It was louder than the wind. Louder than the thunder even.
Fire that is all-consuming . . . Water that comes from an eternal well . . . mixed together . . . stirred up. Now . . .
You’re doing well, dear friend. You’ve not fallen yet—and you won’t, for the Lord is able to keep you standing. Their weapons formed against you will not prosper, not even their words. Though they should come at you from every side when you feel weakest—hold fast just as you are doing!
My basket’s getting full—almost over-flowing-full. I’ve been told that I can pick whatever I see, whatever fair and fragrant thing my eye should set upon. I’ve been told that it’s okay to pick these things because He’s given them to me. And He’s given me the eyes to see them.
Love came down. Not in the way many believed it should look like. But love came down in the midst of men and took the sins that all of us are guilty of, upon Himself.
I thought it was a sheep. I did. I thought it was a gentle, loving sheep . . . until I heard it laugh. And then I knew—it was a wolf.
We are the object of your affection. Not angels. Not animals. Not all the stars. Not even earth with all its varied beauty. But we are whom you’ve chosen to lavish love upon.
“Look at all of them!”
So you made it out the door. That’s a start—But what next? Will you stand there forever, staring out across that flat plain because you are hesitant to take a step out into a wide place? No, that isn’t you. I know you and I know that is not who you are made to be.
Dear angry one,
I feel it . . . I feel it in the air . . . Whoo-hoo!
Little lamb, do you not know what influence you have had? You think—“I have no influence on any. I have led a quiet life.”—but you do not realize the ones that you have touched. Those seeds that you have planted in hearts along the way have been slowly growing. And little have you known it.
And there my hero stands—brave, true, and strong. He stands against the evil one, against all that evil brings with a grace and power that destroys darkness. Yes! That’s the one I bow to. That’s the one I shout about.
It gushes. It spills over. It cascades down around me like laughter. And now that I’ve discovered who I am, it will not stop—Ever!
I saw a house get washed away. It looked like a strong house. It looked like it should have stood through any storm--but no, it got washed away when the rains fell hard and the wind beat down.
It is time to dream, kindle the fire in the heart, light up the imagination! God is quite creative . . . and so are we. He made us thus. He made us to be dreamers; thinkers who think larger than any box.
Uh-oh . . . the hornets’ nest has been shook afresh and all those little hornets are quite angry. Peevishly so. Discomfited even, by a thing they cannot comprehend.
It’s here . . . His glory, tangible and real, is here right now. It swirled up above our heads and exploded in a sparkling burst of golden dust, a burst of golden glory. And God laughs to see His children so excited by it, as a father does when giving gifts to all his little ones.
Oh, yes, show me! I long to see it all—all the hidden things that I do not know. Is it not exciting? I get giddy thinking about it. To think that you—the God who owns the universe—actually hears my call and actually wants to show me things. Not just any-thing but unsearchable things, things that man cannot possibly ever find out without you revealing them.
It will cut, you know. It is meant to cut—even between joints and marrow—even dividing soul and spirit. It is that sharp. The word of God will judge the heart when we are too afraid to look too deep.
I think the winter ends . . . soon. The songbirds feel it. Through the last few flurries they are singing: Brave, bold little voices, rising up to worship Him who made them. Yes! Sing little ones and put us all to shame.
Is it mine to wear? . . . Truly?
Here, I can help you. Let me help you, please. I can describe to you what it looks like to help you remember. Remembering is good. Remembering is necessary. You are only temporarily blind—it will not last. I know it won’t. These circumstances shall end and you shall regain your sight.
Beyond this realm of earth and rock and sea that we call earth there is something that’s invisible— a realm where angels dwell, where light and sound and color fill the heavens. We get a glimpsing of it . . . just a bit . . . when skies above break open.
Get in the boat! Get in the boat, I say, and go! And if the sky threatens storm? If black clouds pile up like burnt marshmallows? If the wind blows the waters wild, then what? Get in the boat and go!
Autumn’s blowing in—a right good job it’s doing, too. Let it blow away the cobwebs in the attic. Let it blow away the hindrances that bind. Let it blow till hearts are fresh and worn-out memories are gone.
I think one day I’ll sing again. Not now. Not yet—but one day when the winter ends completely. For winters always end and spring comes leaping after.
No more kissing toads! I refuse to kiss another toad to find my prince. It’s not what God intended. A prince cannot be found that way—it is a myth, in case you didn’t know it. No toad has ever hid a prince behind its warty face.
I still believe in knights. I still believe that there are men out there with hearts of gold. Though you'd think that I would not. But my heart will not allow me to give up on this belief.
“They are written down.”
The desire is complete now, has conceived a dreaded sin, has given birth to full destruction. What seemed a little selfish act to him who acted, grew to be a war; for pain runs deep and retribution is a difficult thing to turn from.
Drink deep. Drink deep of what is called "forgiveness". Is it not sweet? Does it not rush into your soul and bring a needed golden joy? The room glows with it - and so shall your heart.
Sometimes we need to be carried . . . 
Where do I go from here? Do I leave this sheltered place and try to find my way out there again? What lies beyond these walls of stone and cool water drippings?
Look up, dear one, for your deliverance is at hand. The chains are breaking! The doors are opening! And that which held you, bound you to your sin, is falling off. The sun shines glorious outside these bars and you shall taste of it again. Let the light expose it all - every small corner of your heart. Let nothing remain hidden. That is where your freedom lies: in the light.
Dearest One, most high above, I pledge my heart afresh. I bend my knee before you. Take me, fault and failures all, and make me into something bright and gleaming for your sake.
"So, is it a heart-ectomy she needs?"
There's a tiny piece. I see it glistening in the sun. And there's another - just a tiny chip, a bit of color buried in the weeds. It's time to find them all, all the pieces of the dreams that I once held. And then to fit them back together, that's the task! That's the harder thing. To make them dreams again!
I see you are not alone. Holy Spirit, that tender precious one, has come to rest with you, to sit beside you and to sing.
I looked further out today. I stretched my gaze beyond the thrashing waves around me, out as far as I could see . . . I saw the calm. I saw the waters smooth as glass. I saw the rays of sun gleam down to make the seas shine silver.
Shhh - it's time for hospital. It's time for rest. I look to find my healing in the only place I know to look: the cross. But how my head it hurts! From all the thinking, the confusion, and the anger that has wracked me good.
It is quiet. Too quiet. I hear my thoughts far too well. I cannot see a glimmer here. I've entered into the wood that none would choose to be, but where many find themselves. It is the place of heartache and longings unfulfilled.
Now's the time I need them, now when I am hurting. They will help me walk. They will help me press on another day, another week, another leg of the journey I am on. Faith and Love shall carry me - but not mine. No indeed, not mine! Faith and Love that come from Him shall carry me. I have very little of my own, and what I have cannot carry me a single foot.
My heart sings loud like a little bird in love. It sings along with all creation, and my small voice, my one fragrant gift, rises up to heaven to His ears. It is a song for which He died to hear. I am not consequential in this grand world of men’s affairs, but it doesn’t matter. This tiny bird bears a great love in her breast which all the world could not contain.
It’s one of those nights when I could cry and an ocean of tears would well around my feet. Stoic? . . . not I. Not usually at all. Alas, I am a creature of emotion—tender, passionate, and deeply loyal to those placed in my life. God made me thus, though I often wonder why.
It seems that scientists are no longer interested in truth. They have been swayed by something far more powerful. Temptation is the name that we shall call her. She offers wealth, millions in the form of grants. But better yet, she offers prestige—something the dear old scientists have craved ever so long. And Climategate was just the ticket. Who cares that global warming is a fabrication? “Who cares,” she whispers in their ears. “I have many more pretties in my pocket for your pretty little lies. Aren’t you a dear little scientist now?”
Two wrongs do not make a right. George Tiller should not have been murdered; but neither should 60,000 babies have been murdered by George Tiller. Some applauded him for the most peculiar things:
It is not cold any longer. It was – but now it is not. Warmth has entered in and this heart now beats most fervently. Love grown cold is a miserable condition.
More than you can think or ask, more than your mind can possibly imagine. God can do far more than that, where is your faith?
