*Farewell, old one. This girl's got new digs*

***

I'm insecure.

There.

I said it.

I did.

Because you know what? If I can name it and proclaim it then my cell begins to rattle and quake and my chains begin to let up a bit. And that feels good.

It will feel good for you too. Go ahead, stretch those arms and feel freedom.

I used to be too insecure to admit that I am insecure. Ha! I didn't want to be branded. I didn't want to be one of them. They act weird and look weird and they're annoying.

Aren't they?

Maybe, but aren't we all to some degree, no matter our condition? The fact of the matter is, us insecure folk come in a myriad of exotic shapes and fancy colors. I'm just one. And that girl I once knew that I always think of as being the poster child for insecurity, she's just another color too. Just another crazy shape. No better or worse than me, just different. You're different too. We're on variant levels with insecurities that lie in variant places, but we're all in this together. Our culture is converging it's little minions on every front and nurturing our feelings of self-doubt and it's about time we stand with our God and say enough is enough! He is mighty to save. He is able. Let us stand, seek Him, hear Him, and believe Him when He whispers His words of love to our hearts.



In the words of Beth, [I am on a] quest for real, lasting, soul-changing security. I'd be honored if you care to join me.

(Resources: Praying God's Word by Beth Moore; Victory Over the Darkness by Neil T. Anderson; So Long, Insecurity by Beth Moore)

***

it is no longer discretional. it is now requisite.

I will write.

Errrrrr. There they are again.

Oh excuse me, what? I'm sorry, I'm losing consciousness of your existence in my ever-loving TREE! Hmmmmm, what's that? You think I'm a fraud? Shallow? Ridiculous? Lowly? Simple? Yeah me too. But my crazy, lovely God doesn't agree. I'm bettin' on Him these days. He loves me and thinks I'm great.

So there.

You know I've always been a writer. Not a good writer necessarily, but a writer. At heart. There is so much technically wrong with my writing it's hideous, absurd that I would even begin to pursue this, give it my level best. But I am. Call me crazy, but this is what my crazy God is inviting me to do. May take years. But I'm in.

I could suppose and doubt and wallow all I want but it's silly. It's just silly. God is bigger than that, and I'm His.

So here it is.

Fierce Love.

No limits.

That's what I'm writing, and it's going to be great. Because it's His Word, not divulged from my own experiences or self-attained wisdom 'cause it's just not there. I'm an amateur and I'm sketchy and I'm underdeveloped. However, let us not overstate the obvious. It doesn't ALWAYS bear repeating over and over again. We're acutely aware of our my humanness. What I want to centralize on is God's greatness. HIS capacity. Because that's where all these so-called pipe dreams are going to derive from. So then I guess they're not pipe dreams after all. Nice.

Here I am, trying fiercely to cling to truth rather than earlier said caustic soul-battering slurs that often intrude upon my joy and trying instead to listen to Him. Because He's great and He's lovely and He's wonderful and I'm convinced He speaks nothing but the cold, hard facts. Which in His case are never that I guess, never cold, never hard. Always kind, sometimes reproving, but always love.

So on that note, how do you love fiercely? No limits, regardless of the who or the what that he or she did or didn't do. Regardless. Just regardless. How do you do it? And don't just say, 'by His grace and only by His grace' or 'by the blood' or other aforementioned Bible jargon that is so beautifully right on, but come on, tell me true. Whacha got? Give it to me scrate.

Maple Brown Sugar meets Crap.

Let's get one thing straight.

My life is not a relentless stream of episodes of charming baby doll play, patient games of Candy Land in a room filled with streams of warm sun, cozy cuddles with my small blond steed and sticky sweet longings to be an even better mother. Oh please.

Don't get me wrong, gosh, these moments exist, often even. But I also have days where I walk around my house thinking... I can't do this... and feeling demotivated with no initiative and desperate pleas of Oh heaven, I'm begging you to send some angels my way to be her panel for the next 5 hours until bedtime because I cannot answer one. more. question.

I hate writing this. I fear you don't know my heart fully enough and the degree of gut-wrenching love I have for my children, my love for motherhood. The truth is, I often feel lost, bleary, uninspired and otherwise distracted from the good life. That's the truth.

But alas I intentionally spill my can of crap to show that my life in indeed not always smothered in maple brown sugar and hopes of an even brighter day. It's sometimes something far uglier.

So there you have it. What you will find here is the depth of my heart, all of it, errrr, most of it. But hopefully it will be a candid, veracious balance of real life. Living day by day and not loving every minute. Just most. :)

FIERCE LOVE. No limits.

So this is my current compelling but shaking-in-my-boots-at-the-very-sound-of-it mantra. Fierce love. No limits. An act of the will. No matter what.

I can't do it. Not even close.

I am mesmerized and awe-struck at the love I've witnessed in others. Inspired even. I haven't had to love like this. Yet. I'm captivated and otherwise charmed by the love of a fellow Mama, Kate, who both suffered and embraced a level of love for her lost son that is equal parts heart-wrenching and beautiful. Or Gayle Haggard who chose to love her husband because of who he was, not what he did.

Love.
Without fear.
By choice.
Given freely without asking anything in return.
Does not lose heart.
Perseveres patiently and bravely.
Endures misfortunes and troubles.
Kind.
Does not envy.
Does not parade itself about.
Is not provoked, irritated, angered or exasperated.
Does not rejoice in injustice.
Endures all things.
Conceals the errors of others.
Protects.
Believes.
Hopes.
Never fails. Ever.

Nope, can't do it. I can't seem to love like this. Oh, I want to be loved like this, but I can't pay it back.

*May the Lord make you increase and overflow in love for one another. This love, agape, is love by choice, an act of the will; an unconditional love demonstrated by an undefeatable benevolence and unconquerable goodwill that always seeks the highest good of the other no matter what; a self-sacrificing love that is given freely without asking anything in return and without considering the worth of it's object. You do this so that God may establish and strengthen your hearts as blameless and holy before your God and Father.* 1 Thessalonians 3:12-13 (taken from several sources: 'In Pursuit of God's Heart' by R. Crawford, NIV, and Strong's Concordance)

So with God I'm decked out, geared up, stocked, feathered and endowed. He will increase my love for others. Terrential downpours of sticky sweet, undying, enduring-heaping-mountains-of-crap-with-not-the-least-bit-of-ill-will, patient, kind, long-lasting love all for me to dish out to my preferred list of love suckers, I mean, friends and family.

That sounded crass. Was that crass? Darn, meant to sound genuine, honestly.

I'm merely scratching the surface with my attempts at this ridiculous, crazy love that I know is being asked of me. My amazingly beautiful, majestic, gloriously gracious God is asking me to love like this. Because I think, with His unrelenting help, it's possible. Christine Marie Sweet, choose love even when it hurts. Even with it feels like a thorn, no, a machete in your side. Even when your spent, empty. Even when it's undeserved. Do it especially then.

O God, are you here? Are you listening? I need you for this so desperately. How I long to love my husband, children, everyone the way you endlessly love me. I'm at least armed. I'm at least presumably equipped. What am I saying, I'm totally equipped. Hmmm, now how do you use this blooming thing? Anyway, we'll see how it pans out. Stay tuned, or call my husband at 757-333-LOVE.

Hear O Israel and the like.

So this morning I was praying through a few scriptures for my hot man and kids and heard myself muttering Bible lingo like it was my job (phrase credit: K. McGrath). You know words like *behold* and *O God* and *beseech*. Hmmm, yeah, so I don't actually talk like that, so why do I talk to God like that? Can't you just hear me? *I beseech you therefore, O Brian, to live this moment worthy of your calling as 'Dada' and change this godforsaken diaper. Hear O Husband, I ask that you would not allow any negative thought to enter your mind concerning me, but instead be transformed into the likeness of our Lord, the Holy One of Israel.*

Never said it.

I don't know though, there's something about praying like that, using the very words of scripture when talking to our awesome God that just feels good to me. I have a lot of friends who have eighty-sixed this way of praying and adopted more modern jargon when talking to *JC* in an effort to be more feel-real or authentic. I get it, I so do, and I think it rocks. But for me, in a good way, there's something other-worldly about God, and so when I'm communicating with Him it just feels appropriate to sound like I'm from another planet too.

So on that note, this is my prayer for you. Today. This moment.

God I pray that each of my friends and family would acknowledge you, the God of their fathers, and serve you with whole-hearted devotion and with a willing mind, for you search their hearts and you understand every motive behind their thoughts. (1 Chronicles 28:9) May they be clear-minded and self-controlled so they can pray. (1 Peter 4:7) Prepare their minds for action, O God and may they set their hope fully on Christ Jesus. (1 Peter 1:13) Pour out your Spirit on them that they would be ever increasing in their knowledge of you and may they have the power to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ. May they know this love that surpasses knowledge that they may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. (Ephesians 3:18)

caustic soul madness and deflated balloons.

My heart is on the verge of something great, revolutionary even; To my soul anyway. I'm getting this sense, this feeling. Presumptively I believe it's "the Lord", soberly I believe it's something far more mortal. My resident guerrillas inevitably emerge to hose me with their caustic soul-battering slurs of *Fraud! Fraud! Fraud! You silly little girl with your deflated, subject-to-pooling-where-you-lie-stomach and your shallow mind, and your godforsaken well of so-called knowledge. You'll be found out, you will.*

*Darn.*

The truth is, I've learned to be amused by their banterings, their curses. They've become less consequential, less inducing. Indeed, I've happened upon the God who holds my breath in His hands and owns all my ways. He has captured me fully. I am now undeniably and irrevocably His; always have been. There's something about the written Word of God that just makes things better, simpler, more sound. Oh crap! Here they come. *Seriously, Christie? You've just now figured this out?*

*Silly Satan.*



So yeah, so my stomach looks, in part, like it belongs to an 80 year old. It's been inflated and deflated twice with two glorious, state-of-the-art kids to show for it and my knack for knowledge and wisdom and the like is puny at best. But so what? My Dad is God, ok?

what if I'm not interesting.

So does the fact that I ended a question with a period make me interesting? Or, oh, I've got it, the fact that it thrills my heart incessantly when I get to type in those security checks when you're buying something online or commenting on someone's blog and they read things like "Tuesday Lunatic" or "Panther Cheese". I love the freedom in writing two words together that are haphazard and fortuitous. Happiness.

I want to be like her when I get older.

Or I at least want the freedom to do what she's doing at some point on some random occasion. Like one minute I'm workin' some crossword puzzle in the Reader's Digest and the next I'm like, "Oh hells yes, I need my fuchsia pants NOW, and where are my Kristoff Maduros and my sneakers?" Sometimes you just need that. I guess.

I'm at least wearing Elf socks and flashing 4th of July earrings when the occasion is appropriate and I might not wait 'til I'm 65.

trees in winter.

Void. Grey. Dead, brittle wood stretches, climbs like ambitious businessmen from frozen dirt. Cold and sparse, dense and unorganized, life hibernating for endless miles, as far as the eye can see. Airy in it's entirety, dry, yet somehow still beautiful because I know what is within, what is to come.

I am filled with longing and hope.

Sometimes I see my heart this way. Not always, sometimes. I see my resident condition as this arid but frozen plot of ground. I know life and color are eminent yet elusive in my sense of hope. Maybe that is not hope at all. Maybe I'm kidding myself. Maybe it's all a mirage, simply a comforting idea like drinking Hot Chocolate while decorating your Christmas tree when in reality you stuffed yourself at dinner and tasted the cookie dough so much you feel nauseous and weighted. You still drink it though. As if not doing so would render the evening less memorable. I do this all the time.

So maybe if I didn't hope for freedom and a Savior, my life would mean less, have less significance. But then as assuredly as my doubt emerges, my so-called faith rises to meet my thoughts and mind, my heart. This doubting is ludicrous. Haven't I enough evidence, both physical and spiritual to anchor my wandering, unpredictable, freakishly inconsistent heart forever? Indeed I do.

But for today, I remain alien to this world of peace that supposedly transcends our understanding. I remain, for today, a skeptic, possibly a cynic even.

Oh God, if you hear the groanings of your people, hear me now. For I am a wandering child striving desperately to chart my path but observing only brittle tree after tree. Every one looking identical to the others before them, no way to possibly know where I'm going or certainly where I've been. No landmark. No map. I feel lost. Your Word even at times remains confusing, unfathomable. I long for a way out. Not sure if you can help, hoping beyond all hope that you are who you claim to be. Help me with my unbelief. I have resolved to go on, even to wander until I find You. Until You find me.