Abiding with Adonai

  I have these instincts.  These things that are woven into the fabric of my being. It’s like this-  When I'm hungry, I anticipate the next meal that I get to partake in.  I know that the solution to this hunger in the pit of my stomach will be solved by the nutrients found in a meal.  My stomach growls.  My mouth waters.  My brain races with the flavors of the food.  I anticipate it.  I know the food is real.  It's there.  It's tangible.  And so the actions that I make until now and my meal are reflective of the simple fact that I trust it will satisfy me.  The meal is coming.  And so, I move through my task a little faster.  I prepare the ingredients.  I plate the meal.  I prepare to eat.  It's what I need.  And I trust that this is the solution for the groaning in my stomach.  My soul does this sometimes.  It's this groaning in the pit of my heart.  And I know it's a longing ...

 I walked the Via Dolorosa. I went to the place where Jesus was crucified. But to be honest, I don’t remember what it smelt like on the road to Golgotha. I can’t hear the voices along the streets anymore. I can’t even remember the feeling of the Israel sun on my skin, of sweat beading on my forehead, or what that rocky pavement felt like underneath my shoes.  Yes, I have these pictures to prove I was there, but honestly I only pull them out on Easter wknd, or in random conversation.  Can I confess something?  I often do this with my Saviors crucifixion.  I have a marked up Bible & good works to “prove” I have heard the story of the cross. But sometimes I simply forget to experience it. Jesus did what He did not just so I could have a picture of His death on Good Friday.  My Savior went to the extreme so I could live in a constant state of remembrance. The cross on my behalf, yes. His death for my freedom, yes that too… But also,  So I could smell t...

I wake up before my alarm.  The pairing of my heart beating way to many anxious, rhythmic beats, per minute and my blanket encapsulating me like a hug that lasted way too long; isn't exactly rocking me back to sleep.  But actually, my eyes open before the displeasing ring of my alarm, because I feel like I've missed it.  To be honest, I don't even know what “it” is.  But it's as though the reigns of my life were firmly gripped in the palm of my hands as I fell asleep, but through the night they turned to putty, and are slipping through my fingers.  My eyes open to a world that is begging me to be available.  To a schedule that is demanding perfection.  I awake to a body that isn't to my standard, but a brain that over-stimulates at the thought of doing something about it.  I'm waking up to a life that “isn't good enough”, but without a definition of what “good” even is.  As I lay in bed, I begin with one single thought, but after the rollerco...

  I have this thing. It’s this numbness that I choose.  I don't know why, but the conviction that I feel is heavy. Like so heavy I can't catch my breath.  When I sin, it's almost like I jumped into an ice cold body of water, and am gasping for air.  Or at least that's what it used to feel like.  I remember being a little girl, at a sleepover, and listening to the music my friends were playing.  I didn't even understand what the words were saying to be honest. But my spirit just knew… It knew that I was not supposed to be listening.  It was then I felt the toe of my fleshly desire just slightly dip into the ice cold pool of sin.  One song. Just one cuss word. Just one time… But I hated it. It actually shocked the system of my new self.  I jumped back.  The next day, when my mom picked me up I cried and cried.  I had sinned, and I felt it.  That heavy conviction weighed on me until it was forced to be released in tears as I sat i...