Letters from Jesus (Holy Week Part 2)

The names of God revealed in scripture give us glimpses into his character. For Holy Week, I am posting one letter every day from a different name of Jesus. These messages are lifted from God's word (references are below each letter), birthed in prayer, and intended to be a personal missive from the heart of God's character to you.  May you be blessed, and may the Name(s) of Jesus be glorified through my imperfect words.



Dearest Child,
   
Oh, sweet one!  You are on a journey--do you know that I am the Way?  The Way isn't merely a path or a direction or a choice among many.  The Way is a Person to follow!  I am the Way. To know the Way means to know me, to sink into trusting relationship with me, and to let go of your fear of the unknown.  

I don't offer you a map--you can't know every twist and turn of the journey ahead of time-- but my Word is a Lamp for your feet. My Truth, my character, is your compass.  You don't have to be afraid. My own journey through life included great struggle, but take courage: I am with you!  I am the Way of truth, of life, the Way to the Father, the Way to your true Home.  I am the Way to the place you were made for and the Way to the person you were made to be. I am the beginning, the end, and the in-between.

"This is the Way, walk in it."  I have called you to Walk in me, in Christ. Oh how it pleases me when we walk together! Don't look to the side.  Don't compare our journey to another's. Hold tight to my hand-- no dark, shadowy season can overtake you without My Presence leading and comforting you. I will never leave you, never--no, not ever!!
 
The Way

“Jesus answered, ‘ I am the way and the truth and the life.  No one comes to the Father except through me.’ “
John 14:6

Psalm 119:105, Isaiah 30:21, Hebrews 13:5, Ephesians 4:1, Psalm 23:3-4, John 16:33

Letters from Jesus (Holy Week 1)

The names of God revealed in scripture give us glimpses into his character. For Holy Week, I am posting one letter every day from a different name of Jesus. These messages are lifted from God's word (references are below each letter), birthed in prayer, and intended to be a personal missive from the heart of God's character to you.  May you be blessed, and may the Name(s) of Jesus be glorified through my imperfect words.

 

Dear Child,
   
My name, Jesus, means "Salvation". 

"Salvation", the name heralded by angelic tongues to a simple carpenter. "Salvation", the name whispered by a virgin over her firstborn son. "Salvation", the name sneered at by the Pharisees. "Salvation", the name that crudely labeled Golgotha's cross.

This, this, is the name at which every knee will bow, the name above every name on Heaven and Earth. My very name is a prayer, a plea, a request that comes to my ears before it even passes your lips!  Whisper my name, child, "Jesus, Salvation!", and I am with you, mighty to save. 

My name, Jesus, Salvation, is my identity--it is who I am, it is what I delight to do!

Within my name is my heartbeat, my joy, my loving intent for my people. I saved you, not because of anything you have done, but because of my own purpose and grace.  Salvation is not a possession, but a Person. I am Jesus, I am your Salvation.

Love,
   
Jesus


 “She will give birth to a son, and you are to give Him the name Jesus,
because He will save His people from their sins.”
Matthew 1:21

Matthew 27:37, Luke 6:11, Phil 2:10, Zephaniah 3:17, 1 Timothy 1:15, 2 Tim 1:9, Romans 10:9 

Deuteronomy 6:4-7 for Baby Boone

I had the honor of making this newest custom scripture for my friend Amy's firstborn son, Boone. I met Amy at Kanakuk when we were ten!  It was a such a pleasure for me to illustrate this powerful section of scripture for her family!  

Amy picked primary colors to coordinate with boone's crib bedding. My favorite part of this piece was adding Amy and her husband's names to the second part of the passage that speaks to parents.  This was Amy's idea, and I love it so much-- such a powerful, personal reminder of our sweet responsibility as parents: to love The Lord and teach our kids in everyday moments.

This custom watercolor was painted on 11 x 14 watercolor paper.  Let me know if you are interested in having something similar made for you!

Lent took my words...and gave me His.

Hello friends!

Well, the blog has been silent for about a month.

Lent has taken my words.

A couple of the most important relationships I've got have needed TLC this month, and I've come to the end of myself. More times than I can count.  Letting the blog go a bit has been a casualty of this-- but I've discovered that when life gets emotionally taxing, I don't write. There is no inspiration. There simply are no words.

About two weeks ago I was praying for one of my kiddos, and once again, I just didn't have the words. I opened my Bible to the passage I pray for my sweet son.  (When I was pregnant with him I was in a bible study on Daniel, and so Daniel became his spiritual namesake.)  I grabbed a journal and doodled the words of Daniel 10:19, and posted it on Instagram and Facebook with a request to pray for my boy.

And two things happened almost immediately:

1. People prayed.  And oh, how it blessed me, and oh, how I believe God is honoring those prayers. We can see the peace, the strength.
2. I started getting requests from friends to illustrate verses for their kiddos, or for friends facing difficulty -- and the more artwork I've posted (not once asking for orders), the more requests I received.  

It flabbergasted and delighted me, because I LOVE THIS.  I love drawing, I love God's word, i love putting both together in a pleasing way. I love knowing that something I've made and prayed over is in the room and life of a child, or a new baby, or a couple setting up house as newlyweds.   

I love being a small part of God's promises entering homes and hearts.

Writing requires an emotional investment that I cannot afford right now.

Drawing words, unlike writing them, seems to have the opposite effect. I can spend hours over a drawing board and come away feeling energized. ENERGIZED.  I have 4 kids ages 6 and under; I had forgotten what ENERGIZED felt like!

Maybe for Lent, I gave up writing--or it gave up me--but God gave me something better in its place.  And it all started with a doodle and prayer.  Isn't that just like Him?  I just can't get used to the beautiful, personal, customized ways God loves us.

Lent took my words, but God gave me His, in black and white archival ink.  In brushes dipped in watercolor.

I am not sure what this means for this blog.  I hope it means I will still get to write a bit, but also post my work and hopefully, eventually, have an Etsy shop I can link to.  For now I am just happy.  Happy to do something God made me to do, and thankful for the way he "pushed" me into it.

In the meantime, I do have some writing I've held back for Holy Week that I did a few months back.  If you liked what I wrote about El Shaddai, you will probably like this.  I'm really excited about it--so stay tuned for lots of (short but so sweet) posts next week.

Thank you for reading!

P.S. In the meantime, if you are interested, I am taking orders for custom watercolor scriptures via my Facebook page and email. ( thebravelittletaylor (at) gmail (dot) com )

Giving Up (Lent)

One year when I was a kid I gave up brown coke for Lent.  (As opposed to clear "coke" like 7up and Sprite.)

In college I gave up treats.  (I ate the junkiest meals you can imagine to make up for the lack of study snacks.)

As an adult, I gave up Facebook. (I joined Pinterest and Instagram.)

This year I think I just want to give up.

 ---
 
After I lose my cool with my kids, or just don't love them well, I tend to do one or more of these things:

• Eat all.the.chocolate or drink a bucket of Coke. (the brown kind, obviously)
• Fall down an Internet/social media/blog hole.
• Binge-watch Netflix shows.
• Obsessively re-read favorite novels. Or series of novels. (I'm looking at you, Harry Potter.)

I do the same things when I am lonely, or feeling rejected, forgotten, or unimportant.  Or when there is tension in a relationship, or I just have a hard thing to get done.

--
 
I have a gap in my life.

The gap is the distance between who I want to be and who I really am.  

Whenever life requires me to be brave or patient or strong or humble, I can feel the ledge of that yawning distance under my feet.

I try to fill it up with distractions or sugar or stories.

And when the false comforts fall through (as they do), I make plans to bridge the gap by trying harder and being better.  Instead of fasting as a reminder to rely on the grace of Jesus, it becomes an exercise in bridge building.  I try to close the gap with weak, wobbly, selective fasts.

I want to feel holy without feeling uncomfortable.
--  

For Lent this year, I am giving up. 

Instead of trying harder to be who I want to be, to pull myself up by my bootstrappy "shoulds" and "ought tos", I give up.  

When I scrape the rough edges of my selfishness, instead of insulating myself with props or pride, I want to feel the discomfort of the disconnect.

I want to fling myself down into the space between.

This is why: I think Jesus is in the gap.  I think He's waiting for me down there, totally unsurprised by my weakness.  Totally patient with my impatience.  

I think Jesus is waiting for me to put down my distractions and my plans and just sit, awkward with the emptiness of my hands.  

And you know what? I don't think he cares if I'm caffeinated or not.  He just wants me awake to Him, and awake to myself.

---

So instead of giving something up for Lent, I'm waking up for it.  The best ways I know to do this are to take time for quiet moments, to be mindful when the emotion and stress swell big, and to examine my days, even (especially) when I don't like how the day went.

I'll try to expand on that a bit more in an upcoming post.

Here are two fantastic posts that got me thinking about all of this:

"That’s what Ash Wednesday is all about. It is a truth-telling moment. A moment to allow ourselves to name the distance in our lives between what we are and what we say we believe and grieve it."  Andrew Arndt


My sin—instead of separating me from God—actually binds me to Christ.  James Bryan Smith

El Shaddai: Stretched and Empty

Motherhood has stretched me.

In my seven years of bearing and nursing babies, my body has gone through quite a metamorphosis. And if I'm honest, I feel less like a butterfly than a cocoon, stretched and emptied and stretched and emptied and repeat and repeat.

And now things, well, things are stretched...and empty.

But it is more than physical, this transformation, this widening. My soul, too, is expanding, jagged with stretch marks as God and my children grow ever bigger.

And I wonder, if I'm made in the image of God, then doesn't my body--my stretch marked body, have something to do with His Image?

--

I recently learned more about one of the names God gave Himself. All I knew about El Shaddai was the Amy Grant song, so I was surprised to discover the meaning of the Hebrew word "shad" in Shaddai.  It means "a woman's breast".  (I doubt we would have sung this song in youth group had we known that.)

Although El Shaddai is commonly translated "The Almighty" in scripture, many scholars believe that El Shaddai is more literally rendered the All Sufficient One, the God who Provides, or the Pourer-forth.  Because, breasts. That's what they do.

We often hear traditionally masculine analogies for God and kingdom life.  But what if we are missing something vital about God's character by only thinking of Him in rough-tough burly man terms?  When God revealed himself to Abraham, He didn't call Himself "the God who Coaches" or Touchdown Jesus. He did not say He was the Ultimate Ninja Warrior God, or even our Father. He called himself El Shaddai.

It was as El Shaddai, literally the breasted God, who made covenant with Abraham, promising this Patriarch would become the father of many nations. The name El Shaddai puts a different face on power than we are accustomed to. This isn't military prowess or brute force.  El Shaddai, the Pourer-Forth, holds the power of the breast: the power to create and sustain life, the power of nourishment and growth, peace and comfort.  This is not a power that coerces.  This is not a power that overthrows. This is a power that beckons, "Come."

El Shaddai invites us to turn to him like a baby to her mama's arms, equipped only with our own weakness, our mouths open and expectant.  He wants to fill us up; His desire is to fulfill every need.  He meets every need for love and connection in his All-Sufficient presence.

 photo credit: Susan Nield

I've breastfed four babies, and I can attest to the power of producing everything your offspring needs to thrive.  I've also known the pain of trying to feed a baby who will not eat; sometimes even a well-loved child is too fussy, too sick, or too busy to receive nourishment and comfort.  There is a physical ache in a mother's breasts to satisfy her children--a stretching out, a filling up to pour forth.

So yes, God is our Father, but we cannot miss what he reveals to us through the name El Shaddai:  God manifests, perfectly, the tender and nurturing power of a mother.

This picture of God--this feminine facet of His character-- is repeated throughout scripture.  God the Father holds his lambs, his people, close to his heart. The Holy Spirit comes to us as Comforter. Jesus compared himself to a mother hen, longing to gather his children under his wings (the word "wings" here can also be translated as skirt--I love that!). Jesus was publicly overcome with emotion at the grave of Lazarus, only moments before He himself resurrected his friend from the dead. This world feminizes emotion, assuming it indicates a lack of strength.  But the life of Christ redeems emotion, and His example teaches us that tenderness--that femininity--does not equal weakness.

God's character reflects the distinct value of a woman's heart. Even more than that, He identified Himself with women--with their physical bodies, their breasts-- when He called himself El Shaddai. His word says,  "Long for pure spiritual milk!", "Taste and see!" and "Open wide your mouth so I can fill it!  His very nature is to pour out His grace on our lives, that we might be satisfied with His nearness.

The Almighty One stretched out for us, full of power and glory and grace, so that He might be emptied like a mother's breast, to fill His children with Himself.

And women bear His image, the image of El Shaddai.  

Stretched and empty.

Flowers and Charging Rhinos

Will took flowers to his kindergarten teacher for Valentines day.

He told me she hugged him "as hard as a charging rhino" when he gave them to her. He was all wide blue eyes and chiclet teeth: "She kept saying thank you, over and over, Mom!"

His teacher is awesome. She works long days and then spends her weekends at her students' basketball games and birthday parties. I wish I could have seen this moment, seen her eyes smiling on my son and that wild pachyderm of a hug.  But I'm glad I wasn't there.

I'm glad Will walked up to her solo with his arms full of blooming valentines. I'm glad not one thank you bounced over his blond head to a doting mama. I'm glad sweet William was the one-and-only recipient of her gratitude. I'm glad that, for once, my oldest child did not have to share anything besides joy.

When I asked how him how his heart felt, giving her that bouquet, he responded, "It felt like...like there was a party in there! Mom, I think God wants people to be kind to each other so we can always feel this way."

I would have loved to have given this hardworking teacher a luxurious day at a spa instead of grocery store flowers. She deserves that-- and more. Many kindnesses we extend can seem insignificant, just tiny pennies tossed into great big fountains. But you know what?  My kids LOVE tossing pennies into fountains.  I do too-- it's really fun.  I like to watch the little splash, and I like to make wishes.

Will reminded me that kindness can be fun too--even small kindnesses. When we can see our kindness splash into another life, it feels a lot like a wish come true, (or as Will would say, a party in your heart.)

And sometimes, we may even get a hug like a charging rhino.