Walking in the Spirit.

That feeling. Just the feeling of being weighed down. Being punched in the gut which is sometimes more comicly painful metaphorically than it is physically.

The point of this blog? Oh my gosh, it's to proclaim my elaborate freedom! But it's also a motivation for the idle. The idle possible being you and definitely being me. Because sometimes I sit in my freedom instead of standing in it; dancing in it. It sounds weird but it really does all make a lot of sense. A couple weeks ago I expirienced enormous victory from a bunch of strongholds of my past. Then the following day the Denver DTS came up to the Springs to worship with us and it was incredible. I spoke aloud to proclaim my freedom and so many people were set free through the move of the Spirit. The message continued throughout those next following days and I felt like I was seriously on a cloud with God. I wish I could articulate the feeling more, but simple words seriously wouldn't suffice. I've never felt closer to my Maker, realizing that the more I give Him...the less that will be standing in the way in our relationship. So eliminating crap...getting rid of junk automatically triggers intimacy.

But a couple days pass. Still feeling light and unstoppable because Yahweh's voice is the clearest it's ever been, and visions of Him are racing. I close my eyes to fall pretty quickly into a deep sleep that produces deep dreams. Bad dreams? Mortifying dreams if I'm going to be real. I wake up the next day to put on a strong face because I am still victorious in Christ and I know that I am just a threat to satan. But the torment doesn't seem to stop when my eyes are open and so I begin to question my own validity. My own freedom. Days pass while sleep is eradicating and I am tired, I am weary, and frankly? I'm scared. Because through all of the rebukes and every single prayer-I am still being tormented. So I blame. Without even verbalizing everything that's going on, I point a finger at my friends and then at God. At this point I just want sleep, and I just want the reminder of the victory. I'm so silly to think that this life is all about me, though. So silly in thinking that I can solve this on my own.

This inwardness leads to hard conversations followed by relentless prayer, and that I can be thankful for. It's so stinkin cool how good Pop is to turn my stubborness into teaching. Into growth. 

I start praying in a cold lonely room desperate for His voice and not even the slightest bit of hesitation comes forth when God shows me a familiar picture of me standing in a room with my hands finally open. And I'm confused at this picture because it represents every sort of victory I had been expiriencing, but I had convinced myself that it was deception because if I was walking in freedom? If I was really victorious, then why was I subconciously even giving Satan so much authority? But the picture didn't stop as I heard His gentle voice say,

"Kels...your hands are open, now put them up" 

...followed by the impression to go look at 1 John 4:8 which said so wonderfully,

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear."

Crap. The whisper to surrender, and the thundering reminder that there is no fear in His perfect, unwavering love. This is almost too much, but definitely just what I needed to silent the devils' attempt in making me think I'm still in chains. This past week's topic in class was the Holy Spirit and the speaker talked a bunch about 'walking in the Spirit'. I choose not to be vague in this blog because I need to make an impression, even if the impression is just my own hearts reminder of the unconditional in our lives. I know Jesus. I accepted Him into my life and He consumed my heart with His Spirit instantly so I am constantly filled. But am I WALKING in that? Am I living that? Because if I am being led by the Spirit then things change. Then things aren't about Kelsey because people look at me and they see Jesus. But most of the times I only surrender at convinience. When it's easy or when it's the only thing in my tunnel vision. But walking in the Spirit shouldn't just be during church. It shouldn't just be during ministry time or when important people are watching. Because honestly if we want to go the literal route, the most important person in the world is always snagging a glimpse and most of the time it's not too pretty.

So what changes, if anything at all changes? God lays obedience, prayer, and surrender pretty heavily on my heart...but how do I live that throroughly? Well I think it starts in the morning, happens again during the trying, persists throughout the good, continues through the hard, and sticks out through the night and into my dreams. Are we following? I mean ravishly running? Are we praying at God or are we having conversation or even still moments? Are we submitting, oh wow, are we just putting our hands up and giving our days, honestly even our hours and minutes to Him? Because if we are doing that...then we won't have to blame our flesh as much because we'll be walking in it less.

It's been over two weeks since my night terrors started, but today I woke up and chose the Spirit. Today I was tired and weary and a little bit irritable...but I am seriously so happy because the things that the Spirit has for me in one simple day of ommision...is better than a lifetime of happy dreams.

Healer.

It's always this hilarious thing when I convince myself of trust. That I trust someone, or most importantly when I convince myself that there is no disconnect when I say that both my head and heart are trusting Pop. I say it's funny because I almost believe myself when I say,

"Yes Father...I do believe You're Healer. God yeah, I know that healing is for me. Yes I understand that you want all of my broken parts so that you can piece them back together-quite literally...I believe."

Well now that was a comical lie as I really didn't trust at all when I answered my friend Liz's questions,

"Kelsey do you believe He's Healer?"

I do believe He's healer.

"Do you think that healing is for you?"

I know that healing is for me.

"Do you believe that He can heal you...that He will heal you?"

Well...sure?

"Can I pray for your broken finger?"

I almost chuckled as I answered with a yes because why would God want to heal an apendage? I mean seriously what's the point when babies are dying and people are hungry...God what's the point of that?!

Some typed out words on pretty well known paper reminded me that God doesn't heal because He can...but rather He does it because He loves us that much. Which naturally poses the question of why those babies aren't being healed and why the numbers of hungry people keep inclining. I came to the ignorant conclusion of my own ingnorance, especially after God decided to show me His power anyway but mostly of course...His love.

As my dear friend was ravishly praying for healing to come-it started to burn. Literally my finger was tingling and I could've easily blamed it on the moment but there was no mistaking the miracle when I took off my bandages and cast to reveal a once immovable and now bendable finger! Friends, I was told it would be a good length of time before I could bend my finger really at all, because of two metal rods sticking out the top and going through almost two different joints. But as I stood there I watched my finger move back and forth with no pain at all. I didn't understand why He would choose this moment and this time because I didn't even have faith that He would. It was definetely not a mumur of,

 "Daughter, your faith has healed you"

...but rather,

"Daugher...I sure do love you...even though you're ignorant as crap!"

Because I suck at trusting...I wish I could have faith like that chick in Mark who seriously had been bleeding her entire life, and honestly it's something I've been trying to learn more of. Remembering how good and sweet He always is. I hear of healing stories from large masses or the one's that take place in different countries, but never in a living room. Never an insignificant finger. Never me.

I think about those wicked awesome healing stories in the bible and naturally stop at Lazereth and how sweet that was and just how big it was. How we still look back at that story thinking of how we could ever doubt His goodness. But I did. Because those babies who die? I know some of them. I have been loved by some of them, and I have tried to do my best to love them back...but no amount of love can save their physical form, but the greatest love can keep them all safe and snuggled up for forever. So those babies that He doesn't physically heal? He does one better by healing their souls...by letting them come be a part of His kingdom a little earlier. Healing them of their physical pain...healing people of there hunger. I'm here to tell you that if my insignificant little finger isn't enough, friends if Lazareth wasn't enough, then you go read about that night in that book you know I'm talking about. You go read of Jesus dying so roughly and so messy on that cross for us, you go remember that. And don't you dare leave yourselves at the thought of the tree, but remember how He freaking ROSE! He straight up told the grave, 'sorry bout cha'. So you go let your heart fester in that love, let your heart be torn up and wrecked by the greatest love you'll ever know from the only Healer that matters...from the only Healer that can save you. That can help you live beyond your flesh that always fails.

I know that God showed up so physically for me that night because of my own diconnect. Partly because I didn't believe that He could do it, but mostly because He loves me. And He'll do it for you, too. Especially you. And now when I'm asked the question,

"Kelsey, do you believe He's Healer?"

I can just respond with the gnarliest story of His unwavering power and unending love. 

And so can you.

Proud Papa.

A friend. A friend was telling me about a letter she wrote. It was her fingers typing the words, but it was Yahweh's own speech. I decided to give it a go myself. Not necessarily closing my eyes, because I'm not much of a typer so I have to look at my fingers when I press the buttons. Well that and my middle finger is broken (hold the laughter), so this must be God's own words flowing through my 9 fingers, this must be His voice saying,

"Kelsey,

I am beyond proud of you. So thankful that you look to me. So happy that you even pray to me, but beloved, I only wished you did more. But still I'm proud for the thought. For the promise. And still I'm proud of you for trying.

People might not always support you honey, but know that I do. I know that quitting school was hard for you, Kels. I know that the stillness sometimes turns into idleness and I know you're itching to move and to breathe fresher air-I feel your apprehension love, and I want that from you! I want to take it away and replace it with peace and patience to live and breathe and love so well where you are. Because I've got you were you are for purpose; for reason. You may not see it now, and honestly it's not my intention for you to. I know you so well to know that you would disect it and over-analyze it, so just rest in me and TRUST me. I know what I'm doing because I created you, remember? I know that Adam kind of screwed everything up for everyone, but I'm proud of you for wanting. I'm just so very proud of you for trying.

So just go enjoy this earth and go love on all of your brothers and sisters but please don't forget about me, okay? I am longing for you to sit at my feet, every day. You know what the best part of my day is? It's when you open your palms. It's even when you look up at the ceiling of that shackly old mall you work at and just mutter, "Pop". And I know that sometimes you don't always have the physical words for me, but darling...I just wanted to tell you that I know. That I know sometimes you're mad, and I know recently you've been pretty upset and hurting...but know that every ounce of pain that you feel is what I feel with you...times the world. Times a billion. Sometimes I feel like I don't have enough tears to shed, me and Jesus both, but then I remember that as long as you feel pain, so will I.

But be happy! Because Kels, you know this isn't your home. I know that eternity scares you and that's okay because you're mind will change the minute you see me face to face, dear. And I just can't wait for the day my daughter comes home. Frankly, it's been too long. But just hold on a little longer, okay? Because I'm not quite finished with you yet.

So go love. Go dream a little. I'll show up there for you, too. I'm a good Dad like that. I know you love pictures and I've been painting some good one's for you, haven't I? It makes me so happy when I get to talk to you through them. I know it's your favorite thing, so keep watch, and I'll keep painting. I love you. It's hard to even mutter those words, because I'm weeping at the thought of you just hearing them and finally believing them. I missed you so much when you were away, but you're back now, so don't you ever leave me again, because I deserve more than that. I want more than that. Because I admire who you are. I look at you every day, love, and I am pleased...I am a proud.

Love,

Your Proud Papa."

I can't say there are too many times...well times at all, really, when I'm proud of myself. Well besides when I'm having a good "dread day" but even that's out of my control. But hey, atleast He is. Atleast someone in the world is, ya know? It makes today a lot more appealing, and tomorrow way more hopeful.

Our Author.

For the past couple summers, I have gotten the most wonderful opportunity to work at a camp in the beautiful mountains of Colorado. Camp Kivu is not only my safe-haven; it's my home. For some reason way over my head, they trust me enough to be a counselor for about 8-10 girls, usually around 16 years old, and I can tell you, no one has ever made me cry harder, than my girls have. And not necessarily in a,

"You're so awful, I want to go home" kind of way.

It's rather more gentle and more abrasive in the same sense that it wasn't always what they said that broke me...it was what they had been through. All of these girls really were just so outwardly and inwardly stunning. And the girls that wouldn't let their scars show were just the one's who hadn't quite healed up, yet. They we're still healing, and painfully growing. They were the one's who hadn't yet found the Lord.

Often when I'm reading Paul's letters I almost feel like I'm falling to my knees with him. And when it comes to the subject of my girls...of all the lost children of this world, Paul physically pleads for them to see. And so do I. I think I go into "fix-it" mode, because I've been there. I've lived in the darkness long enough to know that the light is exceptionally better; precociously brighter. I develop the same feeling that Pop has when I stray. Just wanting to grab onto hunched shoulders and say,

"HEY! Stop that! I'm right here! And I'm hurting with you."

But still we all stray. You ask me my favorite animal, and I should respond with "sheep", knowing it describes every part of me. 

I was having a good and lengthy conversation with one of my campers one afternoon. Just kind of running through life, and explaining what our relationship with God looks like when she said something I've never really thought about before.

"I think that I'm closest to Jesus, right now. It's just that

I can relate to him, ya know? Because he was human, and 

he lived with us...so he understands."

Not to say that God doesn't, because let's face it, He's our Author...but it led to some introspection. I sort of concluded that I'm closest to the Holy Spirit right now, not to pick favorite's or anything. I mean is it selfish to more prominently reside closest to one in particular during certain seasons? I don't really think so. Because Dad? He is so dang gracious. And He get us; He gets to us. He knows that sometmes we're not always going to connect with the red-letters Jesus spoke. He knows that we're not always going to want to pray to God to make it better, or to see more clearer. He even knows that we're not always going to feel His Spirit and the difinity of His love-through it. He knows that, because He knows us. He is our Author, remember? The freaking perfector of our miniscule faith.

Maybe think about it this way: just how we do different things, in different seasons. How we're closer to certain different people in those same different seasons for those same different reasons. I think the Trinity works that way, too. Because maybe that gracious God I was talking about sees into my sometimes abrasive heart-and wants to reach me in whatever way He can. Because let's face it...in my imperfections, I will never love Him enough. And I will never love all of Him. Basically I suck. And basically you kind of do, too. Was that too harsh? Another imperfection besides not loving my Author fully, is that I don't always think before I speak...or in this case, type. Oh well.

God's still reaching, though. And regardless of the way that He reaches us, it' simply that He reaches us despite our almost inability to reach out to Him, that moves me most, I think.

"Sometimes we don't think we're going to make it,

but all of this darkness ws actually the best thing that

could've happened. So instead of trusting our own 

strength and wits to get out, we're forced to trust God.

And he rescues us, and He'll do it again, rescuing us 

as many times as we need rescuing." The Message 2 Cor.1:8-11

Our God doesn't give up. In fact He does the very opposite. He keeps at it again, and again. Whether it's through the words in that sacred book, the rememberance of the sacrifice, or His unwavering presence alone.

We are never unreachable.

Because He knows our story.

Our faithful Author.

It's Weird.

Isn’t it weird? I mean it has to be weird. It’s weird that God created us to need food, but He didn’t create currency. And we need money to eat, or else the bodies He created will wither away.

Isn’t it weird? I mean it has to be weird. It has to be weird that God created us to glorify Him…that God created us to be happy and joyful and to breathe in good air. Yet we openly choose toxins.

It’s weird. Most things in this life are pretty weird, including my hair. I mean my mom makes daily jokes about how we could use my dreads to mop the floor, which isn’t far from the truth.

But it’s weird.

Man, there’s this other weird concept to me. The God I was talking about? My Father, God. That one. The only one. Well, He does a lot for me, yeah? A lot for you, even if you don’t exactly see the contours of His love yet, He’s so specific. But anyways, God. He sits up there, and He dwells down here, and yet I ignore Him. He even sent a physical representation of His love to come down and shed blood for me, but sometimes my weary little mind that’s way too ignorant, and stubborn by choice flees. I mean I literally run the other direction because in the back or even front of my mind, I know He’s right. And I know He’s there.

It’s a sometimes-pretend life I lead. I can go to Africa and see the dimensions of His grace, I can hold a malnourished little boy praying all night that he lives, I can witness more miracles than I have fingers and yet I still deny; I still run.

It’s on my bucket list to run a marathon before I die, and if you accumulatively add up all the times I’ve run away from my Father, than I could cross that off my list.

So now I’m in training. I’m practicing what it means to run to Him. To fall on the floor at His goodness. To abide, to trust, and to seek. I’ve never been too keen on running, but if it involves His arms, then I’m all for it.

I will run this race. And it will lead me back to Him.

Redemption.

Redemption. I sometimes talk about it so naturally and casually and even more so frequently as if it's just another adjective describing what I've come through and what I've been through. I almost even act like God didn't so specifically and intrically pull me out of my past destruction, into this healing and into this life.

But redemption really is more, to me, I mean it's everything to me. I didn't get the word permanetly engraved within my skin for no reason. It's for every reason; for every root.

It's to remind me that substance no longer controls me.

It's to remind me that I'll always be sinful, but that I'm already forgiven for it.

It's to remind me that the red soil sunk into the sole of my shoes was worth it.

It's to remind me that even when I didn't believe in God, he still counted down the days until I did, again.

It's even to remind me to try harder; to dig deeper; and to love bigger.

Because I was redeemed, but my friends so were you.

Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I don't thnk that I am.

Because there's all of this crap. Just all of this junk in our lives that we're not proud of.

But still Dad looks at us. 

Still Dad leads us.

And still Daddy says to us,

"See that mountain? I climbed it for you.

See that tree? My son hung in it for you.

So look at your lives...because I'm it, for you.

Look at your past...because I erased it for you."

Because it's not like Jesus only died. He rose. He promised. And he came through. 

So are you gunna question it, now? Are you going to turn your back and say,

"I messed up too big, this time."

Because Jesus defeated the freaking grave. So I'm gunna go ahead and assume that, that was bigger than your screw up. That all of that was more phenomenal than my whole life of mess ups. Because He beat the living hell out of sin. So you ask me what redemption is, and I'll tell you all about my Dad. But you ask me if it applies to you and I'll tell you about all of my roots...and respond with,

"If I am redeemed? Well then honey, you've got nothing to worry about."

Running, Pretending, Prattling.

The mountains here…I mean they’re incredible. If you didn’t believe in God before, you’re surely asking questions now. And if you’re not asking questions? Well then you know. You know that the river didn’t just form from anything but God’s own fingertips and the trees and the lake and the mountains were all a part of His perfect plan. Another part of His perfect plan? Pain. And I don’t mean the stubbing your toe kind of pain or even the frequent brain swelling induced headaches I get sometimes…I mean the kind of pain that makes you know you’re growing-even when you’re hurting. You feel Him stretching you and changing you and it reminds you that the bigger the mountains you climb, the bigger the victory will be. And you’re strangely okay with it because you know what it feels like to sit idle and empty and you know that you’re at your best and closest to Him while knees sunk deep into His own earth. I mean He really does want to meet us there.

I used to not believe in visions until God started manifesting Himself visually for me. He knows how stubborn I am and how little faith I have at times, and so He’s been doing this beautiful thing of painting pictures for me. Scenery that I can still look at even when my eyes are closed. Sorry He’s way to good to me when all I do is run. Mostly I run. Mostly I run away from Him, so far away that I think I’ve lost Him and I think He can’t catch me but right when I open my eyes I don’t come running back into anything but His own arms that reach distances. Thank you Jesus for calling my bluff. Because you see, He knows that all I want is Him. I pretend and I prattle but He knows the depth of my heart and He knows that past all my own selfish desires and wants, that all I truly want…no no no all I truly NEED is Him. I can say that I don’t or even my actions alone can try and justify my faith in a way that might make sense…but He knows. He sees my skin as translucent and He knows that I try and want Him with everything but I never will because of Adam, because of Eve, because of my silly little heart that’s not always focused on Him.

The funny thing? Well rather the sad thing…I’ll never want Him enough. I’ll never claim to need Him enough. But I need Him more than air and water and food and He is my rest, you know? He is my all. So I can do that naïve thing of running and waiting for change, but He’s it for me. He’s air for me. Nothing else matters and when I make it matter, that's when I’m empty. And so right now, knowing I’ve ran, I’ve pretended, I’ve prattled…I come before Him…knees deeper than ever in His own earth, and I pray. I pray for strength where I’ll always lack it. I pray for a desire that will never be strong enough to know Him to the full. I pray for selfishness to eradicate, though I know I’ll never be perfect. And I pray to love Him more, though I know I’ll never love Him enough.