Courage to Paint

You and I, we are walking together, each of us in all postures of joy and pain, beauty and suffering, often intermingling, flowing simultaneously through our lives. The current sweeps us through our moments flowing into days, carrying us somewhere, we are certain, even if we cannot dictate our destination

"But awakening to joy awakens to pain. Joy and pain, they are but two arteries of the one heart that pumps through all those who don’t numb themselves to really living."

                   - Ann Voskamp, 1000 Gifts

The realization of this fact has paralyzed me in this space. I have grown so accustomed to needing to keep many things quiet until God brought about the proper time, that I found I no longer knew just quite how to share. Afraid to share joy, for fear of wounding a hurting heart; afraid to share pain, so much in ministry must be kept between one's own heart and God.

And so I just stopped writing.

But I have been praying for God to show me what he would have me do with this space, this voice, this megaphone to share with a few the story God has given us, for His glory. I began blogging here mostly as a way to share life with our family, who though separated by distance and quality time, might still know our kids and see them grow. But as time went on, I found I had more to share than cute pictures, and that God, for some reason, chose to use my feeble words to encourage and inspire.

He has been pouring out His Holy Spirit in ways I have only dreamed. But I read it here:

"If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!" Luke 11:13
 

And how I have asked. He is rocking our world and blowing our minds with His faithfulness, pouring on us his love in so many ways. When you tip toe to the edge of a leap of faith in life, the "what if's" race wild in your mind. The "losing your life", the losing control, so counter intuitive to everything this culture teaches. But in the closing of eyes, heart pounding and fear racing even still, the holding of breath, and in the trembling wild jump, you can only hope that the fall you experience is one right into the net of his love. That no matter height or depth nothing will separate you from Him, and that is enough.

God has been gently pointing out in my heart the ways I so desperately desire the approval of others. The thought of being misunderstood or misjudged plagues me, and so I've coiled back, to self protect and self insulate. He is calling my bluff, showing me that a hidden life smothers the light within. I often fear in this wide wide web of egos and self worship, people will read about our 2-d world on this screen and make assumptions about our life that are simply unrealistic. In order to avoid painting an inauthentic portrait, I've stopped painting all together. It seemed better to say nothing at all than to cause anyone heartache or longing or frustration if somehow in my sharing, desires unfilled were stirred. There are so many who ache so.

God has reminded me, though, of my own aching. The moments when others' words, completely innocent in intent, but enemy shot right to the heart, bleeding out longing, sending me to a pile of broken tears in the unguardedness of home. We are all so fragile, so beautifully fragile. And you know what, God made us tender that way. And he is showing me that despite any circumstance, He is faithful, even in and especially in our longing. We just have to hold on long enough to see him work the promise of our good through it all. And his faithful love is a story worth sharing.

So I lift up hand now, and begin to paint. The words my brush and our story the canvas. But the art - it is all God. His story. His glory.

He is pouring out too much not to share.

Deep breath, brush to palette,
ejk

 

 

Of Late

Whoa! What is this thing I'm doing? Sitting down to...write?!

Tides have been all kinds of changing, and I suppose I've done well to stay afloat in all the going out and coming in. With the help of some pretty amazing people, we packed up five years of Michylife, stategically squeezed it into a 26 foot moving truck, drove 4 hours through the Heart of it All to the edge of Amish country, and were greeted by a handful of smiling 'stranger'friends who unloaded us into a home we'd only then first laid eyes on. And thus began this journey of 'churchplanting'.

We are as unpacked as we will get for twelve weeks, two of which are now in the books. We survived our first three days of online virtual academy, a hybrid of public school and homeschool. I am truly enjoying teaching Belle, but my heart is torn as Judah and Selah are forced to just mil around a good bit of the day. I try to involve Judah, but I find it requires so much energy to corral his three year old attention span to a task that I am only dragging out the process of our school day. And for Selah's sake, I need to be as concise as possible.

We are working out a rhythm to our days, even as transient as this season is. Rhythm is so important, guiding our moments building hours, the story of our days. Each year the leadership of New Hope (where we are interning) sets aside 21 days at the start of the year for the entire church to fast together as they align themselves with God. Its become part of their "rhythm". Though an emotionally vulnerable time for us on the heels of big change, Aron and I really wanted to experience this time with them.

If you've ever fasted before (no guilt if you haven't, no pride if you have) its a very humbling, stripping experience. To pull away from the tangible things that we often run to for comfort in order to draw near to God, making room for His presence to fill our empty places. I often find myself in a meek, contemplative place, humbled at how little I truly hunger and thirst for God and run after soul filling in so many other places.

Today, people watching this strange new demographic of souls in the middle of the public library, I found myself just longing for comfort. We have just embarked upon a journey that has pushed away from the shore of Stable and Secure, moved to a town almost completely unknown, I haven't had a cup of coffee in a week (that's a big comfort trigger for me, okay?!) and I am yet raw. Yet I find God speaking to me again and again, "Child, you are so quick to bestow this label of "secure" on the systems of man, but is there any more trustworthy than me?" Its the woman in me, the craver of "settle down and make a life". And he knows this, knows how I am dust.

But God showed up in comfort tonight; in a husband who stood beside me to make dinner, complimenting me on my John Mark Pandora playlist. In golden light bowed in horizontal beams illuminating our dinner and warming us through. In the pages of Luke, how Jesus' heart when out to the widow who had lost her son, saying "Don't cry," then raising him to life. And later, to Jarius who had just heard the news his only daughter, only twelve, had died. "Don't be afraid. Just believe, and she will be healed." Only allowing Peter, James, and John to accompany him, along with the child's mother and father, he went in to the room where she lay, dead, and spoke "My child, get up!" Her spirit returned, and Jesus instructed them to get her something to eat.

Those details, they don't escape me; Jesus' tender words to a woman who had lost not only her husband, but now her only son, the way her tears moved him. How Jesus assured Jarius, how he knew the mother and father's grief, allowed them in to see what He was about to do for them. In raising their daughter, he was handing back to them their own lives, their complete devastation only a brief memory. How he knew her physical needs, even just brought from death to life, yet she needed nourishment, and he cared for her. My mind returned us to a room in Children's Hospital when an ultrasound technologist left the room and came back with the head Radiologist who preformed the test for fifth time. How he announced there was nothing there, no mass to be seen, and I wondered, Jesus, how you came near and handed us our hearts back.

Comfort. He brought comfort, even deeper than the familiar or the filling.

This life of faith, I am ever learning, is one of seeking. The treasure of Christ awaits, but the thorns of this life - worry, riches, and pleasures (Jesus' words, not mine) - threaten to choke the faith right out of us. But He...He is our very Great Reward, as he spoke to Abraham. And there is nothing this side of eternity that can compare.
ejk

Our Star Dalmatian

oh these still waters are running deep, and i have more to say than time to say it. i am praying all He is teaching, that I can find time to to write it out. so we can grow together.

but, for tonight, the most important thing is to share a little piece of my heart. my isabelle. her debut performance in her first grade play was just the sweetest thing. the sweetest. i wished so desperately some of our family could have been there, to see the twinkle in her eyes and the excitement on her face and her expressions as she sang. it melted us.

so here is the next best thing: a few pictures and clips from the night.

The Unity Tree from Aron Kirk on Vimeo.

The Unity Tree from Aron Kirk on Vimeo.
Isabelle's 1st grade Musical, starring Isabelle as "Dalmatian"

we're straddling two worlds, at the edge of a leap of faith.

our man is working hard all day and comes home to juggle a family that needs him and a full evening worth of work for this baby God is growing through him.

so I'm sure one would understand how a little stress relief might do a family good.

boys vs. girls style.

until the little rambo shoots his mama in the eye at point blank range, and mama calls it all off, says its too dangerous if we're going to shoot each others' eyes out.

this is not a christmas story, and you are never getting a bb gun, child.

you can blame your daddy for that one. ask him how a bb chasing a bird ricochets off an old barn, turns straight back at him and hits him square in the eye. thankfully, a closed eye. he'd explain it was his impressive reflexes; i know it was the grace of God. there are too many of these stories.

like most times, he talks the killjoy right out of me, and i bet he wished he didn't. girls dominated the next two rounds, victory in the name of my right eye.

ejk

for later

i have been LOCKED out of my own blog for some time, but alas, my husband has hacked his way back in.

technology.

thursday evening is our chronically lonely night; the night daddy works late (often times there are others, but thursday is consistent), and the kids and I try hard to shake off melancholy in the quiet dark of the waning hours. i leave on friday mornings right about 6 and drag myself home usually before 9 pm. thursdays my heart is well aware i won't get a good moment with my husband till saturday morning when either Judah wakes us starving to death for pancakes, or my alarm, set for This Old House, rings lazy at 9 am. the latter never happens cause Judah's up with the roosters, but its A-okay. i know I'll miss his crazy sleep patterns all too soon.

vacuuming up the days' dirt from these white-ish carpets i've cursed every live long day, i smiled, a real one, to think of these things that brought me deep joy today:

• baby's legs kicking with excitement, drawing panting breaths through crinkled nose. oh yes, and the way she smiles, beaming through a closed mouth grin. she melts us, all dimpled chin and dimpled cheek.
• judah's speech, juicy and with a lisp; the way he rolls his tounge out of his mouth over-exaggerating each and every 'L'. 
• isabelle's knobby knees between stick-like legs, the way she smiles through gaping hole.
• the way I woke aron from a power nap, "Hun, its 6:13; you've got practice." groggy eyed and with a startle, "oh! i was writing a song in my sleep." i laugh. "no, it had a really good melody." he sings it and i wonder. in my wide awake, i can't write a song to save my life. and you, you write in your unconscience.

i pause between tidying up and tucking in to write down what my brain will soon forget.

ejk

a little thursday chuckle

You may not have time (or desire) to watch the full clip, but minutes 1:00-2:something are pretty rich. We stay entertained.

large from Aron Kirk on Vimeo.

of concrete and kingdom

I waivered between the $2.00 plain jane strawberries and their $3.00 more holy organic cousins; what is a dollar worth to me? What is the weight of pesticides and pennies? This must be why grocery shopping takes me the better part of three hours and I return home to a husband in disbelief it requires an entire evening to bring home our daily bread. My sniffing of strawberries and calculating of risk and benefits were interrupted by Judah,
"Mama, when's God gonna get out of our bellies?"
Truthfully, I ignored the question at first. The strawberries smelled sweet; they'd be great in Belle's lunch. Which to chose, which to chose.
He persisted, "MAMA! When is God going to get out of our bellies? He's in peoples' hearts. When is he going to get out of our bellies?!"

I'm pretty sure he's confused and has mixed his preschool systematic theology with his recent experiences of an invisible baby grown to maturity and exiting out of his 'mama's belly'.

We walk on toward the check out and I try to explain how God lives within us but he's in heaven and yet near anytime we call on him...and yes, in our hearts too. Everywhere.

I load produce and nuts and discounted meat atop the conveyer. Judah grabs a cooking magazine and sits in the middle of the aisle, leafing through recipes, licking his lips.

He asks for a penny to ride the pony, and by golly I found a lucky one just for him. I tell him we'll go together, soon as I pay, but he's my instant gratification child, the one who'd eat the marshmallow now despite being promised two later if only he'd wait (have you heard of that study?). He danced and waited an eternity of ten seconds before running full speed, mounting "Butterscotch LaLu" without my help (just a few months ago he was timid of this creature), inserting penny, and pressing go. I scribbled my signature without even looking, eagle eyes across the store on my boy, all guns and glory atop that pony.

We find our car and mean to find our way home, and in the madness of loading babies and bags of groceries, I left Judah unharnessed. Judah proudly announces he loves riding like this, no straps and free. We cross an eight lane highway and I dart instructions to strap himself in, right this minute. He explains how much he likes his riding without 'stwaps', and I return with threats of car crashes and him flying out of the vehicle if he's not strapped down to it.
He ponders for a moment and sweet as pumpkin pie reassures me, "Its okay mommy. I can't fly out of the car because I don't have any wings."

All of these conversations and I marvel at how abstract we speak and how concrete we live. My child calls me out on it. And I wonder more on how we approach this unseen kingdom through metaphors and ideas and there in Matthew Jesus' words of changing and becoming like a child, humble and trusting, if ever we are to enter the kingdom of heaven.

I feel like I'm close to something, some revelation for today. Today as I've already cried, just a little bit, over feeling frustrated with this walking by faith, but knowing there is no other way but the narrow path for us, because of the One leading us on it. Some days the woman in me just longs for a little concrete to sink my feet into, anchor down tight my world which feels so floaty up in the air. My frustration isn't in the path itself, but in this feeling of lack of control, as we prepare to pack up our lives and seek first the kingdom, resolving to take Jesus at his word that our Father knows we need food and clothing and shelter, why worry over these things. We seek first the kingdom, both in the abstract and in the concrete, and He supplies all these things. These concrete things. Some days it just seems easier to have a sign-on-the-dotted-line kind of job that will pack you up and pay for your move (or two if you're us) and benefits to boot. But I am reminded that Jesus and his disciples never really pursued an easy life. They did however, pursue an obedient one, a purpose-filled one, a life with clay feet firmly planted on earth but spirit eyes ever seeing the prize.

Because one very real day, God the Father, the Great I Am, will be out of our hearts and before our very eyes. Face to face. We will know him no longer in the abstract, but the concrete.

My three year old understands this, and oh how often I miss it. I pray for more faith, childlike and humble, help in my unbelief, and I repent of my loyalties toward my old masters of comfort and security. I want to live a life worthy of his name, want to live the faith of which I so easily speak.

I place the three dollar organic strawberries in the crisper, and a peace settles down over my heart. Jesus, the fullness of God, who made the abstract so concrete for us, leads.
And for today, he fills me with strength and faith and courage to press on.
ejk

Be of Good Faith

amen and glory.
ejk

Superkiddos Save The Day!

Super Saturday - Large from Aron Kirk on Vimeo.

ordinary extraordinary

My heart engaged today with fresh eyes, though I'm sure it wasn't my own hands which rubbed the haze from them. 

How do I most often miss the extraordinary all around, how do I mistake it for ordinary?

I walked from moment to moment in disbelief, mind bending wonder at the gift of it all.

And suddenly, right in the middle of uncertainty and a September Saturday, joy filled.

 I know this may seem a familiar tune, of moments and gifts and living fully of the present.

But you have to understand...this is not my nature, the striving one.

The girl who works so tirelessly now so she can play later, only later never comes. There's always one more dish to wash, diaper to fold, corner to tidy.

And true fulfillment is forever waiting behind the finish line of the next milestone achieved.

I have so often chased the mirage of 'one day when'.

This daily bread kind of living is...growth.

And to think in my Martha ways I daily take for granted the sweaty, baby head, deep rhythmic breaths cadence to my heart's dancing tune.

I could fill books with His sustaining graces, how He holds us together, His character our peace.

 And there is more still. 

I am growing quite certain that even as each day has enough trouble of its own and in this world, suffering is guaranteed,

even in our pain and unending need,

not one breath is ordinary.

 I pray you will encounter the extraordinary right in the middle of your ordinary,

through the one who came to give life in abundance.

hearts alive,

ejk