sorrow sighs

The patriot guard did a memorial for Noah today, and it always surprises me that no matter how many years have passed, no matter how much healing has happened, no matter how many details have been smoothed over by time...the heart remembers. And the rawness of grief comes to the surface as though it was only yesterday that I was held in the arms of a leather-clad, flag-holding vet by the door of the funeral home until I had the courage to step inside. 

sorrow sighs
©9-11-2026 hannah mclean 

life and death
they separate
but life and loss
must integrate
for our body keeps on moving
when another’s becomes still
and our heart calls for more beating
when another’s never will
but heart song now must synthesize
with painful tones as
sorrow sighs

my words remain
in black and white
though years pass by
and cloud out sight
but never far from sound or song
the weight of what was lingers
imprinted in my forming
what I know by unseen fingers
photographs before my eyes
pull pain from deep as
sorrow sighs

life is lived
and so is death
the rise and fall 
of injured breath
a beauty still comes overflowing
from a life that’s left to grieve
and scarred shoulders brush together
in the kindness of reprieve 
some days the surface breaks to rise 
the longing ache of
sorrow sighs

He's faithful to redeem.

 Almighty Weaver
©7-4-2025 hannah mclean

Almighty Weaver
i rest in Your hands
You who made mountains
You who formed man
Almighty Weaver
the Maker of parts
only Your love can 
join body and heart

Your blood binds what’s broken
and makes new what’s old
Your love falls on ashes
and brings forth the gold
Your truth walks through prisons
and unlocks the doors
Your hands lift the least of these
making them more

Almighty Weaver
redemption’s Your way
You bring dead to life 
and You turn night to day
You see beyond moment
call forth what will be
in the land of the living
Your goodness i’ll see

Broken heart and broken body

“The body keeps the score,” they say.

Of course it makes sense. The failures of my body trace with striking clarity to loss. And it makes sense that when the heart breaks, the body breaks also.

As a child, this body carried its first coffin; a coffin filled with the empty, frail body of a brother who was loved. The same hands that had wrapped around the handle picked up a shovel too big for its 7-year frame and put dirt onto his grave. The ears that used to listen for his voice heard instead the dirt falling onto a cement vault echo in the sudden silence.

As a teenager, this body walked beside the second coffin; cradling the hearts and well-being of the little siblings that carried it with their own tiny hands. Another piece of my heart—loved more deeply than I have ever loved another because now I understood loss—shut inside a wooden box that swayed beside me. And again, these hands picked up a shovel and mixed my tears with the dirt.

This adult body carried the third coffin; the nine of us together, but still it felt too heavy for a body worn by grief. It shoveled dirt onto the grave of a man I never got to know, locking the little brother I loved in time where he would rest further and further behind me as I had to keep living. 

This body wrapped its family in arms and absorbed the tears that were poured out on its shoulders. It sang songs to comfort and to remember. It lent its voice and back to the bent and broken, stood up tall when others couldn’t and clung to the ground while others stood for me. These eyes have looked upon lifeless bodies of ones I loved and watched sorrow pulsing through the living bodies of ones I love…and still they choose to see. 

And what body could bear up under all that? 

Not mine. Death is separation, and my body physically internalized every death, dividing under the weight of grief. The infirmity that entered as a child wedged its way into the picture of my well-being and marked me; the infirmity that entered as a teenager waged its war alongside the first; the infirmity that entered as an adult severed the cord that tied the body and soul together…leaving this body a crippled thing, limping through life alone, longing for connection to the heart it carried.

And that is what the Lord is restoring right now; the unity between a body and soul severed by trauma. For the first time, there is peace as my soul reaches out its own healed hand to lift my body with it to new life.

His holy ways

“He also made the lampstand of pure gold. He made the lampstand of hammered work. Its base, its stem, its cups, its calyxes, and its flowers were of one piece with it.” Exodus 37:17

Your lampstand

©4-2-2025 hannah mclean

 

let me be Your lampstand
hammered, yes
for that is Your holy way
but sanctified in the working
drawing out beauty
in Your careful markings
for function and for delight

but also pure gold and
one piece
unbroken by the force of the blows required
for base and stem and cups
for filling and for fire

let me be Your lampstand
fitted for light
a vessel for worship
for drawing and
for burning

behold, Father,
my stems stretch forth for You
hard fought for oil fills my cups
may Your holy fire burn upon me
drawing other to Your light
and to Your life

may my eyes see the care
of Your shaping

may my heart find joy
in the emergence of details
drawn forth in my forming

may i not overlook the wonder
of the purifying

may worship pour forth to You
as the light of Your Spirit’s presence
shines in and through me

let me be Your lampstand
for Your glory

"I want you to describe My heart to them."

This morning, as I am finishing up my BSF study on suffering, I was reminded of something I wrote for a women's day that I had at my house this Summer. The Lord had given me an assignment for the day, and one of the parts of it was this: "I want you to describe My heart to them." That's a seemingly impossible assignment. Thankfully, through prayer, He highlighted specific verses that each woman needed to hear for me to expound on. As I reread it this morning, I thought it would encourage someone's heart, and so I have decided to share it here:
 

The Lord is your deliverer; with careful precision He reaches forth His hand on your behalf with strength enough to cast mighty mountains into the sea and a touch gentle enough to lift a single grain of sand. His deliverance carries the perfect measure; with mercy enough to cover the folly of our choices and grace enough to minister to the bounds of others, He looks upon our lives with perfect knowledge and steadfast love, and strides with confidence into the rushing waters of our Jordan Rivers so that all that stands between our days of slavery and wilderness would lose its power to keep us from setting our feet onto the ground of our promised land.

This Deliverer holds nothing back; He keeps no tally of our earning or record of our merit or demerit; He does not stumble or draw back at the flex of our enemies’ chariots and military might; He finds no hinderance in the shouts of man or the number of swords raised against you. He is willing to rend the heavens for you. You are of such worth to Him, so fiercely does He choose you every time, that He is willing to pour all out for you.

“I see your battles, my beloved child, I know the way the battle drums stir your heart to fear. I know your pain of feeling without defense. But “I will fight for you…” I know your hand lacks the victory that you need, but “be still,” in Me, you lack nothing.  [exodus 14:14]

The Lord is your strength. Come as you are, He says; when your arms are dragging in the dirt, when your knees have buckled, when your heart is too crushed to do another day of heavy lifting…your weakness is no burden to Him, your places of nothing are welcome with Him. No shame is found under his gaze; your deficits but a palette to display His sufficiency of might.

He knows the means of your depletion; He saw the woundings that your back bore up beneath, He heard the groaning of your heart as it bent beneath traumas it was never meant to carry.

When your body gave way, His steadfast hand held you together…and where you still struggle to regain what was lost, He holds your together still. He knows the lament of what torments you from beside the road where life’s trials have left you; but weakness is not a lesser thing in His kingdom. In His kingdom weakness is where His strength is perfected in you. Weakness is where His grace finds its most fertile ground, its most open avenue for redemptive work. Weakness is where you learn what it feels like to be kept in the care of the Almighty’s love and power…the place where the meekness and might of the Sovereign One cradle and lift with such precision that you will be undone by finding yourself thoroughly known, completely safe, desired not for what you offer, but for who you are. He is your strength, beloved, the strength that searches out the atrophied, the wilted, the withered…that beckons the stumbling, the bent, the needy…that delights as much in sustaining you as you in being sustained.

“I am always with you; close enough to hold your right hand. I guide you with My counsel and I will one day take you with Me into glory. You flesh and your heart may fail, My child, but I am the strength of your heart and your portion forever. Your portion finds no lesser measure on the threshing floor of your weakness. No, because your threshing floor affords you vision that you may set eyes upon the most vivid grace.  [Psalm 73:26]

The Lord is your redemption. All that the cruelty of sin has rendered “other than intended;” all that its force has twisted into “not as it should be;” all that it has left broken, splintered, cracked, precariously patched together need not remain, for the blood of Jesus makes all things new.

And maybe the enemy has told you that your broken places, relationships and dreams are too far gone, that your wounds have festered too long, your bones set too awry, your bruises go too deep for the blood to find its way there….maybe he has told you that its your fault, your choices are what brought your city to ruin, and maybe that part’s true, but then maybe he said that because you’re guilty—still struggling, still striving—that the blood is not for you right here, right now…maybe he has convinced you that you have to wait upon another to recognize or apologize or rectify the wrongs that punctured your soul before you can partake of what the blood offers…but the enemy’s a liar and a thief. There is a Redeemer, and He is yours.

With the joy of you made new before His eyes, He saw His redeeming work through to the new beginning…and He has never stopped desiring for you to reach out your hand to Him, or lift up your eyes to Him, or release your hearts cry to Him. It’s not beyond His touch, and you are not beyond His love, and His heart was never persuaded by your strives toward perfection, it has always been motivated by His perfect Love and lavish grace for those He set His heart upon. And you are His, marked by His own hand and His own heavenly heart.

“Whoever comes to Me, I will never cast out. I long to turn your mourning into dancing, I died to loose your sackcloth and array you with the gladness of one who has taken part in my redeeming work for the reunification of your body, soul and spirit to Me. Your glory will sing My praise and not be silent, for I am the Lord your God…I gave Myself so you can be whole; a wholeness that depends not on perfect circumstances, perfect bodies or prefect paths but on the perfect lamb of God given for you. [Psalm 30:11–12]

The Lord is the source of all that is Good. Lift up your eyes. Your sorrow stems from the failure of your measures. The one you clung to with expectation of fullness forever failed you. The title that afforded you your certainty of worth was stripped away. The safety of the stronghold where you always ran to rest and renew stands in ruin. But lift up your eyes and look into His.

Whatsoever was withheld or lost or forgotten; whatsoever sat upon the scales where you found yourself too few, too weak, too weary; whatsoever set itself beside you and amplified all that you are not…those whatsoevers are but lesser things…mere echoes of a Greater. Things able to be emptied will only leave you empty because they have merely borrowed of the goodness of God. But the Lord says to you, “Oh, taste and see that I am good! I long for you to partake of every part of Me, I long to draw you into the refuge of being surrounded by the well that never comes up dry. Drink forever, draw as deeply as you wish, fill your cup 10,000 time and then 10,000 times more. The young lion—man’s vision of the hope of strength and might—will suffer want and hunger; but those who seek Me lack no good thing…not now, not ever.”  [Psalm 34:8–10]

The joy you long for, the hope you cling for, the peace your wrestle for, the grace you search for…there is no end, there is only satisfaction and fulfillment of person. Unwind your fingers from around the worn out reflection in your hands, I promise that in the laying down of what could only pacify, your hands will be left free to fall open before the One who satisfies the seeker with the best of His bounty. Lift up your eyes, He is not far off, The Source of all goodness is near you and with you and in you. Your search is over, He is forever enough.

The Lord is the lifter of your head. There are many reasons why you may feel cast down, why your eyes struggle to rise and meet His.

Beloved, He isn’t disappointed in you…yes, He knows the ways you failed, the number of times you faltered, the many expectations that you didn’t meet…but the only expectation He ever had of you was to need Him. He does not look upon the weak things and lament their lack of strength; He does not look upon the ones regarded as nothing in your neighbor’s eyes and agree; He does not look upon the foolish to the world and scoff at them. He says, “What a beautiful one to display My strength upon, My glory upon, My wisdom upon.” Poor and needy and lowly and longing…these are the ones He’s searching for. Ashes are but the precursor to crowns, garments of shame are only what come before the blood-washed robes of white, the guilt of sin but fertile soil for the grave He was buried in that will blossom into gardens of new life.

Beloved, He sees your sorrow, your waning hope, your struggle for joy. He gathers every tear you’ve cried inside a bottle, considering your pain too costly a thing to overlook. He understands the source of your cries, even if you don’t. He knows the seemingly eternal struggles to brighten up your countenance, the misfirings of your mind, the score of your trauma as it tallied its way into your body’s inter-workings. But your season of depression is not forever because He is the one who lifts up your head. May you sense His bending to join you in the dust, may you feel His hand cup your face with a touch so gentle that all that is fragile in you will not break within it, may your eyes lift as He lifts your face to His. He wants you to see Him.

The Lord is your safe place. I know you are afraid right now; things too big for you to carry curse your mind with a thousand questions…but He knows all things for you. The rising pressures that magnify your lack of control cause you to cower…but He is sovereign over all things for you. The ones who caused you pain press in upon the ones you love…but He is a shield for you.

He is the refuge that covers and keeps you in the raging storms and crashing roar of waves that have flattened a thousand ships…He is the assurance of a way to the other side.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” Your safety does not stem from stability of circumstance but from presence of Faithful and True. I know your fear, but I am near you. If you will enter in, I will walk beside you into the dark places within you, I will hold your hand and shelter you through every vulnerability, I will stand beside you until you rise again. Whether your head trembles within a lion’s mouth or your heart dances in the passing breeze, you are as safe now as you will ever be. For My name is a strong tower, run into Me and learn what it is to be safe. [Prov 18:10, Psalm 46]

The Lord is love. It is not only that He loves, it is that He IS love and His affections flow from the heart of who He is. Fierce and full and forever, as much today in your state of disrepair as in the glories of heavens courts when your sanctification is complete. You never earned your endeared position, you need not DO to receive or DESERVE to take part. His love followed you from before the weaving of your form inside the womb began…and it will not wane even in the returning to dust. His love is perfect, without spot or blemish, without failure or fault, without beginning and therefore, without end, unable to be added to or taken from; His love extends—reaching through both sunbeam and shadow, as overflowing in the valley and in the heights.

Pursuing, He spends and spent His life longing for you to enter into the flow that pours from Him. Extending His hand, yet never forcing you to take part; He spreads Himself before you along the path you walk, hoping that your knees will fall upon Him and feel the wonder that He’s gone lower still, wanting only for you to find Him when your hand reaches out for one to cling to, to hold onto. The love that never fails, never comes up dry, never pales into comparison, but instead shines with such glory that all lesser loves cower.

Taste and see, He calls to you. Lay hold of the beauty that blossoms in you when you plant yourself within the flow of my affections.

My love bears all things; My love believes all things; My love hopes all things; My love endures all things…without end. Without end. [1 Cor 13:7]

The Lord is your Healing. Every wound on body, soul and spirit. Every sorrow of heart and mind. Every moment that marred you from birth to this very moment. Nothing is outside His reach, His desires or His care. Lean in and find that wholeness is found in Him.

“How precious is your steadfast love, O God! The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of Your wings. They feast on the abundance of Your house, and You give them drink from the river of Your delights. For with You is the fountain of life; in Your light do we see light. [Psalm 36:7–9]

laying down the nets

Matthew 4:18–20 “While walking by the Sea of Galilee, He saw two brothers, Simon (who is called Peter) and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen. And He said to them, “Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men.”Immediately they left their nets and followed Him.”
 

leave your nets

©hannah mclean 10-12-2024

 

will you leave your nets
and follow Me?
will you lay down old
the new to see?
will you trust your works
can leave your hands
and pick up where
Redeemer stands?
 

will you forfeit
all you’ve ever known
and follow Me
from house and home?

it matters not that
men say “no”
it matters not where
men say “go”
it matters only
if you choose
to follow Me
your nets to lose
 

a better word
i have for you
a better work
your hands to do
I look across
your narrow sea
and call you out
“will you follow Me?”

The feet of Jesus

Revelation 1:12–16 “Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking to me, and on turning I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of the lampstands one like a son of man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around His chest. The hairs of His head were white, like white wool, like snow. His eyes were like a flame of fire, His feet were like burnished bronze, refined in a furnace, and His voice was like the roar of many waters. In His right hand He held seven stars, from His mouth came a sharp two-edged sword, and His face was like the sun shining in full strength.”

I read this passage today, and looked down at my paper to answer the correlating questions. “What stands out to you in John’s description of what He saw and heard?” I could think of only one thing. It wasn’t the lampstands or the golden stars that danced across His palm, nor was it the two-edged sword or the flaming eyes. It was His feet. “Burnished bronze, refined in a furnace.” Something that is burnished has been polished until it shines, or in this case, refined by fire until it carried a sheen found through no other means. His feet, standing amid the splendor and majesty…His feet that knew not just the courts of heavens but the fires of earth.

To be honest, when I think of Jesus’ feet I don’t usually think of burnished bronze. I think of dirt and blood and sandal straps too holy to be unloosed by the best of human hands. I think of roads filled with travelers, journeys up mountainsides and maybe even the floors of fishing boats.

My mind travels through stories recorded for us in scripture of those holy, yet human feet; sick were laid at them, former-lepers fell in gratitude at them, redeemed women washed the dirt from them with their tears. People followed where their walked, sat at them to learn and even joined them atop the waters of the Sea of Galilee. They stood in a manger, in the homes of sinners, in His Father’s house and in the courts of earthly governments. They walked into gardens, up mountains, from city to city, even to the tomb of their friend. These feet that once were cradled by a mother, that were once pierced through by a soldier, that knew the feel of both womb and tomb; these feet that traveled the decent of heaven to earth and back again. These were the feet that stood out to me in John’s vision.

I know those feet. I’ve laid myself before them a thousand time, resting my head upon them in prayer. I’ve wrapped myself around them, rained my tears upon them, broken open my alabaster box at them to pour out my worship. I’ve followed them through the veil and to the throne, walked beside them into the broken caverns within me and known the healing that comes as they’ve led me out. They’ve joined me in my floods and in my fires, stood beside me in the valleys and in the heights, waited with me when I had no strength to move.

I found His feet before I found His face; for me it was the entrance point to relationship when I did not yet know how to receive love. These holy feet that humbled themselves to meet me in the dirt, pierced through so that my gaze could learn to look up in wonder at the One who drew near.

I know those feet. And when I look upon John’s vision, I can’t help but think that even if the rest of heaven is unimaginable in beauty and purity, shocking in width and wonder to we who wait on this side of eternity, the feet of our Lord will be familiar to us.

For those feet stood with us in the furnace. Those heavenly feet of burnished bronze.

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.

Missing you on the eve of Spring

For the Return of my Friend
©4/26/24 Hannah McLean

My face turns toward the Spring breeze
lungs breathe deep
and I am filled.
The sights and sounds and smells that surround me
pour out their promises in the way only nature may.
And in this air, I cannot help but hope.

Time is ever changing things,
this I know,
the tiny nose that once wrinkled up a baby face
now sets among features matured into a different beauty.

Soft found hard.
The trials of life have a way of shaping things,
like the persistent rushing river through the grand canyon
forging in its passing a thing of extravagant wonder.

And yet,
many water cannot change all things
for my love persists;
unable to be washed away by current
unwilling to be pulled away by wind and gale
ever beating as the heartbeat at the core of life itself.

Hope rides upon the fresh air
as things once dead beneath the cold of winter
emerge in victorious shades of living color.
If ever it was time, why not now?

I open up my doors
I throw wide my windows
and cast my voice and heart into the earthen air.
My longing for you to come stretches across the space
between us;
may it find its way to you
nudging your heart to turn my way
spreading out a bridge worth walking.

I will be here,
this you must know,
listening for the sound of your footsteps
across the freshly plowed earth.

mercy in the burial

John 19:38–40 “After these things Joseph of Arimathea, who was a disciple of Jesus, but secretly for fear of the Jews, asked Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus, and Pilate gave him permission. So he came and took away his body. Nicodemus also, who earlier had come to Jesus by night, came bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds in weight. So they took the body of Jesus and bound it in linen cloths with the spices, as is the burial custom of the Jews.”

Matthew 27:59–60 “And Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen shroud and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had cut in the rock. And he rolled a great stone to the entrance of the tomb and went away.”

when holy God bent down and
stepped inside the flesh of man
He came upon the womb of a poor woman
His fanfare heavenly heralds
heard only by the least of these
dirt of stable cave and manger
strips of linen swaddling Him safe and warm
tended to by His mother’s hands
her adoring eyes looking upon Him
her mother heart bound to His with what had been
the purest of human love

when holy God bent lower and
stepped out of the flesh of man
He left upon the cross of crucifixion
His fanfare the taunts and curses of fallen man
heard from the hidden rooms of scheming to the highest public courts
flogging scourge and splintered cross
victory disguised in loss

at close of work
last breath breathed
last holy words but a mere echo in the minds of those who remained
last spectator of the spectacle of crucifixion homeward bound
last of the taunts of dying men dead with Him

the mangled body of Messiah
punctured the silence
“who will tend to the flesh of the Son of Man?”

and the least of his followers
stepped through the fear of man
brushed past the praise of man
and set their hands upon the broken body of their Messiah
His bloody wounds stained their garments
as they tended as a loved one would their own
strips of linen bound around Him once more
costly spices laid once more at His feet

i know the honor of preparing the dead for burial
is no small thing
a last moment to honor the one you loved
to allow the rawness of the loss to unleash the tears that only come
in the quiet

confronted with what was
and what will no longer be
how these men must have grieved as they were at last near
their lifeless Savior
as they touched His blood shed for them
smelled the reality of His ruin

did their tears fall upon His wounds
mingle with the spices
drip across the linens that soon hid
the cursed flesh from their view?

did they lament their failures to follow well
their bondage to men
their lost opportunity to be by His side
their silence in the face of unjust judgements?

did they wonder why they were allowed to do
what the faithful women standing nearby could not?

but isn’t that just like the Lord
to honor the lowest with such a great honor?
while these men may have been the greatest in the kingdoms of man
they were the failures in the Kingdom of God
the ones who followed Jesus in the shadows
the ones whose flesh crushed out their spiritual flourishing
the ones who, to this point, had counted shame they may feel from man
a more costly thing than shame they carried from sin
but they were still His own
and He received their sacrifices

He chose them to tend to His body
He chose joseph to lay Him down in his own tomb
because He took joseph’s death
and when He would rise on the third day
joseph would feel the reality that He also gave him life
He chose nicodemus to bring Him myrrh
because he could bury in the tomb with Him the wisdom of man
that he would walk away from the stone
a wise man
to teach the jews with the wisdom of God

Zechariah 12:10 “And I will pour out on the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem a spirit of grace and pleas for mercy, so that, when they look on Me, on Him whom they have pierced, they shall mourn for Him, as one mourns for an only child, and weep bitterly over Him, as one weeps over a firstborn.”

such is mercy

when we look on Him whom we have pierced
every moment following changes
and some of us need a closer look
some must look into the face of the child in the manger
and some must feel the finality of covering His face with a cloth
that we may know the purest of heavenly love

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

"He loved them to the end."

John 13:1–6 "Now before the Feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that His hour had come to depart out of this world to the Father, having loved His own who were in the world, He loved them to the end. During supper, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, to betray Him, Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into His hands, and that He had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper. He laid aside His outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around His waist. Then He poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around Him."

 

“He loved them to the end.”

He knew who He had chosen;
He knew the zeal of Peter,
the rolls of thunder in the sons of Zebedee,
the doubt in the mind of Thomas.
He knew the schemes that had made Matthew rich,
and how the sun glinted off the dagger of Simon.
He knew the eyes that slept while He prayed,
the feet that would scatter in the days ahead,
the lives that would be lost while living out His commission.

And He knew the one who would kiss His face
as He was bound amid the green of Gethsemane.

It was with knowledge of the soft and of the hard,
with the certainty of His enduring, pursuing love,
that Jesus used His final hours
to descend yet again
placing Himself beneath the feet of those who followed Him.

The hands into which the Father had given all things
tied a towel around His waist
and cradled the dirty feet of those He knew and loved;
desiring they would be clean
more than the deity of His own hands.

The One with the right to cast down
bent down
for the sake of love.

He loved them to the end;
the ones with their hearts given over to Him
and the one who opposed Him to death.
His love was not deterred by the hatred of man;
instead, it made provision for the devoted to live
and for the hateful to turn.

Rising from the floor on which He knelt,
His voice flowed into the room made quiet by what had been received.
It rolled across the hearts of those made clean
filling their senses with His holy, holy, holy call,
“Love as I have loved you.”

A dream from Jehovah Shammah

Last night I had a dream. In this dream, I was standing in a church with a group of friends talking when suddenly one of them said, “Oh no! I forgot I was leading worship today, I need to go set up!” She then turned to me and said, “Come on, we have to go sing.” I was very confused because I didn’t know I was suppose to lead worship and I didn’t remember volunteering because I had recently discovered my voice was really weak, so I wasn’t well suited for it in this season. But I followed her into the sanctuary. We had about 10 minutes before the service started. The church was huge, and we walked up onto a big stage where a woman was playing a piano beside a bunch of microphones and music stands. I asked my friend, “Are you sure that we’re leading today? Someone is already playing.” She stopped to check the schedule and informed me that the woman was our accompanist. Then the next 10 minutes were filled with a bunch of scrambled chaos: The music had to be printed, but there were issues with how it printed and with a slow printer; we had to rearrange the setup, but the cords and stands were a tangled mess and hard to move, at one point I tried to reach for a microphone and it came disconnected from the cord and started hissing; as tech support came to help, people started filing into the room; there was a room divider that was partly lowered over the front of the stage that had to be raised; someone tried to help read something for us and couldn’t read; I didn’t know the songs I was suppose to be helping lead; the accompanist suddenly left because she was sick and the other singers were nowhere to be found…everything we tried to do to help order things or move them along failed, every step forward was met with multiple steps back, all of the pieces of the team and the technology were stripped away and by the time the service was to start it was me and my friend and our small acapella voices. The pastor said to us, “Don’t let this set you back.” And my friend said, “It’s time to lead worship.”

We looked at each other and the people in front of us waiting, and we opened our mouths and we began to worship the Lord. Our voices were small, but after a line or two, we found ourselves suddenly accompanied by the most beautiful heavenly music I had ever heard. It filled the room and wrapped itself around our meager voices giving them strength and drawing from us a deeply renewed and heartfelt sound. The room was soon filled with a resounding song of praise and worship as every voice joined with the heavenly music, each of us singing with all our might, “And He shall reign forevermore, forevermore!”

And then I woke up.

When I woke up the second time, I head this name spoken over me again and again: Jehovah Shammah. I looked up its meaning. Jehovah Shammah means “The Lord is there.”

I’ve been in a hard season. Before I had gone to sleep, I had been on my face before the Lord weeping, repenting, confronting my lack of faith. So emptied of faith am I in one specific area that I finally had to acknowledge to both myself and the Lord that I simply no longer believe a promise He had given me. My hands that had clung and the hope that had held were too weak, the efforts for a different story and a new measure had come up empty too many times, the years had worn me down with discouragement and resign…and though I believe the Lord is who He says He is, my confidence in His promise to me has been lost in the eroding avalanche of my weakness. And I grieved as I declared His worth and offered Him my worship void of expectation of help.

And He gave me this dream and this declaration. 

 

“The Lord is there,” He whispered over me as I slept. He is there when all is stripped away; when efforts fail and time is too short and chaos crushes out peace; when the inadequate measure I walked in is tested and found wanting in new ways as the situation changes before me; when human fortifications are faulty; when every set back has left me certain that there’s no way forward; when in that place, I worship still. He is there. Reigning still, able to provide the missing measure with beauty that draws from deeper wells. Reigning forever, worthy of worship and accepting even the most meager sound that dares fall from the most unseemly mouth.

And I don’t know if you resonate with any of this, but I thought maybe there was someone who needed to be reminded with me that not only is there a God, but He is Jehovah Shammah; very present and full of grace.

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

Happy birthday to me?

I have a complicated relationship with my birthday. Not because I’m getting older, that part is fine with me. My struggle is that I have no idea how to celebrate my own birthday. I’ve NEVER known how to celebrate my birthday. I know how to be grateful I am alive, but birthdays are more than that to me. To me, a birthday is a day for you to celebrate the existence of someone you love. To consider them and take the time to articulate, “I’m glad you are here, the world is better because you are in it.”

My birthday for me feels less like a celebration and more like untangling myself from deep aches of the past. As a child, I remember waking up every year on my birthday and wondering if anyone would remember; they always did, but I always assumed I’d be forgotten and struggled to regulate the internal emotions of intensely hoping that someone would celebrate me paired with the fear that no one would.

As a young adult, I spent a lot of years alone. Because I didn’t know how to make connections to people, I never really had friends. When it was my birthday, I would make my way home because there I knew I would find people who were grateful I was alive. But even “home” became divided with one half counting me as nothing.

And so my birthday feels a lot like standing in front of a room full of people not knowing what to do with my hands. Awkward because I’m suppose to celebrate, but instead I find myself working to be internally convinced that it really is ok that I exist.

So today I am choosing to be grateful for the people who love me and for the 6 beautiful humans that make visible the fact that my life brought something good into the world.

But I’ll still be grateful when it’s over. I’m much more comfortable thanking the Lord for my daily life and leaving the obligation that I celebrate another year of my existence behind for the next 365 days.

A poetic journey through Ephesians: Part 2

EPHESIANS 2–3
©7-2023 hannah mclean

 

what is the dead man walking?
hidden spirit dead
while the visible shell that houses the decay
stretches forth its frame
what attributes flow forth?
the stench of fallen man
pushing through physical body’s growth
reminding us of our desperate need
for a redeemer

the dead spirit is unable to corral
the passions of the living flesh
and so our desires hold the reigns
as the body and mind
relish our bondage
to their sin-bent whims

they nurture the fallen nature
perpetuating
the separating
keeping the image bearer
far off
from the One whose
kind and immeasurable grace
promise the life
the freedom
and the nearness
we were made for

He stands at our arms length
with His face toward us
longing to lift us
from children of wrath
to full maturity of manhood
because the dead
have no ability to grow

--------

“remember your separation”
He says
“do not forget that you were once hopeless
because you held no promise
do not let the godless life you once lived slip your mind
remember what it feels like to be without Me
remember your separation”

have you ever wondered why Jesus
did not tell us
“remember My birth”
instead He said
“remember My death”

our exaltation of the Lord
and the glory we bring to Him
will find its measure there
for grace stretches lower than our darkest valley
and rises
and with it rises the praise, the wonder, the worship
in measure

so we must not forget

we must remember that we were separated
lest we forget to marvel at our unity
we must remember what it feels like to be hopeless
lest we shut our hearts to the wonder of hope
we must remember how we walked without God
lest we grow dull to the miracle of being forgiven
we must remember life alone
lest we overlook God with us
we must remember the debt He paid
lest we minimize His sacrifice

our redeemed eyes search out
stretch for
prefer the comfort of light
but it is only when we remember the contrast
of darkness
that we will know the Light for Who He is

 

---------

Father
what does it mean to walk
with the knowledge of resurrection?

to know

to be intimately acquainted with
both the grave and the lifting from it
to understand fully that there is One
who is not only ABLE
to make all things new
but whose desire to redeem the dead
is so great
He gave Himself to do it
and in the pouring out of such great affection
He stayed
to dwell in and with His blood-bought own

to walk with the knowledge of resurrection
is to look into the face of the darkness
with its raging passions
and its hostile reactions
and its fervent insistence on destroying
all that it veils
and to hold out a light
that pushes it aside
with the promise that darkness is not all there is

to walk with the knowledge of resurrection
is to hold out the hand
sliced and diced by the shards of the brokenness
within and without
and know that there is One who can
put it all back together

to walk with the knowledge of resurrection
is to know with certainty
that every despair can lay hold
of hope that does not put to shame
because within our chest
is a heart of beating flesh
that once rang with the sound of beating stone
a life-giving evidence that accompanies
the faith that things can be different

to walk with the knowledge of resurrection
is to know that what flows from the Father’s heart
is greater than
deeper than
wider than
higher than
the expanse to which the darkness can stretch
it is to walk in the victory of grace
a conduit through which His excellencies can flow

for the one with the knowledge of resurrection
has borne witness to
the finished work of Christ
had taken part in the sanctifying work of the Spirit
and understands that resurrection
only stems from One source

--------

ONE
one in Christ and
one with Christ

when the Father said that His plan
for all of time
is to unite all things to Himself
we find wrapped up in the fulfilling work of His purpose
a beautiful, inescapable thread of unity
it winds itself through every Saint
sewing together what was broken and
bringing them into inseparable relationship
with the One who both made and remade them whole
and in their mending
melding them with each other
to form one glorious work of grace
a living temple for the Holy Holy Holy
a body for the Son to rule upon
a canvas on which to display
both the wisdom and splendor of
the One true God’s
mind and hands and heart

it is in the making of ONE
the uniting of all things
in the peace that brought human and divine
together
in the crumbling of the hostility
between us and our Lord
between us and each other
between us and creation
that the vision of every created being
clears
allowing us to behold what has been made visible
by the weaving of the thread
and the fulfillment of Love’s good intention

it is in the making of ONE
where we can find and feel and know and proclaim
the excellencies of the Almighty
and the wonders of His grace

it is in the making of ONE
where we can reach our hands
bound together by this scarlet, blood-soaked thread
into the depths of the Father’s heart
and delight in what only can be touched together

it is in the making of ONE
where the fullness of Christ’s work
meets the fullness of the Spirit’s work
and displays the fullness of the Father’s heart
that we will find ourselves filled with the fullness of God

there are not words to describe
no context for the mind to conceptualize
there is only wonder to be declared
that causes the eyes to look up
endlessly and expectantly

for it is in the ONE
that we find both our purpose for being
and our promise for becoming

--------

rooted and grounded in love
the baseline
for comprehending
width and depth
and height and length
of the heart of God

to put down roots

anchored to the ground

established
in a foundation worthy to build upon

there is a moment in every believer’s life
when their feet step onto the declaration of love
that streams from the mouth of God
and their roots strike

we could walk out a thousand
commands
and miss the heart
for if we never find ourselves
winding our fingers around
the gift of His affections
our feet will one day
walk on by
unable to recognize the paths
that lead us deeper into comprehension

rooted and grounded in love

from this place where faith takes hold
of holy love
we find ourselves planted
and the Spirit makes for growth

in the hidden place
roots plunge into the depth
wrestling over rocks and dirt
forging through resistance
in pursuit of the living water
Jesus promised the thirsty
deeper and deeper
into the depths of the Father’s heart

while in the light of day above
the world watches
the trunk thickens
the branches stretch upward
and outward
reaching toward the Son
ready to bear fruit
that stems from Love and Life itself

and in unity we find
that the paths of our companions
bear witness also;
the saints of God beside us
proclaiming the excellencies of His
heartbeat
as it echos to dimensions
we can only lay eyes on
as it finds its way to us
upon the testimonies of another

for His love marks
the ones it touches
as flood reshapes
and fire refines

oaks of righteousness
He calls us
plantings of the Lord
a display of His glory

and when established,
to the redeemed is given
the privilege of taking part
in the rebuilding
the raising up
the repairing of
what sin has left broken, bent and distorted
resurrected and free
for the sake of world
to the praise of His glorious grace

may our roots strike
that we may withstand the weight
of the wonder of what lies
within the markings
and makings of grace

A poetic journey through Ephesians: Part 1

I have been studying the book of Ephesians this Summer. Each month I have been sharing things I've learned and poetry that has flowed from my time with the Lord as I meditate on the beauty contained in those 6 small chapters. Ephesians is one of the most beautiful books in the Bible; it is a declaration of the Truth of who God is, what He has done and what that means for us...a foundation upon which to build a worshipful heart. I have decided to share the poetry apart from the teaching on this blog.

 

------- 

 

Ephesians 1:15–21 For this reason, because I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers, that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the working of his great might that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come.

 

EPHESIANS 1

©6/2023 hannah mclean  

 

we must ask not just
what is the hope to which He has called us
but what is the means by which
He has called

grace

blessed grace
heavenly grace
lavish, glorious grace
loving grace
purposeful grace
praise-worthy grace
persistent, pursuing, purifying grace
holy grace
mysterious grace
redeeming grace
life-giving, unifying grace
saving grace
sealing grace

His grace is not reckless
haphazard
flippant
it is carefully measured
to hit its desired mark
intentioned to bring about the greatest good
for you and for me
and for all of broken humanity
at whatsoever depth we have burrowed
 

------

 

to be holy and blameless.
when the image of God was unhidden
on full display upon and within
human flesh
when knowledge of evil
had not yet weighed so heavily
that it bent the image bearer
distorting the goodness
opening the eyes to what was lost
and opening the flesh to
the pain of loss

the fall jolted man and woman
pushing the glory of innocence
outside their reach
closing the door of unhindered fellowship
with the One who made them
as they became debtors
working to worship
instead of beholders
ever flowing with it

and yet He from whom all blessings flow
brought forth His Son
His very self
a bridge foreknown
to offer us a way
to stand once again
the display of His image
and the beauty of His likeness
in the splendor of holiness
proclaiming through our washing
both the praise of His glory
and the wonder of His grace

------

the Divine seeks intimacy
with the dust

uncreated Deity
draws forth life with His holy hands
breathing upon it with His holy breath
imprinting it with His holy image

looking upon it with His holy eyes

He declares to it His holy love
and marks it with His holy affections

intending it to be His holy own

who could not marvel
at such glorious mystery
for though words fail
to corral its wonder
the heart does not fail
to know it—
endowed with capacity to receive

He—uncreated to withstand our worship
we—created to withstand His love

------

the Ekklesia
the whole number of those who worship and honor Jesus
throughout the entire earth
and throughout the entirety of time

if my pursuit to understand this glorious inheritance
i found myself encompassed in these truths:

it is Jesus who builds His Church
the Lord Himself who adds to it
who fortifies its purified hearts with Himself
so that the gates of hell will not prevail
to tear it down
the fruit of His labor
the reward for His suffering
blood bought and beautified by holy fire

“you are Mine”
He proclaims
His voice rolling across the woes of earth
with the power to preserve
“for the glory of My Father.”

a church of saints
most holy things
sacred to God
set apart because
He Himself has done a sacred work there
a saving work
a glorious work

-------

He who knew no sin
became sin
so that we might become the righteousness of God.

holy flesh
absorbed the curse
brought forward by man’s fall
with all of its effects
we see within the shredded body
of the son of man
a clear picture of what sin has done
to the soul of man
a mangled mess
the image and likeness of the One who created
nearly lost
but for the joy set before Him

to be redeemed is to be liberated
to find oneself set free
because the debt that bought the chains was covered
and the ransom owed for sin was set into a holy palm

“Come wash your sin-stained robes,”
He calls to us
“make them white in the blood of the Lamb.”
He knows our palms
and spread His own before us
so that we may know His

-------

it is the Spirit of God that carries the
power to bring forth life

from the beginning
after almighty hands had set adam upon his dusty feet
the Almighty’s breath filled his lungs
for everywhere the Spirit breathes
life cascades forth

in the valley of dry bones
we watch His power spread across the dead
as the army of the Lord rises on Spirit’s breath

in the upper room
we hear His power spread across the surrendered
as the church of the Jesus Christ rises on Spirit’s breath

in believer’s lives
we see His power spread across the redeemed soul
as the flesh and its desires gives way to Spirit’s breath

Ordinary

Sometimes it helps to say it out loud
to confront it as it is;
to look it in the eyes and stare it down
thus proving that it is not more powerful
than the decision I get to make in light of it.

I realized recently that I say these words
frequently
“I’m not really good at anything.”
I usually follow it up with encouragement,
“but I’m just going to do my best.”
It doesn’t necessarily feel degrading,
but it doesn’t feel healthy either.
It reeks of a tool that trains me to accept
as it seeks
to cover my pain with contentment.

I can trace it back,
to the event where this phrase was birthed:
When asked directly,
the one person I ever wanted
to be proud of me searched
but could find nothing nice to say of me.
I didn’t even realize there was someone
I wanted to make proud,
until I didn’t.

I don’t blame them, really,
I’ve never been the kind of person
who catches the light…
I’m the kind you have to unbury.

As I looked my declaration in the eye today
I could see that though it started somewhere
it was reaffirmed again and again
in the safe place of the past.
Rejection had a way of following me…
unacceptable and unwanted were sentiments that plagued
me from childhood,
but there was one place that made it bearable—
one place of belonging
one place where I believed I stood
in desirable light;
where others chose to see me and
to believe I was worth loving,
and it put the averted eyes in their place.

It’s no one’s fault, really,
I was born into a field of extraordinary beauty
but didn’t add to it…
because some people were made to behold
not to be beheld,
and I'm the lucky one.

It’s not that I don’t find joy in
my ordinary,
it is just that I find myself sad
that my safe place has lost
its desire for it.

Mother's Day Morning

Worship washes
©5-14-2023 Hannah McLean

I stand in Your presence
unable to get away for a moment
of quiet worship;
hands tug at me,
little voices cast their requests
into the air
as the music plays.

I feel like the widow
wishing I had more
than the small, corroded pennies
to bring You,
and for every time my eyes
are pulled down,
I lift them up.

I know that even as my lips sing
“Your grace has found me just as I am
empty handed
but alive in Your hands,”
so You will graciously accept
my woefully inadequate worship
and count it a joy.

So I sing
with all that my heart and my life
can afford and allow
and I feel the
worship of the Holy One
wash away the worship of self.

For such has motherhood
taught me
to die to self
to live to Christ;
my outstretched hands lifted also
amidst the outstretched hands
beneath me.