Month: August 2020

Holding My Breath

You ever play those games in the car or in the pool as a kid…or maybe if you’re like me, even now as an adult? The games where when you drive up to a tunnel you suck in a huge deep breath and see if you can hold it until you reach the other end? Or how bout, who can swim under water the longest, holding their breath without coming up for air?

I like those games, as long as they’re played the smart way. You don’t hold your breath in the car while entering a tunnel that has no light at the end of it. You don’t submerge yourself under water, setting out to swim to the other side without seeing it first. You have to at least have some kind of measure or knowledge that you might succeed at the game.

I’ve always had this thing about angels. I think about them often and used to imagine them as a kid a lot. I have an over-active mind, and when I was fearful at night I would pray that God would send angels, with swords as big as our house to keep us safe. In retrospect it might’ve been a little bit of an intense ask, but I mean, I think intense asks are ok from time to time. As an adult, I can’t even fathom what angels might look like, but I’m fairly certain they don’t have white fluffy wings and a glowing halo. No, I’m guessing they probably look a little more bad ass than that. Maybe not house-sized-swords bad ass, but like..almost.

I love music. Sometimes for the beat, sometimes for the instrumentals, sometime for the voices, but most of the time because I’m a words person and get such big feelings about lyrics.

This past December for our special Christmas service, my church sang a song by Hillsong Worship. I loved it. I downloaded it on my phone and added it to my playlist and it’s been in rotation ever since. In the beginning I kind of felt guilty about playing a “Christmas” song when it’s not the holidays, but when I really sank into the words I realized it wasn’t actually a Christmas song at all.

The other day while walking around the neighborhood, that song came through my head phones and a specific verse practically knocked the air out my lungs and made my eyes extremely watery.

And the morning that you rose
All of heaven held its breath
‘Til that stone was moved for good
For the Lamb had conquered death
And the dead rose from their tombs
And the angels stood in awe
For the souls of all who’d come
To the Father are restored

You ever been told not to hold your breath over something? It means “not to expect something to happen for a very…long…time.” In other words, if you tried to hold your breath that long, you’d probably pass out or die or something.

Heaven held it’s breath. The bad ass, house-sized-sword wielding angles were holding their breath waiting for Jesus to crash through a boulder like the freaking Kool-Aid Man because they KNEW it was going happen. And then, when it did they were still mind blown about it because I’m sure it was just so much more epic than anything they could’ve anticipated.

Can you imagine? They’re all standing around waiting, anticipating, holding their breath knowing it’s gonna happen, knowing Jesus is going to walk out of his grave and defeat death…and then it does and they all let out a collective sigh and shouts of victory and start high fiving the other angels around them and maybe even chest bumping and then God’s like “Hold on you haven’t even seen anything yet.” And then dead people start rising, and being restored to Heaven and all the commotion and high fives and celebrating comes to a dead stop because they’re so in awe….I mean, again, I know my imagery might be little bit intense, but those song lyrics are just so so good.

This entire year is becoming a season of breath holding for me. I KNOW this year is not where hate wins. I KNOW this year is not where division gets the last word. I KNOW this year is not where the story ends. I KNOW Jesus is here and in it with us and I KNOW he can and will and has and does conquer all. But lately I feel like I am on my knees weak and shaking, because I don’t know how much longer I can hold my breath. I want to see Him come in and knock down hatred like the Kool-Aid Man knocks down walls, I want to be left in awe at the healing and the hope and the restoration and togetherness and love that fills the lives and hearts of people in this world.

I want it so bad. So I am holding my breath. And sure, maybe I’m holding it desperately and frantically, on the edge of panic and bordering doubt, but we’re not gonna lose this game. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, there’s an edge of a pool across the water, and there’s an empty grave.

Love,

The breath holder

An Official Invite

I’m an introvert. I don’t talk much. I don’t do much. I look forward to any alone time I can get. I love quiet, silent hours by myself with just my thoughts or a book. It’s not easy for me to feel lonely.

And yet…More and more often, this foreign feeling has been showing up like a dull ache in my chest, coming out in leaky eyes as I talk to my husband at the end of the day. What’s wrong is met with “I just feel lonely.” It sounds so lame to me, but it’s the only way I know how to put it.

Ivo had Saturday and Sunday off. A combination of days that rarely ever happens.

We slept past 7:00am. Exercise looked like playing sports we both enjoy together. There was borrowed loveseat lounging while sipping on a first and second cup of coffee. Dishes and hard wood floors were left uncleaned until Sunday evening. Little projects were completed. Beer pong was played with friends. Big breakfasts were consumed and my heart felt full and content.

The front door opened and shut at 6:30 this morning, starting a new week where I’ll spend the majority of it by myself. But also starting a new week where I’m feeling so, so grateful and loved and not so achy.

There’s a small part of my overthinking brain that feels guilty for claiming this out loud and on the internet right now during a time where others that I love and care about are facing the possibility of not having a home to return to after evacuation from the fires.

This year is weird, and heavy and burdensome and it can be easy to get lost in the ache. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and as challenging as it might be, I’m going to spend the rest of 2020 fighting to be grounded in the good.

Whether that looks like a FaceTime call with my niece, a Saturday and Sunday spent with my husband, a good book, an audit of the accounts I follow on social media, a wave from my best friend as we pass in town, or an evening of cool, clear air. I’m going to find the good things for the next 4 months and camp out in them. Usually, I’d probably want to camp with the smallest amount of friends and family possible, but this time I’m making an exception. You’re invited too.

Love,

The lonely girl who loves to be alone