Category: Daily Faith

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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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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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! 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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