The Day Life Died My Hope Became Alive

When I saw Him die on the cross, hope died inside of me.
When I heard Him say, "It is finished", I whispered, "Yes, it is".
When He breathed His last, I sighed with deep sorrow.

When the ground shook, I felt every bit of my insecurity.
When they pierced His side, it was like a dagger to my heart.
When they brought His limp body down, my heart sank with it.

No sign of life; life was pronounced dead.
And with it, the life I lived for hope.

When they carried him to the tomb, my dreams were carried with it.
When they sealed the tomb, they did so with my destiny inside.
When the third day came, my bones began to waste away.

You said you came to bind up the broken-hearted; the lost to seek and save.
You got my hopes up, only to be lowered with You in the grave.
You were our plan A-Z; it was supposed to be easy like 1,2,3.
Why have you abandoned me?
Are you the God you claimed to be?

Then I hear a voice say, "I Am", and the voice is familiar to me.
Then I open my eyes, I see a man; I feel like I know His face.
Then he picked me up, "For" he said, "I Am Risen".

"No sign of death; death has been pronounced dead.
For life cannot die, but it can put death to death."

"Oh, but I saw life die three days ago, I said.
I heard it breath it's last.
I felt the ground shake.
Then it abandoned me."

Did I not say 'where I go, you cannot follow me'?
Life died to give you life, but don't you know life cannot die?
Hope died to give you hope, but it is impossible to lose hope!
The day life died, is the day hope became alive!

Romans 5:5 "And hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." 

Running Faithfully

 I love the Olympics, and especially enjoyed them this year. To me it feels like that special moment when the whole family is together on Sunday after a long, busy week. The whole world stops, comes together, and watches in awe as the top athletes wow us with their skill, endurance and strength.  And then it's over. No more silly YouTube videos of swimmers who thought they were the next Michael Phelps (If you didn't see those you need to). No more constant buzz centered around how many gold medals each nation has compared to another. No more speculation over who would win volleyball; the Brazillians or the Italians. And everyone goes back home; back to Monday.

I think we forget what Monday must look like for the athlete. Somehow we freeze frame them as standing on the stage with tears in their eyes, overcome with emotion with the realization that they accomplished their goal; they won the prize. Don't get me wrong, it is an amazing moment to remember. This picture rightfully sticks in our minds as a great symbol of where discipline and determination can take us. But we forget that it doesn't end there for these athletes. When they step off the stage, the stadium lights dim, the cheers die down, and Monday comes, they are back at it again. The same inspiring determination and discipline that got them to the "good part of the story", lands them right into the start of a new chapter. And they start preparing for their next climax; their next success. 

I grew up with a desire to run, but I was honestly never very disciplined about it. I would get inspired, make a bunch of goals and then quickly get discouraged or lazy or both. I would give up, and then pretty soon the cycle would start again. But finally last year, a friend challenged me to start somewhere. So I set my first goal; I signed up for a 5k. Having that goal gave me a reason to run; an accomplishment to reach. I know a 5k seems like nothing, especially in light of all the talk about Olympic athletes. :) But since my previous attempts at running had ended in failure, this was a big
 deal to me. You see it had to do with more than a race; it had to do with my life. The same awful
running cycle seemed to be the way my spiritual life would go. Inspiration, failure, discouragement, and then defeat. Signing up for the 5K was about more than a race; it was about letting the Lord teach me lessons through this training. I could almost feel the Lord running alongside me; encouraging me like a coach would. "You can do this, Christen. I made you to run. I am pleased when you do it for Me. Take it one day at a time. Give it everything you have."

The race day came! My goal was not to finish first, but run at a steady pace and not stop. It went well! There was such a great feeling of accomplishment that came, knowing that I prepared for something, and then did it! But just like Monday comes after Sunday, and a new week begins; it came for me. And it hit me hard. Months went by, and I ran less and less; my strength deteriorating little by little. You see I was prepared for the race, but I wasn't prepared for Monday. Many times we are told to set a goal and go after it, and that I did! But after our greatest successes we can land right back where we were before we set out, or even worse if we are not careful. We can focus on our
accomplishment, and want to stop there. But the reason Monday comes back around, is there is still
 life to be lived! There's still another race to be won! What I didn't realize was that along with the end of a great accomplishment, was the opportunity for a greater one. You see, for months Monday has been depressing me, but now I know it's only because there's something greater to prepare for! In the grand scheme of things, the 5k will be a start, but if I let it end there, it would be a pathetic tragedy.
So I signed up for a 10k this fall, and you better believe I'm going to prepare for it. I'm excited about all the things the Lord will teach me along the way! But this time, I'll be ready for Monday. 

Real Reality

So many words,
So many thoughts,
Appearing in front of me,
So much so that I can't see
Reality

These labels are innumerable,
These boxes insufferable,
Trapping me in their cages,
Throwing me in their boxes.
Suffocating my...
Reality

Not wanting to show,
Afraid that I might grow,
Find a new way of life,
Free of anger and of strife,
Wanting to keep me in
Their reality.

The words are shouting,
The thoughts are overtaking,
The labels are sticking,
The walls of these cages are closing,
These boxes they give are growing.

Further and further
Lower and lower
Heavier and heavier
I'm losing touch with
Reality

You see, their reality would say,
I'm still locked up in chains,
The lies they would speak,
Is that freedom I can't keep.
The reality you think you've tasted,
That you think your eyes have seen,
Is. Not. Real.

But wouldn't that simply be,
Exactly like the enemy?
Twisting what we know,
Making it a, "Well, maybe so."
Fighting tooth and nail,
Until our loves for Him grows stale?
Lying to us until we are unsure,
Taking advantage until we are impure,
Twisting reality to make it unreal?

No more; I want the real reality.
To listen to the sound of His sweet symphony.
The one that even if no one else hears,
If it was made just for my ears.
It doesn't even matter how long,
I'll wait tail I hear the sound of His sweet song,
Let it be my real reality.

Voices

I hear the voice of Guilt,
The guilt of centuries gone by,
Senseless hatred, unchecked greed,
All-consuming lust...
This voice of guilt is heard by all.
It sounds the gong of the fall.
When we were separated from our Father.
This voice is the cry of humanity.

Then off in the distance
Amidst this steady cry,
I faintly hear another voice
It's the sweet cry of a newborn baby.
And suddenly, with startling volume, I hear a chorus of voices.
The voices of an angel host shouting,
"Glory to God in the Highest
And on earth peace and goodwill
Toward men!"

But I also hear the voice of Pain.
It is ridden with sorrow
For sin goes both ways.
It is not merely inflicted upon us
But also by us; serving to compound
And multiply the volume of these voices.
For it continues to separate us from our Father.
We are getting farther and farther.
This voice of Pain is the groan of humanity.

Wait, listen! Do you hear this private conversation?
Between a Father and a Son?
For the baby grew up.
Now His time has come.
He is ready to fulfill His purpose.
But listen to His groan.
So similar to ours.
He does not know Guilt or Pain personally,
But their voices reached the Father's ears.
Now the Son groans,
Because of what His Father has asked Him to do.
He must take Guilt and Pain,
And die in our stead.
He groans because He too
Will be separated from Father.

I watch as the Son carries the weight of the world
He climbs the Hill of Calvary in silence.
The voices of Guilt and Pain are still deafening.
They seem to mock and taunt me.
Getting louder and louder.
Meanwhile the Son is carrying the cross.
It's getting heavier and heavier.
Guilt and pain tell me there's no way out!
"You are guilty!"
The guards nail Jesus' hands to the cross.
"You are wounded!"
They put a nail through His feet.
"IT WILL NEVER END!" they shout.

But then I hear the faintest whisper.
It comes from the lips of the Son.
And His words I will never forget.
For when they left His mouth
The ground began to shake,
The veil in the Temple was torn.
And the most beautiful thing took place.
The voices of Guilt and Pain were silenced.
All because of what the Son whispered that day:
"It is finished."

Now what do I hear, you may ask?
What voice do I listen to?
Well, sometimes I hear Guilt and Pain.
They're like ghosts coming to taunt me.
They are like lions without teeth.
They have no power; no validity.
So I remind them every so often,
"Um, excuse me, you're dead!"

Now the voice that I hear is the voice of Victory.
It's the voice of the saints that cry out to the Son.
Adoration fills their voices as they say,
 "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain,
And to Him who sits on the throne
Be glory and honor and power and praise.
Forever..... Amen."

Eyes of Faith

There's something in the way, it's in my line of sight.
It seems to be so stubborn, it's putting up a fight.
But I'll rise to the challenge and prove that I'm strong.
It's going down, you'll see, not before too long.
Whatever comes my way, I'll rise to the challenge.
Living life for what is right, into righteousness I'll plunge.
Nothing can stand in my way, my future is so bright.
I'll do it in my strength, and do it in my might.
All the while, even though I don't realize,
I'm sinking deeper, and at night my soul cries.
It's the faintest of whispers, dancing across my mind,
That says, I've believed in a lie, and I'll soon find,
If I fight alone, it's a losing battle.
But I can't face that, it will ruin my man-made castle.
With just a little gust of wind and rain.,
Nothing good in my life will remain.
However, this too is a lie I have believed.
And as long as I do, the enemy is relieved.
For He knows if I fall, and cannot stand,
God will reach down and take my hand.
Strength will flow from His heart to mine.
It won't be about me, but about Him.
On this earth He came and trod.
The paths of death and sorrow.
He shed His blood for tomorrow.
For a brighter day, and a new way.
He conquered my sin.
Soo.... this something in the way,
My God did already pay,
The price it would take to redeem.
So that I would have the freedom to dream.
And see with the eyes of faith. 

When My Back is to the Light

There's pounding in my ears, like... thud thud thud.
The sound of my feet slipping through the mud,
And rain drops hitting the ground like so many beats.
There's the wind howling like a dog,
It's hard to see for all the mist and fog.
Away, away from everything I run.
No looking back, I must run.
But now the sun starts to fade, dimmer dimmer.
My chances of finding my way back are slimmer.
Because in the darkness I can't see the road.
And my legs are weakening under my load.
But gritting my teeth, and taking a breath,
Reminding myself, I'm in control, even to my death,
Away, away from everything I run.
No looking back, I must run.
Run away from the light that so easily consumes me.
Run away from forgiveness that will set me free.
Run away from love that will always satisfy me.
I run into darkness, hiding from the light?
I run into bitterness, refusing forgiveness?
I run from love, from His love that never fails me?
And as I run, it hits me, knocking the breath out of me!
Like a kaleidescope, I was all turned around.
Since when did fighting for my ambitions,
And standing for all my silly traditions,
Take the place of what I set out to do?
The very thing I want to do, is the very thing I can't.
And the very thing I do not want to do, is the thing I do.
I set out to run for Him,
And find I'm running from Him.
I set out to change the world,
And find the world has changed me.
I run towards the light,
Only to find my back is against it.
But even as the sun goes down, so it rises.
And even when I chase the sunset,
His mercies come with the blessed dawn.

White, Black or..... Red?

My hair might confuse you,
My eyes tend to fool you,
My accent won't give me away,
You can't know by what I say.

The color of my skin,
Does not tell the story within,
You would never know,
Because it's doesn't really show,
Even now I'm where "I belong",
But I don't feel so strong.
I want to go home,
On my heart God's sewn,
Africa


I know I may not look African,
But I still drink tea every day,
And those cravings for Ug,
Oh yes, those definitely are there.
And those little phrases I still say,
Like, "Ati what?" and "Hayaye!"
Because I'm Kenyan.
For it heart still seems to beat,
And every single time I breath,
I miss every single thing.

I used to fight the fact that I'm so white,
And I can still put up a fight,
To anyone who would challenge me.
Because they only sum up what they see.
Moving away from where I'm from,
Wasn't easy and it wasn't fun.
I wanted to scream at the differences,
I would cringe in certain instances.
I will not conform, I will not change,
I'm African,
I'm Kenyan!

But the longer I'm here,
The more my hand tightens it's grip
I don't want to let go for fear,
That if I do, I'll realize this isn't a trip.
It's not a visit, but I'm here.
I will have to face reality,
Which is... that I can be both.
I can be Kenyan.
I can be American.
And yet these are surfacy things,
They don't make me, me.

It's neither the color of my eyes or my hair,
The color of my skin, that's fair.
It's not the way that I talk,
Or the way in which I walk.
It's not about whether I can speak Swahili,
Knowing that Sunday is Jumapili.
It's not even about how much tea I drink,
Or the cultural context in which I think.
Because these things of which I speak,
Only tell an external story,
Of a white girl who claims to be black.

Those are only outcomes of the girl within,
For every present there's a gift.
And on the inside I'm neither black nor white.
I'd like to think I'm red....
Washed by the blood of the Lamb.
That's what defines me.
I'm a daughter of the King,
In Him is my identity,
And outside of that fact,

I don't have to worry about a thing.