God Fathers

God fathers lead their children to the cross.

They help them to count the cost.

They do their best to discipline without anger.

They open the pages of the Word and say, "See here."



God fathers speak openly of Jesus.

They tell their children that He is coming soon.

They teach them to put their hope in Him.

They fall on their knees beside their beds and surrender their wills to Christ.



God fathers tug on their daughters' pony tails.

Tell them to stand straight and tall.

Tell them that their souls are beautiful.

That their smiles are lovely to behold.



God fathers teach their sons the value of a good wife.

They model hard work and faithfulness.

Even unto frailty.  Even unto death.

They live with integrity.



They rise early to greet the Son and to open the Word.

They spend their lives clinging to their hope in Him.

They etch the Name above all Names upon the hearts of their children.

These good fathers.



God fathers.



Bernadette

In honor of Mr. Fowler and Mr. Sheldrup for raising God daughters who have blessed and shaped my life all the more into the likeness of Jesus Christ.

Oh, Joy. It's Surrender Again

And when we surrender...

     There is JOY.

          And where there is joy.

               The difficulty of this life fades away.

          Fades into Glory.

     Oxymoron.

I've been wanting to use that word.

                    J
                    O
                    Y

       bernadette
       

Bloody White Flag

Surrender...

A military term.

If I were sharp enough I would pipe in drums of war to this post.

Does music still get piped in?

What are we all doing on these weird devises anyway?

Oh...for old school pen and paper, records on the record player in my sister's room and...

Give me that old time religion.

Now where was I?

Surrender or something?

The truth is,  I wandered as far as a girl could from the line.

Quit my dreams and just walked into the inferno of this world thinking...

"I got this."  (I majored in English so I get to say, 'I got this.')

And when I fell hard and realized, "No.  I ain't got this."

Somehow.

Miraculously.

He was there.

And when the lights came on in my dull mind, I thought Love would be easy.

I thought loving Christ would make life smooth and happy and... easy.

You know...  Because You're mine, I walk the line, right?

But I could make a list of hard things that we have walked through as a family.

That I have walked through alone.

Hard.  Humiliating.  Frustrating.  Terrifying.  Excrutiating.

The last twelve months have caused me to cry repeatedly,

"Lord!  I so ain't got this!"

Just today.

A thousand times... today.

For the last several months though,  I've had my feet up over my head.

Doubting.

Losing my grip on Hope.

My Hope in Him.

I can live without a lot of things, ($47.97 in my checking account right NOW) but I can't live without Hope.

Ugh...being a Christian is not easy, and I would like very much to stay in my pajamas.

But instead I put on my armor,  and I charge into battle against a culture that thinks I've lost my marbles.

I get into the fray of all my fears.

Draw swords with depression and anxiety and always feeling like I don't belong.

Go to the death with lies I have believed and lies I have told.

Fight hand to hand, punching the life out of my wretched flesh that whines incessantly,

"GIVE ME MY WAY!"

Kill them all and take no prisoners.

And when I stagger from the field of battle injured and bloodied by war?

And my Jesus asks for more???

Ah yes,  let's get real.

I've had all the hard I can do, and my heart is breaking.

My body is aching, my mind can't process it all, and my foot is literally broken!

Turns out Pat Benetar had something right.

Love really IS a battlefield.

But I have been fighting the wrong fight.

Wrestling with this Christ and begging for my way.

That for once I would just get...

My Cotton Pickin' Way.

"God, PLEASE, do not send me on another tour of duty."

He meets me again, but is not swayed, and I wonder why my Father doesn't just take me in His arms?

Instead He takes out the maps. (Metaphorically speaking...I don't know how He actually does it.)

He talks to me about His strategy, and it's a two word conversation.

"Total. Surrender."

"Lord!  I can't do this!  I can't fight anymore!"

He looks at me with fire in His eyes.  (Metaphorically.
Believe me, I don't know how He actually does it.  If I did, I would do it to my kids so that they would help with the dishes.)

It's like one torch touching another,  and I too am set ablaze.

I am a living inferno.

Wilma Wallace.  Brave Heart, the sequel.

And therein lies another one of the great tensions of the Christian life.

When we surrender to Jesus, He gives us the power to live for Him.

To be mocked because of Him.

To carry our own cross.

When we say, "Lord take my life, and use it for any purpose."

He then fills us, and fulfills us as we leave our hiding places to engage in His battle.

The battle for freedom, truth, righteousness.

And Love.

We lift our swords and roar until our throats tear and bleed.

We turn into the fray.

And we fight.




Bernadette

Surrender

It's been a long time since I picked up my pen.

My sword.

It's been too long since I opened my heart.

To the world.

Because you know us sensitive types.

The way we bleed.

The way we see everyone's pain.

The whole world's need.

Sometimes I close my eyes.

Imagine a field of wild flowers.

And I spin my wild self in it.

Turn my face up and laugh for hours.

And in my mind He sees me.

Picks me a bouquet of blue.

He touches my cheek

And laughs loud too.

Then we sit together.

He and I in that field.

He points me to the cross.

And I yield.

I yield.

And so it comes again to this...

Surrender.

And So It Comes Again To This...

Surrender.

Surrender all.

Your dreams.

"Goodbye dreams."

Don't Surrender.

Don't Surrender all.

Close your heart.

Close your heart right in.

Get no rest in Him.

And die love.

Dead heart.

Surrender.

Surrender all.

And LIVE.