This Heart

I have loved

and lost

and found that the heart

is more resilient

than I ever dreamed.

The times I thought

my heart was breaking

were really

stretching,

growing pains.

And so this agony

oh, so familiar bitter emptiness

feels like the end.

Yet—

I am familiar with the dark

And I did not die.

I will survive

and thrive

this time too.

Set Me Free

I am so done with oppression
repression
depression

legalism
should

being the responsible one
the model student
the conscientious girl


I just want to be
LYNDALL;
live fully in who God made me to be
No blocks

living in freedom
living in love
living


no more rules
no more "11 Questions to Ask Yourself Before You Hug Him"
no more 'guard your heart' with fear and logic

this heart wants OUT
this heart wants to love
this heart wants to EXPRESS
this heart wants freedom
this heart wants connection

The Garden (A first draft)

Once upon a time there was a girl who was entrusted with the care of a fresh, new garden. It was a pretty, delicate space, with young saplings and little clumps of bulbs and small twigs of perennial bushes. Thin, sparse blades poked through the brown earth, needling timidly out of the ground. It was a land full of promise and expectation, beautiful in its own way, but promising greater richness, fullness and splendour.

The girl was awed and intimidated by the weight of the gift she had been given. She loved the garden, its quiet spaces and its new life. As she talked with others, they were happy for her, and offered her some advice. They told her to watch out for the deer who liked to eat fresh buds, and the men who liked to trample the ground, slashing trees and uprooting bushes. The girl was afraid, so she turned to the books in her library for advice. Each one recommended something slightly different: a hedge, a fence, a wall. That would protect the plants from the marauders and intruders.

And so the girl began to build. Thick, white bricks. Taller and taller the wall grew, and the townspeople nodded in approval. This girl was smart. She knew how to take care of her garden. True, they could no longer see the dogwood and the apple blooming, but surely it was better that the trees WOULD bloom, and that the wall could give them an opportunity to do so. Besides, thought the girl, she could tear down the wall once the garden was well-established and the trees and plants would no longer be in danger from vandals or wild beasts.

Finally, the wall was complete, and the girl could rest easy, knowing her garden was safe. She spent many days, tending to the trees and flowers inside the quiet safety of the wall.

After a time, she realized how very silent and lonely it was behind the wall. She heard the thrum and hum of the town beyond the wall, and realized how very selfish and isolated she had been. And so she knocked a hole in the wall, and built a gate. She created paths through the garden, placed low chain barriers on either side of the paths, and set up park benches. Then she flung wide the gates and proclaimed to the townspeople that her garden was open. She brought them in by ones and twos and fives and tens. The townspeople oohed and ahhed at the beauty of the garden, and many found rest and restoration for their souls. The trees and flowers and bushes had grown larger and more glorious, and many began to bear fruit. The girl would pick the fruit and distribute it to her visitors, and many were refreshed. The girl was happy that she could share the garden with many, and allow them to experience its splendour. No longer was she lonely and isolated. Many townspeople came to visit with her, and she enjoyed their company.

And all was well.

For a time.

There was an expert gardener in the town who came often to visit the girls garden. He would sit and observe, and watch the plants sway in the breeze. He studied the plants from afar, for he knew to stay on the paths and not venture on to the grass. But as time went on, he saw things that made his eyes scrinch in concern. Something was amiss in the garden. The stems and stalks had to lengthen and lighten, and the leaves became pale. The plants were tall and green, but weak and gangly.

He approached the girl. The wall, he said, had to go. It was blocking the light, and the plants were not able to grow as strong and whole as they ought. Sunshine. The garden needed to be opened to sunshine.

The girl blanched. The walls were there for a very good reason. They kept out the marauders and the wild beasts. And they kept the townspeople from wandering wherever they pleased. What if they wished to pick fruit for themselves? That would not do. No, it would not do at all. And so the girl politely asked the gardener to leave.

Months passed, and the trees and bushes and plants and flowers grew taller and spindlier. One night, there was a storm, and much of the flora, too tall for their roots, collapsed. The next day, the girl walked among the garden, tightness in her chest and prickles in her eyes. No, this garden was not healthy. And so, that day, she invited the gardener back, and together they pulled down the wall, brick by brick. The townspeople watched with interest. Some were skeptical, and warned her that she was a fool; the wild beasts and the wild men would have free range now that the wall was gone.

The day after the wall came completely down, the very worst thing the girl could imagine happened. A band of vandals saw their opportunity and snuck into the garden late at night. But before they could break the first branch, a neighbour lady looked out the window, and saw shadows that ought not to be in a garden. Curiously, she came out to the step holding a lamp. Seeing the men of wicked intent, she yelled to her husband. Together, they stalked to the garden. The vandals fled.

The next day, the girl heard the story from her neighbour. The townspeople were glad to hear the vandals had been frightened away. Taking a deep breath, the girl invited the townspeople onto the lawn, to enjoy the garden, as thanks. As she watched her garden, she noticed deer creeping close to eat the tulip buds. But the townspeople spread out, giggling and laughing, delighting in the soft grass and the broad shade of the maples and the sweetness of mulberries, strawberries and currants. The deer bolted, and moved on to another place, disturbed by all the commotion.

And so the girl thanked the gardener for helping to remove the wall. The plants grew broad and strong and green and rich. The townspeople were enriched by the garden, and the girl was happy, for she never lacked companionship, joy or laughter. 

Girl and Heart - Part II

When the Surgeon arrived, the girl took him to where the heart was. He saw the enclosure, and sighed. “What have you done to your heart?”

The girl started talking about all the naughty things it had done: Yelling, screaming, chasing after boys, throwing tantrums, and escaping her enclosure. The Surgeon said nothing, but went into the pen with the heart. It barely twitched when he examined it. His hands were gentle, and the Heart seemed to relax under his touch.

When the surgeon came out, he handed the girl a pot of salve. He instructed her to spread it on the sores every day. And then he gave a warning. The heart would only improve a little with the salve; in order to be fully healed, it needed to be free.  

The girl protested. The fence was for her safety, and her heart’s. If she let it go free, who knew what kind of damage it would cause. For “All hearts are deceitful and evil. Even if they look nice and new, they WILL rebel. You must train them or else they will go crazy and destroy you.” The Great Surgeon’s face grew hard when he heard. He asked where she had learned about hearts. So the girl went and got the book. The Surgeon took the book and perused the pages. Then he ripped the pages, ten at a time. The girl yelled. How was she supposed to look after her heart now?

Calmly the Great Surgeon replied, “Do you doubt my work? The Hearts I touch are new. The old is gone.” He sat down with the girl and explained how to take good care of a heart. 

The next day the girl went into the enclosure. Timidly she took the chains off the heart, and brought it cushions and blankets to sit on. She gave the heart water and some food, and smeared the salve over its sores. It shrank away from her, but because it was weak, it couldn’t move very far.

Slowly, the heart regained strength. The sores disappeared. It regained flesh, and began to move around the enclosure. The girl knew the heart needed enrichment, so she gave it toys to play with. Sometimes she even went inside and watched it, timidly, while it was absorbed in play.

Weeks later, the Surgeon came back. Proudly, the girl led him to the enclosure, which was now filled with plants and comfortable places and toys. The heart had not yelled or made a fuss. It did not come up to her, but it allowed her nearer and nearer each day.

The Surgeon was pleased to see the heart was now healthier. It even seemed happy. But it was not free. Still, the girl kept it locked away, far from herself, and farther still from others.

So the Surgeon insisted, the heart must be let free. The girl fought back. The heart was happy. Why did it need freedom? Who knew what it would do out of the cage? Probably go running after guys again. Or talk about the other country. No, the heart would be much better off inside.

The surgeon left, and the girl left the heart in the cage.

Time passed.

The heart grew bored of the toys. It began digging up plants. It yowled loudly. It thumped hard against the fence, over and over and over, until it bled.

Finally, the girl saw the wisdom of the Surgeon. So timidly, she opened the lock, and let the door open just a crack. The heart saw its opportunity and barged out the door, smacking the girl in the face with the gate. Hurt, she stumbled back, and collapsed on the ground. The heart ran wild, yelling and screaming in joy and every pent up emotion it had ever felt. It tore around, knocking over precious ornaments and unloosening sacred things. The girl was angry and ran after the heart, but she could not catch it.

Why had she ever listened to the Surgeon? This was madness. The heart ran onto neighbouring properties, wreaking the same havoc there that she herself had experienced. Angry neighbours yelled at her to get her heart under control. But still the heart ran, exhilarated by its newfound freedom.

Yep, hearts were definitely rebellious and destructive. Was this not the proof?

But then the girl saw. SHE had caused this. If the heart had not been kept locked up, would it have the need to run so far, run so fast?

And so she wept.

And wept.

The heart turned, hearing a strange sound. The girl was weeping. Curious, it stopped running. It came closer. The girl watched through her tears.

Abruptly, the girl stood and went to the enclosure. She grabbed at the wire roof, and tried to yank it from its staples. The wires cut deep into her hands. So she grabbed a sledgehammer, and swung wildly. KITSSSHSSSSH, the wire roof went flying. BANG! BANG! BANG! The fence posts came down. CLANGGGG! The gate and the lock were smashed. The cage lay in ruins.

The girl sat, panting, exhausted, surrounded by the rubble.

Slowly, timidly, the heart approached the former enclosure. It came closer to the girl, treading carefully over splinters. It sat. The girl, with trembling hands, reached out and touched the heart. And in that moment she realized. They must become friends. 

Girl and Heart

Once upon a time there was a girl with a heart. The heart was ugly. It yelled profanities and wanted bad things. The heart was polluting the girl, and made her want bad things too. It poisoned her. One day, a person told her about a place where she could get a new heart. So she met with the Great Surgeon, and he did an operation on the old heart. Afterwards, her heart was different, new. This heart wanted to do good things. And it didn’t yell at her and make her feel bad. The girl was happy.

Later the girl moved countries. And her heart was sad. It was ripped away from all its other heart friends, and its home country. So the heart kicked and pounded and screamed loudly. It yelled, crying out for its friends. The girl heard, and shuddered in fear. This heart, apparently, was reverting back to the old one. Yelling and screaming. So quickly she grabbed a rope and gagged the heart’s mouth. Maybe if it stopped yelling it wouldn’t become ugly like the old heart.

Time passed, and the girl occasionally let the heart take the gag off its mouth, as long as it didn’t talk about that other country.

A well-meaning friend gave the girl a book about hearts and how to take care of them. The girl accepted gladly, since her heart was starting to behave strangely, flitting off and looking more at guys.

Then the girl discovered a shocking truth: “All hearts are deceitful and evil. Even if they look nice and new, they WILL rebel. You must train them or else they will go crazy and destroy you.” Wary, the girl looked at her heart. And decided that putting it in chains would be a good way to keep herself safe.

She also discovered that guys liked to steal hearts, so she built a fence around hers. That was a good thing, because it also kept the heart from going too crazy.

Frustrated, the heart started pulling at its chains, and begging to be let free. It smashed itself against the wall. All the clamour and banging gave the girl a headache. The heart looked at her, forlorn, and tried to convince her that it would be good.

So the girl let her heart out for a bit of free time, just an hour every day. But then, the heart started running after a guy. Disgusted that the heart had betrayed her, she gave it a good whipping and put it back in its enclosure. She vowed never to let it out again.

So the heart devised ways to escape. It dug under the fence. So the girl laid down a concrete floor. It chipped away at the gate. So the girl put more padlocks on. It even tried to climb the fence, so the girl created a wire roof.

Still the heart paced back and forth, whining and, when the gag was off, begging to be let off.

The girl had a genius idea. She began to limit the heart’s diet. She gave it only what it barely needed. The heart calmed down, and spent its days lying in the corner. When the heart murmured complaints, she would give it pictures of rich food, chocolate, pie, fresh fruit and curries. That made the heart drool a little, and kept it occupied. Occasionally she would give the heart ice-cream, or strawberries, or cookies.

Satisfied, now that her heart no longer made a fuss, and sat quietly in its cage, the girl settled down to her life.

But one day she went into the enclosure to give her heart its daily bread and water, but the heart didn’t even twitch. She went over to it, and saw that it was covered in festering sores. So she called up the Great Surgeon – he would know what to do.

He listened to the symptoms, then told the girl the bad news: Her heart was dying, and needed his intervention right away, or else there was no hope. Promptly, he got in the car, and drove to the girl’s place to save her heart.

Expectations

For years I lived in the slavery of should. "I should wake up earlier. I should obey God. I should always tell the truth. I should dress a certain way. I should be nice to people. I shouldn't be unhappy. I shouldn't hang out with guys. I shouldn't think this about that person."

Should was a hard taskmaster. He kept me bound with chains of fear and beat me to a bloody pulp with condemnation.

But if Should was my slave driver, then Expectation was the evil baroness who ran the estate, and gave Should his orders.

Expectations that I should always be cheerful. Expectations to honour my elders. Expectations to wake up at a certain time, work in a certain way, make and create in a prescribed manner. Expectations to be kind to people.

These expectations came from society, my parents, my friends, books, and most of all myself. Somehow, I thought that God had expectations of me too. Like he expects me to act in a certain way, and if I don't, I will let Him down, disappoint Him.

But here's the thing: God doesn't place expectations on people.

Sure, He tells them, "If you do this, than that will happen." There are consequences to our actions. He reminds us who we are. If we are in Christ, we are new creations. When we forget, and start living like our old selves, He gently reminds us, "This is not who you are. Here, this is how a new creation lives and acts."

He sees who we truly are. He knows everything we are, anything we've ever done, and everything we'll ever do. How can we disappoint someone who already knows the depths we've sunk to, and yet chooses to still love us?

We cannot disappoint God. When does disappointment happen? When we expect something to happen a certain way, but it doesn't. Expectations don't live up to reality. But since God KNOWS what's going to happen, and everything lives in His Reality, how can He be disappointed?

We cannot let God down. He's already seen our weaknesses and flaws. And He is greater. He is so much higher. He is strong enough to save, and He will accomplish what He set out to do.


Until now, Expectations have been my motivation. The expectations of my friends, my family, my society, me, and what I thought was God were the driving force behind everything I did.

Now I see that God doesn't have expectations of me. He doesn't sit in Heaven, offering us a 'choice' but subtly expecting me to choose the 'right' option. He does let me know what the results of my choice will be. But He isn't silently pressuring me to choose one particular option. I am free to choose whatever I wish.

Crazy, terrifying. I am free to choose. Why has God given mankind the terrible, beautiful choice of complete free will? (Love.) I don't know why He trusts us to choose. But He does.

I am free to choose. No expectations. With grace to catch me, and love to hold me, and His loving arms always, always there. And yet, still, He offers me the choice to turn away if I wish.

But I don't. How could I turn away from such a One as Him? The One who offers true freedom, the utter opposite of Should and Expectation.

Mopes

I’ve got the mopes. Mopey mope mope mope.

Chin on desk.

Housecoat.

Mopes.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..Are mopes bad?

Should I run away?

Or is it ok to hang out in Mopesville for a while?

Maybe the mopes are trying to tell me something.

Maybe these little critters are wiser than they first appear.

Mopes say you’re tired of running.

Mopes say something doesn’t feel right

                and probably because something isn’t right.

Listen to the mopes. But don’t let them rule your life.

They’re not wise enough to be kings.

But they’re smart enough to advise you.