Here’s a picture taken just after I completed a triathlon.
I’m the one in the hat. You can also tell which one is me because I’m the one that is “fit looking”. Just sayin’. Well, at least I should say that I’m the one that looks “fitter than I was”. Whatever.
Yes! We are wearing matching shirts! I completed this triathlon as a memorial for my dad, who passed away not long ago, and who inspired us all in physical strength by completing many triathlons.
Leaders inspire others by their examples.
. . . lead them by your own good example says the ancient text
How will our lives inspire others who are watching us, even though we don’t see them looking our way? By our example. Are you awake to who God is calling you to become?
In the last post, we talked about how God often wants to wake us up to His vision for our lives, if our ears are screwed on tight enough to hear Him.
God may be blowing open your expectations of what He can do through your life if you sense any of the following:
1) God is whispering about something you know you could never accomplish on your own strength.
2) God seems to envelop you in love, even for just a moment, or to touch your heart with His invisible love. With Him as the wind, holding up your wings, He can move mountains.
What does He see when He looks at you? Ask Him! If you don’t hear His gentle whisper, continue reading The Message. Every word read helps put a bit more glue on our ears, ever ready to fall off.
How may God be calling you to set an example for others of a life well lived?
Abba, continue to speak in ways that we can finally grasp the truth that You have much, much bigger plans for our lives than we do, with You at the helm, guiding us for Your kingdom purposes. Help us to be able to hear You more clearly, we pray. Keep our ears screwed on tight.
While my back still felt like an old lady’s, when I had to yell up at people so they could hear me as I spoke to their waist, hunched over, I announced I would do a triathlon.
“Well . . . if I can walk, I will do a triathlon,” I clarified.
This annoying back problem has GOT to get better someday, right?
And it did get better, praise be to God.
It didn’t help that the little kid I was playing with at the family dinner jumped on my back in a fit of fun.
My community gathered around me that same night and cared for me, lifting me to God in prayer.
My back felt better after that night than it had in a long, long time.
So, yup, time to do a triathlon.
I didn’t have as much time to train as I had intended, but I thought the bike part was about 10 km?
I was shocked as I picked up my bib the day before the race to learn that the bike part was 20 km. Could my back even handle being on a bike that long?
My husband coached me, like a parent coaching a small child. I needed some direction. “Now remember,” he said slowly, “You have your goals in the wrong order.” He coached me by holding up a finger for each goal. “The most important goal is not to get hurt,” he said. I had relegated that goal to Goal #3. He was right.
But in the pool, I felt God nudging me to swim faster (!). What does God care about an obscure triathlon where a bunch of fairly fit middle-aged people do their exercises?
(There were actually some young and very fit people there who definitely upped the cool factor of the race. Just sayin’. I’m sure I would have beaten John in the race to Jesus’ tomb too. Just sayin’. Not that that matters OF COURSE, but for those who are interested, I thought you should know).
Then I realized that God was speaking to me during this triathlon because God cares about everything we do. We can’t relegate Jesus to an hour on Sunday. Everything is an opportunity to grow closer to Him, if we can find our ears and screw them on.
Maybe there was a lesson here too, while completing this triathlon, that He wanted to nail through my thick skull, a lesson that wouldn’t sink into my brain any other way, perhaps.
And I went further and faster than I thought I could.
. . . THAN I THOUGHT I COULD.
How else are we limiting ourselves with what God wants to do through us?
What race is God asking you to enter that is too far for you to go, or that you are too slow to finish?
Are your ears lying on the floor, too?
Samuel took his flask of oil and anointed [David, the shepherd boy, as king], with his brothers standing around, watching. The Spirit of God entered David like a rush of wind, God vitally empowering him for the rest of his life. The Message
Ways that God may be trying to wake us, trying to translate His words into a language we can understand, trying to encourage us to pick up our ears, screw them on, and listen to His vision for our lives will be discussed in the next post.
Jesus walks over to me, crouches in the corner next to me, and offers me His arm. It is time to stand. I rise on quaking legs.
He is asking me to run. He hangs back, crouching down low to whisper in my ear as I hide in the fetal position. Time to run, His eyes bid. He gazes in the direction He wants me to travel.
I pull the covers over my head. I am trying to go back to sleep.
Wake, wake, dear one. He whispers. He is shaking me, gently. Wake up.
And so the decision rests in my heart. Will I get up, rub my half-seeing eyes and stand into the new thing that God is calling me to?
Or will I put in earplugs to distance myself from the sound of Jesus’ voice and go back to sleep?
The choice is mine. The choice is yours. What is your heart’s reply?
One day He asked me to run into a cooking adventure. The result freed my daughter from expectations around various diagnoses that tried to pin her down.
One day He threw me into the deep end of the spiritual swimming pool. I awoke more fully with the splash of water and have been swimming more deeply, in a spiritual sense, since that day.
One day He asked me to homeschool, again, another year. This was many years after I thought I would change my apron for a real job, one that actually pays money in exchange for work. A job that is recognized culturally as actually “doing” something worthwhile.
I left my career identity by the side of the road and followed Jesus down a narrower path to homeschool longer, my inexperienced feet aching from the journey of following Him.
I had wanted to go back to sleep then, too. To rest in the comforting mold of what regular people do. Go to work. Put their kids in school.
And yet, maybe He is using our unappreciated homeschooling journeys to bring hope to society.
He woke me again this morning, early. Write, my dear one, write, He whispered.
Are you the one that I am writing for?
Are you, like me, also beginning to wake up?
In your drowsy state, do you sense He is trying to waken you, too?
This is what God says . . . “Forget about what’s happened; don’t keep going over old history. Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new. It’s bursting out! Don’t you see it? The Message
Holy Spirit, help us to be able to hear You when You call us to a new thing. May we be brave enough to follow You. After a few moments of quietly listening for the voice of God as the song below plays, ask Jesus, “What direction do you want me to travel in this next season? What needs to be left behind?”
She was drawing out the vile illness from my heart with her questions, green goo surfacing, and I was astonished at the sticky mess dripping off my clothes.
“Yuck! How do you clean up this stuff?” I asked, panicking.
“Why don’t I call you, and we can talk about this some time?” she offered.
My mind swirled.
She was a random internet connection.
Should I open my heart, and the great vulnerability within to a random internet stranger? What was I thinking???
Well, I’ll start with how it all began.
I had a recurring dream for a couple of years. The title of the book that was recommended to me by Amazon matched the title of the dream.
(I didn’t say that this story would be easy to swallow. I only promised the truth).
And no, I had never followed the random inner longings of a dream before.
I discovered Heidi Baker, a missionary in Mozambique through this book, and then was connected with a handful of people who met online weekly to pray about this common spiritual burning that it sensed God was putting on all of our hearts.
From within that group, one of those ladies started a Facebook group, which I joined regularly.
It was in one of those groups that I met Aja, who was now probing my heart with her questions. Goo from the depths that had not surfaced before was now spotting my clothes and I come back to my story – do I meet one-on-one with Aja, or not?
I met with my pastor, spouse, and a handful of trusted friends over iced coffees one sunny summer afternoon to ask their advice.
“I am heading down a spiritual rabbit trail that I don’t know if I will emerge from,” I began.
I shared what we spoke about, the journey that it seemed God was guiding with his large invisible palm, squishing me together with this new group, as so many lumps of clay, joined in the spirit.
I listened to both their wise cautions and their encouragement.
And I met with Aja.
Open your heart, I felt God whispering during that first call, as I spoke with her.
I was surprised.
You’re safe here, He continued to encourage.
And beyond the obvious safeguards that we use by engaging the big ol’ gray matter in the head, such as by asking if I am being encouraged to: (1) read my bible? (2) connect more deeply with my local community (?) (3) connect with the Lord?
Beyond those questions, which were answered with a yes . . .
. . . I was growing spiritually.
My plumage was starting to fill out.
She sat in the chair between Jesus and me and facilitated our conversation so my own quiet times could bear more fruit.
And I was just about ready to fly, by the grace of Jesus.
Is it time for you to choose a random internet, or in-person connection to soar with, too?
On a COMPLETELY UNRELATED topic, we are hosting a regular online listening prayer and connection time soon.
The newspaper is like the genie in the bottle, a monster emerging from the words. It stares down at me, huge and menacing. My teeth quake as I glance at it, trembling. I am afraid.
I am left in the corner, quaking, the monster guarding me, bidding that I say right where I am, crouched in the corner. It is watching for when it is safe for me to come out.
But it never is. Another scare. Another news item. One crisis after another. I crouch and hide, obedient to my fear.
But when I attempt to rise on quaking legs, and when I stand, holding, as a crutch, the arm of the One standing next to me, I feel a bit stronger. But my head still spins.
Come, He seems to bid. Take just one step, my child. One step and then another. I focus on Him, who steadies me when I walk.
His face becomes a bit clearer. The arm that I rest on feels a bit more solid, and less a figment of my imagination.
And my fear, which once dominated me, returns to rest deep within the newspaper, where it belongs. It is always lurking inside there, and within the words of some others that I meet.
But I realize now that fear is too strong for me. I cannot tame it. But it can be supplanted by my intense, prolonged, focus on the One who is not afraid.
And then I walk. And then I run. And then I give a cup of water to the thirsty. And then I wash the smelly feet of the hurting stranger, the one who, also, has been terrorized into a shell of herself by her fear.
“Come,” I bid. “There is One who will help you to walk. Let’s take the first step, together, sister, brother. I will show you how to lean on His arm a bit more often, a bit more of your full body weight supported by Him the next time you fall. Don’t let go.”
And as we tread upon our fear, He is raising up a great army. He passes you the weapons that are needed for this great war: love, compassion, humility, dependence, servitude.
Only the weak are strong. And thus, my fear has strengthened me, as I have been pushed, ever more into the loving arms of My Father, who holds me as I cry. Let’s not miss the opportunity that our fear points us toward.
Let’s rejoice in our fear because we have been pushed, more often and more deeply, into His arms of comfort. What are you afraid of, sister, brother? Come and be comforted in the arms of the greatest comforter, so that you too may be a comfort to others with the comfort you have received.
What is one step that the Father may want you to take today, to live out of love, and no longer out of fear? How can your fear strengthen you, as you remember that it is the weak that are actually strong?
No. It isn’t funny. We concur with you. We empathize. We feel your pain. We’ve been there. This is NOT funny……. (yet). We turn away when the snicker rises up. We don’t want you to see the guffaw. Not YET. Yet is the keyword.
My daughter is a minor chemist. She has mixed and remade so many versions of slime that she could create her own YouTube channel if she wanted to (in fact, she does and likely will). She was thrilled with the quality and texture of her most recent recipe, bounding down the stairs to lay her magnificent creation before my unappreciative eyes.
“Oh yes, it’s more stretchy,” I expressed, grasping to appreciate homemade slime. She couldn’t hear my lack of astonishment. She was a momma and this new batch of slime was her baby. No one, nothing, could tempt her to see a lack of wonder towards her beloved. This I could understand.
But it was unbelievably annoying when later that morning, after using our bathroom, I automatically rested my hand where the hand pump soap sits, and … nothing. The soap was gone. I actually thought I was going mad. I couldn’t find my teaspoon measure (again) later in the day. Random things seem to appear from thin air in bizarre locations, and others disappear with no rhyme or reason.
So it wasn’t funny. Yet. Can we not even keep soap in the bathroom, this hygienic essential? What is wrong with our household? I stumbled to the coffee machine in an effort to increase brain cells, to seek comfort from another cup of java. How is it that we don’t even have what we need to function at the most basic of levels? I asked myself.
I was discouraged. My identity was somehow wrapped up in a $6 bottle of hand soap. If I’m the one directing this ship, together with my hardworking husband, why is there another hole in the boat?
Coffee wasn’t solving my problem. But laughter did. Unentangling my identity from the bottle of hand soap helped. Waiting for the YET, which I could sense somehow, was coming, was the relief that I needed.
So, of course, our daughter used the family bathroom hand soap to make her most recent batch of glorious slime. Why wouldn’t she? And yes, she did put it . . . somewhere. Now where was it?
Here is the YET. I am NOT actually incapable of having enough of the basic essentials available to avoid a major health hazard. I am homeschooling. And my daughter is the inventor. Of COURSE, we may not have soap to wash our hands every now and then.
Relating this story to a friend later that day was long enough for the YET to arrive. Pull my hair out, question my ability to safely homeschool my children a few hours ago. And now it’s funny.
Because our little inventor is ridiculous. And so am I. Who ties their self-worth to the state of organization of their home? We need each other, her and I. God has plans for us both.
So she returned the soap. I had a laugh with my friend, who relayed a similar homeschooling mishap, and we went on with storytime together. And I am learning again, that because I am ridiculous, and because I live with those who are ridiculous, funny stuff happens.
I see your lips twitching the next time I share my frustrating homeschooling mishap. It’s math time. Has anyone seen all of our pencils? You look away, trying not to burst into laughter in my face. Not yet.
But you are the ones chosen by God . . . chosen to be a holy people … from nothing to something, from rejected to accepted. The Message
Do you sometimes throw away your identity as a child of God and link your self-worth, instead, to a $6 bottle of hand soap, or other expectation for yourself as Captain of the ship? Are you frantically bailing out a sinking ship, or is this just not funny (yet)?
Jealousy. Green sticky goo must come out of me somehow. I am jealous. I hide my hands behind my back. A cover-up; I will pray for you. But behind my back the goo leaks. No one notices until the puddle of goo forms at my feet.
I stand back in shock. That must be someone else’s jealousy I am standing in! I take a step to the left in horror, trying to kick the green goo off my feet, legs, trying to be free. My friend smiles at me compassionately. She understands that the green goo couldn’t possibly be mine. I am HER friend! She stands in a puddle of her own goo. I pretend not to notice.
And so the mutual self-denial is edifying. Let’s bow our heads, hold hands in unity, and pray for the one that we esteem so highly. We are spiritual. We aren’t jealous. But when we are done, our hearts pump specks of charcoal throughout our bodies. Death has touched our hearts. We won’t speak of our sin, and so our sin holds us captive.
But in my room at night, where no one can see, I cry out to God in desperation. God, look at the state of my heart! It is singed with death! I try to pray, but my prayers go up in smoke. Can you help me? Name it, He speaks, gently. Name why your heart is smoldering now, a smoking log and not a blazing fire.
Looking down in shame, I speak. “I am jealous.” And the Lord dances. He dances with joy, pulling me out of my despair to join Him. Well done, he whispers softly into my ear. And I am joyful. Like a toddler covered in mud, who made a mess of their surroundings, I am free. The mud washes off, easily.
My mess does not define me. I am defined by Him, the truth, because I speak the truth. I see myself through His eyes, forgiven, when I am honest with Him, myself, others. Not overly self-deprecating. Not hiding. Just honest.
I bring my problems, like a difficult math question to my Father, for help. “Why am I jealous?” I ask Him. He points to weeds in the garden of my heart that I have neglected to uproot, yes, but He also shows me that there is green goo in the air, everywhere in our culture. I breathed it in, and it took root, simply because from grade school, we compare the one to the other. An unhealthy system has infected me as well.
And it doesn’t matter, actually, why I am ill, or how I contributed to the growth of the ugly mess. The doctor has come, to innoculate me with His love. And I can dance again.
And so the next time that my friend and I stand in pools of our own making of green sticky goo, I can get out the broom, the one that Jesus gave me. I can offer to show my friend how Jesus helped me clean up my life, to sweep away the goo. Do you want to borrow the broom? Holding the broom with Him, you and He can sweep away your goo, too. And He will dance with joy, as your heart is revived, refined a little more. And we are free to soar.
We don’t have to hide.
If we claim that we’re free of sin, we’re only fooling ourselves. A claim like that is errant nonsense. On the other hand, if we admit our sins—simply come clean about them—he won’t let us down; he’ll be true to himself. He’ll forgive our sins and purge us of all wrongdoing. The Message
Consider asking God if there is any strange goo at your feet that you don’t want to see. Holy Spirit, set us free, we pray. May we be courageous enough to see ourselves the way we really are, so that our eyes can begin to see with clarity the vision You have for our futures, as we connect our lives to You, we pray.
If I was a stranger to myself, reading this account of my attempts to step into my identity, I would think I was a loser. But it’s a lot easier to believe lies about ourselves than it is to step into the royal robes that Jesus is holding out for us. The dress is too big. There is room for us to grow.
Will we wear the dress anyway, the shoes too big, the crown tottering on our tiny heads, as we hold His hand, and peer into His eyes, receiving His next gift for us, His beloved child. Growth will come. Will we trust the process?
Are you also a loser? With a process a bit like mine, where you kick off the royal shoes in a temper tantrum, frustrated because it’s easier to wear smaller shoes, the ones that you can tie on yourself?
Sure, the old kid’s runners feel a bit tight at the tips, but even walking feels impossible in the fancy big shoes that He has given you.
But of course, He offers His hand, His arm to lean upon, as you learn to walk as royalty.
No, learning to walk as royalty is not as simple as putting on dress shoes and waving goodbye to Jesus as He looks at you sadly, and hit the red carpet. He knows your heart, mine. So He gives us shoes that are too big, at first, so that we need His hand, His arm to learn to walk. We almost fall, again, and catch hold of Him. He smiles at us lovingly and encourages us to try again. So we do. And every touch from His arm, every tear shed that falls near us, every look of love from His eyes transforms us. Our feet and our hearts grow a bit bigger.
So becoming who He calls us to be is a painful process for us, simply because we can’t yet clearly see who we are becoming. Because we don’t know where we are walking, the journey is often long and fraught with falls. But He is calling you, too. Do you hear Him?
He holds out shiny dress-up shoes to you too.
Yes, they are too big for you and you will need to cling carefully to Him. Are you ready to take the first step? Are you ready to get up off the couch, to give Him your old runners, the ones that are a bit too tight? Soon you’ll be running, with Jesus at your side.
But for now, you may feel a bit like a loser, too. Recognizing ourselves as who we are, as a small child with no vision for our future, instead of the captain of a ship is the first step to our destinies. Are you ready to run into your identity, eventually, as a royal child of the King? The first steps will feel a bit uncomfortable. Your rear end may get a bit sore. You may even feel like a loser when you try to explain your journey to another, one day.
Why were you such a slow learner, you lament? Growing up takes time.
Realizing we are still a child takes even longer.
I still have many things to tell you, but you can’t handle them now. But when the Friend comes, the Spirit of the Truth, he will take you by the hand and guide you into all the truth there is. The Message
Lord, help us to take the first step of humility by taking off the familiar shoes that are too tight, as You call us to step into our identities as sons and daughters of the King. Help us to see the vision that You have for us, as threads of a tapestry in Your Kingdom. Help us to have the humility to recognize our need for Your arm, as we learn to walk down the new path You are calling us to.
Ask God “What new thing are You calling me to?” Your Kingdom come Jesus, more fully on earth as each one of us surrenders our calling to Your voice calling, we pray.
There is another side of Christianity that differs from what many associate with the word “Christian”.
Like the coin that is worn down so thin on one side, that no insignia can be observed, so does the present term “Christian” no longer resemble its original design. (Sorry for the shock.)
Flip the coin over, and we can just discern the head of the Queen and the date. There are hints of the real thing, of true Christianity, if we look a hairsbreadth away, within a slice of each believer sometimes, but we have to look closely.
What do I mean? Well, ask the modern-day person what their definition of a Christian is, and they would probably say something like, “A Christian is someone who dresses up a bit on Sunday mornings and goes to church. They sing and listen to a speaker for a bit, then come home, and eat lunch . . .
. . . but the rest of the week, they are exactly like us.”
The divorce rate among Christians and non-Christians is equivalent, premarital and extramarital sex is equivalent, and depression and suicide are equivalent.
But sometimes, if we break into a sweat polishing the coin, we can JUST discern the profile of the Queen.
The divorce rate of students who attend a PARTICULAR Christian college, tracked after 15 years, is 3%.
Huh?
The elderly couple who attend the church mentioned above, who dress up on Sunday – they smell nice. And not a smell that one can sense with the nose.
They are the kind of people that you find yourself wanting to be around.
The people that end up hearing stuff that emits from your gut involuntarily. You can trust them. There is a hint of the divine in them, if you look hard enough, past their Sunday best jacket, and look, with the eyes of Jesus, into the heart.
There are bits of char in their hearts too, however, which is the confusing part. We were looking for a Saviour, someone we could look up to, and the more we know even these saints, we are left disappointed, continuing our search.
We only found some friends.
And I guess this is the way that it is meant to be.
The people we meet on our journeys, who help us up when we fall, who hold encouraging signs saying, “Keep going! That way!”, and hold us up in their prayers, are only dirty fellow pilgrims, on their own journeys.
They can’t lead the way.
They can only shout encouragement from the sidelines.
And I guess that is the way that He likes it best. We are the ones responsible for our own journeys.
There is a certain terror in this realization once reality kicks in. WE are responsible for choosing right or left at the next fork in the road, and at the next and the next crossroads at a dizzying speed.
Can’t we just follow someone for a change?
At this exact point of desperation, when I was finally fed up and stuck, terrified that I was going the wrong way, trying to drown out the competing voices that shouted for my allegiance, I finally called out to God, pleading, “Who can I follow?”
He arrived, with an arm outstretched, offering to help me up out of the dust, brush off the tears, and to give me a hug, and a pat before gently steering me in a particular direction, onto a lonely path that few have travelled, arm in arm with Him.
There are so many rocks and roots that I was sure I would fall. He knows this. But He was there at any point to help me up again, dust me off again, point me in the right direction again. He will for you too, should you ask Him.
Should. You. Ask. Him.
That is the key question.
Will you ask God for help? He is waiting on the sidelines, one of the voices shouting encouragement.
Will you take the time today, to listen? He is waiting for you, longing for you to finally show up for coffee with Him, and to pour out your heart. He has the best advice and He will show you the way out of the briars, and onto the open road.
Don’t assume you have found the path simply because someone is cheering you on. There are cheerleaders on every path, and some are evil, disguised, of course, as good.
Come on traveller, let’s go.
Jesus is just up ahead.
Let me introduce you to Him so that He can hold your hand as you walk together. Good luck on your journey!
It started its day by banging its head against the window. “Aw – poor little bird,” I thought. I wondered if it accidentally flew into the window. But then I heard it – thump . . . thump… thump… This bird had been caught in a Mobius loop, a cycle without exit.
“Must. Bang. Head. Against. Window!” it thought, its determined little mind hurling itself again and again at its reflection
I felt compassion for the little thing. These glass window panes are a menace to little birds with walnut-sized brains. Seeing its reflection in the window, it tried desperately to fight itself off.
It will get tired in a few minutes and fly away, I thought optimistically. When minutes turned to hours, I was starting to admire the little guy, in a “you’re crazy” sort of a way.
I scared it away, using my most terrifying howl. I won’t see that bird again today, I thought, pleased with myself. Not even a full minute passed before the little animal returned. BAM. Flutter, flutter. BAM. This thing is brave.
I placed pillows, and miscellaneous items against the window to hide its reflection. The bird merely defecated repeatedly on the pillows before flying slightly higher and slamming itself against the window pane. BAM. Fly fly flutter flutter. BAM.
I taped black paper on most of the window. Like the cat in “The cat came back” National Film Board feature, this bird flew to another window of our house, and then another and another. I followed it from window to window, covering pangs so it couldn’t see its reflection.
Soon I felt like I was living in Britain in WW2, with black paper from my daughters art supplies covering almost every window. Wham… wham… wham…
The black paper helped for awhile but with determined insanity, the bird found my loopholes. A week later, I found it delightedly smashing it’s little head against a forgotten garage window. BAM! It didn’t even back away when it saw me this time. It was busy.
Guess how long this has been going on? A few hours? Nope. A few days? Nope. So far we are at more than three WEEKS plus one day of thumping. The little guy is determined, for sure.
We left for a holiday, and when we returned, I was amazed to find the little bird still thumping, not wanting to miss even one day of it’s morning routine. Clearly now this bird was just in a habit. A VERY bad habit.
I saw another dark-eyed junco this morning, as I peered through the small hole of black paper taped to the window to peer cautiously outside. This little bird was pecking at the ground, fluttering about, doing regular bird stuff. It seemed to be having a better go at things, a more joyous life.
Why was the other little dark-eyed junco stuck?
And us? I see the same thing in other parts of life. In my church. Instead of standing back, offering our activities to God, seeing what God is offering new this season we “Must. Do. The. Same. Things. Over. And. Over” too. Even if it’s dangerous to our well-being. We are determined.
Forget about what’s happened; don’t keep going over old history. Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new.The Message
Why don’t we ask God where we are banging our heads against the window, because, we too, like that stuck little Junco MUST. DO. THE. SAME. THING. OVER. AND. OVER.
Let’s pray together. I am excited to announce an online prayer time, and you are very welcome to join!
Details coming soon!
Jesus, teach us to listen, and to obey your voice into the bright and exciting future you have for each one of us, that we may, by Your power, share Your love with the world.
Let’s awaken, listen, respond.
Holy Spirit, what is the new thing that You are calling our hearts to soar into?
Restoring Life 