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.

Wrecked.

Sometimes it’s funny. Sometimes a lot of things are funny because we think they’re about us; ourselves. Me and mostly me and hardly ever you because you’re not me.

I wanted just one weekend. One weekend to get away and trek a little bit across the map to see some friends I haven’t seen in a while. Yearning for encouragement while rejecting it from my favorite book with the best red letters. So I grab my friend along the road and we head to Nashville, Tennessee. While there was never a lull in the conversation, we jumped from topic to topic, on our 9-hour drive. Maddy had asked me what God had been teaching me lately and I told her I didn’t really have an answer. And the reason for that was while I was admitting that I wasn’t seeking the Lord, I wasn’t doing anything about it, either. She responded in almost the same way, but we went along the road, still thanking Yahweh anyway. I mean it really is true that He grows us, even when we don’t want Him too. Let me just tell you how far He stretched us, though. What 48 hours, two high school girls, and broken metal taught us.

We weren’t far from meeting some friends in downtown Nashville when it started to rain a little. Maddy and I just took this opportunity to roll down the windows, blast some Josh Garrels, and I even grabbed my djembe from the back and we were indescribably happy in that moment. Maddy even said, “Kels…I would be completely okay if God took us right now.” I mean that’s how content and full we were. The song ended, and I threw my trusty drum in the back and put my seat belt back on. Some rain got under our wheels a bit so we slowed down and rolled the windows up as it started to rain even harder. About 10 minutes outside of Nashville, I felt our car slide, only this time it didn’t catch itself and we proceeded to smash head-on into the cement median wall. We then swung around so that the back of our car also smashed into the cement wall and flung us across the 4 lane highway and ended up crashing face first, again, into a brick wall on the opposite side of the highway.

People often say that in near death experiences your life flashes before your eyes…but it really doesn’t. I somehow think you develop a peace, though. After we hit the first wall, I just knew it was it for us. I braced myself and prepared to meet my Maker, I mean I really did. But once our car stopped, and the airbags deployed, my body stiffened. I realized that Maddy and I were both alive, which meant that somehow within all of this, God still needed us and all our broken pieces.

Yes, my car is broken. More than broken really, it’s currently being impounded at a huge dump…and yes my finger’s the size of a bowling ball…but broken bones and cars are only just stepping stones to the bigger picture, here. I read in a book the other day that, “God uses broken people because there’s more for Him to work with” and I still believe that’s true.

Instead of going to Athens Georgia this weekend, we spent it stuck in Nashville with my friends Kelsi and Caroline, who are two of the most amazing 17 years olds you will probably ever meet in your lives. They picked us up from the hospital, fed us, clothed us (literally because all of our stuff was trapped in my car), and loved us outrageously. I mean literally loved us potentially more than anyone else ever could. Maddy didn’t know these dear friends of mine at first, but after just 2 days, we all felt like we’d known each other forever. We realized that all we needed that week was each other. Strangers becoming sisters, and high schoolers teaching us college bums what it’s like to really follow Jesus. And I’m glad we wrecked. Because I’m stubborn, and sometimes God has to use only the big stuff to make me see why I’m really here. I’m here for Maddy, and Kelsi, and Caroline. I’m here to snuggle up and watch movies with hearts that are heavy…I’m here to eat avocado popsicles, or make fun of people who do. I’m here to just love. And there’s all the roots you need. 

I Wanna Be Like My Dog.

I've only had one dog throughout my whole life, and I obviously say that she's the best dog that I've ever had because well, she's the only dog I've ever had. She's always happy, constantly forgives me for probably not spending enough time with her, but when I do play with her...she cries. I kid you not, I see this dog every morning and when I bend down and say, "I love you!", she whimpers.

As it turns out, most dogs are like that, but my dog? She was the reminder. Now, don't take this the wrong way, because hey, this epiphany was pretty huge for me...but I think that God is kind of like my dog. He's always so proud of what He's made, literally gleaming. He forgives me whenever I don't spend enough time with Him, because I never really do spend enough time with Him. But when I do sit with Him? When He truly is the first thing about my morning, and I wake up and say to Him,

"Dad, I love you SO much."

...He weeps. When His daughter or His son sits at His feet, He is overwhelmed and so very proud to claim custody. Now I know that all of this comparison between dogs and God seems pretty weird, but still, I wouldn't hate if I were a dog in relation to my relationship with Christ. I want to spend every moment with Him. I want to read the red letters and weep at how much He loves us, and how much He always will.

Needing.

Sometimes I ask God for a lot. I ask Him for grace, even though His son already won it over for me. I ask Him for love, even though the red letters are always sitting there in my favorite book as a reminder. I ask Him to help me; to hold me. And when I don't feel like He's there when I need Him, I pretend that He's gone on vacation or that He's playing an amazingly fantastic game of hide and seek.

You see I have these funny ways of assuming. These hilarious little antics about me that make me think that God needs to answer my prayers in my way, and on my own time. And when He doesn't, I think I need more. Needing everything that He's not giving me because I forget that He doesn't always answer our prayers in the ways we expect Him to. I mean I act stubborn about it, but I forget that His grace alone, is really the only answered prayer that we need. But still I go on "needing". Wanting and convincing myself that it's good for my own skin; flesh; security. And the devil convinces me that still, I need something more. Something more than everything that I already have in the cross, alone.

Then I get caught up in these lies, and I get so far away from the unmistakable truth.  I convince myself once more that this seemingly desperate hole looks so inviting. So loving, even.

           "Kelsey. HEY KELSEY! Jump in. This darkness really isn't that scary. You've been 

         here before, Kelsey. It's better this way..."

And it's only in brief moments when I allow myself to forget. And you know, it only takes a moment for the world to fall apart. Literally crumble beneath your feet. Because it is that way. Broken, I mean. Ravishly torn apart by people who are sick, and people who are hungry for all the wrong things. So what's the right thing?

As cliche and stereotypical as it sounds, the rumbling of redempetion really does come from loving more. Accepting love. Naming it. Letting it sink in to only give it back even more than you did before. I mean isn't that what Jesus did? God unmistakably and unbelievably loved His son. And in return for the greatest love, He gave us the greatest hope when He wore those thorns that hurt Him so much. He gave us grace. He gave us everything. And still we "need" more.

Yes, the world is broken. Sometimes it even looks like a literal hell if we close our eyes for long enough. But the second we remember grace is the second one of our branches gets a little but longer. It's the moment that this broken little girl and that beat up little boy carves, "help" into the bark and the rest is up to Dad. We remember that all we ever needed was the cross. And we've already got that! And so these hard times? These mountains that so quickly turn into valleys? We can face them well, now. We can jump right into them knowing that we are full and we are strong because of our Daddy who loves us too much.

"Since God has so generously let us in on what He is doing, we're not about to throw up our hands and walk off the job because we run into occassional hard times." -2 Corinthians 4:1-2.

Prologue.

Trees are one of my most favorite things in this world. That is, besides my cat Eleanor and the sole wooden bead in my dreads. I just love the representation of life in them. I love that the roots are mostly ugly, messy, and dirty, while the bark speaks. I mean I almost always carve something in. I actually never do that. But I wouldn't have to, anyways. And I wouldn't have to because the crooks of those things say it all. And then there's the branches and leaves...and friends, those say nothing but growth to me. Just aching to breathe and stand up straight and stand the weather. Whether or not they have seen the harvest of a good life or expirienced seasons of destruction, they're still firm. 

Back to those roots, though. They say everything...they tell it all. Because this tree started off as ugly, messy, and dirty. But don't you remember? So did we.

Sometimes I'm frustrated, though. I'm frustrated because I'm forgetful and I lose memory on the hard stuff turning happy. Because the hard stuff usually always does. The scars never eradicate fully because those are God's reminders, but we forget. We forget that we're stubborn. 

But I know I should turn my frustration into hope for real restoration, because it came. God just knew I was stubborn, you see, He knew it was going to take more for me to actually see, until I'd answer His call to, "Come and follow Me." Because God knows my heart. God hurts for my heart. And all of those roots, though they're going every which way...God grew them. God made them make sense. 

Here are my roots, and somewhere there are yours. 

The Roots in the Redeemed.