Two and a half years ago, I found myself in the beginning of a Dutch winter. It was my first experience with snow, exceptionally dry cold, and Senseo. For the first week days, I resisted. I insisted on warm Chocomel, or tea with Koffiemelk (not great). At the start of the second week, I stumbled downstairs, took hold of a small mug, put a coffee pad in the Senseo, and began my favorite addiction. Black, no sugar, one shot, non-acidic coffee. I was wide awake within minutes.

Breathtaking cold. Heart-starting coffee.

By the end of that second week, I had used up most of the coffee and formed an alliance with that Senseo. It wasn’t until after I had checked in at Auckland airport and purchased a flat white at one of its cafés that I realised: Kiwi coffee was never going to measure up.

Fast forward a year and many bad coffees laden with sugar to disguise the bitter taste, and a Senseo had come home with us from the Dutch shop. Good strong coffee was my companion through my second year of Bible College and many assignments. Lana and Bernard would bring their mugs to the door of my C-block room and we would sit together and drink coffee in the sunshine. Inbetween busily helping staff a THOP internship, Graham would occasionally bring his mug over (or I would pick it up and fill it). Then my sister went to Bethel for a year. I missed her. I missed her coffee habits. I missed coffee together. But I still drank coffee, black (with sugar). It didn’t have quite the same wow factor in the middle of summer as it did in the cold of that Dutch winter, but it was good all the same.

Then my sister came home, and the first thing we did (after hugging her like I’d never let go of this beautiful girl who I barely could recognise) was enjoy a large coffee on the way home from the airport. I felt like a beautiful missing part of my heart was back in place. But apart from her presence, my sister brought back with her a revolutionary life-changing coffee “recipe”, if you will: the triple skinny mocha latté. That’s three shots, skinny milk, chocolate sauce, and more milk than foam. Over the last few weeks, we’ve had several coffee dates a week, and rather than me being a regular at my favorite spots, we are regulars together. We are known for taking up a table for several hours and two coffees.

But along with this new coffee (and I cannot bring myself to order anything else) has come an awareness of how much change we have both undergone in the year my sister was away. I finally had the courage to pierce my nose, and it (mostly) wasn’t an act of rebellion. She cut my hair asymmetrically. Feedback has been mixed, but the negative feedback hasn’t hurt like it would have a year ago. These outward signs are merely an outworking of the internal changes, exterior decoratig that reflects the dramatic new interior design that I wasn’t quite aware of. My sister’s individuality and strength gave me the courage to let there be an obvious external display of what has been established in my heart and mind for quite some time.

I didn’t pierce my nose for attention or to signal some deep-seated rebellion against the church or any other establishment. I pierced my nose because I wanted to, because I loved the idea of something small and sparkly on my face, and because if I ever wanted to remove it, it would close up rather than be a huge scar. I didn’t cut my hair in an effort to be cool, or to fit in, or to try to change myself. My sister cut it in our kitchen, carefully and prayerfully. We didn’t know how it would turn out until she was finished. I looked in the mirror and found a reflection of change.

My last year has been a journey of learning to live resolutely, to enjoy the freedom that comes with caring what the Trinitarian God I share every intimate part of my life with says about me and not caring what people say (while not discounting the wisdom and counsel of friends, family, and leadership). It has been about becoming the woman God has created and called me to be, not the woman others say I should be. It has been about ceasing to please others, and setting myself to please only One. And it has been about stepping away from years of trying to fit in, years and years of advice on how to conform to the image of what the church says a Christian woman should look like. It is really all about this moment of perfect clarity where only what He says about me matters, where He and I look out at the world, where He looks on me with love and that love leaves me ruined for anything else.

Femininity and beauty is no longer about striving endlessly to become the perfect Prov.31 woman and failing daily. It is about letting Him set the standard, it is reflected in gazing upon His face. It is outworked in stepping away from the pile of books that tell me how to be a good daughter, a good sister, a good wife (no, I’m not married) and a good woman, stepping away from the glass cage of legalistic rules that never came from the Word of God anyway that would make me yet another cookie cutter Christian girl – and stepping into a life of the unknown, a life of wonder and adventure and individuality. That is a life where I am no longer afraid that if I am myself, people – whoever those “people” are – will disapprove of me. That is a wonderful life where embracing joy and freedom and hope leads me to His heart.

For so long, I skirted the edges of surrender with so much fear, fear driven by an almost gnostic theology of “He increases, I decrease.” That was my prayer, but a prayer coupled with terror: if He increases and I decrease, what will happen to me?

The world is indeed wide open (see: Jason Upton), while the eyes of the church and our hearts are closed tightly. How I long for a day when we truly love one another – when we look no longer for faults and failings, not for successes or status, but where we search with all our hearts for the image of God in each of us that makes the individuals He created more beautiful as that image is daily coming more clear.

It’s unique and beautiful and impossible,
this place of undivided beauty
where we co-habit this body
and contrary to all my deepest fears
His increase is not my elimination.

Rather, as He increases in beauty and glory and power
in my heart and in my life
the ugly, the old, the weak and the weary in me
is stripped away
and the girl woman He intended me to be
rises to the surface
as He shines the glory of His face on me.

His increase, His illumination
results not in elimination of my heart and being
but rather, in illumination of His creation
because of His light in me
rather, in my sanctification
because His indwelling presence
cannot leave me unchanged
rather, in my justification
because of the Imago Dei
because of Jesus.

I was so afraid, holding to a fear (driven by a semi-gnostic understanding of His increase and my decrease) and holding Him at arms’ length, all the while fearfully entreating Him to increase, believing it would merely result in my eventual nonexistence.

But in His presence, “fullness of joy” becomes even more beautiful because it is real, and not just a desire. There is fulfillmesnt of all His promises. Every single one. Because of Love.
He is my Beloved and my Friend,
good, tender and gentlehearted,
fierce, mighty in battle, fair and generous,
of Whom I am not terrified,
but Whom I gladly reverence and worship-in-awe.

I am firmly convinced that the me He made me to be was always meant to shine so brightly with the glory of Holy Spirit that the layers of dust and earthly stuff would fall off and burn away at the speed of light (please don’t interpret that as new age – it’s not. It’s merely attempting to put something that transcends words, into words). And all the brokenness of the fall would fall away, while the brokenness of my heart would melt and be made perfect, without flaw; that’s how it was always meant to be.

And at the brightness of His appearing (which IS still to come), we all would shine all the brighter for the actual reflection of Him burning in our eyes.

There is no room for this in a life that spends its days trying to conform to the cookie-cutter-image of the perfect Christian woman. That is a life that strives to put a one-size-fits-all dress on a figure that was meant to wear a designer one-off, not a uniform.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not dismissing history and I’m not trying to do away with good and true traditions. But as much as God was present in the past, He is present in the future also, and the future is NOT intended to look like the past.

And so, people do tell me that if God intended for us to have pretty sparkly things in our ears or on our faces, He would’ve made us be born with them already in. Well, maybe. People are also born without clothes on, and I think we’re definitely meant to be wearing them. We’re born languageless (though not communicationless) but we aren’t meant to remain languageless. We were not intended to remain in the same state we were born in – we are intended for change.

You – you who are reading this – are not meant to look like me, you are meant to look like you. If there is one thing I long to impart, it is that Christianity is not communism. We are not made in the image of each other, but in the image of God, the Great One who my mind cannot wrap itself around, because He’s too big and too wonderful.

If He is a little like a multi-faceted diamond, and we are all gazing at Him from different places and perspectives, hiding different corners of our hearts and receiving different revelations, it seems logical that we will all reflect a different aspect of His nature. One of my dearest friends exudes mercy, but stumbles over justice. Another who is close to my heart has one of the deepest understandings of the infinite holiness and righteousness of God, but finds it difficult to honor our fallen and lift them up. Another is forever bringing a new sense of direction, but has little time to learn from the successes and failures of the history of the church, while another spends her time fascinated by the history of the church and spends little time looking forward. One of my favorite people never fails to bring hilarity and wit to conversation, while another equally precious carries a sweet solemnity and grace and another carries a powerful measure of joy. None of this is wrong. This is nothing more and nothing less than the outworking of the Holy Spirit’s inworking. And I love how each of these give me a different perspective on who God is and how He is moving.

So, this is the winter of the Triple Skinny Mocha Latté, and the winter of cafés and fellowship with my sister, and the winter of a different kind of growing up. This is the winter of a more active pursuit of the heart of God, the acceptance of the woman He has made me to be, the winter of wonder.

This is the winter I catch myself singing throughthree stanzas of St. John of Chrysostom’s Dark Night of the Soul:
“One dark night,
fired with love’s urgent longings
- ah, the sheer grace! -
I went out unseen,
my house being now all stilled.
On that glad night,
in secret, for no one saw me,
nor did I look at anything,
with no other light or guide
than the one that burned in my heart.
I abandoned and forgot myself,
laying my face on my Beloved;
all things ceased; I went out from myself,
leaving my cares
forgotten among the lilies.”

I
Found Your voice amidst the noise
Catching me by grand surprise
To drop my paint and run to follow
You.

Rich Mullins is my favorite. but more than that, it was Rich Mullins who wrote the song that changed the way I saw people (the same one that became my favorite when I was busy un-back-sliding). And there’s this line that pulls my heart out every time I hear it, because even though I KNOW the principle well, I forget to wear it in my heart like a kind of rose-colored filter.

“…they say that she’s a fallen angel; well I wonder if she recalls when she last flew?“

I’m picking on this tonight because one of my (amazing) new friends made this statement on facebook earlier: “Girls who are beautiful on the outside only are time sensitive. Like milk in the fridge.” Oh no, he didn’t? Oh yes, he did.

So let me put this out there, and let me use someone else’s words.”This physical thing…is actually about that relationship, that truth, that reality, that moment in time. This is always about that...Everybody, everywhere. Bearers of the divine image.”

I am passionate for the hearts of young women to be restored. I am passionate for the lies imprinted in their minds and the hurts seared into their hearts to be healed. And I remember a time when I wouldn’t leave the house without makeup because I knew I was ugly and I knew what people thought when they were looking. And I remember how long it took to be comfortable enough in my own skin to even contemplate leaving makeup off, and I remember how hard it is to kick an eating disorder because the outside is what matters to people. And I remember where the most comments and pressure came from – from inside the safe walls of the church.

Yes, there is a quiet revolution taking place. But do you remember the last time you went to church and the majority of (young) girls were NOT wearing makeup, held no insecurities, and were not posturing and posing to fit in? The point remains: the pressure is on to fit in. And it is not possible to cultivate inner beauty at the same time as trying to measure up to the standards of beauty that are set by both the world and by the church.

And…is there any such thing as a girl who is not beautiful on the inside at all?

I think the Quakers got it right. They believed that there is a little light in everyone. I often find that the girls who are the least confident or look the most awkward are the greatest treasures inside…and that the sweet young women who are made up perfectly are hiding some of the deepest hurts. The question isn’t even really about that, is it?

The question is – are any of His daughters, lost or found, absolutely lacking in beauty?  Of course not. Eve bore the image of the Divine as much as Adam. When He looks, He sees the best as well as the worst. How hard are we willing to look, to see how He sees?

[Draft 1 - will probably be revised]

So on birthday eve, feeling thoroughly disheartened about the state of the world and the brokenness of my country, I slipped outside to watch the sunset and see the night fall. And it fell…with splendour.

Something happened…the night split in two for a moment and I stood outside alone, but with an intimate sense of Another being so near. Suddenly I realised how small I am and how big He is, and it broke my heart, and I knelt under the most amazing sky weeping for more of Him, whatever it takes. He came…He came. And He promised

This last weekend I went to Auckland to apply for a Dutch passport – this is actually a cover story for spending time with two of my favorite people in the world, Paul and Shari Miller. I enjoy their friendship, the fellowship, the presence of Jesus in their home. Shari and I stayed up far past our bedtimes talking and laughing (I am still sorry for waking Paul – who shared his man cold in revenge). Monday was a beautiful day; we woke up slowly and I enjoyed time with the Lord, did a test for one of my papers with Carey, Paul made us breakfast…for a man with a cold, he is incredibly generous! We laughed more and then set off into the beautiful morning to organise passports.

Can I put this on the table now – I don’t like Auckland much. I like K Road even less. It’s the Red Light District of New Zealand, I’m fairly certain; walking from K Road to Symonds Street, we observed a level of profanity that I hadn’t noticed there before. It was profound and public, lacking all shame and dignity. Not wrapped up in a single person or a single place, but on display in shop windows, in many people. Then on the right, this small oasis of light: a Jewish cemetary. It was one of those places – it drew my heart in from the other side of the road.

After an hour in the Dutch Embassy, we bought hot chocolate from Gloria Jean’s (amazing – if you haven’t had it, make a date to experience it with someone you appreciate) and went to sit and pray in the cemetary. As we walked in the gates, which were marked clearly with a Star of David on each, there was a tangible shift in atmosphere. The din and clamor died away, and the profanity was replaced with a deep sense of something Other, a weight of the presence of the Divine. Not a light presence, but a deep, weighty presence of the Divine – I had the sense that somehow we had been allowed to walk under a cloud of glory, but one that was recognizably as solemn as it was recognizably Him. There was too much goodness, too much righteousness, almost too much Him.

So we walked around, we read inscriptions and epitaphs, we were amazed at how many of the scriptures engraved on the gravestones had Messianic overtones. We took some photos (I’ve put a few on facebook), then sat to pray on some concrete bricks. We watched the light, enjoyed the presence (in a reverent manner), we spoke ever so quietly in tongues. After a while, we prayed in short bursts. Baruch haba b’shem Adonai…hallelujah. For the peace of Jerusalem, for the descendants of those who had been buried there, for ourselves. We rested our souls in the quiet of the weight of the glory of God.

Then we got up and left. Full, and blessed, and strangely blessed. And I still sense…none of this was an accident. It was not by chance that this small corner of holiness was preserved on one of the most perverse streets of that city. It was not by chance that we stumbled upon it.

Adoption. I know: if you’re an old friend, you know how close this subject is to my heart, and I’m sorry if it’s boring. I also know I’ve written about it before. But it’s burning in my spirit again…and it wants out (and this is a teaser – tomorrow I’ll write a whole new post on it). It’s one of those words you can drop into conversation if you want it to almost entirely stop – or heat up, depending on who you’re talking to. Most of us have heard the term “spirit of adoption” or understood that we are children of God through that spirit, but I think we’ve passed over it or turned it into a phrase that is merely spiritual mumbo-jumbo.

Either of those is wrong.

“We fight like selfish children, vying for that special prize
We struggle with our gifts before Your face
And I know You look with sorrow at the blindness in our eyes
As we trip each other half-way through the race.”

I want to suggest that adoption is part of the original nature and design of the character of the true church.

I want to propose to you that it’s not an option for us.

God stated very clearly that He places the lonely in families. Ravi Zacharias stated that “…the home…was intended by God to be the microcosm of which the scene of history becomes the macrocosm.”

Can I suggest – dare I suggest – that adoption is one of the ways in which we touch the heart of God? That the act of adoption, we bear His image in a new way? That through this, we fulfil “love one another” and “love Me”?

Can I safely make the statement that as a family and as individuals, we have missed the heart of God for the orphaned? “There are no orphans of God” – but there are orphans of the church and the world!

“And as He hung in naked grief, bleeding for our crimes
You saw our fickle hearts and cried, I love You, I love You
You are mine, all mine
I love you …“

I have some thoughts on the positions that people are taking. It’s almost like gearing up for war – while Christchurch-ers are fighting for survival, we are squaring off against each other. Personally, I’ve noted with alarm the number of (mostly intelligent) Christians, who have taken the opportunity to instantly pass what I feel is flippant judgement on the people of Christchurch, and the nation of New Zealand.

I don’t think that judgement is helpful. I don’t see how it contributes to a solution, except perhaps to settle an intellectual need to understand. I also note that so far, a large portion of those who are calling this “the outpouring of the wrath of God on New Zealand” are not in Christchurch or are not directly affected by what has happened. What I do think these people are offering is a chilling view of the cold heart of the church. Rather than offer any solution, the best that is on offer is “…the reason your arm has to be amputated to get you out of the rubble alive, is that God is mad at NZ for all the sin that’s here. Sorry about your arm/leg/mum/dad/baby/workmate. It was a necessary sacrifice for turning a nation back to God – kill a few to turn the rest, you know? Hope you get an artifical limb or something.”

I don’t think that’s an appropriate response to give someone who’s just witnessed a mother killed by falling stones while holding her baby in her arms, or the family trying to find a home, or the hundreds of people who are still waiting to hear whether their beloveds are alive or not. Imagine, an email back to Japan: “Sorry your child got crushed in the earthquake, God needed to teach NZ a lesson.”

Natural disasters have an incredible tendency to pull out both the darkest and the best of human nature. The world is flooding in with assistance – Australia, the UK, the USA, Taiwan, and Japan have all sent their best.

I think that if God wanted to pour out wrath on NZ and “make an example of” somewhere in order to “get our attention”, logic would dictate that He would choose one of the dark spots of the country. Marton, Levin, or Auckland’s Kay Road would be more rational choices. If God caused a natural disaster to get our attention and turn us away from sin, why would He not choose a Sodom? Why would He choose the place experiencing revival? Why would He choose Jason Westerfield’s ministry base?

Admittedly, I have friends in Christchurch (who are all safe). And admittedly, my response is largely emotion-driven. But I must be honest, the greatest emotion I’m carrying regarding this unfolding drama is a depth of sadness – how many dead, how many wounded, how many fatherless, how many motherless…in a sense, being a New Zealander, the cry of my heart is “oh my people, oh my people…OH, my people.” My heart’s desire is that we who are helpless to offer practical PHYSICAL assistance would not hesitate to stand in the gap – not with intellectual prayer but with a true impassioned cry for mercy. That we would cease with passing judgement, which is God’s job anyway, and get on with ours, which is being like Jesus. We need the heart that Jesus expressed in John 12:44 onwards; God is capable of judging without our help. He doesn’t ask us to waste our time fulfilling His position. He asks us to fulfill our calling: preach the gospel, baptise, cast out demons, make disciples, heal the sick, raise the dead. Jesus’ response to disaster in scripture was NEVER to make a theological treatise on how the natural disaster was judgement. His response was to walk among the people – healing. Is it easier to condemn than to heal? As a woman, I can’t do both – that’s a multitask that not even I am willing to attempt.

Consider Jeremiah; he wept for a reason. I believe he loved his people. I LOVE my people, and my heart breaks for them. I find it appalling that people unaffected by this disaster find it so easy to make flippant remarks about this being the outpouring of God’s wrath. His people live in Christchurch too; His people have also lost their lives. His people are homeless and hurting and afraid. His children – little ones – babies – are frightened and still in danger. And I think that far from being distant and still pouring wrath upon the people in that city, God is walking among them. I think He has an arm around the broken. I think He is standing next to the widow. I think He is wrapping Himself around those who are taking or have taken their last breath. I think He is giving last chances. I think He is weeping with those who mourn.

That’s just my opinion. I suspect I will continue to react to people on facebook, because shallow judgements without consideration turn people away from God, rather than toward Him. I also “sense” that God’s heart also grieves for the lost, broken, hurting, beaten, and fatherless. I want His heart, not an intellectual explanation that soothes the questions and numbs the heart. A numb heart leaves me without responsibility. As a human being and as a New Zealander, I have the responsibility to at the very LEAST, carry my people in my heart.

I’ll offer you this somewhat humorous but totally irritating example (because it’s happened to me THREE TIMES this week). Valentine’s Day, 2011. Guy comes to Gelatopia, buys icecream, comments “…all the good ones are always taken.” Me: “I’m sorry?” He motions to my purity ring, and repeats himself. “Oh, yeah that’s a purity ring. Kind of like an engagement to Jesus…” *insert pre-prepared speech on how romantic God is this time of year, etc*. Ice-cream buying guy: “How old are you?” Me: “…” Him: “Oh, so why are you single then? Like, 24′s quite old.” *insert shocked face followed quickly by irritated face*. “I’ll be 25 in 3 weeks and I am single because, it’s a season.”

(Hayden, stop laughing right now).

Second scenario: lovely older lady (who comes twice a week) regales me with tales of her grandchildren. They’re usually funny and I enjoy her. Her: “Do you have any children, dear?” Me: “Not my own. I borrow other people’s play with them, and give them back.” Her: “Oh, well, one day. Are you married yet?” Me: “…no.” Her: “But dear, you must be at least 28. You should get on with life!” me: “……………………………………………………………..”

No but…seriously. I don’t mind the subject. But really, I am aware that I (still have 3 weeks or so of being 24 left – time to save the world before a quarter century) am nearly a quarter century, and single. Most of the time that’s okay. And, I did just finish Summer of Singleness (it was a great season, and God did great identity-related things), so the whole “it’s a season” thing WAS strictly true. But really, I’m not weird, okay, random guy and friendly old lady? How on earth is it possible to just blurt out things like “You must be nearly 28″? I feel so awkward even raising that kind of topic with someone I barely know, let alone…well, the point is, how are people who don’t even know me so out there with their questions? No hesitation. AND I totally do not look 28. Those are laugh lines, not wrinkles.

P.s. I do actually think both stories were hilarious.

P.p.s. Yes, I do intend to think of a better answer than “…it’s a season” or making up an excuse. If you feel to save my brain and think of a good one, let me know.

P.p.p.s. I am not ever getting wrinkles. Just smile lines, and when there are lots, they are laugh lines. I’m just saying.

For around two or three weeks, I’ve been thinking about femininity as part of identity. Today my sweet friend Lana came back from Australia (thankYou Jesus!) and we’ve been talking for hours about femininit, identity, war, and solutions.

This is just my opinion…but I believe that there is serious guerilla warfare being waged against the thing that defines the heart of woman everywhere: her femininity. I used to think the church had it bad, but after talking with and listening to the hearts of some of the young women I have the privelege of working with, I think it’s more accurate to say that both the world and the church are under exceptional attack. The difficulty is that we don’t see it – and we don’t know that we’re under attack.

In the church, some tactics are easily recognised (yes, I’m about to generalise a whole lot). You see the effects in silent women, beaten women, women who are not living bold and strong. You hear it in the voices of tired women who walk a fine line between submission and dominance, wondering what it would be like to pursue a radical, vibrant Jesus who would set them free to live bright, beautiful, powerful lives. Lives that don’t revolve around making tea or teaching Sunday school (although there’s nothing wrong with that at ALL), but rather around a co-reigning – not because they’ve demanded to co-reign, but because they’ve been invited to by their husbands. Or we girls have this idea that feminine is the heroine in King King: her lines are a whole bunch of screams, hoping she’ll be rescued from crazy Gorilla monster, while the guys get all macho and strong and save-the-world.

In the world, it’s more thinly disguised. I’ve been seeing it in the dress of girls who have, by the cruelest of coincidence, accidentally ended up single just before Valentine’s Day. Suddenly the tops are lower cut, skirts vanish into belts, makeup is twice as thick. If you talk to them, they’ll tell you they’re just making themselves more beautiful, because nobody wants to be lonely in love season. “I want to be seen as beautiful.” “I think maybe, I wasn’t attractive enough.” “I’m not really sure why he likes her better. She’s thinner than me.” AllI really hear is this: “I want to be adored.” Kris Vallotton says that’s what women were created for – to be adored. But girls aren’t feeling that. They want to be adored, but they’re trying to buy adoration with appearance.

So in our discussion tonight, Lana asked this: “Is attraction purely physical? Or is it recognising beauty?” We decided that attraction based solely on physical appearance is lust, not attraction. Something deeper than that – something mental, emotional, spiritual, coupled with recognition of beauty (or handsomeness) – that’s attraction. But that’s not what we’re teaching young women, either in the church or in the world.

We’re teaching young women in the church that a meek and quiet spirit is feminine (all we actually hear is that real women shut up and obey). The world is teaching young women that “hot” is feminine. BOTH. ARE. WRONG. We aren’t meant to be hapless damsels in distress. Neither are we meant to be men. We’re made for adventure too; that’s why we want it, but we don’t need to fight like men. We need to find some girl weapons and learn to “fight like a girl”.

I’ve been tossing around some question ideas for a survey, and asking myself the questions as I go. I was stuck on the first one for a good half hour:

Q: “What does true femininity look like?”

A: It is brave, it is beautiful, it is free, it is strong, it is faithfulness, it is modesty, it is all our wild creativity tempered by tenderness. It is kind, it is unpredictable, it is passionate, it is sweet. It loves, it heals, it builds.

But that’s a very small, very narrow definition. And it’s the result of personal definition.

We also talked today about how women who have discovered parts of what it means to be feminine are not walking that out with younger women, and what the role of the church (as a body and as individuals) is. I remember when I first started discipleship training: I learned fast that the amazing woman who was teaching me was not weak or helpless. It wasn’t an easy ride; it takes courage to live disciplined physically and spiritually while you tackle your emotional garbage and look your wrong mindsets in the face. Here’s a short excerpt from one of my journals from that time:

“Being discipled is a journey full of, so far, Your discipline. It’s good, and right, and it makes me hopeful. But in the same breath I fall over things in myself every day that I wish I hadn’t seen. Glimpses of immaturity, little shadings and splits in the glass of my heart, places that need cleaning and mending by a Master Craftsman. I stand on the edge of a precipice ready to fly, talking myself into trusting the One who laid the foundations of the heavens and the earth by wisdom; I know You give us wisdom and discernment, and it is my place to not just accept it but to employ it, to make it so much a part of my mental and verbal wardrobe that it becomes more prominent than my outer wardrobe. Whether I live long or not is no longer important; being comfortable is a bonus. Now what I desire is a life lived for Your glory, in which the wisdom You deposit in me is grown and expanded, and directs me in ways of safety and hope. I am ready to learn…”

I think the largest part of my journey-to-being-a-happy-woman was the three months of discipleship training – there is more about it here. I think that discipleship the way I was discipled changes lives. I know that three things remain consistent in my blogs, (Changing the World, Journeys I Go On – ask if you want to know -, and Discipleship) but I believe changing the world starts one person at a time. Lana said tonight that most of the church only takes on the Matthew Great Commission, because it leaves out the scary parts (raising the dead), but that we aren’t even fulfilling that because we’re not discipling.

The restoration of femininity is a theme central to the heart of what God is doing. We…are going to start exploring the purposes of God and the call of Christ along with personal responsibility within the church as well as body corporate responsibility. Dear world, look out: we’re coming.