Two years ago, God smashed my pride in a way I never expected and never wanted but sorely needed.
I spent an hour or two doing the work He had called me to in that minute and then I spent about twice as long spilling it out into words.
I have said this before, and I will say it again: I wish “My Heart: The Manifesto” were enough to leave a strong legacy of faith. It isn’t. It’s only one post of over eight hundred on this blog and only a few hours of over two hundred thousand in my life thus far. Faith is work. Faith is the good fight. Faith is the wrestling with what is unseen. Faith is sometimes wrestling with Who is unseen. Faith is catching your breath, over and over: Jesus, You are more than I was ready for.
There’s an Anchor named Jesus slamming me in the bedrock of the ocean floor, smashing bits of pride and anger and self-satisfaction every time it drops. Each pounding into the Rock of Ages reminds me of the eternal, of paradise. I wrote about paradise in MHTM, how it starts out sounding all soft and sweet but ends with freezing tension.
There’s an African-inspired version of Coldplay’s “Paradise” – I included it in MHTM – and I love it. The strings, the piano, the vocals: it all stirs my heart in such a way I couldn’t explain if I tried. The swells of the music, I think, reflect the storms of life, and it makes me think of the various ways and intensities in which the Living Water drowns us as we learn to drink ever deeper.
We lay claim to a kingdom that cannot be shaken. That is a beautiful, incomprehensible right as co-heirs with Christ. And my prayer, for myself, for you, is that we run with endurance the race set before.
That we keep the faith and carry on. And one day, Lord only knows when, come home. So, fight on, sister. I’ll see you soon.