Psalm 106

How I have shaken my fist, how I have grumbled, doubted, made idols and forgotten what you have done.

Thank you that I may lay myself at your feet, that your son's blood washes me white, and that He  himself reaches out His hand and says, "your sins are no more."

I am in the desert.  And though I do not know what God has for me, He promises to work out all things  for the good of those who love Him Romans 8:28.  My choice is to believe or to doubt.

Praise the Lord that He has brought me to this place.  For it is here, that the Lord himself revealed His might to His people.  It is here, that His provision protected their livelihood. It is here, that He showed them how He wanted them to live and it is here, in the nothingness, that He displayed His love and faithfulness towards them.

The promised land was already given, but in His timing it's unwrapping would come.

Lord, I confess my focus on the healing of us.  Whether it is to come or not, the beauty of your presence, sustenance and love could be lost by my grumbling, fear, doubt and forgetfulness. Whoever watched the wind will not plant; whoever looks at the clouds will not reap.  Ecclesiastes 11:4 

So may this be an alter of remembrance and praise.  Thank you, that you allowed me to be welcome at RH Orange and at CFT.  Thank you, that you have begun to restore my family, my relationship with my father and mother.  Thank you, that a number of girls at CFT have inquired about you because of the witness you have allowed me to be through this.  Thank you, that you put me on the heart of a missionary friend across the world, at the very time of our split, and that she reached out within the minute of me calling out to you in desperation.  Thank you, that you have filled me with your Holy Spirit, my mouth with praise and laughter and with moments of complete joy and trust.  Thank you, that you are showing me your abundant love for me, through; emotional healing, new friendships, roommates, worship, crossfit and with continued prayer from others.  Thank you, that I can have hope for us- but that it's outcome is in your hands, and it is good.

So as I wait, in the desert, for the fulfillment of your promises, David's hope in your faithfulness shall be mine, and I shall choose to learn of who you are and begin to live like a child who knows the father is for her!

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you Psalm 32:8 and Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you.  Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life Psalm 143:8.

By the Roots.

Time does a wonder on a woman. 

Eradicate: [adjective] (of a tree or plant) depicted with the roots exposed. ORIGIN late Middle English (in the sense 'pull up by the roots'): from Latin eradicat- 'torn up by the roots.' 

This image does a work for me. Honestly, I see myself in this position without my securities from this past commitment to a relationship. 

Post-Jonathan lifestyle has been like a funny shuffling around myself. 
I keep coming back to this tree of me to visit the memories--my hands are grasping for a way to climb up her, my hands are searching as far they can reach around her while looking for low branches. 

Someone's watching me from another hilltop as my small hands struggle and silently mime their way across the face of this tall standing tree. 

It's as if I'm standing blind. I try looking away from this tree of me for a while, but my neck is liable to turn back and run to the closeness of comforts. 
Somewhere in the midst of my thoughts, long-gone and miles away, I find myself turning my head once more--to turn away or towards is to be determined-- and instead I find the warm earth beneath my cheek. It's as if my world has been flipped on it's own side.
I feel as if my eyes are startled open by the fact that I have been lying on my side in the soft grass this entire time. I am looking up from a dream of deja vu and really see this tree of me. 
The limbs I tried to climb and the memories I searched for, seemingly endlessly, from this beautifully fallen oak are horizontal to the ground. 
The earth I thought I stood on, the earth I thought I was jumping from to reach my own branches, became the earth that I lay still and fetal with fits of waving arms, beating arms, grasping arms. Apparently my elbows have been digging divots in the dirt around me without my notice. 
How irreverent of them. 

I don't need to mention the fact that the biggest burden to bear of this tree of me was the sight of the vast, giant and glorious hidden limbs. It is such a strange sight to see yourself in this way. What was beneath the surface had become the most sensational and engulfing presence. What was hidden had come to light. Their expanse was remarkable on that new end, while the branches I had come to know so well, the ones I climbed over and over and over, the ones I hid beneath in it's canopy of memories and routine, had become swallowed by the newfound glory of revelation. This tree of me was drastically eradicated (eradicated as in the verb, destroyed completely; put an end to). 
Now I see what I always knew was created as a bedrock within me. 

 Today marks the 32nd day of this sprint of intentionality with the self. I feel today like I have been lifted out from the ground by the roots and shaken. Not shaken for an infraction of sorts but to be loosened, to be set right-side-up. 

Solitude

I'm finding each day with gaping pockets and places where Jonathan--my projected other half--once filled my thoughts, actions, motives, and dreams. Now, I'm finding these empty places in spaces of solitude. I'm finding my mind wandering to Jonathan in my day-to-day errands, in my task-taking trips, and in moments of just plain old missing due to the lack of him being beside me. But when I sit intentionally, in solitude, a change has stirred deep within me.
My dependency on Jesus has become my sight of vision. I've sought Jesus in these moments and the clarity of it all has been deeply wrought in my heart. 

Similarly, I find myself seeking this solitude. I feel so starkly introverted for these quiet moments with my Jesus. I also feel so bare in these moments; I am so apt to cry. Not crying out of sadness or utter joy, but out of a sole closeness. I don't know how else to describe it.

I am newly transfixed, I guess you could say. I am held and my gaze is held. I can't say again, or back in the arms of Jesus, because this sense is so fresh to my senses--like I've never known it before. I am reminded of how it feels to look at the sun, blinding and bright, a distance a human can never overcome. And then there is that quintessential Christian quote by C.S. Lewis: "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not because I see it, but because by it I see everything." This quote is not only brilliant to me, but gives me an incredible visual. I know that Jesus Christ is savior, like high noon and the all-enncompassing sunshine giving shapes their contours and life to the wild, but in this as I worship, I so desire to see the Lord's face fully. Jesus isn't out of reach in this line of vision.
I want to stand face-to-face with this perfect Sunshine and reach out and touch it, the heart of my heart. I am struck anew by the awe of our God.