{a walk through} psalm 82

an analogy on surrender

I'm in a Bible study on Monday nights. We're working through a book by Linda Dillow called Satisfy my Thirsty Soul for I am Desperate for Your Presence. I've shared about it on my instagram account quite a bit these past weeks.

My favourite thing about the study is that I just get to attend it. I lead a community group on Wednesdays and spent the last two year apprenticing as a leader, so it's so refreshing to get to go somewhere and not feel pressure to be leading well. At this study, I simply get to participate.

Anyway. A few weeks ago, we were talking about the word surrender. It's a tough word to comprehend, and an even tougher word to put into practice.

As the rest of the girls (is it odd that I use girls instead of women, even being mid-twenties, it feels odd to refer to myself as a woman or a lady. Hm. Anyway.) were chatting, I had an analogy float into my mind.

I held onto it for a few minutes, as the discussion continued. I kept praying really Lord? This? Really?

Eventually, I shared this:

Have you ever played the card game go fish? You have cards in your hands, and the other person asks if you have a 2. If you have a 2, you have to put it down, but if you don't, you essentially get to tell them to look elsewhere.

Surrender is like that. The Lord is constantly asking us what we're holding onto. The things we haven't yet surrendered, the things we're holding closer.

Do you have a 2?
Do you have a 7?
Do you have a jack?

If we have them, we have to give them Him. There really isn't another option, because that's how the game works.

Sometimes we're in a season, a season I find myself in rarely, when the things He asks us for aren't in our hands. In those moments, we don't have to surrender them up because we already have.

The problem is that during the game, we're constantly drawing up new cards. Some new cards that might resemble an old card. 

So even if we gave up the 2 a long time ago, He might ask us for it again. And if we have it, we have to give it up.

It's a simple analogy. Not complicated, but I've found it helpful.

So often I think of surrender as I give it to God and then I never have to deal with it again, which is odd because my sin patterns show me that I tend to repeat things over and over. I give something to the Lord and find that I probably have to give it back to Him again the next day, and the next. Eventually I might be able to last longer than a few days, but it's pretty easy for old sins to creep back into my hands.

Surrender. It's constant.

I think the most beautiful part of the game is that we too get to ask things of the Lord. We get to ask if He has 8 or a 9 for us. Sometimes He tells us to go fish, but sometimes He gives us exactly what we asked.

I've found that the things He doesn't have to offer me are typically replaced by something better.

{a walk through} psalm 81

Here are a few songs I've been singing aloud lately and the lines in them I've been chewing on most:



Bringing reconciliation
To a world that longs to know
The affections of a father
Who will never let them go



This world tells me trust what I can see
Lord, won't You help me believe what I believe




this song I've only been able to listen to a couple time. it makes me cry to hard to listen through.

You broke into the silence and sang your song of hope
A melody resouning in the deep of my soul
You have come running
You tore down every wall
All the while you’re shouting,
“My Love you’re worth it all”
 


May my prayer like incense rise before You
The lifting of my hands as sacrifice
Oh Lord Jesus turn Your eyes upon me
For I know there is mercy in Your sight

What about you? What's your songs right now?

places of peace: sand, sun and sea

I think that everybody has places of peace, spaces where their heartbeat slows, their fists uncurl, their tired eyes see clearly and brightly.

For me, one such space is the ocean. 

I stand knee deep in the blue clear ocean. Settled. I look at my feet and watch beautiful fish walk by, as if I am their neighbour instead of the foreigner I am.

I listen to the waves tell their stories of old. "This one time" they say, over and over, whispering tales of glory and sorrow. They know that their life ends once they hit the beach, so they waltz around together, biding their time until fate lands them home.

As I step out of the water, the sand slips beneath my toes, like a young child learning to walk. The last waves call to me, beckoning me out of the land and into the water. I pay them no attention. I'm ready for the sand.

The sand. Oh, my toes sink in. With each step, I'm unsure if my feet will make it to the next step.

The sand grabs on to my toes, like a dear friend embracing one who has been gone too long. I let the sand hold on. I've missed its presence.

The water, the waves, the sand, and the everything - they've each let my worries wander away. I can no longer the issue I set out to solve when I arrived.

And the sun. Oh. It holds on like a baby to its mother. It clings to me and I don't mind. I hold it dear, near to my chest, because all to soon, its day will end and its embrace will set.



intention means nothing

While at Influence, I was privileged to hear from Shauna Niequist.

There are numerous things that she said that have stuck out to me. I wrote quickly as she shared her thoughts, but there was one line in particular that has actually impacted my everyday.

If it it just a vague intention, it won't happen.

She urged the importance of follow through. 

How if you say hey I want to hang out with you, you have to follow up with what's your schedule? let's get it written down.

Since then, I've been making a better attempt at being intentional.

I follow up "oh you wanna do coffee" with "when works?". And then I open up my calendar and get things down.

It's simple but it's necessary.

Intention means nothing without action.

How are you intentional, or better, how do you take action?