monochrome sun

A Blog for My Bits.

He Gives Me What He Wills


Lord knows I love the sea, so He brought me to a mountain town.

Lord knows I escaped winter, but winter falls on this new ground.

Lord knows I long for family, so I’m in a land where youth abound.

Lord knows I know myself, myself knows He, in Him be found.

Lord knows me, Lord knows me.

I think I’m probably getting what I need, but it’s not what I want.

He Restored My Rest.

Last night was a good night.  We had worship practice in our usual location – The Asylum Haunted Warehouse.  It’s not as bad as that, only an “asylum” at Halloween, the rest of the year the landlord leases rooms to local bands.  Since we don’t have a church base (we also rent an event center for Sunday morning services) we meet in The Asylum Haunted Warehouse for practice.  The only dilemma is that, as of early January, a less-than-average metal band practices every Thursday night right next door.  But they practice at +700 volume.  We can’t hear ourselves and truly they can’t hear what they’re doing either.

Last night was a particularly great evening, though, because we are getting closer as a band.  There are 7 of us (lead guitar/vocalist, 2nd guitar, base, violin, drums and two backup vocalists).  Not only are we trying to get to know each other personally, but our trust and comfort levels have risen since the first set we played.  I am not the only female – hooray!  And my girl partner is about my age, super chill and easy to get close to.

You know how sometimes God moves unexpectedly in the midst of your talents and limitations and your heart is left on its’ knees?  Yeah, that happened.  I got to a point in the midst of worship, while crying out in song, where I thought “God, I hate my life right now,” and then all of a sudden He moved without words and eclipsed the complaints and striving of my soul.  He didn’t say a thing.  He allowed me to sing and, through singing, He restored my rest.  My peace.  My joy.

I cannot get to the bottom of Him.  I know I never will.  But I want to go as deep as He’ll take me.

Checking In.


Time has flown since I went back to work in early January.  My days are spent arranging meetings, assisting our bankers and wealth management teams, learning to be a teller (in the event my teller is out of the office) and ordering collateral, swag and gifts for the brand, in lieu of a marketing person doing so.  I enjoy my job and the people I work with.  We’ve had two parties together, a birthday and a Broncos World Championship Parade.  The pace is about 4 times slower than my previous position, which allows me to perform exceptionally, but also provides a lot of unwanted down time.

Married life is good.  We love spending time together and we’re learning how to maintain the quality aspect and stay connected emotionally.  It does not happen automatically!

Our church commute is longer than I would like (it’s in the city – about 25 minutes from home, but somehow seems longer) – why is it that I feel comfortable commuting 1 hour to/from work, but 25 minutes seems too long for church?  The truth is I have stayed home from church for the past three weeks.  I plan to bring this up at small group tonight to get a discussion going and some encouragement.  I blame depression and other small things, but I know there will always be reasons to not go.  Obedience to stay in a body of believers does not require a feeling on my part, but I’m telling myself it does.

It could be winter, it could be my newly formed sleeping pill dependency, or it could be lingering grief from the move, but I have almost zero zest for any aspect of my life.

I am waiting.  I am talking to God.  I am trying to remember to regularly praise Him for who He is and what He has done in my life.  I am sleeping very well and waking up easily (in the early hours).  I am making time for new friends and enjoying their company.  But – yeah.

This is where I am.

You Lift My Head.

When I am in a winter I will praise Him.

When I am feeling nothing I will praise Him.

When I am aching, tired, dull I will praise Him.

When I feel so far from fullness I will praise Him.

When my soul is dry and poured out I will praise Him.

When I am being pulled too far I will praise Him.

When I am lonely I am not abandoned, when I am struck down I am not destroyed.

I am blessed beyond the curse, for His promise will endure, His joy is going to be my strength.

You are my glory. You lift my head.

On My Parents’ Grace.


Right now I’m sitting at the downstairs computer in my parent’s home in Pennsylvania. Nona is snoring in her bedroom, just around the corner. My dad is long asleep, Aunt Melody and mom are bustling around upstairs, looking at old photos and just being sisters.

On Saturday, after arriving home and spending several hours with my family, I went upstairs and made the familiar route to my old bedroom. This was my room from age 15 to 19. The walls are “ripe currant,” a deep exotic red. There’s a large antlered tree branch, sprayed gold, suspended from the ceiling in one corner, above where my bed used to live. My old photos are in their old frames, exactly where I had them, on a dark wood bookshelf against the wall. There’s a mahogany leather setee with brass studs next to my closet and behind it a tall fake palm. My curtains are sheer champagne with fake teardrop crystals hanging scalloped on the valance. I have my knick knacks. Some of my books remain. Mom doesn’t know where my trunk full of books went and neither do I, but they’ve got to be in the basement because she never throws/gives away anything of mine.

I am flooded with memories.

My parents adore me. My mom is proud of who I am and considers me her friend. My dad beams with joy whenever I’m mentioned and is at rest when I’m home.

But much of the time I wish I had been easier for them.

Less troubled. Less escapist. Less boundary-breaking. Less boy crazy. Less needy. Less of a liar. Less of a rebellion from truth.

I get it now. More than ever before.

I am forgiven. God, my ultimate parent, has parented me through a heart redemption and continues to do so. I break a little more each time I am reminded of where I’ve come from.

I want to say Thank You, but I’m not sure how to do it yet. I’m embarrassed to open the past and point to things I’ve done and say “Thank You for being [this] for me then. Thank You for loving me unconditionally. Thank You for being patient. Thank You for vacuuming my room when I held way too many secrets in there. Thank You for calling me yours even when it was probably embarrassing. Thank You for bringing me home from school on countless occasions when I had panic attacks and you didn’t know what was going on. Thank You for every time you listened to my desires and bought me gifts and poured into me when all I did was take. Thank You for not shaming me when you knew I snuck away to be with a boy, or a blunt, or some darkness. Thank You for hearing my outbursts and, mostly, lovingly put me in my place. Thank You for taking on my offenses and showing up each day to call me your daughter and show me you were beyond proud of any truth shining through in my heart. Your grace helped bring me home.”

His grace, through you, brought me home.