tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74680615593171108892024-03-05T23:28:49.663-08:00liminal.an intermediate state, phase, or condition // the transitional stage of a processMallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-11649011946361486192021-07-16T23:24:00.000-07:002021-07-16T23:24:55.717-07:00Wilderness and Wildflowers<p style="text-align: justify;"><span><span style="font-size: 12pt; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline !important;">Imagery of blossoming and wilderness have long been resonating with me. Much of the last five years of my life have felt like the wilderness, if I'm honest with myself. Though not totally unrelenting, the last five years have forced me to wrestle with desires, hopes, expectations, goodbyes, betrayals, and the ways in which I'm able to accept change and face the fears of abandonment that have long simmered just below the surface. That's the tidy version. If you looked through the pages of my journals these last few years, the process is way messier than that. Trust me.</span><br></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span> In the midst of ceaseless questions, tears, and long-winded wrestling-matches with God, flower imagery would often rise to the surface as something for me to hold onto. Whether it was imagery of allowing myself to go through the planting and rooting season, or the call to hold onto hope for the eventual blooming of the flower, something about nature, flowers, and the hope of a blossom resonates with me. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><br></span>Neck Deep really did me in when they released <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPzf_4dcL28" target="_blank">In Bloom</a>.</i> That song came out in one of the most tumultuous storms of the last 5 years, and I truly believe that the Lord has used that UK, angsty, punk as an anchor for me to hold onto. (He speaks through the things that make our souls come alive. He's that good, I believe it!)</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span> </span>But anyway, I digress. A few months ago, I found myself reading through Isaiah 35 and was really trying to understand the relationship between the wilderness and blooming. In fact, it was such a big question/revelation that I went to Instagram and posted this:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi45fSluB5bvPMfYwQaCNFIjxQFrgIZjLxAxMnpQEF3K8HSCFqTwIhPGmbPgJfDId3StucydOEEQRNxh_ybZpyDUl7o7p6BeJRFfMMGTaNIJ1yrRX-cH4Sp1mKnU4Lh4A-jOHh-VSH_UXbB/s2048/image0.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi45fSluB5bvPMfYwQaCNFIjxQFrgIZjLxAxMnpQEF3K8HSCFqTwIhPGmbPgJfDId3StucydOEEQRNxh_ybZpyDUl7o7p6BeJRFfMMGTaNIJ1yrRX-cH4Sp1mKnU4Lh4A-jOHh-VSH_UXbB/w480-h640/image0.png" width="480" style="max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><span> I still don't know if I fully wrap my head around this idea to be honest. How wilderness and blooming exist together. I’m thinking that maybe they merge to make something new. One thing I do know though, is that every escapist bone in my body wants to hightail it and run in the opposite direction the second I find myself in something that even remotely resembles the wilderness. Jesus didn't have a lot of fun there. But no matter where I've tried to go these last few years, the Lord's word to me was always the same: Stay.</span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><br></span>And maybe Isaiah 35 is the reason why. I'm grateful that the wilderness seasons in our lives don't last forever. I hold onto that promise. But I've always had this underlying assumption that the end of the wilderness meant leaving the wilderness. That I'd be on to bigger and better things. That I'd be immersed in some new, exciting season, the wilderness growing smaller in my rearview. But maybe that's not how God works in the wilderness for us, always. Maybe sometimes we stay put and watch the wilderness transform and renew into new life bit by painstaking bit. A rain shower here, a blade of grass there. The transformation and experience of life from the wilderness isn't instantaneous or monumental in it's progress. It's slow, it's boring. It's even frustrating because sometimes you can't always recognize the change that's happening. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><span></span></span></p><a name="more"></a><span> </span>Earlier this spring I found myself in my backyard staring down at this odd, unfamiliar plant sprouting from the ground. On a kick to get as many weeds out of my sight-lines as I could, I darn near pulled the thing out. Something stopped me though. <i>"Mallory just let it grow a little longer. Wait and see what it is before you pull it." </i>So I waited. The thing wasn't exactly an eyesore, but it also wasn't the cutest plant in the garden, either. Days passed, then weeks. I started to notice little orange bulbs developing, and soon enough they were blooming. So excited at the sight that was slowly unfolding before me, I ran to Google and found that my backyard had blessed me with a wild Apricot Mallow. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-rtgWl3QF-c5ViPwDEK-Shg8IxN9Wmwr0ENHEKUcwk5nMlXBZgIuU_IXSwOzDlnouMQUd8evhWle7Fgt_Eb5re7LlCMTHc9Btaj8Yagvvl2F-JUAgQXtQIV93wffZDcMt9cAjjt-CCOE/s2048/image1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-rtgWl3QF-c5ViPwDEK-Shg8IxN9Wmwr0ENHEKUcwk5nMlXBZgIuU_IXSwOzDlnouMQUd8evhWle7Fgt_Eb5re7LlCMTHc9Btaj8Yagvvl2F-JUAgQXtQIV93wffZDcMt9cAjjt-CCOE/w480-h640/image1.jpeg" width="480" style="max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"></a></div><br><p style="text-align: justify;"><span> A desert wildflower native to our region of the US, this flower is drought resistant. Looking at my rocky, dry, desert-y backyard, it's no surprise that this little gal would bloom here. At least on paper, that is. After further reading online, I've found that while the Mallow does grow in some parts of Nevada, it isn't usually something that grows up here in Northern Nevada. Upon sneaking a peak into the backyard of my neighbors (hey, I'm just trying to solve this mystery, okay??) to see if they had one that maybe blew some seed into my yard, I was surprised to find they didn't have a single one. This Mallow has remained a mystery.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><br></span>That is, until the Lord reminded me of my time spent camping out in Isaiah 35 earlier this year. So much of my time these last few years, I've spent singing along to Neck Deep, <i>"Stop digging it up or we're never gonna see it all in bloom." </i>and begging and pleading for God to take me out of this wilderness, when in all actuality, God had been doing the miniscule work of transforming the wilderness around me into new life, all along. I'm not there yet. There are parts of my life that still look like the wilderness. Many of the people I've said goodbye to are gone for good. Heartbreaks I'd long been trying to make sense of, I've finally just had to accept and move on from. Hopes remain unfulfilled. And betrayals, while have mostly healed, still flare up and hurt from time to time if something rubs up against them just right. And yet, something's changing. I've felt it for the better part of this year. God's not taking me out of the wilderness, necessarily. But there's an Isaiah 35 shift in season happening. My wilderness is transforming. There's more life here. And though I don't know what all will grow and change or when, exactly, I do know this: While that Mystery Mallow dares to bloom in my backyard, my hope in the God of Isaiah 35 dares, too. </p>Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-36211411586267311452021-01-29T13:22:00.008-08:002021-01-29T13:27:54.222-08:00The Last Gift<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The paint had long been chipping off the porch swing but that never deterred us from sitting on it anyway. We had to be careful not to swing it too high though, as it was prone to loud squeals of protest if we sent it too far into the air. A few of those afternoons sitting next to you, I’d pull out my new guitar and attempt to recall the chords I’d been learning in an effort to play a song for you I’d long been watching videos of online. My fingers were hardly nimble enough to transition from one chord to the next without sounding clunky or strained in some way. But you never cared. You were transfixed by my efforts no matter how novice they were. Callouses hadn’t yet formed on the tops of my fingers, so they would begin to ache quicker than I’d wished. It was at that point that I’d often pass the guitar off to you and let you play around with it. You couldn’t play a single chord and I was just barely capable of teaching myself at that point, so I was no help whatsoever in giving you any sort of suggestion. Your hands were more accustomed to wrenches and baseball bats than they were to the delicate dance of fingers on the guitar’s long neck. But you strummed away anyway and I delighted in showing you something of mine I knew more about than you, if only by a little bit.</span></span></p><p class="yiv3472500851p2" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21.9px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="yiv3472500851s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv3472500851p3" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv3472500851s2"><span style="font-family: verdana;">That was 10 years ago. Today, my fingers have enough dexterity now to transition from one chord to the next without sounding nearly as clunky as they did a decade ago. And I FINALLY learned that pesky F chord! Dented, scratched, and chipping, my guitar can no longer hide the fact that I haven’t treated it with as much delicacy in recent years as I had on those hot summer afternoons on the porch swing. I like how it looks now, though. Those scratches and chips on the front face of the guitar serve as a reminder to the promise that I kept for both of us: that’d I’d keep going. </span></span></p><p class="yiv3472500851p2" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21.9px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="yiv3472500851s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="yiv3472500851p3" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="yiv3472500851s2"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I remember the ways you’d express with a tinge of regret in your voice, the fact that you’d never taken the time to pick up playing any sort of instrument. You always thought it cool that I had. So when you got into your accident, I vowed to the both of us that I’d keep going. I vowed to finish what I started because you’d never get a chance to start it at all. When you died, continuing to learn guitar seemed like one last way I could honor and remember you. But what I’m just now beginning to realize is this: while playing my guitar may have started as one last act of love my broken heart wanted to pour out for you, it seems as if you’ve turned the tables on me over the course of this last decade. The hours I spent playing my guitar were one last gift you wanted to give me. One last act of love from you to me. All the hard moments of these last ten years - the tears I cried, the fears I wrestled through - <span class="yiv3472500851Apple-converted-space"> </span>not much could relieve me of those things like pulling out my guitar and letting the music take me. And never had I needed relief more than when I had to face the agonizing truth of having lost you. Yes, these years of playing my guitar weren’t something I gave to you, after all. They were something you gave to me. <span class="yiv3472500851Apple-converted-space"> </span>A place for my heart to feel safe. One last suffocating bear hug. All this time, I thought I was playing to keep you going. In reality, my playing was your final way to embolden me with the courage to keep going, myself. It was the last gift.</span></span></p>Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-65717713271574935462021-01-22T15:32:00.004-08:002021-01-22T15:32:46.639-08:00Come and See<p>Jesus changed the entire trajectory of the lives of His disciples with 3 simple words: "Come and see." I've read those words hundreds of times as I've read and reread the miraculous works of Jesus in the Gospels. But lately, as I contemplate them, there's a magnitude to them I've never quite considered before. </p><p>A couple weeks ago, I was sitting in a Gospel Contemplation prayer session over Zoom for one of our national student conferences. I'd done Gospel Contemplation a little here and there before, but never felt Jesus speak as clearly before to me, as He did this time.</p><p>The woman facilitating the session read over us the passage in Luke where we see Jesus healing the man with the withered hand, much to the surprise of the people and to the dismay of the Pharisees watching. She posed the question, "where are you in this passage, as it plays out?" As I imagined my place in this story, an image emerged. Unexpectedly, I found myself in the front of the room. I was standing just a bit behind and off and to the left of Jesus as He was teaching. The crowd sat, captivated. In the back, the Pharisees stood against the wall, arms folded, looks of disgust plastered on their faces. Jesus locked eyes with the man with the withered hand and invited him to step forward.</p><p>At this point, the woman cuts in again with another question - "How is Jesus interacting with you in this story? Is He saying anything to you?" With that, I watched as Jesus turned His head around toward me, and gave me a slight grin and a wink. "Wait and see what I'm about to do."</p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p>I think about Jesus' call to the disciples, "Come and see." I see how quick the disciples are to drop what they're doing to answer such a vague and cryptic call.</p><p>In John, when we see John the Baptist's disciples begin following Jesus, they ask, "Rabbi, where are you staying?"</p><p>Jesus simply responds, "Come, and you will see."</p><p>Later on in the same chapter of John, we see that response ripple out from more than just Jesus' lips. Philip, believing he's found the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth, runs to his brother Nathaniel and tells him all about it. Skeptical, Nathaniel replies with, "Nazareth! Can any good come from there?"</p><p>Then, Philip responds to his brother with the very three words that had likely captivated him: "Come and see."</p><span><!--more--></span><p>I as contemplate much of my prayer life with God, I am continually grateful and impressed with God's unchanging patience towards me. So much of my prayer life feels like an incessant toddler repeatedly asking their mom "Why? Why? Why?"</p><p>It's SO easy for me to get ahead of myself, to wonder about my future, and to let myself worry about what may come. Many of my prayers have been, "Jesus, what's going to happen? What are you going to do?" And more often than not, Jesus' loving and gentle response is "Wait and see."</p><p>Talk about a frustrating three words. </p><p>But as I look to Jesus' call to the disciples - the call to "come and see," I am so happy the Jesus didn't spoil the whole story right off the bat. Imagine if Jesus had told the disciples His entire plan and purpose for coming, and <i>then </i>invited them to follow Him. <u>They wouldn't have believed a single word of it.</u> His plan was (and still is), so much greater than we could have ever imagined. No, hearing about Jesus' Kingdom wasn't how the disciples were meant to understand it. Jesus wanted them to <i>experience </i>His Kingdom and His purposes. Hence, "Come and see."</p><p>And as I think about all of the "wait and sees" and "come and sees" that Jesus has given me over the course of my life, I think it's the same for me. Jesus could tell me all the plans He has for me, sure. But where's the sense of adventure in that? No, Jesus doesn't want to give me all the answers to my questions. He wants me to <i>experience </i>them alongside Him. How incredible is it that the God of the universe doesn't want to just reveal to me His plans and purposes for my life, but wants to actually <i>be with me</i> as they unfold? </p><p>Besides, if the Gospels show us nothing else, Jesus has a habit of doing immeasurably more than we could ever begin to ask or imagine (Eph. 3:20). So maybe it's a good thing Jesus hasn't given me all the answers to the questions I hold. Something about His track record tells me I probably wouldn't believe Him, even if he did.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-62969881714948516132020-12-28T11:35:00.005-08:002020-12-28T12:12:48.722-08:00The Year Hope Came Back: 10 Things That 2020 Taught Me<p>This year was...different. I don't need to say it. We all know. This year challenged us, stretched us, and even frustrated us in ways we couldn't have anticipated. And while it's easy for us to look back on 2020 and be tempted to say that it offered us nothing valuable, I simply don't believe that to be true.</p><p>I spent significantly more time trapped inside the four walls of my house this year. At first glance, I thought being stuck inside was an undeniable sentence for spiritual atrophy. I was wrong. When it came down to it, the slower pace and fewer distractions afforded me the space to allow God to come in and really stir up and clean out some things in my heart that had long been sort of gunked on. It was hard, but it was necessary. </p><p>Sometimes you have to rebreak bones for them to heal properly, and in a way, that's sort of what 2020 felt like. I'm glad God prompted me to rebreak some of those old bones. Because He was faithful bind them up the way they should have been, and here I am now, standing at the end of this year - my cast off, my bones strong and healed. As I look back on this year - the places where I cried some tears, where I asked some hard questions, where I extended some forgiveness, where I chose acceptance, and where God healed me - there's a lot He taught me. Lessons that wouldn't have come if I hadn't had the slower pace and the guts to rebreak some of those bones of mine. So for those things, I am grateful to 2020. And while this list probably only skims the surface of what God has actually been doing in my life these last 12 months, I'm grateful for these takeaways:</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>I'm finding my voice. This year I found myself more bold in sticking up for myself, setting boundaries, protecting others, and speaking hope. My voice can be and is a force for good.</li><li>God calls us to be in right relationship with others. Right relationship does not necessarily automatically mean friendship or allowing others to have full access to me. (Right relationship comes by being humble, honest, vulnerable, and setting the necessary boundaries).</li><li>How we respond to the world is the overflow of what's going on in our hearts and minds. I've seen a lot of bitterness and anger spew out of unlikely people this year (myself included). While I can't control the responses of others, this year I committed myself to doing the messy heart-work of looking inward to wrestle, untangle, and heal. (In fact, much of my prayers to God at the beginning of this year were totally stolen from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oeSMyvv-Nmg" target="_blank">Untangle Me</a>, by The Maine).</li><li>I'm more aware of my core fears and committed to continually surrendering them to God. (It's sort of crazy how much our fears can influence our behaviors).</li><li>It's easier for me to find a way to blame myself for being hurt by others than to admit that someone has hurt me. I'm learning and accepting that sometimes, even the most well-intentioned people will hurt me.</li><li>You can't die on every hill. Make the ones you choose to die on count.</li><li>Reconciling conflict isn't always black and white. It isn't always about being right. Sometimes it's about laying down pride and doing whatever work needs to be done for the sake of moving forward in peace. Sometimes there is no clear right and wrong - there's a little bit of right and wrong in all the perspectives being examined (And sometimes that makes it harder to find a clear path forward, but it also humanizes everyone involved). Often times, I've learned, conflict springs up because we're all just broken people accidentally rubbing up against one another's wounds. That's why I think it's SUPER important for us to do the work of identifying and understanding our wounds.</li><li>God is faithful to bring healing in His perfect timing. (If you're craving God's healing, keep going. It WILL come if you're faithful to seek Him. My healing this year came through accepting circumstances beyond my control and extending some forgiveness for things I didn't at first realize had hurt me as much as they had. I'd suspect that deeper acceptance and forgiveness are the keys to healing for some of you, too).</li><li>Prayer works.</li><li>2020 restored hope to me. I hold tightly to it, but hold loosely to what it looks like when it comes knocking.</li></ol><p></p><p>2020, you Twilight Zone year, you. You gave us a run for our money. But you also gave me a lot of others small things that I'm grateful for. Things I don't want to overlook. </p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>You gave my Disney-loving heart a chance to start my year at the Most Magical Place on Earth before the world shut down. </li><li>You gave me the chance to complete more jigsaw puzzles than I could have predicted. </li><li>You gave me more chances to drum in worship settings. </li><li>You gave me the opportunity to be a bridesmaid. </li><li>Though I had to cancel it, you gave me the chance to plan out a La La Land themed vacation (and truthfully, I'm still quite proud of it). </li><li>You gave me the lunacy to apply for a reality TV show. </li><li>You let Kelsey and I film a YouTube video. </li><li>You gave me a chance to peruse new record stores (and allow my modest little collection to hit triple digits). </li><li>You gave me the chance to successfully propagate some of my plants. </li><li>You gave me the audacity to learn Girls by the Beastie Boys on glockenspiel. </li><li>You gave me a chance to try baking some new things. </li><li>You let me fly a kite. </li><li>You let me string my hammock up in my backyard (you also let my hammock fall and goofed up my tailbone for a couple of weeks but we don't need to think about that hahaha). </li><li>You gave me the chance to watch A Goofy Movie for the first time and I kind of haven't been able to stop thinking about how much I love it. </li><li>You let me deep dive into paranormal TV shows way more than I probably should have. </li><li>You let me see the ocean. </li><li>You let me see Seven Magic Mountains. </li><li>You let me be reunited with old friends. </li><li>You also gave me new ones. </li><li>You taught me how to trim my own hair. </li><li>You let me preach my first-ever sermon (like, WHAT?). </li><li>You inspired a spontaneous camping trip. </li><li>You let my dad toss me the keys to his boat. </li><li>You let me read more books. </li><li>You let me learn a few more songs on guitar and piano. </li><li>You let me learn to (only slightly-less terribly) swing dance. </li><li>You let me watch one of my best friends get married. </li><li>You let me see Mount Rushmore. </li><li>You let me go to two national parks and see more buffalo and prairie dogs than my fingers can count. </li><li>You let my roommates and I start a pseudo-band. </li></ol><div>Yes, there was certainly pain and loss in 2020. But as I look back at these lists, I can't help but feel an immense level of gratitude. 2020 gave me a lot, too. Thank-you Lord, for the ways you moved mightily these last 12 months. For the ways You healed me and the memories you gave me. I step into 2021, knowing it will all be okay because You are already there. Thank-you Lord, for that truth.</div><p></p>Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-74289756174087547062020-02-16T23:22:00.000-08:002020-02-16T23:22:36.314-08:00Let’s talk about the multiverse...Here’s the thing about space. It stresses me out. It’s huge. It’s expanding. We don’t know what’s out there. And that’s just our universe. (Don’t even get me started on my thoughts about THE MULTIVERSE).<br />
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So naturally, when I read this portion of my devotional this morning, I stressed myself out. 😅 But I sat in it. The creation God weaves together, He weaves through uttering 3 words: Let there be.<br />
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Let there be light. Let there be day. Let there be night. The list goes on.<br />
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The cool thing is, God is still speaking, today. He is still creating today. I spent sometime earlier this year really praying and asking what God had in store for me, this year. And as I prayed and chatted about what came up with a couple of friends, it was clear that God was speaking really cool and exciting things over my life, this year. And I guess, what I’m trying to get at is that the God who spoke the universe in existence (and dare I say...maybe even the MULTIVERSE??), is still speaking over you today. He’s creating new life, new hope, and new purposes in your life. And as you continue to faithfully step forward, you’re going to continue to discover what they all are and what they mean. How intensely profound and beautiful it is that God is glorified through the things He speaks over our lives just as much as He’s glorified through the spinning of galaxies and the twinkle of literally countless (don’t make me think about how many 😅🙈), stars (if not more)?<br />
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You are so seen and so loved. And God is speaking and creating great things over your life, today and always. Be encouraged, friends.<br />
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<br />Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-84823078631728584412019-12-30T11:48:00.000-08:002019-12-30T11:52:19.041-08:00The Year of Letting Go: 10 Things 2019 Taught Me<div>
As I pause to reflect on 2019, it's hard to know exactly where to begin. It was a roller-coaster of highs and lows - a year of transition following 2 previous years of transition. The year started in the Saint Louis winter, where I hopped the state line into Illinois before riding the train back into Missouri to catch my flight home. </div>
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This wasn't the only adventure 2019 afforded me. Lena and I later rode up the PCH by Monterey and through Big Sur. In a season where I wrestled through a lot of fear, and a lot of sadness at things and people lost through 2019's transitions, I continue to be grateful for this trip - the mountains to our left, the ocean to our right, and for the ways that the crashing waves on the beach seemed to clear my mind in a way it hadn't been for months. In addition to that, I fondly remember the other sights of the year - walking through the mission in San Luis Obispo, the Record Exchange in downtown Boise, and all the other little adventures in between. </div>
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2019 was the year I finally started driving a car from the current century (complete with actual cup-holders!). It was also the year that some old friends and I accidentally started a band (and if you ask us to play some Nirvana, we're not totally horrible!). This was also the year that had been (quite literally) 22 years in the making - the year I finally saw Hanson live, ladies and gentlemen!! </div>
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2019 was also a year that gave me a run for my money. Many important people in my life moved away to start new chapters, leaving me wondering what community was supposed to look like. My dad got mysteriously ill over the summer (praise God, he's okay now). I managed to partially wreck my new car going 85 MPH...sigh...(she's okay now, though too). I took over as team-lead for the ministry on campus - a task that (despite having just finished my first semester and we're all okay), still feels beyond me (though I know I don't always give myself enough credit). I name these things, not to paint 2019 in a sad light (because honestly, there <i>was</i> still a lot to celebrate this year - a lot that I am grateful for), but to acknowledge the ways that 2019 made me grow.</div>
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And as I put my pen to paper this morning, here were the few ways I can name right away:</div>
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<li>I realize am stronger than I think I am.</li>
<li>But, I am not immortal.</li>
<li>Sometimes when all you want to do is run, God is going to call you to stay and stand firm.</li>
<li>Sometimes, you can do everything right, and it's still going to go wrong.</li>
<li>No matter how good or pure your intentions, sometimes you will be the villain in someone else's story.</li>
<li>Sometimes it has to get worse before it gets better.</li>
<li>Jesus gives us more mercy than we even give ourselves.</li>
<li>Sometimes God calls you to fight for the people in your life. Sometimes He calls you to let them go. (Yes, even as I write this, I see the ways that 2019 was the year of letting go for me - letting go of people, of expectations, of my own ideas about the ways things should be).</li>
<li>God provides us the things we need. And sometimes, just because He's that kind and generous, He also gives us the things we want. He sees the desires of our hearts.</li>
<li>Lastly, there's a lot to be said about finding joy in the little things. </li>
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<li>(And what were my "little things" this year? My renewed joy for playing drums, chattering incessantly about (and watching lots of) baseball with Tiny-T, having continued to grow my record collection, naively trying to grow bonsai trees only to wind up having killed 75% of them...(that's a story for another blog post, hahaha), seeing John Mayer and Third Eye Blind (among others) live, working out in my little DIY gym in the backyard during the summer months, binging The Imagineering Story on Disney+, and deep-diving into the MFM and Disgraceland podcasts (and thus realizing, I'm a bigger whodunnit/true crime nut, than I realized).</li>
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2019, you wonderfully weird, happy sad year. You've called me to lay down a lot. You've called me to let go of some things. And for that, I say...ouch. (Just kidding. Sort of). In all seriousness, I say thank-you. Thank-you for the ways you've challenged me to let go of things I once clung tightly to. Because, now as I step into this new year, this new decade, my heart and my hands no longer hold what's not theirs to carry. They're open, ready, and expectant for what 2020 has in store. And, to be honest, I think I am, too.</div>
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Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-90156305300243980522019-06-28T11:20:00.002-07:002019-06-28T16:10:58.914-07:00Flowers on the GraveIn our finite minds, death is the final, definitive conclusion for all of us. The permanent termination of our residence on earth. And that's not inaccurate by any means. But when we put the lenses of Jesus on, there's this sort of flip in the order of operations when it comes to life and death. Every one of those disciples watched Jesus' arrest, His trial, and His ultimate conviction as being ruled an enemy of the state and thought for sure that was the end. Fast forward to after the deed was done and I can't imagine there being a lot of hope in the air as that stone was rolled in front of the tomb for whomever did it. For the next couple of days, the disciples hid in a room together and mourned. This was it. The last three years of their lives had put them on a trajectory to this very moment, where I'm sure they believed it wouldn't get any better.<br />
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Fast forward a little more - Jesus resurrects. He's alive. He goes to see them. He commissions them to tell everyone about what He accomplished. The disciples have a mission in front of them.<i><b> Death wasn't the end of the story. Death was the prerequisite to purpose and to life. </b></i><br />
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There's this song called <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4VuzrfG3uOA">Flowers on the Grave</a> that I've been resonating with a lot, these last few months. In the midst of considerable transitions and goodbyes, the line "<i>flowers on the grave of the child I used to be,"</i> hits me in some sort of way that I probably won't be able to articulate, fully. Lately, I feel as though there's been a gentle invitation from God in my heart to put flowers on the grave, not of the child I used to be, but rather, on the grave of the woman I thought I'd be, and the life I thought I'd be living at this point. Rather than letting myself continue to pray and plead for the ways things used to be, I've felt the challenge and the call that there are just some dreams I need to let die and some graves that I need to gently place a flower on. And so that's what I'm working to do. <br />
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This hasn't occurred without a certain level of sadness. This hasn't come with ease. But I can also say this - when I look at the death of Jesus, when I see that for Him (and the disciples), what followed was life and purpose, I can't help but feel the tug of an undercurrent of hope that, by letting some things die, there's life and purpose on the horizon for me, as well.<br />
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Even thinking about Lazarus. When Jesus heard that he was sick, He didn't rush over to heal him. He let Lazarus die. And then waited a few days before finally going to visit Lazarus' family. But then what happened? He brought Lazarus back to life. What's the bigger miracle here? To heal someone who's sick or to resurrect someone who's been dead for a few days?<b><i> Death was the prerequisite to the bigger miracle.</i></b><br />
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I write all this to say, yes, saying goodbye to people, to dreams, to the way you think things should be, is hard. It has taken me months (and in some cases, years), to finally feel brave enough to let some things in my life die, and to allow myself to feel the free enough to embrace whatever might come next. I don't know if Jesus will eventually resurrect some of those things I've let go of, like He did Lazarus. Or if He'll instead replace those things with new purposes and dreams like He did for the disciples. But whatever the outcome, I'm finally starting to believe that death to these things in my life isn't the end, but rather the start of something powerful and exciting. And my question to you is the same one God's been asking me - are there some things in your life you need to let die? And do you trust that there is life, purpose, and dare I say, a miracle waiting for you after you lay that flower down on that grave?<br />
<b></b><i></i><b></b><i></i><br />Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-62805035845666761162019-04-19T22:47:00.001-07:002019-04-19T22:47:10.854-07:00Reflections on Good Friday<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #1d2228; font-family: Helvetica Neue,Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span>“I remember you.”</span></div>
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<span>God whispered these words to my heart, while I took communion at the Good Friday service earlier today. He remembers me? Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? I sipped the wine and remembered His blood shed on the cross. I bit the bread and remembered His broken, mangled body. </span></div>
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<span>I remember the sacrifice.</span></div>
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<span>“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”</span></div>
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<span>I continue to partake in communion and remember that moment that Jesus was forgotten. The moment that the Father turned away. Jesus was forgotten that I may be remembered. That my name would be written in the Book of Remembrance. </span></div>
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<span>And even now, in 2019, when my prone-to-doubt heart dares utter, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me,” through the bread and the cup, Jesus lovingly points me back to that moment on the cross 2000 years ago. Jesus, King of the Jews, allowed His kingship to be forgotten and instead took on the death of a criminal. That I, 2000 years later, wine in one hand and bread in the other, would be comforted, knowing that Jesus would forget my criminal ways and instead deem me the Daughter of the King. </span></div>
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<span>Thank-you, Jesus, that you have called me to remember how You were willingly forgotten, that I would be remembered now and forever. Amen.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-77031420073559656192019-04-04T14:03:00.000-07:002019-04-04T14:03:41.268-07:00Stillness and Strength<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Exodus 14:14</span></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #001320; display: inline; float: none; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still. // </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #001320; display: inline; float: none; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The LORD will fight for you, and you must be quiet.</span></span></i></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">2 Corinthians 12:9-10</span></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span class="text 2Cor-12-9" id="en-NIV-29032" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: black; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><sup class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">9 </sup>But he said to me, <span class="woj" style="box-sizing: border-box;">“My grace<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29032A" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29032A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> is sufficient for you, for my power<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29032B" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29032B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> is made perfect in weakness.<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29032C" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29032C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup>”<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29032D" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29032D" title="See cross-reference D">D</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup></span> Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 24px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span class="text 2Cor-12-10" id="en-NIV-29033" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: black; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><sup class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">10 </sup>That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29033E" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29033E" title="See cross-reference E">E</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29033F" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29033F" title="See cross-reference F">F</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> in persecutions,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29033G" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29033G" title="See cross-reference G">G</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></sup> in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.</span></span></i></div>
<b></b><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Stillness and strength. Two ideas that, to me at least, seem in opposition to one another. There's something about strength that seems active, to me. Whereas, stillness seems passive. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Stillness and quietness. Two different bible translations of Exodus 14:14 and they both give me these words. How, I wonder, are the two connected?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Strength and weakness. Experiences that sit, seemingly, on opposite ends of a spectrum. Yet, in 2 Corinthians not only do these two seem to sit simultaneously in the same space, there seems to be a cause-and-effect at work, here. My weakness is when Christ's power comes through. Christ's power makes me strong. So when I am weak, I am strong. That's some transitive property mumbo-jumbo.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And let me tell ya about my weakness. I feel it, lately. I joke that the last year of my life has aged me 10 years. That's a little bit dramatic. But it has been a heavy year. My mind has been a hamster on a wheel spinning and spinning, with little room for breaks in between. About lots of things. Friendships, work, singleness, navigating grief (again), money. The list goes on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm at a point where that little hamster upstairs (I'm calling my brain a hamster so if there's any sign that I'm not all here, that's probably it), is tired of running. And I've told God that. I've spun in prayer for months, even years about some of these things. I can't do it anymore. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But I'm starting to wonder if that's where I need to be. Weakened and tired to the point of seizing to spin. Maybe that's the point through which Christ's power starts to work through me. Maybe it's in this stillness that the Lord is fighting for me. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Maybe it took wearing myself out on the wheel to get me to this point - the point of not having any new words to spew out at God in prayer, the point of quietness. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Yes, this point of feeling weak, I'm starting to believe, might be the strongest I've yet dared myself to be. This might be the point at which I see the Lord fighting for me in a way I've never seen before. This might be the point that Christ's power works in me in a more glorious way than I could imagine. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And to all that, I say. "Heck yeah Jesus. Do Your thing in my life. I'm just gonna step off the hamster wheel for a while and grab a snack."</span>Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-20853468199696861232019-03-10T18:51:00.001-07:002019-03-10T18:51:17.796-07:00Reflections on ContentmentThis is a season of growing pains. A season where I hope God is at work more in spite of my faith rather than because of it. A season of "I believe, help my unbelief," and "God, prove me wrong." In this season, my "yes" to Jesus isn't victorious and triumphant. It's timid and fragile. In this season, there's a lot of change on the horizon and more goodbyes than I dare let my fingers tally. <br />
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It's this season that has me reflecting on the idea of contentment. In Philippians, Paul writes, "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength." Writing from prison, Paul has every reason to be discontent. <br />
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Proverbs 13:12 says, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is like a tree of life." For more reasons than one, this is my season of heartsickness. And I find myself asking, "Is being heartsick being discontent? Am I not happier because I'm not choosing contentment? Is my heartsickness an offence against God?"<br />
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And as I've dared force my way into contentment in this season, I find myself carrying a deeper and deeper sadness. To force contentment with how things are right now drives my heart down a path of defeat and hopelessness. And any path that leads to hopelessness, is not a path laid out by God, for Jesus Himself is Hope in flesh. So as I continue to wrestle with contentment and heartsickness, I cling to that truth. Contentment and defeat aren't the same thing. Acceptance through defeat isn't contentment. That's giving up. That's settling. So while there is a level of contentment I'm being called to at a day-to-day level, the Holy Spirit whispers to me that it's okay to be heartsick in this season. To acknowledge that there's pain, fear, and wrestling. In fact, I believe that to be heartsick is the very sign that God has more for me than what I see in this season and that God isn't calling me to "settle." It's the sign to hope big and pray big for whatever may be next. What if my heartsickness isn't an offence against God, but the very thing that drives me to contend for that "longing fulfilled?"<br />
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Contentment and heartsickness, I'm learning, are not in opposition to each other. And while the healthy balance between the two is still hard to strike, I am grateful for a God who isn't angered by my heartsickness but is actually using my heartsickness as the very path that will lead me to a place of contentment under that "tree of life."<br />
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Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-79034841404081876232019-01-09T15:52:00.001-08:002019-01-09T21:51:08.645-08:00It Won't Ever End // Reflections On My Journey Toward Mental Health<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span>
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<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">It Won't Ever End.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">That
was the lie that suffocated me for almost 4 years. When my cousin got
into his accident and passed away my senior year of high school (that's a part
of my story we can talk about in person...), the intensity of my grief had wishing I had died with him. I didn't know there was a name for it at the time,
but what I later learned was that I suffered from Passive Suicidality<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> ("...</span></span><span style="color: #111111; margin: 0px;">when a person desires death but has no specific plan to
commit suicide<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">…").
Along with crippling depression, I found myself carrying a newfound,
indescribably intense and acute anxiety, that I never felt anything like
before. It was highly irrational, highly paralyzing, and if I'm being
honest, looking back, I still don't fully understand what was going on in my
mind. <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">It was as if
someone had hijacked my mind and the thoughts I was thinking weren't Mallory's
thoughts, anymore. (That's a scary sentence to go back and
reread). </span>My anxiety had me feeling like the world was
about to end, and I couldn't watch the news because I felt absolutely hopeless
and powerless when I saw the pain and injustice plaguing the world. Maybe
it was a weird magnification of the hopelessness and powerlessness I felt in
not being able to somehow save my cousin. I don't know. But what I
do know is that, looking back in hindsight, I needed professional help.
But I was terrified to speak up. Whoever was thinking these thoughts in
my mind had me believing that if I told anybody, they would think that I am
crazy. And I did feel like I was going crazy. I felt like no matter
how hard I fought for control of my mind, I was powerless against the forces
taking residence up there. To feel like you're literally losing your
mind, to watch yourself lose capability of rational thinking, is one of the
scariest things in the world. This is the state I lived in for almost 4
years as I finished high school and started college. </span></span></div>
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<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #111111; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">BUT this season brought me deeper understanding of
my authority in Christ - that I <i>did</i> have power through Jesus to take
these thoughts captive. That if there were forces outside of God (which,
there definitely were) infiltrating my mind, that my tongue, by the power of
Jesus, had the authority to tell them to knock it off. So my prayers grew
more powerful. They grew more gutsy. And I found myself, slowly,
incrementally gaining control of my thoughts again. But that was the
problem. While it felt like I was starting to have the upper-hand against
these thoughts, the problem was that they were still there. They never
truly went away. And that's when I let myself believe the lie that
nothing was ever going to change. I might have had the tools to combat
the forces at work upstairs, but I did not have the tools to fully defeat
them. I would never have an unplagued mind ever again. I looked
forward to growing old and being done with my life merely because it meant I
wouldn't have to battle my mind anymore. </span></span></span></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #111111; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">That was until the spring break of my senior year
of college. I was at a camp with other students and during our time in
worship, I wrestled with whether to get prayer ministry for my anxiety.
My desire to be healed was overshadowed by the forces upstairs that told me
that God wouldn't heal me (part of me truly believed that he couldn't - that I
was beyond His help and His power wouldn't be enough (which is a TOTAL lie))
and that I shouldn't dare even entering His presence for fear of what He might
say to me. But something weird and hard to explain happened. There
suddenly was a third voice in my head. It was powerful, yet
overwhelmingly gentle. It was unlike anything I had ever heard
before. It spoke, "Mallory, please, don't you dare leave this island
without coming to me about your anxiety." This was the first time in
my 20+ years of following Jesus that I heard the unmistakable, unadulterated,
voice of God.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #111111; margin: 0px;">So with fear and trembling, I went. I sat across
from the person who was to pray with me and told her for the first time about
the intensity of anxiety I was dealing with for years. It was one of the
scariest things I'd ever done. But as soon as I spilled my heart
out, there was an immediate sense of relief. Sharing about my anxiety with
someone else was the first step in it losing it's grip over me. I had shared how anxiety had plagued other members of my family
and she told me these things sometimes have the power to effect generations of
people. So she told me to pray, not only for myself, but to cast off
whatever forces were working in the minds of family that came before me.
So I did. And I, to this day, don't fully understand what took place in
that time of prayer. It was mysterious and spiritual and complex. I
received visions of Jesus far away from me. I received visions of myself
entangled in these tree roots that tied me down and kept me from closing that
distance with Jesus. I received visions of my tired, aching, clenched
hands, finally opening. (In order to gain control of my mind, I had to
relinquish control to God). By the time the prayer ended, I received a
vision of Jesus and I. The tree was gone. I was free and standing
side by side with Him. As I walked out of the prayer room, that night, I physically felt lighter. I felt that if I were to jump too high, the forces of gravity wouldn't be powerful enough to bring me back down. I'd just float away into that starry island sky. I don't understand it. I'd never felt that way before and haven't felt that way, since. </span></span></span></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
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</span></span></span><br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #111111; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">I went home from camp that week fully expecting for the anxiety to
creep back in. It never did. Not for me, and not for the family members I
had prayed for. We were healed. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
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</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #111111; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: 100%; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">So, here I sit, writing out this testimony.
I'm writing it for me. Because if I'm being honest with myself, there are
circumstances in my life right now that feel as if they won't ever change or
get better. That even though God mysteriously and divinely restored my
mind almost 4 years ago, I am still tempted to believe the lie that circumstances
will be the way they are forever. I write this story to remind my heart
that though sometimes life feels unrelenting, God has a way of breaking in at
the exact moment He needs to, to change everything. And if He did it
once, He can do it again. May my heart pray, yearn, and hope for that
moment, once more. Amen.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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</span></span>Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-89246969714029819572019-01-04T13:01:00.000-08:002019-01-04T15:28:07.805-08:00A Call To Endure: 10 Things 2018 Taught Me<ol style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; overflow-x: visible; padding: 0px 0px 0px 40px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<li style="font-stretch: 100%; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Grief has a weird way of rearing its head when you least expect it. What I'm learning is that I don’t think it really ever goes away. (To steal the imagery of Jacob wrestling with God in Genesis 32 - I think I'll always walk with a limp).</span></li>
<li style="font-stretch: 100%; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I base too much of my value and worth on the perceptions and opinions of other people. I continue to repent of this.</span></li>
<li style="font-stretch: 100%; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The lies that I’m getting left behind and that nothing will ever change for me are very tempting for me to believe. I still have to be on guard against them. But in the end, they are just that - lies. </span></li>
<li style="font-stretch: 100%; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The favor of God isn’t always a glamorous, feel-good thing. Sometimes it involves suffering. It's tempting to think that suffering is a sign that I don't have God's favor. But it's still there, even if I don't see it in the natural.</span></li>
<li style="font-stretch: 100%; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It doesn’t matter how many people you have in life, sometimes life has a way of making you feel lonely. (Sometimes I think this is God's way of drawing me into His steadfast, unchanging presence).</span></li>
<li style="font-stretch: 100%; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If I am going lead from a place of mental and emotional health, it’s I must deal with conflict with a posture of listening, quickly identify my emotions (and submit them to Jesus), and be willing to wrestle with whatever is going on in my inner-world.</span></li>
<ol>
<li style="font-stretch: 100%; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If I need to step away from people to make it happen, that’s okay. </span></li>
</ol>
<li style="font-stretch: 100%; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Setting boundaries is a learned skill and crucial for sustainability in anything in life. I need to set boundaries to guard what I need to keep out. But I also need to set boundaries to guard what I want to keep in, as well. Boundaries work both ways, after all. </span></li>
<li style="font-stretch: 100%; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Gratitude is the antidote to anger, isolation, and hopelessness. (In Philippians 1, Paul demonstrates that gratitude empowers joy, endurance, hope, and love). </span></li>
<li style="font-stretch: 100%; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sometimes God will challenge me to get more gutsy.</span></li>
<li style="font-stretch: 100%; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">People are going to hurt me. Love them anyway. </span></li>
</ol>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Reoccurring scriptures of the year: Isaiah 62, Ephesians 2:6, Romans 12:2, Philippians 1:3-6, Hebrews 12:1-2, James 1:2-4.</i></span></div>
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</ol>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468061559317110889.post-64370047223359897822019-01-02T15:00:00.000-08:002019-01-02T15:00:47.632-08:00Reflections From Advent<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1.33px; border-left-color: rgb(38, 40, 42); border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: rgb(38, 40, 42); border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: rgb(38, 40, 42); border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: #26282a; font-family: Helvetica Neue,Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 1.33px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div style="border-image: none; border: 0px rgb(38, 40, 42); margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: small;">A few
weeks ago, I sat across the table from two men at a coffee shop.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>As we chatted about ministry on campus, one
stopped, turned toward me.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</span>“You have God’s favor.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>I can see
it as you speak,” he stated so matter-of-factly.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>I felt my throat tighten.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>“Don’t start crying now,” I scolded myself
inwardly.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>I hadn’t realized how much I
had needed to hear those words until they had escaped his lips.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>It’s been a hard and tedious year.</span></div>
</div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #26282a; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; border-bottom-color: rgb(38, 40, 42); border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-color: rgb(38, 40, 42); border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: rgb(38, 40, 42); border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 1.33px; color: #26282a; font-family: Helvetica Neue,Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 1.33px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div style="border-bottom-color: rgb(38, 40, 42); border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: rgb(38, 40, 42); border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: rgb(38, 40, 42); border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: rgb(38, 40, 42); border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 10.66px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">As I took
myself through my advent devotionals these last few weeks, I was captivated by
the story of Mary.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>The angel Gabriel is
sent to deliver the news that she would give birth to Jesus Christ, our God in
flesh.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>But before Gabriel delivers the
news, he greets her with these very words, “Greetings, you who are highly
favored! The Lord is with you.”<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</span>Favor.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>Gabriel enlightens Mary to
her favor with God before he shares anything else.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #26282a; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #26282a; font-family: Helvetica Neue,Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 10.66px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: small;">With Gabriel’s concluding statement, Mary
is reminded of God’s presence with her before she begins one of the most
tumultuous and terrifying seasons of her life.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</span>She is to be a young, unwed mother.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</span>Her community would have looked down on her for that.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>Joseph doubts whether or not he should go
through with marrying her.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>Once it comes
time for her to give birth, she and Joseph must flee as King Herod seeks to
slaughter their Son.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>Now she’s a
refugee.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>But even so, the Lord is with
her.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #26282a; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #26282a; font-family: Helvetica Neue,Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 10.66px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: small;">As she listens to Gabriel, confusion
spills from Mary’s lips.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>How is this
possible?<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>Gabriel responds, “Even
Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who
was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>For no word from God will ever fail.”</span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #26282a; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #26282a; font-family: Helvetica Neue,Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 10.66px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">As I sit in the magnitude of this
moment, I’m struck by God’s concern for our confusion and our fear.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>Mary, the virgin.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>About to give birth to the Messiah.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>Knowing the questions this all would bring,
God reminded Mary of her cousin Elizabeth’s own immaculate conception.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>Elizabeth was Mary’s sign that God could do
the impossible.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>And that He would.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>Elizabeth was the sign that Mary wasn’t in it
alone.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>How many times have I missed the
Elizabeth in my life?<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>What signs has God
given me that He can and will complete the impossible in my life?<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>Who has God brought alongside me to in the
midst of my own uncertainty?<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #26282a; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #26282a; font-family: Helvetica Neue,Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 10.66px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">God proves here that He doesn’t
just give empty promises.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>For every
promise received from God, there’s an Elizabeth to go along with it.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>A confirmation of God’s intention to fulfill
it.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>Someone to walk with you even if you
don’t totally know where you’re headed. <span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #26282a; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #26282a; font-family: Helvetica Neue,Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 10.66px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: small;">So, as 2018 closes, and I continue
to wait for the fulfillment of my promises, my heart anchors itself to God’s
sweet reassurance to Mary through Elizabeth.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</span>And as I think about the magnitude of the fear, pain, and rejection that
awaited Mary in those next 9 months, I return to Gabriel’s initial words.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>To have favor with God doesn’t mean having all
the answers.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>It doesn’t mean your path
will be easy.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>If anything, to have God’s
favor is to know deep pain and to wrestle with sometimes seemingly endless
confusion.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>To have God’s favor is to
hope on promises that sometimes seem just out of your reach.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>To have God’s favor is to wait for the
unknown.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>BUT – to have God’s favor is to
be a part of something bigger and better than yourself.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>To have God’s favor is to, in due time, watch
divine promises miraculously unfold in your life.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>And, as I think back on the year I’ve had, it
is apparent to me that the man at the coffee shop was right, the whole time.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>I don’t understand it, and I might have
missed my Elizabeth along the way.<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </span>But
the favor of God was on me, all along.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Mallory Morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06916891326404376520noreply@blogger.com0