She’s got a heavy heart, a messy soul, a reckless mind, and I think its beautiful the way she carries herself” ~ author unknown.

I wish I could have written something better to describe myself but when this popped up on Pinterest under writing quotes it was like looking into a screened mirror where words reflect this battered, been shattered, and healed whole, Spirit-binded  human heart.

And the truth, is we will all limp into the kingdom.  We heal, but though we heal, these tents of bone and blood and memory heal crooked.

and there is beautiful in the crooked…

there is holy in the limp…

there is glory in the cracked vessels and chipped pots.

Ya see, because the beauty and the holy and the glory tell a story of a heart so full, so inflamed, so kissed alive by Trinitarian love that here, somewhere in the unseen depths of this tent built straight up out of a frame of dust, that each day gives way to that ol’ moan of creation,

holds a spirit drunk with joy now with scale free eyes set cracked wide on Glory.  Beholding A Living hope, as this pervasive, ubiquitous Love pours in like aged wine and cloaks this messy girl in the warmth of a hushed and holy presence….in our secret place…reclining on Jesus like John, his beloved.  Entering into familiar conversations, face to face, breath to breath,

and my skin knows His touch.

Oh stain me with truth-blood and mark me Yours!  Tell me love-secrets only Your Spirit understands with groans over these reckless prayers the girl tries to articulate but fall prey to unwelcome waves of thoughts that drift to the days list….

We have a love language…YOU and I….of holiest loft.  You fasten Yourself to me with kisses, cover my nakedness and bathe me in hyssop.  Your fragrance intoxicates me…

and I am love drunk.

because there is no one more romantic than Jesus.

He can’t wait to make us His bride and His preparations to do so are continually in motion.

This intimate-covenant love…was drawn up and decreed in a space before rhythms of time and seasons of harvest moons.  It was sealed in a violent outpouring of human blood soaked in heavenly Diety.

And now I belong….

and everyone wants to belong….yearns to belong….

waits in anticipation for the grandest of invitations to the banquet of belonging.

You set a feast before me on a table prepared by You.  Fruits of ecstasy await my watering mouth…and the taste of You is an explosion of joy as every sense within me is heightened here.

Fresh awakened.

You steady me with Your love.

Oh set my heart to Your rhythm.

As my heart beats to the rhythm of Your sweet love, lead these feet where others will not go.  Mark my path where You have walked and sewn tears that grow the fruit of compassion.  May I eat of this fruit, swallowing it whole, soaking up its nutrients that revive dead and darkened places in me, sweetening my life as I reach outward on unfamiliar ground.

Awkward ground, like abortion clinics and homeless shelters.

Take these hands, the ones you made to touch, to create, hold babies without fathers who belong to scared mama’s and rock them to the song You sing over us In heaven’s symphony.

a sweet sound putting us at rest.

Take this mouth and let it teach the most ancient of Truth that reaches our marrow and shapes us into that Holy image.

Oh Lord, make us women, people, who fall so in love with Jesus, that when we go forth in Your Name, our faces will radiate Your jealous love.

You see because there are untouched places…

hopeless faces…

fatherless children…

single mama’s…

lonely outcasts…


Desperate to know they’re not forgotten.  Craving a space to call home, and arms to be embraced in.  Hungry, starved souls stripped of hope, dignity, bravery gone bare…

and they moan in sync with creation and it might haunt us if we heard it….that eerie moan, as one might moan on a bed of death…

do you hear it? It cries for justice and screams for righteousness and none hears. We can’t hear them because we can’t hear Him.  We can’t still ourselves long enough to listen to the crinkle of paper whispers through ancient Spirit inspired words, “I cannot endure iniquity and the solemn assembly…learn to do good; seek justice, reprove the ruthless, defend the orphan, plead for the widow…” (Isaiah 1: 13,17).

To know Him is to love Him and to love Him is to be crushed with longing for His breath, His word, His presence, His heart and carry our heavy hearts and messy souls and reckless minds to that fresh prepared place each morning where He starts over with us so we can start something new with them.

The ones He will gather from the east and from the west as He prepares a home for the lonely through us, The Weavers Hands. Oh pray for our maternity home as we prepare this place and swing wide our doors as we say, Send me, Lord!

Cuz even a heavy-hearted, messy, reckless-minded girl like me can reflect a peculiar beauty, dance wild with joy, and love harder than she’s ever known when I’ve been kissed alive by my Beloved.


One thought on “Kissed Alive

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