The Lighthouse

Sitting in my dingy ship I have had plenty of time to think. There is a quiet rhythm to the work God is doing in my life. Darkness like a sickness has threatened the deep, abounding and steady joy that seemed to define and radiate from within me. Once upon a time I pulled from that internal light and it powered me to serve in my church, school, and community with a smile, positivity and optimism. The degradation of that girl has been an uncomfortable loss and I've struggled with who I've become; who am I any more?

I can only speculate that the reason that I have felt so shrouded by staggering darkness is that these hazel eyes have closed to the Light of the World. Spiritually I have suffered and suffocated myself in the blackness of the world rather than opening my eyes to follow the Light.

In February I wrote a post about the break down of my friend group. In it I rejoiced at the works God was doing in my life through that situation. He is still working in this but something else stood out from the lines of scripted testimony. "I feel myself walking out of darkness and into His marvelous light (1 Peter 2:9). That joy, light and happiness that I have thirsted and hungered for in the beginning of this year has been seeping and peeking through my heart lately....A glint of True Joy has encouraged my soul." [excerpt from my blog post How Do You Measure a Year?] 

I have been trying to row my boat all over the seas of life without drinking the satisfying, unending and eternal rivers of life that Jesus provides. I have fought against the Anchor that has faithfully kept me in the center of inky oceans without opening my eyes to see that there is Light in the darkness. Now, with hands free and eyes beginning to open there in sight is a light house! A bright, tall and strong tower of safety. With the opening of my eyes came an opening of my heart.

Follow me.

the voice commanded.

Without taking the wooden oars into my hand my ship is led by the Anchor towards the safe harbor of Light in the distance.  Startled by the motion I fearfully reach for the paddles and begin to row but I only start veering off course. When I remove my bone-white fingers from the devices the Anchor again leads me towards the Light. This pattern of trust and fear and trust and fear damages the integrity of my ship. 

Jesus calls us to follow him. To follow Christ is to have Christ and to follow the Light is to have the Light of Life (also John 8:12). It's this Life of Light through Jesus Christ that super powered my heart and overflowed into my work. He is the supernatural source that shone through my smiley demeanor. The sincerity of my encouraging words to others came from the assurance of humble and obedient joy in God!

I've tried to follow Him with my hands gripping wooded oars and eyes closed; now with open hands and open eyes maybe this is the internal change I have been looking for. I'm beginning to feel my heart wanting not only the joy and light it once used to bask in, but the true source. I can't wait to reach that Harbor of Light, and the strong radiant Lighthouse at it's center!

The Anchor

Life is wonderfully interesting. It's as if I am on a boat surrounded by complete blackness and the waters are awfully choppy, but not overwhelming. Sometimes I sit in terror with my arms holding to the sides of the boat, eyes closed tightly.The vast darkness seems less frightening with lids drawn together. Sometimes I row frantically trying to escape the unknown storm around me. The waves lap against the wood of my oars. All of my best efforts to take my vessel further from the center of the tempest fail; I am held firm by an anchor running down into the deepest depths of the water.


My desperate fingers seek to loose the chain, but find an unmovable rope. Every attempt to unlace the thick cord from my boat fails until eventually the challenge is abandoned. How much longer will this darkness capture my ship? Idle frustration builds until the breaks in the waves become a comfortingly familiar echo in my defeated mind. No more struggling to flee from the anchor, only a bitter acceptance of each slap of water against the decaying sides of the ship. My hands return to the rim resting uneasily and afraid to release their grip.


Let go.
a voice commands.


I am incited many more times before my fingers unlace from their safe embrace of one another. Darkness still surrounds me but I am no longer afraid. With the unfolding of my hands came an opening of my heart. I realize that the anchor isn't what is hurting me, but the darkness I feared. The Anchor is keeping me from being swept away by the frantic winds and spinning currents. The strong tether between my small, useless dinghy and my Anchor is perfectly made. This understanding travels down from my eyes into my heart assuring me that I am exactly where I was made to be.


Jesus is the Anchor. He is the lifeline holding me from the endlessly eclipsed ocean.

The Forest

we are in the forest, walking. 

it goes on endlessly.

radiant, glorious light comes from every angle.

it floods the forest with love.

we are all questing after the source of the light.

that is why we are here, walking.

the tree's are tall.

the path is rocky, narrow.

sometimes we see footprints of those who came before us.

sometimes the path has never been trod upon.

i was in this forest. 

stumbling through the dense growth.

my clumsy feet trip on roots and rocks.

often times i wander, aimlessly. lost.

and He comes along.

He takes my hand, and gently leads me forward.

but many times i unlace my fingers from His.

a wise friends story

there is a story about a man who lived in a dark house and all he did was stroke his brooch. he loved the brooch as it hung around his neck. it was cold and smooth and he loved it. people would tell him to look at it, to see what it was but he never did. one day, he had a guest visiting who opened the living room curtain, in order to lighten up that mans dark house. the light fell across the mans face, and he continued to stroke his prized brooch. he then lifted it from his chest into the light, expecting to its beauty and glory. but as it broke into the sunshine filtering through the opened window, sometime completely different.

a cockroach, huge and ugly, was in the palm of his hand. in disgust, the smooth and shiny shell was torn from his neck and thrown across the room, til it disappeared into the shadows. everything he once enjoyed about it, that he prided in and took joy in, that brought joy to the man, now brought vile from his stomach.

moral: sometimes, we hang on to somethings (sin) until we see how ugly and horrible they really are.

there is beauty.
if you are willing to step into the light.