is this not sacred

If Jesus lived through years of his life working a carpenters job 

Sweating, getting splinters, dirty feet, and aching muscles, 

Bruised, thirsty and altogether unremarkable, the illegitimate son of––

If If If

Then––

Is this not sacred too?

Is this not holy war 

And faithful, fearful

Living before the face of God

This living

This body

This temple

This secret

This holy place

Here?

Are you sure?

Here?

You want to dwell—

With me?

What kind of god is

This?

That chooses to dwell

Holy

In the dirt

With the dust 

That betrayed him

To make a home 

Out of us

What is this sacred life?

This living

This breathing

This dying

This eating

This waking

This working

This sleeping

This human body 

To a never dying soul 

This is holy ground

Jesus walks here

Dwells here

Abides here

Makes all things new here

Is this the secret?

He is here

you touch me

You touch me

    –What?
You lay your hands on my body
    –No.

My body is vulnerable
Weak, open
Too open

My body is sexual
And I can't

Stop it

My body is an object
To be used
By the hands laid on it

It is not safe

    –But you are safe.

Your hands, my God

    –They are safe.

Your hands are gentle

Healing

Not intrusive

Your hands,

They hold me

They are only good intentions

You know me. My body. Its scars. Its openness, vulnerability, beauty, sexuality, physicality, spirituality, trauma, insecurity, its comforts and discomforts. You know the darkness, the brokenness, bruises beneath the surface. 

    –Ow, it's still sore there. 

You know. You know the dirt beneath my nails.

    –Is it dirt? I don't remember.

You know the lies that have shaded my eyes, sealed my lips shut.

You know this body. You formed this body of death. You loved this body of death, this house to a soul. You died to redeem it. You laid your hands on me in the grave. I am not clean. I am dirty and it's ugly here and I don't know how to talk about it. You came to me in the dark when I was weak, defensive. I did not know who you were. 

I only knew gentle hands that didn't rip me open, did not tear me down. You do not ask where it hurts. You know all my bruises.

You wore my death in your own body on a tree in your flesh. It rose up in your throat from your lungs, stealing your breath, suffocating you. Yes– you know my shame. You drank it whole. You stole it away from me.

My body is flesh and bones and dust and divine touch

And you lay your hands on this dirt

And make me come alive in your arms

You take me into your house of healing and you touch everywhere it hurts

And I am not afraid

You take the hurt over and over 

I did not know you were taking it 

yourself in through your fingertips 

on my skin

You trade me 

Life for death

Life for death

Life for death

Until it's all that's left

In this body of death

to be seen

He holds me in His strong arms
He wipes my dirty face with His dirty hands,
Rough scarred and gentle

He looks at me
And I am terrified of being seen

He looks at me
And I cannot understand
How absolutely satisfied He is with me

He loves my mind,
The way my hair falls when I wake up
The way I tap my foot when I’m alone

He takes joy and pride in his work in me
That I am who I am, formed in his own mind and heart,
Utterly His own, in His own likeness

He delights Himself in me
In me?
In me

If He is perfect and
He is content with me
He is overjoyed that I am His daughter
He is excited that I am coming home
He is attentive to me and my cries and anger and lostness and joys and laughter and all that makes my aching heart beat faster

If I am His love
And He is mine

Then I can be at rest
In His arms–
In the darkness and the light

I am on my way home
I am coming home to You

even the darkness

Even the darkness

Even the darkness

Even the darkness

Even the darkness

I repeat to myself in the darkness

I scream to myself in the darkness

I breathe to myself in the darkness

In the garden

Was it not darkness to you?

In the garden

When your sweat and blood mixed with the dirt

and your body weary, strained, crying,

knowing what was coming next?

Were you afraid when you asked your Father to take it away,

when you pleaded if there's any other way,

knowing there was none?

Did you love him so much it hurt?

Was it physical, emotional, spiritual, mental–

the excruciating pain?

Did you love me so much it hurt?

The thought of being separated, torn apart,

despised, buried, suffocating, abandoned 

by your friends as you chose to die eternally for them

Was it dark to you then?

It is dark to me sometimes

I see redemption coming,

but, here, it is dark

— olivia gwyn

Even the darkness is not dark to you;
    the night is bright as the day,
    for darkness is as light with you.

Psalm 139:12

I wrote this for a friend

I keep looking for myself elsewhere

People keep telling me to keep looking 

But I keep losing myself elsewhere

I don't know how that happens when

I've never even felt like I've found

myself

enough to lose

myself

Yet I keep looking and losing but 

for once I would like to find something 

worth keeping

to be found

worth keeping

The darkening makes

me feel worth

discarding

It's lonely here

But you find me here

Over and over again

You walk with me

On paths my feet know too well

Through the dark all night

The dawning makes

me feel worth

something

Maybe everything

Because you gave everything to

Find me and

Keep me and

Show me that you

Found me

Worth keeping–

Till the end

"I am with you always, even to the end of the age."

my soul knows it

your works are wonderful- 

in me, in my soul, in my body.

your works are wonderful-

in the way my hand holds this pen 

and the mess from my mind

spills onto this page.

your works are wonderful-

in the length of my legs

and the color of my eyes

and the thinness of my lips.

your works are wonderful- 

in how you led me to yourself

opened my eyes

and made me walk in the light.

your works are wonderful-

in my hands' caring for others 

in the tears I wish away

in the peace and unrest I carry with me at all times

your works are wonderful-

my soul knows it very well.

psalm 139:14.

look at me

and I will put my hope again
in things that have proven to fail me
and He'll remind me again
torn hands gentle on my face
look at Me


let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. hebrews 12:2.

for now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. 1 corinthians 13:12.

leaving home

I don't know if I'm ready to write this.

You never know how much you love home till you leave it. When they hug you too hard and you bite your tongue and try to remember to breathe and not let the heat behind your eyes fall yet cause you know it won't stop. When they shut the door behind them and the car pulls out and they're gone. And you can't stand that you won't be there for the clogging performances, basketball games, rainy Saturday afternoons, the family devotions, math lessons, the fights, the competitions for showers, watching Jeopardy at night, campfires, sleepovers, Dad's days off, and every other in between. And the end of a good thing hurts so bad, because it was a good thing. It was so good. And that's how it's supposed to be. It's supposed to be different now, but that doesn't make it any easier. 

Because your little sister is crying and insisting on one more hug and Mom's trying to keep it together and your brother keeps saying he'll see you soon and Dad's saying how much he loves you. And everything new is wonderful and good but it doesn't keep you from sitting on your bed in your room with the door closed blurring pages of your journal with tears.

every good and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow. james 1:17.

behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. isaiah 43:19.

he has made everything beautiful in its time. ecclesiastes 3:11.

no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him. 1 corinthians 2:9.

through my eyes: uganda

for those of you who don't know, I'VE BEEN IN UGANDA.

I went through a wonderful organization called Amani Baby Cottage, got to love on and be loved by 2-5 year old girls, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat if I could. lots of people have been asking me about it, though, and I've been gone so long I felt like I should have something to show for my absence. so here we go: some raw journal entries so maybe you can get a little glimpse of uganda through my eyes. sorry in advance for the run on sentences that never end lol.

6.15.18 It smells like an open fire and chicken over roasted and dark feet on red dirt baked dry by the sun. It smells like smoke and dust, hanging and choking like a cloud in the night. It sounds like motorcycles and horns and locals talking fast and music flying by the window too loud, passing bar after bar. It feels like bleak futures and broken dreams or none at all. It feels like it's too late. Romans 5:8. Ephesians 2:4-8. 1:49 am.

6.19.18. Mama Rosemary, Mama Betty, and Mama Dorothy came up with a Ugandan nickname for me. Balunje: good, beautiful, altogether.

6.21.18. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. 1 Corinthians 1:27-29. mE.

6.22.18. how the kids say "How are you?" like "Ow ah yoo?"

6.23.18. Sarah pointing at the moon, saying that it was America, and that she's going to go there on a plane one day.. "You going to Merica?"

6.24.18. Davide picking flowers on the walk to church and giving them to me to put in my hair. I SAW THE NILE RIVER.

6.25.18. "Auntie Olivia you no see me. Ah notta heeya." except a thousand times a day.

6.27.18. Rosie climbing on my back, hugging my neck, and singing I have decided to follow Jesus at the top of her lungs during bath time. Danny kissing me on the neck and laughing when I acted surprised.

6.29.18. Hearing "Myzungu!" aka white person and stares following you everywhere you go in town.

6.25.18. Sarah taking a picture with me and surprising me with a kiss on the cheek. HOW CAN I LEAVE HER.

6.27.18. Even in laughter the heart may ache. Proverbs 14:13.

6.30.18. Joram: "Auntie I love you."

7.1.18. Brianna holding my hand wanting me to come swing with her, but me telling her I can't because Auntie gave me a project to do but I love her. Her, looking at me considering, gives my hand a kiss and lets go. Help.

7.1.18. It's hard to describe orphan care in a third world country to someone who's never done it before. Because one minute it's bath and bed time and everyone's sweaty and tired except the kids who are way too excited after playtime and you're trying to dry off soaking wet babies but all the other kids are jumping all over your back butt naked and happy screaming after peeing. And then another minute you open the door and they're running at you with their arms open wide yelling, "Auntie! Auntie! Even me! Pick up me!" And you just love them so much it hurts and it breaks your heart in every way you never knew it would. And you learn sometimes you can't fix every broken thing or heal every hurting heart, but you can always love with everything you've got.

7.2.18 Holding brown faces in my hands and crying and smiling and trying to tell them I love them and I have to go now but it's too hard to speak and they're smiling confused at why my face is all funny and teary. Long hugs and knowing the words left unsaid and loving till it aches deep in your chest like it'll never go away.

something

I want to write something
about the healing and
the hurting
but I'm too lost in between
and I'm starting to wonder
if they're not maybe
the same thing

Where does one stop
and another begin

I'm starting to think
both come at once
on the gentle waves
of an untamed Grace