A blessing spoken over you today:
May the kindness, compassion, and deep love of Jesus cover you, keep you, shield you, and encourage you as He meets all of your needs, and speaks life and acceptance into your spirit.
Photo credit: Emma Giomi
Psalm 32:7 NLT “For you are my hiding place; you protect me from trouble. You surround me with songs of victory.”
The bench under this willow tree is a peaceful, restful spot at the pond by my house. I’ve written several short stories, poems, and devotions about this pond, the willow tree, and the bench. Jesus and I have had many long talks on the bench under the willow. I feel protected here listening to nature do its thing. I’ve poured out my heart to Him on this bench in laughter, joy, tears, and anger. For just a bit, I can hide myself in Him no matter what hard, frightening, out of control things are spinning around me. I’m safe. I’m protected. He’s my hiding place. Resting in nature and restoring my soul, He sings and surrounds me with songs of joy, victory, and the deep mystery of His peace that passes all understanding.
I hope you have a place that feels safe where you can sit in His presence allowing His songs of joy, victory, and deep compassion flow over you as you are tightly held and protected. You are so loved. Peace be with you.
Psalm 141:3 NIV “Set a guard over my mouth, Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips.”
The imagery of words bubbling up and out of my mouth from what is stored in my heart has always been fascinating, yet convicting for me. I like to think that my words are always lovely and inspiring, flowing from kindness, but they aren’t always. I don’t like to envision my heart filled with poisonous words and thoughts that leak and spill over onto other people, but I know that they have and they do. They likely will again.
The only way I know to keep these knife-sharp words at bay is to ask Jesus to examine what’s in my heart. It’s not pleasant. Most of us don’t relish having our hearts and deepest thoughts laid bare before God.
There are things deep inside these hidden places in each of us that are not nice, not kind, and in desperate need of healing, and cleansing. Secret things and painful wounds that we have tried so hard to heal, clean up, and bandage on our own with weak, frail bandages that are temporary and fleeting. Our self-made bandages never stop the seep and stain that taints our hearts and souls with pain that spews up and outward. That depth of exposure and healing can only come from Jesus and His mercy, compassion, and power to bind up and heal our soul deep wounds. He will do it, if we invite Him in to do that hard work.
As we go about our lives and intersect others life-travelers, I hope we keep fresh in our minds that our words contain so much power – the ability to heal, lighten, inspire, and spread kindness. I want to be known for that – kindness, acceptance, compassion. Everyone we set eyes on is deeply loved by God.
Father, please keep a guard over our mouths. Let kindness, mercy, joy, and compassion be what bubbles up from our hearts, out of our mouths, splashing all whom You place in our path. Keep watch, Lord, on the door of our lips, so that hatred, condemnation, judgement, and cruelty have no room to pierce and wound those we come into contact with daily. Let us not give the Enemy a foothold to weaponize our words. Fill us with Yourself – Your name is enough to silence all thoughts and words that are not of You. You are good, You are love, You are peace. In Your name, Jesus our Healer, amen.
You are so loved. Peace be with you.
Romans 8:26 NLT
“And the Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. For example, we don’t know what God wants us to pray for. But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words.”
Have you ever felt so bone-deep tired from circumstances and hard life seasons that the thought of putting together coherent thoughts, words, and ideas is just too much? I have, several times, and it’s not a pleasant place to be.
This verse brings me a lot of encouragement. When I do not know what or how to pray anymore over a certain situation and simply do not have the energy, the Holy Spirit knows. He knows. When human words cannot express the longing, the need, the fear, the hope, the Holy Spirit speaks in heavenly languages straight into the Throne room, interceding on our behalf. That is beautiful. That is love. That is power and compassion that swirls in mystery and bathes us in the supernatural.
If you are in this season now and simply can’t find the words to pray, be encouraged that He hears you, He knows, and He is acting. Let the sweet blanket of hope and mercy fall on you, cover you in the language of heaven, and rest, my friend, just rest. He’s got this. All is well. You are so loved. Peace be with you.
He is Near
Psalm 139:7-10 (ESV) “Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there! If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.”
While the moon begins its descent giving way to the dawn, the Lord is near.
As the last vestiges of nighttime dreams drift away, the Lord in near.
In the early morning, as the sun rises to bathe the world in light, the Lord is near.
As you stretch and greet a new day filled with untold adventure, the Lord is near.
When your brewing coffee brings warmth to your hands and a smile to your face, the Lord is near.
In the garden as you tend to the flowers and prune off the withered and dying places, the Lord is near.
Dozing in the hammock under the purple Lilac tree, the Lord is near.
As the honeybees peacefully drone and buzz about the bright colored, lovely blooms, the Lord is near.
In line at the coffee shop as you observe humanity come and go, the Lord is near.
When the scared and frail homeless woman watches as people pass her by without a glance or offer to help, the Lord is near.
As you receive a blindsiding diagnosis and panic freezes your heart, the Lord is near.
When despair causes deep pain and loneliness, the Lord is near.
When hurtful words come against you in anger and rejection, the Lord is near.
He is found in a breathtaking sunrise, a raging storm, a kind smile, and deep conversations. He is found in the loud and frenetic just as often as the mundane and unobtrusive, where the chaos of the world and humanity is stilled.
The Lord is near as He listens attentively to your softest utterance and answers your silent need.
He is near when you recognize His voice in compassionate whispers that rustle the leaves and hover over you in the breeze – the mystery of deep calling to deep.
When you seek Him, He will be found. Peace and hope are waiting for you. Listen for His whispers. The Lord is near.
Jeremiah 29:13 “Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back from captivity.”
Helpers
I happened upon a devotion this morning that caused to me stop and think. I am a helper. I want to help, fix and make other people and their lives okay. I take on and carry things with me that are not mine to carry or hold. As an empath, I deeply feel others’ joy, pain, sadness and all the in-between and that’s a good thing, right?
Perhaps, but it also gets very, very heavy. It can choke out my own joy, gladness and peace and that is a dangerous thing. The burdens of the world are impossible for me to shoulder and quickly take my focus off of being grateful, thankful and content. I miss good and happy things as well as blessings happening in my own life, because I feel such a need to help and be there for others. I am not equipped to walk another person’s path, just as they are not equipped to walk mine.
Matthew 28:18 says, “Then Jesus came to them and said, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.”
All authority. All of it. He has the power to rescue, heal, save, change the trajectory of a situation, be miraculous or help someone navigate the rocky, unsteady, difficult road that is ahead of them, filled with important lessons and truths that they alone must walk through and learn. He has that authority. Not me. He alone knows what is needed all the time and in all ways. He is the one weaving our life tapestries and He knows.
In 1 Thessalonians 5:17, the apostle Paul exhorts us to “pray without ceasing.” How much better would it be for me to use my time and energy in being a good listener, having compassion and praying, yet leaving the burden and outcome in His omnipotent hands? By praying for someone and asking God to speak to and love them through us, do we not become a channel of His peace, comfort and love?
I don’t know about you, but this speaks volumes to the helper in me. I can feel a literal shift in my soul and much-needed peace and joy descend. I feel His gentle breath soothe my heart – “let them go, child. Lay their burdens down. It is not yours to carry. I’ve got them, they are safe with Me.”
“Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty. This I declare about the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; for he is my God, and I trust him.” Psalm 91:1-2
Galatians 6:7-10 (The Message) “Don’t be misled: No one makes a fool of God. What a person plants, he will harvest. The person who plants selfishness, ignoring the needs of others—ignoring God!—harvests a crop of weeds. All he’ll have to show for his life is weeds! But the one who plants in response to God, letting God’s Spirit do the growth work in him, harvests a crop of real life, eternal life. So, let’s not allow ourselves to get fatigued doing good. At the right time we will harvest a good crop if we don’t give up or quit. Right now, therefore, every time we get the chance, let us work for the benefit of all, starting with the people closest to us in the community of faith.”
While sipping my coffee early this morning I came across the above verse in Galatians. “What a person plants, he will harvest.” Hmm. The words “will harvest” do not give any wiggle room, do they? The Apostle Paul is not mincing words when he penned this verse. We WILL harvest what we plant. If we choose to plant acid words, toxic behavior, and selfishness, we WILL harvest these very things in our lives. The very things we desperately want to avoid. What are we planting, and do we like what that harvest will produce and reproduce?
Imagine with me a typical day. In this day, each of us have myriad opportunities to plant good things, but will we?
We wake up tired and irritated due to a sleepless night. We throw ourselves out of bed, mentally ticking off all the things we must do. Our tread is heavy and annoyed as we head to the kitchen for our coffee. Waiting for it to brew, we decide it is unfair that everyone else sleeps soundly in our house and we become increasingly irritated noticing dirty dishes in the sink. The injustice of it all makes us choose to be noisier than necessary as we prepare coffee, feed the animals, and shove the offending dishes around in the sink. Making noise that might wake up the sound sleepers, which it does. This pervasive annoyance follows and taints the rest of the morning as we get ready for the day. We already decided it is going to stink and be full of further difficulties and irritations. The seeds are planted, and we unknowingly begin harvesting. Our encounters with others will have a ripple effect with lasting repercussions.
Sitting at a stop light, we refuse to let another driver merge in front of us who found herself in the wrong lane; too bad for them we think. Our rude stare and aggressive driving make us feel justified yet intensifies our frustration. Our actions plant seeds of fear, defensiveness, and worry in the woman to whom we refused to give a seed of grace. This hurtful and frightening exchange will travel with her as she goes about her day, infecting everyone in her sphere. The ripple effect. It is powerful.
At the grocery store, our demeanor is aloof and unreachable. The older man in the aisle with us attempts a friendly chat about the soup he is going to make for his lunch and how he enjoys good bread with that soup. We refuse to engage and throw an insincere half-smile his way, mumble and forcefully steer our cart further down the aisle, leaving him wounded, rejected and humiliated. Who has time for idle blabbing when we are tired and annoyed? Ripples.
In the checkout line, we queue up behind a mom with two young kids. They are noisy and difficult. Arrogant and nasty, we loudly sigh, passive – aggressively showing offense and annoyance, exasperating an already frazzled Mama. She wonders if she is failing at mothering…more ripples. Sowing and reaping, the day goes on with anger, hopelessness, pain, and grief as our harvest. It is a vicious cycle and one we could have redeemed.
What might have happened had we chosen to plant different seeds? We might wake up tired and moody. We might not want to dig deep and change our perspective to view ourselves as gardeners to another’s soul. That is tiring and hard and counter intuitive. But…we can vent all that frustration and exhaustion to our Father who gives us strength and energy to plant seeds of hope, happiness, peace, and compassion.
The irritating driver in the wrong lane is on her way to a Dr appointment that has her terrified and unable to concentrate for fear of test results. Planting seeds of compassion and kindness, by letting her in front of us with a friendly wave and smile, will vastly change the trajectory of her day. Our compassion might infuse her with peace, safety, and warm feelings of human kindness. A harvest of peace and compassion with lasting ripples.
The older man in the grocery store is suffering from deep grief and loneliness after the loss of his cherished wife. This was his first outing since her passing, and he simply needed to be seen, heard, and shown genuine kindness. By stopping to chat about how tasty soup and good bread can be, his loneliness is held at bay for a few minutes. Planting seeds of time, attention, kindness, and companionship grant him the confidence that he can do this; that he will be ok. He will know that he is seen, worth noticing and not a forgotten, old face in a sea of humanity. A harvest of compassion, healing and comfort that cost us a few moments.
The mom in the checkout line feels like a failure; like she cannot do this right and is not fit to be a mother. Planting seeds of compassion, encouragement, humor, and camaraderie in parenting let her know she is seen and understood, infusing her with confidence and patience with her children. Realizing she is doing a good job and is not alone and forgotten in this, will completely rework the tone and outcome of the day for her and her children.
We get to choose how we interact with those God places in our path. We choose what seeds we plant. It is a choice, and it is not an easy one. It takes asking the One who is perfectly unselfish, perfectly compassionate, full of mercy, loving and all wise, to give us His strength, discernment, and love.
I am grateful for the days that my family, friends and total strangers make the choice to plant good things into my soul. The smile from a stranger, the friendly exchange over berries in the produce aisle, the text “Hey, thinking of you today,” or an unexpected compliment on a day that is tough, carry so much weight. Bad days are transformed in minutes by someone with a heart full of good seeds, who takes a moment to plant a few in mine. These seed planters will reap a harvest of goodness, generosity, compassion and hope with the potential to reproduce one hundred-fold. This is the garden I want to be known for; one that produces good and makes a positive dent in my little sphere.
Maybe this time, I tell myself. I can do it. I’m strong, I can handle this. I strain to see. I try to remember how it looks, but it’s been a long time. A primal knowledge in my soul tells me that I need to see it, must find it again, but things are obscured through the webs; my vision seems cloudy and I can’t clearly make out the shapes in the strangely filtered light. Frustration wells up inside as the heaviness settles back in to take the place I’ve given it. When did that happen? Did I give it permission? I used to hear, but the sounds I’m searching for are muffled now in my ears; very faint and far off; disturbed by an odd rattling, scraping sound. Frustration, blindness and confusion; is this where I’ve settled? “Maybe if I get up and move around I can get a better view; this odd lighting is the problem, “I decide. With that decision made, I make my move to stand and am confronted with the source of the rattling, scraping sounds; thick, heavy, rusted chains. My chains. Mine. I can’t get up and move around for a better view, because I am bound to this place of filtered light, muffled sounds and intolerable frustration. Why? When? How? Panicked, I struggle and fight, then in exhaustion I slump down in defeat. Tears begin to fall from my eyes and spatter down on the ground all around me. Am I bound here forever? Is there no escape, no way out? Dark images flicker across my line of vision; stealthy movements threaten and mock. Is that faint laughter I hear? I didn’t start out here, bound like this, in chains like a condemned prisoner. Who put me here? What did I do? “Please,” I call out, “someone, will you help me?” I don’t belong here. I want out. “Someone, rescue me!”
I hear faint movement coming from all around me. The dark shapes are shrouded by the obscure, filtered light, but I sense them coming closer, bold and violent; mocking in their approach. “Help yourself,” one hisses in my ear, arrogance and fear scenting its breath, mocking laughter flowing from its tongue. As hopelessness starts to fall, I look more closely at my surroundings. I am elevated on a mass of circular stones with faded words written on each one. They are carefully arranged and set just so, in a small clearing. Like an altar. All beauty has been methodically wiped away, revealing only dust, barrenness and grotesquely twisted roots, thrusting up out of the ground. The harsh loneliness of this place is terrifying. Wait…I can see more clearly now; this used to be shadow-like and obscure, but now I sense the light shifting; brighter, clearer, full. I don’t like what I see. Webs from something horrid and smothering have been woven around, above and below my prison, trapping me; altering my view; skewing my perspective. “Lies,” a Voice gently says, “lies that have kept you snugly ensconced on your altar of self.” Altar of self. Yes, that is exactly what this is. As recognition of my pridefully built, self imposed prison floods my awareness; I realize that I cannot get out on my own. I have locked myself in. Trapped. The mocking laughter swells and I feel the heaviness trying to descend again, the weight of my chains pulling cruelly at my limbs. I am at the end of my self. ”ENOUGH!” I shout. “Please, Jesus, You have the keys…set me free!”
The mocking laughter is silenced by my words. The atmosphere shifts and grows completely still, except for a deep vibration I feel surging up from the altar on which I stand, as it cracks in two. I look down and see a clear stream of water gushing out from that crack. You stoop down and scoop the water in Your hands and offer it to me. I see the silvery scars on Your hands and a song I can’t name, but deeply understand, floods my soul. Thirst quenching. A divine exchange is taking place here and my cracked altar becomes the catalyst.
The sounds and scents I have longed for begin to reach me. Sweet laughter, gentle voices, Spirit breath, heavenly song. Delicate and powerful, they flow all around me, bathing me in sounds and scents so sweet and pure that my breath comes in gasps; expelling the dust and debris that accumulated in my spirit as I worshipped at the altar of self. I again breathe You in deeply, richly, slowly. Freedom bathes me, ministering to the wounds inflicted by the stones named Fear, Pain, Loneliness, Pride, Rebellion, Abuse that I used to build my altar. I feel lighter, clean, loved. Heavy, rusted chains break apart and fall away from me. I dance before you with abandon, unashamed, cleansed; my weakened muscles growing stronger and more nimble. The heaviness is gone and a gentle, but vibrant spirit of praise now clothes me. “Climb down, child, get down off of your broken altar. Take the stones with you; they have a purpose to fulfill here. There is something you need to see again.” I fill my white robe of praise with all of those stones. Somehow they all fit. I follow You out of the clearing where that altar once stood. As I go, new life is sprouting up. The gnarled roots of bitterness and rage, rejection and vengeance are sprouting into lovely trees of forgiveness, peace, Sonship and humility. “Stop here, beloved. Now You must use these stones to build your steps leading up to My Cross.” I look up at the Cross and it speaks to me of ultimate sacrifice, profound mercy, joy indescribable, unmatched beauty and plentiful grace, even grace for one who built her own altar of self-protection. Tears of gratitude and love wash over my face and spill down onto my hands as I build those steps. It is hard work. My building stops at times, as I find a tenacious tendril of frustration or pride trying to creep in over and around my stones, but I rip it out with Your strength in my hands. As I lift my stones into place, I notice that where my tears have fallen shoots of brilliant green are pushing their way out of the rich soil. As the sprouts emerge, You bend down and I see You writing something in the dark ground and I hear You speaking tenderly to the new sprouts. Your voice is the nourishment they need as they continue to grow. You rejoice over the harvest that only You can see.
My steps are built. They are placed firmly and deeply into the ground at the foot of Your Cross. Engraved by Your hand on that first step are the words Nisi Dominus Frustra. “Come up, Daughter. Come up higher to the very foot and find rest. Up here is what you have been searching for in vain.” I ascend those steps in anticipation. As I come closer, I stop for a moment and look back down, surveying where I started. My tears watered what You divinely planted and I see beauty stretching out below me and Your Cross is beauty before me. I feel a shout that I absolutely cannot for the life of me contain, rising up in my throat, so I shout! It is a shout of pure joy, a song from my spirit to Yours. A harvest will be reaped from my pain that I never thought I had a right to know. It is a beautiful inheritance. It is You.
There it is again. I feel it rising up from somewhere deep inside. It is difficult to describe, but there it is all the same. I want it to have a name. Somehow that will make it seem safe and predictable, possibly even controllable. However, it is anything but safe and predictable, most certainly not controllable. It is pressure that builds and needs a release; a cry from the deep that can only be satisfied by an answering calm, a gentling of the urgency; a whispered word, saying “Peace, be still child; how very close I am to you.” It is birthed in quiet moments of meditation and worship, where time ceases to exist and I know I have Your undivided attention. It is a place where my voice, my love and the groaning of Your Spirit, mix and intertwine in the Heavenlies, bringing delight to Your heart; setting into motion things I could never comprehend. It is so beautiful, yet not safe and certainly not predictable; uncontrollable. This it comes surging up as I fall to my knees in awe of all that You are; knowing that the small bit I know of You is almost more than I can bear. To know that there is more, that You are richer and more brilliant than my most vivid dreams frightens me, because that, too, is not safe, is not predictable and cannot be contained. No, it is holy, a consuming fire, pure and wild; it’s more fierce and passionate than I can handle on my own.
At times, it swells up when my fingers finally release their death grip on what I knew all along I could never control or hold onto, yet almost died in the trying. I hear it in the sound of chains falling and walls crumbling, as another stronghold tumbles to the ground; the scent of victory overcoming the stench of defeat. It comes as a wave, a pounding of the heart, as Your anointing falls when obedience calls and is answered with “Yes Lord, here I am.” It is there when the howling loneliness calls out for filling, clawing in desperation until Your presence is given permission to enfold and permeate the void. I sense it’s presence when joy unspeakable and peace that passes all understanding snaps like a banner in the wind, high above the circumstances and distractions of life, proclaiming that Jehovah Nissi is my covering and victory, shielding me with love.
As I wait in Your presence, I am beginning to understand what it is. It is desire for You so indescribable it hurts, a needy emptiness that can only be filled by all that You are. It is the craving my spirit discerns can only be satisfied when I am forever in Your presence for all eternity. It is an obsession that keeps me hungry and thirsty for revelation and wisdom; for truth and a startling intimacy found only with You. No, it isn’t safe or predictable; it’s certainly not controllable, but I know it will be with me until I see You face to face. I am learning to love it, not fear it, to embrace the wildness and fierceness of it. I will welcome it with open arms and tender heart. Its name is yearning.
I am on a constant journey to find peace. It is something I crave on a soul deep, inner man deep, level. It is difficult to describe, but it is there and it is insistent. I search for rest, because I am weary. It is not always the feeling of overwhelming exhaustion or the desperation of drowning kind of weariness, but sometimes it is. Life is showing me that peace has many different faces and it invades every situation. It can be quiet and unobserved, waiting to be noticed and when it is noticed, brings surprise and a deep sense of well-being. This happens in the wee hours of the morning, while rocking a tired, cranky baby; back and forth, back and forth, praying for rest and calm until suddenly you feel it – peace. It was there waiting, gently and softly. Rest. Peace. Joy. Love. All is well, you are safe and secure. Sheltered.
Peace is there on an ordinary day, when things are flowing smoothly and life is pleasant and people are kind. Peace was there before the day started off well, before everyone got up and got ready for work and school on time, before lunches were remembered and PE clothes were grabbed on the way out the door, before the house emptied and things were quiet. Peace was already there, waiting and present and real.
Peace is there in the absence of storms, just as real and alive and powerful, as it is in the midst of grueling trials and storms that seem to have no end. Peace is there, strong and powerful and full of compassion, when the Doctor opens the door to your room, takes a deep breath and says, “I’m so sorry. You have breast cancer.” It is there. Peace is what keeps you from losing yourself to terror when desperation blasts in and you feel like you are drowning and have no control. Peace is there in the middle of the fears of the “what-if’s” saying, “Yes! What if you are healed? What if you are well taken care of and deeply loved, what if you are never, ever alone in the midst of this, what if you are held in arms that are bigger than all your fears, what if you have shelter in the midst of all this hurt and chaos? What if? What if…
Peace reminds you that it was there before this storm hit and it will be there forever after. Peace lifts your face and asks you to fasten your gaze steadily into the eyes of Jesus, the Prince of Peace. It is Jesus, peace is Jesus. Such calm, such safety, such lovely rest.
On this journey of mine, I have discovered time and again, that my searching and desire for peace leads directly to Jesus. Every single time. I won’t find it inside myself, in my own strength. That will fall short every time. I know. I have tried over and over to be self-reliant and strong enough. The One who created me, when I was but a thought in His mind, the One who formed every single part of me, all my weaknesses and failings and all my strengths and gifts – He wants me to feel peace, to feel Him working out all things for good, according to that beautiful, unique plan that is my life. Your life. The time He took to carefully place us right where we are, surrounded by the people and circumstances that He brought into being, tells me that He knows what He is doing. He is the Master planner. He knows how it all ends. We win because He is victorious over death and sin. It is good. He’s got me, He’s got you. It is ok to not know what to do, if you know the One who does. It is ok to not have it figured out and planned and plotted. He already did that. It’s done. Can you and I walk this out? The not knowing? We can. We do it every day, don’t we? We wake up and just go. However, the going is so much easier when we understand and truly believe that He has us in His hands and that nothing, nothing at all, comes toward us, His children, that He has not first filtered through hands of love, a mind of infinite wisdom and a heart that loves us so intensely, intimately and fiercely, that He allowed His beloved Son to die for us, to take all this on for us, to forgive us and to become our Peace. This is a wild love. It is not tame and it is not controllable. Yet, in this fierce and protective love, we find the greatest of peace. Jesus.
Melissa Giomi, October 7, 2015
Extravagant Hope 