He Writes

Several months have passed since posting any thoughts. I may have subconsciously wanted to give it a break and see if I would miss it. Or perhaps, I wanted to be sure of all of my motives.

With finals done, a lull in my work schedule, and the rain keeping me indoors, I´ve felt nudged by a still, small voice to make writing a priority again. I have been reminded of how much writing means to me. Writing brings greater introspection and awareness. Writing gives clarity, perhaps because the letters are arranged at regular intervals on a white page and neatly lined up in rows. The written words are, much like photographs, my souvenirs of having lived.

And so, I write. I want to write about Him—the tireless Writer. For when everyone gives up, He writes. When the present with its joys and troubles is all we can see, He writes eternal thoughts. When we think surely He has abandoned us, He still writes in a quiet corner. When in our weakness we are swept away by enemy floods, He wages war with His pen and rescues us.

His intent is simple, almost childish. His hands hold a writing tablet and He etches, a millimeter at a time, all things beautiful. But four letters take precedence.  An L, an O…and with painstaking precision a V and an E. Over and over, He carefully seeks another empty surface on the same tablet and begins again. He will not stop until it is perfect, until every space and corner is filled with His Love. He who has begun this good work will surely complete it.

And this is my hope. For when I am not faithful, I am called back and still God writes.

“The tablets were written on both sides; on the one side and on the other they were written. Now the tablets were the work of God and the writing was the writing of God engraved on the tablets.” (Exodus 32:15, 16)

“…not on tablets of stone but on tablets of flesh, that is, of the heart.” (2 Corinthians 3:3)

“…this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put My law in their minds, and write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be My people.” (Jeremiah 31:33) 

For One

Reminiscing from Redwood Creek Summer Camp 2015

It took one small face. And then everything made sense…

His name is Bryce*. Almost from day one, he caught Joshua´s attention. “There´s something about that kid,” Josh told me, “He reminds me of me when I was that age…kind of troubled and yet there´s a spark inside of him.” Over the course of the week, Bryce´s reserved yet eager spirit had won my heart too.

Friday night comes. Most everyone has dispersed from the campfire area into the darkness. Bryce stays behind with head lowered. Thin shoulders heave slightly with emotion. His counselor, Leif, sits protectively close, visibly compassionate. Live embers still glow and spark in the fire area.

Josh and I linger nearby. I know Joshua longs to rush to him, but he considers for a moment. I am touched to the core by the small tearful figure. 

Joshua makes his way towards the two on the bench. From a distance I overhear snatches of an exchange among the three boys who all know more than a thing or two about hard things in life—Leif on one side, Josh on the other, both turned toward their younger brother who is hurting. I hear Bryce say “don´t have any parents” and “don´t ever want to leave camp.” They talk in quiet voices. I hear words of strength and comfort.

“Can we pray together?” Leif asks Bryce. The earnest young eyes shine as he eagerly nods. How I wish we could take him home!

The scene is embedded upon my soul. Everything makes sense now. He is the reason. Bryce is the reason. His young face makes every hour in board meeting, every minute spent on grant applications, every early morning at camp, all the rushing back and forth to the rappelling rock, every prayer offered in preparation for camp…all of it…he gives it purpose! He´s the reason why! He makes everything worth it a million times over!

Yes, every camper is equally amazing and important but with unexpected passion I realize we did everything for Bryce. He is enough. Without second thought, I´d do it all again…I´d do more…just for him. I´d heard our girls´ director say several times that we would do it all for just one camper, but now it clicks. I´d do it again…just for Bryce.

I look skyward, stars visible through the encircling trees. Leif and Bryce have gone to bed. Josh sits a few feet away deep in his own emotion. I can´t stop the tears that keep welling up in my eyes because…

God would do it all again. The cold nights, the days with little food, the profound exhaustion, the friends who betrayed, the death sentence, the Father´s face stolen away. God sees my tear-stained face, forlorn and needing a home…and He´d do it all again…just for me. I am enough. I make it worth it.   

 *Name changed

Re-minded

June 18. L.A. airport. Saying goodbye. My birthday gift.

“It wasn´t supposed to make you cry,” Joshua says. 

“It can be good to cry, Josh,” I reply, “these are not sad tears.”

I hold the notebook in my hands, turning the pages with incredulity. They remind me…of how God works, of His endless depth, of His heart-stirring call to a simple girl.

The notebook filled with reminders is an amazing gift. Likewise, the boy who gave me the notebook is also an amazing reminder from God—a reminder who brings joy to my existence and talks to me.

God knows I am forgetful and weak. I need reminders. Without them I will waste hours and days and years pursuing goals that get me no closer to lasting happiness. 

Where might I be without reminders?  Without a mother who prays for me, without friends who show me grace, without my Bible waiting at my bedside? Where might I be without kindred spirits who send me messages saying that they are praying that I will draw closer to Jesus´ heart this year than ever before? 

In life the stakes are high, but I forget. The Love is deep, but I turn from it. The God of my soul surrounds me, but I am blinded.

He sends me reminders in many shapes and sizes. Some of them I recognize and they make me cry at His goodness.

I close the notebook…fully re-minded.

“…but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind…”  

My heart

It beats in my chest. They say I should follow it. But this heart I call mine deceives. Who can comprehend it? It confuses me until I don´t know what I really want. Its direction is set towards selfishness…and yet, I hate selfishness.

My identity is in conflict. This space within is a battleground. Who am I? 

I run to hide in the branches of one lone, but insistent, desire—a desire for God. I choose to take refuge in that desire despite its smallness. Enfolded in this possibility, I don´t want to leave. Raging conflicts are tuned out. Somehow I know that I´m close to finding what I´ve lost—my authentic heart.

Climbing to the highest branch, there is quiet. Boldness and coherence invade me. I whisper God´s name…and then hear my voice crying out for Him to take over.

His power filters through hardened layers of that heart I call mine. His reality lovingly subdues all wars. In the ransacked emptiness of a surrendered heart, humility makes replacement possible.    

The hand of my God creates a new heart to fill the silent void. It begins to beat in my chest. My own blood courses through pure and restored channels. I am whole. My true heart has come home. 

Perfect harmony…between God´s heartbeat and mine. And yes, I will follow His heart anywhere. 

Lost & Found

Eden, I´ve traveled far.

Eden, you are only a memory.

Love, centuries have tainted you.

Love, you once were pure and active.

God, our eyes used to behold you.

God, your selfless flame in us is quenched.

Heart of mine, how you long to be filled.

Heart of mine, where did your innocence go?

Eden, I´ve glimpsed you.

Eden, your nearness surprises.

Love, time has not erased your smile.

Love, your original meaning may be sought.

God, how extreme your sacrifice.

God, your warm passion melting icy hearts.

Heart of mine, swept into a new place.                       Heart of mine, you´ve beat for a true moment in Paradise. 

Deep...not complicated

A glance into the mirror and I remember how simple I am. Just a fumbling girl with no special attributes and little to recommend me. And yet, I cannot make myself ignore God calling out to me from all directions.

Me: I´m just a very simple girl, Father God. Why do you desire me so intently?

God: Actually…I´m simple too.

Me: You? No. If you were simple, more people would understand you.

God: No, truly, I am not complicated. When things don´t make sense or when you feel far from me, you conclude that I must be complicated. But I am not...I am simply deep. People complicate me…the truth of me. They too often confuse my depth with complexity. I am actually very simple. 

I sink into musing, for how God has just defined Himself to me is new.

God is Love. He wants simple things...He wants me to know true Love.

His Love—not complicated, just deep.

Constant...Not Rote

First rays of the sun hitting the wall over my bed. Retracing their path through the window at the same angle as they did last July. Not much different than yesterday. I sit up…my eyes squinting and my heart calmly beating in my chest. The rhythm within and without continues. Not much different than yesterday. Not much different than any given dawn in the past 27 years of my existence.

Every once in a while, though, something happens. Something happens that makes you look at the rising sun in wonder, as if beholding a miraculous and mystical reality. Something happens…such as when the heart of one you love ceases to beat…and suddenly today is completely different than yesterday. The sun´s appearance is no longer a rote happening. The mechanical contractions of the heart seem not so mechanical. Life takes on preciousness.

Something new has entered my consciousness this morning. A new truth. It is this—God Loves me…today.

Like the first rays of the sun, I initially thought this truth was not much different than yesterday. God has always Loved me. Every day, every moment. He proved His Love was of the deepest possible caliber on Calvary. I´ve known this since I was a small girl. But wait…can´t you see? TODAY HE CHOSE TO LOVE ME AGAIN!!! TODAY HIS LOVE FOR ME DRIPS OF NEWNESS!!! Can you capture it? His Love is constant, but it is never rote.    

While Love of divine magnitude was made evident at the cross, it did not find conclusion there. God mindfully lives out His Love to us each day much like a devoted husband or wife will choose to make the marriage vows a vibrant reality on a daily basis. Spouses forget their promise at times. He does not forget. He anticipates the sound of my alarm clock so He can wash my soul with fresh Love…not simply because He has to keep up His end of the bargain or because He cannot deny His own essence, but because He longs for me to know that I am of unprecedented value to Him and vital to His happiness.

I hear Him quietly say, “Hey, little one, guess what? Today…yes, today I Love you!”  It´s a new truth…for both Him and me. It takes a moment for this incredible confession to sink in. When it begins to, His emotion is contagious. The sun´s appearance is no longer a rote happening. The mechanical contractions of the heart seem not so mechanical. Life takes on preciousness.

“Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you.” Psalm 143:8

[ROTE (adj.) proceeding mechanically and repetitiously; being mechanical and repetitious in nature; routine; habitual.]

Ocean, Laughter, and Jesus

His name is Ocean. He is my nephew. His birthday is the day before mine. He just turned 6. He prefers living in the country because he likes “open spaces” (direct quote). We both like green.  Fruit popsicles are our favorite.

Two days ago we spent the afternoon together for our annual June birthday outing. After a bike ride and eating lunch, we ended up at the beach. True to form there quickly appeared the uncontrolled smile and giggly glee that overtake Ocean whenever he´s near water. It´s of no use rolling up his pants…he´ll get wet regardless. His excitement was contagious. We ran along the shore making sand fortresses for the next wave to wash away. We laughed while our fortresses dissolved. We laughed when Ocean fell into the cold surf. We laughed when the water made our feet numb. We laughed while I attempted one-handed cartwheels.

I would like to think, that although there is no record of Jesus ever having laughed, that He was laughing and dashing with us on the Humboldt County sands. 

I would like to think that when Jesus said “of such is the kingdom of heaven,” He spoke of a group of little ones that included a six year-old, water-loving boy with a carefree, infectious laugh. 

I would like to think that as Jesus hung on the cross that part of the joy that gave Him strength to endure was a picture of Ocean and I jumping with glee on the beach. 

He died to give us that moment of pure joy…He died to give us an eternity of such moments. He longs for the day when He can laugh like a kid and run with His excited, rambunctious children along the shores of a river clear as crystal.   

  

Quiet Love

It creeps up so silently…catching me off guard every time.

I am overtaken.

I stop surrendered in mid-stride.

I turn around slowly to confront my conqueror.

I find only the sun as it ascends over the treetops, or a tiny flower posing near my feet, or my niece smiling up at me, or the twinkling of the first star, or the tune of my sister´s whistle, or the wind touching my brow, or the echo of a Psalm written centuries ago.

It is then I remember that the truest Love is the quietest kind that does not demand attention or require noisy evidences. It is, in fact, easily passed by…often ignored and misunderstood.

It surrounds us. Yet we walk on without a nod towards the invisible.

For some reason (pure grace most likely), I am occasionally awoken by a subtle tap on my heart. The Love of my God steals over me; I cannot resist it. I fall captive to His quiet Love. 

Reading the Sky

Cold night. First without rain in a while. The stars talk me into stepping outside.

I trip over a bucket of water before stretching out on a bench. It´s almost midnight. Even with my jacket zipped and my arms folded around me I start shivering. But I can´t go back inside…not yet. Star-studded blackness is too eloquent to read over quickly, too rich with un-captured emotion. Perusal is not enough. I need a few more minutes, a couple more moments to even put one complete thought together from the letter written by points of starlight. 

Photo Credits

A starry sky can either make someone feel incredibly small and alone in the universe…or amazingly small and loved. The distance between the stars and my planet can either represent the distance separating us from heavenly realms or the distance Love traveled to prove its earnestness. All the light-years between suns and galaxies quietly show the length to which Divine Love will always go to reach us.

A wave of crashing Love pierces the Earth´s atmosphere and reaches the shores of my heart. I realize I can stop Love in its trajectory. I can refuse this space-defying, space-filling Love…it will not force its way into my soul. “But no,” I think as my vision is blurred by a tear, “I cannot pretend to shiver alone when the same Love that holds the stars in suspension is surrounding me.”   

“When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? And the son of man, that thou visitest him?” Psalm 8:3, 4

Replay the song, pick the flower

I never prayed for the miracle. It found me.

I used to be afraid of miracles. I was content reading about miracles long ago and far away in Bible stories…until pure grace turned my perspective upside down. The miracle of God in my plain, unworthy life made me face my fears…the fear of seeing my own helplessness, the fear of being challenged to change, the fear of having to invest my whole life standing by a miracle that I truly believed in.

The funny thing is that my reaction has been quite the opposite. I stretch out my hands to ask for what I was previously fearful of. Songs I´ve heard often enough now break me and challenge me to radical belief. Rain-kissed flowers reflect a love story that is changing my world. I have no desire to get over my amazement and return to my comfortable routine. My only desire is for the miracle to continue…for my breath to be taken away unceasingly…for the reality of God´s kind of love to transform me.

A taste of the miraculous has made me hungry for more. The depth of God´s love is like the call of the wild. I cannot stop hearing its echoes, seeing its beauty even in darkness. I replay the song…I pick the flower…I pause in the light of the sunrise or sunset. 

I am no longer satisfied with hearing a song in a new way…I want to hear it over and over…I want the miracle to reach deeper within. I am no longer happy recognizing God´s love in a flower…I want to touch it…I want to keep its color forever between the pages of my journal.

I want to lose track of all skepticism and realize that the miracle that began many months ago is not stuck in the glorious past. The miracle will continue if I replay the song and pick the flower and let God transform all my fears into new levels of faith. This miracle is an eternal gift from God´s heart to mine and I will not forget. This is just the beginning.   

 

Time to tell you...my secret

I have a secret. I´m thinking about writing it down. Is it still considered a secret if it´s saved in a Word document—black font on a screen?  I´m unsure what to do with it. Should I tell you?

Even thinking about it…it sounds so self-centered. Yet this is me—Ariana—being transparent.

I´m going to whisper it. It is a secret after all.

“All I have ever, ever really wanted…”

(deep breath) “Yeah, all I have ever, ever really wanted is to be unashamedly and steadfastly loved.”

My secret looks vulnerable typed out for anyone to see. It makes me appear needy, desperate, and selfish in my own eyes. It´s like I´m one of those people, those whiny girls, who think “everything” is about them.

Somehow today I was ready to face my secret head on. It is a truth that has caused me to hurt others or show them false kindness. It has inhibited me from purely loving because I have subtly looked for people to meet my own needs. The motives behind my actions have been so often tainted by my secret. The secret scares me because of how pervasively it has affected everything I have chosen and done in life (the wise as well as the unwise decisions). At the same time my secret thrills me because embedded between the syllables is the realization that all I have ever really needed was God Himself! Seeking this love in so many of the wrong places, my disappointment has opened my mind to the greatest reality—there is a love more wondrous than I have ever dreamed of.  Perhaps this is why I can at last acknowledge my secret…because incredible glimpses of God´s love have been enticing me with what I´ve always wanted.

As only the true Lover of my soul would do, He volunteers to share His own secret in return.

God whispers, “All I have ever, ever really wanted was for one of those who I have unabashedly loved to love me back to such a ridiculous degree that the two of us would lose track of ourselves in a joyous vortex of giving and receiving, and finally simply be one in love.”

His innocent dream melts me. I feel less ashamed, and more amazed. He IS love! I was created to be His!

I share my secret with you for one reason…I thought perhaps it might be your secret too. God and I didn´t want you to think you were the only one. Oh, and that kind of ridiculous love you´ve always secretly longed for…well it TRULY EXISTS!  

“I have loved you with an everlasting love, and with loving-kindness I have drawn you.” Jeremiah 31:3

“That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us…that the love wherewith thou hast loved me may be in them, and I in them.” John 17:21

Ocean's Call

What´s the greatest gift you´ve ever received? The biggest? The costliest? The most memorable? What about the most incomprehensible?
 

What if someone gave you an Ocean?  A private Ocean just for you. What would you do with it? Perhaps you would excitedly stroll along the beach, run barefoot in the sand, play happily in the surf, and be in awe over its vast expanse. “Really?” you ask as you gaze to where the ocean meets the horizon and merges into the sky, “This is all mine? This extravagant, limitless amount of water is all for me?” You inhale the sea breeze deeply and can´t exactly wrap your mind around what´s yours. 

What would you do with it? If you´re a curious type perhaps you´ll take a boat and sail away, determined to explore the immensity before you. But imagine there´s a problem…you refuse to dive in. You avoid getting too wet. You fear being submerged. You are anxious about sinking too deep. The unknown, the incomprehensible, seems a bit risky. So you stick to the shore, you contentedly sail on the surface.

God´s love for you IS your private ocean, but you´ve never encountered it deeply. You have never lost yourself in His infinite love, because you´ve never jumped in unafraid.  

While God is wanting the undertow to sweep us off our feet and pull us into the ocean´s depths, while God is longing to capsize our boat and soak us completely in the salty waters…we have spent our lives playing in the waves and floating untouched on its surface. God´s love is an Ocean and it has belonged to us from ages past and into eternity. We´ve known about and touched it. Maybe we´ve even tasted it and preached about it, but in all honesty we don´t know what to do with it. We don´t know how to let it invade us and captivate our souls. We don´t know how to let it overtake us, sink us, and completely transform us.

“Behold, what manner of LOVE the Father hath bestowed upon us…” It is a fathomless, pristine, and perfectly true LOVE that “casts out fear.” (I John 3:1, 4:18)

 

The Picture

He holds the picture close. There´s something about the way his fingers cradle it—lovingly, carefully, and yet so firmly (as if afraid any strong gust of wind might steal it away). The picture is worn on the edges, but it is obviously precious to him.

Heavenly light shines briefly on the picture´s surface. When I catch a glimpse, I step back in awe. The picture is beautiful—all that is pure, strong, and touched by grace! The image reminds me so much of my Savior Jesus that it takes me several minutes to realize…it´s a picture of me. It´s a picture of what I am destined to be, a picture of how God dreams of me, a picture of me made new, me transformed completely by heaven´s deep atmosphere of Love.

It is then I understand. This picture is his link to undying hope. You see, I disappointed him today; I crushed the hopes he cherished for his child. I trampled the faith he had in me and brought disgrace to the name I bear. I fell short and broke his innocent trust in my potential.

I find myself before him, seeking reconciliation. I had never considered what might run through his mind as he extends forgiveness to me for the umpteenth time, as he prepares to place his oft-broken, fragile heart back into my clumsy, human hands, as he floods me with love without thinking twice. He steals a glance at the picture of what I can become while he willingly trusts me again with his love, his heart, and his friendship (which I have already betrayed countless times before).

I see why he clings to the picture. Without it he may have given up long ago, he may have forgotten what he was fighting for. He is fighting (with powerful weapons of love, grace, and forgiveness) for the day when that picture will be a reality. Someday he will let the breeze sweep the picture afar because I will have become what he always dreamed of and there will be implicit trust between us, forever.  

"Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. All who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure." I John 3:2, 3

I Crumble Sometimes

 

I crumble sometimes

Like a leaf taken with age,

Sucked of all moist life

By a hot, dust-filled wind.

 

Disconnected from my roots,

My petals fly away

A few at a time…

And I feel as if

I have just been born

Although I have just died.

 

I crumble sometimes

Like paper with lost meaning,

Robbed of all pride

In the sudden turns of slow centuries.

 

Torn from my cover,

My edges disintegrate first

For having been caressed most…

And I feel as if

My soul is being discovered

Although my sentences are disappearing. 

 

I crumble sometimes

Like a monument absently forgotten,

My future and past weathered away

By blind storms and shut eyes.

 

Left to testify alone,

My memories find no purpose

In sleeping bound to fading granite…

And I feel as if

An embrace has found me

Although no hand pauses to touch my collapse.

 

I crumble sometimes

Not because the moments are without hope,

But because I am tired of configuration.

 

As I break apart

All of me…each of me

Seeks for a new life.

ON FIRES AND LIFE

I bound down the stairs a couple of steps at a time. Gravity faithfully helps me accumulate speed on the descent. As I land at the bottom, I see my mom tidying up the living room.

“It´s much colder down here compared to my room,” I say with a slight shiver. 

“It is,” mom assents softly as she stacks some freshly folded laundry.

The wood stove sits cold and black a few feet away.

I glance at the floor and pause before finally announcing, “Maybe I should offer to start the fire.”

Mom smiles a bit as she turns to go upstairs carrying some clothes. “That would be nice,” she replies with a hint of surprise and irony in her tone.

Newspaper and kindling. Tiny splinters in my hand from the fir bark. But I can´t get my previous statement out of my head. Something about the phrase calls me down a trail of thought. “Maybe I should offer to start the fire.”

If you think the statement betrays selfishness, reluctance, lack of enthusiasm, and laziness on my part, you couldn´t be more right. I want someone else to do it. My own words are an attempt to convince myself that I´m it. Audibly persuading myself to be a “hero” and keep the house warm for my mom.  However, the same words condemn me and confront me with dark revelation.

That deeper revelation is that I avoid starting fires at all costs. It matters little what kind of fire—controversial fires that instigate change, revolutionary fires that inspire, compassionate fires that bring hope. I am instinctively drawn to these fires and admire their power. But when it comes to starting one, I wait. I almost ALWAYS wait. I save my energy. I shiver a bit inside. I stare out the window for a while and dream of warming my hands. I pray for God to send an expert fire-builder. I promise to help tend the fire once the flames are strong, as long as someone else starts the fire.  

Striking the match becomes a very deliberate act.  The blossom of flame grows and begins to blaze. Warmth emanates.  I forget so often that the fire benefits me just as much as those around me. A desire fills me. Perhaps one day. Yes, perhaps in the near future, I will rush towards opportunity. I will start fires without thinking twice about waiting for someone else to do it. I will pick up some wood and strike a match without pausing first to consider whether "maybe I should offer to start the fire."    

She Qualifies!

Part of being a Brinckhaus in our definition involves being there for your family and friends. Kari and I might be miles apart, but she supports my sometimes strange ideas and I cheer her on in her noble endeavors. When I feel lost, my mom´s prayers and understanding are usually the first things I turn to.  

Being Brinckhaus also includes having at least one small creative streak somewhere inside of you. Whether it be with words, with food, with a camera, with piano chords; we have a desire, almost a need, to create something of worth. Of course not everything we attempt to create turns out well, but our spirit continues to seek expression.

In our immediate family circle we share interests in healthy living, in nature, in God, in transgenerational bonds, and in character development, among other points described on our About Us page. Obviously, we also share our Germanic last name that continues to surprise people who are not expecting to see a Latino face with the last name Brinckhaus.

My point with all this? Well, I would like to proudly introduce our new guest contributor who, interestingly enough, qualifies as a Being Brinckhaus blog writer--Emilia Goodrich-Brinckhaus! She will grace us with occasional insights into cooking, motherhood, and more. The sisterly support,  family values, creativity, and last name which qualify her were clearly evident to Karina and me. Check out her first guest contribution below or by CLICKING HERE!