Signed with Love, Nelly

You know, I sat staring at my rug with my chin in my palm and elbow on my desk--thinking…which direction do I want to go with this? What do I want to say about the cross? What have I been feeling leading up to Easter? As I tried to pin down a thought or an emotion, I began feeling dizzy--like a tornado was swirling around me and I was whipping back and forth trying to grasp onto something that had already whizzed past by the time my hand got there. All of them begin swirling together into a great, powerful mass until I can’t tell one from the other. There are too many emotions. It wells up in my throat and I’m silent. I’m in awe. I’m amazed. I’m stricken—with love, with humility, with reverence. Why did He do that for me? How could He do that for me? I don’t deserve it. I can’t accept it. But I do…because He prompts me to it. He opens my hands and with so much love in His eyes, He places it into my palm and closes my fingers around it—asking me to accept a gift He desperately want

Agatha Christie is currently a fave of mine! No matter the stack I take home with me from the library, there is always at least one Christie in the mix. My latest is Passenger to Frankfurt (PtF), a conspiracy story that would make a really great movie! World domination, overthrow, anarchy, youth in revolt, governments in confusion, all ingredients to really get you leaning in as both a viewer and a reader. I really leaned in with the introduction of Sir Stafford Nye; the personality and the penchant for trouble that makes a good lead character in a conspiracy plot. I found myself about halfway into the book without knowing what it was I should be trying to solve or pick up clues from the author for. With PtF, you can’t make any conclusions because you simply don’t know what specific mystery the book is unraveling. You feel like you’re still trying to figure out what you should be trying to figure out until a third in. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it just isn’t what you expe

We have a cherry blossom tree in our backyard, and as things have been blooming here in California, this tree has been dormant. As everything else budded and then bloomed, I’ve been watching it hopefully. It’s fiery plum color and delicately shaped leaves are my favorite in all of the yard. With the same expectation, I’ve been watching the tall trees along the blacktop trail behind my neighborhood. The leaves on these trees make the most satisfying rustle as the breeze kicks through them, and I couldn’t wait to hear them again. A week ago, I stood at the glass door looking out into the backyard, and all of a sudden, I yelped “it bloomed!” My sister was completely confused and I tried to explain that I had been watching it diligently with no reward, and now it had not just budded but full-on bloomed. Similarly, yesterday I took to the blacktop trails with both my parents and my dad pointed out that out of nowhere, the trees along the way had leaves. As I looked up at them with

There are times I’m overwhelmed by my worries, thoughts, feelings, circumstances. I feel like I’ve been doggy-paddling through the multitude of emotions, managing to keep just my head above the deep. Then I get tired of the effort and get subdued. Usually it isn’t my entire head plunged in at once, but gradual submissions. First my chin, then my nose, next I’m completely at the mercy of the waves; and they have no mercy, they have no goal but to be supreme. That’s why you can’t begin that slow submersion; you can’t give a little because it takes your all.  The problem isn’t that I’m feeling overwhelmed, the problem is that instead of giving that fight little by little to God, I give little bits of me to the fight. I give in to the struggle a little because I think I’ll feel better. I give in to each wave of new emotion instead of trusting that God is keeping me afloat. Next thing I know, I’m no longer above the waves.  Either way, I’m submitting, but I make the error