Together at Last

She flung herself onto Him, wrapping her arms around His neck.  Though He never spoke the words, with their faces close, and eyes closed, the words "I am all you need," radiated off of Him.

Together at last.

As they opened their eyes, smiles broke out across two overwhelmingly joyful faces.  "I thought this day would never come," she spoke in quiet excitment.  Releasing their embrace, He twirled her around saying, "I've been waiting for this moment since the day you were born."

She could feel as her eyes dance, "Really?"

With His charming smirk, He pretended to think about it for a second and answered, "Well, no.  Actually, I have been waiting to be with you since I made the moon.  Since the first time I rose flaming colors of gold, blue, and purple with the sun in the morning.  Since I let the words, 'It is finished' get caught up in the wind on the day of My death."

He wiped the two tears streaming down her face with the side of His gentle, strong thumb.  She couldn't fathom the reality of being here with Him.  The One she had loved to irrevocably before this moment, the One she had lived her small life for, the One that covered her in a love that wasn't found anywhere else.

The pure happiness overwhelmed Him as well as He took her back into His arms -- just as He did throughout her whole life on earth without her knowing.

The longing they had for each other during the wait made this moment difficult to take in, but it was very real.  Their love for each other was very real.

And now, they were together at last.

Walls

If you've ever watched a woman in pain, there's usually a similar scene always painted. When an embrace of comfort is offered, usually by a man, we fight it. We punch and shove and push and resist. We've been hurt before. We're stronger. We're over comers. We're here for, not ourselves, but others. This is done relentlessly.
Almost relentlessly.
Because there's always a breaking point. A point where the water is putting too much pressure on our walls. And a crack crawls through the stone. Our head falls on his shoulder. We try to hold up the walls, but the break grows, and the water flows in. Finally, we release on the only thing that resembles strength or a sturdy foundation. The water reaches our eyes. We fall, and suddenly... We're soft. We're tender hearted. We're usable, vulnerable, teachable.
This is where we're beautiful. This is where we were created for. This is where Jesus sweeps in and caresses our hearts. This is what no other man can offer. This is healing. This is surrender. This is hope. This is humility. This is love.

Waiting

Some Joplin jazz played while the AC's air made the room even colder than the chill that came from our conversation.  I crossed my legs, and took another sip of my carmel frappuccino; never letting my eyes revert from hers across the small circle table, as she let her soul spill from the deepest chambers within, out of her mouth, to me.

"I imagine a heart of glass being dropped onto a large mirror.  And after it shatters, and the pieces scatter, I see my reflection staring back tup at me.  It was my heart, and me who broke it.  The moment I believed him, I did the heart breaking myself."

Soaking it in, I sat straighter at the edge of my chair.  

She continued, "I settled, gave my heart to someone else because I was impatient.  I didn't wait.  Not for him."

The air shifted.  The AC turned off.  I was intrigued, "Who's that?"

"Him," she stated matter-a-factly, "The man who worships like David, is wise like Solomon, and brave like Jonathan.  The man who is obedient to God like Abraham and has faith like Joshua.  He who has Jesus as his closets friend, like Peter.  He who is willing to endure suffering to chase God and spread the gospel like Paul."

"I'm still waiting for him too..." I replied.  "I have found a man, however," I said as hope cast over her eyes, "who has given me flowers everyday -- along with fields, oceans, and sunrises.  I've found a man who deeply believes that I couldn't be more beautiful, and doesn't want to defile my purity.  I've found a man who died in following God wholeheartedly with bravery.  I've found a man stronger than anyone I have ever seen before, with a strength that cannot be beaten even by the grave.  I've found a man who has always loved me, and me alone, genuinely.  I've found a man who is relentlessly pursuing me, even while knowing the dark shadows of my heart.  I've found a man who has been waiting for me, ever so patiently and selflessly, since the day I was born; hoping with his whole being that I would one day fully love Him in return."

He's waiting for you too. 

The Crime of the Good Girl

They're a rare breed these days, with rosy cheeks and a killer smile. You'll find them reading their Bibles, teaching the Sunday school classes, &/or playing on the worship team. You can recognize one by their very put together outfits, mascara coated lashes, and the purity ring on their left ring finger. Their facebook profiles are lavished with verses, they are usually intelligent, and Christian music fills their cars when they turn the key in the ignition.

My name is Elisabeth, and I'm a good girl.

I am a part of a small, quiet society of young women who are overall labeled as good ("adj., morally excellent; virtuous; pious"). Some people respond differently than others upon meeting a good girl. There are those who exclaim, "if only my child would grow up to be a girl like you!"; and then there are times we hear someone sneer under a breath, "Oh... she has the clean version of this song." All the while, we know the truths about ourselves: we're hardly good at all. Some of us fight with our families, or harbor an attitude, or listen to secular music. Then you have me, who does all of the above -- sometimes all at once.

Our real crime, however, occurs after we slip up. Maybe it's rare, but when we get caught up in this world and sin, really trip up behind our "good girl" label -- our worlds fall apart. Guilt consumes us, tears shower our faces, and our hearts break. We cry out apologizing again and again to Jesus. We think of those whom we let down. We worry about the hypocrisy of our label.

The crime is found in our anxiety about our slip up. The Bible says to repent and to ask for forgiveness. But it also says that we were set free by Jesus Christ for the sake of freedom, not because we wore our "good" label long enough. The crime is found in the laws that we create and plug into our lives. We do not get into Heaven by our works, but by our hearts. The crime is found in the forgetting that Jesus knew our sins when they were poured out onto Him while He hung on the cross, and that He still pursues our hearts daily.

Women of God are called to freedom, to be beautiful, spiritual, adventurous, strong, loving beings -- despite any perversion, shameful act, or addiction. We are free of any chains, assumptions, expectations, and labels. We are invited to enter an overwhelmingly grand love story with Jesus, filled with passion, joy, and victory.

My name is Elisabeth, and I am set free.

So are you.

An Inspiration

The AC hummed while pens all around the room skidded across paper. The assignment: the typical, yet ever asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?". She felt her green plaid skirt pushing against her stomach as the question floated through her mind. Suddenly and promptly, she straightened her spine, took hold of her pen, and scribed "Photographer" on the white, blue-lined paper. She stared at the word written in black ink for a couple heartbeats. Then, her eyes fell under it, to the 27 empty blue lines. Without another thought, she crumpled the paper into her palm and put it in the corner of her desk. New paper, new word. "A Mother." True, but we need something more. And then there were two paper spheres in the corner. Again. She scribed "Writer." No. No, no, no. More, deeper, truer. The desk's corner then had a party of three.

The chair constantly reminded her that it was made of plastic as it dug into her back. What do you want to be? Then the word came to mind, flew in, and took hold of her. She couldn't position the pen in her hand, couldn't bring it down to paper fast enough. After loops and swirls, dotted "I"s and crossed "T"s, the answer laid -- almost stood on her paper. "An Inspiration." She knew, then, why she loved to sing, read, capture, create; to talk, share, and learn. "I want to be a voice," she wrote, "a voice that comes out of silence. A voice of reason that doesn't sound reasonable because it doesn't sound normal at all." She wrote and she wrote and she wrote. The wet ink clung to the side of her hand as she filled one line and then the next. "I want to be a woman who knows defeat, and who overcomes it. I want to be a woman who shines with the victory that comes from her Jesus. I want to be a conqueror, an endurer, a difference. I want to be a beauty -- not from my hair or eyes or mouth, but from a determination, a Spirit, and a knowledge that I am capable of change because of the One who changed my heart so completely and irrevocably. I want to be an inspiration."

And she was.

Ladies, This is an Appeal

I think we're doing something wrong. Actually, I know we're doing a lot wrong. We know what we want, we know our way of getting it, and yet the execution of the plan doesn't unfold the way we had envisioned. We're not as high maintenance as people think! Our hearts aren't as complicated as made out to be. Hormones don't help our case, but I think we can agree that the needs of our hearts are few.

Here's the deal: We're walking around with broken hearts. And I know I'm not the only one who knows that it's not necessary and is avoidable. (I know, it sounds like some kind of female-code-blasphemy to imagine.)

We all know how much faster we mature than guys. We know. It's not a secret. And I find that as we follow Jesus and are in the Word, we slowly but surely learn what a Godly relationship is supposed to look like. And we want it. We want that husband that multiple authors of the Bible wrote about. So we look for that in the guys around us. This is where problems fly in like grenades, and with a rumbling explosion our hearts break. Now, I'm not picking on young men, they certainly make life... colorful. But they simply, for the most part, aren't where we are. (On the plus side, they kill bugs and are about 30% stronger than us.) Simply put, a lot of them aren't ready to want to be our Biblical hero husbands, and a lot of them simply don't have what we're searching for. YET. They're growing a few steps behind at this age. They catch up though, Jesus told me.

Now, here's the part you don't want to hear: We're growing still too. I resisted this for a while. I knew everything already, of course. But after we accept this, I find that so much more fulfillment and freedom will be found. The job of a guy's spiritual growth is in the hands of our God and their parents. We can't change em, ladies. And we're not supposed to. It's a humbling blessing if we do, but if we focused on planting ourselves in Christ and blossoming there, our hearts will be filled and comforted beyond the level any man could accomplish.

Trying to impress him with drugs, drinking, or sexual knowledge won't get him to love you forever. Experience in the sheets won't make him respect you more. If Cinderella could get her Prince Charming without taking her dress off, so can you. Swearing, listening to "cool" music, or taking him back after mistakes won't guarantee you a ring on that finger. If anything, you can count on them starting to talk to someone else after you give them all that at this point in their maturity.

So, what would this one stumbling but striving Christian teenage girl do? Keep your body in your clothes, and let some Scripture out. You'll weed out the losers from the winners in no time. Otherwise, it will be hard to do, and your heart will break more times than necessary. Most of us know guys are our weakness, and don't believe for a second that just because we're young Satan won't use that against, ya sister.

Unfortunately, Prince Charming doesn't ride up on a white horse when we sing enchantingly like in fairy tales. They're not that easy to find, especially today. But they're out there. When we follow Jesus, people who also want to live for Him, want a Godly relationship, and seek love forever will come into your life -- in God's perfect timing. And maybe, if you're lucky, one will even ride in on a white horse.

Those Days

I want to be 16 forever. Even when I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fists, willing for everything around me to stop, for some wild reason the world keeps spinning.

I was babysitting my cousins yesterday. It was raining. Naturally, I figured I’d turn on a movie for them. Suddenly, five year old Lucas yelled while running outside, “Let’s dance in the rain, Lizzie!” That’s what I want. I want to dance in the rain and not worry about the Earth that's rotating under me. I want to be free, have my hair wave behind me, and do nothing. I didn’t realize how much I missed being annoyed by wet blades of grass sticking to my feet.

I’m going to look at a college to finish my degree at next week. Not a big deal. Except, oh wait!, it’s in Georgia. GEORGIA. My home, my church, my friends, my life is in Florida. I’m praying that I’ll hate it when I get there. The scary thing is, I’m fairly certain I won’t. This college has “Elisabeth” written all over it. I have that feeling that Jesus is leading me there, that feeling that people beg for in their lives. Yeah, it’s tearing me to pieces.

Today, I’m in Michigan, on my grandparent’s farm in the one of the smallest of towns. It’s been my home since before I could walk. It’s the perfect time to be here, before I have to start thinking like an adult. This place has always accepted me as I am. Through all the houses and states and countries I’ve lived in, through all the stages of my life, God has blessed me so much through this place. My days have been filled with peace here. It’s been those reading-and-writing-for-pleasure-rather-than-for-a-professor days. Those having-time-to-give-myself-a-manicure-in-a-comfy-chair days. And those being-able-to-do-nothing-as-long-as-you’re-doing-it-with-family days.

It is here I see that Jesus is taking care of me. Even though I’ll inevitably be 17 in five short months, even though I’m (for some crazy reason) looking to live in the mountains of Georgia, He’s taking care of me.

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul.