Cage-less Bird: An Allegory

A cage that has been locked for so long. Inside, a bird sits. Some days it tries to spread its wings and flap its way out, in desperation. Other days, it has not the energy or motivation to stir. Some days it has hope of one day being set free. Other days it believes it is destined to an enclosed life, knowing only the confinement of its cage.
Though it may try with all its strength to free itself from the cage, it cannot.
It needs intervention.
It needs someone to come and unlock the cage.
One day it comes to the end of itself, and calls out, as a final act of desperation. It wonders whether anyone can hear its cries. It begins with a faltering, tentative whimper and continues, the cries becoming stronger and louder. The bird knows that freedom is imminent, and it yearns for it. It longs to be able to open its wings without feeling the constricting bars of its cage. It longs to fly again. But oh, it has been so long. It's forgotten what it feels like to fly. It's forgotten how to fly.
Then, suddenly, it knows not how, but it perceives that today must be the day.
The day where it will finally be set free.
After a lifetime of confinement, it will finally see a different world from the one it's always known.
With much fear and trepidation of the unknown journey it is about to embark on, it reaches out.
At just the right time, and in just the right way, hands appear and cradle the lock, possessing the key that will unlock the cage.
Though longing for this moment for a lifetime, the bird hesitates and feels overcome by fear of the new thing that is unfolding. Everything it has ever known - life inside the cage - is about to change.
Its fears soon dissipate, however, the moment the door is flung open.
A fresh wind blows through its wings and it can finally see the beauty that has always surrounded it, but which it has never known. The wind carries fragrant promise and overwhelming hope.
The bird, overcome, slowly stretches out its little wings, which have been cramped for so long, and flaps them a few times, feeling strength returning and relief flooding its frame.
It feels like a baby bird again, having to relearn how to use its wings. It takes a few tries before it can fly without crashing to the ground. Soon, though, it flies high, catching the currents of air and soaring in the breeze. This is its song:

"I'm soaring with You now;

I'm flying on Your wings.

We're going past the clouds; 

I'm seeing what You see."

The Awakening

I wrote this a while ago, during a very long plane ride, but felt like it was fitting to post now:

"On a 14-hour plane ride where one cannot sleep much, there is an abundance of time to simply sit (well, you have nowhere else to go!) and meditate. It's one of my favorite things to do. I love just thinking about anything and everything, and dreaming about life. I decided to fill my ears with some cello sonatas: sure to be conducive to some "deeper" thinking. Most people don't know the lifelong dream I've had to learn the cello. There's something about it that absolutely connects my heart to the eternal, something that stirs the deep waters of my soul. Follow my train of thought for a moment: cello dreams reminded me of a poem I composed for a poetry class I took a couple of years ago. It was full of flowery and musical words and imagery describing how cello music affects me. Then that led me to think of writing in general. I have a blog that has been sitting untouched for quite some time. I was reminded of how enjoyable I find writing and how crafting words into something beautiful is a joy. So this is another attempt, another stab at reviving the writer within me. I know that writing is something that I want to be cultivating and growing in, so I want to try and set aside some time each week to write - something, anything! It doesn't have to be long. I just know that I want to grow in the gifts that God has given me and be a good steward of them." 

The poem I wrote is applicable to this theme of "reviving the writer within me," so I thought I would share:

The Awakening

Warm tones    that woo the soul

Rise from the rifts    of the rejected cello

Now caressed    with new hands.

Riveting strains    resound when released

From the strings stretched    over a shell:

An ode to joy    and all its oddities—

Of beauty found    in the broken and battered.

The carved wood    of the cello rejoices

As the bow graces    its strings again.

Here's to being inspired to write again! :)

Beauty: More Than Skin Deep

It's time to write again. It's been almost a year since I've published anything on here. I've had ideas rolling around in my head for a while and I've wanted to sit and down and write for so long but life has got in the way and this has been put on the back burner. I don't know if anyone actually reads what I post, and, in all actuality, I don't really care. This is just an outlet for the humble writings of a "burning heart," and I'm just letting you 'listen' in. 

I recently watched this video titled "Real Beauty Sketches" that Dove released. You might have seen it going around Facebook. It's gone viral, which is awesome. I love Dove's "Real Beauty Campaign" and the ideas behind it. The world, especially the females of the world, need more of that! If you haven't watched this video, go and watch it now! 

Basically, it very cleverly and artistically makes a point about how us women perceive ourselves and our beauty. We're often much, much harder on ourselves and our flaws than others ever are. We get acquainted with our flaws, up close and personal, believing them to literally be "larger than life": the pimple that covers the forehead, the huge bags under the eyes, the dreaded facial hair that everyone must see and must be noticing all the time. 

It's crazy, and yet it's so true.

I watched another video that Dove released that first showed women being asked what thing they would change about their body. When asked this question, most women responded almost immediately and usually gave more than one thing or simply said, "Everything!" When the same women were asked what feature they love about themselves, it took them much, much longer to answer. Some didn't have an answer.
Working in retail, I hear a ton of "Does this make me look fat?" and "I really don't like my fat *insert body part/area*! I can't wear that!"
It is so poisonous and it grieves my heart!

I've walked down this path, and while it is still something that I struggle with, it is an area that I have gotten much freedom in! I used to hate what I saw when I looked in the mirror. All I saw was fat hanging off of my body when I was actually a really lanky, skin-and-bones teenager. I used to walk slouched over because I hated how my height made me tower over everybody else. I hated my makeup-less face that would expose my blotchy, pimply face to the world. I am so thankful to say that I have come a looooong way since the completely-insecure-teenaged phase.
It hasn't been an instant transformation; it's been a process. And a long, hard one at that!
 But I can stand tall with confidence, knowing that I am absolutely beautiful, inside AND out.
And if God did it for me, then He can most certainly do it for you, too!

Yes, there are days where I feel anything but beautiful and yes, there are days where I feel like staying inside all day and not showing my face to the world, but you know what? Those are just feelings. Our emotions and our feelings aren't always true - in fact, they lie A LOT.
I've struggled with this, no, I am still struggling with this battle of calling your emotions into line with the truth. It's a daily struggle and there's a decision to be made every day: Am I going to believe what I know is true about me, or am I going to believe my feelings?
And how do you know the truth? Spend time with the One who is Truth - Jesus. He's got some good things to say about you to you! Spend time in His Word that is Truth:

You are fearfully and wonderfully made. He knows every part of you and loves all of it - Psalm 139:14
You enthrall the King with your beauty - Psalm 45:11
You have flawless beauty - Song of Solomon 4:7
When He made you, He said that you were VERY good :) - Genesis 2
You are dressed in robes of righteousness - Isaiah 61:10
He calls you His own - 1 John 3:1

There's so much more to what He thinks about you - His thoughts towards you are more than the grains of sand! (Psalm 139:18) May you be blessed as you learn to walk in His truth and as you let His thoughts define you.

P.s. I don't think it's vain to love the way that you look or to love a certain feature of yours. In fact, I think we should love ourselves and praise the way that God made us! Sometimes, you just gotta look in that mirror, look yourself in the eye, and say, "Gurrrllll, you look good!" Say it until you believe it!

"...The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes..."

This beats in synchrony with my heart. This is taken from "New Song (Worshipping Warriors)" by Jake Hamilton. You can listen to the original here. It is originally a piece called "The Vision" by Pete Grieg, one of the primary founders of the 24-7 Prayer Movement. I love this. 

"So this guy comes up to me and says "what's the vision? What's the big idea?" I open my mouth and words come out like this… The vision?

The vision is JESUS – obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus.

The vision is an army of young people.

You see bones? I see an army. And they are FREE from materialism.

They laugh at 9 to 5 little prisons. They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday. 

They wouldn't even notice. 

They know the meaning of the Matrix, the way the west was won. 

They are mobile like the wind, they belong to the nations. They need no passport.. People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their strange existence. 

They are free yet they are slaves of the hurting and dirty and dying. 

What is the vision? The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes. It makes children laugh and adults angry. It gave up the game of minimum integrity long ago to reach for the stars. It scorns the good and strains for the best. It is dangerously pure.

Light flickers from every secret motive, every private conversation. It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their Satan games. This is an army that will lay down its life for the cause. A million times a day its soldiers choose to lose that they might one day win the great 'Well done' of faithful sons and daughters.

Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as Sunday night. They don't need fame from names. Instead they grin quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again: "COME ON!"

And this is the sound of the underground 

The whisper of history in the making 

Foundations shaking 

Revolutionaries dreaming once again 

Mystery is scheming in whispers 

Conspiracy is breathing… This is the sound of the underground

And the army is discipl(in)ed.

Young people who beat their bodies into submission.

Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms. The tattoo on their back boasts "for me to live is Christ and to die is gain".

Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes. Winners. Martyrs. Who can stop them? 

Can hormones hold them back? Can failure succeed? Can fear scare them or death kill them?

And the generation prays like a dying man with groans beyond talking, with warrior cries, sulphuric tears and with great barrow loads of laughter! 

Waiting. Watching: 24 – 7 – 365.

Whatever it takes they will give: Breaking the rules. Shaking mediocrity from its cosy little hide. Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs, laughing at labels, fasting essentials. 

The advertisers cannot mold them. 

Hollywood cannot hold them. 

Peer-pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late night parties before the cockerel cries.

They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive inside.

On the outside? They hardly care. They wear clothes like costumes to communicate and celebrate but never to hide. Would they surrender their image or their popularity? They would lay down their very lives - swap seats with the man on death row - guilty as hell. A throne for an electric chair.

With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days, they pray as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them.

Their DNA chooses JESUS. (He breathes out, they breathe in.) Their subconscious sings. They had a blood transfusion with Jesus. 

Their words make demons scream in shopping centres. 

Don't you hear them coming? 

Herald the weirdo's! Summon the losers and the freaks. 

Here come the frightened and forgotten with fire in their eyes. 

They walk tall and trees applaud, skyscrapers bow, mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension. 

Their prayers summon the hounds of heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden.

And this vision will be. It will come to pass; it will come easily; it will come soon. How do I know? Because this is the longing of creation itself, the groaning of the Spirit, the very dream of God. 

My tomorrow is his today. 

My distant hope is his 3D. 

And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great 'Amen!' from countless angels, from heroes of the faith, from Christ himself. 

And he is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner.

Guaranteed."

Amen & amen.

Enjoy the moment!

I had carefully checked the weather forecast before I headed out the door this morning to hop on my bike to go to a staff meeting that morning. It was overcast with a 30% chance of precipitation. It was perfect going there — cool enough so that I didn't even work up much of a sweat riding up the couple of hills I have to go through on my regular route. After we had wrapped things up at the meeting I went outside and could smell the freshness of rain mingled with concrete and could see raindrops bouncing off my saddle. "Well, this is just great!" I thought rather sarcastically to myself, "I'm gonna get wet!" To make it worse, I had forgotten my wallet that morning so I wasn't even able to grab lunch or shop around and wait around for the rain to stop. I decided to brave the weather as I just wanted to get home. Thankfully, it was not pouring, and I had definitely been caught in worse before! I tried not to grimace too much as I squinted my eyes, deflecting the drops that were flying into my face. The thought, "Enjoy the moment!" flitted across my mind as I was getting wetter by the second. I tried to look at it in a positive light: it was (somewhat) fun, it was refreshing and it was unexpected.
Bear with me as I digress a bit. After growing up in an arid, desert climate my entire life, I used to welcome the thought of rain; it was always something special, worthy of celebration when it came. And now? I've become rather indifferent to it and it's even become a bit of a nuisance, especially when it entails getting wet! These are changes, among others, that I've noticed after having moved here eight months ago or so. A huge difference between the "desert child me" and the "Canadian me" was accentuated as I was skyping with my parents (who are still currently living in the Middle East) the other day and we were talking about the weather. I was saying that it was getting warmer and more humid as the temperature has been climbing into the mid-20s (Celcius) and I've even got central AC. They just laughed - current temperatures where they are are well into the 40s!!! I think it's safe to say that I have adapted to Canadian climate because that sounds unbearable right now!
While there is a part of me that dislikes 'letting go' of certain aspects of the life I knew before and clinging to a new one, a part of me knows that it's good and that it's all part of the process of accepting change and adjusting. I know that, at heart, I will always be a "desert child" and that the Middle East will always be a part of me. I know I will probably go back and live there one day. I know that hearing snatches of Arabic in grocery stores or having interactions with Arabs will always warm my heart and bring a big smile to my face. I also know that I can't live in the past or the future - I can't live in the memories of home and I can't live just waiting to go back. I want to live in the present, engaged with my current surroundings and the people around me. That's where "Enjoy the moment" comes in. You will just live waiting for life to happen or be continually stuck in a weird time warp of the past if you're constantly wrapped up in the future or past. I don't want to miss the things, whether little or big, that God has for me in each day. Believing that He is constantly pursuing and romancing my heart opens my eyes to the little gifts He sends every single day that are just for me that make my heart dance: a spectacular sunset, seeing a deer in the woods, a free meal, a kind word from a stranger. . . I bet we don't see half the things He sends our way because we're too caught up in something else.

So friends, I challenge you to enjoy each moment and live with eyes wide open to catch what He is doing in the here and now. Sometimes the rain comes and we're unprepared, but it's up to you whether you choose to dance in it or grumble about it.

Home is...

The feeling of sand going through your toes
Intense summer heat akin to what it must feel like to be in an oven
Bright, blue skies 98% of the year
Rejoicing and running out to play when rain, a rare and special gift, comes
Where everything is "inshallah" (if God wills it - hopefully it will get done, but not likely)
Where weddings are big, gaudy, segregated parties that go late into the night and when the Bride only makes her appearance at midnight
Where everything runs on "Arab time" - fashionably late is the norm, sometimes even a few hours after the time earlier agreed upon!
Having to use a few matches before the gas stove finally lights
Hearing the bell ringing through the streets of the neighborhood, signaling the arrival of the gas truck - you have to go out and flag him down if you need "buta gas"
Hearing the call to prayer go off at least a couple of times of the five a day
Where taxi is the standard mode of "public transportation"
The smell of dust in the air and finding sand EVERYWHERE in the house after a sand storm
Hot manaeesh (bread dough topped with cheese folded over) or grilled chicken, tabouleh, hummus and baba ghanoush as the standard, after-church lunch on Friday
Everyone out and about come eight o'clock at night
Crowded malls and overflowing parking lots late at night
The smell of fruity shisha (hookah) wafting from cafes
The rolling red dunes of the desert, our "backyard," literally minutes from our house!
Hearing arabic, urdu/hindi and tagalog all in the same place
Watching a "new" American Idol season on MBC 4 that is actually a few seasons behind the North-American current one
Being excited to go on an airplane, eat the kids' food pack that usually had a little chocolate bar in it, and watch as many movies as we could
Making sure shoulders and legs were covered
Small finjans (cups) of milky tea with at least four spoons of sugar in it
Shabab (young local guys) racing by you in their deeply tinted or mirrored Land Cruisers
Flocks of young boys playing football (soccer) in empty parking lots or streets using their shib-shibs (sandals) or bricks for goal markers
Streets lined with little shops full of cheap candy, grocery and other miscellaneous items
Always sticking out in a crowd! Being a tall, white girl in a sea of light brown always attracted (unwanted) attention
Where Fine (like our Kleenex - what they call tissues) is in every room of the house
Shawarmas and falafels from the shop at the side of the road
The abundance of mangy street cats congregating around the garbage bins
Beautiful in its own, strange way.

Today, I miss it.

Stirrings

Do you know those times where you can feel the pulling in your Spirit, just beckoning you to come away and be with Jesus? I feel it physically. I like to picture that there's something like a rope in my Spirit connected to His Spirit, and sometimes He tugs it - my deep responds by crying out to His. I felt the tug last night. I couldn't wait to just get away so that it could just be me and Him. I started playing some worship songs on my keyboard and singing out my own words out of the overflow of my heart. Music is something that almost immediately draws me into the presence of God and connects me to His heart very quickly. Some of the sweetest, most powerful times of worship I've had have been in the secret place: when I'm shut up in my room with my keyboard and I get to sing my own love songs straight to Jesus and hear Him sing over me. Last night was one of those times. The presence of God came so thick and Holy Spirit started stirring me to intercede. Here are some of the things I furiously scribbled afterwards; this is my heart:

Make us ready for Your coming. Make us holy, righteous, pure, and set apart. Make us ready. Raise up a generation who will be set apart and who will walk in purity and singleness of heart and mind! May there be no areas of compromise in our hearts! Burn away everything that is not of you. Refiner's Fire, come and purify the hearts of this generation. 

NO COMPROMISE, Father! 

Let us be a people of no compromise! May we only desire that which is righteous, pure, lovely and true. We need to be ready. Oh, would You make us ready. There's no time for slumber, there's no time for drunkenness, there's no time for half-hearted devotion. Oh church, get ready. 

WAKE UP! WAKE UP YOU SLEEPING GIANT! 

Sound the alarm, sound the alarm, sound the alarm for He is coming. Do you not know that He is coming soon? Do you not see? Do you not see Him coming down from heaven, coming for a Bride that's pure, spotless and white?Do you not hear? Do you not hear the sound of the trumpets, announcing the return of the Bridegroom? 

GET READY, CHURCH! GET READY! 

There won't be time when He comes for Him to wait while you scurry to get ready. There won't be time for you to get oil while the call to announce His coming has already been sounded. You need to be ready. Oh, make us ready for Your coming! Set us apart! No areas of compromise within our hearts. Holy and set apart. A generation after holiness; a generation after purity. You have to get ready. Sound the alarm! Wake up, Church!