magic for majesty

We put the car in drive and found ourselves meandering through the streets, searching for the lights that used to enrapture us as kids. Pleading with the streets to open up to the bright lights. Was it the test of time and a lack of lights or had the magic dissipated with our age we wondered? The lights were less, our tree is leaning, decorations cost more than our paychecks and we wrapped our gifts in newspaper, why has our age robbed us of the magic of Christmas? 

Have our hearts grown too cynical? Have our weary souls closed eyes because we have seen too much? The broken pieces of this world seem so much louder, my heart requiring a gentleness I never needed before longs for the simplicity of my childhood, the joy I once encountered. 

In an attempt to bring back the joy, I bought Ann Voskamp's The Greatest Gift. An advent devotional like no other. She begins with Adam and Eve, taking us through the joy of the gift of life, to the heartbreak of the first sin, to the new start with Noah and the faith of Abraham and the brokenness through it all. 

I appreciate the book, because she is not demanding that I find the magic in Christmas, she gently uncovers my wounds and my hesitations and invites Jesus in. 

Ruth is one of the two women mentioned in the lineage of Jesus, both not of Hebrew descent. Rahab, a prostitute, put her faith in the God of the Hebrews. She did not know the rituals she needed to follow, she had not sacrificed a lamb for her sins and she did not know what it would take to follow the Lord, but she put her life on the line for the Hebrew spies and declared the truth she had seen and taken faith in and she asked them to save her life. This choice was not one of fear for her life, it was one in faith and fear for the powerful God that she longed to know. This was Boaz's mother. The one who would be the Kinsmen Redeemer of Ruth. 

Ruth married a Hebrew who had fled to her land because of famine. When her husband died, she was left with her mother in law. She told Naomi she would return with her. And she did. In faith, she like Abraham, walked away from her family to make Yahweh her God. And in her faith, married into the family line of Jesus.

"There are no brazen miracles to be seen in the entire book of Ruth. No angels appear stage left, no visions shatter the night, no heavenly hosts are overhead." - Ann Voskamp

But the storylines of these two women are miraculous because of their inexplicable faith. Faith in a miraculous God without seeing miracles. Faith in God without knowing or understanding all of the details. Faith in God without having a theology set. Faith in God with an abandon to their life and a desire to know him. Much can we learn from these women. 

They came to know God not because of their theology, or knowledge, or miracles and signs and wonders, they came to God out of pure faith. And God rewarded them for this, a reward they would never know this side of heaven. How marvelous. 

Christmas is an invitation, not to magic, but to majesty. I am learning the bright lights may not shine as brightly and the world will never feel as light. But when I turn my eyes away from temporary things and am filled in eternal, I will see the majesty. Christmas is an invitation to know Him. Not to better my theology of what it means for God to come to man, but to rest in the truth that God came to man and it was for the simple fact that his heart is for us.

Like Ruth and Rahab, I may not see the miracles in daily life.

But Oh Lord,

that I would have eyes to see your majesty. 

I'm not asking for the magic, I'm asking for your majesty.

I'm not asking for Christmas spirit, I'm asking for the gentle joy that sits in my heart during the darkest of days. 

I want You this Christmas, not the lights, or the gifts, I want You.

Come majestic Lord, come. 

and if not, He is still good.

 And if not, He is still good.



Six months ago, I made this my phone background. I wanted to believe this truth with all my heart. I was pleading with my heart to believe it, looking at my Savior and believing in his perfect goodness. But my eyes kept wavering, I couldn’t help but see the evidence and hear the screaming doubt from my mind.


So I made it my phone background. And every day I unlock my phone and I look at that blissful, peaceful, unrelenting truth and I preach to my heart that it is still true.

Because every day I kept waking up to this fiery furnace of reality and I looked at the flames and said: “My GOD will deliver me from these flames but if not He is still good.”
And the hope is not in the circumstance as those words slip like water over my heart, it is in this God I come to know even more as I put my trust in him.
Because each time I read those words fear loses his power. Each time I let them cycle on repeat around my heart, it becomes a pleading prayer.


I dwell on the “if not.” But God, what if you don’t? What if this fire gets bigger and the flames scorch my skin? What if these wounds that have not yet healed get burned again? What if it is not true? How will I know you are still good?



“He is still good.” What if He is still good? What if I look past the fear and the pain and I see Him. What if everything else fades away because His goodness washes over the bleeding places of me and He reminds me of His promises.



These two conflicting statements are daggers to my heart. One that evokes fear, one that preaches truth. Together, they bring peace. Because it does not matter what is taking place or who is on the line, the only peace is that He is still good. The only peace is that He gives value to those things and those places.



Oh for a heart like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego as they stared into the flames of a fiery furnace,

"King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty's hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up."



They believed and knew that our God was able to deliver them from that place

“King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. 17 If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us[c] from Your Majesty’s hand. 18 But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.”


They believed and knew that our God was able to deliver them from that place of pain and death. They had unconditional faith and belief that He would deliver them from the fire. But even if He didn't, they would not bow.

Even if He does not deliver me from this place, even if the flames continue, even if things do not make sense, I will choose to continue to praise Him. I will continue to look to my God, not turning to fear or other things because I believe in His steadfast, eternal goodness.

My God is able to deliver me from this, but if He chooses not to, He still has my surrender, He still has my heart. 

filled with hope

not only that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us

we rejoice in our sufferings.
I watched my world burn. I watch fire burn those I love. I have let control slip through my desperate fingers, surrendering to the suffering that ravages my soul. The fires started small and I did everything I could to extinguish them. But they kept getting bigger and pouring water on their source only seemed to cause them to grow bigger. Was I more wrecked by their power or my inability to stop it?
I see the ruins. Sometimes still smoking, sometimes still burning me when I touch them, hoping to find hope still intact. I see them and my heart sinks because the heaviness is unbearable. The brokenness of my soul barren, the holes in my heart visible.

in this we rejoice.

how contradictory to my nature. it is not "we ignore our sufferings and we rejoice." It is "we rejoice in our sufferings. In the rubble. In the pain. In the fire. We rejoice.

knowing that suffering produces endurance

this is not endurance in my ability to withstand the pain.
this is the creation of my very faith. this is the truth that surpasses my suffering.
this is the rest in who my God is.

we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.
Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God.

not only that,
we rejoice in our sufferings.

my suffering seems everpresent, all-encompassing, the center of the table.
my prayers revolve around suffering.
my life encircles around this thing I have deemed most important.

we rejoice because of who Christ is.
who am I? justified by faith, in peace with God, a rejoicer because I rest in grace
who is he? the justifier, the giver of grace and access, the glorious God who gave Jesus Christ

we rejoice in our sufferings
this rejoicing is not a smile plastered on my face declaring my happiness from the rooftops.
no, this joy is the deep peace in my heart that reminds me of who Christ is. this joy is because of the river of grace that keeps replenishing my burned and ruined soul. it is the rest in my soul, not the smile on my face.

suffering produces endurance
it reminds me who He is, a continual faith and trust that God is who He says He is.
the daily lifting of my head, the act of putting one foot in front of another, knowing it is Him I continue to live for.

endurance produces character
as I rest in this hope, in this truth, he creates me. I am the clay and he molds me into his own.

character produces hope

and hope does not put us to shame because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. 

I have hope because my sufferings are not everything. this is not the end. the endurance that seems to be the end of me, the tiredness in my feet that comes from moving forward, the heaviness of my heart opening myself up to hope. This hope will not put me to shame because God keeps pouring his Spirit into my heart, he keeps pouring his love into me and for that reason, I am filled with hope.

doubt becomes wonder (in romania)

the doubt had become as constant as my heartbeat
it pulsed like the blood in my veins
i was blindsided by the depths of these questions
shaking to my core
because it wasn't hypotheticals anymore
this was about a living, breathing person.

and with my doubt came this fear
he was as wild as a lion
crippling me to be as timid as a lamb.

God said go.
He was kicking me out of the country.
Suddenly, I knew how terrifying it was for Abraham to leave everything.
how could he leave his family?
his friends?
his safety?

this surely was the most absurd thing i had done.
leave the country when everything was falling apart?
they told me to trust God
to believe what he said when he claimed his goodness
suddenly i was David,
distressed and broken and demanding God of where he had been.
but just like David, i knew it to the core of my being.
he is so good.
he is so kind.

i have never known doubt like this
i begin to wonder if this doubt is robbing me of my faith
or if it is very thing that is creating a deep communion with my God

is this doubt turning me into a jaded Christian
or is it allowing me to be shaped, pressed and molded by my Father?

Audrey Assad, a Christian songwriter, who I believe is a pillar in modern-day faith. She is unafraid in writing her honest, painful lyrics. She is unafraid in sharing with a strict community how her faith has fallen, yet grown. Been destroyed, yet made new. In her recent album, she has a song called evergreen. the lyrics have been haunting me.

Out past the fear,
doubt becomes wonder,
rivers appear,
and I'm going under.

just beyond the fear is faith.
when my fear is so deep,
it becomes faith.
my doubt becomes wonder.

because in this deep place of uncertainty,
the terrible darkness that comes with being lost at night,
my fear that he will not save me,
my doubt that he is not there,
becomes wonder because he comes.

like the ocean that changes so quickly,
one moment my shore is covered in grace
and the next I'm lying bare before the sun.
one moment i'm proclaiming it from the rooftops,
and the next I am John the Baptist in the prison cell sending word to Jesus,
"are you really who you say you are?"
this doubt has pushed me deep into the embrace of my Savior
I have journeyed a road I did not ask for
I questioned his kindness,
again,
I doubted his love,
again,
 but he remained who he said he was


I left the country about a month ago. I didn't understand how leaving was the best thing, but I was obedient to the call. I went to the beautiful country of Romania where he reminded me of his goodness. He gently whispered promises of his faithfulness. He told me he did not need me, instead, he wanted me. The people of Romania demonstrated this truth to me. I was helping in a VBS and I didn't know the language and oftentimes, I felt more of a hindrance than a help. The Romanians constantly had to translate for me, but they chose to make me feel wanted and accepted. They knew they could function without me, but they made a place for me to belong. They reminded me that trusting God was about the process and I didn't have to have it all figured out. They showed me that missions is exactly what I'm doing at home. It happens naturally and intentionally. it is a demonstration of who Christ is and living that out practically and faithfully. Romania was a safe place for me and for that I am grateful. It was different than every other trip I have taken. I observed and learned a lot. My heart was given space to breathe and my mind a place to wrestle through my doubt and confusion, to find safety in where I was at in the process, to connect with Jesus. I don't have any wild and exciting ministry stories, I don't have any particular stories that changed my life, but I did witness faithful missionaries loving the people they are called to. They reminded me who I want to be and gave me a glimpse into the future I might hold.
Thank you to those who supported me in this journey, for those who threatened to drag me to the airport, for those who prayed for me and ultimately to Becca and Lucian who I stayed with and made it a remarkable experience for me.

Thank you, Romania.

honest confessions of a jaded christian

an earthquake had started.

this was the first time, in my life of commonplace earthquakes, that I let my heart quake. 

I let my heart fall into the broken earth

I allowed my feet to walk through the destruction. 

I let my faith falter. 

and once this earthquake began, it refused to stop. 

everything I once knew to be true had fallen on the ground.

Theologies, beliefs, values, and goals.

I could barely lift my eyes to see if they would break or if they would remain intact.

I closed my eyes and for the first time, 

with honest conviction,

I raged at God for allowing my earth to quake.

I gazed at the rubble and tears pooled like rivers on this ground. 

This time he would have to have a reason.

This time he would have to give me answers. 

when the earth first shook, I didn't dare look at the ruins. 

Instead, I built alters around them and claimed that God made it good.

It didn't matter that there were pieces of my bleeding heart underneath those poorly constructed alters trying to mask my ruins, because God made it good.

this time, I couldn't take my eyes off of the ruins. 

So angry, the words wouldn't come from my mouth.

So hurt, I couldn't bear to look at the one who allowed it. again and again and again.

I took down the alters and I picked up the pieces of my heart, still bruised, still bleeding, and I lifted them heavenward.

I pleaded this time. Oh Father, why? 

Why again would you allow this to happen?

His answer came, soft and gentle, but not immediately.

it was not until my pain came to a head, the fear bubbled over my nearly drowned heart, and he gently pushed me, far out of my comfort zone of control, across seas of details and safety nets.

He whispered I've got this one. 

I trusted and he reconnected my heart.

I looked again to him and he reintroduced myself to me.

I cried to him and he answered. 

The answer came from months of confusion.

From sleepless nights and broken hearts.

From late night conversations that spoke both truth and fears.

The answer came how I least expected it. 

The answer was not healing and it was not logic and sense.

No, the answer was Jesus. Because it didn't matter how long the pain lasted

or the night pressed in.

It didn't matter if the very sun quit shining and the grass stopped growing.

It didn't matter if this sadness in me continued to sink me like a stone

or this earth refused to stop shaking.

It didn't matter because there was Jesus. 

And he was standing on the water and He was asking me if I would follow Him.

His worth shone like gold in that moment.

Because yes, I would follow him. 

Yes, I would give him my everything.

Even if everything I knew to be true was taken away,

I would follow him.

But the answer of Jesus brings healing.

His name brings order to my chaos.

Peace to my storm.

Calm to my earthquake.

The answer was that 

if not, 

He is still good.

The response is

my life completely dedicated to him.

my world continues to shake,

my heart continues to open the door to fear

and dance with doubt

but how I long to keep my eyes fixed on Jesus

how I wait for the day when my confession matches my steps

and my heart is still despite the waves

until then, 

Jesus, 

I believe,

help my unbelief. 

unreachable hope

It was the kind that lingered. The kind of sunset that stayed longer than it was supposed to, miraculous almost. It faded, brighter and brighter as the sky got darker and darker. Florescent hues of pink fading into purples, slowly into blue.
As our laughter danced with the cool Spring breeze, I guarded mine. I didn't know if it would last, this bliss, this peace.
the sunset spoke volumes to my soul. I wanted so much for this Spring to come. I have been waiting. Longing for something to change. praying for a lot of things and a lot of people.
but the cold kept on. frigid air kept wrapping itself around my heart. constricting my breathing, anxiety winning.
because the what ifs kept swirling.
and swirling.
The tornado had formed with all of my questions, my fears.
it was an unstoppable force.
the thoughts were racing and icantstopthem. my mind is going anditneverquitestops.
doesn't He know that I desperately need answers?
doesn't He know that if this waiting lasts forever, I might let go?
He said that He knows, but my circumstances do not always reflect what I believe of goodness.


but there were moments. like this. on this rock. where for just a moment everything stopped. it was peaceful and we were talking about roller coasters and summertime. we remembered the joys of last summer and the times we got lost, and the times we hiked beyond our capacity.
these moments when peace settled into the most anxious parts of my soul. giving me hope that maybe those places wouldn't stay anxious forever.

the sunset, usually a farewell to the day, was instead a reminder that there were more to come, that the sun will rise.
the sunset, a kiss goodnight to a world ready to slumber, strokes back the darkness and whispers rest.
the sunset, this one, promised more long summer nights.
the sunset was a reminder that hope is a choice.
even if it is raining. even if there are clouds. even when the sunset is cloudless and not as beautiful as you hoped because the summer day was sticky and hot and there was no air conditioning to relieve you.

 hope is a choice. a choice to believe in something greater. a choice to believe that pain does not last forever. a choice to get up out of your misery. It doesn't even require you to look up at the sun, but instead, look at the one who has crawled in next to you in your pit, to look at the one who knows the way out and believe them when they say the sun is still shining. hope is a choice to take their hand and cling tightly. hope is a choice to follow them, even when you don't want to get out of bed, even when your heart aches, even when you don't want to wake up ever again. hope is choosing life in a valley of dry bones.

this sunset was hope to the unstoppable tornado in my heart. It was a reminder that tornados end, but sunsets will always be faithful.

He knows I need answers. He knows I seek control. But He also holds tightly to me and He knows that I hold His goodness close.

so even when the clouds are real, even when my heart is chaos, even then, I will wait, I will pray, and I will cling to unreachable hope. 

Easter for the broken

Oh heart, how could you not remember?

Oh heart, you've been all tangled up, all caught in a whirlwind of sorrow, trapped in a cavern of anxiety.

One day, its the pit of depression. The next, its a deep fear of the future.

Oh heart, where has your hope gone? All you can see is the storm in your view. The sun has not made an appearance for days, the sky has let loose a torrent of rain. And the winter, his hold is so tight. The battle between winter and spring is a discouraging endeavor. The flowers keep pushing, but the forecast keeps promising snow. Will it end?

Oh heart, where have you been? You were once so alive. You once beat with joy, and now you beat because of mere command by the brain. Your breaths were long and sweet, now short and gasping.

Oh heart, do not lose heart.

Sometimes, I forget about the moving power of the resurrection. Sometimes, my heart filled with discouragement wins. But I must remember. I must remember hope. I must remember his sacrifice.

2000 years ago, Jesus Christ saw my heart. He saw it drowning in the fear, he saw it bound by the sin, he saw it trapped by the sorrow. Before the foundation of time, my heart was in his hand. He knew my sin would disconnect me from him. He knew that this fallen world would write tragedy into my story, and he put a seal on my heart, long ago, and whispered of a coming redemption.

He came to the earth. And we know the story because we are the saved. We are the saved who feel broken, the redeemed who feel wrecked, the chosen who are tired. We know the story like the back of our hand, but the storm is all we see.

We cannot let the story lose its power.
He came to the earth, he lived his life, he healed the sick, he gave sight to the blind, he rose the dead. He was Jesus, God incarnate. The beauty is much deeper than the stories know and buried deeper behind the words. He had friends whom he laughed with, deep belly laughs that had him rolling on the floor. He had the ones he cried with, for the tragedies that took place. He had a mom who held him, and a dad who taught him. Can you only imagine? Those whose memories of Jesus were among their treasures.

And in the midst of this life, your broken heart was still precedent. The story that we are familiar with happened. Jesus went to the cross, betrayed and rejected by his friends. He forgave those who did not understand what they did, he loved from the cross. He breathed his last, the sky went dark, and for three hellish days, Jesus laid lifeless in the tomb. And the beauty of Easter is that he rose again, burying sin once and for all.

And it is the story that is supposed to comfort us, the sacrifice that is supposed to heal us.

But the storm still swirls, the tragedies still come, the memories still haunt. And it is not as if we aren't grateful for his sacrifice. We're just lost and drowning.

The truth is that in the midst of our storm, his sacrifice is enough. Jesus is enough. He came for you. He said that your life was worth his love and his sacrifice. Sometimes, 2000 years ago seems like too much time. Sometimes, we cannot feel his hand in ours and we start to lose our grip. Is it possible that we cannot feel his hand because we have gripped so hard we have lost our feeling? Sometimes, we look around and we do not see Him. Could it be that it is because he is just outside of our view, working a miracle?

The truth is that God's heart is for us. It is true that He came to the earth to die so that we might live. This is true in the deepest of sorrows and the greatest of joys. This is true at the bottom of the canyon and in the tops of the trees. This is true in the farthest galaxy and in the depths of my heart.

If you are broken this Easter, do not lose heart. You can rejoice in the steadfastness of this gift, in the eternity of his kindness, and in the graciousness of his love.

In this storm, remember the truth. In your blindness, remember your hope. This Easter, do not lose sight of his great love.

the River

The river snaked his way through the canyon of this valley. The trees fighting the winter beginning to turn green. Shades of green growing up the trees, the moss reviving, grass shooting up like wildflowers, the snowdrops gently growing as the snow melts. And the river, always faithful, always running, always bringing peace. The river, so lovely.

Like lightning, His voice came as I walked along the river. 

Follow Me like you follow the river.

I stopped. I'd been following the river as I always do when I walk along rivers. I always choose the path that keeps me closest to the river, my breath catches when the path leads me away from the river, fearful it will lead me away. 

Follow Me like you follow the river.

At that moment, I was at a curve in the path, it led away from the river. I knew it was only a moment, but I didn't want to take my eyes off the river, I didn't want to lead away from the peace it offered. At that moment, fear clenched me. Because I had to turn my face, I had to rely on the memory of his face, the distance of his voice, the faithfulness of his promise. 

It was only a moment. This leg of the path was so short in comparison. What did I fear? My capacity to wander. Walking along the river, I knew I would never turn from it. But if the path led me away, if only for a moment, what if there was a fork in the road? What if I forgot about the beauty the river had to offer? What if I turned away from the river forever?

His pursuit is greater than your ability to wander ~ Lisa Bevere 

Is this true? For the first time in my life, I stumbled upon my capacity to drift away. At this crossroads, I knew I had the innate ability to walk away from the river for some other object of temporary beauty. It terrified me, nearly crippling. But I had to keep walking, I couldn't stay right here, by this part of the river. I had to move forward, leaning on the promise that the river wouldn't end before I saw it again, falling into the hope that as I listened to it, it was still there. So I moved forward. No longer could I see the river, but I heard it. Was it enough?

His pursuit is greater than your ability to wander ~ Lisa Bevere

I have the capacity to drift from my faith. It is inside of me. Overwhelmed by this fear and trepidation, shocked by where my heart had landed, paralyzed by the place that my thoughts had led me, afraid at how far I was from Him, I am leaning heavily on the promise that his pursuit of me is greater than my ability to wander. 

I am wandering. Drifting. Losing my footing. My feet have led me to a place of disbelief and doubt. My mind is racing with thoughts of the world. I wrestle with the evidence I see in the world of pain and suffering and I attempt to compare that to a good Father who pursues us. A kind Lover who recklessly follows us.

Because there are two of me. There is the one that looks around at the tragic circumstanes and demands to God, "where are you? What are you doing? Do you even care?" The one where doubts rage like a wildfire, consuming all of me. My ability to wander is bigger than anything I've ever known.

There is the one that sees his kind hand. The one who sees Jesus when a friend weeps in my arms, who sees his tender heart in the gift of friendship or someone texts me and asks to go for breakfast before Church when I tell myself I'm never going back.

The first is my ability to wander, the second is his pursuit of me. 

How undeserving this heart, how gracious is His. 

I will choose the River. But in moments when I don't, when I choose to wander, I will come back. His pursuit of me will remind me of the river, stir in my memories of the peace and joy of the river. I have chosen to follow Him and so, as He leads me along the River, no matter what arises in my path, he remains faithful, gently calling as the River does, growing louder with the waterfalls, calming my heart in the hurricanes. I will follow the River.

Oh, how undeserving this heart, how gracious is His.

plagued by promises, a prisoner of hope

I'm listening to a song of hope. It's called Mountain to Valley by Jason Upton. The chorus washes over my frightened spirit. "There's one thing I can't escape: Your Love. From the mountain to the valley, from the silence to the city street... Your Presence always covers me."

I listen to it on repeat, letting my tired heart drown in its gentle reminder of hope.
And then it says something outrageous.

Plagued by your promises.

What?

Jason, I hope you know, plagues aren't a good thing. Typical Leah, I looked up the definition.

plague noun : a destructively numerous influx

                        an epidemic disease causing a high rate of mortality.

I was singing this song. Did I know what I was asking for?

Oh, Jesus, I want to be plagued by your promises. I want this destructive influx of promises to come in and wreck my soul. I want it to destroy my hopelessness. I want it to weaken my white fists wrapped tightly around the illusioned control of my life. I want this plague to ravage my soul until it has taken everything. I want this epidemic disease to take effect and ruin me. I've never been so thirsty for destruction and ruin.

Does this prayer terrify me? Absolutely.
 The hopelessness I see when I look around me is frightening. I'm wounded by the pain I see. The devastating loss. The crippling sorrow. The oppressive anxiety. The lies that steal the truth. I want hope to sneak in like a plague and wipe it all away.

I want hope. I want it desperately, the way a flower needs water to grow. I want hope, the way the ground needs rain to cultivate. I want, in the midst of this chaotic, terrifying, painful life, for hope to drown me in the goodness of God.

This is a hope that will follow me no matter the circumstance. I want to see it when I look back, when I walk on the path of my life and when I attempt to foresee my future. I want that hope. I desire it when I scroll through Facebook and see cancer diagnosis and horror stories of abuse and torture. I need it when a friend cannot see the light or questions her worth. I long for it because the world doesn't make sense. The pain isn't going away. The struggle is remaining far more real than I ever imagined. I long for it because the ache in me for Heaven is real. The peace that is there, the loved ones who have gone, the presence of Jesus.
So I need the hope. I need to be plagued by Your promises. Take me captive, Jesus, to be Your Prisoner of Hope.

Zechariah 9:11-12
As for you, also, because of the blood of my covenant with you. I will also set your prisoners free from the waterless pit. Return to your stronghold O prisoners of hope."