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Reshaping My Heart

My first taste of the Midwestern teen social scene involved a boy, a truck and a keg of beer….And apparently a random corn field.

My family had just relocated from California to a tiny town in Missouri. I was sixteen years old. My first date with this boy was riding back and forth on the one mile stretch of town, the highlight being to slow down at the ‘four-way’. There was an A&W at one end of the drag but we didn’t have money to eat there AND buy gas.

We rode back and forth until my date heard about a party somewhere. We headed even further out in the dark country to a bumpy plowed up field where a dozen other trucks and old cars had pulled in.

By the time we arrived, there had already been a considerable amount of drinking taking place and the crowd was rowdy and the music loud.

We were there only long enough to fill plastic Dixie cups with the putrid brew contained in a keg in someone’s trunk and make a few introductions to some scary-looking, unsmiling folk. A fight erupted between some boys nearby and pretty soon there were girls and boys of all shapes and sizes throwing punches at one another.

I was mortified and was looking around in the dark for a place to hide when a large burly woman pulled me by the arm out of danger. She was one of the frightening looking people I had just met but I was so grateful for her care in that moment that she became my best friend. My guy was in the thick of the fight.

This intro was not my cup of tea. However, I made a friend for life, and one that was very different from my Northern Californian peace-loving hippie pals.

This experience was a thorough upset of my careful reality. It was a beginning of my reshaping.

I didn’t completely abandon my midi skirts and flowers in the hair but I adjusted to blue grass music and country boys and their antics. I never did get accustomed to that disgusting beer. I did learn about life and people of all kinds, and accepting them for who they were and not what they did or how they looked.

house in the middle of crop field — Photo by Jeffrey Czum on Pexels.com

I feel like, God, in His beautiful wisdom, tailor-made this short stretch in my life to mold and shape His character in me. I was uncomfortable, not in control, and an empty slate for new ideas. At sixteen I thought I knew it all and nobody could tell me differently. Surely my Father God knew my heart and knew exactly the kinds of things I needed to change my heart and turn it toward Him.

The mostly hard lessons I learned here are a part of me. I wouldn’t skip them or gloss over them for anything. They smoothed some really rough edges.

I smile to myself in embarrassment when I recall some foolish thing I did. Then I say, “THANK YOU God for protecting me in that season.That life experience was invaluable!”

It was the dramatic traumas that made me curious about people who were different and led me to a little back woods Independent Baptist Church, and then to that altar, singing ‘Just As I Am…’ to commit my heart to following Jesus.

These years paved the way to walking many different roads.

Again I say, “THANK YOU Lord for walking through this land with me!!! Thank You for giving me eyes to see as You see. Thank You for teaching me about loving; from tattoos to top hats.”

“But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look at his appearance… for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” ~ 1 Samuel 16:7

Cookies

girl in white crew neck t shirt reaching the clothesline — Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

“Let the little children come to Me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” -Matthew 19:14

I see a fat little hand reaching through a chain link fence in eager anticipation of the cookie offered by an elderly lady. The fragrance of the freshly baked chocolate chip delicacy is too enticing to be ignored. That chubby hand could barely fit through the opening, and with the giant cookie clutched tightly, it was an even tighter squeeze. Determined to have that treasure, the task is successful and the cookie is devoured in seconds by the tiny girl.

That hand, or ‘mitt’, as my father called it, belonged to me. This memory is as vivid today as if it happened yesterday. I can still remember the kind lady next door, the smell of the cookie, the sweet taste on my tongue and the wax paper bags that we later resorted to to get more than one cookie through that fence. It was a conspiracy between our neighbor and my two-year-old self to ruin my dinner and fatten me up…even more. I vaguely remember that my mother disapproved of our ‘arrangement’ but would always concede to her kindness.

Whenever this ‘vision’ pops into my head, the vision of my fat hand squeezing through that hole and grasping for the cookie, I sense that it is my God’s reminder to ask Him for what I need. He wants me to reach out, to reach through, to grab His Hand and His cookies.

Cookies represent a coveted treasure to me. I crave the fresh-baked melty goodness. They represent reward, enjoyment, pleasure, success, joy, rest. Surely the endorphins produced when I eat them would result in all of the above feelings. The early introduction planted the vision so strongly in me that it comes back to mind regularly. It’s not even about the cookie anymore so much as the grasping and reaching for things.

As difficulties come and resistance occurs it seems the hole in the fence gets smaller and my hand gets fatter. Often, my hand gets stuck in the fence and I can’t get the ‘cookie’ through. It is like this as I pursue the things of God. I aggressively go after the things He has and then stop half-way there.Or I don’t even try to get my hand through the barrier because I remember what happened last time and now I’m afraid to ask, afraid to even seek. I’m still the chubby toddler eagerly looking for the treasure, but now I’m jaded by experience and wounds, and the joy of obtaining the sweet things of God has been lost.

I will contend here for the faith! I will not give up on the rich things of the Kingdom. I will pursue the depths for more and more until the time that I dwell fully with my Father in heaven. God has whet my appetite and He is calling me out daily to ‘the fence’.

hand of crop person touching grid fence — Photo by Caroline Martins on Pexels.com

“Come to Me all who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

Cornered

frozen wave against sunlight — Photo by Hernan Pauccara on Pexels.com

A deep chuckle escapes from within me.

“This plan is brilliant, Lord! Absolutely brilliant!! You have me isolated out here in the woods. No work. No activities. No kids. No demands. An injured back so that I cannot even bend over or sit for prolonged periods. I can’t run away. You’ve got me where you want me, God. This must be important. Huh?”

He chuckles back. “Yes my sweet Elizabeth. I need you to listen. Not just nod your head and look away, but look at Me and HEAR what I am saying to you.”

The topic of this conversation is my obedience. I’m skilled at the cover up. I have appearances down. I look like I am compliant with my pliable nature and willingness to serve and give. The truth, though, is that I am just a selfish, petulant child who likes to make her own plans and do what she wants to do, when she wants to do them, without anyone telling her how to do them. I have lived with consequences enough to know how that works out, and yet, I continue on this path of self reliance and determined independence.

My husband seems to be the one who is willing to tangle with me in these situations. He is pretty easygoing until I am endangering myself or someone else or there is destruction of property involved. I make up my mind about what I am going to do and nothing will deter me until I get it done. I listen politely to direction and instruction and then, somehow, I walk away with complete amnesia. Did I not listen? Did I listen and ignore? Did I forget? I truly do not know in the moment.

Now, cornered in God’s office, I am seeing, seemingly for the first time, that I was disobeying direct orders. I must have thought them optional enough to discount them or forget them? I was only thinking about MY plan. The ‘real’ truth is apparent. I am being called to accountability at the age of sixty three for the years of flagrant disregard for authority.

God has made it clear that if I am to move on down the road, to be given deeper truths, to be useful to the Kingdom, I MUST get this.

My recent ignoring of advice led to my back injury. My lack of regard for instructions could have resulted in the damage of our fragile riding mower. On a daily basis, gentle wisdom I have set aside, has permitted my own personal heartache in dealing with difficult loved ones.

I moan and ask myself, “Why do you do this to yourself?”

The fact is, I am sinning. I am flesh and bone and self driven and I don’t really trust the authorities in my life.

But! God is bigger!

He loves me and has something better for me. I have tasted that He is amazing! Seeing miracles of healing and lives transformed, praying for people and seeing what God can do in this, speaking truth into broken hearts and seeing them become whole; I want all these things and I long to go DEEPER with Him.

He loved me well enough that He called me into His office today. Apparently He is saying, “Elizabeth, if you want to go DEEPER with Me, then you have to OBEY in the little. If you obey in the little things then you will obey in the bigger things that I can and will do in and through you.”

“The one who is faithful in a very little thing is also faithful in much…” Luke 16:10

On The Tundra

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”~Hebrews 11:1

A dear friend recently spoke a gentle prophesy over me with these words.”I believe God is moving you to your next adventure…. I feel like God has ya’ll on the tundra again and there is something just over the horizon.”

She was alluding to a mutual experience that we had many years ago. My husband and I had gone on a gold prospecting trip. We joined a group of about 75 others who camped in ‘hooches’ on the barren land of the tundra outside of Nome, Alaska.

We knew nobody else when we signed on for this adventure and we discovered, while learning the art of gold panning, dredging and sluicing, that looking for gold is hard work. The camp had All Terrain Vehicles available for the more adventuresome campers to use to travel through the wilderness lands and beaches. These were ‘one-person quads’ that barely fit a second rider. We decided to check one out and soon found that going off by ourselves over remote trails surrounded by rich beauty and life was preferable to the social atmosphere of camp and processed foods served in the cafe three times a day.

It was on one of our investigative rides with a crude map and hand-held GPS, that we came across another pair of duos on ATV’s doing the precise same thing; looking for an abandoned camp with the promise of unfound gold. We met at a tiny crossroad that was nothing more than a scratch in the trail. None of us had met previously but we were all on the same mission. We decided to join up and meander across the tundra, off trail, to try to locate the camp.

It was a risky thing. We had no real map, only a general idea where the thing was or if it even existed. Some how, the three men in the party had heard of this place. I was strictly along for the ride and I was already feeling kind of grumpy about the rough accommodations. We ran across a mud marooned quad buried up to its axles in the marsh. Some unfortunate and ill-prepared rider had traveled the same way. We were on the right path. We saw a pair of muddy footprints leading off to the west. While the men in our group pulled the ATV out of the mud, I got off our ATV and walked a little bit. My rear was in pain bumping over the rough tundra on the back of an unfriendly seat. I began hiking over the land in the general direction the men had said to travel, following the footprints.

The travel by ATV was so slow-going that I was eventually a good distance in front. Climbing over the next hill I saw cabins clustered together and smoke coming from one of the buildings… I shouted and whooped and hollered that we had found it!! I could hardly believe it. I had very little faith in my husband’s plan and was only partly sold on it when two other couples confirmed the existence of this place.

We wound up moving from the other camp to this one for a week of the most pleasant celebration, eating our own cooking and enjoying the most beautiful of nature along a meandering river.

I spent a week getting over myself and my expectations and then another week leaning into enjoying my husband and friends and the incredible opportunity the trip afforded.

We picked up giant salmon in our hands from the river waters. We sifted through dirt to get a cup of rubies. We found little bits of gold in our pans and sluice boxes. We rode madly over the beach, racing with the ocean waves. We rode into Nome and shopped at the most curious of shops full of products from Alaska as well as from Russia across the channel. We met and talked to the local Nome dwellers and learned about the land.

The little lessons I learned were powerful truths that I carry to this day; Trust being the biggest hurdle and richest gift I have ever dealt with. Riding on the back of a little uncomfortable ATV, having no control over direction or speed, holding on for dear life and letting go of fear and worry was an empowering experience for me. I wanted to cry and scream and jump off all at the same time. At the end of those rides, I fell more deeply in love with the man I married because I trusted him and God absolutely. It was a wrestling match in my soul; fear and trust in the ring in a fight to the death.

Those memories on the tundra are what come to mind when I hear the words of my friend. She was a stranger when we met at that crossroad in the middle of the rough tundra. She has become one of my dearest and closest friends. And OH! the other adventures we have had since then!

There is always something over the next horizon! I have just had to let go of my death grip on the known and my little book of expectations. I have had to tuck in my pouting lower lip and put away my complaints and sorrows. I have had to learn to live in this moment with what I’ve been given instead of trying to prepare for that moment over there. This has perhaps been the more difficult thing. My traveling here and there is always about the ‘getting there’ instead of the journey.

My prayer today is, “Lord! Please help me to walk this path, one foot in front of the other, delighting in this spot where I place my foot. Please hold my trembling hand and still my restless heart as we go. Open my eyes to behold Your wonder and all that you have placed around me. Let me not worry about tomorrow more than I ought, but live fully in today. Amen!”

Wild at Heart

brown and white stallions running in a field — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The wrestling within me is violent and messy. I am called to this task, to this keyboard, yet I deny it and disclaim it. In fact, I run from it. Any distraction will do. Any little thing that needs my attention calls me away from writing. Is this more of refusing God’s ways? Is this my foolish flirting with my own plans?

A headstrong filly, mane blowing in the wind, wildly avoiding the bit and bridle and refusing to be saddled; declining to walk along the path or within the corral, runs through the field.

I liken myself to this beautiful creature who has so much power and strength, but who would rather be distractible and free. The freedom usually comes with a cost; getting wounded by errant fencing, falling into holes, getting sidelined from important events. She is determined to go where she wants, not being told what to do or where to go.

This rebellious lie in me has resulted in years of delay and detour. It is much of the pull and tug in my spirit on a daily basis.

I’m pretty sure that the beautiful Lucifer suffered the same malady. He was lovelier than all the other angels in heaven and had a wonderful existence with the favor of the Almighty God, yet he struggled with his own personal desires for power and presence. He simply could not be second, he could not be told what to do, and he could not be part of Someone Else’s plan.

I must come face to face with myself every day. The Holy Spirit who dwells within me kindly guides and comforts me in the battle. Jesus, my steadfast friend, is my example. Father God protects me and tenderly lets me unload my frustration and complaints at His feet. Still, in the great and unexplainable way of God, He permits me to choose. He lets me leave His throne room and struggle and deny and argue. He lovingly calls out to me and shows me better paths even as I am walking away looking over my shoulder.

It seems I have been doing this all of my days. When I was little, I clearly remember sticking my finger in a light socket after being told not to do so. The shock that followed got my attention more than the directive ahead of the action.

Must this always be so? Must I learn by running away? Must I be injured before I can ‘get’ that God’s ways are better?

The writing is a gift. It has a purpose and can grow and bear fruit. The difficulty is that I must ‘stop what I am doing’ to do it. I talk incessantly about growing things, planting seeds and cultivating a flourishing garden but when it comes to planting the seeds of life in the written word I try to avoid, escape and defer.

Help me, Lord, to embrace this call upon my heart. Help me not to run from, but into Your Arms. Help me to welcome the bridle lovingly placed upon me and teach me to let You drive this where it will go…for Your glory.

horses on a grass field under a cloudy sky — Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels.com

 '...the Anointed One has set us free-not partially, but completely and wonderfully free! We must always cherish this truth and stubbornly refuse to go back into the bondage of our past." -Galatians 5:1 TPT

Purpose

Purpose denotes willfulness. I am purposely choosing this path. I WILL go this way. I see my arm strengthened by purpose and plans. I purposefully go out of my way to do this plan. Each step is a calculated movement in a direction that I choose ahead of time.

I purpose to spend time on the things that will honor God, honor my family, honor those I serve, honor my body, honor the plans that God has for me, His daughter. This kind of path requires dedication and discipline. I cannot lightly say I will do thus and such and then change my mind at the hour it is due. I must follow through to completion this commitment.

I purpose to dwell in the Presence of God every morning. It is my habit and has become my lifeblood. I cannot pass a day without this purposed action. I sit in His Presence still and listening before I ever move forward. I hold a hot cup of tea against my chest, eyes closed, waiting quietly to hear anything from Him. My bible beckons me to read. I read a proverb for the day, dwelling in the prose and directions. I move to the prophets, reading the stories of their lives and the instructions that God gave them and then whatever they did with what they heard. They are always stimulating and fresh. I then purposely turn to the New Testament to read the words of Jesus or the instructions from his disciples. This purposed plan fills me and overwhelms me with riches and wisdom. I did not fall into this outline. I did not randomly decide to follow this pattern. I purposefully made it a priority to learn and study the Word to feed my soul and my spirit.

Often this purposing is a sacrificial offering. I am a busy person. The family and friends in my life are important to me but I often let life get in the way of connecting with those people. I had to purpose to make connections. This has been the hardest purposing that I have ever done. It involves phone calls and texting and visiting and writing letters. I will frequently start this commitment only to fall off a few months down the road. Surely I must purpose to sow into the lives of those I love in order to remain consistent over time.

I am a work in progress. This is my stretching point. Doing the things that honor God with purpose.

This post is part of a Five Minute Friday/PURPOSE

http://fiveminutefriday.com/linkup/

Seeds

fish food inside jar — Photo by Delphine Hourlay on Pexels.com

"Meanwhile, brothers and sisters, we must be patient and filled with expectation..
Think about the farmer who has to patiently wait for the earth's harvest..."  James 5:7

I love the earth. I love the dirt. I love the rain. I love to grow things. I could stay outside all day, every day, digging in the dirt, beautifying, arranging, planting, harvesting, preserving, cleaning up, starting over…

It’s the immediate gratification of color and beauty and bounty that stirs my soul. I am hesitant to plant from seed. When I do plant seeds, I go out to the ground daily to check for sprouts. I carefully guard my plots, water and wait. And wait. And wait. My mom used to tease me and ask if I thought I could make things grow by watching them.

As I was walking through the woods the other day, mulling over some burden, likely moaning and complaining to God…the word ‘seeds’ came to mind.

SEEDS.

‘As the farmer waits…’

I haven’t been good at waiting. I’ve been good at running ahead of the group. I love to go out and look for treasures and new paths and adventures. I don’t mind getting lost as I find my way around unfamiliar places. It is all part of the impetuous nature that dwells in me. However, because I like to discover the surprises and make new and beautiful, often, I want instant results and miracles. Now.

Father God is reminding me of the seeds that I hesitate to plant. It takes time to gently soak their hard exteriors, to place them in just the right soil environment, to carefully water and nurture their growth and then to raise them in a healthy clime. Even then, once they have grown big enough to be out on their own in the cruel, bug infested, windy, stormy world, they must be guarded and encouraged along with water, sunlight, shade, food and guidance. The investment into the growth is large.

I want to be a kind and patient farmer. I want to be honed into an instrument that will wait. My desire for instant results is being tempered into a powerful weapon of prayer and grace and love.

I am still flesh and bone. I cry. I rant. I stumble. I fall down.

Down here in the dirt, with my face pressed into the earth, I feel the great Presence of God and all His power. The seeds are growing. Everywhere that He and I have planted there are little sprouts and flowers and richness beyond my comprehension.

My tears and my whining give way to rest and peace. I can sit here, waiting, still, yet powerfully moving the gates of hell by the praise on my tongue and the raising of my hands to the King of Kings. Surrendered will, laid down impatience, captive thoughts and intimacy with the Holy Spirit have produced in me seeds of joy and thanksgiving. And freedom.

My running ahead, impetuous choices and fiery tongue have had their way with me…but only for the purification of a diamond.

Only for the nurture of seeds.

The Balloon

red ball on blue wooden door — Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Ever feel like someone just put a pin through your balloon? I visualize a red balloon floating in the wind. It is freely dancing about on whatever current carries it in the minute. Then along comes that someone who puts a pin right through it.

I see myself as that pretty little balloon. I am feeling lighter than air, dancing through my day, happily arranging flowers, digging in dirt and contented as can be. My heart is unaware that it is so happy in these moments until it is rudely bruised and pushed about. Then it just wilts.

I know in my head that I mustn’t let the someones do this to me. I guard myself carefully, until I don’t. I don’t ever seem to see it coming. My trusting, caring nature just lets the assaults in repeatedly. The recovery from hurt takes time.

My heart puts up a shield, again.

My thoughts are taken captive, again.

I remove myself into a hiding place and sit in quiet. That is when I realize what has been done. The dancing balloon has been flattened and all but melted in the grass.

The anger flares up! How dare you rob me of this peace and freedom?! Why? Why do you hurt me with your words and facial expressions and body language?! Who am I that I have become your target?!

The next thing is to blame myself. What am I doing wrong? What did I say? What mistake have I made?

Lastly, I resolve, that it is not even personal. It really wasn’t about me at all. It may be about what I represent, the freedom and grace that I carry that allows me to bounce about on the breeze. It may be some loss in them that they are struggling to manage. Whose to say?

A friend counselled that this treatment is soul-destroying. How true those words are. The pin in the balloon is the destruction of my soul. The continual barrage of the destroyer has immobilized me. I have hidden away. The very things that create and carry the oil of gladness are being shoved down into dark places within me and making only sadness and depression.

This morning I awoke to spend time in the Word of God. My bible fell open to an underlined text. Apparently I had been here before.

"Do not fear or be dismayed because of this great multitude, for the battle is not yours but God's." -2 Chronicles 20:15
...go down against them
...station yourself
...stand and see the salvation of the Lord on your behalf
...put your trust in the Lord your God and you will be established
...those who sang and praised the Lord went first into battle

'...when they began singing and praising, the Lord set ambushes..."

Yet again, my faithful Lord had prepared me before this assault.I realize the God who sees saw it coming before I did. Thank You Lord!

My recovery comes quicker this time. The red balloon seems restored and ready to be filled again. She is ready to go back out and sing and dance on the wind.

Ah Lord God! Fill me up with Your Spirit that I might glorify You! You are always good and You desire to flow through me in the dance. Help me to continue on and lightly glide over this earth as You lead. Go before me into battle. Fight the fight for me Lord. Show me how to sing in the midst of the sorrow and pain. Show me Your ways O Lord, for surely You have had this happen to You and know full well the scars that it leaves. I love You Lord and I trust You to do this…love,betsy

Missed Steps

My apologies to my readers. I don’t often ‘not write’ but that is exactly what has occurred and had me neglecting you.

The love affair with pen and paper is a dance. Sometimes a gentle waltz, oftentimes a wild, whirling reel, occasionally a methodical, organized square dance with steps carefully prescribed. I tend to be sensitive to the surrounding storms and music playing. If they aren’t just right, I stop, stand still, hesitate and critically judge everything in and around ME.

The truth is… the words are not just my own and they are not always dependent upon my circumstances. They do, however, need to be released into the atmosphere. Their purpose…I do not know; but my job is simply, to listen, to write and to release as God gives me utterance.

Blessings my friends-and thank you for your Grace as I learn the dance.

Creativity

Over the years, coming to visit my parents on their remote property in Louisiana, I found that the creative juices flowed more readily. I found myself writing pages upon pages, painting canvas after canvas. The ideas flowed fresh and vibrant and I felt the liberty of losing myself to relax and dream and build. My children too, had this freedom and always looked forward to visiting Granny and Pawpaw’s ‘Farm’.

Here I am, thirty-eight years later, wondering…where did the creativity go? Why, having uprooted from my suburban home, with high hopes and ideas for growth, am I finding it so difficult to write and paint and build? What has happened?

I am besieged by responsibilities heavier than I knew. I am overwhelmed with cares bigger than I have seen before. I am constantly on the defense and emotionally preoccupied…Creativity is squelched and my imagination is paralyzed. The enemy to my soul seems to be sitting, watching and waiting for me to be still before God; waiting to pounce and devour all that is good flowing out of me.

I am asking God if I can back up and start over. Is that even possible? What made me think that coming to visit was the same as living here?

Creativity is God breathed. He is a creative Being and He has passed on His inheritance to me, His daughter. Why is this then happening?

Am I lacking in trust? Am I not available to Him to be used? Am I so distracted and led astray that the beauty will not come forth?

I don’t have the answers tonight. Maybe tomorrow?

Or maybe a few years later….

I wrote the above in 2021. It has been sitting in my ‘drafts’ for THREE years!!! What the what?!

These things that plague us go round and round do they not? What bothered me three years ago probably bothered me when I was ten. Yes…I somehow remember not being able to settle down then either. I would no sooner start a task and then get distracted and move on to the next thing.

I once heard a speaker say, “quite often, as we go ’round the mountain’ and face similar pits and problems again and again,
God allows this so that we can learn how to deal with those problems in a bigger and better way, perhaps discovering something new each time we come ’round to it’ again.” (Sy Rogers)¹

Well surely…this is my plight; this same issue of not wanting to deal with things, or to get down to business, or to finish the tasks. I want to have it in my way, in my time, thereby, spinning my wheels and stifling the creative flow.

I am looking at this again. I am forced to stop and listen. What is there to learn here Lord? How can I do this better? How can I allow Your Sprit to guide these faltering feet, this halting pen?

In this season, of dwelling at the Feet of Jesus, of decreasing the continual flow of the noisy world in my life, I am hearing and seeing and taking in a deeper truth.

In this, I co-create with the Living God. I am pliable clay in His Hand. I am allowing Him to fight the battles. I am watching His Work and going where He is going, doing what He is doing, saying what He his saying.

There are very definite growing pains here. I am being stretched and challenged to do things differently; and not the way I have always done them…

I have crazy moments. I am full of unruly feelings. I am struggling and working through it all. Like the butterfly, I MUST struggle to come forth out of the cocoon or I will not survive. I don’t much like the struggling -but is necessary…

This.

“And I will give them one heart, and put a new spirit within them. And I will take the heart of stone out of their flesh and give them a heart of flesh…”

-Ezekiel 11:19

I want my heart to be united with God’s heart. I want to creatively intercede with Him. This is my desire and I believe that He will give me the desires of my heart because it is aligned with His desire for His people…

From lecture at Foothills Christian Church ↩︎