katie rose writes

(a paraphrase of proverbs 23.17-19, 26) Let not your heart grow restless where it sits, ill contented, envious over sinners who can go their own way by the light of their own eyes, who can run, run, run as if no one will catch them. They will be caught in fear of Him, who has captured you, too, the runaway who couldn’t run away far enough to outrun Him, nor fast enough to outrun His love. You continue in that fear, that sweet divine love-trap that enwraps you. You live in light of His love, you saint, run in His love, not away from it. “I know your feet are tired,  unsure of this unsteady path. And your hands are weary, as they seem to beat against the wind, finding no firm place to hold. “Remember my promise, my promise to make you my gold. See on its surface engraved these covenant words— ‘Surely there is a future, and your hope will not be cut off .’” Surely there are still,  yes, even now, far, far be

I never thought it would feel like an exile, this place I called home from day one.  I never expected that word to arise in ashes, beauty slayed by disappointment and dashed expectations. Tears that overflowed in joy as we descended months ago ran down in fear with the second descent. The unknowns pile up, heaping more ashes upon the fire. And I realize how unsettled I am, we are, here and now. I react strongly against words to the contrary. And He spoke, out of my harshly held lips— “I think He’s made us so unsettled so that we’d settle ourselves in Him before this place or season or ministry.” Immediately, I knew a document would arise—a glorious unsettling. And today it returned to me, as God promised in Zephaniah 3— a glorious unsettling to bring His people home to Him. “In the end I will turn things around for the people.      I’ll give them a language undistorted, unpolluted, Words to address God in worship      and, united , to se

A few weeks ago, I sat crossed-legged on my balcony, oatmeal and coffee in hand, looking for Him. In the haze of the city’s morning light, I thought of how close 2016 was and what word He might give for it. The thought was passing, the feeling fleeting. But then, an answer arose. He spoke. As I prayed, read some in His word and in Streams in the Desert , I cried a lot of tears. But out of that arose a word. A word I heard a lot sprinkled throughout 2014. Hannah Brencher’s words have scattered it like glitter in my heart. I’ve written on it as well, similarly craving its spark and shine in my day-to-day. It’s a word that has since faded; refusing to enter my mind ever since “banner” came up, ever since “trust” stirred in me “like a sleeping giant,” as I wrote on January 1st,  2015 . But that day. It returned to me. Full of promise, full of hope, in the midst of a morning where I could not stop crying. At all. The tears were unending. But He met me in the middle of them. He caug