Heart Exposed

It stands, grey, bare, stark against the cold grey sky. Cracks in the bark streak across its trunk. Its spindly sticks reach into the empty air. It twists and turns in a mangled mess, this is not a tree, it is a dead pile of sticks.

It is stripped of what we think makes a tree look beautiful, stripped of bright color, rustling leaves, stripped of its soft gentleness. It stands there, the heart of the tree exposed to critical eyes. Then, a gentle snow slips through the sky, and silently collects on the tree. The branches,what one would  once call generically ugly, now hold a gentle beauty. The snow creates a soft blanket over the wood, collecting deeper layers closer to its heart.

The mangled pile of sticks become a beacon of beauty.

A Whispered Letter From God

You think you should know these things, and your mind knows that they should be true.

Isn’t it time you admit you don’t believe it, and learn it?

 

Do you know that you are valuable?

Do you know that you are loved?

Do you know that you can trust me?

Do you know I want to use you?

Do you know that the pain, the tears—or lack there-of—

The loneliness, the despair you go through, to find me, is worth it?

 

I treasure you, when will you believe it?

He Didn't Ask

      If Jesus asked us, “Do you want me to die for you?” What would you have said?  If you had a choice between your life and His, would you have taken His offer of a second chance?

    I don’t think I would’ve accepted. I think I would have said, “Thanks for the offer, it means so much….  But I’m not worth it. If I’m honest about who and what I am, I’m not worth a fellow human’s life, never mind your life, the life of my creator. I’m not worth the sacrifice. You're so much better than me, you stay, it’s better that way.”

    But God didn’t ask me to choose. He didn’t let me measure my worth. Jesus said, “She’s valuable, so valuable I’m going to give her my life.” Then He left His house, closed the door, and climbed down the stairs to earth. But He didn’t just come and die. No, first He tasted life as a human. He was born as a baby, and then grew up like a man.  Not as a human king or nobility, but as a tradesman’s son. He tasted hard work. He tasted poverty. After all, He was born in a barn. He cried. He got mad. He got hungry. I bet He knew what it is to be cold, to be hot, to be tired. He got yelled at and people made fun of Him.  In other words, He experienced life and He saw firsthand what we go through. If He didn’t know before, He knew now how fickle we are. He saw how easily we change our minds or question our loyalties. And He still died for us. He still died for me.  It wasn’t easy, He even begged for mercy, but in the end He did His Father’s will and tasted death.

    My hand was among those that killed Him. He carried my sin to one of the most torturous deaths in existence. And He still loves me. He still loves us.

     Jesus didn’t ask us if we wanted Him to die for us. He just did.

    

Moons…

    The moon. It shines brightly, lighting the dark sky with a gentle luminescence. But its light is not its own. The moon is a reflection of the sun, a reflection of a light so bright, we cannot look at it because we might be blinded. We do not now remember that. Its light looks like its own. It glows seemingly independent, after all, how can rock reflect? The moon does not look like a rock, it looks like so much more.

     God’s people are moons, each of us reflect a great light that is not our own, portray a beauty that we do not see. After all, all we see is the rock inside. We do not see the soft gentle glow that we reflect. Our beauty, it comes from a greatness we cannot see directly. For no man can see the face of God. Not directly. Not yet. I do not always see Him in me. Sometimes I feel Him shining on me, but sometimes I do not. 

     I see God around me, I see God in my brothers and sisters.  Often we forget their light is not their own.  We wonder, “how can they love, and I not?” It is a circle of mystery, you wonder about me, and I about you. We forget others are rocks inside, that they too have faults, confusion... questions. We forget that they too hurt and mourn. And yet, even with all their weakness, they shine. Their glow fills the dark sky, the sky darkened by sin… We shine together, not just one, but many moons in the night, a reflection of Yahweh, who is brighter still. 

Blank Paper.

I hold a blank piece of paper. I hold a million possibilities.

It is blank. It is useless. But soon it will not be.

 If I take scissors and I cut, I could make a snowflake.Little pieces that were snipped will be swept into the trash, deemed useless - but they are not. When they left, they were given up for something beautiful.I have given up things for beauty.

Or, if you take a pen, or a pencil, or a paintbrush, you can draw a picture that says a thousand words.

Or, you can take a pen or a pencil and write a thousand words that paint a picture.