big.

Hey, You.

The one wondering if it's safe to dream anymore.

The one who has to swat discouragement away like a pesky fly.

I know those feelings so well. 

So I just want to lean in and whisper this hard truth. To all of us.

The riskiest thing we can do is not dream.

The only way to avoid making mistakes is not to do anything- and that's the biggest mistake of all.

The only way to avoid being hurt is to never love- and a life without love is the deepest wound a heart can have.

The things that help us feel safe are the same things that can put us at the greatest risk.

You are braver, stronger, and more capable than you know.

And the God you serve is big.

... and I mean really big.

Dream, friends.

Dream today. Dream tomorrow.

Dream until the day you die.

... and then discover that you've done something pretty radical and incredible and inspiring-

you've really lived. 

Dreaming with you,
Lyss

after all of that.

My life drips with the need to continuously bring myself under the control of the Holy Spirit.

That's why as, last week, my incredible little five year old friend threw a tantrum and I walked her out of the public place we were in, I understood. I understood that this was a simple battle of wills and control. She screamed and pulled, and I sat down across from her at a picnic bench outside. 

It was freezing. 

"I am more than happy to sit here all day until you are ready to calm down and we can talk." I told her. 

No good. No good at all. She was just crazy angry. I waited. She screamed. I waited some more. She screamed some more. Her anger and frustration had been spewed out in words and tears over the last twenty minutes, and I could see that she was beginning to become weary. 

"I'm just SO MAD!" She yelled and threw her hands up in the air. Her tears were angry, hurt even. 

I took a deep breath, and saw the little girl in her eyes. And I knew she was me. Not just at age five, but right now. She was me. When I throw my hands in the air and want my way, when I stomp and scream and cry angry tears.   

"You can kick and hit and scream at me all you want. But I will still be your babysitter. and I will still love you." 

 Something in her tiny body broke. 

"Really?" She asked. Her tears were turning from anger to relief. "After ALL of that, you'll still love me?" 

Yes.

Yes. 

And instantly I'm reminded of just how sweetly Jesus comes over to where I'm sitting, scoops me up, and carries me close, whispering, "After all of that, I will still love you. I will always love you." 

I will sit with you until you are calm. 

I will be here when you are out of control. 

I will be here when you are angry. 

... and I will always, always love you. 

Love, 

Jesus

I got up from my spot at the table, went over to where little love was sitting. I kissed her on the cheek, grabbed her hand, and we walked to the car. 

The ride was almost exclusively silent the whole way home, until she sighed a deep sigh, and whispered, "I love you, too. and I'm real sorry." 

The rest of the day was filled with hugs, naps, hot chocolate, and lullabies. 

Thankful today for children, picnic benches, and reminders of His unfailing, relentless love for me.

~Lyss