being named. The children laugh and beam as the silly song mentions their name.

My mind came back to my conversation with God. As I talked to my Father, my mind and heart asked. Abba, do you sing over me?

It seemed too special and presumptuous to think the Lord of creation would stoop so low, as to sing over me. Yet, somehow I dared to ask in childlike faith; Do you rejoice over me?

As I listened, I heard it. It was as if God opened my ears. In the soft swish of the grass he whispered his compassion. The swift clear current spoke of his purity and power. The breeze blew a strand of hair across my face. The distinct call of birds in the line of trees. All of these sounds were expressing the delight the Creator has for his child. You are my child, I AM your Father. When Jesus speaks to your heart, there is not doubt that he has spoken, he has a way of showing us his love and glory in such as way that all the child's heart can do is simply delight in the His incredible glory and faithfulness. Words are inadequate to say thank you or even sing praise. It is as if the distance between God and man is seen, and in he same moment the closeness of the Father and his Child. It is humbling beyond words, why does the Almighty Creator care enough to sing, and let me hear his songs….His songs of love and rejoicing in the wind and rippling currents. Yes, The Father sings over his children. He sings over me.

Epilogue: I wrote this Summer 2009 during my two week stay in Maryland where I worked at a camp. God truly is good to his children.

Excerpts of research and thoughts on the Untouchables of India

India has a beautiful, colorful, and rich culture. Her roots go back for thousands of years from the Mughal Empire, Ashoka the Great, and long forgotten stories and empires. Historically India has been religiously diverse but maintained Hinduism as their main religious thread. The current caste system finds its origins and continued practice in Hinduism. There are four main castes -- priests, warriors, businessmen, and servants; all of which were created from a different part of the Supreme Divinities’ body (Ghose 84). The dalits are missing from these categories, due to the belief that they were created separately from the divinities’ body; hence, they are less than human.

Life for a dalit is one of hard labor and meager commodities. The average dalit works a menial job as a field worker, street sweeper, or gravedigger. Essentially, untouchables do menial and dirty jobs. One of the most striking occupations is that of a “ragpicker”. They acquire their source of income from gathering sellables and recyclables from the gutters and streets of India. Little children wander the streets in search of a bottle, rag or paper -- anything to make some money. Those who live or visit the city of Delhi become used to the sight of these ragpickers. Employment for a dalit is best summarized by Samuel Jayakumar’s words in relation to dalit poverty, “Poverty involves lack of empowerment, lack of knowledge, [and] lack of opportunity” (Jayakumar 74).

Rest

The turmoil and winds of emotions swirled fiercely; they brought a tiredness that no sleep could cure. One glance at the starry sky, and the sound of the constant and clean wash of waves on the shore brought hope. The sand was cool, yet warm enough to roll up and sleep in. Moonlight made sparkles and diamonds dance on the tips of the waves, the touch of glory reflected only for an instant then vanished. The waves whispered “be still, listen,” the breezes sang of rest and relief. The glory and majesty of the moon sang of a presence, an ever faithful and true presence. Time stood still, the giver of peace and rest was waiting, calling and pursuing the tired and broken one. In the moment of surrender the inner storm was calmed, rest and peace were all it left. In this peace, that is beyond words or understanding - the Storm-calmer had spoken.