lusciously Loved.

oh to be lusciously Loved!

extravagantly. beyond measure. disproportionately to thy worthiness. abundantly.

have you ever been? would you like to be?

. . .

I AM lusciously Loved. extravagantly cherished. adored beyond measure. cared for in such a provocative manner that is unequivocally disproportionate to my worthiness (or lack thereof). I AM abundantly blessed.

i always have been. + i always will be.

regardless of the degree of any tangible or quantifiable merit i may be assigned in this Life.

and this same luscious Love is waiting for you.

. . .

a brand new calendar year has ticktocked her way into our digital timekeepers. happy twenty-twenty-three, y’all.

Time is a wonderfully complicated, endlessly dynamic thing, isn’t it?! i think of Time as one of the ways in which Papa Loves us so flawlessly. Time is not an enemy, but rather, our Secret Admirer Who has benevolently planned surprises for each of us around each twist and bend of the journeys.

lusciously Loved, friends.

. . .

my current studies find me in Jeremiah thirty this morning. i may dig deeper + transcribe more as this “New Year” day unfolds. i may settle into the Scriptures i’ve already ingested as enough manna for today. i enjoy the freedom to choose as i go.

but the Book of Jeremiah has been especially hard for me to “get into.” the author’s rhythm and cadence and unapologetic way of completely giving it to the people of Israel and Judah straight from the angry voice of Yahweh was— is— difficult to process.

as a practicing follower of Yeshua Ha’Mashiach, Jesus the Messiah, i filter everything i read and hear and see and experience through the marrow of the bones of the Promise that

God is Love.

therefore, as i read brilliantly argued in a book years ago, and i have yet to find a sufficient counter-argument (i suggest because none exists)— God, Yahweh, Papa (as i endearingly Love to call Him), The Holy of Israel, God Most High, God-of-the-Angel-Armies—

God is incapable of acting outside of Love.

read: every single thing that happens in your Life is Papa’s Love for you.

you just have to be willing to receive it as such.

+ the choice is entirely yours.

. . .

i’ve been working on a new book concept. [insert sarcastic laughter.] for those of you who have been hanging around for any length of time, i’ve been known to irreverently announce my plans to publish some of my writings into books. reality: it ain’t happened yet. because my plans aren’t very reliable, y’all. even on my best days, i’m still entirely weak + subject to great degrees of failure.

part of the reason i go underground as an artist and writer is the sheer humiliation of exposure. my soul’s realization that i’ve been caught behaving as a con-artist— a confidence artist; a trickster.

because there is literally nothing about me as a human being or a painter or a writer or a Mom or a Woman or a Daughter that makes me special. not one thing in my homo sapian sapian dna that sets me apart + gives me “the right” to think that anything i have to say is worthy of being heard.

+ yet. here i be, saying it anyway.

but only because of Whose i be. not me, only me.

. . .

i taught a college girls’ Bible class a few years ago. it was a revolutionary time in my Life. i have no idea why anyone would think that this fruitloop should be in an instructional position over highly-influenceable and formidable Women— but there i was.

and my Jesus, did i learn.

wayyy more than i taught.

but i remember one day asking them, collectively, rhetorically, yet also inviting any answer or objection to be shouted into the space—

“did you get that pre-birth form asking you for your Life preferences?

“you know the one i’m talking about— where you got to choose your skin color and your eye color and your hair color… [clears throat] okay maybe not hair color… but the social slash wealth status of your parents and which country you were born into— you know! where you got to choose your Life before you were born!

“you got that form, didn’t you?!”

and of course, the young Women all looked at one another and me befuddled, clueless. i get that a lot.

but then i went onto say, pausing after each phrase to invoke deep, rich thoughtfulness—

“oh wait.

“you didn’t get that form?

“crazy.

“cause neither did i!

“in fact— none of us did.”

and then i paused even longer for dramatic effect and in tender, desperate Hope that the meat of the lesson would sink deep into their bones.

. . .

we don’t have much say in much, y’all. this world is big. and bizarre. and unpredictable. Life is terrifying. and intense. and intoxicating. and contrary to popular belief, getting older doesn’t make life easier. if anything, it gets harder.

BUT.

i have found there is something i do have a say in— i get to choose what i do + do not believe.

[pause and say that sentence to yourself a few times. try smiling while you speak the words. maybe even hold your hands in the air like an olympic champion and declare the words like a victory anthem. or just sit there dumbly and keep reading. you do you, Boo.]

and what i believe

is that God— Yahweh, Papa, Creator of All That is Seen and Unseen —Loves us, is for us, and will never stop Loving us.

so the new concept book title is: Best Case Scenario: Being Loved by God Through Life’s Difficulties.

finding the Love.

even when Life looks and feels and smells (?) like an overflooded toilet bowl filled with someone else’s… schtuff.

. . .

lusciously Loved.

have you ever been? would you like to be?

Love you. mean it.