Even there

Even There
@1-4-2025 Hannah McLean

If the wings of the morning bid me ride
If the waves pull me out to sea
If the night folds on me like covering
If the light seems as darkness to me

Even there

Even there,
You're the Lord who searched me
Who has known me before I met time
Even there,
You're the Lord who has found me
Who has hemmed in before and behind
Even there,
Your sure hand is on me
Your thoughts of me more than the sand
Even there,
You're the Lord who has formed me
Who causes my frail frame to stand

Father, even there You will lead me
May the hold of Your hand be my peace
For when rising and falling and darkness and flight end,
You will never cease

 

---

 

Psalm 139:7–10 "Where shall I go from Your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from Your presence? If I ascend to heaven, You are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, You are there! If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me."

The expanse of His bending

"He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap." Psalm 113:7

 

The Lord was ministering to me with Psalm 113:7 yesterday, and this morning as I sat down with Him, I looked into the rest of the Psalm and I am undone.

Psalm 113 speaks to the Lord being HIGH ABOVE ALL nations; China, Russia, the USA, Germany, Mexico, Brazil, Israel, Egypt, Monaco, Nigeria…every nation with every earthly leader and every ounce of earthly government, prestige and military might. It says that not only are these beneath Him, but they are FAR beneath Him. And while the glory of the earth and its nations may seem impressive (Olympians, natural wonders, scientific and technological advances, etc.), His glory—the sum of His being—dwarfs not only all the earth has to offer but also the heavens. And from this declaration of the immense wonder, worth and power of God, the Psalmist rightly declares His holiness, “Who is like the Lord our God…?” No one. He is set apart in every way; holy, holy, holy the right declaration as He is beheld.

Then the second half of the Psalm moves my heart is wondrous ways. Because then, this God who dwarfs the nations with His glory, presence, position and scope of vision reaches down through the distance of His exaltation and sets His hands into the dust to touch the ones with nothing to glory in; He puts those holy hands into the ashes of burned up lives and circumstance and picks up the ones who need; and with the humble of the world in His grasp, He covers them with honor. And then, He turns His eyes to the woman without, the lonely with the pain of unfulfilled longings, and He moves her to joy.

“Who is like the Lord our God…?” Our God who does not overlook the individual lives on whom death has left its mark. Our God who did not come to save nations—for nations are but a drop in a bucket to Him—but to save the people who fill those nations—marked with His image and the recipients of His affections. Who is like the Lord our God? Worthy of praise for all of time and yet concerned with the weak and lowly who have known only broken pieces and with the woman whose beating heart is cast down.

I don’t know if where you sit today is a place of authority at a table of honor or a pile of ashes from the life you’ve burned with your own sin. I don’t know if you hold in your hands everything you ever wanted or if your soul cries out from the bathroom floor in your longing for what you lack. But I do know this, the Lord our God is both mighty and meek. He is above the heights we could ever lift our eyes to and beneath the depths we could ever fall. He is worthy and yet willing, holy and yet love itself. Rest in His hands, it is there that joy will find you.

And do not miss the expanse of His bending, for the expanse is the door to understanding His praise.

to touch the Father

 the wrestle
©4-4-2024 hannah mclean

He is Jehovah-Rapha, the God who heals
we come to Him again and again
when the broken world breaks us
when the wounded world wounds us
when the fallen nature seeks to fell us  

“be who You say You are,” we plead

and sometimes in our seeking of healing,
the Lord reaches out and touches our body
or our soul
and we are well in a moment

but often times the healing is slow
we must squirm out from under our bondage
feel the pain of the washing of punctured flesh
our deliverance requiring time
the wait warranting a wrestle

and our hearts cry out, “Why?!”

this morning as i looked into the face of the raising sun
and pondered why the wrestle
the Spirit pressed on me
“it is in the wrestle that we get to touch the Father.”

healing in a moment feels the touch of God
but healing through a wrestle
finds the hands clinging to the Father’s arms
beating against the Father’s chest
winding around the Father’s feet

the wrestle is where we draw near:
near enough to feel
the breath of God upon our face;
near enough to feel with our fingers
the finished work of Jesus;
near enough to know not just the Father’s touch
but what it feels like to be with Him

with every reaching hand
and clinging grasp
we learn both the strength
and the gentleness
of the Almighty’s hands and heart

do not despise the wrestle
the wrestle is where we touch the Father

heralding the end of a reign

a broken reign
©11/13/2023 hannah mclean

a broken reign
my knees no more will bend
my King bent low
that death’s cruel rule would end
bound in His mercy I
find love a noble steed
now raised I ride with Him
as one who’s free indeed

a broken reign
sin’s barren throne no more
a royal carpet rolls
red paves the temple floor
bound in the Father’s love
peace spills across this stone
now wrapped in holy light
no more to walk alone

a broken reign
replaced by worthy King
righteous and just
His rule my joy to sing
bound in the hope of life
eternal courts I’ll stride
in heavenly unity
i even now abide

God of Jacob

 “The nations rage, the kingdoms totter;
He utters His voice, the earth melts.
The Lord of Hosts is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.”
Psalm 46:6–7

a prayer as the nations rage and the kingdoms totter:

©10-17-2023 hannah mclean

o God of Jacob
willing to wrestle
with the wayward, wounded and weary

rest You mighty hand
upon my heart
and mark me
with the limp of Your choosing
that i may never walk without You

for in You
is love and life and light

The worship that lingers

It was an extravagant act of worship.
She took the expensive ointment and anointed the feet of Jesus.
The feet of Creator God clothed with the flesh of created man.
With great audacity, she unwrapped her hair and wiped His holy feet.
And with great audacity, He let her.

And it says, “The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.” John 12:3b

It filled the senses of those who observed it.
It filled the home where it had been poured out.
It lingered on the clothes of those who were there and followed them to their own dwellings.
It stuck to Jesus’ skin, leaving imprints wherever His feet stepped.

Mary’s worship lingered.
It lingered upon her head as a fragrant crown of beauty
reserved for the ones who bring whole-hearted worship.
And when she lay her head down that night,
the fragrance would remind her that He had received her.

And yet
both Mary and Messiah knew,
that the ointment was for anointing
that when the fragrance wore off
there would be a burial
for the heel which held the fragrance
would be bruised for the one who wiped it with her hair.

What my ruin cannot rob me of

It was one of those day. They don’t happen often, maybe a handful of times in my life. I looked in the mirror and my involuntary reaction to what I saw was to weep. I bawled. The body of the person looking back at me was so broken, so fallen, so grotesque that the hope-extracting question that lingers in the back of my mind hit me like a whip and left a ringing in my ears: “Is my body so far gone that it is irreparable?” I wanted to respond with, “No. With God all things are possible;” but my memory knows the paths my body has walked and limped and staggered and dragged itself. So instead I let myself sink to the floor and give the tears the time they needed to fall.

When the wells of sorrow or disappointment or discouragement or whatever painful mix those salty waters held finally ran dry, I stood and dried my face as I heard myself whisper, “Grieve quickly the things you cannot change.”

Twenty years have taught me that it’s on the days like these that I know I need to cover my broken body with a garment of thankfulness. So as I opened the door that allowed me my moment of confrontation, I chose to be grateful that even in my state of perpetual ruin, I can still serve the Lord.

And with that truth a necessary crutch, I continue my limp as I wait for tomorrow, because tomorrow is a new day…and maybe that one will be the day of redemption.

———

John 12:1–3 “Six days before the Passover, Jesus therefore came to Bethany, where Lazarus was, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. So they gave a dinner for him there. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those reclining with him at table. Mary therefore took a pound of expensive ointment made from pure nard, and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.”

The lower shelf

I’m in the process of going through a “forgiveness journey,” venturing through the book Forgiving What You Can’t Forget by Lysa Terkheurst; it’s been an interesting trek as it has unveiled aspects of my life that have really caused me to limp in areas where I should stride.

The week I am in currently is looking into events or lessons that impacted my life in profound ways (for better or for worse). I find myself considering some things I picked up along the way and how they have affected my gate.

Over the last several years I have been gathering words to help me heal from the warped view I received of my femininity and worth; I was not certain I had dignity and struggled to maintain my humanity in the face of the objectification that stripped me of personhood. I grew up believing I was a second class human, destined for the cast offs of life, always just out of reach of what I truly wanted. And I adapted—human beings are incredible in their ability to adapt—I trained myself that though I was free to dream without limits, I was to stretch no higher than the lower shelf and to be content with what I found there.

This translates in some interesting ways as an adult in the Body of Christ. Do you want to know how I answered the question, “How have these events or perceptions affected what you believe about God?”? I wrote, “His best love and blessing are for others, and I am just grateful for the crumbs of grace. My hand doesn’t reach high enough.” I find that over the years I have battled these words, “It can cause me to stop seeking the desires laid on my heart because surely I’ve received all He’s willing to give someone like me.”

I walk out my faith in this tension: I KNOW the Lord’s generous, lavish love—it has landed upon me with such gentleness and such force that it was shaped me forever—and yet I never stop marveling at it. I am a book filled with innumerable testimonies that witness of God’s outlandish heart for me…and the reason I probably remember each of these markings so vividly is because they still surprise me every time.

I wrote this down in my journal as I process that, imagery to my place:

I see myself as a little girl
looking longingly at the festivities
of a party…
while clutching my invitation
in my grateful hand.
Longing to belong.
I’ve entered through the gate,
eager to celebrate,
but unable to shake
the outside from within.
Courage and faith
moved my feet to come,
but it is only the certainty of love
that will embolden me
to enter in.

I know there are no second tier citizens in the kingdom of God; He doesn’t set aside a group of people who He withholds His greatest blessings from; He doesn’t mark some of us as acceptable, but not accepted; He doesn’t plant the longing for all into the hearts of those intended only for some.

Ephesians 1:3–10 says “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with EVERY spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as HE CHOSE US in Him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before Him. IN LOVE He predestined us for adoption to Himself as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of His will, to the praise of His glorious grace, with which He has blessed us in the Beloved. In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, ACCORDING TO THE RICHES of His grace, which He LAVISHED upon us, in ALL wisdom and insight making known to us the mystery of His will, according to His purpose, which He set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in Him, things in heaven and things on earth.”

In Christ, I get EVERY blessing because IN LOVE He chose to LAVISH the RICHES of His grace on me. This is the truth. It’s the truth the overshadows the lies to which I have adapted. It’s the truth that speaks the better word than the voices that set me up to settle for the dust. It’s the truth that lifts my eyes to the heights and gives me the courage to stretch out my hand. I may have approached Jesus’ feet to wrap my desperate fingers around the crumbs of grace that fell from His table, but He didn’t leave me there; His hand reached down to pull me up and He gave me a chair so that I could partake of the fullness of His feast.

So today I look upon my mud-smattered image and praise the Lord that no matter how much dirt has gathered and hidden my perception of place in this life, I hold within my hand the blood-bought, Spirit-sealed invitation to enter in and partake with all believers of the greatness of His lavish love and glorious grace.

the Refuge that never fails

my Hiding Place
©4-26-2020 hannah mclean 

You are my Hiding Place
Your wings close over me
when life brings
pain unyielding
fear overflowing
brazen unknowns
that sweep the stability
of my feet
downstream

You are my Hiding Place
Your wings close over me
shielding me from darkness
when sides too steep
create valleys too deep
to venture forth
or rise
Your presence
passes through
my fingers vainly covering
to show me light
in the dark nights
of my soul 

You are my Hiding Place
Your wings close over me
shelter
in the battles
that rage
inside and out
in the storms
that toss me
bruising
breaking
bewildering
in the many rushing waters
that threaten to
uproot the hope
dislodge the dream
distort the way
and
in the mundane sway
of waiting
waiting
day by day

You are my Hiding Place
Your wings close over me
when forgotten shadows
of times past
emerge within me
crippling the moment
marring the movement
of my present
i writhe beneath
the weight of
my weakest places
unafraid
to look
to feel
to weep
for i have learned
the ways of Your
mysterious healing measures
safe in Your shadow
mine yield

You are my Hiding Place
Your wings close over me
the Refuge
that never fails
fashioned from the everlasting stones
of Your love

A "Hallelujah" in Every Season

This morning I brought the Lord a “Hallelujah.”

I was thinking about a song I wrote a few years ago about how we bring to the Lord the fullness of this word—“Hallelujah”—in the different seasons of our life, and how it is drawn from different places within us, how it resonates with different nuances of whatever has flavored our moment, and that its honest tones relay a multitude of words that come up lacking beside it.

So this morning, as this song rolled through my mind, testifying of the complexities of the seasons I have walked through before and how this “Hallelujah” has reverberated from my heart in them, I gathered all the pieces of my current moment…the failures, the triumphs, the pains, the confusions, the impatience, the joy, the thanksgiving…and with no need to sort through it, I bound them up in this honest, simple word of praise—chock full of desire and understanding and complicated floundering—and directed it upwards to my Lord with an undivided heart.

And this beautiful God of mine received it, with all it held and all it lacked. I offered Him the honest praise from my current season, and He received it…just as it was. I wish I could explain to you what happens to my heart when I find myself accepted, again and again and again. And I also hope that I will never stop marveling at the Lord’s willingness to hold within His spotless hands a blemished lamb, who with honest, pleading wanting has simply turned its eyes toward Him.

Hallelujah.

Memorial Day Reflections

It gets me every time; the 3-Volley Salute followed by Taps. The sound of the first shot fired transports me back to the front row at my brother’s graveside service; encompassed by grief as I fix my eyes on a coffin containing his uniform-clad body. The shots that follow reverberate through my heart bringing back to life the places of pain that over time have grown dormant; shudders running through me from head to toe. And when finally there is silence, the gentle sound of Taps fills the air, as if wishing to soothe the abruptness of the pain that was just thrust upon me; a haunting accompaniment to my falling tears. 

Today as this tradition came to a close, I felt as these memories flashed before me—of a coffin lowering into a grave, of the feeling of dirt filling my shoes as it fell from the shovel while I put dirt onto his open grave, of the sobs that came in crushing waves breaking out of my chest with overwhelming intensity—gratitude. Time passes. Details and images in my mind grow fuzzy. But traditions like these take these memories, frozen in time I leave further and further behind me, and brings them for a moment into my today. They remind me that even if things get harder to remember, this fact remains: I am a marked woman. Marked by the life of my brother Noah, marked by the love I had for and received from him, and marked by the losses I know because he is no longer here.

To lack no good thing

I was talking with an older woman at family camp this past week; I asked her if there was a verse that she was leaning on through her season of suffering (her answer was Psalm 103) and I wanted to share the one that stands out to me lately.

Psalm 34:10 “The young lions suffer want and hunger; but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing.”

To me this profoundly comforting. So many time in my seasons of suffering, loss and affliction, I find myself grieving. I grieve losses of persons, dreams, hopes, comforts, possibilities, dignity, strength, voice, relationship, health...whatever in those moments has been removed from me. And yet, as I stand before the Lord; seeking Him, looking to Him, clinging to Him, weeping to Him...poured out and raw before Him...I am confronted with this lovely truth in Psalm 34:10 and I know: No matter what I have lost in this world, I will leave my posture of prayer lacking “no good thing.”

Young lions are strong, powerful, full of possibility and life. They face their futures on top of the food chain and victories lie before them. Physically speaking, I do not relate. But this verse says, even they fail, even they need, even they will go without.

But I, in all my clumsiness and weakness, certainly qualify for the second half of this verse.

The word “seek” here is translated from the word “Darash,” which means to go to a place, to frequent it, to tread a place with your feet making a path, to go to one in prayer, to implore the aid of, to resort to.

This describes my walk with Jesus through my suffering. I have tread a path to Him in my need; I have crawled that path, run that path, trudged that path, laid upon that path, walked that path. I have frequented it; day after day or moment after moments...whatever is required. I have cast myself upon the Lord in my seeking; acknowledging Him as my Hope and my Help.

And this is why this verse brings me such comfort. Because no matter what my situations, circumstances or sin have robbed me of, they have no power to take from me even ONE good thing. The Lord is mine; all that He has promised me will come to me. And the losses in this life, the suffering, and even the strength of the lion are under His feet.

Living in the Light

I have been thinking lately about how I often write about the church I was raised in on this blog; I do not use glowing terms when I reference it. The things I write about on here are mostly about spiritual things and the journey I’m walking with the Lord, and much of the refining work God has to do in me requires me to examine the messiness and uproot the deep lies or untwist the messages I retained about who He is and who I am. I share them because I’m unwilling to hide when freedom is found in the light. I also share them because many of my extended family are still in the cult that the church of my youth broke off of or have left and are carry wounds because of all the broken things they’ve gone through and I want them to know who God really is. And I share them because maybe...maybe someone will read what I write and they will believe the hope and healing and affection of God for them.

But sometimes I wonder if my words hurt the hearts of the people who taught me there or brought me there. And that makes me sad because when I think of them...ALL of them...I feel no resentment or anger or fear or ill-will. I choose to believe that they did the best they could with what they had, and as strange as that may appear to you reading this, that was enough to soften my heart many years ago. Also, if you’re reading this and you ARE still angry, resentful, hurt, fearful or any other painful emotion not listed here...I don’t blame you. Those are absolutely justifiable, understandable feelings to have--you were harmed and that has never been acceptable. The people who harmed you are accountable to God for what they have done, whether you forgive them or not. Also, I am so sorry for your wounds (I seriously have tears running down my face as I just wrote that because I've seen some of them).

I had a good childhood, I really did. I grew up on a farm and played outside for hours with my brothers. Yes, we had a lot of rules and things weren’t always glorious, but I had a family who loved me, parents who encouraged me, a mom who listened to me, and a dad who taught me how to do things like fix my car. I had every physical need provided for, built sweet relationships with my siblings, and I even had some opportunities to do things I enjoyed (like sing in the choir and public speaking). Some nuggets I still carry with me: “Embrace your weirdness” (i.e. You don’t have to follow the crowd). “Know what you believe and why you believe it” (i.e. Think for yourself). “You are capable. Anything my boys can do, my girls can do” (i.e. Here’s a power tool, enjoy).

And there is one vivid thing that I took with me from the church I was raise in that I am very grateful for and I want to share it with you. I was taught to revere God. God was presented to me as a holy, majestic, perfect, mighty Being who was SO far above me that I couldn’t even grasp the wonder of who He was because the plane that He resided upon was far too great to bear the likes of a sinner like me, that this God was just in His wrath toward me and I should do nothing but tremble before Him.

That’s what I remember being told about God (in harsher terms, and for the record, that is a VERY lopsided view of God). But honestly, that was a great gift. 

Because it is true that God is holy, majestic, perfect, mighty, just and angry at sin...

and when THAT God bends down and whispers His affection to you in the darkest pit of your life....when THAT God cups your face in His hands and lifts your head and pulls you close...when THAT God sits beside you while you sort through the harm you’ve done to others and the harm you’ve done to yourself and the harm done to you without even once cringing at your ugliness...when THAT God pours out Himself to heal your wounds and bring beauty from your ashes...when THAT God says to you, “You are Mine and I am yours”...

then you will never be the same.

aunties are of great importance

a moment with auntie amelia
©8-8-16 hannah mclean

i looked over her shoulder
and my eyes landed on the open back door
of the white hearse
only the end of the wooden coffin with the brass handles
could be seen
displayed across the wood
in scripted letters of tan
i read
“auntie joanie”

and there it was
my auntie joanie was really gone

my heart staggered inside me
what was i to do in my moment
of finality?

grateful for the auntie shoulder
and the auntie arms
i held onto her and cried

a Good Friday poem

the finished work
©3-25-16 hannah mclean

“it is finished”
rose His sigh
Jesus the Christ
was crucified
oh sorrow at
man’s pure disgrace
when Father
turned away His face
even the sun
refused to shine
upon the blood
of the Divine

holy flesh
became a curse
the first made last
the last made first
the wages of
the sin of man
poured from His wounds
red rivers ran
that all may look
upon the cross
and touch the blood
and grieve the loss
to see the crown
the glory shine
from every thorn
in the Divine

oh death
where is your victory?
conquered by Him
upon the tree
that sinners destined
twice to die
may live with Him
the by and by

my friends, i plead
come stand beside
the Lord of Mercy’s
riven side
and let His blood
upon you flow
and wash your soul
as white as snow

The Deep Work of 2015: Part 3

I trust the Lord. I trust Him a thousand times more than I trust myself or any other human being. I trust Him with my life, with my heart, with my soul. He is utterly trustworthy. I don’t know if you know how comforting it is to have something to place your trust in that NEVER fails you; never falters, never messes up, never does wrong...NEVER. The Lord does not crumble beneath my full trust, and there is nothing else in all the world that can achieve that. 

If He tells me to do something, I do it. It doesn’t matter if I know what I’m doing, I know Him...and He DOES know. I would be perfectly content to live my entire life directed daily by the Lord. It’s safe to follow His direct guidance.

But I don’t get to live there...and that’s not a bad thing. 

After the seasons of self-confrontation and complete surrender comes seasons of newfound freedom and flourishing. I said (in part 1 of this string) that I am face-to-face with freedom that I have never known, I wanted to expand on that a little bit.

I have found that there are stages to growing in faith. After I surrender my life to him in various matters, there follows a process of what scripture would probably refer to as “crucifying the flesh.” During this stage of growing, I am directed entirely by the Lord. And then comes the next stage that always takes me awhile to realize I have entered: the Lord is silent and I have to trust that the work He did in me is real, and I have to exercise my newfound faith to move forward in my life.

This verse best describes what I mean: 

Psalm 83:11 “He made my feet like the feet of a deer and set me secure on the heights.”

The feet of a deer are secure, allowing them to scale the sides of mountains and cliffs, effortlessly and fearlessly moving between valleys and heights. 

When I hit this stage, it’s like God whispers to me, “It’s your turn. I did a good work in you, you are not the same as you were when we started this journey. I have made your feet like the deer’s...Walk. Leap. Run. It’s your turn to make the decisions. Trust My work. I am with you.”

And at this moment, I am looking down at my new feet. I am marveling at my peace. I am delighting in my security in the Father...and I am trusting Him enough to stand and walk in the newfound freedom He has given me.

Yesterday I made a decision about my medication: I felt no fear or need for control. I felt only peace and complete trust in the Father who loves me into such beautiful freedom. And I think I can honestly say that in 15 years, I have never made a decision regarding my health from this position. 

His work is deep. His work is lasting. His work is worthy of praise. Praise Him with me, will you?

The Deep Work of 2015: Part 2

I’ve told you before that I am fearful by nature. And because I am also an intensely emotional creature, that can be an overwhelming and overpowering thing. Over the years, I have (apart from Jesus) found self-preserving ways to work with this part of me; as my fear level goes up, my need for control follows. (This does not lead to freedom from my fear, it simply binds me to it.) 

As a result, when I (united with Jesus) surrender something to the Lord, it has to be accompanied by a laying down of all my weapons, a forfeiting of all my rights to make decisions, and permission to break down my self-made protective walls. When I surrender to the Lord, I give Him control and I am utterly exposed--confronted with every fear and every weakness; I steady my eyes on Him (and yes, freak out at Him) until it loses its power over me in the presence of the One whose perfect love casts out fear. The casting part, that part is really hard; I have to see the fear and feel the fear and let the fear hit me with all its force so that the Lord can prove to me that He is greater than it is. I have spent hours in prayer that have consisted almost entirely of weeping.

This process from bondage to freedom can take years. But the beauty is, that if we stick out the surrender for as long as it takes, the freedom that follows is permanent because God is thorough and He uproots/heals/conquers the source. Transforming and renewing in entirety, He makes us new.

That being said, fear surrounding my health has lost its power over me. Hope for wellness does not depend on doctors or medicine or answers or fixes or MYSELF...my hope is the Lord. And yes, the Lord uses doctors and medicine and fixes and even myself sometimes, but the success or failure of any of these things doesn’t get to dictate my life or my health or my ability to heal; God does.

And do you want to know something beautiful? When fear creeps its ugly head into my thoughts these days, I don’t even WANT control...I only want Jesus.

Unquenchable love

Many waters cannot quench love
neither can floods drown it.
Song of Solomon 8:7a

I have always liked this verse, I find myself writing it in wedding cards to newly weds because it declares a truth about real love that is assuring for the conflicts and life difficulties that will inevitably arise when you unite two sinners in marriage.

The other day while I was driving, I was talking to the Lord and this verse flooded my mind as I spoke my praise and gratitude to Him...it resulted in a prayer that went something like this:

Lord, I love You with this love; the love that hasn’t been quenched by many waters or drowned by many floods. There have been many waters, Lord, You have been with me in them. And there have been floods, You have given me breath when the waves closed over me. But there is STILL love in me for You that overflows, and it is more than when I entered in. And THAT is real love; it is a result of being in the presence of and on the receiving end of YOUR steadfast love and faithfulness. And what a wonder that is, Lord, that this faulty heart of mine could be rooted so deeply by being covered so thoroughly by the outpouring of Your love and affection. What a glorious God You are; faithful and true and kind and steadfast...so steadfast that I am steadfast because of You, so loving that I can love because of You, so generous that I can be generous because of You, so free that I can be free because of You. Thank You for Your unquenchable love, this moment I pour it back out on You. Rooted in Jesus I pray, Amen.

A prisoner of hope

“Return to your stronghold, o prisoners of hope; today I declare that I will restore to you double.” Zechariah 9:12

I don’t even know how to begin writing my thoughts on this passage; I am at a place where these words hold such weight and promise that I just have to sit for a moment when I am finished reading them to gather myself before I can proceed.

When reading this verse in the past, I was struck by the phrase “prisoner of hope” and considered it with curiosity. At one point it even inspired a poem, but the phrase never resolved in my heart and I moved past it with a sense of wonder that a generally negative word like “prisoner” could be used in relation to such a lovely word as “hope.”

But during a time of prayer the other day, this phrase set upon my heart with affirmation on the depth of identity. I am a prisoner of hope.

I am a prisoner of hope: I am bound to it, I cannot shake it, I cannot move beyond it, I cannot ignore it...I find myself with conviction of promise in the face of real impossibilities. And as I have looked back over my life since I began walking with Jesus, I see my beautiful "chains" again and again. Let me explain.

Over the last 12 years of my life, I have learned Who God is. I have discovered through His word and prayer and people what are His character, His nature and His promises. I have learned to recognize His voice and to trust the Spirit. I have found Him to be proven and sure and the ONE thing that is certain.

I have also become convinced of His worth, His goodness, His power, His beauty, His faithfulness...and I have found that no matter what life has thrown at me, He has held me and drawn me both to Himself and through the fires where I have emerged victorious and fortified on the other side. And even the battles that currently rage around me have found themselves unable to separate me from this true and magnificent God.

If the Lord has said it, it will be/it is true/it will stand. I am certain of this; not because I can tell you how He will do what He says He will do, but because I know who He is and that He is able to accomplish what He has said He will accomplish.

So here I am, 10 days till the new year begins; my health is worse than it has ever been in my entire life, the state of my body more devastated than it has ever been, the solution to how it can even be repaired from the pit it slumps in is beyond my understanding. But I find myself encouraged, excited and eager. My journal no longer is counting up (Day ___ of praying/waiting/praising for healing), it is now counting down (____ days till healing). And sometimes I feel crazy, because looking into my situation, WHY should anyone in their right mind think healing would come? When there aren’t even answers to the problems that lie inside me, WHY would I think that my health could be resolved?

But Zechariah explains it, I am a prisoner of hope. I cannot shake the promise of the Lord to me. I can’t stop believing that what He said will be...and instead of looking at the 10 days before me and the 15 years of damage done to my physical body and curling up in a hole of despair, I for some reason am feeling uplifted and excited that this is almost over. Why?! Because I know who God is and what He said and what He is able to do...and no matter how much I or life or well-meaning people try to adjust my expectations, here I am.

Because “faith is the ASSURANCE of things HOPED for, the CONVICTION of things NOT seen” (Hebrews 11:1). And I am assured and convicted...a prisoner of hope in the faithfulness, promise and love of the One True Living God.

My season is changing, come January 1, 2016, I will either be healed or healing. And in that, this prisoner of hope rejoices at the utter kindness of her loving Father.

He has said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you."

Yesterday I cried...a LOT.
That’s what fatigue does to me; it makes me cry, all the time and at everything.

Yesterday was hard, I am sure many factors play into it with varying complexities. But even though I was completely at the end of myself, in the evening I went downstairs to my prayer room to talk with the Lord. I talked to him like the worn out child I am, and though my questions, confusions and wonderings may have been simple, the reasons I was troubled were fueled by deeply embedded beliefs in who He is. Why did my circumstances not align with His character or promises? I found myself trying to discern between the enemy’s work and God’s hand, attempting to sort through my own heart to find if I was out of alignment...I wouldn’t recommend doing this when you’re fatigued, by the way.

I resonated with this line from Psalm 94, which rolled through my head again and again as I prayed, “If the Lord had not been my help, my soul would soon have lived in the land of silence.” I desperately needed the Lord, but where was He in my moments of need?

I remembered James 4:8, and wrote the words down on the page in front of me, “Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.” I desperately needed to be near Him, but where was He as I tried to pull Him close?

And for the first time that I can ever remember since I began walking with Jesus, I left my posture of prayer without restored hope. I stood up, completely devastated by the Lord’s silence and absence, and walked out of the room thinking, “The enemy is not suppose to win, that’s not the way it is suppose to be.”

I found my husband in the other room.

“I’m not okay,” I told him, “I feel utterly hopeless.”

The first statement most likely didn’t surprise him because my face was all puffy and red from crying and tears were still running down my face. I don’t know what he thought about the second.

“You’re tired,” He said, “Let’s put you in bed.”

I shook my head, completely overwhelmed by utter fatigue and said emphatically, “I don’t want to go to sleep without hope.”

Eventually he did convince me to go brush my teeth and get ready for bed, he kept telling me I was tired (which I was), and I told him, “I don’t want you to tell me I’m tired, I want you to tell me the Truth.” I curled up next to him, with my squeaky-clean teeth and teary eyes and he turned out the light...and then he told me the Truth; he recited scripture after scripture as it came to his mind, speaking them over me until he fell asleep.

For two hours I lay there unable to sleep, long after the tears stopped. I heard my phone ding several times (I checked it in the morning, they were texts of people who were making sure I was ok after I had stated on Facebook that I needed prayer). As I stared up at the dark ceiling, I thought about the body of Christ; His hands and feet and voice through others who are in Him. I have been praying through the daily prayer requests from Voice of the Martyrs for my brothers and sisters in Christ in hostile nations; nations with minute numbers of believers, persecuted by the majorities of Muslims or Buddhists or Hindus for following Jesus. And I wondered what would have happened to me that night had I not been able to reach out my hand to my Christ-following husband in the other room and put out a public request for prayer to my believing friends to lift me up from the miry bog of doubt I was sinking in. I considered how very alone they must feel, hidden or locked-up in the dark places, having to rely on faith alone to carry them through their confusion, doubt and despair.

And I was so grateful that I had more than my faith (which clearly needs strengthening); I had the Body of Christ--part of it literally in the bed beside me--to ensure I didn’t have to go to sleep without hope.

Thank you, brothers and sisters, for lifting me up. When I think of the verse from James on drawing near, I think that promise played out in a very real way last night; I reached out to Jesus and He came near through you. And I think that was gracious, in a moment when my doubt was so physical, to respond with a presence to match.