The Alluring God

... because sometimes we ~ I ~ need reminding ...

by Hillary McFarland

he Word speaks: Let there be light.
The earth crowns, the will of God who says let there be life, and we crown into light.
     Fresh and new and shy, our baby hands clutch mama-skirts to hide when others look at us. But soon we run, we run around like wild things who worry not what others think; we climb trees while hair frizzes a golden halo and our cheeks blush like apples and our toes peek through sneakers. But we don't mind because we are six or nine and we sing at the top of our lungs that the hills are alive with the sound of music, and they are ...

     Years collect like memories, like photographs; we grow fifteen and shy while hills grow quiet. Hearts blush like maples in fall, but every hair is in place and hands smooth our own skirts and we hide behind trees instead of perching in them.
     We grow old in soul. Melody is memory as feet shuffle dust and we strain to hear and see the One who spoke the dark :: light, who breathed into lungs the light of life. We are tired and hungry; we ache, and our face is etched with the fine tip of years. Our heart is carved up and arms are weary and why do we even try? 

Grace Makes the Imperfect ... Holy.

by Hillary McFarland


a repost from the archives

don't sew much anymore, but when I was six years old, a thoughtful gift from my mom  ~ a cookie tin stuffed with my very own red pincushion, thread, buttons, and delightful squares of fabric ~ launched several years of  me curling up on my bed, trailing awkward stitches in whatever scraps of calico I could find. I spent hours at Wal-mart looking at rows of colorful cotton, imagining everything I could make with the materials. I loved to create things, to bring beauty and joy using ribbon and satin, rosettes and yarn, muslin and batiste.  

     As I grew older and perfectionism set in, this affected my sewing as well. Unhappy with the slightest pucker in a hem, I'd rip the whole thing out and start new, fresh. Even though no one else could see interior seams, the slightest fray that I knew was there grated on my mind like nails on chalkboard, prompting me to devour a book from the library on Sewing the Perfect Seam and then transforming simple patterns into French couture ~ on the inside, at least. Sometimes, when projects became hopelessly befuddled and beyond [perfect in my eyes] repair, I abandoned them to my little sisters who gleefully added them to their own collections. It got so bad that at one point, sentimental me-who-keeps-everything threw away the very first project I made with my birthday sewing kit: a floppy little dolly which I thought was dreadfully ugly.

     But my mom saw something in her I didn't, fished her out of the trash, and stuck her away in a special place.

Faith Tangles

he words throb with aching, almost melting with unseen tears as I read them, again and again, in my email. Or on facebook. Is it too late? Is there hope? And sometimes they are angry, and accuse, leaking pain and regret and pride and humility and sometimes they are my own, broken, weak and frail. And hearts break, both sides, both those who ask and those who wait, longing to hear I love you.

No matter what. 

I don't know who you are, dear friend. I hear from many of you. We sin and are sinned against. We all have stories, some of joy but more of grief. I tremble with you and my heart sobs for the eternity placed within where there is no more dark, no more pain. When mortality is swallowed up by life. These tangles of humanness and faith, the where did we go wrong and where do we go from here and it's too late now and I'll never be what they need or want spill from every soul-crack and heart-fissure. We groan and labor, awaiting redemption.

God knows.

You matter to Him. Your pain and heartache matter, your struggles and confusion matter. Whether you are a child or a parent, whether you are a friend or a sibling or a wife, husband, teacher or pastor, whether you are falsely accused or responsible ...

 ... you matter.
     You are loved.
     You are known.

And you aren't left helpless. Regardless of the hurts you've given or sustained, the mistakes you've made or the wounds you bear, whether you're allowed in or shut out, the Most High has not left you fatherless or barren. There is something you can do, no matter who you are or what responsibilities are yours. Where to begin? Paul gives us a hint in 1 Corinthians 13. And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; he says, but the greatest of these is love.

And now abide. Present. With us. Faith, hope, love ... the living out of endurance, of suffering long, of bearing all things, of not giving up. Rejoicing in truth and through it, recognizing where we stand now, today, and seek how to become more like Christ.

It is the fleshing out of grace.

How would this look in your situation? Sometimes it requires humbling ourselves and asking forgiveness. Other times it means upholding truth when we've done no wrong. It could be honoring boundaries. Or respecting someone else's walk with the Lord, even when we don't understand or agree. 

Sometimes it means, simply, to watch and pray.

I watched a play recently with a message that can apply to all of us. Just click on the image below. Will you take the time to view it and then add your thoughts or share a link of your own?  I'd love to hear who you are and where you are in your journey, and anything you care to add.

Written by Dr. Jay Wile and hosted at www.drwile.com.

This Beautiful Crushing

For the law was given through Moses, but grace and truth came through 
Jesus Christ. (John 1:17)
Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel 
that has crushed it.
~ Mark Twain 

by Hillary McFarland

n intriguing story in the Old Testament recounts the life of a young orphaned girl named Hadassah. Initially chosen to become the Queen of Persia because of her beauty, a perspective of this calling offered by her cousin Mordecai also bears wisdom for us. He said,

“For if you remain completely silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” (Esther 4)

Queen Esther's brave reply, with her own life on the line, bore the fruit of life for her Jewish brothers and sisters. 

“...I will go to the king, which is against the law; and if I perish, I perish!”

If I perish, I perish. This resolve and commitment is required of us, sometimes, too. Actually, it's something Jesus talked about as a requirement for discipleship.

     Occasionally people ask why I didn't focus more on the sins of quivering daughters in my book.

The Unabandoned Cross

One of my favorite books is “The Cost of Discipleship” written by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. It's been a while, but while recently musing the calling of God I read the following passage:

. . . Grace is costly because it compels a man to submit to the yoke of Christ and follow him; it is grace because Jesus says: “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
     On two separate occasions Peter received the call, “Follow me.” It was the first and last word Jesus spoke to his disciple (Mark 1.17; John 21.22). A whole life lies between these two calls. The first occasion was by the lake of Gennesareth, when Peter left his nets and his craft and followed Jesus at his word. The second occasion is when the Risen Lord finds him back again at his old trade. Once again it is by the lake of Gennesareth, and once again the call is: “Follow me.” Between the two calls lay a whole life of discipleship in the following of Christ. Half-way between them comes Peter's confession, when he acknowledged Jesus as the Christ of God. ~ The Cost of Discipleship, Costly Grace

He who is called the Man of Sorrows had a calling of His own.

Grace Before our Eyes

Grace is catching. *Smiles with joy.* Those of you following this Journey to Grace might be interested in the “31 Days of Grace” happening now at Chatting in the Sky. Emily posted this clip recently which still brings me to tears. Here is a touching visual example of grace from the movie Les Miserables . . .

At Quivering Daughters, we share our journeys to grace on Fridays. Do you have grace-clips from your own life? Please insert direct links to your post using the link below and leave a comment so that others may follow along and share with you . . .

The Alluring God

by Hillary McFarland

Sometimes when we're young we are really shy, and our baby hands clutch mama's skirts and we try to hide in them when other people look at us. But then when we're a little older, we run around like wildthings and worry not what others think, and climb trees and our hair frizzes a golden halo, our cheeks blush like apples and our toes peek through sneakers, but we don't mind because we are six or nine and we sing at the top of our lungs that the hills are alive with the sound of music, and they are...

     Inevitably the years collect, and we grow fifteen and shy while the hills grow quiet. Hearts blush like maples in fall, but every hair is in place and hands smooth our own skirts and we hide behind trees instead of perching in them. And then we grow old in soul; melody is memory as feet shuffle dust and we strain to hear and see the One who breathed into lungs the song of life. We are tired and hungry; we ache and our face is etched with the fine tip of years, and our heart is carved up and arms are weary, and why do we even try? 

Therefore, behold, I will allure her,

Will bring her into the wilderness,

And speak comfort to her.

I will give her her vineyards from there,

And the Valley of Achor as a door of hope;

She shall sing there,

As in the days of her youth,

As in the day when she came up

From the land of Egypt.

Hosea 2:14-15

     Do not be afraid of the barren place, of the wilderness, for God spills holy into ground and brings His light to dark, His life to dead, and living water to the waterless. He breaks Egypt's arms and yokes us with His grace; He builds His temple from abandoned ruins and dwells there, with the lowly of us and the weak, the foolish, the base, and the despised. The forsaken He gathers close and He makes dry bones dance and turns desert to wine and collects tears in crystal and He loves you!

You see the back of her
Because she faces Jesus.

You see her while she walks away
Because she follows Jesus.

You see her on a lonely road
Because few find
The narrow way that leads to life.

You see her, perhaps, half-dead

Because she is in the business
Of dying everyday.

You see her forsaken

Because she has left all 

to follow Him.

You see her struggle along the way

Because she takes up her cross.

You see her lost

Because she loses her life

To be found by Life.
 

You see her in a wilderness
Because that’s where God 

Plants vineyards. 

(hosea 2)

     And this is the place where trees clap hands like joyful little children and the hills are alive with the sound of music and He makes our feet like the feet of a deer and sets us on high places because we love Him because He loves us and behold, old things have passed away and all things have become newly birthed from the womb of mercy.

Are you a Gracewriter? Are you a Graceseeker? Share your journey by inserting an article or post of your own into the link list below. 

Also shared with Holy Experience:

Learning to Drop the Rocks

“Grace is to receive what we do not deserve

Mercy is to not receive what we do deserve.”

—Jay DePoy

                                                                                    

Last week I listened to the best message I've heard in years. It was presented by Jay DePoy and is not-so-coincidentally about grace, mercy, truth, and forgiveness. If you struggle to understand grace or simply want to understand it more fully, I encourage you to listen to Drop the Rocks, 9/19/10.  Jay's voice is fresh, honest, and humble; I think you will be exceedingly blessed through his sermon. If you have time, take notes and record your reflections as you listen. I'd love for you to add your thoughts in the comments here.

Will you journey with us to grace? We gather on Fridays. Please insert the direct link to your post on grace into the linky list below, add a comment, and be blessed through the discoveries of others.

Coffee, Love, and Grace

Lisa Byrne is a holistic health counselor and Christian mom. When a dear friend read her article, "Who Do You Feel You Are", she sent it to me immediately because she knew I'd love it. And I do. The entire piece is wonderfully refreshing, but there is something specific I want to share that women struggling with the bonds of  'performance spirituality' need to understand. Lisa writes,

The bible records that Jesus was asked what the most important commandment was.  He replied: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.‘ This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ But in my experience, this is more than a command..it is how things truly are. I can only love others as I love myself.  I can only extend grace to others as I allow myself to accept grace.

  

How are you?

How are you, really?

     I see this paragraph as a call to seek truth in the inward parts, like David writes; as a call to see what is real, not just as we really wish they would be. For in our zeal to follow Jesus' command to deny ourselves and take up the cross, the full context of His command to "love your neighbor as yourself"  often becomes watered down. Worried we'll go too far, others warn us that self-love is innate, natural to the flesh and something to rise above everyday. Perhaps some need these exhortations, but what about those who struggle with depression and emotional wounds? With bitter self-hatred? Whose arms wear burns and slash marks? Whose heart wears burns and gashes?

If someone says, “I love God,” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen, how can he love God whom he has not seen? 1 John 4:20

What if you were your own neighbor? What if you were your own brother?

Have Grace

     I live in the South where Southern hospitality comes a-twinkling in crystal glasses of sweet iced tea. We want you to be comfortable, to eat, to inhale gallons of tea and relax on a porch swing loaded with giant floral pillows. Your visit would not be complete unless you heard "Can I get you anything, honey? Are you hungry? Do you need another pillow?" at least thirty times. While I am not the epitome of the southern gal ~ I 'm not as sunny, for one thing, and I'll offer you powerfully strong coffee, and the porch swing might be a dusty seat on the balcony with plants tickling your ear ~ I do want my friends to feel comfortable, to feel wanted, welcomed, and loved. To leave refreshed, nurtured, rested, inspired, and ready to face another day.

     Scripture tells us that out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. What does your mouth speak about yourself? Do you attend to your needs? The expression "actions speak louder than words" applies, too. If you treated your friend the way you treat yourself, how do you think she would she respond? If you spoke to your friend the way you speak to yourself, how would she feel? Try to reflect on this over the next few days. It's important to be aware of how you view yourself. 

     This isn't a call to selfishness; rather, a plea for balance. Look again at the command: love your neighbor as yourself. What a lovely tension! Yet there was a time in my life that if I truly loved my neighbor as myself, that would mean I'd punch my neighbor in the leg. That I'd tell her she was fat and ugly and worthless and should've never been born. That she was a mistake and a burden to everyone she loved. I would've tried to rip the hair off her head and scream at her til I was hoarse and beg God to kill her. I would've planned her murder.

     If you were to truly love your neighbor as yourself, what would this look like to her? Would you try to poison her? Would you attack her with razors? Would you starve her? Withhold care and nourishment? Would you make her work and work and work without rest? Would you force her to eat until she's sick? Would you keep her from health? Would you hate her, tear her down and tell her it's for her own good, so she can learn humility?

     Lisa Byrne writes truth she learned from her own experience:

I can only nurture others as I nurture myself.

     Please pray that God will show you what this means for you, and how this looks for your life. Just as He is gracious, let us be gracious to others, even when the others are ourselves.

Reflections: How do you treat yourself? How does your own heart see you, and your mouth speak of you? What would it mean for you to learn to love your neighbor as you love yourself? What holds you back?

Discover grace with us on Fridays and link to discoveries of your own...

With the Rain

"Be gentle to yourself."

These words were as foreign to me, once, as they are to her. Hands cup steaming mugs, drawing warmth ~ she, a chocolate chai, and me, a dry cappuccino with whispers of cinnamon and vanilla. It rains, outside. Gray and cold, yet here we snuggle cozy, speaking close. Heart close. She speaks in chorus with the younger me:

     "But I don't know how."

     Oh how I understand. There was a time I didn't know how either, or even know in the first place. But I did know I was evil, fallen short, and that with every sin, every thought, every breath, I nailed Jesus to the cross. Again and again and again. Just being was disgrace.

     I sip warmth. The cafe murmurs. "What would you say to your friend, if she told you everything you said to me now?"

      "I would tell her not to be so hard on herself," she replies thoughtfully, and sets mug on table. "That she can learn from her mistakes, that she's only human. God still loves her." She smiles a little. "But that's different."

     I watch rain slide sideways in the wind; umbrella curls up as someone runs to the door seeking solace and coffee. "Why is it different?"

     She shrugs. "It just is."

     I know why it was different for me, when I had that conversation before. It's different for those of us who struggle to believe we have anything worthwhile to offer. That esteeming all others better than ourselves really means to consider myself a blight on the earth who should never have been born. Who would want such a person? Who would love such a person?

     We are silent for a moment. Our soundtrack pulses against the window; chocolate and freshly ground coffee make a heady aromatherapy. Without, altogether delicious.

     Within, soul-ache.   

     "You matter, you know." I speak softly. 

     All-cried-out eyes trace cup; they are empty, shadowed. She shrugs. "To whom? God loves me. That's enough, isn't it?"

     "Well, yes, but." I search for words. "What does His love mean? What does it make Him, and what does it make you?"

      What does His love make you?

     She is quiet, although desperation seeps from still frame, the frame He remembers with mercy...

    For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
         So great is His lovingkindness toward those who fear Him.
    As far as the east is from the west,
         So far has He removed our transgressions from us.
    Just as a father has compassion on his children,
         So the LORD has compassion on those who fear Him.
    For He Himself knows our frame;
         He is mindful that we are but dust. (Psalm 103:11-14, NASB)

     I weep, reflecting on shortcomings and sin and regrets.

     He reigns, remembering my frame.

     What does this mean for me? He knows how I am affected, what I love, what I need, what is hurtful. He knows all the nuances of shadows and light that play in my heart and mind and spirit, the emotions, the fears, the faith. And He shows grace, redeeming.

 

     "I just want to be good enough." Her voice breaks into my thoughts. Oh so familiar, again!

     I tiptoe using words; sometimes conversation bruises tender places, and other times it heals. "Sometimes good gets in the way."

     She looks up at me, blinks. Head tilts, bewildered. "What?"

     The words of Christ burn in my heart:

When Jesus heard that, He said to them, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy and not sacrifice.’ For I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance.” (Matthew 9:12-14, NKJV)

     "Jesus doesn't call the good people. He didn't die for the good people. Maybe you're carrying a burden you aren't meant to carry?" I say it gently, praying. The rain keeps watering the world. I taste cinnamon on my lips.

     She draws breath. "Hmm. Okay..."

     Grace, she is delicate, residing with the lowly, given to the humble. "Perhaps if you are gentle to yourself, and see yourself as He sees you, you will understand?" I am hopeful.

     "Maybe one day," she says, unsure and tired and old, but the light comes back into her eyes.

For you see your calling, brethren, that not many wise according to the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called. But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to put to shame the things which are mighty;  and the base things of the world and the things which are despised God has chosen, and the things which are not, 

to bring to nothing the things that are...(1 Cor.1:26-28)

Discover grace with us on Fridays and link to discoveries of your own...

Grace With a Floppy Face

I don't sew much anymore, but when I was six years old, a thoughtful gift from my mom  ~ a cookie tin stuffed with my very own red pincushion, thread, buttons, and delightful squares of fabric ~ launched several years of  me curling up on my bed, trailing awkward stitches in whatever scraps of calico I could find. I spent hours at Wal-mart looking at rows of colorful cotton, imagining everything I could make with the materials. I loved to create things, to bring beauty and joy using ribbon and satin, rosettes and yarn, muslin and batiste.

     As I grew older and perfectionism set in, this affected my sewing as well. Unhappy with the slightest pucker in a hem, I'd rip the whole thing out and start new, fresh. Even though no one else could see interior seams, the slightest fray that I knew was there grated on my mind like nails on chalkboard, prompting me to devour a book from the library on Sewing the Perfect Seam and then transforming simple patterns into French couture ~ on the inside, at least. Sometimes, when projects became hopelessly befuddled and beyond [perfect in my eyes] repair, I abandoned them to my little sisters who gleefully added them to their own collections. It got so bad that at one point, sentimental me-who-keeps-everything threw away the very first project I made with my birthday sewing kit: a floppy little dolly which I thought was dreadfully ugly.

     But my mom saw something in her I didn't, fished her out of the trash, and stuck her away in a special place.

 _______________________

    

     The thing about perfectionism is that it eventually leads to burnout. It's tough to gather motivation for a new project when we know how draining it is to complete it to standard. It's hard to keep "fighting the good fight" when every day we fail to measure up. Perfectionism becomes a ruthless master, killing, stealing, destroying, and ravaging our lives. Aghast at the efforts of the Galatians, Paul exclaimed, "Are you so foolish? Having begun in the Spirit, are you now being made perfect by the flesh?" (3:3) Yet perfectionists try, and try, and try...growing physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually fatigued.

I made her all by myself
when I was six.
My floppy dolly with crayon eyes and lips.
Thank you, mom.

    The truth is that God commands us to be holy. Holiness and perfection are not necessarily the same. The sacrificial lambs were required to be perfect, without spot or blemish. The Sacrificial Lamb was holy, set apart, sanctified. For those raised within authoritarian, high-demand, performance-based, image-conscious households, understanding grace comes at a personal cost because our very ideas of faith, goodness, and biblical living are wrapped up in how godly and righteous we can be. Yet what does God say?

     "My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in your weakness."

     Perhaps what we run from most, in ourselves, is what God wants for His glory?
     Isn't this the personification of perfectionism: us running from our weaknesses, our failures, our unfinished seams? And in the arduous quest for perfection, are we unwittingly running from grace?

     I believe that until we can stop striving for perfection and rest, trusting in the One who justifies the ungodly, grace will remain elusive. Because grace is found through brokenness, through mistakes, through ugly things, through a little dolly swept from the trash bin by a mother who understood something I had yet to learn.

Grace makes the imperfect . . .

holy.

Please share your thoughts about grace! Link an article or post of your own in the Linky box below, and if you like, compose a new post on your website or blog inviting other readers to join us on our Journey to Grace. As a friendly reminder, if you would like to receive articles from Quivering Daughters delivered softly through email, please subscribe here!

Discover grace with us on Fridays and link to discoveries of your own...

For the Wounded Heart Seeking Home

 

"I just want to go home."

I barely catch them, these words. Whispers. They linger, and for a moment she looks as though she didn't speak at all, that I heard her soul's cry in silence. We sit, she and I, and her children climb across our knees, laughing and boisterous like little boys are, and the silence swirls, inviting and deafening, and tears fall.

     "I don't know if I mean home home, like heaven, or that I want to go back and be a little girl in a world where everything is okay and life doesn't hurt. I'm tired of fighting to stay alive."

     Caleb pounds me with his cotton elephant and shrieks with glee, two ivory teeth glistening with laughter. His mother weeps. "I think I miss the idea of what should be, what should've been." Eyes gather her babies with love and longing. "Then I feel guilty. I want it all to stop ~ I want it all to go away."

     Sometimes silence respects aching in mysterious ways, with quiet prayers cast heavenward rather than hesitant, awkward condolences. At least, I hope so as I fling them now, hurling quick, desperate pleas to the Keeper of our Eternal Home.

      She gulps breath, dries eyes on sleeve. I'm reminded of another sleeve: a hem, dusty, crowd-stained, grasped in desperate hands so long ago. She speaks once more: "I don't know how to make it end. I just know that it has to."   

     Priceless, these fragments of a broken heart. Warm with crimson traces of a thousand untold stories, she hands them over; my fingers drip, receiving. My own heart weeps. I think of other hands that bled so long ago and I share the burden; I hold the splinters close, and pray.   

A

nd us wounded ones who have lost parts of ourselves in the battle, who walk around with gaping, bleeding emptiness, who feel the longing for something we have lost but can never seem to find, who yearn for a home that always seems to elude us and a wholeness that is never quite ours, perhaps that aching is itself an answer from God?  That our craving for Him is a way of experiencing Him.  And in our hungering for God, we are slowly healed by God.

—Ann Voskamp, A Holy Experience  
“Letters to the Wounded: When you Wonder, Where is God?”

Home.

     Like an aging veteran or rape survivor carries memory in flesh,* we have home memory. For those of us whose thoughts of home are bittersweet, who yearn to replace, relive, and redeem, the emptiness can be especially sharp. We are born with it, this innate beacon that draws us, calls us, knows what should be. We are created for home. It is no coincidence, I think, that the very idea of wholeness embedded in homeostasis begins with it. Home. What we were made for, where our heart goes and spirit returns.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity in their hearts, except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end. (Ecclesiastes 3:11)

Do not marvel that I said to you, ‘You must be born again.’ The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear the sound of it, but cannot tell where it comes from and where it goes. So is everyone who is born of the Spirit. (John 3:7-8)    

Birth is a journey made in darkness, in travail and aching, in rawness and blood. He launches us in secret, our skin and bone, and in another shadowed womb, He completes us, makes us beautiful and whole in the fullness of time. The wind blows where it wishes. Who is to say when we are finished being born? Our Redeemer doesn't miss a tear and doesn't waste our pain, and it is in this unwasted aching we find grace. Sometimes the labor is long, yet with pain comes life. Birth brings us home.

But now, thus says the LORD, who created you, O Jacob,
And He who formed you, O Israel:
“Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by your name;
You are Mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.
When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned,
Nor shall the flame scorch you.
For I am the LORD your God . . .” (Isaiah 43:1-3a)

I'd love to hear your thoughts about grace: your questions, your conclusions, your light-bulb moments. Insert a direct link into MckLinky and then compose a post at your own site, linking back to this article so others can follow with us. I look forward to discovering more of grace with you.  For more information, please click here.

*Note: graphic and potentially triggering link appropriate for mature readers. Please view with discernment.

Discover grace with us on Fridays and link to discoveries of your own...

This Week at the Quivering Daughters Blog...

ollowing the release of my book, I've been praying about the direction to take this blog and my writing. The ways God has blessed this work humbles me daily, and my heart's desire to to bring Him glory and honor through it and through other things He brings into my life. For me, part of this entails seeking balance in both the public and the private operations of my ministry ~ between writing articles, blog maintenance, nurturing the relationships I've made through it, creating thoughtful and personal followups to email and messages, and hands-on service in other ways to the body of Christ . . . and especially to the daughters of patriarchy.

I'm so excited for what's ahead! :-)

New Contributor

I'm thrilled to announce that beginning this Thursday, writer and composer Eric Pazdziora will be a weekly contributor to Quivering Daughters. Eric's love for the Lord, his passion for truth, and his grace in writing about difficult topics has blessed me tremendously and I am honored to welcome him to my blog. I hope that you, too, will be blessed by his heart and devotion to God. For a sneak peak, please view his guest post at The Cult Next Door.

Other Contributors

As the Lord leads, Lewis Wells from Commandments of Men, Darcy from Darcy's Heart-Stirrings, and a few others will become familiar faces here as well. Guest posts will run on Tuesdays.

100 Ways of Grace

I am super excited about this next feature. :-) On facebook, a dear friend noted, 

 "Please write about grace. I still don't always get it. Give examples. Say it in 100 ways. :P (if you can) :) Maybe it will continue to sink in eventually."

So, I'm going to try. :-) And yet I want to hear from you, too! Grace is  an essential element of our faith and healing . . . and yet so hard for many of us to grasp. Let's come together and share what we've learned; let's say it in a hundred ways or a thousand ways! I invite you to join me on Fridays for my new series, where I will provide a way for you to link to your own articles and thoughts about grace. I look forward to gleaning from what you have learned in your walk with the Lord. Please grab a cup of coffee and consider participating in this journey ~ and if you like, grab this button code, add it to the html portion of your website or blog, and invite your friends to join, too . . .

<center><a href="http://www.quiveringdaughters.com/search/label/journey%20to%20grace" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://i34.tinypic.com/30bfosm.jpg"/></a></center> (medium size)  <center><a href="http://www.quiveringdaughters.com/search/label/journey%20to%20grace"><img src="http://i33.tinypic.com/mrz3tk.jpg" border="0" (small size)

The Rest of the Week...

I will be posting on Mondays (articles) and Wednesdays (articles, links, other guest posts, announcements, or off-topic) as the Lord leads. It's crucial to me to write as He brings inspiration because these issues are excruciatingly serious and I don't want to write out of obligation but, as with my book, out of obedience to His leading. As time goes by I remain firmly convinced that "we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." (Eph. 6:12 KJV)

I really hope and pray that these blog changes will bless you as you continue to seek understanding and knowledge of God, healing from authoritarianism, spiritual and emotional abuse, and awareness of the serious issues facing many women raised within a patriocentric subculture of conservative Christianity. God bless you!