No matter. I am writing nonetheless. Writing down my heart's whispers and desires to the One who hears all, knows all. Knows what I need before I even know it myself.
He is calling to me...
"Come
BE
with Me"
He calls to me in the crash and spray of His ocean and I want the waves of His love to wash over me.
{deep calls unto deep}
To wash away the grime left by years of haze, the mist of confusion that I couldn't see through.
To clear away the weeds that were choking out that abundant life He penned for me before even one of my days came into BEing.
To fling far the bitter, worm eaten wood of my life.
Then, to start anew.
As I said in my previous post, Plan A wasn't working for me, although, there was a lot of "work" that accompanied it. The work was of the sort that never left me satisfied for long. No, end of the day, "well done". But, always an end of the day whisper of, "you'll never be done" or "that wasn't good enough" or "don't forget what you did" or "think of all that you didn't do." Words, always coming at me with accusation and condemnation.
Accusations. Condemnations. Lies. Anger. Hatred. Fear. Despair.
All spinning, swirling in a cauldron of poison. And I was sipping from it daily. Some days, drinking deep the drought of my wasting away. The drought named "DO".
Plan A, in it's original form, way back before Adam and Eve, was good, in fact, VERY good.
Destined to BE with Him, communing with Him, abiding with Him, lingering near Him, resting in Him, reveling in Him, were all present in those bliss-full days of the earth's youth. Until, the day that joy died, and doubt was born. In me.
This cup, that the enemy planned for me to drink, has left me so empty. So dead-feeling at times, never wanting to wake up to a new day, because I knew that the cycle would be stuck on "repeat" and how do I get off this ride?
Ann Voskamp echoed my reality so poetically in her book, "One Thousand Gifts" ...
"I wake to the discontent of life in my skin. I wake to self-hatred. To the wrestle to get it all done, the relentless anxiety that I am always failing. Always, the failing. I yell at children, fester with bitterness, forget doctor appointments, lose library books, live selfishly, skip prayer, complain, go to bed too late, neglect cleaning the toilets. I live tired. Afraid. Anxious. Weary. Years, I feel it in the veins, the pulsing of ruptured hopes. Would I ever be enough, find enough, do enough? ... "
What I've known all along, is that I needed to quench my thirst in the flow of Living Water, but this cup of "DO" always got in the way, turning me back to this working out of my own salvation and trying to absolve my self of my own sin.
Self-righteousness. Pride. Religiousity. Drivenness. Perfectionism. They are "DO's" accomplices.
"When one is thirsty one quenches one's thirst by drinking,
not by reading books which treat of this condition."
{Jean Pierre de Caussade}
God, in His never.end.ing mercy, has allowed His heavy grace to fall upon me. And the knowing of it, well... creates desire in motion. Because, now, I am running to Him. And I can feel the glow of joy warming my face. I am gonna soak it in.
"But this morning, I wake wildly wanting to live." {Ann Voskamp}
~ christa jean ~
P.S. If, the sweet, Ann Voskamp EVER popped over to my little blog to read what I wrote about her, I would want her to know that I am deeply grateful to her. That I view her journey as parallel to mine in some ways, and want to hug her long. I picture her as an older (not much!) sister, who has wrapped her arm around my shoulders and said, "Yes, little sis, you can get here, to this joy place, too." Thank you for giving the bread of your life to feed so many. I am blessed to walk the earth at the same time as you.
~~~
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