All that is shaken

I woke up late that morning. “7:29 a.m.” gleamed at me on my phone screen and the snooze timer counted down the seconds until the next time it would attempt to wake me. That current season of life had been so busy. I was staffing my first Discipleship Training School with my husband, and it had been some of the most intense and exciting months we’ve had in ministry together yet. Still there’s a cost, and sleep was one price I was okay with losing some of. We had spent the past three months living in close community with thirteen students, young and old, from all of the world. Sharing meals together, having heart to heart connections with, receiving healing from long lasted wounds, growing in the Lord together, ministering on the streets together, and everything in between. They became instant family.

We were two weeks away from going on outreach, which would consist of two months of evangelism and ministry. Outreach is the whole point of the Discipleship Training School. My husband and I had spent the entire school planning and connecting with the local contacts we would work with during our outreach: praying with our team, casting vision, setting up housing, meals, budgeting the expenses, etc. All we had left to do was pack our bags. We were ready, and excited to go, as was the rest of our team.

We had pressed into the Lord as a school and seen wonders and miracles as the Holy Spirit moved in and through us. It was incredible how willing all of the students were to receive all that God had for them during the school, and even more incredible how quickly God showed up in a powerful way. Our second week of school several were baptized in the Holy Spirit and many received the fire of God. Everyone in the room that day night and into the next day was encountering God in either laughter, laying out on the floor, weeping, sitting still, or a mixture of the sum. God manifested a small bit of His glory to us and it was wonderful. This fast beginning launched us into a radical several months of seeking God and finding Him in all of His splendor.

The night before this morning, we had an evening meeting updating the students on the COVID-19 situation. Currently we would have to stay one meter apart from one another, and eating in the cafeteria would look a bit different as the kitchen staff would have to change the ways they distributed food. Three of our students were missing because they were in a ‘quarantine’ of sorts from a stomach bug. The base leadership was requesting anyone that had any hint of illness to stay in their rooms. After the announcements we prayed for the nations and for our school during this crisis time as the virus spread. We took communion together and then began spontaneously singing out worship and praise to the Lord acapella. “Fearless forerunners carrying the fire and fragrance of God” That was the banner the Lord gave us staff for the school. And that was exactly who we were. I could see it before my eyes as we sang out in one accord together. It was beautiful. As the hours went on many left and many stayed to continue spurting out heart cries to the Lord in song, exalting Jesus over this global crisis. I didn’t know then that would be our last time worshipping together as a school.

So after the intense night I didn’t get as much sleep as I would’ve normally, but it was worth it. I quickly turned off my alarm that morning and was excited for the day ahead. Because of the mandatory national closure for all schools in the nation we were living as missionaries in, my kids’ kindergarten school had already been shut down the day before. So I didn’t have to get them ready for school that morning, and quickly ate some toast, poured a cup of tea and rushed out to class. I led the typical Friday’s Bible reading morning; still working through the book of Acts. The staff that normally led this morning was in quarantine for a sore throat. The base wasn’t taking any chances. The speaker for the week’s teaching on ‘relationships’ came in after our Bible reading session, and we began our final day of teaching on the subject. There was an uneasy feeling in the room, at least I could feel it. Something was off, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. The world was in a panic over this virus spreading globally, and we were on the edge of everything tipping over as the balance became one-side too heavy here.

During the last session of teaching that day, us staff present on the school’s team were notified that the base leadership was calling a mandatory meeting for all people on the base to attend after lunch. Our school leader informed myself and my fellow staff (also close friend) that the leadership was shutting down our school. My heart sunk in my chest. Everything from then on felt like slow motion. We all stood in the room two meters a part and listened to our base leader update us on the national proclamations for this virus, and how our base would take action on it. The nation we were in had become level 3 on the global health advisory and everything was about to change. Serving food had to stop, meeting in groups had to stop, isolation in our homes would be our priority and amongst a long list of other changes, the main one that took our breath away was this: everyone that could leave had to leave, effective immediately. Basically if you didn’t have your own unit, your own home with a kitchen and bathroom, then you had to move off of the base for an unknown amount of time. This meant all of our students and also a good deal of international/domestic staff.

What. Seriously? Our students cried, we cried. Everyone was shocked. In one hour, our entire lifestyle was flipped upside down. Many began buying tickets for flights home and planning to leave. I didn’t have many words to say. The students and our staff were heartbroken. The future was uncertain and we weren’t gauranteed that we would all get to be together again. We had three weeks left of school, and that was all put on hold. The outreach we spent months planning was cancelled. We weren’t sure (and still aren’t) when nations will begin opening up their boarders again. And so we had to send students back to their homes without getting any sort of preparation, reverse-culture shock training, or debriefing in order to return back to their homes. Our dreams and hopes for finishing this season seemed to be ripped out from under us and crushed in front of our eyes.

We had a rushed, thrown together dinner that Friday night where we all said our, ‘goodbye’s’. A dinner in which many were too stunned to even eat. People cried while they sat at a table quickly decorated for the fast departure party. We gave spontaneous speeches, cried bitter tears, hugged, and tried to encourage one another in the only hope that remained, hope in Christ. But it wasn’t anywhere near closure. It was sudden and it hurt our hearts. It hurt mine. Over two to three days, most people left. It was quite traumatic to have your entire daily schedule, group of people you do life with, weekly ministry times of worship and prayer, and close community living completely shatter in a matter of one day.

Helpless is a good term for how I felt. Of course I prayed, and my heart still praised the Lord despite it all. Yet the way everything ended so suddenly, it hurt my heart. I had so much faith that God would get us through this crisis time, and it didn’t turn out the way I envisioned it. But over this week and a half since that day, God has spoken so much to me. Trust and hope.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”

Romans 15:13 NIV

I had to wrestle with the Lord in why things didn’t turn out as planned.
Why didn’t people do this instead of that? Why didn’t we seek you more or try other options? Why are people so afraid?
So many why’s, and still there was just one heart that Holy Spirit seemed to be the most concerned about…
mine.

I was frantically looking for solutions, frantically praying for Him to pick up the pieces that had just been scattered all over the world by COVID-19. All the while joy and peace began to fade as my trust in God became the real issue for me here. I wanted Him to bring things back to they way they were, and yet everyone around me was proclaiming that was impossible. I was so set on proving them all wrong that my trust actually became misplaced. I trusted that our leadership would keep the school running, and when that didn’t happen for many reasons I was in despair. I trusted that we would do whatever it took to get all of our students and staff back together again as soon as we were able. Again that wasn’t able to happen either. My trust was in people.
My trust was in the results of my labor looking a certain way.
All the while God wanted to fill up my pleading heart. With hope. A hope that resulted in joy and peace that would overflow hope to other people.

I was trying to save the world, and He was wanting to steady me.

God’s agenda was a little different than mine…maybe because He already did all of the saving. Thankfully there’s grace for me and I can joyfully repent which just looks like me turning to Jesus, confessing my sin and asking Him to change the way I think. Throughout this global COVID-19 crisis, my daily routine has been shaken. My living conditions have shaken. My friendships and family have been shaken. My plans for the next month have been shaken. Even my trust has been shaken. And out of all that has crumbled in the shaking, what cannot be shaken has remained. That is the kingdom of God inside me. The kingdom that wants to be released out. So this is me letting it shine. And my declarations of truth will be shouted out louder than the chaos

I am God’s daughter carrying His authority and power by the blood of Jesus and the Holy Spirit upon me.
I am a co-heir with Christ, seated in the heavenly places with Him.
I am rooted and established in the love of God.
I am no longer a slave to fear, but I am a child of the living God.
I am a disciple of Christ, called to be His witness to the nations, and signs and wonders will accompany this call.
I am strong and courageous and will not be afraid or dismayed for the Lord, my God is with me wherever I go.
I have hope, joy and peace in Christ.
I am a city on a hill that can not be hidden.
My family and I are dwelling in the shelter of the Almighty and abiding in the shadow of His wings.
I am not ashamed of the gospel for it is the power of God unto salvation for everyone that believes.
I have received a kingdom that cannot be shaken.


As for the school, the vision remains the same. We are fearless forerunners carrying the fire and fragrance of God. This our time to walk that out. Myself included. The future might be uncertain for some, but it’s not for me. I know my God has a plan and a purpose for my life that nothing can hinder. Though my heart and my flesh may fail, God is the strength of my heart and my portion f o r e v e r. The wind and the waves will come, but through it all there is so much more to be thankful for. Because Jesus is alive, and He is faithful.


Here are some questions I have for you today. Grab a pen and take a moment to process.

-Where were you the day this virus changed the regular flow of your life? —-What were some of the consequences of the changes that had to be made (i .e. social distancing, lack of usual supplies, school/work shutdown)?
-Where does your trust lie right now?
-What are your “I am” truth statements?
-What are ten things you can thank God for today?

When Following God Doesn’t Feel Good

My little family went on a mission trip to Thailand for six weeks over summer last year. The entire time was challenging and beautiful, life-changing and transforming. Near the end of our outreach, all four of us got sick. It started with our two kids. They spent a few days with a fever that would come and go, sometimes they had stomach problems, but after several days it stopped for them. The following week, Brenner and I came down with the worst illness we’ve ever experienced. It was far worse than whatever the kids had previously had. Our brains hurt. Our eyes could hardly open due to a constant pain behind them. Muscles and joints ached severely. Fever came and went rapidly. Food wasn’t even on the priority list because moving was so excruciating.

I put all of my strength in just living. I had never felt like I was fighting for my life before that. After two days of dealing with this, Brenner and I decided we needed to seek emergency medical care because we sensed that we had something extremely serious. Prior to this happening, we had visited a village in some remote mountains in Thailand where mosquitoes carried disease and illnesses. Therefore we went to the hospital to check ad see if we had anything serious. As if we hadn’t already felt minorities in Asia, we were very obvious Americans in a giant hospital containing nearly a thousand patients from all nations in the Golden Triangle (Laos, Myanmar and Thailand). Everyone stared at us. And yet, I was in such critical condition that I didn’t care.

“Just save me, God.” This was one of the few thoughts I kept on repeat in my mind while hardly being able to speak.

We were directed to a separate wing of the hospital. There a team of Thai doctors made a make-shift office sitting on a table outside the hospital. The sun was blinding and the heat nauseating. Upon looking at us and asking us what was happening, they immediately felt that we had dengue fever, a mosquito borne illness. The skin tests they ran confirmed that Brenner had the illness, and my results were inconclusive. Still, I remember seeing them write a large “D.F.” with a sharpe marker and circling it at the top right corner of little sheets that identified us out of the other hundreds of patients. They were convinced that we had the illness.

Our contact person accompanying us carried these papers from department to department as we were transferred around the giant indoor/outdoor hospital. I write ‘indoor/outdoor’, because many of the waiting rooms packed with sick and injured patients were outside in the heat. The indoor parts of the hospitals also had wide open doors and windows subject to the elements. The entire place was hot and packed with people. It was a hospital unlike any that a Westerner like me had been to.

My husband and I were sent for further blood tests. We had our missions team contact person with us. His name was Jai Jai. He was someone from the same unreached people group that our missions team had come all the way to Thailand to minister the gospel of Jesus to. This man was part of the less than 2% of evangelical Christians within his entire people group. And boy, was he was on fire for Jesus. He prayed and sang worship songs over Brenner and I throughout the entire process of wheeling me around the hospital in a wheel chair and translating to nurses, doctors and other medical staff for us. I was in bad shape, vomiting, drained of color, couldn’t lift my head while lying limp in my chair with eyes closed. I was a sight to behold for the many masses surrounding us in the different, giant waiting rooms. I couldn’t pray much outside of my one internal cry for God to help us over and over.

Instead of praying or thinking, I listened to Jai Jai praying and singing over us. He was going to battle for us against this sickness that could kill us, a sickness that had killed many. We were silent, but somehow, by the grace of God, unafraid. As wild as it might sound, I knew if dying was a part of this, that I had lived my life for Jesus. To live is Christ, to die is gain (Philippians 1:21). That became real for me. And if it wasn’t time for that eternal gain, then I just wanted the medical team to help us get better. Again, this is intense for me to write out, but I can’t tell you enough that the sickness was extremely painful. There was so much we did not know. So much mystery. So there with closed eyes, I gave God my trust, my hope, my life, my husband, my children, my everything. again. and. again.

We went to another office and had our blood drawn. Then wheeled over to another place. We covered so much ground in that hospital. And hardly knew where we were going or what was happening. After several hours of waiting, we were taken to one last doctor.

Jai Jai wheeled me and Brenner over to the new doctor. Brenner was in bad shape too, but not as bad as me so he helped in whatever way he could for me. They helped me sit into the seat before the doctor’s desk. I remember thinking , “Wow, finally some air conditioning.”

She questioned me about the village in the mountains we had been in, and said we had to wait longer for the blood results to come. I remember being on the verge of tears because I didn’t want to leave her office to go back into that hospital crammed with people, sticky with humid heat while also feeling like death. But before I could say a word, her computer made a ding sound. She shockingly announced that the results had just came in. The words that came out of her mouth and then Jai Jai’s translation will remain in my mind for the rest of my life.

P U R E.

Miraculously our blood came back completely pure. Those were the doctor’s exact words.

Your blood has come back pure.

They were all a bit confused because our symptoms screamed that we had a mosquito-borne illness, and yet from our blood they could find nothing wrong with us at all. It was a good report, one that we received in shock. God was working miracles on our behalf, but we still couldn’t feel it in the physical 100% yet. I had to stay at the hospital for several more hours to receive fluids. My husband had to return to the place we were staying at in order to be with our children, and Jai Jai had to go back to work but would return to get me after the fluids were done. Which meant I would have to remain there by myself for several hours. I had no phone and was afraid to be alone there but at the same time I was too miserable to protest. I laid on a stretcher in a room with thirty other people. Some lying on stretchers, some were nurses busying about. It was crowded, with no privacy, but it was air conditioned and so much better than the waiting rooms. I tried to will myself to sleep but I was in so much pain that I couldn’t. The fluorescent lights were so bright behind my eyelids, and I shivered despite the heat. I was hooked up to several IV’s. Nurses, doctors and patients spoke and laughed around me in a language I didn’t understand. It was a lot for me. But there wasn’t much I could dwell on or worry about in the moment. I just wanted to live. I did continue thinking that I had no way of keeping track of time and was a little worried about Jai Jai not coming back for me. Slowly the overhead lights began turning off and someone wheeled me out into the hallway where I laid on the stretcher for another eternity, or so it felt. The waiting room was surprisingly empty. This part of the hospital was clearly closing for the day. Several employees came near and talked to one another right beside my head. I had no idea what they said but they soon left. I was a alone in a dimly let hallway. Later someone else came up and took the IV out of my arm and walked away. No one ever told me anything but I wouldn’t have understood anyways. Finally a male nurse or hospital employee came up and began rolling my stretcher outside the wing of the hospital. He took me behind the hospital to an elevator in the back. At this point, after the fluids ran through my veins and hydrated my body, I was feeling a tinsy tiny bit better. So my logic returned to me and I began thinking about everything I had been warned about in coming to a developing country like this. For example, being an American young woman by herself, vulnerable, and without a form of communication. Something rose up in me, a will to live and a fight to be done with this insane situation. Despite my wariness, the man rolling my bed across the parking lot and hospital grounds did in fact take me into another part of the hospital. He left me at the front doors of the hospital’s main entrance. I laid on the stretcher in front of hundreds of people sitting in the waiting room wondering if my ride would know where to find me since I had been moved and the hospital was so big. I waited for a while, still no way of checking or asking for the time. And finally I made the resolve to just leave and walk back to the hotel that our team was staying at. I knew how to get back, but the walk was about two miles and I still felt horrible. Even so, I was done with this situation. So I put my sunglasses on, peeled myself off the stretcher and left without checking out.

Who knew if that was even something that was done here?

I didn’t at the time. I walked back to our hotel in the beating sun with my eyes half closed due to the intense pain in my head. I know now that I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, but after so much pain and enduring such harsh conditions I was totally done. I wanted it to be over and I wanted to be with my family. Jai Jai found me one block away from our hotel and drove me the rest of the way back. He had to return to the hospital with my passport to check me out and get my medications. What an awesome man dealing with us wild, sick Americans. Still I made it ‘home’ to the hotel with my husband and kids after all of that, and I was pronounced to have pure blood! You would think things got easier. But not quite yet.

Afterwards, recovery was not easy. Despite the good report, our symptoms raged on and the situation remained the same. We practically laid on our backs in darkness for the next two days. As parents, we had to force ourselves to try and get up for the sake of the children, to care for them. And thankfully we had a friend on our team help us a few hours a day to play with the kids, as we hoped and prayed for rest and healing.

On the second day after leaving the hospital, I had had enough of this sickness, enough of crying out to God and seeing the same awful results in front of me. I had so much faith, I loved God with everything in me, I had given up everything to follow Him, literally, and yet we were still so very sick. I began to plan for the worst. I told our team leader that we needed to find a way out of this small village and get to a bigger city with a bigger hospital. I said that we needed someone close to us to come be with the kids, and maybe we needed to be flown back to our home in Norway or even to the U.S. if this sickness went on any longer. We couldn’t take it anymore. The entire situation had become too unbearable. Brenner was in an even worse condition than before, I wasn’t doing any better, and the kids were tired of sitting in our tiny hotel room all day everyday. I felt helpless. I wanted my husband and I to be healed. I felt like a failure. Failure as a Christian, for not having enough faith to be healed. Failure as a mother, for not being able to care for the kids the way I normally would. Failure for getting so sick during a mission trip we prayed for months for. I felt like a failure, for all of it.

The agony of my great weakness and my great need for God came crashing into me in a way I had never felt before.

I laid in bed with my eyes closed, tears seeping slowly between eyelids, hoping for a slumber that wouldn’t come. And so suddenly I felt God lean over me and say, “I am taking care of you.

I saw the shadow of a figure hovering over me. I heard the whisper. I felt the pressing of someone leaning over me. I’d have thought it was a dream if I could have actually fallen asleep. It was real.

I am taking care of you.

Did I imagine that? How could that be true?

Is this what being taken care of looked like?

I genuinely felt so baffled that God would say such a thing when nothing about my reality looked like care being given. My shock was not malicious, I genuinely contemplated what caring for a child looked like and wondered in what ways this could possibly be that. Still I recognized His voice and I grabbed on to His statement as if it were a rope descending into a dark pit in which I sat at the bottom of. I wrapped this glimmer of hope tightly within myself… and slowly a sound sprang up in the pit.

A distant song began to stir within me like an echo of old. It steadily grew louder and louder, and I soon felt l like I was being electrocuted with the power in the melody.

All my life, You have been faithful.

First, it was just a thought in my mind. But immediately upon thinking it, the truth resonated within me. It pulsated through my bones, bringing warmth into my aching joints. The song pumped with my blood, beat through my heart, and I felt a real revival, from death to life, spark inside me.

All my life, You have been so, so good
With every breath that I am able
I will sing of the goodness of God

I opened my lips and with a cracked whisper I began to sing this song to the Lord.

As I whispered the song, I actually felt the pain behind my eyes start to fade away. Very quickly I was able to open them both. The pain receded instantly in one eye, and then slowly, the other. The pain in my body began to leave too. Joint by joint. Muscle by muscle. At last, I sat up. I placed my feet on the cold tile floor without any pain in my brain or body and it was then that I realized what just happened.

I was healed.

It was a miracle. A real healing miracle from God. When I was able to give nothing, God came in with everything. He saved me, as He always has. All my life He truly has been faithful. Something about meditating on His goodness in my life, even when I didn’t feel good, even when I could no longer see His goodness, something about remembering His goodness changed everything for me in that moment. He was caring for me as He always has. That was a knowledge that was so above me, I still don’t understand it fully. He is my Daddy, and He is good. Despite what I see, and despite what I feel the goodness of God is a tangible flame of truth that can pierce through the darkest of nights.

I jumped out of bed singing this song, “Goodness of God” by Bethel Church. I was amazed! I began praying for Jesus to heal my husband, who still laid in the bed and then I took the kids to play outside. I could now be outside in the, once excruciating, bright sunny afternoon. While I was out, my husband also cried out to God for healing and he received instantaneous healing as well. We saw God move in a way we never had personally before. We went through our lowest valley, but God showed Himself in so much glory. He is faithful and that is something we will never forget, something we will shout from the roof tops. God is faithful. Trust Him. Believe.


You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you. 

John 15:16 NIV

This was a word the God gave my family when we arrived to Thailand, and it remained true through our entire journey there. The knowledge of His faithfulness is one of the fruits that we will carry to the ends of the earth. Be encouraged, friends. God is with you even when you can’t see Him. God is good even when your circumstances don’t feel good. Remember all that He has done, remember His goodness.

Now my family and I are back as missionaries in Norway. We are confidently unsure but unafraid of the unseen journey that lies ahead. We have been miraculously healed and have endured some seriously hard battles. Taking up our cross is not easy but it’s not about us really. All the glory goes to the Father. And one thing we know, He is worthy of it all. Wherever He calls us, however He calls us, He will never leave us or forsake us. He is a good Daddy, and He cares for us. Even in the wilderness. Even in the desolate places.

And that I now know without a shadow of a doubt to be true.


Open your Hands

Like a knife slicing through butter, I stepped out of my house and into the crisp yet somehow damp with humidity morning. It’s not abnormal for Texas to provide such paradoxical weather. I clomped over to my car door and noticed a butterfly perched on the handle with outstretched wings. Instinctively I froze and gently eased my hand in front of the butterfly. It slowly placed one spindly leg after onto my hand. Time seemed to pause as I held the butterfly in the palm of my hand. Every now and then the little guy (maybe girl?) would flutter its wings as it explored the newfound territory. I tried to put him on a nearby shrub. but he was quite content to sit on my hand. The moment was so beautiful. Still I was itching to grab my phone out of the purse slung on my arm to catch a picture. At the same time I didn’t want to scare off the butterfly with my movements. I forced myself to wait and be in the moment. Yet the ridiculous internal battle raged on. After several agonizing minutes, I slowly maneuvered my other arm and pulled out my phone for the picture. As I looked through my phone’s screen and readied myself to take the photo, the butterfly fluttered away.

Of course there was a lesson to be learned in this for me. As I watched the butterfly float away on the thick air, I immediately heard the tender whisper from Abba, Father, “Don’t be distracted with holding onto things- I will provide more tomorrow.” My desire to take a picture of the beauty in my hands was birthed out of my want to hold on to the moment for longer than the fleeting minutes I thought it would be. I knew the butterfly would not stay there forever, and I wanted to keep the moment. I wanted to show my kids, show my friends, maybe even put a pretty quote on it and feature it in a blog. Whatever my good intentions were, the thoughts of physically hanging on to this beautiful encounter were distracting me from the moment itself. And not only that,  but my obsession put a damper on the beauty of the fleeting gift that the visit from the butterfly was. You see the gifts, the moments, the people, the material possessions, part of what makes them so special is that they are momentary. From a macro level of viewing this in my own life, I will not be on this earth forever. One day this body will die and become new with Jesus. In the grand scheme of eternity, my time here is short. Therefore I want to run as fast as I can in pursuit of my forerunner Jesus. Even if it means falling and scraping my knees. By grace, I rise and press on. Following every God-given dream, saying, “Yes”, to every calling, and passionately utilizing ever gift planted by the Lord within my soul. I want to love deeply out of the wellspring of love crashing into me from the Lord. To bring Him glory from my surrender, to make Him known through my life. His voice guides me on, “Come, child.”

If you are new to my blog, then you don’t know that my family is planning to become full-time missionaries and are moving to Norway in March, God-willing. There are so many baby steps to even getting the change to take this giant leap of faith. There is a daily surrendering to the Lord’s ability to accomplish the task of provision and endurance for us to get there. And despite the challenge, it has been amazing for our family. Our faith is swelling, our flame burning bright, and our family is becoming closer to God and one another than I thought possible. Yesterday started out so well, and then something in me shifted. Granted, being on the phone with an internet company for an hour and a half to troubleshoot a work issue probably played a role in my mood. But regardless, a heaviness began to fall on me. I knew why the entire time but I fought it. I had just had a crazy intensely miraculous week. Every day was full of stretching and miraculous provision. So much good. And still, I was tired. “Rest, child“, the Lord whispered to me over and over again. I fought it. I was frustrated with my relationships for a list of conjured up reasons, angry that my voice was hoarse and I couldn’t even sing to worship my way out. I was tired. I was desperately hanging on to every thing but the Lord. I cleaned my house and posted pictures of my couch on the internet to be sold for our missions fund. Not long afterwards my kids asked to build a tent, and I obliged. I began to rearrange the very furniture that we planned to sell in my living room and I built the coolest blanket fort around. In that action, I even thought to myself that I would miss having the furniture that our family had made so many memories with. As any parent probably knows, the next request from my children came as no surprise, “Come hang out in our tent with us, Mommy!” Isn’t is so like our children to cry out to us the very things our souls cry out to the Lord? I crawled inside the plush fortress like a swaddled giant and at last the Lord beautifully wrecked me. Wrecked my walls, anyways. “Open your hands“, Abba whispered.

Surrender the plans, the future, the giftings, the possessions, the people. Surrender the moments. Surrender my life. Every day the Lord wants me to have open palms. This is the same posture that allowed a beautiful butterfly to rest on my hand. Open palms to release what I have already obtained and to receive new, fresh manna. Not to grip on to things so hard that I have no room for newness. God wants you and I to live with open palms to constantly receive His fullness, His beauty, His goodness. We cannot create eternity, it has already been written on our hearts. We need only to lean into Him, giving up ourselves, trusting that He is enough, and receiving all that He has for us. So open up your hands today. Give up your life. Give the Lord your good and your bad. Trust that He will provide you more. He is a good Dad.