1.03.2014

For When You're Cynical and Can't Find Faith for a New Year {And a few blog posts I love}



The north wind blows hard down south, coming in and seeming to pick me right up off the ground. It whips all around, and I can't tell from whence it came.

It's like that with the Holy Spirit, how He whispers quietly, What are you doing?, and it makes me pay attention.

I'm not always sure where He came from, when or how he suddenly showed up, if He was always there, and I just didn't notice, or if it's really me talking to myself crazy, and I'm not hearing right.

The New Year can blow in hard, and it can seem this big impossible thing to tackle, this mountain that can't possibly be moved by this iron shovel in my determined hand, much less a mustard seed.

One thing I've learned in all my short thirty four years, is that I can't make hard lines for myself in the sand, stout immovable resolutions that don't leave room for me to mess up, for him to pick me up gently with grace, or for Him to whisper quietly when I'm going the wrong way.

Christmas came and went, and I was so confused and dismayed and unsure at what my convictions were or where my faith was at all. Faith can seem so small next to the grandeur of Christmas and the Christ child. And Christmas magnifies what we are feeling.

I just could. not. feel. my faith.

And so I just gave into it. When the Holy Spirit whispered gently on the frost bitten chilly breeze, What are you doing?, I just listened.

I pondered. And I tried to be reverent.

I thought about storing the treasure of Him up in my heart. But my heart was conflicted, sore, split right open, calloused and cold to hide the blood pumping soft and warm underneath.

I gave myself over because it's all you can do when you don't know the way, and you aren't sure in your human depravity who it is speaking, whispering, nudging. All you can do, is place that mustard seed in His hands, and say Here, this is all I've got. Do something with it, Father.

So 2013 was hard, and in the same cynical fashion, I allowed myself to keep snowballing, thinking the new year is going to be even harder, and Who cares if the numbers change, because it all still feels the same to me, and I'll just mess this up too.

One continuous cracked, fragile failure after another turned avalanche, and the momentum seemed it would take me under.

Until... Until God.

Until I listened long enough and pondered enough that I knew, I just knew He was telling me You're not made for this, no, I have created you for *this*, this thing here, see this thing? How beautiful, how right you are for it, and you know, daughter, you have worth too?

He showed me Hope.

And He kept whispering to me that it's okay to embrace who he made me, my talents, my skills, all of the silly, wonderful, quirky, crazy, amazing things that he wrapped up all in one person and called it beautiful.

He just kept whispering and I just kept listening until I believed it.

I would turn away, afraid to believe, afraid it was all a lie, and a trap just to hurt me again, like in the past when I believed I could do something and went out on a limb, only to be ridiculed and humiliated by those who should love me the most, His own. My own brothers and sisters.

And therein lies my greatest faith struggle and my greatest setback to all the dreams He's called me to realize.

But even though we turn away, He always gently cups our face, and pulls us back, and he gently whispers again, a lover wooing his bride, coaxing her to just give into love.

He just kept whispering it, you know? Like the beat of a bleeding heart, a drum that thrums over and over and over again, and with every beat of his heart, I found mine as I continued to listen to his pulse for life, and for me, and for all of creation.

If we listen quietly, long enough, we can hear it.

It's all around us, the thrumming, drumming, pulsing beat of his heart for us. 

It's grace raining down, and it's a father picking up a child when they've fallen from their bike, and it's the light in a newborn's face. It's the sacredness in a family holding hands around the table, and it's the breathtaking holy in mom and dad and kids all laughing like heck because there's only one life to not botch up, and it's the gentleness in the cashier's face at the quick stop, it's in the kindness of the stranger behind you who pays for the difference when you've gone over.

Can you see it?

The rough callouses of his hard working hands, and her old, wrinkled, clasped hands, as she fervently prays.

It's in the special need child's understanding grin and affectionate hug, it's in the hospital staff's genuine care during a very difficult stay, it's in a body of believer's just being there when times are tough, it's in a child's first acceptance of Christ.

The father's smile when he wakes from heart surgery, the trusting conversation between men of different races, the mutual respect between heterosexual and gay friends, it's the baby dedication when an entire body vows in unison to assist the parents in raising children who love God,

the rise and fall of lovers, the searching and exploring of hands and lips.

It's in bubbles blown, fragile iridescent orbs popping in summer breeze, and gold light spun out across the floor and the piano's gleaming pedals, calling you to play, and it's in your child's voice, luring you toward the trampoline and their cheers and giggles when you mount and begin to jump and enjoy life,

the warmth of hot chocolate going down and it's in the steam of a hot bath and the cool of fresh water from the arcing spout of a hose in the middle of July.

It's in the howling wind, and the night sky banged out with a zillion stars combusting so many light years away, but shining in brilliance here and now, in this quiet moment, and it's in the mocking jay's echoing song, and in the leaves that fall, and in a coral pink sunset that he paints across the sky if we'll only notice. It's in pines that sway tall and swirl with pleasant earthy scent, it's in the soft, snowy buds that flurry and fly off the wild plum tree in spring, it's in the warm, giving hug of a child, and it's in your daughter's prophetic encouragement, Don't worry, Mama, when I have babies, I'm sure you will be the first to hold them, upon sensing your sadness at the baby growing up so fast.

And in all this, God is whispering, I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. I'm in the innocence of a newborn babe's face, I'm in the Catholic priest's quiet, disciplined communion, and I'm in the African American's wild, freedom dance.

He's telling us with each pulse, each beat, in this throbbing, thrumming, quiet sort of constant love All of this is for you, can you feel me here amongst you, do you see my creation, know my grandeur and glory, recognize me as Father?

He peels back the thick crust from my eyes, and He gives hope. He lets me know I was made for more than this doubting, this believing I'm nothing, this unfeeling life, numbed to faith.

He gives hope, and I see him. I grab on with a fierce grip, let him pull me back up. I hold on tightly, though the cold wind of doubt blows hard right through me.






Open your heart to really see, open your eyes to wonder... the right way for us to gain perspective in the middle of doubt and cynicism... His thrumming, constant love for us all around, heard around the world, if we listen. He loves us, we have a hope, a reason to hold on, to believe...



Some posts I've enjoyed lately, some new things I've happened upon. Check them out.

Outside the City Gate {even lepers have a colony} I love, love, love this. *And* it happens to be headed up by some amazing, head on their shoulders, down to earth, friends of mine, Kelli Woodford, Diane Bailey, and also Tammy Hendricksmeyer, who I know through writing as well.

From Chains to Keys an amazing write by my friend, Kelli Woodford. You must read this, if you ever felt the things of the past haunting you.

My One Word 365: Dwell Alia does it again. She blows me away with her writing, and her heart.

She Loves Magazine: Manifesto: Let Us Be Women Who Love This is beautiful.

5 comments:

  1. He is HERE. Yes. I need this every day.


    Thank you for the raw, beautiful, redemptive way you see, friend. Thank you for giving the gift of YOU to the world. You've been one of my greatest blessings of 2013.


    So much love.

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  2. I think we've been living parallel lives especially when you said "All you can do, is place that mustard seed in His hands, and in His hands, and say Here, this is all I've got. Do something with it.." Yes! Everything about this post could've been pulled from my own 2013. What encouragement to hear that I am not alone.

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  3. This is such a beautiful post. We so need to hear this in our lives. Thank you for listening.

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  4. Nacole, I feel like you stole into the future of the year and unwrapped it for me, all glowing shiny new and hopeful. This took my breath away. You write sheer beauty and poetry and you write from a heart that beats with our Father's.
    I also long to hear as you have done. My word this year is 'listen' and you have really seen into all the glory and grace, potential and promise of that word. All I need to do is keep coming back here, absorb your words and remember to do likewise.
    Thank you for bringing it alive for me. I am awed at what you have heard and desperate to hear God's heartbeat, His close whispered words in my life too. Bless you, my friend. :) xx

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  5. I hold tightly onto the truth so gracefully etched in these words. I have known the difficult season of numb faith and the moment of offering that mustard seed into his hands. This past year saw my dreams crushed by failure because I had nothing left to keep those dreams alive. I felt everyone had expected it. That hurts hard in my gut still. The voice that whispered to you in the quiet found my ears too. I prayed one simple prayer, "Come. I can't come to you this year, Lord. Will you come to me." And that prayer continues. It's my word for the year. Come. And your words have stirred in me hope right where I am that He is here. So beautiful an expression of your heart. Thank you for offering it to us.

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