When Your Feet Feel Stuck

We recently returned from a family vacation in Florida where warm sand castles and cool salty waves filled our days. The break from the ordinary was welcome, but as we pulled into our driveway and were greeted by the chilly air- I was reminded again of the routines we were plunging into.There is work to attend to, meals to cook, dishes to wash, school to teach, and oh- the laundry. There are lawns to mow, pipes to fix, health issues to hash out, and kids to continue to care for. Our week away was only a band-aid. It lured us with its turquoise blues and noble palm trees making us believe that we could escape it all.Except of course- we couldn’t.

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Sanctification

Snow carpets the earth beneath my feet
As I trample overhead I think of what lies below.
Is it still there?

Months ago I dug my hands into that cool dirt.
The small bulbs shook my hand with a promise
Not now, but soon.

But I want to see the purples, yellows, and whites.
I covet stalks that reach to the sky,
For petals of beauty.

Instead the harsh winter chills the ground
And thawing snows gives way to mud.
The pledge feels gone.

Yet hidden in this dirt sits life.
Slowly it pushes aside what doesn’t belong,
Slowly it grows-

Out towards neighboring soil for nourishment,
Deeper into the anchor that holds it firm-
Always with purpose.

One day I’ll catch a glimpse of its green.
I’ll see a tiny shoot and hope will remind me-
Not now, but soon.

For now I await the promise that was made
And remember that colors won’t ever come
‘til they move the mud.

The promise is firm, but ever patient.
So I fasten myself to the hope of soon
But even now, too

Yes- even now the Spirit moves and gives life.

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These Cuts are Leading Us to Christ

I have five small scars on my stomach. They might not hurt, but my heart does each time I catch a glance.

A doctor’s cuts can offer us the end of pain, healing from disease, even the hope of a new child. Yet some cuts don’t cash in on what was promised. Some—like those that made my five scars—are just another step in an unending search for a cure. They lead to more tests, more questions, and the nagging feeling that nothing will work.

You may never be wheeled into a cold operating room, but as followers of Christ we are never free from the surgeon’s cut. When the Holy Spirit descended into our hearts, he came with a scalpel. As saints justified by Christ’s blood, we are constantly being sanctified while we await the presence of Christ and the glorification of our souls.

This sanctification in the middle is not always easy, and certain periods of our lives often feel too burdensome. Does God know what he’s doing? Why is my growth so slow? Is this pain doing something? In these times, we find hope in understanding the work of the Spirit and his purpose in our lives….

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The Fruit of Self-Control

“I can’t eat what?”

My eyes scanned the list of foods on the sheet in front of me as my stomach twisted into knots. Surely, this was a joke. I had reached the end of the road with doctors, unable to find an answer to the stomach issues plaguing me. For the next year, I’d turn to various diets eliminating food groups, allergens, and certain carbohydrates in an effort to heal the unknown. My complicated diet continues today, but though I’ve said no to countless sweets and junk food, I find that I’m just now learning what it means to have self-control.

Of all the fruits of the Spirit listed in Galatians 5, the final one seems the most difficult to me. Virtues like goodness or joy sound enticing, but the ring of self-control strikes feelings of condemnation in my heart. My head fills with visions of throwing out our ice cream or taking a mallet to our phones and tvs.

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Lord, Make Me a Cattle Prod

Maybe I should just quit.

Lately these words keep turning in my mind like a merry-go-round pushed by the latest Christian controversy. Today they are forced to the forefront by the news of James Macdonald’s firing and the wreckage of lives hurt from his seedy underbelly. Tomorrow it might be something else. Since submitting my pen (or maybe my fingers?) to write in small ways for the broader church I have found myself plagued by this thought.

Watching the rise and fall of celebrities within the Christian writing and preaching world, I’ve become more convinced we need a lot more nobodies than a lot of big somebodies. The small and the unseen seems better than the platforms for the masses. Surely a written note of encouragement to a sister nearby is more lasting than the fleeting swipes of the finger.  Do my own words contribute to the problem?

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Climbing the (Wrong) Ladder

Our world equates success with more. More influence. More opportunities. More audience. Algorithms, surveys, and analytics push us even further into the obsession of how much influence we have compared with what we used to. The world screams that we must not stop climbing the ladder of success.

This line of thinking, unfortunately, can spread within the church. As Bible teachers, small group leaders, or disciples that make disciples, we can be caught measuring our service for the kingdom by the level of influence within it. Despite readily acknowledging the importance of humility and servant leadership, we can easily get sucked into linking our spiritual growth with our upward mobility. But when it comes to discipleship in the church, we may need to rethink whether the world’s ladder is ours as well…

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I Felt the Sun Today

Brisk wind arrives outside my window
Each gust plucks another leaf from the familiar
Put away what is gone;
Prepare for the new
The chill of winter stretches on…

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When the Pain Lingers

I don’t do well with doctors. Or maybe I do too well for them. The past sixteen years have been peppered with waiting rooms, tests, and questions that don’t come with simple answers. Time may have healed the cuts that once gaped open, but their scars affect much more than the color of my skin.

A few weeks ago I visited a podiatrist for a simple outpatient procedure. Once the pain from the numbing needle subsided- alone in the room with my husband- I began to panic. I felt my breath quicken and my heart beat faster. The pain of trauma from years ago spilled from my eyes as I looked at my husband. I flashed back to images of hospital beds, IVs, and memories I never asked for. 

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Welcome!

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Welcome! My name is Brianna Lambert. I love to write in order to put words to the truths God is teaching me in my study and throughout life. Here you can find links to my published articles and some of my own blogs coupled with my husband's photography. Thanks for stopping by!

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