yes.

by Lindsay Ellyson on Tuesday, January 25, 2011 at 11:06pm

Tonight I saw a vision.

16-year-old me saying, “Yes.”

I’d sell 30 years for one adventure in a heartbeat.

I’d skip away without a single second thought.

Hesitation was a fairy tale for ancients.

The letters “N” and “O” never mingled in my brainspace.

Nothing to lose, a story to gain. And my, these blank pages were desperate for filling.

Fear was a mere wisp of a word.

Money was scrap paper to doodle on.

But dreams! Now dreams were bread and butter.

23. Not so old.

And yet.

Seven years told me many things.

It told me that love can be won. And lost.

That loneliness is more real than the shoes on my feet.

That joy is precious, but pricey. And deep joy pricier still.

Fear is palpable now. Dreams are a luxury.

And money - well it is as worthless as it ever was.

23 has second thoughts. And third thoughts. And fourth.

Seven years earned me much to lose.

Seven years taught me to firstly question what might be gained.

Risk has meaning, and quite often makes its presence known in my chest.

Tonight I saw a vision.

The 16-year-old pranced.

Feet so light and free, barely grazing the earth.

So fast the young one moved.

Hardly a soul even knew she was there.

And then I saw feet that bore the weight of 60 years.

Two pair.

A man and a woman saying, “Yes.”

They strode forward determinedly.

Each step was calculated.

Each step was heavy, so heavy.

And the earth shook.

The city those feet left shook.

The nation they left shook.

And many nations shook.

And everyone knew for a long, long time where those feet had been and where they were going.

Seven more years could tell me many things.

I cannot imagine what 37 years would have to say.

I can imagine that fourth thoughts are a given. And that seventeenth and perhaps even forty-second thoughts are likely.

I can imagine that 37 years might tell me that God is good.

That fear wields knives, that pain is vengeful.

That disappointment must be swallowed as often as morning oatmeal.

That love takes work, and work takes time, and time is lost every second.

If 7 years have earned me so much to lose, how much more so 37 years?

And truly, what did “Yes” even mean when I had never seen the option “No?”

But that 60 -year-old Yes.

Oh the weight of that Yes!

The nations - they shook.

*This poem was inspired from a vision the Lord gave me during a prayer time for Thad & Mary May, a married couple much older than me who are selling everything and moving to a village in Zambia in a few weeks. Their obedience to Jesus is stunning.

run away.

by Lindsay Ellyson on Tuesday, January 11, 2011 at 10:30pm

Run away.

Run, run away.

These little words chase me wherever I go. In chaos, in solitude. Sitting crouched on a train station floor in Asia, with tears streaming down my face, anxiety eating me alive. Stretching on the pavement outside a Floridian condo with salty ocean breeze blowing my hair, kinky from a humid morning run, peace soaked clear through my skin. Curled up on my bedroom floor, alone one night in a Midwest city I call my own, full of people who share love with me.

They always start as a whisper, the little creeps. But if I give them an ounce of credence, they begin to chant obnoxiously, as if the moment were a musical and needed some appropriate background noise for the scene at hand. Run away. Run away.

At first, I scoff, as always. “What does that even mean? Run away? Ha. Run away from what? Goodness and love? Run away to what? Nothing?” They are absurd those little creeps. If the moment is right, however - if I am particularly pensive, or particularly alone, or have an unusual amount of space to just let my mind wander - a whole other slew of questions come rushing like a water that’s been dammed up in a creek from the debris of a storm. One of those branches just came unstuck, and lo and behold here comes a torrent.

“What if I really did run away? Packed up a few things, left without a word?

Slipped into the night, escaped in silence?

Drove and drove? Or took a train?

Where would I go? West of course. Or north. Why north? South is warmer.

What would happen? How far could I get? Nah, too many people love me. Everyone would worry. I could leave a note, saying please don’t chase me down. But I mean, how fortunate am I? Not everyone in the world can say that too many people love them to let them simply vanish. ”

Run away. Run away.

“But what if I really did run away? What if I disappeared into thin air?

What if I went into hiding? What if I went somewhere that no one knew me?

What if I went somewhere there was no one at all?

What if I started completely over? What if I left every responsibility in the dust? What if I did the unexpected? What if I ran away...?”

It’s silly, really, I tell myself when a catch a breath of reality. I love company so, I can hardly go a few hours by myself. I cringe every time my usually teeming house is empty, and a mere 3 hours of solitude almost always puts me in the mood for a party. Only twice in 5 years of having a cell phone have I ever gone over on my minutes. Once, talking to a guy. Oops. At least he was a really good guy. The other time was just now, on an 8-day getaway trip by myself, which happened to fall on the first few days of my monthly minutes cycle. Somehow, I managed to go 100 minutes over my normal month’s allowance in just a handful of days. Double oops. What can I say? I guess I fall on the extraverted side of the personality line.

The previously dammed up creek catches my brain waves again. “What if I ran away and really ran away? Like stopped being a friend of God kind of run away? What if?”

This part of the conversation in my brain is not altogether that infrequent. It is however, nearly always quite short-lived. Let me explain. A few years ago, I read part of Pete Greig’s epic grapple-with-suffering book, God on Mute. In one of the chapters I read, Pete was describing a time he attempted to dismiss God’s existence, but admitted that in the middle of his motion to not believe in God anymore he found himself praying the most often and most honestly he’d ever had. I’m fairly certain I laughed out loud, so stunned was I at the way he clearly described precisely what has happened in my own moments of trying out citizenship in doubt country. The most genuine conversations I’ve ever had with the Lord have come in the occasional minutes when I decide He can’t possibly be real and want to be my friend. And... I always end up quickly concluding that I can’t possibly stop praying even if I try my darnedest not to.

Run away. Run away.

“Oh God. I really don’t want to run away from You. I know I cannot escape You. I know You follow me everywhere. I know that even ‘if I made my bed in hell, You’d come stay the night.‘ But... what if I really did physically run away, skipped town, disappeared for a long time, and lived a different reality... and what if I wanted to come back home? What then?”

Today the words of a psalmist dance their merry way into the middle of the run away chant.

“Oh that I had wings of a dove, I would fly away and be at rest;

yes, I would wander far away;

I would lodge in the wilderness;

I would hurry to find a shelter from the raging wind and tempest.” *

Yes, yes. If “Run Away” is the theme song of the musical unfolding, this is the verse of that very song. I would fly away. I would wander to the wilderness. I would look for shelter from this raging wind and tempest.

Would it surprise you to hear that I’ve done all this musing in a swimsuit and sundress, leaning against a palm tree, overlooking the clearest, bluest seas of south Florida? Two pelicans just flew over my head. Oh yes, they did. Pure bliss. I make note of this, partially to make you jealous - but mostly to point out that the raging wind and tempest that the psalmist and I speak of are only once in a while external. More often they swirl about on the inside of my soul.

So how can I run away,

but run away into You?

That is what I am asking this God I can’t seem to stop praying to. Run, yes. Crawling never got me anywhere too quickly. Away, sure. Away from the striving and self-sufficiency and turmoil. How can I escape into the silence of Your peace, leave my responsibilities in the dust that lies at the mountain of Your strength, and hide in Your rest? How can I disappear forever into the depths of Your love? I’m not talking a day trip here and there. I’m talking d-i-s-a-p-p-e-a-r f-o-r-e-v-e-r.

I shake the sand off my Bible and flip through more of these poignant Psalms. Some often-read, underlined parts catch my eyes:

“But I through the abundance of Your steadfast love, will enter Your house... You are a stronghold for the oppressed... Wondrously show Your steadfast love, O Savior of those who seek refuge... O Lord, all my longing is before You... By day You command Your steadfast love, at night Your song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life.” *

My friend Chris unwittingly sent me this Scripture yesterday:

“The Lord will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace and remain at rest.” *

And it is perfect. Just perfect. The ideal ballad to end this musical today.

{*Psalm 55:6, *Psalm 5:7, 9:9, 17:7, 38:9, 42:8, *Exodus 14:14}

now home is always with me [a psalm 23 re-take]

by Lindsay Ellyson on Tuesday, October 5, 2010 at 10:58am

You are my Shepherd. You feed me, You guide me, You shield me. I will not lack what I need.

You bring me to fresh, tender green pastures. Which means You don’t lead me to dried up crusty barren fields.

You lead me beside still and restful waters. Which means You don’t lead me to murky stale mud puddles.

You have my best in mind. You refresh and restore my self.

You lead me in way of right relating. You point out to me how to relate rightly to You, to others, to myself, and to creation. You do this because that is who You are, not because I have to attain a certain level of uprightness to be okay with You.

Yes, I will and do walk through deep and sunless valley, full of shadows of death, full of threats to my well-being, but I will not walk with fear. I will not walk with a sense of dread over the evil around me, because You are with me in this sunless, low place. Your protection is my comfort, Your guidance is my reassurance. My enemies are all around, but You do not abandon me to their taunts. Rather, in the midst of them You spread out a feast for me. I do not walk with my head down in shame and fear, but You lift my head, You dignify me, and You anoint me as royalty before them all.

I am brimming with hope, so full of courage that it spills out of me. Absolutely only goodness, only mercy, only unfailing love fill the path around me all the days of this journey.

Your presence is my one constant. Your home is my home, for all my days. Now home is always with me.

[Inspired from Psalm 23 (Amplified Bible)

A Psalm of David.

1 THE LORD is my Shepherd [to feed, guide, and shield me], I shall not lack.

2 He makes me lie down in [fresh, tender] green pastures; He leads me beside the still and restful waters.

3 He refreshes and restores my life (my self); He leads me in the paths of righteousness [uprightness and right standing with Him--not for my earning it, but] for His name's sake.

4 Yes, though I walk through the [deep, sunless] valley of the shadow of death, I will fear or dread no evil, for You are with me; Your rod [to protect] and Your staff [to guide], they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my [brimming] cup runs over.

6 Surely or only goodness, mercy, and unfailing love shall follow me all the days of my life, and through the length of my days the house of the Lord [and His presence] shall be my dwelling place.]

crashing hard.

by Lindsay Ellyson on Thursday, September 23, 2010 at 6:16pm

Nothing lasts.

And I do mean nothing.

Every single person leaves.

They move away,

they stop engaging,

or they die.

Every person I ever love will die. Every single one.

Maybe I will die before they do.

But either way, they’ll be gone.

God, You really, really, really are the only thing that remains. You really, really are.

Why can’t my mind get wrapped around it?

Every person I ever love will leave.

Dad will die.

Mom will die.

Logan, Landen, Lincoln will all die.

They’ll DIE.

Sarah will die. Wendy will die. So will David and Adam. Scott will die.

My heart friends will die. All of them. Those roommates I loved, those guys I liked, those broken girls I sat with, those orphans I cried over, those kids I held, they'll all die.

They’ll leave or I’ll leave or they’ll die. Either way, they will not be there forever.

Every man I choose to love will leave. Maybe one will stay much longer than the rest. One will I hope, stay years and years and years. But in the end - and the end will come - in the end, he will die just like all the rest.

You’ll die.

And you’ll die.

And you’ll leave and then die.

And you, yes even you... you’ll leave and then die too.

There is truly nothing that remains. There is truly nothing, absolutely nothing that will last...

save You, God.

As I see it, I have two options.

One is to clam up, risk nothing, bury myself in labors (which will also not remain) and float through these years I am granted with life with very little feeling, and most importantly very little pain.

The other option is to crash hard into that mystery we’ve dubbed Love. To throw inhibition to the wind, to put everything on the line, to allow myself to deeply care, knowing full well that every single person I extend myself to will in fact leave or die. In this option there is no playing it safe. It’s not a pretty prancing about. It’s a body slam into risky business. There is no guarantee that joy will outweigh pain, and there is no promise that goodness will ever last as long as I think it might. There is no surety that the broken will let love truly change them, and at the end of the day there could potentially be not a thing to show for love.

I suppose there may be a third option. I suppose there is that middle road, the half-clam, half-risk place. Achh. Forget it. It’s so lame, its hardly worth mentioning.

I’ve barely raised my eyes from looking at this page before I know...

There is no option for You, is there God? You are all risky business, all the time. You have been since the beginning. Except for You there is no beginning. You in fact ARE the mystery we’ve dubbed Love. You’ve never played it safe, not one single time. You looked the oh-so-real chance of pain square in the face, and said, “Bring it on.”

A distinct memory is coming to mind. I reach for a journal that is crammed between two dozen others on my bookshelf, and flip through it until I find this page: February 24, 2009.

“HOW DO YOU DO THIS, GOD? You’ve run a risk on love with every human being that’s ever walked the face of the Earth. So few have worked out... so few have loved You back. And those that have were still unfaithful. It started with a risk with Adam... I’m thinking about the covenant You made with Abram - the marriage contract. You’ve run the risk on millions of people for thousands of years. HOW DOES YOUR HEART TAKE IT?”

Your response to me went like this:

“Love is that worth it.

Love is who I am, Lindsay. To not risk is to step outside of My identity. Playing it safe is not in line with My character. If there is no risk, it’s not love at all.”

Man.

Man, oh man, oh man.

You are the only thing that remains. I don't know why it took almost 23 years for that to really hit me, but today I suddenly realized that You will be there every single morning when I wake for the rest of my life. And You are the only One that will be. And when I die, You will still be there. And You have always been there before me.

Okay. So You're it. You're the Big Deal. You're the really only Legit Being that exists.

And You've been going head-on for Love since forever.

You ARE the Risky One,

the Hard Crash into Mystery,

the Great Body Slam,

the Magnificent Inhibition-Chucker.

You're the only One who remains and this is really how You roll. Shoot, I mean... if I'm going to die anyways, and if You're going to remain anyways, why not come crashing into this risky business with You? I mean, why not? If You're the only One who will always be, and if You say,

"Its worth it,"

well then, it probably is.

wide is the space.

by Lindsay Ellyson on Monday, September 6, 2010 at 11:10am

The dreams of yesterday fade in the disappointment of reality today.

Yet in the wispy shadows of their slow departure, the horizon opens. Broad is the expanse, wide is the space. And I see new dreams dancing in the wake of those that flit away...

New dreams that skip to the beat of eternity, that pulse with sure destiny. Hope is their theme, and it is not a dim hope.

I gaze ahead into the wide open space, mesmerized by the bold movement of these vibrant visions and I know that shaking off the lingering traces of yesterday's mental merry-go-round is perhaps finally possible.

Wide, wide, wide is this looming horizon...

Catch me up, Spirit. Catch me up into the forward motion of what I see before me. Spin me and twirl me and pull me into the celebratory sound of eternal purpose. Immerse me in this pounding rhythm until all of yesterday that is mortal and unneccessary detaches itself and falls forgotten by the wayside.

Today I dream of stepping into the very middle of an untouched place,

of going with a handful of soul friends,

of submersing ourselves in the midst of the lost,

and establishing the Kindgom of Jesus.

And these dreams are dancing wildly, trampling on whatever pathetic, energy-less, half-dreams remained from whatever these last months have been.

- September 6, 2010 12:45am

soul ache

soul ache

by Lindsay Ellyson on Saturday, August 21, 2010 at 12:25am

I woke up this morning with an ache.

An ache in my soul.

It's rough when the very first thought that comes crashing into my brain after I've fumbled with my alarm is, "I need something. I need something bad." There's a starkness to that reality that makes drifting back into a comfortable sleep impossible. Hello world. It's 6am, the sun's not even up yet, and the traffic outside my window has just barely begun to zoom. I've only got my eyes half open, my cognition switch flipped on 0.47 seconds ago, and I am desperate.

Already.

Wow, getting out of bed is going to be FUN.

I know the answer, of course. I know what I need. Or who I need, rather. It's weird how truth can be so near the front of your consciousness and yet feel so utterly far away. Nonetheless, even as I half-heartedly grasped at whatever was within arm's reach today, I was entirely aware that each thing I grasped for was going to be sorely disappointing within minutes. Three bites in, and I knew that if stress eating ever slightly worked for me it has by now lost all its charm. My usual mindless perusal of my Facebook home page barely distracted me today. I didn't even bother making phone calls. For a brief moment I considered a movie and just as quickly dismissed that thought. My late afternoon nap eased nothing. If anything, the lull in activity as I sprawled out on my bed made the emptiness all the more keenly felt.

In between each of those graspings at I found myself praying, "I need something. I know that something is You. I need You."

And yet...

You're not in the usual easy places.*

Damn it.

I feel like kicking something really hard. Or breaking something into a million pieces. I could go for a long hard run, but that seems like an entirely too productive way to deal with this mounting frustration inside of me.

Why God? WHY? I want to scream. Why must You pull away? Why must You hide? Why must I go searching for You yet again?

I know You are tenacious about my character development. I know You are building within me a foundation of gold, silver, and stone that will not disappear in the coming flames of turmoil. I know You are beckoning me to be a woman undaunted by circumstance, trusting when I cannot see. I know You are unwavering in Your sanctification of my life. But GOOD GRIEF, God, how much character development can You cram into one 22-year-old body?

I know, God, I know. Okay? I get it. I know I need You. I know everything else is like a sick joke compared to You. I have no problem admitting that. I'm ruined without You! What more can I say? Now where the flip are You?

BIG, FAT S-I-G-H.

Somehow over the course of the day, the piercing words of Job have crept their way into the swirl of my frustration. I stumbled upon them quite by accident this morning as a handful of my friends and I were goofing around before morning prayer. One particularly humorous fellow was pretending to preach, and he jokingly asked us to turn to Job 19, verse 32. As there is no verse 32 of course, we continued on in our playful exchange, and claiming he was dyslexic turned instead to verse 23. In the midst of our innocent laughter the poignancy Job's desire sobered me quickly. His words followed me throughout the day, all the way to my late afternoon nap. Now I hear their echo continuing on into my night:

Oh, that the words I now speak were written!

Oh, that they were inscribed in a book, carved on a tablet of stone!

That with an iron pen and molten lead they were graven in the rock forever!

For I know that my Redeemer and Vindicator lives, and at last He, the Last One, will stand upon the earth.

And after my skin, even this body, has been destroyed, then from my flesh or without it I shall see God, whom I, even I, shall see for myself and on my side!

And my eyes shall behold Him, and not as a stranger!

My heart pines away and is consumed within me.**

Dare I believe with Job that this straining to see You has an end in sight? Dare I remember that a day will come when the last leaf falls and the last page is turned, and You Who Remains will put two feet on sod again. Dare I remember the promise that whether my body is breathing or is deader than dead, I will in fact see You for myself? Dare I believe with Job that You won't be a stranger when You come, but rather The One Whom I Know Best?

Dare I believe? Dead and buried or alive and well, I myself will see the God-Man Jesus walk on this planet Earth once again. Dare I believe that I will know Him when He comes? Not just recognize Him as a guy who saved me once, but know Him. Know that He is the One who has been redeeming and vidicating me over and over. Know that His special name is By My Side.

The little wheels in my mind are turning. If I will in fact see my God when He stands upon the earth, if I will in fact know Him when He comes...

That is a lot of knowing between now and then.

You're still not in the usual easy places. But somehow You will be found by me. Because You won't be a stranger to me when You come. And we've got a lot of knowing each other to do in the meantime. My heart pines away too, Job. My heart is consumed within me too.

* To read my note entitled, "You're not in the usual easy places" written in January 2009, go to this link: http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=47962593423

**Job 19:23-27, The Amplified Bible

***A note about strong language: I recognize that I could have readers who may be tripped up over my use of a swear word or two in this particular writing. Let me clarify. This piece is a lament, a deep guttural cry, an honest prayer to the God of my life. Although they have been translated with nice, "clean" English words, the original Hebrew in which the Psalms were written was often explicit as David and others poured out their hearts before God. I believe that He is quite willing and quite able to handle whatever depth of emotions come over us in our pursuit of Him. David was named a "man after God's own heart." I see that this is because God Himself is not afraid to express His anger, sadness, and joy all freely, and He is actually often quite explicit in the outpouring of His emotions (... have you ever read the books of the Prophets in the Old Testament? If "dashing infants on rocks" isn't graphic, I don't know what is.) I could have edited this writing and shared the watered-down version with you. However, in order to honor my God who created emotion and sees all, I felt impressed to share my raw and honest journey with you.

Spring 2010, Part II

My teammate Wendy and I found this graffitied wall in downtown Kansas City and mused over its irony as we posed for this photo - as followers of Jesus, our lives are anything but trampled by normalcy. Rather, we’ve jumped headfirst into the thrill of adventuring with Holy Spirit in the urban core. Just two weeks ago I was out for a run in my ghetto neighborhood when I felt Holy Spirit direct me down a particular street and give me a word for the 18-year-old single mother of two waiting at the bus stop on the corner. Her face lit up as she told me she’d just given her life to Jesus mere weeks before. She knew absolutely nothing of the ways of God and was in dire need of a spiritual family. It’s been such a delight to begin taking her through the God Story, along with a few other single moms and brand new believers the Father has placed in our paths.

These days I’ve been traveling to campuses around Kansas and Missouri, encouraging students to participate in the 2010 Year of Prayer. I’m also busy preparing for the summer - I’ll be co-leading another Student Church Planting Experience and the whole Campus America team is gearing up for an epic gathering of students at Northfield, the original site where the Student Volunteer Movement launched over 100 years ago. I’m most looking forward to my trek to Central Asia. For security purposes I'm not posting information about that trip online, but I hope you’ll email me if you'd like to know more about that trip.

Pray for me, friends! We have a real enemy, who is none too pleased when Hope is being proclaimed. I am in constant need of supernatural wisdom, protection, strength, and provision. I bank on your intercession for me, knowing full well that the Kingdom of Love can only take ground by prayer and obedience. much love, Lindsay

PS: My 8-year-old godson Preston prayed to give his life to Jesus during his stay at my house last weekend :) I’m a happy god-momma!