I am...

I am a sinner saved by grace...
I am chosen child...
I am set apart by God...
I am a covered by the blood of the lamb...

I am tempted...
I am fearful...
I am made new...
I am beloved...

I am refined by fire...
I am saved...
I am unfathomably loved...
I am a worshipper...

I am called...
I am died for...
I am a receiver of gifts...
I am a receiver of promises...

I am not worthy...
I am a wretch...
I am forgiven...
I am an ugly thing made beautiful...

I am a walker of faith...
I am a believer of promises...
I am a warrior princess...
I am a daughter of the King...

I am a soldier of battles in the spirit...
I am a beloved daughter...
I am a bearer of Armor...
I am a vessel of the Holy Spirit...

I am broken...
I am transformed...
I am made beautiful...
I am a lover of your Glory...

You are mine...

You are...

You are the purple rage in storm clouds

You are snow and blinding sun

You are the Son who died for us

You are sender of the Helper

You are red and orange and every shade of green

You are colors and creations we have not yet seen

You are the one who refines by fire

You are the maker of ashes to beauty

You are billions of sand grains

You are breaking waves and Tsunami

You are Light in the blackest of dark

You are the holder of tears

You are designer of shadow

You are giver of laugh

You are death and new life

You are the miracle of babies

You are in every disappointment and in all great joy

You are absolute truth and great mystery

You are the strengthener of warriors  

You are the writer of testimonies

 You are the beginning and the end

You are the greatest of storytellers 

You are all creation and the Holy Spirit

You are Jesus

You are unfathomable grace

You are the delicate lovely of ladybugs

You are amazing mountaintops

You are perfect humility

You are the one who requires obedience

You are the one who forgives

You are rain

You are refresher of soul

You are tiny white flowers that turn into strawberries

You are the trainer of teachers 

You are the bursting of love in grandsons

You are the best gift giver

You are the one I see

You are the one I know

You are the one I love

I am yours!

A revelation conversation...

       (A revelation conversation)  

        "I have to scrap this whole thing, don't I?"  I ask Him.

     He looks down at me with a smile.   "What do you think?"

     "I don't think it fits me right," I tell Him and tug on the side.  "It's uncomfortable. It bugs me.  It has for a long time."

     He sighs, “Yes, but that happens when you try to wear someone else's clothes."

     "What are saying?”  My voice fills with frustration.  “You gave me these clothes."

     
     He tilts his head. "Did I?"

     
     I look down. "I thought you did." I pause. “They used to fit me better, didn't they?" I hold out my arms. " I love this top.”

     He laughs. "Yes, I love the top too, but those pants are way too big for you little girl.  You’ve been tripping over them since you put them on.”

      The truth in His words sting a little.  "I know,"  I admit, “I trip over them at every turn.  I don't even want to walk around in them any more."

     "So..."  He holds out his palms.  “why don't you just wear your own clothes?"

      I sink to my knees with the top I'm wearing clenched in my fists. I have to pry my hands away.  "I thought these were my clothes." I begin to cry. "I don't know where mine are."

   
     When I finally look back up at Him I feel his great and deep love. He smiles. “I'm going to let you keep that top. I like the way it looks on you.”

     I am weeping.  

     
     He reaches down and dries my tears. 

      "Tell me something," He says after I quiet down. "What do you know  from this journey we are on?"  

     I close my eyes and ponder His question. 

     "I know that you speak to me.”  I tell him.   

     "Yes.”  He smiles.  “What else?"

     "I see you. I know you.”

     “Very good. You’re beginning to understand.”  He picks up both my hands in His.  “What else?”

     My eyes fill up with tears again.  "I know you pulled something out of me I didn't know was in there?"

     "Yes!” He squeezes my hands before He lets them go.   

     I wipe my runny nose with the sleeve of my top.  

     “So I'm just suppose to forget about the, 'The Glory Road.'  All the time I've given it. All my hard work." 

     I stop for a moment to collect my thoughts and then, with passion I tell Him, "I'm writing again. I'm being faithful. I'm finishing it!"

     
     He leans back and tilts His head.  "And what is it exactly that you are finishing?"

     "Why aren't you listening?" I'm shouting now. "The Glory Road. My Bible study.”

     For a brief moment He is silent and then He takes a deep breath and pulls me into His lap.  

     "The Glory road I spoke to you about is not the formatted study that write precious girl, it is part of it but not the whole. It is who I am in you and where you are with me.  It is about our journey." 

      I begin to weep again and as He holds me I realize that tears hold both joy and sadness.  

     
     "It was for nothing then? 

     He lifts my chin and looks deep into my eyes.  "It wasn't for nothing, precious child. It was for you and for My Glory."

     
     I wipe my nose again, take a deep breath, and climb down from his lap. 

     "Well...I'm glad it's over then.  It was way too hard anyway.  All that computer stuff I had to teach myself, all those Bible apps, the commentaries, the research.”  

     I sniffle.  “I’m happy to be done with it.”

     
     “Are you finished?”  He asks. 

     
     I nod my head and His smile diffuses me.  I sniffle again.  “I'm not a Bible teacher am I?"

     "No, sweet girl, you are not.”  He pauses. But know that I sincerely love all your questions and I' love your passion and faithfulness in the study of it."  
     
     He takes the corner of His robe and dries my tears. “Now let me ask you something else?  Was there any joy in this challenging season?"

     
     I look down at the floor ashamed and humbled.  “So very much."  I say quietly. "More than I could ask or imagine."

     He reaches down and lifts my chin again.  “And where did you find that joy?"

     I take a deep breath.  "Every day I saw you.  Everyday I knew  you.  Everyday I took pictures. Everyday I wrote about you. Everyday I painted."

     "Ahhh...so many moments of joy since that day two years ago that we talked in your car, huh?”  He smiles knowing that I am beginning to see.  

     I sniffle again.  “So very very many.”

     “I have just one more question for you today then. What was it that you tracked through my word, stopped to photograph and paint? That thing that brought you joy? 

     “Your Glory.”  I tell him. 

     There is a long pause in our conversation as we sit, His words settling over my spirit.    

   "This talk has been good, hasn't it?  I asked him, I’m not too rebellious am I?"

     He stands up.  "Now what kind of a question is that? Didn't I just take you back through the desert with my Israelite children in your Bible study."

      I laugh and get to my feet. "Yes, you did.”  I tell him.  "You’ve seen rebellion from your children before.” 

     We stand facing one another.  “So now what?”  I ask him.

     “You tell me.”  He says.

     “I will wait and see you.  I will wait and know you.  I will take pictures and I will paint.”

     He begins to walk away, then pauses and turn back.  "And where do you stand on this  journey with me, my child?” 

     “Me?”  I ask,  “I stand on The Glory Road.”

     "You want to ask me something. Go ahead." he says.

     My eyes fill with tears. "Will you please get Paul to Israel. It is such a big desire of his heart." Tears fall from my eyes.  

     "Oh...I love Paul so very much. Some of my deepest tears were cried for him.  Do you trust me ? 

     
     "Yes." I reply. "I trust you.  But..." I pause. "He wont go without me."
     

     He smiles then turns his back and continues to walk. 

     After a few steps, I hear him shout. "I can count on you to take some pictures? And you might have to paint a few things."          

     
     With tears I shout back.  "I can do that!" I tell him, "I can.  I'm on, The Glory Road."

     He lifts up his hand as a Goodbye. "The Glory Road indeed!"  

My mother sewed... and I remember...

     I had a moment of surprise today that I'm still pondering with a bit of awe.  It is kind of like that moment that I put the boys bike chain back on. In my head I saw my Father's hands do it and I just knew what to do.
     It happened today with Chandler, but the video memory I had came from Mom.
Chandler is sewing.  My precious child simply jumped into the sewing pool with both feet. On Moms last visit, she spent all day shopping with Chandler for material and patterns and shared with her from a well-spring of sewing knowledge.
     There would, however,  be no "super simple" or "easy to sew" patterns for my redhead. She wanted what she wanted, and that was that.
     "That's pretty ambitious," I told her yesterday as we shopped for another pattern, but I couldn't really explain why I thought so when she asked me.  It has been almost 40 years since I've sewed anything.  In the end, Chandlers strong will provided all the confidence she needed and I couldn't help but smile.  "Go for it." I told her.
     Chandler and I could not look more different physically but beneath her pale skin, blue eyes, and red hair lies a spirit I know intimately. I really get her. She is, at age 24, so much like I was at 24 that it stuns me sometimes.
     This child now sits and my kitchen table, patterns and material covering them both, and I remember...
     In my childhood, mother spoke through the straight pins she held between her lips or as she bent over a pattern on the floor with scissors in her hand.
     Today I was working on taxes. Papers in piles all over the floor of the living room, so as the purr of Chandler's sewing machine filled the room,  it soothed and comforted me in a way I did not expect and I saw my mothers foot against the pedal of her own machine. I remembered the excitement and anticipation of the new dress.
     "Mom!" Chandler shouted. "I need your help."
     I sat down beside her and could hear my mother voice. I saw her fussing with the patterns, turning them this way and that and suddenly I knew what Chandler had done wrong. I could see it. Crazy.
     Chandler is going to be amazing behind the sewing machine. I believe this.  With a legacy of love and a heritage already in place, Mimi will simply pass the baton and answer all her questions until the day Chandler makes patterns of her own.  I think she's gonna take to this like a duck to water and I smile as I write this.
     Thank you Mom!  Your love from behind the sewing machine formed and blessed me as a little girl and is coming full circle back to me as a mother. Our little Chan is sewing! I love you.