Balanced, March 3

Oh, I always need You. I can't keep myself right or strong or "healthy" or "balanced". I wonder if I should even try. But I can leap into Your arms, ride on Your shoulders, even stand on them, and it won't matter how "balanced" I am, because You won't let me fall.
Let there be nothing and no one reigning before You in my heart, especially myself. 

Complaint, March 1

I want to complain about how horrible I am at life, and how distractible and unsteady and neurotic and forgetful, but You already know all that, and You blessed me like crazy in spite of it all.
How can You assure my heart that I am safe here, with You?
However it can be done, please do it.

Judas, Feb 28

Yesterday, when I got up in the morning, I had swift opposition: a pouting concern for Judas. At least, cynicism about how he really died. I was ready to base my attitude toward God for the whole day on whether he hanged himself or tripped in a field, whether he bought the field or his filthy money was requisitioned. Finally I read both accounts and decided I was stupid; they offered me more confidence than doubt, if I could accept it.
Judas.
Christ called you "Friend" to the very last.

What God Will Do, Feb. 28

You can't really guess what God will do, or how He'll change you.
Camp reminded me that I still have to offer up everything and agree to be changed. It doesn't matter how old I am or how much experience I've had.

Touchy, February 26

It's hard to see, sometimes, the attitudes that still emerge in me. It's difficult to love like You, Jesus, and not keep score, not be touchy. Yesterday I painting that painting of us (more or less), in flame, and when M came in and immediately said, "Is that Jesus and His daughter?" I was offended. OFFENDED.
I'm still trying to figure out why. I think it was in part because it was a vulnerable painting. An amateur one. A personal one, like a journal entry (we know how private I am with those...). I still have this stubborn obsession with being "deep". Save me.
Give me the simplicity of a child, and the honest humility of a beggar who needs to survive, and knows there's no other way. 

Hundreds of Roses, February 22

Please pace me with my headstrong ideas. I'm loving the little changes, and yet I'm afraid of myself. Guide and temper me in all this. Take charge of me.
I chose You, I choose You, but most importantly You are choosing and have chosen me. Hallelujah.

Humble me, gently, surely. Help me to desire You first. To want Your ways.
To live for You, in that fashion that doesn't make sense without You.
Please take my hands. Form my mind and dreams and affections most carefully. I know You can, You of the hundreds of roses. Make me a blessing. Help me be brave and faithful, and leave the rest up to You. 

Eggs in Alaska, February 21

Who is this? It is my Lord, the Prophet from Nazareth, Messiah.
It's just after 9:30, a good sign. It's nice to be awake this...early. Though I do feel stiff and groggy. I've been collecting eggs in the snow around a plane crash in Alaska. And standing up to a cruel teacher who wanted me and my classmates to read the abridged version of Anne of Green Gables. And sewing flour sacks with subliminal messages. And climbing big old broken trees.
It is so bright outside. I love the light.
And I am eager to work today.