{shine} now.

Things that shine are beautiful, aren't they?

They attract our attention.

Like moths to a flame, we have to look. 

To see the shiny. The bright. The beautiful.

As God's kids, that's who we are to be.

We are called...anointed...ordained...to be shiny.

A city on a hill.

A lamp in a house. 

Shiny for Jesus in this dark world. 

This week, let's be bright and beautiful from the inside out.

For Him. With Him. 

Because, after all, luminous beings are we. 

Many blessings,

Deni

ps. Thank you Yoda. You wise green shiny thing you. ;)

{do something scary} now.

So, yes. 

I'm doing this today.

What scary things are you up to today?

May 2 Timothy 1:7 be a super-hero cape for you and I today.

Not because we are just that good.

Because He is. 

Blessings,

Deni

{unchained} now.

On our own, we wear chains.

In middle class America, the chains that the majority of us wear are invisible. Unnoticable to the naked eye. To the casual “hello, how are you” eye, our chains can go unseen. 

Until we get closer. Lean in. Come a bit nearer. Then we see them.

Some chains take the form of the need to be perfect. The need to be accepted. Loved. Beheld by something or someone. The false ideal that everything could be “just right”. Without flaw. The problem with that is that we are all flawed. All broken. All fall short on our own.

Some chains were placed on us by others. Those in our lives who have been given a voice and who have used that voice, unfortunately, to limit us. They have spoken into our present that, because of who we are, because of who God made us to be, we cannot do this or that. They choose, for whatever reason, to define us. To limit us. 

Both have happened to me…and I bet to you, too.

I have felt the unattainable need to be perfect. To have no regrets. Unblemished. Unwrinkled. Except…you and I…we are human. Flawed from the start. And so the chains of the desire to be perfect? Hmm. Those heavy chains are not given to us by God. By the God who sees our flaws and hears our complaints and Who knows that the goals we sometimes seek do not reflect Him. He is perfect. We aren't. We can live unchained because of His sacrifice, His plan, for us. His heart toward us is filled with love, not with limitation.

I have been told in the past that because I am a woman, I cannot do this or that. I can go this far…but no further. Painful, yes. Devastating, yes. Soul-igniting, oh yes. You see, I believe the God who called you and I to this or that will not be defined. And so why should His child, clothed in Him, be? Why should His reflection…be defined as limited? Why would gender or race or social status or anything else limit giftedness? The truth? It doesn’t. I believe God will not be defined...and so those chains? Those definitions that others have tried to impose on you? The ones you’ve listened to and given weight to? Those hurtful words that prevent you from seeing straight for a time? Dear friend, those words do not define you. If God has given you a gift, use it. However. Wherever. On street corners as you look a homeless man in the eye and in the checkout line as you greet an exhausted cashier. Those chains don’t fit you. His heart toward you and toward me is filled with love, not with limitation.

God speaks of His process of unchaining throughout His Word. From Genesis to Revelation, He speaks of freedom and hope and transformation. Of His gracious ways and His equipping of us to reflect His love into this flawed world. We are here to make a difference. It’s hard to make a difference when we’re wearing man-made chains, isn’t it? 

Think of the woman in Luke 13. I love this story. She is chained by illness, by a back that just won’t work. This woman, undoubtedly looked down on for so many reasons by the people she is surrounded by, is called forward in the church meeting by Jesus. The Son of God calls her. A woman, afflicted and chained, is unchained in the sight of God and everyone by His Son. He heals her. He has plans for her. I wish we knew the rest of her story. He had something He needed her to do, and He called her out from the back of the room, prepared her in front of everyone, and sent her off.

And so you. And me. What have we been called to? What is limiting us? What chains have we put on that God never intended for us to wear? What chains have we allowed others to shackle us with? Pray it through. Quiet room, knees on the hardwood or face in the carpet. Talk to the Jesus…the One who called the woman out of the binding shadows in Luke 13…and see if He won’t help you live unchained. Today.

Blessings,
Deni

 He was teaching in one of the meeting places on the Sabbath. 

There was a woman present, so twisted and bent over with arthritis 

that she couldn’t even look up. 
She had been afflicted with this for eighteen years. 

When Jesus saw her, he called her over. 

“Woman, you’re free!” 

He laid hands on her and suddenly she was standing straight and tall, 

giving glory to God.                        

~Luke 13:10-13 The Message

{reflecting on NYC} now.

My husband and I love New York City.

For me, the love for the bustling city started at the end of eigth grade when I was notified that I was receiving a superlative in the yearbook (for “shortest”, if you must know…ahem…). I was asked to write my future plans down on paper for the blurb that would go next to my picture.  I wrote that I wanted to live in New York City and be a stockbroker. The action, the movement, and the noise all created a beautifully wrapped package for me. I wanted to be there. And live that. That is, until I realized that you had to be somewhat good at math to be a stockbroker. I knew at that moment that the whole stockbroker thing wasn't going to be my gig. 

Fast forward many years. It’s Christmas 2000. My husband hands me a card he’s designed on the computer. The card explains that in just two days, he and I would be traveling to New York. He had planned it all. It would be my first time in the city I had always wanted to be a part of. Needless to say, I cried. Bless my hubby’s heart.

I remember the first steps I took in the city. I remember the shoes I was wearing. As we stepped up and out of the terminal and onto the gray sidewalks, I looked down at my feet. My first steps in this city I knew I would love. It was holy ground, and I knew it.

Fast forward a few months, and NYC has totally woven itself into the fabric of who we are. Living in Howard County, Maryland we were just four hours away. It was our anniversary, and my husband had purchased tickets of us to see a matinee performance of The Phantom of the Opera at the Majestic Theater. It was August 22, 2001. As we stepped out into the mid-afternoon sun, I looked down at the shoes I was wearing, deemed them fit, and suggested that we walk to SoHo. From the Theater District. Yes. I wanted to go to the Kate Spade boutique on Broome Street, and it was a brilliant afternoon. My husband agreed, and we walked. Down Broadway. Along crowded sidewalks. Among the happening. It was amazing. As we made our way downtown toward Soho during those two and a half hours, I noticed that the towers of the World Trade Center stood tall in the direction that we needed to travel. Those two gray, stoic buildings became a marker for us. A compass. They were right there. There. Always.

And then the morning of September 11th happened. The towers we had used along our course downtown just weeks prior were gone. In billows of dust and smoke and ash, they lay in heaps. Broken and bent. We were broken and bent, too, watching the TV that day. The city we loved so much was mourning. Like a stomachache rising, we sat there stunned. 

Again, we fast forward. It’s mid-October 2001. My husband had purchased tickets for us to see The Producers on Broadway months prior. It was time to go. Of course, those buildings weren’t there as we approached the city. I knew they wouldn’t be. But, oh. We had heard that New York Police Department had reduced the perimeter around the World Trade Center the night before. We would get to be closer to Ground Zero than the people who had visited the day before. We felt blessed. And so we went…as close as we could…to holy ground. 

We stood there, among the others, listening to the policeman guarding the perimeter. He was graciously answering questions from the crowd. He was receiving thanks from those who had come. Here. To this place. Steps closer than others had been. As we stood there, I looked at the shop windowsill beside me. A thick gray dust coated the ledge. It was the dust that came in great plumes when the buildings fell. As people ran away from the falling towers that day, they covered their mouths so they wouldn’t inhale this dust. I stood there and realized what I was looking at. It was finely ground rubble. Powder. The aftermath of terror. The great buildings we had kept our eyes on in August were reduced to shards and pieces and this dust. I ran my finger along the windowsill. Perhaps I needed to connect, and this dust, this mortal soil, was a conduit. It was holy ground.   

And here I sit in a coffee shop twelve years later with tears in my eyes. How thankful I am that God gave me August 22, 2001 and that day in October and every other day I've spent with my feet on New York City's pavement. How thankful I am for the resilient human spirit. The boundless hope and forward movement that God has placed in our souls.  

And so the sod that you and I trod each day as we do the normal, the routine, the daily…it is holy ground. Let’s stop today, take off our shoes, and thank God for it. 

Blessings,
Deni