It's just Tuesday:

This life has no true rule book. No actual manual that explains the process of paying off student debt and grocery shopping efficiently. There isn't a 'how-to' blog on dating the next guy or confronting best friends. There isn't a self-help book which perfectly describes how to receive criticism, or hear the opinions you know are true but don't want to accept. All that this life is, is one hesitant step after the next and the occasional over-confident leap, and for my performance-driven, perfectionist of a soul, this reality doesn't bode well.

I find myself, life experience after life experience, learning the hard way, judging my successes and choices against the grain of my well established sisters, happily married friends, and degree-toting peers and comparison is stealing my joy. It is robbing me of my confidence and convincing me of my rebellion. If I cannot make the right choice, why not make all the wrong ones?

This is not a confession of a series of bad choices. In fact, by most people's standards I probably live a pretty good life. I'm a relatively straight-laced, mature, moral person living a pretty good life. While this is mostly true, I know of the warring inside. The constant battle to live by the expectations of my community and the demands of a Christian label. But that's just it. Christian is not my label. It is my identity. One that I was created for and one that I chose.

The last couple weeks we've had baptisms at church. I've sat and watched as people put their public stake in the ground, proclaiming Christ as their Savior. I clap and holler as they come up, out of that water with fresh hearts and a confidence that shines like Jesus' face. It got me thinking about decisions, words, and actions. My decisions. My words. My actions. Yes, I have an external expectation. A standard set by my upbringing, but more importantly it's an internal standard that longs to please God. To be near to Him by following His commandments and knowing His desires for my heart. Yes, I was raised in the church. For as long as I can remember, it was Awana on Wednesdays, church on Sunday, and youth group on Sunday nights, but somewhere along the way Jesus pricked me and out of that moment he breathed his very ruah, his holy breath, into my lungs and my life changed. I decided to look into his eyes and step out of my boat and, like Peter, walk toward him.

I was baptized, in middle school, in front of church just like these people last Sunday. But, here I am again publicly proclaiming myself as Christian. In a world where "Christian" is marked with a stigma of judgement, selfishness, and criticism, I am telling you that I am a Christian. Not because I am condemning a life you live, if differently, but because I want this world to know that despite the warring, every decision, every word, and every action is motivated by Jesus. To be like Jesus. To be kind and helpful. To be confident and genuine. To be caring and wise. To be just and generous and to leave every person with the knowledge and feeling that they are valued beyond measure and cared for beyond imagination; not because I have loved them but because Jesus gave me to them and somehow overflowed his irrevocable love into them.

I am Christian because I want to be and that is something I will not apologize for.

With all that said. I am not, despite my best efforts, perfect. I swear. I give-up, I am honest to a fault, I disrespect my parents, and often seek personal gain. I fail sometimes, most times because just like everyone else I'm a flawed human being. And just like every one else, I need saving. Redeeming, I need purifying. Pruning. Even still, there isn't a manual on how to become better. But, lately I've been so deeply convicted of my own neglect of the love letter left to us (it's the bible, folks). Sermon after sermon in the last months has reminded me that to be like Jesus I need to know him. To be better I need to seek him. And to give peace to this internal battle, I need to pray. It's time I open all I am to the possibility that God's promise is true and in reading, seeking, and praying He will reveal himself to me and bless me. Not because if we "do good" God will give us stuff, but because to know Him is to follow Him and to follow Him is to receive his blessing.

One of my favorite authors said,

"there is this lie floating around that says I am supposed to be able to do life alone, without any help, without stopping to worship something bigger than myself. But I actually believe that there is something bigger than me, and I need for there to be something bigger than me. I need someone to put awe inside me; I need to come second to someone who has everything figured out" (Blue Like Jazz, by Don Miller) 

It's an encouragement to me because, despite my best efforts, I am not perfect. It's an encouragement because we are frail, broken, flawed people and Jesus is the most perfect peace about that. He says all that is okay because I love you still. I love you yet. I love you regardless. I love you forever. So, maybe, on this Tuesday open up your eyes and your hands and your hearts and seek Him. Ask Him. Find Him and be restored. Like I am being restored right now in my empty classroom. 

Could it be?

I have waited.

I have cried out.

I have prayed.

I have walked in wilderness for months and now a quiet whisper of goodness seems to name each new day. Could it be over? Could I have walked through fire to actually reach the other side? Could it be that freedom and healing, for which I have prayed, are actually mine to claim?

I spent the last week of 2015 reading through my journals from the year. The last year was marked by a Grand African Adventure which broke down my concept of God. It included the giddy start to my first love and the painful process by which it ended. I endured failure and waiting in my academic life, followed by challenge and joy as I finished my undergraduate degree. I learned that heartbreak is real, it is tangible, its all encompassing. I experienced deep and lasting need. I pressed into emotions: anger, frustration, mourning. I cried, screamed, laughed, and talked incessantly with anyone who would listen. My year was marked by the very real ups and downs of life and change. It spoke of hurt and gladness. Understanding and lacking. But, mostly it proclaims profound faithfulness on the part of a Good, Good God.

There was a day in October where God said he would call me deeper still. In the midst of all that fall was, he asked me into wilderness and waited for me to say yes. I stumbled in, not by choice, and cast my eyes upward, desperate for a way out. But, he said, deeper still. So, I took my quivering hands and one by one pulled open my fingers. I sat there with my shaky palms facing our slanted ceiling and begged him, 'Papa, if I give it all to you, will you fill them again,' only to learn that my hands were empty to begin with. I had given up a relationship, I had not sacrificed my life for his kingdom. I had made a choice to walk away from the "not best thing", I had not moved to a foreign place to preach the gospel, or forsake all comforts. My hands were empty and still he came. Each day after that one I walked with God. Mornings were quiet and lonely. Just me, the whistling tea kettle and my Jesus Calling. As I walked out the door to go be teacher, I read words that would remind me of God's promise. I would trust them and glean strength from them. As my anxious heart would beat faster when I neared my exit, I would whisper peace and accept it. It was small and shaky, but it was faith.

Then it came. November 20, my last day teaching. I pulled into the parking lot and burst into tears because I had done it. God had done it . With all the deeper still and wilderness and empty hands he had brought me to the end with perfect sustenance. November 20 became December 11. I said goodbye to my students, finished my portfolio, accepted a future job, bought all my Christmas presents and waited. Soon my quiet mornings disappeared in favor of sleeping in. My slow cups of tea became travel mugs of coffee and that deep-rooted faithfulness drifted into random acknowledgements. Days were becoming less of a struggle. Life was more normal. My heart ached less frequently and my mind didn't wander as often. Slowly the idea of self-sufficiency replaced my deep need and I walked through my Mondays and Tuesdays without so much as a 'Good morning, Jesus'. Eventually though, I learned that he had a not-so-new girlfriend and that semblance of a solid foundation shattered because I wasn't good enough. I wasn't wanted. I wasn't needed. I wasn't moved on enough. And I was mad because my heart beat anxiously again, and the memories tugged at my contentment. And the wanting sank too deeply. My heart broke. Just as quickly as I believed I was good. I was needy again. It happened that way, so I opened my journals and learned from my old self that I had been in this place before and God was calling me deeper still.

Now it's January 20 and I realized I have not forgiven him. After all this time and all this process and all the letting go, my "empty" hands are actually gripping so tightly to a sense of justice. A feeling deep in my gut that tells me he owes me something. When really he owes me nothing at all. Or maybe all he owes me is to become what God intended and to live that precious life fully. After all this time I still have nothing to give. After all I have done and worked for, I am still needy because after all, God is the one on the throne.

Recently, I find myself staring at two versions of myself, hesitantly asking God if it is over. If I can pack up my tent and claim healed instead of healing. And, I think, he says, deeper still, because there is faith to be learned in the mundane. There is faith to be learned when things are good. There is faith to be learned out of joy and gratitude and I do not yet know it. Again, I have to walk something out. It's I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, and I forgive me, too. It's claiming my name as God's before anything else and it's practicing mundane faithfulness.

January 1 came and went. I wrote a "Shannafesto" for the first time in history because I sit in expectation for what this year will be and what these pages will teach me. But there is this idea that everything is a process. This whole idea of forgiveness has less and less to do with the  boy and more to do with grace upon grace. It's about trusting that God has got it and that is good. The most perfect good.

After reading through all my journals I realized that I write about faith the most. The concept of faithfulness is something I strive for, but this process allowed me to understand that in all my striving and trying to achieve this perfect faithfulness, I have become faithful. I know from where my strength comes because I experienced a season in which I could not do a day without leaning into the Spirit. I know from where my joy comes because my heart hurt and there were people that made my stomach hurt from laughter instead. This is what it is to know him and that is all these empty hands long for.

"Behold, this we have searched out; it is true. Hear, and know it for your good" 

Job 5:27 

The Days Are As They Are

So many of these days are marked by crying. Not the I'm frustrated traffic was bad cry or the my students weren't cooperative today cry but, the real crying. The deep-deep-down- something -is -painful crying. The feeling that rests into your marrow.

I can go all day distracted and the moment I step inside the empty walls of my little west side apartment it sinks in, creeps up, and I find myself on my knees or curled up. Stuck on the stairs because I didn't make it through the door. These days I find myself staring, endlessly at the walls, thinking of nothing but that one thing. The one thing that keeps you up throughout the night and, once sleep finally comes, wakes you up again in the morning. Each thought followed by a whispered 'Jesus.' a desperate need for the one that will answer. The one that will draw near. The one that will end the way my body shakes and wash, like that breeze on saturday, over the anxious churning stomach and say to me beloved, what is your need. love of mine, i am your rock. 

It's true that there is no manual in this life of how to get over him, of how to walk diligently through that process of grief. There is no list that allows us to know our end goal and to skip steps to be good again. It's also true that God never promised that his blessing would always be the good kind. He says he promises provision and faithfulness but in the way that means, Shan, you have to walk through a valley now. The thing is, it's a valley he made and one that is just deep enough for me to reach for that hand and know His name. It's just wide enough that each step is exhausting and in need of a reliant strength. It's just long enough that when I make it to "the other side" I'll have a massive hill to climb, but my legs will be stronger, my heart will be purer, and my mind will be set on the one thing that is better for me.

It was a week ago, three days before I turned 22, I was sitting on my bed, in my new room, in my new apartment, feeling some kind of desperate I had convinced myself was also new. I opened up this blog and started reading. Reading words that told me I had been here before. I have felt desperate. I have felt needy. I have felt ill equipped and lost and confused and forsaken. I may have never felt the sort of sadness I do at this moment, but a year ago I mourned the loss of something so deeply, so viscerally, I was convinced that God didn't know me. I was sitting on my bed telling myself that this was the first time I ever truly lost a thing that mattered when I read my own words telling the world that we are not without need and that God designed us to need him. It's true. You and me. Woven together with a gaping, unmistakable need for the direction and nearness of our Creator.

I may have spent some of these tears seeking out the affirmation and encouragement of that person that left. I may have had a few nights whispering to the dark ' I miss you'  before falling asleep. But, it's been in the hundred other moments, the scary ones where you can't catch your breath, or you find yourself staring at a wall in the classroom, or the mundane 'I'm done thinking about this' moments, where I find him. Sitting in our furniture-less "Room of Requirement" forcing my hands open so that my palms face heaven and saying to him, I have nothing. Oh God, I have nothing. I have nothing to give you, but take this burden. Take my empty hands and fill me up. Be my song, my joy. I have nothing, Oh Jesus, I have nothing to give you but, say the word and raise these bones. I have nothing, yet I have you. Be my strength, my all in all. That is faithfulness, dear ones, your desperation, your need, your joy, your thankfulness, your praise, your broken heart, your goodness. It is faithfulness. Go to Him. Go to the thing that is better for you.

"In returning and in rest you shall be saved. In quietness and in trust shall be your strength."

Isaiah 30:15

You are not. We are not.

You are not without need, He says to me as I walk barefoot through the sand dunes. I'd done 14 miles without my shoes so far, why was I having so much trouble? You are not without need, He says as each blade of dune grass is sharper and sharper on my feet. You are not without need, He says as I stubbornly stop, refusing to take off my pack, but putting on my newly purchased hiking shoes.

I had done 14 miles in the dunes and in the woods, maintaining the rear counselor position so that the 15 6th graders doing the hike could have an encourager always at their rear. But, this wind was difficult and the shore line was non-existent. My feet needed a break from the frigid lake temperatures so I cut into the dune line the kids were following. For some reason the dune grass was bothering me. I had taken time at the last base camp removing splinters from my feet and had to walk carefully to avoid getting any more. Walking carefully was making me fall behind. Although I wasn't the last, there were a few kids behind me with our final counselor, I was definitely hiking slower than I wanted. It wasn't really a time that I was seeking the Lord. My mind was blank, really, just focusing on the hike and the wind and getting where we were going. I was holding my sandals and just pushing. I was going to not care about the dune grass. You are not without need. You are not without need. So, I put them on and finished the hike.

It wasn't until a week later when this sentiment, this one truth became important and now, a few weeks later, when it is a constant, rhythmic mantra coursing through my mind.

You are not without need. The helper. The hand to hold. The deep rooted surety that we are sons and daughters of the King. You are not without need. The comforter. The adventurer. The fulfilling peace of the Holy Spirit. You are not without need. The encourager. The reminder that we are all broken and all put back together. You are not without need. The challenger. The voice that tells you change is good because God is good. The whisper that puts you on the track to be all that God intended when he created you.

You are not without need. And you are not without promise. Take this moment to acknowledge your thirst and find Him; to understand your need for living water and find Him. Because this is His promise, "I will make you lie down in safety. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know [me]."

God does not say that He might do what is good. He never once says that he might get around to showing us the clear and perfect path. He never says that he'll let us wander and drown for a bit until he feels ready to force us in the right way. He says that he will. He will  be your safety, your righteousness, your faithfulness, your justice, your love. He will.

Will you be deeply needy and allow Him to be all that He promises he is? Will you submit in humility that God's will is so much better, so much sweeter, so much grander than the small ideas we could ever imagine for ourselves? If you have that want, find the need and let Him fill you up.

A Practice of Faith:

You thought you wanted them, the questions about your time in Uganda, but as they fly at you the panic makes your heart beat a little faster, you aren't sure. No matter how many times you've heard the most annoyingly general inquiry, "How was Africa?" you still don't have an answer. Debrief taught you to have a planned response, but each time you forget what you meant to say and have to decide again how you will, in one or two sentences, describe the experiences that left you sobbing uncontrollably on the dorm step, or the incredible laughter you had with a roommate that was so joyful it made your heart explode, or to explain how the challenges of what you thought would be your career destroyed your confidence and rattled your belief in God. So, you take a breath, look wide-eyed at the half-curious person and say, 'It was great!' or maybe if you really like them you spice up the adjective by saying, 'It was really great' and wait for their reactions. Do they inhale as if to ask you another question or do they nod, drop your gaze, and move on to the thing they actually wanted to discuss. You hope for the former. You hope you'll be able to tell them that it was the most challenging experience you've ever had but also the most life giving thing. You hope they will want to hear you talk about the days spent in the classrooms, or the dinner you made for all the roommates or the trips to the market with other girls from the program. You hope they want to know that God stripped you of everything you relied on so that when you came home you were left with nothing but a need for him. But, they don't. So you move on with them. You write it all down though because you want to remember. Quickly, heart-breakingly fast this grand adventure, this life-changing experience stops being the thing you are doing and becomes the thing you did. Every new day is just 24 hours separating you from the sun, the red dirt, and the brown skin. How do you handle the end of it?

I sat and journaled and cried because my people didn't ask and I found it hard to honor my time there without telling stories. I felt guilty each time I started with a 'when I was in Uganda...', but I remembered the whole Ugandan journey was about digging in. I realized that digging in is really a practice in faithfulness. We have a faithful God who was here in the pages of my journal among the pressed leaves and dried flowers, even in the smell my pages had adopted from four months in a foreign world. I began to understand that God is faithful so that we are faithful. I came home to no job, no school, no functioning car, and a heart that hadn't been ready to leave yet. I was unsure of God, unsure of my belief that He was tangible, existent. I instantly went from routine, homework, responsibility, and intense independence to nothing but reliance on my parents for transportation and endless hours of free time. God was carving out space for Him. He was telling me, 'That nothingness you feel? It's room for me" He was telling me, 'You can't find me if you don't seek me.' He said, 'You can't know me if you don't open your heart and your hands to my plans'. He said, 'You can't follow me unless you take a step' and I said, okay. 

At first, it was easier to live in that wildness, to thrive in the high of the nothingness and to avoid His gaze. He kept carving, stripping, and calling me to Him because he is Elohim. I can't tell you what has happened because words aren't enough, because it is deep and still unknown but He calls us to be obedient and I've often believed it's that JUMP of faith, the here is ALL OF ME, but really we don't know what that looks like. I'm only 21, I don't know what ALL OF ME is. I don't understand how things will go or end. So you take a step, you write down how you drank too much and kissed a boy and then you did it again. You write it down and realize that isn't the wildness you crave. You realize your life needs to reflect the faithfulness of your creator and to honor the work He put into designing your heart and its desires, and to whittling away the things that hinder His goodness. As five weeks without a car goes by and you've now spent most mornings finding peace in His presence you feel changed because God is good. And then one morning you are talking to the newest good thing in your life and decide to put away your phone because you want to be with Jesus. You walk into that space He made and God says, "Receive it. My Grace. My Love. My Truth as I pour them over you like water. Here is my Presence. My Peace. My Goodness as I see you taking my hand. Here, Receive my Calm. My affirmation that your fear has no place because I have won the battle and lead you to where I want you."

I guess I just want to share that 6 months ago I was giddy to leave for the trip of a lifetime. 4 months ago I experienced the refinement of God. I was stretched, broken, and built up. (Almost) 2 months ago I came home feeling empty, rebellious, and apathetic. Today, though, I am singing his praises. God is Faithful so that we can be faithful. He is all about holding hands, walking slowly. About putting down roots in a dwelling place and experiencing harvest. He asks us for trust, for the reaching out to touch his robe, the willingness to cross the lake into an unknown place, and the ability to follow and do as he did.

he is the faithful father so take a step. 

"Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid; for the Lord God is my strength, my song, and has become my salvation" 

Waking Up in Amsterdam:

I woke up in Amsterdam and took a walk to find coffee and chocolate croissants. It was a brisk walk not because I was walking quickly but because the cold could be seen on my breath and my cheeks turned pink. My nose hasn't been cold in months. As I walked, I found myself thinking over and over I woke up in Amsterdam. This trip, just a short excursion before returning home, was expected to be an adventure. It's our first time in Europe and we had sights to see and places to explore and things to drink. Instead, Andrea got sick and spent yesterday sleeping on the couch of the hostel and then 8 hours in a hospital bed. 

After months in Uganda learning about expectations and letting go of plans I found myself frustrated, anxious, and antsy. I wanted this trip to be a BIG thing. My first time in Europe. Acting on my adulthood, being able to make all my decisions and navigate public transits and canal roads without help. I was defeated yesterday, yet, today I woke up in Amsterdam. 

There's a common phrase used to comfort people about God's new mercies every morning. A lot of times this verse is used as a blanket statement to console someone instead of truly confronting their need. Today I'm finding it exceptionally true. The conviction that I could continue in my 51 hours frustrated that it hasn't gone as planned and letting the change in plans ruin the entire experience or I can get back on my knees and thank God that she doesn't have Malaria, and for the many people praying for us at home, and that our luggage isn't lost, and that we are still waking up in Amsterdam. 

We finished our semester at Uganda Christian University on the 13th of December and spent 5 days in debrief with each other reflecting on our time and preparing for re-entry. To sum up my experience: Mukono, Uganda had a lot to teach me about letting go of expectation. To hope for God's plan to work out instead of hoping for what I wanted. I learned to embrace the tension of wanting my own plan and desiring to be in the will of God. And I did learn. I learned to dig in. I learned to push passed frustration, or sit in it for awhile and learn from it. I learned to be present with God and with others and surrender. I've found that while letting go is harder said than done, it has to happen. Simply put, we can't let go and still expect. We can't hope for the thing we are trying to let go of because it will be impossible and we'll end up defeated. heart broken. angry. We can't expect God to teach us and grow us and reveal himself to us if we are not willing to see what he has to share.

This morning I woke up in Amsterdam. I had coffee and a chocolate croissant. I smelled winter in the air and was glad for it. Here's to optimism, to new mercies every morning, to a God that blesses us and is faithful even when we're denying him, to finding freedom because we truly surrender, to the new day, and to waking up Amsterdam. 

A dryer time:

I am tired. I am tired of praying without answers. I'm tired of realizing my heart has dirty motives. I'm tired of being wrong. I'm tired of realizing I'm just trying to get something from God. I'm tired of burden and I am definitely tired of rice and beans.

I keep thinking about my history as a swimmer. There was a part of my 500 yard race, at about minute 5, where I would get this tired but have to keep going. It was then I would have to remind myself to kick harder, pull faster and catch my competition. In the last 100 yards I had to drive, deprive myself of oxygen and use my last bits of energy to finish hard into the wall. This tired is a lot like that tired. But, God, he hasn't given me a finish line. He never said pray for a few weeks and I will miraculously save your Grandma's cabin. He never said seek me in the mornings and find your bills paid for. He never said knock and the door to your new car will be opened to you. He just said that I would find him. He promised in finding him I would have satisfaction and joy and peace and hope. Not that he would give me those things through other means, but that He embodies those things.

There is a common theme in the Church of Uganda. Pray, seek, believe and God will bless you. Songs are often sung with lines like, "wonderful things will happen to you if you have faith in God". But my weary heart knows God doesn't promise "wonderful things", he promises nearness, refreshment, faithfulness and understanding. He promises to be our satisfaction.

I recently sent a frustrated message to my greatest friend that expressed my anger towards God. I had been praying for weeks that God would change my Grandma's heart about selling her cabin and had not felt anything from him. I told her, "God is nowhere to be found in any of it" and she graciously corrected me, "He is. If only it was for you to seek him." When I responded with, "It's not enough," she merely asked, "Is it not?" Is it not enough that God would put this in my life and drive me to wake up early every morning and seek him? Oh, my heart. Out of pride I didn't respond. She was wrong. God had left me. But, really, I was wrong and it was enough. He brought me to him to show me sin and to root it out. Is it not enough that I would seek him? It's enough. He is enough. My prayer is that I, that we, would stop trying to get things from God. That we would pray not with the hope of an answered prayer, but with the knowledge that God will show up and the belief that it is enough.
It's his love that showed me my pride, and his grace that brought me to him. This is enough. The sun is shining and that is enough.

I've got 34 days left in Uganda and I want it to be enough; for me to have learned what God intended, for me to walk away from here knowing more about myself and him. I believe this will be true. But, I've still got 34 days. Each day, let's wake up and say, Good morning Jesus, let us acknowledge that what he has in store is more than enough. What he has designed is good and perfect. What he will do is welcome and that we are ready to walk with his hand in our own.

A Mzungu Walk:

If I told you I woke up a few days ago believing that God didn't exist you would be shocked. Maybe you wouldn't believe me. But, it's true. That is the place I am in.

Here I am, Shanna Christine Johnson, the girl who was going to fall in love with Africa. With Uganda. She was going to build schools and change the world. But, here I am in a place so uncertain. God is  ripping down walls of understanding. The things I knew to be true about myself are not so clear. The hopes and dreams I had five weeks ago are pretty much non-existent and as a result I am weak. My heart is so sensitive to emotion and discovery. I am resistant to the change, to the refinement that is happening. But, if we are true to God, faithful to his individual work then this process is what we crave. Right? What I have learned is that there are two words God is putting in front of me on a daily basis (for months, actually) . These are discipline and freedom.

If we are disciplined how can we be free? And if we are free how can we be disciplined? On one hand discipline requires a list of shoulds and should nots. It demands boundaries on our lives to create a faithfulness to Christ and His desire for our lives. And on the other, freedom requires that we are open, we throw out the shoulds and should nots in favor of acknowledging salvation as a gift of grace that cannot and will not be earned. Freedom expects that we release our cares and trust in God's infinite power and wisdom, not as a cop-out or an I don't know to the hundreds of questions we have about eternity and sin and grace and faith but as a surrender to our human finite minds and the Creator's supernatural, beautiful, all-knowing one.

And that folks is where all the doubt and all the fear is beginning to be cast aside. Discipline and freedom link arms at surrender. Where there is discipline there is a humility to the desires of God and a laying down of the things that muddle and distract our understanding of Him, of the true things of Christ. Where there is freedom there is a surrender of striving. Here we give up our hard work, the notion that we are earning our ticket to heaven by not sleeping with our boyfriends and praying in the morning. Here is the laying down of the "I'm better than you because I've spent my whole life doing it right" idea or the feeling that we deserve it.

Surrender brings forth life because as we sit in the presence of God, out of discipline, we realize His conviction and his blessing and it brings freedom. We rid ourselves of the burden of attempting to earn the one thing that can never be earned.

I am sitting on top of a mountain overlooking a city that is eating away my sense of self. I see a place I don't fully understand, thinking that if I came to this place to learn this one truth I am blessed beyond comprehension. With this nugget I will welcome the hot, raging fire that promises to turn me into gold.

"Jesus said to them, do you not say, 'There are yet four months, then comes the harvest'? Look, I tell you, lift up your eyes, and see that the fields are white for harvest." 

John 4: 35

Uganda Be Kidding Me:

It's a life I've started living. One so completely different from the hundreds of days passed. But, one that is teaching me so much about the hundreds of days to come. To tell you that I love it here would be a lie. But, I would also be lying if I told you I hated it.

The cold showers are a shock in the morning, so I take them at night. I started working out before hand so that I would be hot enough to be able to grit my teeth and bear the daily ice bucket challenge.

I'm sure in a few days I'll have raw knuckles, and eventually calloused fingers from hand washing clothes.

I'm already surprised at the amount that I crave rice and beans come meal time. It's quite incredible the way your perspective changes when there isn't a snack aisle to walk down or a hundred and two bread choices. Just rice and beans and the occasional watermelon. The choices melt away and you resign yourself to enjoying the steaming hot food in front of you.

I've been in East Africa a little over two weeks. The first night I walked into my room after 24 hours of traveling and almost fell to my knees in a panic. I was terrified at the prospect of living in an old fashioned room with a wool blanket and barred windows, squatting over toilets and eating only starch forever. So I called out to my empty room God, be near to me. Please God and I fell asleep crying. Then things got better. There are 18 girls here and we are slowly developing a routine. I spend so much more time journaling and I am taking life by the day.

In 17 days, I have experienced powerful things. A 10 day trip to Rwanda broke open my heart and then healed it right back up again. The power of God is real even oceans away. I saw that humans have the ability to do the hardest things like forgiving and befriending men that killed their families. I've experienced meaningful, human connections with so many people like Jean-Paul teaching me a Rwandan dance without being able to exchange a language. Or participating in a nationally mandated work day which promotes peace and community.

While there hasn't been deep profound revelations  about who I am or what my future will entail, I am expecting to learn and to be influenced by the red dirt and intense rain storms. To be changed by the home-stay coming up next week and the little babies trying to fit into their mother's shoes. I expect to walk through a refining fire which will show me that after 20 years of learning things I still have so much more to discover. I am expecting that the next 4 months will decide passions and joys in my life.

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit"

God says he will do it. He will refine us. He will heal us. He will restore us. He will reveal his promises to us. I know this because he is doing it. I feel him doing it all the way here in Uganda. He is near and far and all around in every moment. It's like waking up to rain that sounds like wind in the trees. It's like being filled with breath. A peace that comes with trusting where he has you for the time. So go on tomorrow believing that he has you in a moment, in a place, on a path to bring His kingdom forward. Over oceans or just down the road His power is tangible.

Days:

Sometimes you just have to know what to come home to.

Today it was turning off the overhead lights, lighting candles, turning on the Christmas lights and blaring Will Regan radio on Pandora.

Today was the cry-in-the-bathroom-at-work-and-then-again-in-your-dad's-arms day.

Today I was so aware of my selfish and graceless heart. It was not giving the man on the street my lunch (even fully contemplating it twice), or rolling up my window at a red light to avoid the man holding a sign, or ignoring my co-worker because I didn't have the patience for her socially awkwardness, or snapping at someone important to me because she wasn't loving me well enough.

Today was: I worked for my lunch, I don't have spare cash because I need it, I'm better at this job than you, I'm a better friend than you.

Today was consumed with me, me, me.

But, really. Today was God knowing better than that. Selfish and graceless is the exact opposite of the picture He shows me on a regular basis. You might wonder what the first song that played off of the Pandora station? 'Set a fire' (so, today was really crying in the bathroom, crying with my dad, and now crying with my Papa). Set a fire in my soul that I can't control. A fire that burns and gives and loves and needs and hopes. A fire which finds fuel in the Holy. In the righteous. In the selfless and gracious.

Christ doesn't ask us to be these things. He requires that we are because he was (is) and we claim to bear his image.

So, be graceful and selfless to your end and then ask him for more because in him we're filled up, overflowing.

"Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?" Or how can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye' when there is the log in your own eye." Matthew 7: 3-5 

"For everyone who asks recieves," Matthew 7: 8 

"The sacrifices to God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite hear, O God, you will not despise" Psalm 51: 17

Blessed by the Blue House:

             My grandmother is moving out of her house soon. This means that the Big Blue House on Oakleigh will probably be sold into unfamiliar hands. For those of you who know my family you understand this is heartbreaking news. Especially, for my little pod that lives two houses down. My entire life involves that house and the woman inside. Every coming and going, every summer day, every major family celebration has the memory of that blue house. When I learned this news I was broken, devastated, kind of lost because I didn't really understand what that meant but, I knew it would be a really hard thing for me. I started the process of grieving.

            With the help of a class at Cornerstone, I've been learning to trust in my ability to process emotional things through creative writing. Meaning not just journaling or blog posts, but through writing stories. I wrote a piece involving my memory of my grandma's house and wanted to share it here.

           Feel free to leave comments on any ways it could use improvement, or if you know my grandma and have been similarly blessed by the blue house (whether that is the pool, coffee on the porch, or just the joy of my grandma) leave a note and I'll make sure it gets to her. Thank you!

The Blue House

As the summer transformed into fall and the hot days turned to crisp mornings filled with warm sun, it waited. As the leaves changed color and fell to the ground, the house stood beside the road. As the barren trees seemingly wept for life because snow covered their branches and the shutters became coated in a thin layer of ice, the blue house watched over the familiar golf course. Then when the sun got hotter, the snow began to melt, the trees burst forth with new life and the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air, the blue house opened. The porch doors were unlocked and the woman inside readied herself for the flood of visitors.

I watched as all of this happened. I watched as the seasons changed. I watched as my grandmother opened her home again and again to the neighborhood, to friends and to family, to strangers. Over and over she served these people with the big blue house. I was one of the blessed.

My mother grew up in the robin’s egg home many years ago. When it came time to start her own family she settled into the two-story white colonial just down the road. Only one house separated my sisters and me from the always open arms of our Grandma K. but, soon this will be different, the house will change hands. Her field that was simply an addition to our own backyard will not be available for our games of hide and seek. The kitchen and den that were just an extension of our own kitchen will not allow for our search of a cup of sugar or a box of Club crackers. Soon, my Grandma will leave and the once magical, blue house will be empty—a shell of familial history.

                                                                   *

I can’t remember the first time I swam in the pool or napped in the cabana; my mother tells me it began in infancy. My childhood days were filled with the smell of chlorine, poolside snacks, and courageous dives off of the diving board. There was not a single summer day, growing up on Oakleigh, that didn’t involve waking up and looking out the second story window at my grandmother’s pool. There was not a moment in those schoolless days where my younger sister and I didn’t sit on our front step begging for permission to go swimming. Everyday our hair got crisper and our tans deeper because of our love for the blue house and the adventure it promised.

In the beginning, we were able to walk across the Collin’s backyard. We could don our bathing suits, grab a towel and skitter our bare feet through the dirt path that was lined with ivy. But, in my tenth year the neighbors re-landscaped forcing us to either sneak across their backyard or take the “long” way across all three front yards. This didn’t last long; as the neighbor boys got older we cared less about making our journey inconspicuously and more about getting to the pool as quickly as possible, with as many friends in tow as our parents would allow. As soon as permission was granted we would run over to the house and open the white gate to our heaven-on-earth.

First, we had the challenging task of uncovering the pool. Using all of our strength, we cranked the cover’s wheel, revealing the crystal water. As the cover wheeled back, we hopped from one foot to the next to keep the hot, red brick from searing the bottoms of our feet. Once we exposed the deep end of the pool, I would race my sisters or friends into the refreshing water. Once we were in, nothing could get us out of the water unless it was the promise of food. More often than not, our grandma would come out with her tray of fruit and crackers, to fill our bellies, and the green glass pitcher of lemon water to quench our thirst. Satisfied, we would dive in for another three hours spent in the swimming pool. Often our days ended with the ringing of the dinner bell from our house. If we were lucky, dessert came in the form of a night swim. My grandma would turn on the pool light, making the deep water glow, allowing us to splash in the company of fireflies. I cherished time spent at the house, the comfort of my grandmother’s smell. I would leave feeling the best kind of exhausted, smelling of chlorine and sunshine, freshly laundered sheets and flowers.

As I got older, the magic never dissipated. Granted, I spent less time in the water and more time lying beside the pool with various friends, but the feeling of peace that resonated so deeply in the blue house never left.  I was growing and changing, but the house remained constant. The woman inside never failed to make me feel remembered.

 Just as I grew and changed, so my grandmother got older. Recently an ALS[1] diagnosis has ravaged her body and left her shoulders useless. As I grow and become more of myself, she grows and loses some of herself. So she’s moving. She’s leaving behind all of her comforts and all her possessions. She’s forsaking all the memories of her husband and years spent child-rearing to move in with her daughters. The idea of this house being empty, the pool drained, and the woman inside gone is like the first time I swam without floatees. I knew I could kick my legs and stay afloat; I had done it before. But now the physical sense of safety that insured my head would stay above water had vanished. Though my dad was only a few feet away from me, I still had to make a choice. Without the floatees the pool seemed so much bigger, the world seemed that much scarier. I remember swimming into my dad’s arms, again and again until I wasn’t swimming into his arms, but to the other side of the pool and then I was racing and winning medals on my high school swim team. The pool no longer seemed scary but conquerable. I understood the way the water moved and resisted. I understood where I should take my last breath to make it through a flip turn and streamline. The pool wasn’t scary; it was familiar and normal. In the same way swimming without floatees makes the world scarier, the blue house without my grandmother, sitting on the porch drinking her morning coffee, makes the world bigger; it makes it unbeatable.

It isn’t the idea of her leaving the house to move in with family that is the most troubling, but the idea of her leaving this world altogether. Through every season, physical and emotional, that house has been a refuge for every sister, aunt and uncle, cousin, or friend who needed a place to warm their feet on a freshly stoked fire or to nap on the softest carpet known to man. When our comfort or familiarity is threatened our reaction is to cling even more tightly to that thing we love; to hang on because the world would be unbearable without it. However, the truth is the thing we love so deeply has shaped us, probably molded us to be a better version of ourselves. The thing we love so profoundly will exist eternally. For what we love is love itself and that will never be wiped from memory. Although, in a few weeks, that house will be emptied of all that gave it life and character, I can pass by believing that I am better for having known it, I am better for having a woman to look up to and to treasure. I am better for having experienced that selfless kind of love.

---

[1] Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis or Lou Gherig’s Disease is a progressive neurodegenerative disease that affects nerve cells in the brain and the spinal cord eliminating muscle function. 

When Anxiety Awaits:

Yesterday was horrible. All those bad things that make the burning in your stomach more pronounce, that make your heart beat a little faster out of worry, that cause you to chew your nails, happened.

This morning, I woke up and was perfectly on time for once. Proclaiming, "This day is going to be better than yesterday" over the dark morning. Following this sentiment I locked my keys and spare key into my running car. My brother-in-law came to my rescue. I was 2 hours late for work.

Those that know me, probably know I like control. So, this was not good. I promptly tried all the doors (a couple of times) to no avail. I knew that I had two choices: to be anxious about how not in control I was, or pray and seek His peace. I chose the second. So, while the anxiety was building in my heart and I could feel the turning start in  my stomach, I opened my notebook and wrote all the things I knew to be true about God. He is the provider of peace, he is the lover of my soul, he is righteous and sovereign in his will, he is endlessly faithful. As the calm started to penetrate my mind, I opened to Philippians.

 Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.

Choose truth. Choose peace and revel in his provision. Do this because it is so completely better than your other choice. 

Bodies Beloved

 I've had so many heart talks lately. These are the sort that ache, the ones that make you cry until you can't catch your breath because you realize the futility of the life you try to lead without the nearness of God. I have been suffocated by doubt and until just recently was without hope for what my life would be.

Today I have sat and read through old journal entries, prayers, sermon notes and been reminded of my struggle, of healing and of joy. Some specific things I wanted to share with a beautiful soul so close to mine, but I thought instead of just sending them to her I would write them here.

This last semester was marked by need. Oh how much did I need a Savior, oh how much did I need the direction and peace from the Creator, oh how much did I need the extravagant love and grace of the Father.

I am reminded, "Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and cry to her that her warfare is ended, that her iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the Lord's hand double for all her sins" [Isaiah 40:1-2]

In all of these months that I didn't open the Word, I am reminded that the war is won, that I am pardoned, that Christ has come and in that should be joy. In all of my distance God is as near as ever. He is the Faithful One. In all of these months that I didn't pray and I grew so tired, I am reminded, "The Lord is the Everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. he does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint"

In all of these months that my only heavenward cry was a desperate one, I am reminded, "if you abide in me and my words in you". God asks one thing of us, that we meditate and delight in his Word.

All the time I was shown that my desperation to know God was only going to be satisfied if I took the time to know Him. Everywhere I was seeking just showed me, even more completely, that there is one thing to do and that is to know God. So, I opened the book. I rejoiced in the moment with him. I felt peace. I was overwhelmed at the prospect of being truly free from the weight of going at life alone.

So today he breathed to me, "you are altogether beautiful, my love, there is no flaw in you" [Song of Solomon 4:7] and He asked me, "Arise, my love, my beautiful one and come away, for behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. The fig tree ripens its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my beautiful one and come away.

"Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you", because we are shockingly, breathtakingly beautiful. We are the sunrise and sunset, we are the prize. We are this because of Christ. We are these things because of the grace that we drown in daily. We are these things because we are children of light. I think we need to stare boldly at the shell of who we are and realize we are not just bodies but bodies beloved. We will find passion if we know God, we will find joy if we seek what He has for our lives. We will be satisfied if we align our lives with the will of God. We will be free if we face our fears of letting go and dance into the arms of the ever near God. We will be alive again and every shade of orange or yellow, or green. We will be light: pure and undeniable.

Breathe deep, be quiet now and know that He is the one that loves you deeply, "for the Maker is your husband, the Lord of Hosts is his name; the Holy One of Israel is your redeemer, the God of the whole earth he is called. For the Lord God has called you like a wife deserted and grieved in spirit" He says to us, "for a brief moment I deserted you, but with great compassion I will gather you. In overflowing anger for a moment I hid my face from you, but with everlasting love I will have compassion on you."

Be reminded that there is no life apart from the Truth and there is no living separated from our God.

Weary:

I have this pair of jeans. I've had them for probably 5 or 6 years and in the last few months the fabric has worn completely through. Yet, I still wear them. Unashamed of the growing hole while simultaneously hoping no one notices. These jeans are faded, stretched out and now threadbare. I'm feeling a bit like these jeans. More than a bit actually, I'm feeling exactly like these jeans: worn, faded, threadbare.

The thing is that jeans can't gather new material to fix their hole or make themselves clean or suddenly look new and fresh. In the same way, I lack that ability. I continually pull my strength, my love, my excitement and happiness from myself. Searching deeper and further each time to find more ounces of generosity, unconditional love, support, but, it has become clear that I am dry. Oh so dry compared to the vast well that is knowing Christ. With a new season that will bring its own set of triumphs, sacrifices, heart aches and joys coming up, it is such a needed reminder that I can do no thing apart from Him.

Seeking forgiveness for my attempt at being so in control of my own life and desiring a desperate heart. This summer that was meant to bring rest and refreshment has been chaotic and distant. We were designed to be in community to love and to be loved, but first we have to know what it is like to be loved so deeply by the One who started it all. To allow His passion and redemption to truly heal insecurities, cast out pride and devour sin. A life that is lived freely is one that is lived within the arms of the Maker of the Universe. A life that is lived joyfully is one that is lived in continual communication with the Giver of Peace.

I needed to be reminded to give up and receive it. His grace, mercy, forgiveness and that will bring the blessing, joy, and an out pouring of unconditional, irrevocable love.

Pen to Paper:

Recently, I prayed over a space in my room. One with a small seat and paper cranes hanging overhead. I asked God to dedicate that space for me and Him. So that when I would go to that corner, a small space in my whirring world, I would look and listen just for Him and hopefully he would be there looking and listening for me. That was a short time ago. Since then I've attempted to meet Him in that corner every day. Unsuccessfully. But, I get excited to know I have that space that will be uninterrupted. I did this because I lack discipline. Sometimes in my words and in my actions, but mostly in my time with God. I say, so often, that I need to spend time with him daily but I haven't given him my time. In that conviction I said a quiet prayer asking him to bless that space. Thus far, he has. 

I've realized that when I sin, I run. Like Adam and Eve hiding in the garden I try to hide. Hopefully, now, instead of running and ignoring the nagging feeling in my gut, or the glaring conviction from the spirit I will run to my space. To that small corner and find peace and forgiveness. 

In the times I've met him there I've randomly opened the word. First to Isaiah 54 and 55:

He told me,
I am your peace.
You will forget the shame of your youth
You will be challenged and stretched
"For the Maker is your husband, the Lord of Hosts is his name; the Holy One of Israel is your redeemer, the God of the whole earth He is called"
"Come everyone who thirsts, come to the waters, and he who has no money, come, buy and eat!"
"Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live and I will make an everlasting covenant with you." 

Then I read from Jeremiah, where he made me familiar with his wrath:
"I broke your yoke and burst your bonds, but you said 'I will not serve'"
"Under every green tree you bowed down like a whore. Yet, I planted you a choice vine, wholly of pure seed"
"Though you wash yourself with lye and much soap the stain of your guilt is still before me." 

Then Christ came. I realized I cannot hide from God's anger, but I can and am saved by Christ's unending grace with which he fully satisfied the wrath of the Father. More than anything, lately, I need peace. Which I can find in that small corner of my blue bedroom. 

I am forever grateful. 

Not Enough:

I don't really know how to start this. These words, ninety-ten and not enough, keep playing in my head and usually when that happens I start to write. I know exactly what I'm thinking but to put it out here is hard. Too honest. Too vulnerable. Too pathetic.

90-10 and not enough. Basically, I feel like I am giving 90 percent of myself to people. And they give nothing back. I feel like I give, give, give until I have nothing left and that's where I'm at. 2 days before finals, crying, with nothing left. I'm at the point of breaking. Or I am broken because I really can't have someone take anymore. I just need someone to give me something. So much of who I am is defined by my friendships. I need them. I need these people I trust and love and love and trust. I've been listening to this song Agape by Bear's Den a lot. The lyrics:

Well Agape
Please don't dissipate
Yeah I know that I have got it so wrong
I'm reaching out
To touch you now
But baby I'm clutching at straws

For I'm so scared of losing you
And I don't know what I can do about it
About it
So tell me how long love before you go
And leave me here on my own
I know it
I don't want to know who I am without you
I don't want to know
I don't want to know
I don't want to know

For I'm so scared of losing you
And I don't know what I can do about it
About it
So tell me how long love before you go
And leave me here on my own
I know it, yeah I know it
Tell me how long love before you go
And leave me here on my own
I know it
I don't want to know who I am without you
I don't want to know who I am without you

Again music showing me something. Then another song he sings, "I'm gonna give all my love to you".  I don't know what the limits are. Honestly. I think if I just show and show and show them how much I love them they'll love me back that much. I just end up waiting. I don't know who I am without these people because they affirm that I'm worthy of love and attention and care and generosity and phone calls and hangout days and choosing to spend time with me over someone else. So, then I show and show and give some more. The reality is probably not as bad as that. Like if I stop trying then it will fall apart.

So, I'm crying on my bed and my mom is freaking out because she doesn't know how to help because I won't let her because I'm fine. She puts Jesus Calling on my nightstand open to April 27 and Jesus says to me, "Come to Me with empty hands and an open heart, ready to receive abundant blessings. I know the depth and breadth of your neediness. Your life-path has been difficult, draining you of strength. Come to Me for nurture. Let Me fill you up with My Presence; I in you, and you in Me. My power flows most freely into week ones aware of their need for Me. Faltering steps of dependence are not lack of faith; they are links to My Presence." (John 17:20-23, Isaiah 40:29-31) Naturally, I'm crying harder.

Now these words that I dwell on speak to Jesus.
Agape, please don't dissipate. 
He knows the depth and breadth of my neediness. My loneliness. My fear. My hurt. My love because He is the one who should be affirming my worthiness. After all, He is my God and I dedicate my life to knowing him.

What is a good dependence on friends? Apparently, God is wanting me to know that. Maybe I'm anticipating loss or grieving what I have lost or coming to terms with change. Regardless it's painful. Being refined is painful. But, God's fire is righteous and pure and loving.

Retrospect:

April 23, 2011

Lord God, 
You are my hope and my everlasting joy. Why am I not faithful to that? Why do I not rely on it? Why do I constantly stray from it? Why do I continuously believe that other things will give me greater pleasure? King Jesus, you give me power through the spirit. Overcome these things in my life 

April 29, 2012

Actions. Actions do not equal devotion. I am not devoted to you because I read my bible and pray. I am not devoted to you because I sing about you and lift you to the sky with my words. I am not devoted to you. God, I ask 'where are you?' but you are asking me, "Where are you!?" Where am I?  Why, what, how... How do I know your love when I am not seeking it? Why, what, how? All these questions. I don't just be. My heart isn't here. My heart isn't devoted. All these prayers are the same. I am so stagnant. 

Lean on Jesus so hard that when he moves you fall over. 

April 14, 2013

Give me faith to trust what you say. Give give me that faith. The kind that knows you never fail when I do. I'm learning that. I love it. I guess I just want to rejoice. You are so  so so good to me. I think I'm realizing about freedom. Like, because we are God's children and we have the spirit and discernment we have the freedom to make choices. They might not always be the right one. But, that is why God is there to shepherd us because it will be His will done. He is sovereign. He trusts us to ask. To be led by Him. So, freedom... It is a beautiful thing. 



Most days I wake up and look in the mirror. Each time I want to be shocked by my beauty, it seems that then I would believe in it. Most days I have conversations with friends. Each time I want to be shocked by my wisdom, it seems that then I would believe I have it. Most days I am generous with my time and energy. Each time I want to be blessed by reactions, it seems that then I would believe it was real. Mostly, I want my days to be different than they are. I have a hard time accepting what people say about me. Leader, bold, passionate, wise, beautiful, generous, caring... these words are supposed to make up who I am. As a daughter of Christ, that is.  I get stuck thinking I'm no different than I was 1, 2, or 3 years ago. But, here is evidence that things have changed. God has and is transforming me. His power is evident. Be encouraged that on the days you don't realize who you are other people do. God knows me. He knows my heart.

"I have prayed for you, Shanna, that your faith would not fail" The Lord knows your heart.

Heart and Mind:

When my heart and mind won't connect I write. I write because this creates a bridge between what I'm thinking and what I'm feeling. The process of formulating words helps me to walk between them and understand it all. Kind of like taking a hair dryer to a foggy mirror, things clear up and you can see. But, even now I write and there is this big WHY written in stone across the bridge. I can't get around it, over it or through it until I figure it out. That's what I think anyway. God says it differently.

John writes, "The old commandment is the word that you have heard. At the same time, it is a new commandment that I am writing to you, which is true in him and in you, because the darkness is passing away and the true light is already shining."

God says to me, Shanna, my dear, listen to what you have heard. Understand what you have heard. Believe in what you have heard and let it make you new. He says, Shanna, my beauty, the darkness is passing away, do you see me? The light that is shining? He says to me, Shanna, my adoration, do you trust me? He says to me, sweetie, walk with me through this 'why', into the light and rejoice. He says to me, Shanna, my daughter, you are loved, receive this. There is no fog, there is no uncertainty, I have designed you this way because I love you this way. He says, Shanna, you are mine, you are perfectly mine.

It is an incredible blessing to be able to walk away from lies and run straight into Truth, to be steadfast in my identity. I wasn't this way, haven't been this way for long. In fact, there are fissures I find everyday. But, there are people to fill those with words of affirmation, the word  of Truth and there is the Daddy in heaven pouring grace, peace, confidence, strength and love over me. I know these things because they are being tested. Daily, hourly. It's this process I don't understand. God seriously pouring over me, protecting me, my heart and my mind, guiding me and showing me good. Oh my is He showing me good. To laugh at dreams that mean something, and come to painful realizations and still grasp all the more tightly to His hand. Our God is good.

It is His word, that is old but becomes new everyday to show me what is good and right. I love Him. I love that God shows me what it means to need and to crave him. I love that after this I know.

"I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son God that you may know that you have eternal life. And this is the confidence that we have toward him, that if we ask anything according to his will he hears us. And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have the requests that we have asked of him" (1 John 5:13-15)

"Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good....rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer" (Romans 12: 9, 10, 12)

Crowded:

I'm sitting in the dining room on campus. It's crowded and loud, full of life and conversation. It's busy and overwhelming. Kind of like my life. I knew going into this semester I would be busier than I ever have, but I didn't realize nearly every conversation would begin or end with "I'm sorry, I'm just so busy." I thought after a restful break, and a pretty easy fall semester I would be geared up and ready for it. The chaos. The busyness, the feeling of drowning.

But, I've learned that God doesn't give me a dose of sustaining power to last me the 4 months til summer. He gives me a little and waits for me to ask for more. He's always waiting for us to ask for more. I didn't realize that I would only feel like I could breathe while in His presence or asking Him for more. I didn't realize how much I would need it. The calm. And I didn't realize I would be scared by the need.

He's placed a new person in my life. One that turned things around and upside down. It is strange to have another need, or another focus. Not a distraction but an addition to the pulse of people that runs through my mind each day. I'm aware of a new life, the new responsibility. I took a step out and forward to see where it would go and I realized that he'll take my hand and lead me. God will take my hand and lead me, too.

It runs deep, the need to trust, or to have a hand to hold. I've learned about that trust. "Blessed be the woman who trusts in the Lord. Whose trust is  the Lord." Am I that woman? Am I blessed? Absolutely. The question remains, though. Who do I trust more than myself? Why is it a need for God that scares me and not a life without Him? It's profound for me to feel afraid of taking that step. It is overwhelming for me to put into words the need that is in the core of me. But, I think I find fulfillment in the idea. I need Him more than I need air. I need Him more than warmth. I want to be in His presence more than I want to live.

God is revealing. He is true and kind. He is powerful and patient. He is my need and the deepest desire of my heart.

Mosaic

It's been awhile. But, I was in no place to write.

Lately, I've been stuck on the darkness of life. Instead of searching for beauty I let an unwilling spirit corrupt my perception of my world. I told a friend I was feeling "black". Instead of orange or yellow, it seemed as if joy didn't really have a place within my environment. But, that has changed.

God's grace is magnificent. I've realized I would have no perception of grace if I didn't know Him. Not just grace though. I wouldn't know forgiveness or justice, joy or anger. These things have no real place without knowing the Creator of all that is good. I've been stuck. Stuck. Stuck. Stuck. It was things like friendships, school, life choices, boys, worldly things that kept me away. Or kept me stuck.

It wasn't until a few days ago that I realized I would only become free from this struggle when I decided God was more important than me. Or that people were more important than me. I would only be free when I realized that even freedom I could not earn. I could only be given. Basically, I'm not good enough. I never will be. Finally, I'm okay with that.

I've never considered myself prideful. I didn't think that was what the "thorn" in my side was. But, it was pride that ruined unconditional love. It was pride that ruined beauty. It was pride that turned things black. You might think I wish I had come to this realization sooner, but I don't. It was because of the pain that I can know light. Christ didn't offer himself up without excruciating pain. It wasn't just that he died on the cross, or that he gave his life. It was first, that became nothing. He decided that the throne was less important than me. Can we just praise him for a minute? Or ten? Cause that is incredible. He decided that being the King of the Universe was less important than you. It is that example that I've begun to cherish.

In a simple text, I changed things. They went from bad to unavoidable. But, instead of trying to control the situation. I looked to Jesus. What was His example? I asked for help. He heard my plea.

I realized that His mercies, which are new every morning, put things back together. So all those shattered pieces? They become something stunning. They become a mosaic of all things good and bad. There will be no perfection until we are standing at the feet of the King. Until that moment, we are just beautiful mosaics.