Monday, February 16, 2015


I wake up, stiff and achy, with some serious bedhead, to a morning filled with the sounds of children and breakfast and bickering.

My girl fixes me a cup of coffee with some fancy shmancy flavored creamer that I never use but that reminds me of my sweet Cara, and I sip and savor and start to wake up.

I feel zombie-esque.

I turn on praise and worship music, balm for the soul, and listen to the sounds of guitar and harmonizing voices, alto and tenor. Tiny clicking noises join in, my girl sorting and building with her Legos in the bed with me.

This is my worship, to invite my little ones into my bed with me, to love and hug and encourage, to look at them full in the face and smile.

I have no major plans for the day. I'd like to tidy my bedroom a bit, get some reading done, play a board game with my kids, maybe even squeeze in a nap. The only thing I really, really want to do today is hear Jesus.


He is my air, my breath, my heart. I need him like an addict needs another fix. Hearing Him speak is my high. He is my only ambition. He is my holy obsession.

I remember reading some place that God is the most glorified when we are the most satisfied in Him. This must be true, because when I see one of His children love Him intensely, when I see a life marked by joy and contentment, a face aflame with love and passion, it makes me want Him more.

I don't want to be a flame, a little light that shines and won't be put under the proverbial bushel. I want to be a raging fire that consumes, that burns hot.

I want to be the kind of Jesus-follower that spends time in His Presence, that sees His face; Moses-like, I want to come away from my time with Jesus and have my face be alight with His glory. And I want to be forced to wear a figurative veil, so that others will see Him and not me.

I love Him and want to love Him more; I'm desperate for a desperate heart; I'm hungry for more hunger and thirst after His righteousness. I'm done with the hopelessness and the sickness and all the other junk that I've allowed to hold me back from living full into His creative, prophetic imagination for me. The voices that taunt with accusations that I will never change, that I am destined to make the same mistakes over and over, fall headlong into the same sin, that I have nothing much to contribute to the big, beautiful, radiant body of Christ...

I'm over it.

He is my leader, my wonderful counselor, the God who sees me. He is my all in all. He is my great big wild and crazy dream. And while I strain to touch Him, He is already holding me in the palms of His hand. He has my name tattooed there: amy danielle, beloved.
I want to inject Him into my very vein and blood, I want Him beside me, around me, inside me. I want to breathe in and exhale Jesus. I want knowing Him to transform me. I know that part of His dream for me, part of the subplot my life plays into His story, is to start praying a new prayer. Instead of begging Him to heal me, I'm going to start asking Him to do whatever will bring Him the most glory. I want my life to become incense, to allow Him to light up my heart so the fragrance ascends to His throne. To take others by the hand and lead them to Him, no matter what awful thing they are facing. 
So let this day be a declaration. Come, Lord Jesus. Light me up. Stoke the embers into a roaring flame that licks up all the chaff. Make me burn brightly, let Your fire refine, remove all the dross that dulls my heart and shine, Jesus, shine! In me, around me, through me.

To your glory, forever and ever, world without end.


{A slightly revised repost from the archives.}


  1. Lord, I want your insignia
    Carved into my breast
    Muddied with your sufferings
    Scarred to permanence

    Let there be a lasting sign
    Of my lasting love for you
    Let people, when they see me, balk
    At the lengths that I would go for you


Your kind thoughts...

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