all is grace.

"I remember when you were a junior in high school and you said you didn't want to grow up.  And now, you're a junior in college and growing up, and you're doing it beautifully!  I'm so proud of you," she told me.

Yesterday, I unexpectedly ran into one of my favorite people ever - LeighAnne Clifton.  Mrs. LeighAnne was one of my high school Sunday school teachers.  She has a big, big role in the way that I know Jesus and the way that I love Jesus.  I didn't realize just how much she meant to me until I saw her yesterday.

I don't think I could explain well enough how much I needed to, without knowingly, see that woman and to hear those words.  How much I needed to hear that I'm doing something right.

I believe in grace.  My heart beats for grace.  I couldn't obsess over Jesus' grace on our behalf much more than I already do.  But, as I've said before, I struggle finding grace for myself.

If you know me, you know that home is hard for me.  It's no one's fault.  It's just that home makes me think and home makes me process and Brenna @/when Home as a senior in high school looks vastly different than Brenna @/when Home as a junior in college.  The Lord has radically changed my heart, the things it beats for, the people it adores, and the way it processes.  Because of how different I am, simply put, home is hard.

Because of that, this past weekend was no different.  I was irritable and annoyed and frustrated (mainly with myself) and stubborn and graceless.  I was in an ill mood and I didn't really care who it affected.

Let me tell you, growing up is hard.  Like, by far, the hardest thing I've ever done.  That sounds sort of silly because everyone does it, but really.  I remember when I was a junior in high school and I said that I was scared to grow up.  Looking back, I think that was rightfully said.

So to hear that I'm supposedly doing it "beautifully" wrecked me.  It was as if Jesus himself was looking upon me and reminding me that there's grace for me.  That there's grace when you go home and fight with mom, your sister, AND your brother.  There's grace when you eat too much dessert.  There's grace when you feel inadequate and there's grace when you think you're doing just fine on your own.  There's grace when you let the truth that HE is already there slip from memory.  There's grace when you forget, over and over, to do a simple task.  There's grace when you spend too much money shopping.  There's grace when you don't see how things could be fixed.  There's grace when I'm not the friend, daughter, sister, RA, business owner, or student that I should/want to be.  There's abundant grace.  Over and over and over and over, there's grace.

And there's grace when I feel like I'm doing this whole "growing up" thing 100 shades of wrong.  There's grace when I'm scared to become an adult.

It's like I'm growing up right before my eyes, like I'm just watching it happen from a spectator's view.  And I hate it and I love it.  I cling to the things that are comfortable, yet I long for the best that is yet to come.

For whatever reason, I was dreading the drive back to Anderson today- vastly different than the way I usually am excited for it.  But today, my body, or really my heart, didn't feel too up to it.  I think that was because I feel the days are just passing as I near graduation and I can't hold them tightly enough.

I thought a lot.  I thought a lot about the way I've grown up and the space I've allowed myself.  I'm over and over and over and over again thankful that Jesus gives grace.

I thought about grace and how it finds me.  How it seeks me and comes to me.  How it's enough and how it overflowingly covers.  How it's there when I have to make up words because there aren't any good enough.  How it's present and near and surrounding.  How it loves me.

As I prepare to end my 5th semester of college, I'm reminded that grace is before me.  That it goes with me into this next season.  That is has not forgotten me and it refuses to abandon me.  That all is grace.

I have a tattoo that says "by grace alone".  That was a good tattoo to get in the season that I got it in.  I was a new Christian that hit the harsh reality that nothing I did/ever had done earned me my salvation, but that it was His hand in it all.  That before I would even dream of knowing Him, His grace would hold me and find me.

But in this season, I'm surrounded by grace, it's inescapable.  It's poured out for me and for you and for them and for her and for him and for we and for us.  In this season, grace is choking me, because often times, I choose I don't find it for myself.  All is grace.

I ask that you would pray for me.  That you would pray for my resentment towards growing up, haha.  I need lots of contentment in the future and my anxiety is the 40 foot wall that doesn't allow for that.  I speak to my anxiety and I pray the wall would shake and fall, that I may expectantly look towards what it to come, rather than tightly grasp that which once was.  That I would take these days one-at-a-time, rather than seeing them as a scrapbook of memories in a book that I feel I never took the time to make.

I have this quote in my room that says, "I'm praying that Jesus will give me just enough strength each day to keep me from losing it, but not so much that I forget who that strength comes from."  That is me now.  Because I've made a little strength from Him a lot of strength of my own and I've watched my head roll away on other days.

But there's grace for all the days.

Heart surrendered, onward we go.

elephants on my chest

Whenever I go home, I like to buy myself flowers.  I buy them and put them in a vase and display them in my room, like they're the most elaborate collection of wild and free nature rather than just a $5 bouquet from Ingles. 

My most recent bouquet, bought nearly a month ago, was starting to look really sad over the last couple days.  So I decided to press the flowers in an old dictionary.

As I flipped pages and slid flowers in randomly, that quote that says something about how if we think flowers are beautiful, we shouldn't pick them because we are killing them and ending their beauty.

I think that's bs.  Because we are people and because we are human, our hearts beat to capture beautiful things.  We hold them close to our hearts.  Since the beginning of time, beauty has been noticed.  You can't tell me that Genesis 1 isn't a beautiful picture of God creating beautiful things for a beautiful, but really unbeautiful us.  How foolish of a comparison is it to say that flowers should not be picked because they are too beautiful.  My heart longs to hold beauty.

Kind of like photography.  We kill the moment by capturing it.  But whether it is forgotten or not is our choice.  If we simply discard images, they are just like those flowers.  But when we hold them and treasure them and save them, alas, we hold beauty.

Today, in the midst of a slow Saturday morning after a busy Friday (and I don't have Friday classes, how is my day still busy?), I forgot to do something semi-important in relation to being an RA.  Someone was counting on me to get a job done and I didn't.  I'm not sure what exactly the weights were, but they fell on me when I finally slowed down from my busy day and I cried over my steering wheel.  I put my head in my hands and cried.  I cried because I dropped the ball and I cried because I'm tired and because I'm tired of being tired and because I can't remember things because I'm too stressed.

There's this quote up in my bathroom by Tracee Ellis Ross that says, "I am learning every day to allow the space between where I am and where I want to be to inspire me and not terrify me."  I try really hard to remember that in times like these, but lately, I've done a terrible job at letting that space inspire, rather than terrify, me.

I think that, when we're not careful, we easily fall into this trap of insufficiency.  As I cried yesterday, I yelled at myself for not being able to get it together and for not being good enough and for not being the senior resident advisor I should be and for not getting an A or B on my test earlier this week and for not taking a break and for forgetting to make time for some of my favorite friends and for getting things wrong and for shattering my phone last night, only to rip my pants two minutes later (proceed to lol).  I understand that that is foolish and I'm positive that everyone is tired of hearing me complain, but I'm tired tired tired, friends.

I'm not sure how I got here, but today, I'm stepping into freedom and it feels glorious.  Oh, that the sun would shine upon my face.  That the Lord would look unto me and call me blessed, even with my shit ton of screwed up things (sorry).  That He would see my heart and know my heart and treasure me.  Thank you, Jesus.

I come to the cross with my hands really full.  They're full of anxieties and bad feelings and heartbreak and exhaustion and my things are rushing over my fingertips.  

But in the midst of that, the elephant on my chest is being removed, step by step.  This zoo is closed and I will not feel your weight anymore, elephant.  The mountain that is front of me will be cast into the sea in Jesus' name.  I'm declaring that today.  Thank you, Jesus. 

and thank you, readers.  I say it often, but onward we go.

step by step, we march to freedom.

step by step, we march to freedom.

step by step, we march to freedom.

he invites me to his table

I really feel like I'm drowning.

This past weekend was bcm fall retreat at look up lodge.  how ironic it would be that I would enter a place, literally, that was my source of anxiety for 4 months this summer and the Lord would take hold of my heart in regards to all of that anxiety.  for about 48 hours, I worshipped and prayed and sang real loud and asked and begged and cried and hugged.  Such a beautiful thing, but it takes a lot of recovering, as if I ever could.  The Lord spoke to me in ways that I would have never guessed.

I'm not even sure what words I want to say.  Currently, my heart feels full, yet desperately broken.  Romans 8 says that when we can't find the words, the Spirit hears our groans and intercedes for us.  Currently, that is me.  That is my heart today.  I'm not sure how I should feel, what I should think, or what is next.  I'm caught of the limbo of being here, but being with the Lord spiritually

Amidst my confusion and hurting and rejoicing and crying, I do know without a shadow of a doubt that God loves me.  He loves me deeply.  He loves me when I get it right and when I get it wrong.  He loved me before I got it wrong and gave for me after I did.  He loves me enough to send for me.  He loves me enough to seek me.  Oh, that He would seek me.  I think that I have known since I became a believer that God loves me.  But that truth has never manifested in my heart like it is now until this past weekend.

He invites me to His table.  He invites me to the place where I will be best nourished.  He has prepared a table for me and He sets it that I may have friendship with Him.  And more than that, He invites me and others to the table, that we could all feast together.  He invites me to friendship with Him and invites me to community with others.

That thought wrecks me.  That thought brings weeping.  How many times do I send God away from my table?  And how many times do I send His people away from my table?

The truth that He celebrates my coming Home sends me weeping, too.  Like the lost sheep, He leaves the rest to come find me.  He comes to me.  Like the prodigal son, the good Father rejoices in my return.  He prepares His best for my return.

I think that I'm so emotional and captivated because I think I'm finally coming out of this season.  "this season" has been a year in the making.  I talk about it a lot because it has seriously consumed the last year of my life.  Over and over, the Lord has been teaching me about His character.  To be honest, I've been begging for this season to be over because I'm exhausted.  I literally told someone the other day that I'm tired of being.  Not that I want to be dead, but that I'm just exhausted of feeling things and doing things and making decisions and trying, but feeling like I'm failing.

With that said, I feel like I'm beginning to come out of this year.  Something in the air seems to have shifted and I seem to be moving into a new time.  And though I begged for this to be over, I'm now caught trying to cling to what once was.  I'm now caught longing for the past.  And I don't really know how to handle it all.

Obviously I don't have it all figured out [I don't even have a blogpost figured out].  Amidst the chaos that I feel, I think I do know a thing or two.

Let us feast.  Let us join and feast.  In Revelation, Paul eats God's word.  You are what we eat.  What would my life we like if I was so saturated in God's word that it was literally my nourishment?

Isaiah 40 says that God gives rest to the weary and strength to the weak.  I've been chanting that over myself for a few days now.  I am weary.  My heart is weary.  I'm tired and I desperately need rest.  I'm learning to ask for the things I want because the Lord is good and faithful.  I'm asking for rest this week, though I'm busy.  Asking for more time would be foolish.  But asking for rest amidst my busyness is necessary in this season.

thank you, Jesus, for your good.  thank you for inviting me to your table.  thank you for making a place for me and loving me enough to seek me.  thank you for sending for me and seeing me, really seeing me.  thank you for meeting me in my weakness and in my lost state.  thank you for giving me good gifts and giving me community and giving me grace.  I could never get enough of you and, even in the hard stuff, my heart will seek you.  help me to celebrate the truth that you reign highest.

onward, we go.  I'm not sure where we're going or how we'll get there, but Jesus is leading this thing, so it's gotta be good.  come to my table, feast with me and the King.

thanks for being sweet and loving me, even when my head seems gone.  lol.  Using the word as our lamp, onward we go.

weighty words

hi, friends.

if you know anything about me at all, you know that I am most obsessed with words.  I like the sounds they make, the stories they tell, the way that they can hurt and heal and help, the way they create things from nothing.

By the third verse of Genesis 1, God spoke.  "Let there be light."  The story continues that as God spoke, things came into existence.  Let there be water.  Let there be land.  Let there be plants.  Let there be lights and seasons and stars.  Let there be creatures.  Let there be man.

God literally spoke into a void, a whole vast of nothingness, and things became.  He said, so there is. 

I hold very near and dear to my heart that we have this same type of power.  That we, too, can speak things into existence.  I've hinted at this before, but that if we say we are happy, we will begin to believe it.  If we declare depression, depression we find.  If we call ourselves train wrecks, we become those train wrecks.  To quote The Medicine of Hope, "we tend to become what we are called."

This is a call to speak gently.  This is a call to watch the words that you (yes, you, Brenna) let pass through your lips.  A call to consider others.  This is a call to understand that the words we speak and think have great power and that we cannot cannot cannot underestimate their magnitude.

I think that, because I didn't become a Christian until I was 17, I have always struggled with what the heck "guard his/her heart" means.  Like what?  I don't get it.

Until recently, I was really confused by that.  I don't think that I have fully arrived at a definition, but I think that I'm getting closer to understanding as my affections for words continues to grow.  I think that "guarding" hearts is often times envisioned as a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship.  But I'm single as a pringle and I've learned more about what that means in terms of the relationships I have in the last month that I ever did in my dating days.

Guarding her heart looks like not sharing information that could hurt her - and a lot of the time, this doesn't look just like information that could hurt her ("I mean, it's only a funny story?"), but it's about not mentioning that person cause it hits her heart wrong and not mentioning that place cause that place used to be really special to her.  Guarding her heart is about not gossiping about things because that does no good for anyone.  Guarding his heart looks like distancing myself from him, despite my aching heart that just wants to reach out and say hi, i miss you.  Guarding his heart is praying for him, though there isn't an "us" anymore and that hurts way down deep in my heart.  Guarding her heart is preparing her for the tougher roads ahead in the best way you know how - through love.  Guarding his heart is stepping back and choosing not to take the "easy" road, but taking the one that brings freedom.

I didn't understand this concept until I got burned by a friend's lack of guarding my heart.  As she spoke and shared what she genuinely thought would serve as good news to me, my heart stopped and my stomach fell and I couldn't keep my hands still.  I think that a lot of times, we have this warped idea of what will help people.  As if me hearing bad things about him would make me feel good, like I dodged a bullet or something.  Like I came out on top because I won't be just another page in his collection of us.  She spoke with a very good intention - to make me feel good; but all it did was make me feel lost and confused and a whole new chapter of questions were brought about to be processed through.

I understand that I'm being very vague.  Hahaha.  Sorry if I'm completely impossible to understand.  Just know that all of our hearts need guarding and we should extend that gift of guarding to one another because we so desperately need it.

The other day, in a very physical, proximal way, my heart was rebroken.  This is a story different than the one about my heart being broken by not being guarded; I guess, maybe, the Lord is trying to teach me a thing or two.  Remember that bandaid I mentioned last time that continues to be yanked off?  The other day, it was taken off and for a while, I couldn't seem to find it.  My anxiety spiraled out of control as a flood of things safe went flying out the window.

Back to words.  I think that over the last three or four months, I've shared a lot of words.  A lot of good words and bad words.  Regardless, I think that I have been sufficiently lacking in speaking words to myself.  Sure, I blog.  Sure, I pray.  Sure, I stand on furniture and declare how good Jesus is.  Sure, I believe those things.  But does my heart?

I've given a whole new definition to the words "fine" and "good".  I've said that I was both of those things over and over and over, all the while, being on the verge of a big meltdown.  I know I sound dramatic, mainly because I am, but these things are true.  I've been an emotional wreck and I've used the "fine" and "good" bandaids to cover up my bruises and scars and cuts and aches.

I think that words are good.  I live for words.  But when we use them wrong, we get hurt.  When we use them dishonestly, we get left feeling really bad off.

This is a call to speak honestly and openly.  A call to remember that when we say we feel one way but truly feel another, we, ourselves, begin to believe that lie.

I live for what's next, go, go, go, rolling with the punches, onto the next one, I'm fine, promise, no tears here.  Which is twisted and all because I'm the biggest advocate for healing and I literally give myself about 3 seconds to heal before it's onto the next thing.  But I forget to have grace with myself.

To my readers (and my mom), I promise I'm not dying.  Hahaha.  I'm thankful for your concerns about me, but sometimes, my words are just the things I'm thinking and I refuse to be silenced about those.  I sound dramatic because I am.

This season is long.  And I'm ready for it to be over, to be honest.  Haha.  But I'm learning more and more about how God works everyday.  For that, I'm thankful.  Really, onward we go :)

love you people, thanks for listening to my collection of words.  praying for you guys.