Lift your drooping hands, love.

It's not about us.

We forget.

If you think we don't, I would ask you to ask yourself: do we feel as though we get to choose who we love?

Because Jesus didn't do that. 

Jesus didn't walk around, secure in his Father's love, love a select few, and dismiss the rest.

He died for the ones who were dead in love with themselves. And he breathed life into our empty chests and taught us how to love by experiencing the way he loves us. He called us his own and promised to always be loving us, every moment from the moment we first breathed until forever. 

And why I'm sitting here writing about this instead of out there living it, I don't know.

Yes I do: it's called fear. 

I don't trust Him to come through, and my love has grown so cold. I don't know when it happened or how it happened, but here I am, somehow thinking I get to choose who I love and who I don't. 
Like I earned this or something. 

But you can't earn grace. It's poured out freely, a gift given. He didn't spare any expense in His quest to have us; He didn't try an easier way or give less to begin with. He sacrificed what was most precious to Him. Because that's what love does. We know that, deep down, don't we? Love gives whatever is required for the good of the beloved. It's the theme of our favorite love stories, the real life heroes that break our hearts; when a man dies for the woman he loves, we hold it up as a beautiful ideal. It is the nature of true love to pour itself out.

Jesus did that. Literally and sacrificially and willingly.
Before we knew his name.

Who dies for someone who doesn't love them back?

He did.

And what if when he says follow me, he's asking us to do the same? Because he is. 

And I think for me that's why following Jesus is the hardest thing ever. 

Because I'm selfish. And fearful. And I somehow forget that I had no part in this whole being rescued thing.
I mean, I was dead and he brought me to life. It's not like I could control that.
But I wouldn't have stopped him. I wouldn't ever want to give up this life I've found, even when I forget that I wasn't the one who found it- it was given to me. 

Don't you want that to change the way you live? I do. And can't you see just the tiniest bit of how beautiful it could be if we did live that way?

What if I believed him, that all he says is true, and lived like it?

Even though I'm terrified, I know deep down I want love that gives everything away. I have tasted what this world has to offer, and it leaves me worn out, bitter, and empty, cold as stone. 
But You, Lord, give life. You have loved me my whole life, even when I fight you. And you promise that loving like you is what's best for me; otherwise You wouldn't call me to do it. 

So Jesus, teach me how to have love like that. Love that is thoughtless as to its own needs, trusting You to provide. Love that doesn't discriminate or play favorites. Love that is radical and real and doesn't care who is or isn't watching. And love that will give everything away because it understands that everything it has is grace, and grace is meant to be poured out. Because real love is not afraid to bleed.

I can't fix my own heart. I cannot "get over" my own selfishness. I'm forever broken without You. I am not there yet, but you are faithful and you will be faithful to teach me.

And.....help me to remember that you teach not with words, but with life. Give me grace to choose to love, to embrace every chance that comes, and let those actions form that love in me. Forgive me for all the times I've held back, all the times I've chosen my ways over Yours.

Jesus, you are worth it all.

Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees,and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed. (Hebrews 12:12-13, ESV) (really, the whole chapter is incredible) 

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Walking through the desert

I had texted her in a moment of weariness, walking to class. I’m still not exactly sure why I did except I had decided to be real. Sunday night I realized I wasn’t ok after all. These weeks have been hard. I was feeling the weight during this long day of this long week, and she had said to text her anytime, so I did.

“What I need more than anything else (with sleep at 2^nd place and people to actually do life with, people who are pouring into me at 3^rd) is Him. I’m so dry and I don’t even desire Him right now. Like, I want Him maybe, but I want so much else more. That’s me being honest. And I’m so weary that I don’t have the energy to fight through to get to him. And I know in my head He can find me where I’m at. That He’s here. But I am not reaching. I’m just worn. And thin. Thin is a perfect word. “

When I got out of class, I had to rush across campus to my next class. This is always a brisk walk to make it in time, but today I had a project due. Oh yeah, and it started pouring about 10 minutes before my class had ended. Rushing across campus in the downpour? I suppose so. I didn’t have time to wait. Another girl from class and I ended up walking next to each other, keeping each other company as we hurried across campus, getting soaked to the skin. We were laughing because it was just such an awkward situation for everyone. I can’t explain it. We were walking through water up to our ankles (cause even the ground wasn’t ready for that rain), and laughing, because it was so ridiculous. What else was there to do?

We parted ways and I walked up to the building right as it stops raining (don’t worry, I made it on time). After class, I pull out my phone. And that’s when I read it, hours after it was sent:

“….it is okay to be in that place. God knows that you’re tired and that you care. Give yourself some space to rest and just be. Being dry is not pleasant, but it can be a blessing when we discover how God’s love comes through for us in that desert place. I am praying for you and will be asking for His buckets of living water to be poured out on you.”

Did you hear it? It took me a minute, and then that phrase sunk in: “His buckets of living water to be poured out on you.” And I’m standing there soaking wet. You can call it coincidence. But I don’t believe in those anymore.
What I realized in that moment is for a few minutes today, I [dry, bone-weary, stretched thin, sick, sleep-deprived and overwhelmed] laughed as I rushed headlong through a storm I couldn’t escape.

“We discover how God’s love comes through for us in that desert place.”

Historically, God has done great, beautiful works in deserts. It seems so odd to me. And I’m not just talking about manna and quail and water from rocks [provision]. I’m talking about the cloud and pillar of fire, where He came to be with His people [His presence and guidance]. He speaks of winning Israel back by saying He will “lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her there (Hosea 2:14).” His desert is a place where Israel raged against Him over and over, grumbling against Him, worshipping idols, letting their hearts wander far from the good God who had loved them and rescued them.

Yet His desert is a place where He shows up and kindles a new fire in His people for Him and only Him. Everything else that would satisfy them is stripped away from them, and they come to know that all they think will satisfy them is nothing, worthless if they don’t have Him. And they never needed it anyway. Because what they crave, what they cry out for deeper than anything else, is all of Him. All the goodness they think they’ll find in love or prosperity or a good name or even the food to get them through the day…nothing lasts. And when it fails, it’s like bread that turns to ash in your mouth. It leaves you bitter.

I’ve been that way. Caught up in this life, chasing after what won’t fill me up and only leaves me wanting more. Story of my life. The story of this season is a little different. I’ve been trying to live out of my strength, not His. I’ve been trying to do it all, rise to every occasion, not seeking His heart or His face, letting Him get crowded out. I’ve created my own desert.

But He is still the God who is faithful in deserts, even when His people are faithless. Hallelujah. And hallelujah, we don’t have to fight our way back or find our way home. The point of the Cross is that we couldn’t get home on our own. And so He came to us in our deserts and showed us the way: give up control. Trust Him, follow the One who makes ways and rivers in the desert (Isaiah 43:19), that He’s always, always leading us home. And even if it takes us 40 years to get there, He doesn’t ever ever let us go; even when we’re not reaching for Him, He’s holding us.

He gives goodness here, in the weariness, the wondering, the waiting, the stress, the pain, the tension of this life.

It’s Himself. He’s the treasure in the desert.

Oh Lord, help me seek—and find You. Help me remember nothing else matters.