family

I've been meaning to post this video for weeks. For some reason I almost cry every stinking time I watch this.



Renovation Church - Atlanta, GA from Verge Network on Vimeo.

the strength of my heart

Since I moved to Atlanta, I've been deeply burdened by the broken places within the city. It is hard to go anywhere without seeing someone in deep need. And although that forces me to feel, sometimes I feel like it bruises me. The city is raw. I love that about it, but it can be dark. Too dark for me to bear alone.

We lost a member of our church family this last week. A ten year old boy from Trestle Tree was run over by a car outside his apartment. I say church family and I really do mean it. The heart of our church was ripped open. I feel like I lost a little brother. I brother I didn't know well enough but I loved deeply.


I'm angry. The sadness is under my skin and I can't get it out. I went on a long walk today because physical exhaustion is the best way for me to keep it in check for now. I find myself wanting to shatter something, because it feels like the city around me is crumbling and there is nothing I can do about it.


There is nowhere to direct my anger. It was an accident. But I can't seem to let go of the truth that this sort of accident would never have happened to me. It makes me feel privileged and naive. And unworthy of mourning.


I think that is one of the strongest lies I believe in times of grief. I become convinced that I'm not supposed to mourn, when mourning is clearly good. I live in a broken down world with plenty of reason to mourn. If I ignore that truth, I ignore the grace that was given me to escape this place. And, in turn, I ignore the goodness of my God.


In the last three months, my deepest joy has come from my time with the kids from Grant Park. And now, my deepest pain. 
I don't dare ask Him why. I know He'll tell me when I'm ready to know. I don't dare direct my anger towards Him. He has proved to bring the most beautiful hope from my deepest grief. I know it won't be different this time.


But, Lord, this is not what I wanted. I hoped for so much more. I wanted Quay here. I wanted to watch him grow up in the church. Watch him become a man after your own heart. I wanted to know him, to encourage him, to rejoice and mourn with him. I never wanted to mourn over him.


I'm angry at the brokenness in this world. Everything within my spirit rejects this reality. 


But there is a glimmer of hope. I have not been this reliant on my God in a long time. He is the only one that can sort out this tragedy. Without him, Quay fades away. This accident wins and there is nothing left but striving after the wind. Without him, the city crumbles into dust, the darkness rolls into my life and into my soul. But He is the strength of my heart.


He promises hope. He promises that He knows Quay. He watched him grow up. He knew his heart, He encouraged him, He rejoiced with him and He mourned with him. And now He mourns over Quay's death. But only for our sake.


I don't know what the Lord is doing. And I'm finally learning to be thankful for that. Every day with the kids from Trestle Tree is an irreplaceable gift. The Lord is doing a great work in Grant Park. Without a doubt.

Please, Lord, continue to redeem the broken parts of this city. It is darkness in our hands and I can't carry this. We can't carry this weight.

saying goodbye to Quay - sending off his favorite color balloons

You don't need strength to be strong.

I often forget that, even in this shattered world, we are not alone.

There is darkness around us but there is Light within us. He hasn't left us without Himself.

There is this Willy Wonka quote that just popped into my head which seems incredibly relevant all the sudden. "We are the music makers. We are the dreamers of dreams."

I think our God calls us to dream. And I think a lot of the time He brings us great joy by shattering those dreams. Shattered dreams can feel like failure and bring deep guilt, and feel pressure to deny that we ever had them in the first place.We can't lie to each other about pain. Hopelessness. Doubt. When we lie, we are saying that the Lord was not working in the details of the story.

I've written about this before - the power of our own stories. But I can't get it out of my head. So here I am again with the same words and the same heart, urging myself and the people I love to crack themselves open. To share their stories. Because when we don't we say a lot more about our disbelief in God than we realize.

This Sunday my pastor shared a little of his wife's story. He read a blog post that his wife wrote a year ago, not long after she was re-diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. She wrote of the Lord's sovereignty and love, and her love for Him even in her illness. Her words were beautiful and real and I couldn't help but be thankful for the Lord's pursuit of her heart. I am encouraged to know from her faith that the darkness in this world does not win with a God like ours.

My pastor's wife also leads music at our church, and I couldn't take my eyes off her during the last two songs as she sang of the Lord's faithfulness and the hope of eternity with Him. It was like a punch in the face. I left fully convinced that the pain and sickness and hopelessness in this world  speaks more about His love for me than anything else. When this world fails, we have lost nothing. This shattered world was never meant to satisfy.