There’s So Much More Than What You Know.

On By jenniferstoltzfus2 Comments

There’s so much more than what you know.

Through the ache of unanswered questions and the burden of unmet longings, can you promise me you’ll always remember that there’s so much more than what you know?

Undiscovered dreams, unimagined victories, and unchartered territories are waiting to be yours, but you can’t get there any faster than I can get to summer. You’ve just got to let it.

Foundations shake when the things we hold so tightly are ripped from our clenched fists. White knuckles gripped so tight they bleed as the dry winter winds steal the moisture and make them crack.

Just let go.

When you don’t get the job or you can’t get the girl. When your GPA isn’t high enough or you fail that exam or you have no idea what you want to be when you “grow up.” You’re not even sure you want to grow up. When you expect life to be one thing and it turns out to be another.

There’s so much more than what you know.

But all you know right now is that you wanted it to be one thing, and it’s not. You thought that it would go one way, and it went another. You hoped that you would be there, but you’re here. It’s enough to siphon the whimsy right out of your soul and leave you stranded on the highway to Look At Me Now. But can I tell you something?

There’s so much more than what you know.

Though you can’t always see how, it will eventually be better. ‘Cause Yahweh God doesn’t just make the best of what you’ve got right now, He looks into the caverns of your wildest dreams and paints it upon the canvas of your tomorrow.

There’s this teeny tiny little speck of eternity in which you live, and an even tinier speck in which you can currently see. We’ve got the past + we’ve got right now. And everything else is mystery. Next year? Next month? Next week? Tomorrow?

It’s unknown. And we have to let it be.

Because the bottom-line? It’s not ours to know. It’s just not. It never will be, and it never should be. Because us? Me and you? We’re tiny, tiny parts of a big, big story. A story with chapters that you will one day live + love. But if you knew them now? Oh, dear brother.

If you knew them now, you would never take another step.

You would read a paragraph of Chapter 27 and say, “Me? No way. No how. I can’t. I won’t.” It would make you want to quit. It would make you squirm. It would make you doubt. More than anything? It would make you stop thinking about right now.

And right now is just too important.

But if you just live it? Oh, darling. If you just take it one little day at a time? You’ll walk into Chapter 27 with a full heart + bright eyes. You’ll have confidence you never would have believed in Chapter 14. But after Chapter 18? You’ll feel like you can conquer the world. Chapter 25? You’ll be the kind of person you only dreamed you could be. Chapter 30 will be wild + free and you’ll love every.single.second, but you need the beginning to get there. You need what you don’t yet know.

I believe in a King who knows. I believe in a King that watches you from above and is your biggest fan. And He sees you start Chapter 12, after Chapter 11 nearly took it all out of you, and He says, “Hold on! There’s so much more than what you know.” I believe in a King who wants the dreams + victories + joys of Chapter 30 for you more than you could ever want it for yourself.

I believe that Hope is a promise and I’m gonna sing it loud.

This my anthem, all my days:

a song of hope, a heart of praise.

Get Up.

On By jenniferstoltzfus1 Comment

There are things that you were made to be and you aren’t being them. Places you were meant to go and things that you were meant to say. People you were meant to meet and days that you were meant to spend lying under a shady oak tree, in the bright summer sun, dreaming of how you could make the world better. And the thing keeping these “you-were-meants” from becoming “you-totally-ares” is fear. The kind that knocks you on your back and steals the breath right out of your lungs.

And baby, you’ve got to get up.

Fear of who you are, or who you want to be. Fear that you’re not good enough for the job, or pretty enough for the boy, or worthy enough to be fought for.

We have reduced our worth to employment and relationship statuses, and GPAs. We have warped our understanding of reality to succumb to believing that if we aren’t “chosen” then we must be broken.

Instead of knowing that no decision slips past the sovereignty of the Almighty, we wonder what we’ve done wrong. We forget that our worth is not measured by who chooses us here, but in the One who chose us at the cross. The One who promised to make our paths straight. The One who works good out of evil.

The One who is ever making all things new.

Stop asking the wrong questions. Recognize that you are not broken, and your value rests not in avoiding closed doors, but in where you look when you’re waiting in that hallway. You can believe that Jesus hasn’t forgotten or misplaced the glory He will exemplify through your life. But you have to let it look different than your plans. It will be better than good, believe it.

Oh weak-willed heart, would you only trust? Jesus is faithful in all things.

All things. Every thing. Any thing. The things, and trust me- there.are.things, are only as triumphant as you permit them to be. Life is too short + God is too good for you to spend your days spinning webs of anxiety and insecurity. You’re only going to catch yourself.

Darling soul, you have to believe there is more.

You have to know that there is a King who is fighting for your purpose. There is a Creator who created you to create and the longer you lay in bed with the covers pulled over you, the longer it takes for His glory to shine through your summer lovin’ smile and wide eyes.

And that’s the thing. This, the glitz + glam + glory of a life fully lived, was never about us. It’s about a King that came to rescue + redeem and we get to be a part of the story. We get to be rescuers + redeemers but we can’t do it in this prison of fear. We just can’t, baby.

So get up. Get out of that cell and run toward freedom. The locks on that iron door were broken ages ago, and you’re only one step away from the clear blue sky.

Get up.

‘Cause I need you to fight with me, and the world needs you to fight for it, and your beautiful life is so worth fighting for.

Unexpected Grace in a Missed Flight

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I stood at the US Airways ticket counter and cried. I was coming off of the absolute hardest week of my academic career – little sleep, intimidating presentations, and being ill prepared for an incredibly difficult Greek exam. All I wanted was to be home: to go on adventures with Little Brother, to have coffee with Mom, and watch football with Dad. “Please, Sir,” I said with tears slowly trickling down my face, “Please let me on the plane.”

“Sorry, Honey,” he replied, “but you missed it.”

It was 6:34 am, and my flight was scheduled to take off at 6:42. When I rushed into the airport that morning, I was delayed by the “Self Check-in” machine’s inability to recognize me as a passenger. After being sent to two different airport personnel, I was starting to question if I would make it to the gate in time. The man finally printed my boarding pass and I (literally) ran to security. As I dashed away at 6:20 am, the man called after me that they would close the doors 10 minutes before take off.

With only one security line open, I realized as I waited in the unusually long line that I wasn’t going to make it if I continued waiting. I spent at least 3 minutes [which felt like an eternity], contemplating if I should cut to the front and ask for grace from my fellow travelers.

I felt like I was a middle schooler trying to muster the guts to pour a can of Coca-Cola on the school bully…

With just enough courage, I picked up my Vera Bradley duffle bag, with colors so bright my nerves were offended, and I walked forward. They showed me grace, and let me cut, sending well wishes as I ran through.

But when I finally made it to my gate, I was two minutes late.

I could see the plane through the window; it hadn’t yet moved to begin taxiing. If he had opened the doors, I could have taken my seat and been on that flight. I would have been the most obnoxious person on the plane, no doubt, but it was possible.

And I wanted it. Desperately. I wanted to get on US Airways Flight 2610. I wanted a layover in Charlotte and I wanted to land at Washington-Dulles at 11:35am.

I cried not out of belligerence, but out of desperation. Why wouldn’t the man open the door and let me on? Wasn’t it clear that I wanted it? What ever happened to the sentiment, “The customer is always right”?

The airline employee turned to his computer and said, “Let’s see what else we can find for you.”

“No.”

“Sir, I need to get on that plane! Please.” I was so upset. Mostly with myself for being late, but also with God for not working it out. I prayed silently, “Lord, please! I know you can get me on that plane. Please! I just want to be home.”

The man spoke up, “Well, this is against our policy, but we have a flight to Washington National leaving at 8am. There are a few spots left, would that work? I’m not really supposed to do this, but I want to help get you home.”

This alternative flight had no layover and an earlier arrival time into an airport an hour closer to my parent’s house than my original flight. Not only was not late, I would have time to get coffee (& breathe) before boarding.

And that’s when I encountered one of the most vivid + challenging lessons of my life:

It is only when we are able to release what we think we want that we are able to embrace what He has for us.

How many tears have I shed in desperation for that thing? How many nights have I laid awake begging Jesus to make sense of the confusion that flooded my heart?

How many new flights have I missed because I wanted so badly to be on the first one?

It was about more than getting home. It was about what I wanted and why I wanted it. It wasn’t just a reflection of my poor time management that morning, it was a reflection of how desperately I lack trust in the goodness of God to be more than.

More than what I think I want. More than what I think I need. More than what I’m capable of accomplishing. More than my feeble words can capture.

Oh, He is more than.

So much more than.

Snow Day.

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I lived my first 23 years and 5 months in the state of Eternal Summer. Growing up on a beach recently named one of the Top 10 in the world by Yahoo! Travel and a favorite in my heart for the wildest of sunsets and the soft, white, powdery sand. But today, for the first time (not counting my daydreams), I watched a new soft, white, powdery substance fill the earth… and it was glorious.

When I say daydreams I literally mean that my heart would ponder on a regular basis what it would be like to live in a place that had seasons and how my life would look different if the physical season of winter ever came. I even went through a phase where I told my mother frequently that she deprived me of childhood by raising me in Florida. That’s ridiculous, I know. There’s just no other way to express my curiosity and desire for the earth to reflect what happens in my heart when I grieve the death of a loved one, or seek to make sense of change, or find my way in a new season of life. I was drawn by the idea that the earth needs a time of rest, too, and that snow gave it a chance.

I think it’s both brilliantly creative and unimaginably gentle for Yahweh to craft the earth with such wisdom, and I have yearned to know it in the experiential way and not just the textbook way.  Not just the way I know there’s no gravity on the moon, but the way I know that losing someone you love hurts in places you didn’t know you had.

So as I sat with a sleeping 3 month old snuggled up close to my chest and I saw a white speck float passed the window, something inside my heart swelled like a little girl. I walked to the window and simply watched as snow flurries became a snowstorm. And the children I nanny went home early, which means I, at 23, had my very first snow day.

And a snow day it was, snowing nonstop for the next twelve hours. I made my way home (not without fear and a tightly gripped steering wheel) and binge watched The Office with a warm cup of coffee, a plate of cookies, and a sweet little brother.

For all the dreams I’ve had of snow, and for the way my heart has been convinced for years that Yahweh made winter to teach our hearts to grieve, new things filled my soul today with every snowflake that fell from the sky. Our backyard is covered in a flawless blanket of white and it soothed my soul to watch the snow cover the ground so carefully.

And He whispered the promise,
“I will cover you like the snow covers the earth. With peace and precision I will pour my grace upon you and you will find rest in me.”

Watching the snow fall today reminded me that winter is a promise and it’s as real in our hearts as it is on this earth. But the bigger promise is in the One who designed it. The One who didn’t just promise winter, but promises to cover us in it. I’ve said it for a while, but now I’ve felt it.

I watched the snow the cover the earth and it made me feel whole. I know He’s good. I know that He only lets the snow fall because He knows it brings peace. I know He’s making all things new.  I’m singing praises tonight to a God who gives me dreams and then lets me live them.

He’s so, so good.

[Comm]Unity Breeds Life

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“Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity! It is like the precious oil on the head, running down on the beard, on the beard of Aaron, running down on the collar of his robes! It is like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion!
For there the Lord has commanded the blessing:
life forevermore.”
Psalm 133

photo (1)

Dwelling in community holds the blessing of life.

I knew it was true. I knew it was sweet to dwell in unity [to be joined as a whole; a complete and pleasing whole]. But never had I so experienced the manifestation of community resulting in such life.

I think this is a promise: where brothers [and sisters!] dwell in oneness together, there we experience life. Life forevermore.

Oh, glory!

Community. Common Unity. Oneness. Togetherness.

It is good. It breeds life. And I thought I had known it. But no.

I had never so felt it, friends. Not until last week.

After five and half years of trying my hardest to fully live + deeply love in West Palm Beach, Jesus  opened new doors and filled my heart with incredible confirmation that it was time to go. On my last night, nothing seemed more appropriate than games, coffee + laughter with the people who made West Palm as enchanting as it was. I had no idea how life giving that time would be.

I sat in a circle of some of my favorites as tears slowly broke free + slipped from my eyes, despite my will to stop them. I surrendered to the gravity + listened to my people reminisce on memories of skipping class + playing in the fountains downtown, exploring new streets on a Mediterranean Island, learning the sound + stirring of the Spirit, and giggling for hours over warm cups of coffee.

“Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits.”

Proverbs 18:21

They told me they were thankful for me, and that I made a difference in their lives. They told me they believed in me.

They made me feel like I could really, truly, actually change the world.

They told me that when they thought of me, the thought of Jesus closely followed. I’m crying again- I have never been more humbled. I have never felt so beautifully insignificant in the story of our souls, yet realizing that the way we live matters. It matters to people. With every word, they spoke love + life like I’ve never heard. It easily ranks as one of the Top Ten nights of all my 23 years.

During those last days, I received so much love like this. From my church, friends, professors + mentors. They called out my gifts and challenged my fears.

My professors spoke life: “God has anointed you to teach and lead – I am sure of it. You have a wonderful gift of seeing great things in the biblical text AND communicating them to others.” …and in the same paragraph called out weaknesses: “One of your greatest hindrances will be your inability to fully trust God to do truly great things through you.”

They spoke candidly + honestly and it made me wonder what stops us from doing this all the dang time. Why does it take a cross-country move for us to speak life? For us to call out gifts and affirm dreams, to acknowledge fears + challenge struggles?

I always knew they believed in me, but these conversations took it to a whole new level. I know I lack trust in God, but to hear someone I admire and respect call it out – well, shoot. It just changes things. It makes me want to be better. It makes me want to fight it more + more.

I left West Palm with a heart fuller than I’ve ever known. Tear stained journal pages reflect on moments + remind me that fear has no place.

I left with a greater conviction to speak life on important days + on regular days. When people are moving + when they’re not. When we don’t think they need to hear it + when we think they do.

There is such blessing in community.

When you see beauty, would you speak it loud? When you see fear, would you call it out? When you have a reason + when you don’t. Life abounds in a community that dwells in oneness + grace, and it’s one of the sweetest gifts this side of heaven.

You Could Always Stay

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It amazes me how a year of little lessons can culminate into one grand decision at the end of December. It came as unexpected as a rookie’s interception, yet welcomed and beautiful as one that’s run back for a touchdown to win the game. No one saw it coming, but they’re sure glad it did.

2013 was a year of growth like I’ve never known. I got to write about a lot of that growth, including articles on craving to follow Yahweh into the unknown, actually following when He beckons, living in fear of my calling, trusting Jesus to provide, and building a house of expectations. Each of these lessons brought me to my knees in humility and desperation to walk faithfully before my King. And as I neared the end of this growth packed year, I really thought I had it under control.

I successfully finished my first semester in an accelerated graduate program for a Master of Divinity, and after 4 months of non-stop reading & writing, I finally had a chance to process. Just as quickly as I allowed myself to consider, “Is this the best program for me?” I felt my heart releasing every aspect that I held dear about my school & community. It didn’t take long for me to recognize and acknowledge the leading of my Father to go, but still strongly considered the outcome & consequence of staying.

Staying is so, so easy.

And that’s the thing: I could stay. I could keep shoving those longings under the area rug of my wildest dreams and continue to challenge everyone else to Go. Go when He calls you, always go. I could keep writing, keep speaking, and keep urging the ones around me. I could pretend to not feel the stirring, surrender to the contentment my heart feels in this comfortable place, and trek through a program that I could finish in less time than any program in the country. I could stay.

I could stay and no one would know the difference. No one would feel the pinch in my heart to go. No one would hear the still, small voice. No one would question why I’m still here. Instead, professors would tell me I’m gifted in writing in the world of academia. My pastor would give me opportunities to lead the women in my church. Friends would indulge my love for Paris Café and the Green Market on breezy Saturday mornings. I could stay… but I would know the difference.

My struggle to obey echoes my heart nearly four years ago as I battled the pull I felt to serve in China. Concerning my fear and doubt, I wrote:

And so I questioned. Day after day I questioned whether or not I should stay on this team. The question I told myself was, “Is this really where God wants me?” but that was a mask for my true thoughts of, “This isn’t what I want. This isn’t what I planned.” Yet every time I would think those things, I would get the same feeling in the pit of my stomach. Almost as if God was challenging me: “I dare you to disobey me.” Not in a harsh and threatening way, but in a way that promised me that what He had in store was better.

I could literally speak the same words in regards to leaving West Palm Beach. It isn’t what I (thought I) wanted. And it sure isn’t what I planned. Several months ago, when I wrote about the expectations we set for ourselves, I said, “On the sweeter side of things, this allows me to trust in a God who knows my heart, my dreams, and my desires far better than I ever will. It makes me grateful for the intention of His heart to lead me where I ought to be instead of where I want to be… [especially when they are different destinations].”

(And does. He. ever.) I’m awakened to my childish thinking: I thought I was writing for others. I thought I was reflecting on hindsight. I thought that someone really needed that message and Jesus was using me to speak it.

I didn’t think it still meant me.

My only explanation for leaving is Jesus. Jesus and my wildest dreams have stirred together in a beautiful way and though it took me weeks to believe it, I’m here & I’m giddy with excitement because I’m learning:

1.    Jesus cares about what we want.

“What are you seeking?” (John 1:35) – Dear One, you must abandon the thought that in order to follow Jesus you must forsake everything you desire and succumb to a life of monotony. We are so quick to over spiritualize every aspect of every decision that we miss the beauty of choice. Do you love Him? Are you seeking Him? Are you living in surrender to His word? Then it doesn’t much matter where you go or what you do – you can’t mess it up. He isn’t going to stay in one place and make you cast lots to figure out if you made the right decision. He’s with you, wherever you go & whatever you do. Just keep your eyes locked on His.

2.    You will only have to answer to One.

In the midst of believing that Jesus is calling me on this grand adventure, I had unending thoughts of fear concerning how the news would be received. By professors, by pastors, by mentors, by friends… I legitimately thought, “No one will understand; I should just stay.” Oh, the nonsense. We must remember [Yeah, I have to remember] that we will only ever answer to One, and “I didn’t think they’d understand” is not the answer we will want to give. Obedience will always be worth it.

3.    You can trust His heart.

He loves you, Little One. He is the author of your desires and the fulfiller of your wildest dreams. Let Him woo you. Let Him take you on adventures. He isn’t going to lead you by fear, but rather by peace and joy. Are you walking in peace? Are you living in joy? You can trust His heart to lead you where you need to be.

And so, with shaking hands laced in His, I couldn’t be more excited to walk into this unknown. Oh, yes. The best is yet to come.

1,096 Days.

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Blakems

Though I often acclaim my first year post grad as the most “wintery” season I have experienced, it goes without saying in my heart that the winteriest of them all will forever be the season of losing Blake.

Watching someone I loved so dearly lose a battle to a disease I could not heal was the most heart wrenching feeling that has lived in my skin or visited my heart in all my 23 years. It is one filled with too many tears, too many memories, and too many unanswered questions.

On Saturday, December 14, it will be 1,096 days since Blake first stood before his Maker. And today marks three long years since we rushed home at a moment’s notice, caring not about impending exams and final papers. Our brother was on the decline and the three-hour stretch of cow pastures that stood between our university and our hometown had never felt so long. Ahh, yes, three years is three years too many to not share with my sweet little brother, and I would give the world to have him back if I could.

As we celebrate Blake’s 3rd Heaven Birthday this weekend I’m reminded of the sweet way he led me to the throne with his gentle disposition and unending joy.

More than his life alone, through the tragedy of his untimely death, I learned the value of community and what it looks like to truly take care of the ones you love.

It was the Saturday before finals week in the fall of my junior year. Mom called with bad news about Blake’s status and quietly spoke the chilling words, “I know you need to study, Honey, but if you don’t come now you might not be able to say goodbye.” Within 30 minutes Shane, Kelly, and I had packed overnight bags, filled the gas tank, and were on the long road home. We made it back that evening in time to give Blake a hug + kiss before he went to bed. He looked better than we expected, but was tired. We waved goodbye with a promise to be over first thing in the morning.

But, we never got the chance. Blake plummeted in the night and was taken to the hospital an hour away. (We praise Jesus that he hung on long enough for Kyle to finish exams in Tennessee and make it home to say goodbye.) We returned to West Palm to take our exams, and to solemnly wait for the phone call that Blake’s cancer would be gone + he would be Home.

When I arrived back at my apartment that Sunday night, my roommates had transformed our living room into a cozy cave of mattresses, pillows, and Christmas lights. They made my favorite coffee, and had cookies in the oven. We slept on the monster bed we created and neglected exams to watch movies that would distract my anxious heart. We were just waiting for the call. Everyone would stir at the sound of each phone call and text message alert, knowing that bad news was not far off. I somehow stumbled my way through two days of exams. All was a blur. All was coated with pending heartbreak.

When the call finally came that Tuesday night, Shane and I were surrounded by that precious community. They held us. They cried with us. They showed us love in one of the most vivid + beautiful ways I have ever experienced.

Death hurts. Though Jesus healed the sting, his victory over death didn’t take away the ache of loss. There is a hollowing empty that accompanies death and kills the anticipation of continuing life on earth with someone you love. It hurts. And it’s okay to let it hurt.

Like the snow of winter freezes the earth beneath in order for new life to someday grow, so death freezes parts of our hearts and allows them to be made new.

We like to say that Blake didn’t lose his battle with cancer.

Though his life on earth came to a close, we know that full healing is found only in the presence of our sweet King, the presence in which he will forever reside. And even three years later we rejoice in the promise:

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”
Revelation 21:4

 

Lucid Brevity

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Take one: My alarm fell off the nightstand and I woke up late.

Take two: The screaming alarm refused to be silenced as it buzzed itself off of my tall, white, nightstand – the one with two shelves and an adorable door to hide the books and journals residing inside. My technology powered machine, phone caller and text messager by day // alarm and radio by night, dropped to the mahogany wood floor beneath my cozy queen size bed like a kamikaze pilot.

A bed that stands so high that it requires a little jump for me to bury myself under the sheets and massive comforter. I had surrounded myself with the matching throw pillows the night before, falling asleep to the steady drip drop, drip drop of the winter rainstorm happening just outside my window. Falling asleep to such peace surely did not prepare my body for the harsh awakening of my relentless alarm. Don’t you just hate when mornings start like that?

As we write write write, my professors constantly remind us that the key to success in an academic paper is lucid brevity. It is the art of saying something in the briefest way possible, while remaining clear.

This aspect of writing has undoubtedly challenged me more than any other.

I am enamored by the way that syllables dance together like experienced couples on a ballroom floor. Or like silly college students at the wedding celebration of life-giving friends. Elegant or messy, they spin intentionally into sentences that make my heart sing.

I like words. And I like to make them dance.

I’m a storyteller bent on redemption and the thought of lucid brevity makes me feel like I’m not allowed to invite my favorite people to game night with coffee and cookies.

As I close the first chapter of this little thing called grad school, I have made my residence in the library, and forgotten all hopes of rest or sleep. Coffee and donuts are my only sustenance and in some ways, I couldn’t be happier. There is something unmatchable about doing the thing you know you’re supposed to do. Even when it looks like this.

I’m learning that sometimes (aka: in academia), it’s a different kind of gathering and my fun sentence constructs wouldn’t enjoy the party. But overall, I need to keep inviting those crazy syllables to make new friends and tell new stories and induce more laughter. They may be left out of the papers, but not the heart that wrote them.

May your every paper and exam push you to excellence in a way that shines for the Creator and points all fame to Him.

Let’s Make Something.

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I just finished my third week of my first semester of seminary. Not only did I never think I would write those words at age 23 (let alone ever), I never thought I would be as challenged as I am this early on. Learning to read 1,000 pages of theology a week (sometimes in the middle of the night), remembering assignments to an online course, and coming to terms with my social life taking a back seat, it has been sobering to say the least.

Sadly, what I realized most this week was how prone I am to forget why I’m doing this in the first place. In the midst of feeling exhausted and overwhelmed, I find myself wondering what I’ve gotten myself into and why I’m doing it at all. “I don’t even need a master’s degree!” … “Why did I think this was a good idea?” … “This is keeping me from fully investing in the ministry I want to do in the first place.” Ah, albeit they may be lies, I gave them way too much airtime in my mind this week and I’m still learning how to fight it.

Gratefully, I was brought back to earth by a commentary on Genesis, and though I’m pretty sure I don’t have time to write this, I’m learning that I need to. This week we read, studied, and discussed the story of creation that awakens our souls to the heart of Yahweh when we crack open a bible and start from page one:

“In the beginning, God created…”

How many times have you read these words? How many times have you heard them preached? My guess is many. But how many times have you let it speak to you, and not just to the origin of your ancestors? What we find in the text of Genesis 1 is more than just a record of creation. We find the depth of Yahweh’s heart within it. We find that He didn’t merely make things. He didn’t just create us from nothing, He created us to keep creating. As humans make humans, and the acorn of the oak will make more oaks, so are you to continue the act of creating. Yahweh ordered creation to work in a cycle of continuation, and you were made to be a part of it.

I think of my brother, an incredibly gifted musician whose voice, guitar, and the words that he crafts together create beauty. I remember when Jason told me about the first music documentary he remembers watching as a teenager. He recalled the way he marveled in fascination as he listened to the story of the artist. And watching someone create made him want to do the same.

We were created in the very image of The Creator. We were made to make! We were built to build and designed to design, and I wonder tonight how often we take that seriously. Ya know, I spend a lot of time wishing I were different than I am. Some days the object of my wishing is my outside appearance. Other days it’s my inside abilities. On the worst days, it’s both.

But the days I spend creating? Ah, I wish it I could say it was more than the truth would allow.

When we create, we invite the nature and likeness of Yahweh to infiltrate and sanctify. We invite Him to join in the primary task that He gave us to take what we have and make more. He is One that made something from nothing. He is the One whose Spirit hovered over the waters before there was a moon, or a sea to reflect its glory. And He is the One whose very breath brought you in being. What good is the gift of life if you fail to be a maker, a doer, a designer, a creator?

The One who is made you to be.

I hope you spend a little bit more time creating and relishing in the beauty that doing so brings you closer to the heart of the One who at the very beginning, thought first to create.