Tonight, all I have is my 5 minutes. But this, friends, this is some of that. The things God is doing in this girl. Tonight, I’m joining with Lisa Jo Baker and the word warriors that show up week after week, not caring about perfection or performance but about perseverance. Showing up and lifting up and covering up, when we are at our weakest, most vulnerable places. When our words are spilt like an offering, we swoop in every Friday and give thanks for each other. This sisterhood. Read along. Join in. Your voice matters. 5 minute free write. Just let the words fly and don’t worry about getting it all right. Then link up over at Lisa Jo’s and spread the love. See you there?
The conversation is laid out on the table before us. We ask the questions. The hard ones that tell more than the words we are saying.
Because the words that come to mind when we think of God are always clues hinting at a much bigger picture.
If I tell you I think of majesty and awe, supremacy and justice but neglect mercy and compassion, I am telling you a bit about my soul. And if you looked closer you’d glimpse the spirit bruised in the hands of my angry god. Because I have never been enough for him. That god that judges and rules and sits absent and removed, in the midst of dreams gone wrong.
But I’m learning a new language, with thick tongue and rambling syllables. The kind that feels foreign in my mouth rolling about and stunted. I’m learning this language of truth. Because the true things spoken, set people free.
The hard truth that I’m so often wrong and only grace has the power to lay me bare and covers me back up. That I can say it all, speak it hard, and find in the trembling words, beauty, love, acceptance.
That he is big enough for the beating of my fists against his chest, for the lament of the broken little girl, for the sorrow of my full grown form. He is big enough to scoop me up and hold me close and whisper life back into those dreams. Remind me he formed those parts that catch fire with words and ideas and burn passionate and fierce.
He sets me loose, and I’m free. I am wildfire raging in perfect peace. I am words thrust down from lofty places, hollowed out gut deep and spoken into this place. I am kneeling on Holy ground, with unclean lips and shaded eyes, begging to be sent.
The girls make daisy chains and thread stems through braids and carry dandelions in a bouquet playing house, each white tuft catching wind and soaring out, each giggle hinting at a bright future, when they are young enough to believe their mama’s when they say, “My love, you are beautiful,” and the world hasn’t told them different. And dreams aren’t hard to come by, because imagination and despair have never had a chance to meet. When youth has filled their marrow with eternity and their bones are strong, their hearts sturdy.
And I know this place will come and stay and be.
Someday these daughters will rise and speak truth and they will be the torch bearers because they heard that whisper on the calling wind, they learned to speak languages of truth and despised the slippery tongued lies spoken before.
We are seeking Holy ground, sent out searching and bringing it back for nations to hear and tremble and rejoice. We are the generation of hallelujah women, letting our hair dance wild in the wind, with hands raised high to heaven without worrying if we’re doing it right. We are the called. We are the daughters of the most High God.
We are learning a new language.