katie rose writes

I didn't expect it to hurt this much: the leaving. the last-time-to-see this or that person. the last drives on intolerably bumpy roads that I've taken anyway. the last glimpses of once-green fields beginning to brown under the summer sun.  I've been watching these fields for years now, through the sowing and growing and flooding and  harvesting  and  replanting . I've seen them grow green, yellow, and gold, flourishing because the seasons were right, fluid, moving at just the right pace, like the sun: going up, over, and down each day. The rhythm is known. Normal.   I'm a part of that rhythm. (So are you, wherever you are).  A part of the sowing and seeding, the treading, the tilling. The watering and watching....and the insufferable waiting. And whether it's harvest time or not, many of us are being uprooted. Some rather roughly, the season change not yet known. The latter rains not yet drenching our souls with fresh vision and wisdom. It's dry. An

To the one who stayed, and now must return, dear friend,  dear self, You didn't want to stay. Everything within you was ready to go. You were ready. Everything but your bags was packed: your heart, your calling, your identity—stowed away in the treasure boxes you found them in at first. Reburied like sand shuffled under waves of uncertainty, doubt, and the existential lie: did God really say? But you stayed. And even though sometimes you waffle and wonder, you know He asked you to. Every time you thought you heard conflicting words: stay, leave, you were really only hearing yourself. Until you could get away in the silence and the May stormy skies and the big white-down comforter to keep you warm. Then you could be still. Then you were silent. Then He spoke.  His words were crystal clear: I'm going to redeem all of it.  And He did, didn't He? I know you're feeling conflicted, confused over all these emotions: ready to leave, wanting to stay. A far, f

What echoes have you heard in the silence? This is the question the Velvet Ashes' Grove’s blog post begins with this week: pretty words dancing over a picture, to invite me into a still space, a sweet space with God again,  like I had this weekend during a day-long retreat.  But I find myself resisting; I pour through the documents from the retreat; I find my mind running over thoughts and words and questions that still sit heavy on my heart. This week was a train wreck: a slow crashing, with the white noise of fatigue and sickness echoing much louder than His words. I’ve been running again, and maybe it’s because I haven’t heard the promise-commands of God that are specific enough for me to grasp onto. Maybe it’s because I want more than His hand, more than His right hand to hold me: I want it to propel me into the next thing. And deep, deep down inside, maybe this week just magnifies this lie I’ve been believing all my life: you are a failure. you haven’t gotten anythi