Saturday, August 24, 2013

Courage, trust, vulnerability, and shells.

Sitting still.

Lips sealed.

Mind racing.

You bring hermit crabs to the forefront of my mind.

I smile and remember.

I remember that when a larger shell is placed within their proximity that they will leave what is theirs for the upgrade.

I smile at the beautiful depiction of faith.

You are a Kind Giver.

You speak over my identity and call out courage from my character.

You beckon my trust, and have a long history to attest -- You are worthy to be trusted.

You ask me to leave that which is familiar, comfortable.

The walls that I have built.

That I am actively hiding behind.

You stir in me a curious spirit, one that is thirsty for adventure, and you call me.

You say "My beloved, trust and come."

You ask me to be a daughter that hears and obeys.

I want to be a child that willing leaves.

To willingly leave my darkness.

To be exposed to the light.

To be exposed for what I am.

Good, bad, beautiful, dirty.

To be vulnerable before You.

You remind me of {who} I am.

Chosen, purchased at a great price, redeemed by the love blood of Jesus, worthy.

To rest in the assurance that You are calling me out of the darkness, out of complacency, out of my self, and inviting me to live a larger adventure with You.

Reminding me that the journey will bankrupt me on myself, and acquaint me with The Way of Jesus.

Whispering to me softly of the goodness the awaits in the upgrade.

Fullness and life {with} You.

To be with You.

The decision is before me.

I hold my breathe and fight back fear.

May I {always} choose courage.

May I {trust} you with my fear.

May I {expose} my heart and faith to Your light.

May I love you more than the upgrade you are calling me to.

Xo, kel

Saturday, June 15, 2013


Holding your hands.

Letting unabated tears roll off of cheeks your cheeks and mine.

Fighting the urge to dry them and cheapen them as weakness.

Allowing tears to represent the same tenderness that beckoned them.

I work in an Intensive Care Unit.
On a weekly basis, I suffer from compassion fatigue.
On a monthly basis I am gifted with few human connections that remind me why I do, what I do.

Our eyes meet and yours are searching.

Looking for answers, craving for hope, pleading for a miracle.

Overwhelmed with a grim prognosis.

I have no words.

You can see in my eyes that I am bankrupt for answers.

You squeeze my hands tighter.

And The Spirit intervenes.

Filling me with His compassion and truth.

I am reminded that we have already received our miracle.

Our miracle came 2,000 years ago in the form of Jesus.

He came and died that we might be free.

He has reserved for us a seat at The Father's table.

And died so that we might live and live eternally.

We are here, begging for healing and a happy ending.

But in Your kindness, You foresaw our needs, and met them in Jesus.

Our desperation redirects its focus.

Together now, we ask that the Shalom of Jesus bask the lives of the loved ones.

Those who are left behind.

We ask for strength to move on.

Restoration for the empty places that are void of loved ones.

Courage to say {and mean} Your will be done.

You are a kind Father, my heart is well acquainted with Your faithfulness.



*Updates to come. It feels like an eternity since I've been on here.