with hands open wide

Thanks to my best friend at Three.20, I found my long lost blog.

You can call me the cowardly lion. I am not courageous. Many things scare me, tonight, specifically, the future. There is nothing better to do when fighting fear of the future than to reminisce on God's faithfulness in the past. I have been thinking about how much my Father has taken away. He broke me, and took away that which I loved the most, and all He said was "I love you." As a good child that I am, I threw a temper tantrum because I wanted things my way. Why, I wonder, do I fight the one who loves me the most? As it usually works out, He waits-full of love and patience with His beloved child, and I finally realize He works all things for my good. I give up the fight and rest in His loving arms and just trust.

My Father is the GIVER of good gifts. The gifts are so good, in fact, that I do not want to loose them. Oh how hard it can be to hold out my gifts with my hands open wide. I worry, "My Father may want to take it away!" I am afraid I might loose that which I hold so dear. And then I remind myself, "what if He does take it away?" He gives enough grace! He is the one who says: For I , the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, "Fear not, I am the one who helps you."

And so I hold out my hands open wide, all He has given me is His, may His will be done. He can take it all. And I hold out my fearful, vulnerable hand so that the powerful hand of the Almighty might take hold of mine, and sustain me every step of the way, no matter what may come.

las vueltas que da la vida

There are certain prayers we pray over and over again throughout our entire lives. Prayers of surrender, prayers of lament, prayers of thankfulness. I just looked back at my un-posted entries and saw this prayer, several months ago, and find that God is faithful. This may be too personal to share- but who cares? I pray that it will be for His glory.

There is so much to pray about Lord that I have no idea where to start. First, I am grateful God because you are good to me. Thank you for your great faithfulness. Thank you for your sweet mercies which are new every morning. Thank you, Father, that you call me your child. I am yours, and I am deeply moved that you would call me one of your own children. I thank you that I am your beloved, pure, spotless, beautiful in your sight. I am your beloved. I thank you Father that you used my broken dreams and broken heart to teach me you love me, you are in control, and you always work all things for good for those who love you. And, sweet Father, oh how I love you. My heart is full. I am so utterly needy, I need you more every day.

I will not fear, Christ. You are in control. I will not fear.

For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand;

it is I who say to you, "fear not, I am the one who helps you."

And who is this God?

Do you not know? Do you not hear? Has it not been told you from the beginning? Have you not understood from the foundations of the earth? It is he who sits above the circle of the earth, and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers; who stretches out the heavens like a curtain, and spreads them like a tent to dwell in; who brings princes to nothing, and makes the rulers of the earth as emptiness. Scarcely are they planted, scarcely sown, scarcely has their stem taken root in the earth, when he blows on them, and they wither, and the tempest carries them off like stubble. To whom then will you compare me, that I should be like him? says the Holy One. Lift up your eyes on high and see: who created these? He who brings out their host by number, calling them all by name, by the greatness of his might, and because he is strong in power not one is missing.

This was said on one of the hardest nights of my life and it has stuck: "Look at the stars. God knows each one of them by name. He has a purpose for your life and he will bring it about."

So Father I come to you burdened and heavy laden. Please help me to rest in you, in the knowledge that you will guide me. I come to you with open hands. All I have is only because it has been given from you- the Giver of GOOD gifts. You give and you take away. Lord, if you want to take this away, I give it to you. My life is yours. Do as you will Lord. I am YOURS. Wholly YOURS.

it's like picking up an old journal

It has been over a year since I wrote and much has changed, but as I go back and read the entries I remember why I love to capture moments in writing. It's like picking up an old journal. I remember that the Lord has always been with me, that there has always been enough grace. I will return to write from time to time.

enough grace

i have not been sleeping a whole lot in the past 2 days. i have not been praying a lot in the past 2 days. maybe that has something to do with the status of my soul . it throbs. it is exhausted. it wants a holiday. a holiday of rest, where it can forget its pain and anxieties. but even on these days there is enough grace.

Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus

O soul, are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness you see?
There's a light for a look at the Savior,
And life more abundant and free!

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

Through death into life everlasting He passed,
and we follow Him there;
Over us sin no more hath dominion-
For more than conquerors we are!

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

His Word shall not fail you-He promised;
Believe Him, and all will be well:
Then go to a world that is dying,
His perfect salvation to tell!

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

Helen H. Lemmel, 1864-1961

broken

i have this cut on the side of my foot. i do not remember when or how it got cut, i do not even remember it bleeding. but by the time i noticed the cut, my shoe was full of blood and i had already left a trail of blood behind me. my cut has not completely healed yet. i simply clean and bandage my cut every morning, hoping that one day it will no longer be there and i can forget about what caused the cut in the first place.

i know something fell on it the night of the tornado. that night when i ran into the commons and tim dragged me into the safety of the hall. when i opened my eyes i was on the ground, i could not move because wood, debris and a tool box were on top of me. there was blood all over me. i could see blood on my arms and hands, and i could feel the blood on my face.

and so i have this pain that grips my heart. i try not to remember when or how it got broken and bruised, i try to not even remember it hurting. but by the time i take time to notice the pain, my eyes are full of tears. i simply clean and bandage my pain every morning, hoping that one day it will no longer be there and i can forget about what caused the pain in the first place.

i simply interpret

I have begun this blog as an avenue to distraction while on my interpreting job. All this effort from my brain seems to awaken in me the desire to write, as well as a voracious appetite I did not even know I had. I am on an interpreting marathon: 7 and a half hours yesterday, 10 hours today. I have eaten about 10 expresso beans and half a bag of M&M's in the past 5 hours.

my name is 5722.

i have been here way too long.

consider these to be confessions from an interpreter.

sometimes i wonder how it is that i ended up saying words that do not belong to me for 7 hours on a friday. the words belong to the one who listens and the one who utters. i am somewhere in between...i treat words as if they were mine, but then they slip away. i hold them for a second and they quickly slide from my grip. i am a word usurper. i steal the word. it is yours but it is mine and so i take it and morph it into beauty, into meaning, it's the same but it is different; and then, as vapor it is gone. i cannot hold on to it. it is gone. after i have procesed, digested, deeply felt, and even reacted to the word in its full meaning, it is gone. i cry, laugh, cuss, scream, whisper, politely request information, i even order pizza. yet i remain the invisible voice who is quickly forgotten but does not quickly forget. i am the one who wishes to be a character in the story but is forced to remain a spectator. i simply interpret.