Someday I’ll learn to blog briefly

1.50 am.

If I cry after midnight then I am ruined. There is something about tears, trickling slowly out the corners or pouring down my face, either way the release brings awareness, not sleep to my bones

While doing laundry in the silent house it hit me, “I get really grumpy when my foot hurts.” This revelation brought waves of questions, pains and fears related to the whole “foot issue” and instead of dealing with any of them i got on the internet. Joanna has posted some new music and I click on the top one….then replayed it for two hours.

I knew what I was getting into when I called you, and I’m not surprised by you. I knew what I was getting into when I said your name and I said it just the same. I know you better than you do. I knew what I was getting into when I chose you but I chose you still. I  knew what I was getting into, I know your frame, and I remember that you are but dust and I know where this is going…..I don’t regret it.

Really I didn’t cry until hour 2.5 but suddenly that hit me. That line right there, “I remember that you are but dust, but I know where this is going, I don’t regret it”. Because sometimes I regret it. There are times when the battle in my soul is raging and I accuse the Lord of So. Many. Things. When I remember OH how I remember the zeal of my youth and I wonder “just what AM I doing with my life anyway?”

But He knew.

The summer of 2004 found me in San Salvador, El Salvador serving a ministry called Castillo del Rey.There I was first introduced to the concept of 24/7 prayer in their Prayer Tower, where 24 hours a day they housed missionaries who had no part of their ministry, but to pray. Half of the day they sang the bible and worship music and used instruments, but during the night, they chanted the psalms Gregorian monk style: accapella harmonies. In that place I hungered, and I accused God. Sitting on the roof of the building, starring into a pitch black sky shot with shinning stars, the sound of prayer rising up from below I cried out to the Lord, “Why did You make it so hard to love You! Why isn’t there a place in AMERICA where people can go and just love You with all of their hearts?”.

A little over one single year later, and I found myself again in the middle of the night, bitterly weeping. Standing in the back of that brown prayer room, leaning up against a huge map of the world that is the back wall with my hands spread across the nations, knowing that the Lord was inviting me to stay in Kansas City, and do what? Love Him with all of my heart.

How fickle that heart can be.

That morning a few interns gathered to my car for our morning Shiloh-breaking-curfew-ritual and I could feel despair rising in my soul, wondering how I could ever live up to all that God expected when He looked at IHOP, wondering if He ever thought of the Prophetic History and actually saw ANY of us making it. We sat by the frozen lake, silent, as the wind HOWLED around us and suddenly, the sun burst over the horizon and everything was gold.

Grabbing my guitar from the car I walked far enough away to leave them in peace and strummed those 4 chords as hard as I could, mourning with understanding that I would never be what God wanted me to be, never do the things I dreamed for Him. Really I don’t know why, but as quickly as I’d started I stopped and reached down at my feet as though something there could save me. My fingers clasped a broken, frozen lump of clay.  And in that dried up riverbed, the wind roaring all around, my ears heard the words”He remembers…”

You remember that we are but dust, but You know where this is going. And we’re going to like it, and we’re going to REALLY love You when this is over.


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