…in my bath robe and wrecked hair under Your Crepe Myrtle Tree.

I was studying in Job this morning…and I was taken to the passage in 1 Corinthians 3…

Paul was explaining to us how our body is the temple in which the Holy Spirit of God dwells when we receive Jesus… and the Lord will destroy those who destroy His temple. He then went on to write …

“Therefore let no man glory in men. For all things are yours;

Whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come; all are yours; And ye are Christ's; and Christ is God's.”

And it was so striking to me

…the words…

Every. word.

“Whether…

Paul.

Apollos.

Cephas.

The World.

Our Life.

Our Death.

Things present.

Things to come.

ALL. ARE. YOURS.

Ye are Christ’s.

Christ is Gods.”

Peace fell over my entire being.

Our humanness, whether in greatness or in frailty.

Every single part of our life is Gods.

Everything. From the toast with Kerry gold butter on my plate-to the wrinkles that trace across my forehead.

The hairs…falling from my head daily- that I’m strained over-he is counting and recounting every time one falls to the ground- because every single strand is His.

I just sat back in my chair and breathed

Deep…

I could pore over this passage my whole life long. And forever again.

An old painting came to

mind so I went searching to find it.

Digging into an old box, I wiped the dust from the cover and opened to this photo that

I taken of this piece from 18 years ago with mamas 35mm. I had it developed and placed it in my fresh new portfolio…because we didn’t have IG or FB back then. Just “My Space”.

(Laughing to myself writing this, thinking-as my oldest daughter has said,

“That is Back from the 1900’s mom!”

Which I Yelp, “What!?” With my big eyeballs!)

This painting was a commission for a friends Sunday school class…and today I was drawn to bring it back to life.

I modified and added my love for the light- the burning flame that for me represents Christ’s presence- as well as the burning away of all that is old…

A finite representation of this dwelling place-this Holy habitation-where the Spirit of Promise, the Lord of the Sabbath chooses to

Dwell…in us. With us. Our Emmanuel.

He says, I will be with you always, even to the end of the age…

I’ve been grasping for comfort for months- praying and seeking godly counsel, reading everything as time permits … but nothing has taken the place of this fresh word from Jesus-today. His written word.

You know, he says, obedience is better than sacrifice- and I see it today-amidst all

Of my drive to abide.

Jesus, has been whispering to me, “Go back to Job.”

And I’ve found every reason not to…failing to realize, it was in this place of simple

obedience, where he wanted me to find rest. THE rest I’ve been BEGGING FOR-

It was right here. All along.

Soaking in Job, which through searching, He set my gaze to Corinthians.

His heart of long suffering for us knows no end…doesn’t He say, you will

find me- when you search for me with all your heart?

Thank you Jesus for meeting me in all that is yours today-my bath robe and wrecked hair-on the front lawn under your crepe myrtle tree.

“How deep the Father’s love for us,

How vast beyond all measure,

That He should give His only Son

To make a wretch His treasure.

How great the pain of searing loss –

The Father turns His face away,

As wounds which mar the Chosen One

Bring many sons to glory.

Behold the man upon a cross,

My sin upon His shoulders;

Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice

Call out among the scoffers.

It was my sin that held Him there

Until it was accomplished;

His dying breath has brought me life –

I know that it is finished.

I will not boast in anything,

No gifts, no power, no wisdom;

But I will boast in Jesus Christ,

His death and resurrection.

Why should I gain from His reward?

I cannot give an answer;

But this I know with all my heart –

His wounds have paid my ransom.”

~Stuart Townend

I finally did it…

Monumental moment…

it’s been over three years since I pulled out Kadesh's Juicer...it's been pressing to bring it out-but I just couldn't...tears, in tears I made my first glass today. It was all I could do to smell the fresh vegetables...and the taste. Kadesh and I would make them together, and I would drink mine as I pushed his through his tube...I was always seeking to save him and nourish him with all that I had in me to give.

I feel I’m in the same position today, yet fighting for myself. People assume that since you lost your child three

years ago, that somehow it’s over and things are better… nothing could be further from the truth. Things are different.

But never better. How could they be?

Life has been a complete rage and blur since I surrendered Kadesh... setting timers all day long due to the constant feeling of displacement.

Crippling Forgetfulness due to grief and trauma-that elevated even greater after we lost Kadesh. No amount of days or hours that pass have changed any of the feelings.

You think your making it. Another day down. You “look good” on the “outside”-pushing back and suppressing, because to be any other way would bring discomfort to everyone around you…”you're so strong“ they say…but you know in your heart of hearts- you can’t keep running. Bearing down- hammering through-is only going to last but for so long, because it is coming-to catch you. The harder you run-the faster the pace of grief picks up. Hunting you down. To stop, turn around

and face this is to be consumed.

As they say, the body keeps the score, and my lips whisper, "Jesus" for His grace to lend me just one more second. You’re Emotions reel like a carousel, but this ride never stops …it’s not a pity party that any of us as mothers and fathers are after… it’s remembering our precious one- this-is what we fight for. To Honor them, to make a legacy for them. To hear someone say their name- out loud - it’s never offensive.

To hear “Kadesh” is breath to me- my heart skips with Joy! As a parent who has lost their child-I daily- seek my son-and even saying I lost

my son- I literally don’t even know what that means…

Truth tells me, Kadesh is with Jesus, because he gave his heart to Him.

But my present reality has yet to catch up…and to be honest, I’m afraid for it to.

Daily we look for our babies in the faces of those we love -in the ones they love- we are a tapestry of each other’s lives. Interwoven laughter-tears-moments of triumph and grief- our spirits bear the memories. And they speak. We grasp at the wind it seems seeking to embrace these places where We connect... My

prayer almost daily is GOD HELP ME REMEMBER. It’s been the greatest infirmity I feel I have faced, and everything that has followed has been a result of suppressing the cry to remember. It’s a double edged sword.

Jesus we ask for your breath, O Lord, to blow upon the flame that has winnowed… that you would lift us up from the waste places…that you would strengthen us where our feet slip and our hearts break, we know we are but dust, but you see our frame, and you chose to redeem us because of your compassionate love… O Father, we ask for your mercy in this wilderness for the water of Your Word to rush over us and through us… Lord that you would bring a refreshing to our spirit.

We need you Jesus.

"Let Your Journey of Brokenness, become your anthem of Hope"

Today after intense introspection with my therapists guidance, our session ended and sat here in silence, which is rare in this house...I just sat here...staring at my zoom session box as it closed out.

I then looked up.

Facing me is this "old" 6'6" Self Portrait Painting. It has sat here in this same spot since we moved into our home. I don't take much thought of it, and if I was honest, I shun the words that I wrote in sharpie marker through out the painting...but, today, I forced myself to look.

I took this photo - and refused to edit the back ground because what I seen today was not the clutter of mess surrounding me, as usual-but rather the foundation of my life again from 2005. My eyes scanned the words...

It was Easter, March 27th, 2005. A couple days prior, I had ripped the canvas, stretched and stapled it to the frame that I had sized-cut-nailed together. Gessoed her and let her bake in the sun. I would wait for the calling of what the Lord would gift me to paint. The Lord had just RADICALLY set me free, and truly birthed a groaning of His spirit in me that I had never known and all I wanted to do was proclaim His liberty . I was going to Grace Church of Avondale at the time and their continuous prayers of intercession in the spirit broke me free. Years of horrific torment-ceased.

I chose to be alone that Easter morning and I set this canvas in the doorway of my parents garage- and I began to paint. I grabbed a sharpie marker in the midst of the piece and started to write everything Jesus spirit was pressing on my heart.

I was so assured and I ••K N E W••without a doubt I was His and He was mine and I was ready to stand still and meet Jesus face to face.

Today I did not see the clutter. I seen the words, " Let your journey of brokenness become your anthem of Hope."

I read that, and I thought to myself..."journey of brokenness?"

I said,

"LesLea. Really??" I told myself, "You had no idea what broken was when you wrote that...plus you were single and alone."

Yet in that time, it was...I was broken to the ground-literally unable to lift my head off the floor at one point, I wasn't able to move due to a biblical dispute with false teaching that about took me out, it manifested physically. I remember sobbing to a dear friend on the phone that ended up running to my aid, but it was the darkest place I knew at the age of 24. The caliber by which I measured brokenness then was appropriated to what I had known up until that point. No less validated. No less important or substantial-but the experience of those words then- did not measure the brevity of what those words read today.

I was angry to read it. I thought, "LesLea, You had no idea what was coming. you. had. no. idea."

My mind then went back, and I remembered when I presented this painting to my dear friend, who I highly respected, the one who told me to start painting with him... so I followed. I showed him this piece, and his words have rung in my ears. I would hear him every time I would look at this painting...

He said,

"It's good, but it doesn't look like it is finished."

Now, at the time, I felt a slight offense rise up. He was- I should say is-an incredible artist and his words held great weight.

Today, in the stillness- I heard my friends words again. But this time, they were not an offense, but rather a calling to come back. A calling to reassess this piece that is now just over 16 years old. To walk back into this place that I have left, yet fought so hard to lay hold of again. To enter in. This painting was my Ebenezer...my "Stone of help" per say. The place where I laid down my life and surrendered to even martyrdom. At that time, I was so zealous that I even wrote a letter to my parents, stating who I wanted to perform my service-what to be played and who was to speak- "if" I was pass and be with the Lord.

I was so wild. In the the dash of my convertible red mustang I had a 3"x5" card, wedged in front of my odometer. Written in bold black and red letters was, "The Kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force." Naïve.

I thought I was ready to take on the world, as we all do at that age. Little did I know, I was about to step into this place of sobering that now- at this point-has almost taken out my faith completely. But I am reminded today again as I write,

"This is a faithful saying:

For if we died with Him, we shall also live with Him.

If we endure,

We shall also reign with Him.

If we deny Him,

He also will deny us.

If we are faithless,

He remains faithful;

He cannot deny Himself.

Remind them of these things, charging them before the Lord not to strive about words to no profit, to the ruin of the hearers. Be diligent to present yourself approved to God, a worker that does not need to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth."

I thought today. Jesus was not asking me to be a martyr burning on a pole in a foreign country, now if it calls for it, Lord give me the grace. But, he was calling me to a LIFE of spiritual martyrdom to my flesh. A city on this hill. A candle of LIGHT within the boundaries He has set for me. To become a living sacrifice holy and acceptable unto Him, which is my reasonable service-H E R E, in Jacksonville, Florida, on the Westside of Town...

My Obedience is what he desires, rather than my sacrifice.

This is the Kingdom of God, in power and demonstration. Christ LIVING through this precious-yet broken fallen flesh. He alone has made us incorruptible-even now in this moment as we have received Him.

Think about this, as surrendered believers we are present and currently seated WITH Him, IN Him in heavenly places, amidst the elders and angels...to behold Him in the beauty of His temple.

Do I believe this?? God Do I??

Lord...help me Jesus, help my unbelief.

I pray in some facet that I may bring His beauty to this earth. but it is going to take, hearing His calling. The gentle wooing of His spirit. To take Him by the hand, and enter in.

My friends words were prophetic...whether he knew it or not, they were Jesus' spirit.

Remember, whose you are.

Begin again.

Now, go...and finish it.

Fix your gaze on the one that now has brought you through 16 more years.

"LesLea, make your garage a studio-My studio, step into the grief-channel the pain."

"Let your journey of brokenness, become your anthem of hope."

Psalm 115:1