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By kcharles, July 20, 2010 11:51 pm

Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls;
   All your waves and breakers have swept over me.

There is something about the Atlantic that centers me. 

Its waves are wild and unmanageable and welcoming.  One cannot sneak into their grasp.
You tackle them in full sprint or you get out of the water cause its just not worth the cold.

I grew up on this coast.  Searching for shells.  Buried in the sand, with salty air in my lungs.
I grew up under the breakers, carried by an unleashed power beyond my ability to control.

If you were to ask me what I love about my Jesus, I would say…

I adore how He swept me into redemption
And how He frees me to live under the crashing surf 
With energy, danger, and purpose here;  hope as I’ve never seen.

Thoreau said, “You must live in the present and launch yourself on every wave.”
Looking back, I can see that those breakers were never haphazard after all. 

By day the LORD directs his love, at night his song is with me… for I will yet praise Him, 
My Savior and my God.  (Ps 42)

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By kcharles, March 24, 2010 12:55 am

He was a scrappy little guy.  Hair disheveled, quick with his fists, faster with that mouth of his.  Teachers branded him grades before he ran into my class.  I always hated those heads-ups.  Give the kid a fighting chance. 

So I practiced a little rebellion of my own with cards in his desk, over the top soccer game cheering, prayer, and dreaded gerbil care.   For the record, our class gerbils (Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego) never died while in his care.  That doesn’t say much for me.  

I want to tell you that he changed throughout the course of that year, because that would make for a good story.  But he didn’t all that much.  He still used those fists of his and that tongue.  And he also threw in some gasoline with lighter fluid for good measure.  You should have seen his eyes that night in the burn unit.  Seared with pain, they seared right through me.   I couldn’t fight the tears.

I loved that little kid.  Still do, wherever he is.  It wasn’t a love based on performance or merit or anything earned.  He might have passed with D’s and he got in more trouble than I knew what to do with.  He drove me berserk, but I loved him. 

Someday we’ll meet in the cereal aisle in Wal-Mart and laugh about the snake he lost in our reading nook.  I’ll hear about his dreams for the future and we’ll remember his grandma with great love.  I always told her that God would do great things in his life.  I look forward to that day. 

Maybe it was crazy to champion one child so much, but I don’t think so.  If we ever lose sight of what God can do for one person, we lose sight of everything.  And the truth is, I saw myself in my student’s fights, his tousled hair, his reckless decisions.  I’ve scarred myself and others, more than anyone cares to know.  I’ve scarred my Jesus.

I love that Jesus still has nail marks in His hands, cause every scar tells a story.  His is incredible, though slightly absurd.  I still don’t understand.  There’s no act of love like it.  Innocent Splendor paid my debt.  His death purchased my freedom.   I am alive and running today because of this incomparable love.  It has made me whole. 

Everyone has a story written on their hearts, spoken in the fabric of their days.  Christ’s story tells my story.  My story is a part of my student’s story.  His story will write another’s.  And the pages continue to be written, turned, and read. 

I want to learn how to write a good story.  To listen better, notice more, craft the words, honor the voices behind the text, point to God.  There are stories to be told, but I’m at a loss for the elements. 

Tonight was the first time I’ve ever heard of the She Speaks Conference in Lysa TerKeurst’s blog.  In reading about it, I knew it was something that I wanted to pursue.  It provides effective training for speakers, writers, and women’s ministry leaders.  You’ll have to check out their website for more information.  This blog post is an attempt to win the Cecil Murphy Scholarship, which would allow me to attend the Conference for free. 

Winning it would mean a whole lot.  And plenty more stories told.

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By kcharles, February 24, 2010 10:40 pm

I ran the other day. 

Every step, like the other.  Moving forward.  Measured, strong.  It felt so good, right, perfect.
And I sang.  In my heart, I sang. 

It was the loudest song of praise that noone else could hear. 

I emptied a lot of junk on the track that day, which is maybe why the run felt so good.  My failures, inconsistencies, burdens, fears.  I needed a forgiveness.  Trashing all that seeks its own way to exalt me.  The sweat mingled with sin and it fell till I was soaked.  And I ran. 

I ran into shocking grace.  I ran into freedom.  I ran into pleasure.  It’s not often that I feel the absolute delight of God.   I felt it in this moment.  His words echoed to me over time.

I have loved you with an everlasting love;  I have drawn you with loving-kindness. 
I have loved you with an everlasting love;  I have drawn you with loving-kindness.
I have loved you with an everlasting love;  I have drawn you with loving-kindness. 

There in a ratty old T-shirt and grey sweatpants.  Hair in ponytail.   Surrounded by cinderblock walls.  Running around in circles.  I felt the love of God, as an artist with his prized piece of work. 

His design.  Every detail, purposed.  Every fault, a tribute to His perfect grace.  Every strength, a dim reflection of a greater beauty.   I was His. 

Soaked and reeking in love,  His.

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By kcharles, January 6, 2010 8:51 am

I haven’t gotten a chance to upload pictures from the Castle yet.  Till I do, here’s something from the archives (December 12th of last year.) 

This is for my small group from Saturday night.  I think this is what I was getting at.  (Maybe this will erase any other mental images that may come to mind?  Oh what I will say when I’ve had little to no sleep!  GEEZ!!!!!)

He brought me out into a spacious place;
He rescued me because He delighted in me.
- a song of David (Ps. 18:19)

He carried me out of my confinement
the prison of my fears

my aching alone.

He set me free TO BE FULLY ALIVE

to pursue dreams I never thought possible
to dance with my children
to live for discomfort

and sing that song so loud

to enjoy a thing called marriage
to laugh and weap, not in secret
to touch brokenness and find healing in its scars.

He gave me the gift of simple wonder.  Hope.  Joy. 

All is not lost.

He rescued me
Because He delighted in me.

He smiles over me. Even if I’m quite the piece of work.
He smiles.
There’s a song of rescue to be sung.

May you know today that He delights in you.
His eyes light up at the very thought of you.

Let Him carry you
And
Every concern that stresses you and every fear that prevents you
From living in that spacious place.

All is not lost.
Much Love,
Kristin

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By kcharles, December 9, 2009 3:48 pm

She was beautiful in crimson. I was transfixed for a good ten, till I realized that this was strikingly odd behavior.

I was watching a bird.

You should have seen her though. Against the bleak winter deadwood, framed against white crisply fallen snow, she cascaded around with such elegance.

A bird.

Of course, there were other birds. Wrens, I think. Maybe 72 of them, swooping from the tree branches to the bird feeder. They made enough trips to the feeder that I wondered what was in those seeds. It’s a seed for crying out loud, but they didn’t seem to care. And they were noisy.

But my eyes weren’t on the wrens. Just on the cardinal.

Where ever she flew, my eyes tracked her. Amidst the barren trees and bushes, you could find her anywhere, dressed in scarlet. She was beautiful. Quiet, graceful, seemingly purposed. Not making a million trips back to the seed, not talking over the others.

Is this what God intended for his followers?

Including myself, I’m not so sure that we’re holding up our end of the bargain.

The world has been dodging us for quite sometime now, rolling their eyes, fuming over our hypocrisies. We’re in our own little world of bashing and propagating and belittling grace, with raised eyebrows and low whispers. We’re consumed with all that is not of Christ and it shows.

Sometimes the world takes up a cause better than we do. Sometimes people who could care less about Christ sure care more for others.

Take my dad, for instance. Best guy you’ll ever meet. Kind, thoughtful, hard-working, considerate, generous.

He’ll look homeless people in the eyes and listen. He’ll buy the office donuts and coffee. He treats cats like they’re queens. And he has never, ever, ever in the history of being my dad – said one harsh word to me.

Yet he does not claim to have a relationship with God.

Do you want to hear about some Christians I know? They’ll make you sick, but you know them too. On any given day, I am one of them. We’re 72 wrens. Everyone looking like the other, consumed with seed and noisy chatter. Forgetting that we’re covered in Another’s blood.

Forgetting that we were created to bring beauty to the deadwood.

This winter, may cardinals come out in droves.  May strangers see Christ and want to know more.  A plastic yard baby isn’t going to cut it, but maybe beauty and humility and joy might. Christ caused droves to follow Him.  Grown men climbed trees, tore apart a roof, and risked their identities for a cause greater than themselves.  There’s something to be said for that. 

He’s God with us and in us. And He’s painting the world in scarlet, even still.

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By admin, December 4, 2009 2:27 pm

The Nutcracker, as you can imagine, looked rather pitiful, to say the least.

So in a fit of Christmas cleaning and goodwill to match the season, Frantic Mother suggested, “I think we should finally throw Mr. Nutcracker Guy away.”

This heartless statement was met with tears from the Little Girl, who clutched Broken Nutcracker Man even more closely than before.

“But Mommy, I love him.”

Still not getting it, Evil Mom replied, “But honey, he is very broken. He doesn’t look nice as a decoration anymore and he can’t crack nuts without a jaw.”

“But Mommy, He’s my Nutcracker and I love him. Even if he is broken, He is mine.”
At this point, Frantic Evil Mom stops the flurry of decorating and cruel remarks and looks into her daughter’s eyes. “You’re right, sweetheart. Don’t ever let Mommy throw Mr Nutcracker away. He has someone who loves him very much. And that’s what makes him special.”

Little Girl beams and runs away with a treasure.

Sometimes elements of the Gospel play out for us in our very homes.

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By kcharles, November 22, 2009 12:15 am

I am a performer. Always have been. Maybe it’s the first-born thing going on. Maybe it’s the classical ballet training. Maybe it’s because I crave being loved and valued.

Truth be told, it’s all of it.

As a child, I lived to hear my mom’s words of affirmation. I fought hard to get my dad to glance my way. I was a student obsessed with grades, to the point of pulling near all-nighters as a 6th grader. After 3 hours of ballet lessons with a stringent ballet master, I spent another hour in pointe on a tiled kitchen floor, feet blistered and bleeding.

I am a performer. If something can be measured, I will exceed any expectation. Test scores will be perfected and the choreography will be flawless for the performance. But that’s just what it is. A performance.

I’m done performing. I’ve stepped off the stage. It’s not authentic. It’s not real. It places value only on measurable assessments. It lives for the approval of others – the accolades, the applause, bouquets of roses.

It’s taken me a long time to realize that my value does not lie in a trophy, a degree, or in any achieved goal. I’m embarrassed to admit that. My value does not find itself in any success, nor does it lose itself in any failure. It does not lie in my children.

My value comes from being a child of God. He died to set me free. From the stage, the expectations of others, the approving and disapproving alike.

It is by grace that I have been saved.

It is by grace that I have been saved.

It is by grace that I have been saved.

So help me Jesus. To live for One name. To die to everything else.
So help me friends.
So help me family.

If you hear me value the words of others more than the words of my God,

If you feel in your heart that something is fake. And I’m just not being real,

If you see me investing time and money into costumes that hide insecurities,

Sometimes I just can’t see beyond the stage lights, but I so desperately want to.

It is by grace that I have been saved.

I still can’t comprehend how Jesus has loved me on the stage and off. How His love has been my constant, always a constant; never swayed by any ridiculous direction I’ve turned. I so love that about Him.

He values me, because I am His. And that’s all that ever mattered anyway.

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By kcharles, November 5, 2009 7:30 pm

I’m a girl who doesn’t cry often, but when I do it’s anything but pretty.

Deep red splotches creep up to hide my pale complexion as ivy covers a wall. And I don’t cry in a one tear trickle kind of way, but in torrents of a hyperventilating disaster.

Most often, I cry about stupid stuff. Like another dinner disaster. Something so small gets added to the top of a teetering tower and I lose it. The tower crumbles.

Yesterday’s tears had more substance than a burned casserole, though they certainly caught me off guard. I sat in a chair with a coffee and Bible – my favorite time of day. All settled in and quiet, I expected a nice feel good devotions. Spend time with God, then carry on with my happy little afternoon as usual.

I think yesterday Jesus wanted more.

The burden on my heart for a little girl whom I didn’t even know was so strong that I felt I could barely breathe. She is a girl who is as sweet as my own. A girl who wants so desperately to be found, valued, and treasured. A girl who has been a victim of indescribable abuses. A girl, esteemed by her Creator, even in the prison of someone else’s indiscretions.

I tried to read the Bible, but all I could do was pray and cry. Maybe spending time with God isn’t always about getting the good vibes. Maybe it’s allowing His heart to filter into this very selfish heart of my own. I so need God’s vision, because mine can be so taken up by the next best thing. Forgive me, Jesus.

Forgive me for not taking the time to fight for your children. To pray for them. To be persistent in letting their voice be heard.

It had been 2 months since my last contact with Congressman Altmire. He still hasn’t decided to co-sponsor the Child Protection Compact yet. Paul had been faithfully at me for contacting him again, even though I had given up.

So I bit the bullet and dialed his Washington office yesterday. Nothing new to report, but his international affairs staffer and I had a good talk and another contact was made.

After our call, Ecclesiastes 5:8 found me at random. “If you see the poor oppressed in a district, and justice and rights denied, do not be surprised at such things; for one official is eyed by a higher one, and over them both are others higher still. The increase from the land is taken by all; the king himself profits from the fields.”

This verse gave me the creeps. The trafficking of children is a rich business. The third largest in our world. Many are making money off of this girl. Her poverty is another’s riches.

Who knows what Altmire will decide. There are a total of 82 co-sponsors now. That seems pretty good for a bill to me. What I do know is that this girl’s fate does not lie in my hands, nor in any government official’s hands. Her life is held in the firm grasp of God. A God who is good and just. Who offers hope from hearts of despair and beauty from the face of evil.

I cried a lot yesterday. But those tears were good. Cleansing. Repentant. Valued. And in the unsightly sobbing, the Holy Spirit’s presence in me was undeniable. Word after word came out of a source deeper than my shallow one. Peace for me. And a blessing of peace for this young girl.

“Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you, He rises to show you compassion. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for Him.” Isaiah 30:18

“Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knees that give way; say to those with fearful hearts, ‘Be strong, do not fear; your God will come, He will come with vengeance; He will come to save you…” Isaiah 35: 3-4

“A bruised reed He will not break, and a smoldering wick He will not snuff out. In faithfulness, he will bring forth justice.” Isaiah 42:3

“If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father’s glory…” John 15: 7

My wish is for her rescue.
Freedom.
Justice.
Arms of compassion.
Strength.
Healing.

This is to my Father’s glory.

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By kcharles, September 13, 2009 12:40 am

She’s 23. She loves Jesus. She’s got a single ticket for the DMZ. And she’s going to change the world.

Four a.m. wakes her up. With a coffee and these words of life, in the land of the morning calm. Every day, it’s four a.m., with the God who has changed the world.

She’s a teacher. Chalk on her hands. Ill-fitting heels and a denim skirt. Piles of papers to grade. Children to inspire. With Dante and division and documentaries. Most everyday seems mundane. But the ordinary finds Divine. And Divine finds the ordinary.

She’s 26. She’s 31. She’s 34.

Some things look the same. She loves Jesus, her beautiful Jesus. She hopes she always will.

Some things look different. More than the lines when she smiles, she’s not alone anymore. She’s woken up to the best of dreams, with those who call her Kristin and mom. She is making a home in a different world, on this side of the East.

There haven’t been chalk smudges on her skirts of late, but still everyday finds its mundane. Laundry and diapers and dinner. Mr. Rogers, scraped knees with tears, and cleaning a house that never gets clean. Ordinary is loud, the Divine is a whisper. She forgets that she’s going to change the world.

In walks 19. 34 listens.

To a heart that loves Jesus. In one hand she holds a ticket for Africa; in the other those words of life. And she’s going to change the world. It’s in her giddy rambles and the excitement in her eyes. She’s fearless and alive and in love. In love with the One who has redeemed our fall.

34 hears a lot of things over tea that night. She hears hopes and dreams, questions and quirks. She hears the 23 she used to be, and she wants to find her again. Better yet, she wants to find that all out abandonment in God again, that fearless and unscripted devotion.

Word of God speak.

When the ordinary defines every day, find me in the Divine. Find me fearless and alive and in love, running towards the One who has rocked this world with His love. Don’t ever let me forget that I can do anything through Christ who gives me strength. Anything.

I love you 19. Ashley, maybe this will explain the tears in my eyes.

Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith, and in purity. – 1 Timothy 4:12