Remarkable and Matchless.

Each one of us is a remarkable, matchless miracle of God's grace. 

I don't always live from that truth. More often I behave as though Jesus puts up with me because He made me and now He's stuck with me. 

Intellectually, I know this is a lie. It's false. It's wrong. But sometimes, my heart gets in the way of what my head knows to be true. Somewhere deep (or maybe not so deep) inside my heart, lies nag and gnaw and strain. They threaten and battle with the security, the love, the power that I know to be true. I find it creeping into my prayers, my thoughts. I find it creeping into how I love. 

It's such a process. This untangling of lies that has taken up residence in my heart, my friendships, my relationship with my Creator. The One who fully knows me. 

I passionately, deeply love my God. and I have an overwhelming love for people. 

... but I struggle. I still struggle. 

God knows me. He has always known me. 

He formed me.

Every single piece of who I am and how I am is intimately known. 

Every single piece of who you are and how you are is intimately known. 

I wonder why He chose me. All the time. I don't understand it. I don't get it. 

I don't know the answer to why. But I remember the choosing, the choice He made. He knows all of who I was. He knows all of who I am, and all of who I am yet to be. As I remember these things, the lies get untangled a bit more. and my heart beats a bit more freely. 

Today, I am praying for my heart. and my people's hearts as well. That our hearts would beat wild and free, full of the extraordinary knowledge that we have been chosen by the One who knew us before, knows us now, and will know us when. 

Rest, friends. Rest, Alyssa. You are not just chosen. We are not just chosen. 

We are loved. Deeply. Intimately. Fully. 

Exactly as we are. 

Remarkable. Matchless. 

Hugs, 

Lyss

Because I was her.

I've been wanting to write about this for a while, but didn't quite know how to express my thoughts.
But today, I'm going to try.

Several Sundays ago, I went to evening church just like usual. I sat in the same general area I always sit, friends by my side. I was worshipping. Halfway through, there is a girl by my side. Maybe fifteen or sixteen. Her shoulder pressing into mine, not singing, eyes closed.

Later she explained quickly before going to her seat that she needed to feel God and thought if she could just stand close to me, she might be able to feel Him.

It was one of those moments where I couldn't carefully plan out what I was going to say or do. I had never experienced anything like this before. I'd never seen it happen. I'd never heard of it happening. It wasn't even on my scope of possibility. But there she was. There I was. Two girls who simply, desperately need Jesus.

I am hyper aware of my own need for Jesus. and it is because of this reason, that I simply wrapped my arm around her and continued to sing.

It was a wrinkle in time. Two songs played, and before I knew it, she was back in the vast crowd of people and I didn't see her again.

I didn't quite understand it at first. Couldn't quite comprehend what had happened. and why it had happened. But now I think I know why.

I was so sweetly reminded of that ravenous (I love that word) longing I once had to press against someone, anyone, who deeply knew Jesus.

I was her.

Looking at other people's faith and begging to have that. wondering how I could get it. I wanted depth. I needed closeness. I was jealous of the unswerving conviction.

I thought that maybe if one of those people with that amazing faith would just let me close enough, they'd let me in on their secret. I'd learn the routine. I'd mimic the obedience. I'd just follow them until I got it right. If I could just have that, then I'd feel close to Jesus. I'd understand His Word. I would pray really powerful prayers.

It would all finally make sense.

But this is what I've come to know: there is a big difference between closeness with people who love Jesus and closeness with Jesus Himself.

I absolutely love people. and I learn from people every single day.
"He who walks with the wise, grows wise." Proverbs 13:20.

But if I am yearning after closeness with Jesus, I won't find that by following anyone but Jesus Himself.

There have been countless whispers from the deepest corners of my heart, "Jesus, show me. Show me how to live life with You. Show me how to follow You. Show me how to be close to You, press into You, be more like You. Jesus, just show me. Show me today. Right now. Please, Jesus. Show me."

Countless whispers. and surely there will be a thousand more. Because following Jesus will never fit neatly into a formula.

Yes, He is found in churches. No doubt. But He's not just in church.

Jesus lives and breathes through every part of my day, every day. He's in my favorite song that comes on the radio and He's in the wild laughter among friends. He's in the bedtime snuggles, the morning hikes, and the afternoon nap.

I find Jesus when I quietly whisper my immense gratitude and choose to see the blessing woven though each step, each memory, each season.

So, to the sweet girl who came and stood next to me, here's what I want you to know:

If you seek Him, you will find Him.

He promises us that.

He loves you,
Lyss

Love.

I've done some seriously stupid things.

I've been misunderstood. 

I've felt the weight of unresolved conflict. 

I've felt the searing pain of heartache. 

I've wrestled and wondered and worried. 

I'm willing to bet that you've experienced all of these, too. and many more like them.

But today, and every day really, I'm so grateful for the people that have walked with me and surrounded me with encouragement, truth, and love. The presence of Love is powerful.

Love heals. It restores. It lifts my spirit and encourages my soul. It gives me feet when I can't stand, and perspective when I'm certain that I've gone crazy.

Love.

I'm grateful this morning for that powerful gift of love when I least deserve it. When I've done something foolish or ugly or impulsive and I can't seem to shake it out of my system, and Love comes anyway. It's like a rainstorm of grace washing all the muck of shame clean off of me.

It's gloriously freeing.

I have this deep desire for people to know they are loved. I know I cannot possibly love without blemish, but I really want to love well.

It's not mushy. It's not wimpy. It's not easy.

Love is challenging. It's gracious. It's brave. 


... and it's what I'm called to.


You are loved,
Lyss

"By this all men will know you are My disciples, if you have love for one another." John 13:35.

radical grace.

I wish I could adequately put into words what the past few weeks have been like for me. They have been some of the most beautiful, refreshing weeks of my life. I'm not kidding.

Story after story, circumstance after circumstance, conversation after conversation... they just abound in God's faithfulness. His love. His grace.

Grace.

I've been thinking SO much about this word lately. Trying to figure out what this looks like. Grace for others, but also grace for myself.

And do you want to know the truth?

I don't practice what I preach.

Sure, I most certainly read the blog posts. I skim the articles. I pour over Scripture. I take in the words of truth and I breathe them deeply.

They speak of this thing, this radical grace. Grace for the murderer. Grace for the rapist, the corrupt world leader, the adulterer.

Who am I, if not a girl so completely covered in grace myself? Who am I, if not clean only (and I mean ONLY) because of Jesus?

I believe in Grace.

I've seen it.

I've felt it.

I've experienced it.

I've given it.

The abundant outpouring of undeserved worth. undeserved merit.

I speak words in voice and print of love- true, unconditional, perfect love- and how fast its power.

I deeply believe in love. and in grace.

But do you want to know the truth?

When I think about the fact that my birth father abandoned me and I once again feel the intensity of him choosing his own happiness over all else, all I want to do is make an imaginary phone call, after 20 years of silence, and lay into him about his selfishness. I don't usually do it. But sometimes I do.

When the story is told again- the story weaved with lies and accusations and tied together with familiar names, including my own- all I want to do is protect and defend and and run hither and yon protecting that name. I typically stay quiet, seething only to myself. But sometimes I don't.

When I sit across the coffee table from a friend and hear about the way men have treated her, how she's been hurt, how she's been used, all I really want to do is find those boys, slap them in the face a time or two, and make sure to send my dad right behind me with his own set of muscles. I don't actually do either, but I sure do want to.

When I hear that person encouraging spiritual bondage and calling it Jesus' way, taking God's very nature and heart in vain- my eyes turn red and every cell in my body seems to revolt. All I want to do is shout an alternate message from every rooftop through the voice of my own anger and hurt, shouting unheard truth into bleeding ears. I don't always. But I usually do.

I wonder sometimes. I wonder about the family of ones who were murdered. I wonder about the innocent victims of those rapists. I wonder about the children of the corrupt world leaders, and the wife who found another woman in her marriage bed. I wonder about them.

What does grace look like in their lives?

What about the ones who deal with the pain and scars of those acts every single day?

How do they view our declarations of radical grace toward the ones who tore apart their lives, when we can't even give the grumpy sales clerk or the awful driver a break?

How much undeserved grace to they give? How much do I give?

Where is that frayed line between personal boundaries and God's supernatural ability to love through flawed, imperfect people?

I don't think I'll ever know the answer to this while I'm still here on earth. But I would love to sit down and talk to Jesus about this in Heaven one day.

What does grace look like, God?

I can't tell you what it looks like, friends.

But I believe in it.

I believe in Grace.

I believe in radical Grace.

Love and grace to you,
Lyss