Thursday, January 28, 2016


Last night, after dinner, Daniel and I went on a date to Starbucks. Not a big fan of the bucks, but hey, I was getting out of the house and that was something worth celebrating. It was my first time in the car since coming home from the hospital a week ago. Thankfully it only took two minutes to get there. 

I was pretty embarrassed to go out in public considering the last time I showered was Thursday, I think. I smelled. Odor wise definitely, but I think my bad attitude stunk worse. 

Complaining hit me like a dark cloud last night. All I could see were the negative aspects of my situation, all the things I'm incapable of. Totally not fun to be around. 

It just felt good for a moment to have a bad attitude (which I'm ashamed to say), to let the turmoil going on on the inside out in the most unattractive way. In my opinion a complaining person is extremely unattractive. And there I was complaining like a pouty 2 year old, letting my frustration, anger, and annoyance fester, like an open wound. 

I didn't have to do that, but being thankful in that moment seemed like climbing Mount Everest with a broken knee, impossible. 

When times are hard being thankful really feels like a full time job, at least in the beginning. I think we can train ourselves to be thankful and eventually it becomes second nature, a beautiful habit we don't want to break. 

So there we were sitting at Starbucks with the tensions high, me in my wheelchair and Daniel sipping his chai latte. Daniel began to grill me with really hard questions. I really am thankful for a husband who will call out my crap and show me how far I've fallen, kindly remind me of the quality of woman that I am, then grab my hand and bring me back up the mountain of thankfulness, to my lovely perch where I sit as the queen of my household. Wives, moms, we really are the diffusers of our households. We affect more than we know. If there's junk going on in my heart, my family is going to feel that, be affected by that. It's a big job, one that takes loads of courage. I can either diffuse life, positivity, encouragement, and love or death, negativity, hopelessness, and frustration. 

Sitting in the drive way after our twenty minute Starbucks date (that's all I could last, pathetic, I know) Daniel said to me something along these lines: "None of us are enjoying this time of recovery from your injury. It sucks, we miss you. BUT you're living in a fantasy right now. You think that life will only get better when you're fully healed, and that's not going to be for a long time. We need to figure out a way to thrive, to make this our new normal and do life even with your injury. I know it's not fun, but you need to find a way to be thankful. Whatever it is you need to find a way to change your mindset." 

Ouch. Living in a fantasy? Right when the words came out of his mouth I knew that he was right. Immediately I was confronted, hit in the face, with all my selfishness. It was as if I was looking at myself in a mirror and watching all the moments I've complained since I broke my knee. It was gross, not fun to be with, lifeless, and super discouraging. I saw all the ways I've focussed on the things I can't do, instead of the things I can do. I may not be able to hold my daughters hand while she's learning to walk but she can sit on my lap and read a book with me.  I may not be able to sit on the floor with her and play Legos, but we can go for joy rides in my pimped out wheel chair. I can still go to the bathroom by myself (that's new on the list) and lay in bed with my husband talking about life until we both fall asleep. Those are most definitely  things to be thankful for. 

Help me God to be thankful. I feel stuck in the sin of dissatisfaction and ingratitude. Give me eyes to see what you're doing and the beauty in it all. Help me to work hard at having a good attitude, like a full time job, give me endurance to become excellent. I desire to be joyful during this time and be present for my family in the way that they need me. They need my pursuit and my love, my words of encouragement and appreciation. I need help taking my eyes off myself, always thinking about me, me, me. I want to serve in the ways I can. Help me to be real with my emotions but not take things out on others. Perfect me in your love and thank you for covering my imperfections, for there are many. Thank you for your grace that covers me. 

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

Broken Knee

This is going to be a long road of recovery.

Here's what happened. So I play in a co-ed adult soccer league. It was my 4th game. I didn't start, but subbed in about ten minutes into the game. The ball was down on our side of the field in scoring position. My teammate pushed past one defender but sent the ball further than he intended placing it directly between me and a tall, male defender. He obviously saw me coming to possibly shoot on goal, so I'm pretty sure his idea was to get the ball as far down field as he could. His foot hit the ball at the exact same moment as mine, his impact a lot stronger than mine.

I immediately fell on the ground screaming and writhing in pain. I started to panic and couldn't control my breathing, until I heard someone's voice telling me to take deep breaths and try to stay still. I had a few moments of clarity where I could hear my own thoughts as if I was saying them out loud, "you can do this, you've birthed a child" or "where's Daniel, I want to hold his hand". I remember hearing the club owners voice say "Kelly, what are you doing...". I responded to her in my head thinking "what the hell does it look like I'm doing, I'm dying, get me an ambulance." Crazy person.

Daniel and a couple others quickly carried me off the field where I tried to be tough and act like it didn't actually hurt, when really I wanted to cry and cry and cry. And I did, once I got in the car. The pain was excruciating. Every bump on the way to the ER was enough to make me want to use every curse word in the books. Somehow I managed to find light in it all and made jokes about anything I could find funny about the situation. Daniel was glad that even through the pain and frustration I didn't lose my sense of humor.

At the hospital the doctor confirmed that it was broken and that I could possibly need surgery.

So now here I am, immobile me, sitting on our upstairs couch while my daughter is downstairs eating breakfast and playing with toys. I so badly want to be on the floor with her playing Legos like I normally do, but unfortunately I can't move.

I really do want to have a good attitude about this. It's really hard. I know I have a choice to be a Debbie Downer or find the good in all this.

What can I learn? God what are you wanting to teach me? Yeah, this sucks, and I dont think for a second I'm wrong for saying that, but I know God can turn any crappy situation into good.

Just this morning I noticed that if I watch Zoe from a distance I learn new things about her. The way she interacts with her toys and grandparents gives me new perspective. I'm always so up close and personal with her, always holding her and in her bubble. Watching her from a distance is like being in a fascinating art class or an engaging psychology class, where the teachers know how to make the lessons come to life. Zoe breathes curiosity and wonder. She's hilarious. She knows how to get what she wants and often plays the system to get it, which makes me laugh and want to spank her tiny butt at the same time. I could watch her for hours. Life just makes sense when she's around. She makes all the worries in the world float out the window and reminds me to notice the simple things I would normally glance over. Like the delicacy of a flower and how you have to hold it with such gentle care or it will crumble in your fingertips. Or the way learning to walk is a beautiful process and you have to really trust the person holding your hands. She teaches me more about life than a lot of books ever could.

I'm thankful for my parents. They've dropped everything to serve my family. They are my family. Family means everything to me. It literally makes my world go around. Without them I don't know what I'd do.

Last night Daniel told me he was proud of me for seeing an obstacle, finding a solution, and overcoming. His words are precious to me. I hide them away in the treasure troves of my heart. They build confidence in me. I really do feel like I can do anything. Partly because I have an incredible husband who tells me I can, and mostly because my confidence is in God. The God of the impossible. My God who is with me every step of the way, or in my case every "wobble".

Yesterday morning I was reading Psalm 112 like I'd never read it before. It was profound and moving.

Psalm 112 is all about the qualities of God and the qualities of the righteous, those who worship and revere the lord. It's about the benefits we receive when we delight in obeying His commands.
It's about the legacy we leave behind when we honor God and live our lives unto him.

Verse 7 - "The righteous do not fear bad news; they confidently trust the lord to care for them."

I read the morning of my soccer game and as I read it I thought "Wow, I'd really like to be a woman like that, someone who doesn't fear bad news. I want to so deeply trust Gods goodness and faithfulness to take care of me in every situation."

Well, yesterday I received some pretty crappy news. Not funny. I was not thrilled to find out I broke my knee. My mind has felt like a battlefield from the moment the injury happened. I've felt discouraged, hopeful, hopeless, ashamed, frustrated, thankful, sad, and joyful all within the past 24 hours. Craziness.

I'm super bummed this happened to me but I'm ready to have my eyes opened to the beauty in times of trial. I know it's there and I know I will find it.

These moments really are priceless, getting to experience family at its fullest; a small army of people who gather for the same cause, in unity and in love. Fighting for one another, filling in for one another, praying and sacrificing, and caring for. Sacrificial, unconditional love is the most beautiful force I think I'll ever experience while I'm here on earth. That's Jesus in a nutshell. Love in its fullness. He is family. What a blessing.

I pray I NEVER take mine for granted. What would we do without these people God has over the top blessed us with? People who won't ever leave. There's something so safe about family. There's stability and safety even in the quirks and disfunction of humans trying their best to do life together. We were made for relationship. I think family is one of God's ways of satisfying our deep desire for friendship, for depth, and relationship. There's no greater love than one who would lay their life down for their friend.

I have that kind of love in my household. And for that I am thankful.

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

My Birth Story

My pregnancy was a beautiful time. Daniel and I had been married barely three months when we found out I was pregnant. Not planned, not prevented is what I tell people. Some people think we had a honeymoon baby, but they are mistaken. Zoe is a "day-after-the-honeymoon" baby. Glad I could clear that up. :)

My body changed slowly, but surely. In the first few months I often wondered if people thought I was just chubby or had eaten a really large meal. It wasn't until month six when my belly shot out. Yay, I finally looked pregnant! I LOVED being pregnant. Despite the morning sickness, tiredness, and the low sex drive (yup, I said it), pregnancy was a blast!  I found a deep love for naps and the couch became a good friend of mine. Red meat became a new staple in my diet, which was probably Daniel's favorite part about my pregnancy. (Once a week burger dates are still ongoing) Pregnancy changes your life on many levels.

Everyday I would ponder the gift of life and stored treasured revelation away in my heart. It was hard to believe there was a tiny human living inside of me. I was her comfort, her growing place, her home. We went everywhere together. I would sing to her, pray over her, and tell her stories. I longed to meet her and hold her in my arms. I dreamed of her face and her laugh. I felt like I knew her already. With every kick, I knew her spunk. With every somersault I could envision the years to come of adventurous bliss alongside my sweet girl. She would be my right-hand girl, my song bird, my friend. She would be everything I dreamed of and more. And she is.

Fast forward to the last trimester, I was 39 weeks pregnant and looking more and more like I swallowed a beach ball. My hips were achey and I was SO ready to not be pregnant anymore. I knew I would be giving birth on February 5th. God told me so. I questioned him at first, but then I remembered the countless times he has proven to be accurate when he speaks. He knew the exact moment our girl would take her first breath.

I went into early labor on February 5th. The sun wasn't up yet, but I was. Annoying, sharp pains woke me up every hour. Thankfully I was able to go back to sleep, getting the much needed rest for the hard work ahead. I thought I was having Braxton Hicks (pre-term contractions that prepare the uterus for labor), but in reality I was beginning the long process of labor.

I was ready. Well, as ready as I could be. The fridge was stocked with coconut water and peanut butter energy balls ( I had been going to the gym weekly to prepare my body. I prayed over my body and my baby girl everyday, asking God to free me from fear and give me a peaceful labor. Zoe had two parents that loved her, clothes, a bed,  and a bath. What more could a girl want? I prepared myself in the ways I knew how, but really only Jesus could prepare me for what was to come. My life was about to get turned upside down.

I woke Daniel up around 8 am and told him I thought I was in labor. The contractions were very mild, but still uncomfortable. I was able to go about my morning without thinking about them too much. Daniel decided to call his boss and take the day off work just in case things progressed. Daniel suggested taking a walk to take my mind off things and spend some time together.

Sitting at Starbucks the contractions came with greater intensity and frequency. I wanted to go home. I knew labor was advancing and I wanted to be in the comfort and familiarity of our house. As we ventured home I was having difficulty walking. We had to stop a few times so I could breath through the contractions and gain my composure again.

Arriving home, the contractions were even closer together. I could no longer focus on anything else but my body and remaining peaceful. Just to be sure I was in labor I asked God to give me a sign. I asked him to either allow my water to break or make my mucous plug come out, and about ten minutes later I lost my mucous plug. Daniel called our doula, updated her on my status, and she was on her way.

When Rebekah (my doula) arrived I was still doing pretty well. I was coherent and still in a relaxed mood. Rebekah informed me that labor would progress and come in waves. Each stage would bring more intensity, like climbing stairs. She encouraged me to eat something to boost my energy and walk around so labor would gain momentum. Daniel and I took a walk around our apartment building, but soon after leaving I needed to go back. Labor was progressing quickly.

Looking back, everything is a blur to me. Between the time Rebekah arrived and we left for the birth center I'm still confused about the order of events. I do remember the contractions building in intensity, but very slowly over time. Labor felt like it lasted a lifetime. I remember moving around a lot, trying different positions, crying, throwing up, and being afraid. I coped the best on all fours and found that swaying my hips back and forth helped ease the pain, a little. I didn't really know beforehand what I would be like during labor, but now I know that intense pain turns me inward. I spoke very little and focused all my attention and energy on getting through each contraction.

Daniel did an amazing job encouraging me and letting me know he was near. Rebekah would read scripture over me when the pain was too much to bear, and they both prayed me through my labor. I couldn't have done it without them by my side.

During my labor I had some of my favorite peaceful, inspirational music playing in the background. The words in the songs lifted me out of darkness in moments of fear. I was desperate for God's presence knowing that without him I wouldn't make it through another contraction. I felt weak and spent, but my body knew exactly what it was doing, even as it screamed defeat. In between contractions I would rest and open my mouth knowing Daniel would be there with a sip of water.

I never actually thought that I couldn't do it. I knew I was going to meet my little girl. The enemy tried to steal my hope, but he did not succeed. My trust was in the Lord. His peace was covering me. He was my strength when I felt weak and close to me every step of the way. I've never known his presence and strength in such a tangible way as I did then.

Just when I thought the pain couldn't get any worse, it increased. I couldn't handle it any more, letting Daniel know I was ready to leave for the birth center. I labored for close to 9 hours in our apartment before Rebekah made the final call that it was transition time. Pushing was on the horizon.

Looking back I find myself laughing at how dramatic I am when I'm exhausted. During one specific contraction Selena Gomez happened to pop up on my birth playlist. I still don't know how that got on there. I was in the zone and hearing some song about kissing boys totally ruined my groove. I think I actually got frustrated and reached for my phone to change the song. Atmosphere was everything.

Getting to the car was also a funny sight.  I forgot to put on a bra, didn't even care to slip on my shoes, and I left the house without Daniel and Rebekah. At this point I was in a bit of a panic and wasn't thinking logically. I was in survival mode. My goal: get to the car without dying. I was desperate to leave and dreading the walk to the elevator and through the garage to our car. The hallway looked as if it was three times in length. I had around four very painful, full-body contractions before making it to the car, and one more kneeling down on the cement by the passenger side. I cared nothing about how I looked or the absurd noises I was making. All I wanted was to see the familiar faces of the midwives who would help get my baby out.

The seven minute car ride to the birth center was the worst. I thought I was going to explode. Her head was coming out and I had to force myself not to push. We pulled into the parking lot and I ran (waddled) through the doors of the birth center.

It was business time. I don't even remember saying "hi" to the midwives or even acknowledging them. I walked in the door, got on the bed in a position I knew well, and continued to labor. I told the midwives I wanted to push and they gave me permission. I was fully dilated and very ready to birth my baby. They coached me through different pushing techniques and with each push I gained confidence that I was almost to the finish line.

Two hours of pushing later I wasn't feeling as confident. I was defeated. They told me they could see her head, but I didn't care. I think someone even reached my hand down to touch it, but it only grossed me out. I was exhausted and wanted it to be over. Daniel was by my side every moment and even then his presence didn't give me the strength I needed to press on. That strength would need to come from somewhere else.

In between contractions I cried out asking how much longer it would be until she was born. My midwife, Callie, gently but firmly assured me that it was up to me. If I pushed with vigor and courage she would come out faster.

I love a challenge. It was exactly what I needed to hear to bear down and push with all my might. I gritted my teeth, pulled my knee up to my chin, took a deep breath, and pushed. I sounded like I was dying, but the dramatic noises were working. I would hear muffled voices telling me that I was doing amazing and she was almost out. Her head felt stuck and the burning was beyond anything I can explain. I was covered in sweat and in disbelief that the insane burning sensation was actually my daughters head. I couldn't think about it or I would have passed out. I gave about four mamma grizzly pushes and she was born! Relief hit me like a ton of bricks. I did it!

I had my eyes closed most of my labor and when I finally opened them it was to see my daughter being placed on my chest. A flood of emotions overcame me. I was in complete shock. The moment didn't feel real. My tiny daughter looked up into my eyes and I was forever changed. Daniel and I looked at each other in amazement. It's beautiful what our eyes can reveal. We were proud parents. Labor was over and our daughter was permanently part of us.

Our daughter, Zoe Josephine Ma was born at 11:42 pm. She was nineteen inches long and weighed seven pounds, one ounce. She was positively perfect. We brought her home around 3am and slept like bears in hibernation.

Our daughter's name fits her quite well. Zoe means "life" and Josephine means "the Lord increases". She is ever increasing in life and joy! She really does light up a room with her smile and has contagious joy bursts at the seams.

I wouldn't change anything about my birth story. Becoming a mom is better than I expected and harder than I imagined. The love that I feel for Zoe is powerful. I think the hardest part about being a mom so far is being confronted with my own selfishness. Thankfully God is patient and willing to take me around the mountain time and time again, teaching me the same lessons.

I have been trying to think of a way to end this post, but I'm finding it hard to close a story that is still being written. So, there you have it. My birth story. Now everyone go give birth. It's fun.

Saturday, January 31, 2015


It's interesting how most good things in life are birthed from a place of heartache or pain. Often the most important lessons are learned in the furnace of anguish. Many times change doesn't take place until we are fed up with our current circumstances. When our hearts break for something it spurs us to take action. This is the way God built us. We were meant to DO things.

Martin Luther King Jr. saw an injustice and his heart ached to see change for his people. He took initiative and sacrificed his life for what he believed in: that all people are created equally. God saw His children bound by laws that kept them far from His presence and He longed for restored relationship. From the aching of His heart He sent Jesus to die for our sins so that we could be cleansed and stand righteously before Him.

All that being said, this morning I felt like a failure.

Growing up is hard. We are not handed all the glories of life on a silver platter.

I got married in April of last year and even owning simple responsibilities like cleaning the house and doing the dishes felt like having the weight of the world on my shoulders. I would burst into tears because I felt like making a meal plan for the week was such a difficult task.

You see, I've never really had a job. I've always been well taken care of. I've never really known what it's like to labor and receive the reward for hard work. So, when I got married and Daniel's mouth was my responsibility to feed, I was a bit overwhelmed. It's kind of funny that in a few days I will literally be going into labor and in the end I will receive the reward of my daughter. I get to walk out what I'm learning.

I've come to realize that life isn't going to be handed to me. We must become people who pour our blood, sweat, and tears into what we are passionate about.

Let's be real. We all have those moments where we look at our lives and see that we are lacking.

This morning my husband, Daniel, sat down at the kitchen table after a two hour phone call with his old buddy from YWAM. They spent their time catching up and sharing their dreams with one another. As Daniel shared with me about their conversation I thought:

"What am I doing with my life? I have all these dreams and ideas that I've done nothing with. I get stuck and don't know where to start."

Somehow we moved to the living room floor (where all good conversations take place) and my shame turned into big, teary eyes.

God made me a dreamer; a visionary. I couldn't stop dreaming even if I tried. I’m always full of big ideas. However, I have the hardest time pursuing them. Being practical and taking initiative doesn't come naturally to me. It's easy to dream and want someone else to get their hands dirty. And yet, I'm aware that not much will get accomplished with that attitude.

We all want things in life. We all have ideas in our heads of the people we want to become.

I want to be an adventurer; a woman with fierce passion for what's in front of me. I want to be a go-getter, zealous about all realms of life. I want to live outside the box and never be bored. I want to be a fearless risk taker and love people with no reservations. I want to follow God wherever He calls me and be an obedient, teachable disciple. I want to be a faithful, devoted wife who doesn't weigh my husband down but gives him wings to fly. I want to be an inspiring mother. I want my children to know Jesus and find their satisfaction in relationship with him.

I know who I want to become. Am I there yet? No, but I'm on my way.

Even though this morning felt like a defeat, I see that it was actually a great victory. My heart aches to please God and to be someone He can partner with to change the world. Like I said earlier: many great accomplishments in life are birthed from heartache. I have big dreams and they are not going to be achieved over night. All I can do is take baby steps.

After my whirlwind of emotions had subsided my dear husband asked me, "How do you feel now?"

My answer: “challenged”.

I’m challenged to woman-up and go after my dreams. I have no desire to float through this life. Somewhere deep inside of all of us we want to make a difference and be influential. I mean heck, it makes sense, we're made in the very image of God who is the greatest go-getter I know.

Will I make mistakes? Definitely. Will I fail and fall flat on my face? Probably. We will become successful in life when we can experience pain, discouragement and failure, tell God how we feel and allow Him to resurrect our hopes and dreams.

Here's a question for us: What if we weren't afraid of failing?

What if I actually took initiative on those weekly worship nights my heart has been aching for and sent out an email? What if I wasn't afraid of no one wanting to come?

Here's an even crazier idea: What if we didn’t judge success by the outcome, but rather considered the mere risk of moving forward with our dreams as success?

We aren't meant to feel stuck. Our dreams were never meant to be hung above our fireplaces as great ideas that maybe one day we will give some time to. Our dreams should never paralyze us but launch us into our purpose. We can always be taking those baby steps towards our goals.

God honors hard work. He is delighted with the person who stewards the gifts He’s given them. Whether we do something simple or extravagant, He is blessed by our endeavors.

As I have been challenged, I now challenge you. What are your dreams?

I dare you. Take one of those dreams, get off your butt and do something about it.

One of my passions is to encourage young women to pursue their dreams, grow in character, and find intimacy with Jesus.

My baby step today is starting to blog again. I have no idea what this is going to look like or who will read these, but I'm committed to posting something every week for the next six weeks. I pray God will use my journey and my revelations to draw you closer to Him and get you stoked for a life of adventure.

Sunday, September 28, 2014


I believe in you more today than yesterday, that's good enough for me.
Sometimes I feel crazy believing in a man I cannot see,
but I know you're real...
because you've met me in my pain many times.

I'm not good at perfect
never have been, never will be.
These feet have walked a selfish road,
I thought the sun rose just for me.
I'm beginning to see and finally grasp
that beyond my little world,
there's a billion people
looking to find their purpose
searching to find who they're meant to be.

These tear soaked eyes haven't seen the last of their crying.
You never said this life would be easy or void of pain,
but in the midst of the pounds of my fists,
the screams, the pleas,
the restless nights, the longest of fights,
you promise me yourself.

A promise of hope.

There really is someone who understands, who holds our hand.
There really is a man who sits beside us when we think we're alone,
and catches our tears in his hands.
There really is one who sees the darkest parts and doesn't condemn,
but steps down from his throne to join me in the dust,
the very dust he formed me from. 
He sees it all.
He comes to my level, grabs my face and says, 
"child, you're not a disgrace."
There really is a God who sings a love song over my lifeless soul.
He's someone I long to know. 

I'm done talking about you when I can talk to you.
I'm through saying all the right things, knowing all the right answers, 
wearing this mask that holds me back from being seen
by the one who sets me free.  
That's all I want to be; close to you and free.

Thursday, September 25, 2014

journal entry. [ambassadors of Christ]

Since Adam and Eve, this world has been rapidly declining in the areas of justice and righteousness.  For a people made in the image of God, we sure don't represent Him well.  We are called to live lives that resemble a God of Holiness.  Corruption will be present as long as this world is present.  As a follower of Jesus I am supposed to be influencing this world, not the other way around.  Influencing a 'world gone mad' is no easy job.  We must understand what we believe and why, so that in the face of persecution our feet are not moved.  We must be able to walk into darkness and not be overcome.  Our lights must be so radiant that darkness is expelled.  We must be seen and noticed by those who don't know Jesus yet.  We are ambassadors of Christ, sent out to represent Him to a dying world. 

Do we look like Jesus as the body of Christ?  Or do we look more like the hypocritical Pharisees? 

There is a time coming when God will shake all that needs to be shaken.  He will shake us to the very core and we will stand in the very fire of God.  His all-consuming fire.  What we believe will be put to the test.  If we are open to the pain and suffering of God melting away the impurities from our lives, literally being stripped of everything that does not please him, I believe we will stand as an unshakeable bride.  We will need seasons like this if we are real about bearing the name of Jesus.  He wants no phony followers.  He doesn't want to entertain those who seek only butterflies, good feelings and miracles.  He is desiring to turn around and see an army of faithful followers behind him, with faces set like stone, willing to die for Him and for the sake of seeing His Kingdom advance.  He wants to return and take His Bride with Him. 

The culture of this world creeps in like a plague on those who are unaware and unprepared.  We must understand the characteristics and qualities of our heavenly Kingdom to even think about battling against another.  For our fight is not against flesh and blood.  Things like comparison will begin to creep in and take root, unless we understand that in the Kingdom of God comparison doesn't belong.  It only leads to death and diminishes the very person God made us to be.  With the help of Jesus we will train ourselves to capture evil thoughts, submit them to the authority of Jesus, receive truth and change culture. 

This is our job:  to show the world there's a better way and to turn its culture upside-down by revealing one of righteousness and truth. 

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Heart Cries.

I will feast on your body
Drink deep of your blood

I will dwell within your Spirit
Until you and I are one