My Life in Word Pictures

I'm about to dump a bucket full of word pictures on you—some of them cheesier than others. But I'm really into them right now when I talk about my faith and where I'm at. It's become my thing.

Word Picture #1

Here I stand before three doors of opportunity that popped up out of nowhere in the last two months. And not those dinky little screen doors or sliding glass doors that always fall off the hinges either.

They're the ornate, sturdy, mammoth-sized doors you find on ancient castles or what-the-crap-do-these-people-do kind of mansions. The kind of doors that are the gateways to mysterious, exciting, beautiful things.

But I can't pick one and walk through it yet. You see, I haven't received my marching orders. I've become that girl. I literally can't take one step in front of me without Jesus saying, "OK. Go." He owns me.

So imagine me sitting on those front steps, just waiting for Him to come along and tell me which one to walk through. 

That's where I'm at.

Bottom Line: There are some potentially new, exciting things coming up. More details later.

Word Picture #2

I'm a writer by profession. It's not just something I get paid to do. I LOVE doing it. It's my life's calling. So holding tight to my proverbial pen is like breathing for me. 

When I lose or misplace it (aka writer's block, creative shutdowns, or the sort), I freak.

This spring, I had a come-to-Jesus moment. Literally. I went to Him to work out some kinks in our relationship (ahem...on my end, obviously).

His reply?

"Hand it over, kid. I want the pen. Stop trying to write your own story. You've done a bang-up job this far, so it's mine to write from now on."

I'd already willingly let Him write every other part of my story except a big chapter I'd been holding tiiiight to. But at the time I approached Him, I was tired—nay EXHAUSTED—of fighting Him and me about it, so I easily waved the white flag and surrendered all.

And you know what? (Sigh.) It was liberating. Freeing. There was so much joy and peace that came with it. (Sigh.)

Now, that doesn't mean I don't try and steal it back from time to time when I forget our arrangement and lose my religion. Hello?! It's me we're talking about here. But I'm learning.

That's where I'm at.

Bottom Line: He's writing my story. It's getting interesting. And I'm way OK with it.

Word Picture #3

A few years ago, one of my best friends told me, "If you live with open hands before Jesus, and let Him give and take away as He pleases, you'll honor Him and He'll bless you."

For that reason, I've been trying to live as open-handed as possible. (I'm a slow learner. This is just now starting to kick in.)

Secular, worldly, selfish Kaylan thinks living this way is for the birds. Because it's HARD, y'all. 

(No, Kaylan. Hard is being a member of the Christian church in Pakistan that was recently bombed. It's seeing your loved ones die right before your eyes. That's hard. Get over yourself, wimp.)

And if I'm being honest, I try out different hand combos all the time to see if I can get away with not living completely vulnerable and exposed and surrendered to Him.

1) One hand open. One hand closed.

2) Thumbs hooked. But palms exposed.

3) Open hands. But ready to strike and clench at a moment's notice.

It's ridiculous. 

But head-over-heels-for-Jesus Kaylan knows it's what's best for me—all day, every day. And He wants it. And I want what He wants. So there you have it. 

That's where I'm at.

Bottom Line: I'm not holding on to anything—including the doors. I'm all palms up, fingers extended, and waiting for what's next.

Word Picture #4

You've heard people say, "When it rains, it pours." But for me, when it rains, it seems to monsoon.

Storms aren't necessarily a bad thing. I actually think they're pretty rad (from a safe distance indoors, while sitting on a comfy chair, with a cup of coffee and a book in hand). 

But, for real. Have you ever stood out in a storm and just let nature have its way with you? Clothes soaked. Mascara dripping off your chin. Hair matted and hanging like a soggy rag.

It's a little crazy and liberating.

So here I am, standing before my three doors in the pouring rain, waiting for instructions from the Rainmaker so I can move on to the next thing.

The question is this: while I wait, will I ditch my umbrella and dance—hands up, palms open, face toward heaven, trusting Him?

I sure as heck will. Bring it. 

That's where I'm at.

Bottom Line: Waiting for an answer sucks. But I'm learning to enjoy the waiting because He's working all things out for my good and His glory.