I was right about August and its perennials . . . the soul-cozy inclination to harvest my thoughts and start settling in for the winter.

Two lens-flared memories struck me, seemingly out of the blue: a moment I lived through on the rooftop of Crocker Galleria in San Francisco – in the middle of the Financial District. With my eyes still open, it was as if I blinked and for a moment I was back there . . . just a split second in my mind with golden sun rays and a cacophony of indistinguishable sounds. The other was a twenty-something riding downhill on a longboard – brushing his teeth and fixing his tie on a weekday. In The City. Like something from a movie, but a reality in my soul.

And all the quiet typing and tiny gray typeface that has come out of me over the years. So many years. Eleven of them. I first started blogging in the summer of 2009. From my aunt’s couch in Wendell, NC. With a dark and busy Blogger ‘theme’ and not much to say in my waiting. So much waiting. Eleven years ago.

And suddenly, life came at me fast. But it didn’t break the waiting. So much waiting.

Lately, I’ve been incandescently grateful for the wildernesses God has walked me through – to test me and refine me; to do me good in the end. I’m so tremendously thankful for the organic peace and joy and faith and hope and love I have. I tend to forget that so many wake up every day without it. Without the fruit of the Spirit in their lives.

I guess it must have been a few days ago, but I was listening to a really good sermon that reminded me of what it really means to be wealthy . . . what it’s like to be blessed God’s way and to prosper from the inside out.

Looking back through old blog posts from my Blogger days, I was so deeply encouraged to see the fruit and progress of the intimacy God has cultivated with me over the years. It has been breath-taking. Quite honestly brings me to tears. Which maybe sounds dramatic, but is itself a testament to how radically He has tenderized and sanctified me. My heart has been saturated in the love and delight of the Lord and I get it now. I know what it’s like to really and truly be satisfied in the Lord to the point where nothing else remotely compares.

He’s who I was made for.

Life and friendship with Him is what we’re all made for. And through King Jesus it’s freely and readily available – despite all of our shenanigans and sins. And they are so many. And they run so deep. Only the blood of Jesus can dissolve and uproot them. But it does. The blood of Jesus washes me.

I’ve been thinking a lot about righteousness consciousness and how critical an element it is for us to develop into mature children of the living God. I suspect I’ll end up writing some thoughts about it here, but it’s still stewing. On an ire next to an increasingly clear revelation of what sin really is. And what I can expect to experience in my pursuit of purity on this planet that lies under the power of the evil one. Until all things are under His feet . . . yet at present, we don’t see it that way. We still see pandemics and politics. But oh, the Day is coming. And for it, I eagerly await.

In the meantime I am living through the unraveling of perfectionism that had wrapped itself around me like an unruly vine. How is it that even a pursuit of purity and flawlessnes can be – in this earth – so . . . flawed? Ha. Imperfect.

I have a good Father who invites me to rest. A Creator who has been displeased with the hypervigilance that skews my view of Him.

Reading through the thoughts of my twenty year old self – now three months from thirty-one, I see a bit more of what God has seen all along . . . that my heart is inclined towards Him, and that even on the worst of days, I want to want to want to be soft clay for Him to work with. And that does please Him. My Papa is pleased with my faith. Perhaps more than I presently have the capacity to realize . . . especially when I feel messy and unarrived. Unstructured.

But I suppose – if I am asking to be soft clay – unstructured is what that would feel like. Ha. It would feel like the extra flounce of a $10 mumu dress from Walmart after a half decade of strutting around in skinny designer denim.

I am very much enjoying the process of becoming more patience with myself. Like Benny {my mysterious speckled plant}, I have grown a lot in the past three years.

. . . & &


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