I often wonder how Jesus felt after he came down from the mountain.

The scripture is full of places where Jesus “slipped away into the hills,” and I've known the weight of why He did that. The sea of faces. The hands outstretched. The need. Ever growing.

How did He feel when He came from being face to face with His Father, back to the life of human need. And demands.

This is the hard part about meeting with God. It is so good. So good you never want to leave. And yet the world is waiting for you to offer them a piece of bread.

Or send them tax-deductible receipts.

Whether I am back home in Uganda, or in the USA, the need is always there.

How to meet with God in the middle of “real” life. When the only real life I've felt is resting in His arms.

So I stop for a moment from licking a pile of envelopes.

The sun dips low and orange past the mountains, setting them ablaze.

The soaking music sings, “the whispers of heaven,” and I try to think about what that means.

These whispers of heaven.

In the midst of every day life.

I breathe.

And I can feel Him again.

He is still here. I am still His daughter.

Even though I feel different.

I am still His. And He is still my shelter.

So much so, that last week when two of my precious little ones in Uganda ran away from home, I had nowhere to run but to my Daddy. Nothing I could do. I was stuck in Canada. So I soaked. And I prayed, and I released them to Him, because after all He is their Daddy too, even though they struggle to know it.

So I prayed God would Father them. Take that orphan spirit clean from them, and make them whole.

I actually wonder if the resting produced more than the striving.

Because come Monday, there was a change in them. Over the phone, I hear the reports. Reports of how the Father touched them.

He is the only one who can love a heart back to life.

I think Jesus carried the mountain around inside Him. He kept it close.

The mystery of that Holy meeting.

He wrapped it around His heart and stopped to let it fill Him anew.

He handed out the bread and fish, all the while contemplating in His heart, the goodness of the Father.

So maybe we don't have to leave the mountain.

Maybe we can carry it.

And force ourselves to take moments to remember,

to let it fill us once again.

The new year finds me open and receiving, resting in these arms that long to carry me that I always seem to push away.

After all the clutching and striving. After all the cement stained floors cradling a thousand tears. I let him hold me. I let God love me back to life. I get off the crazed swirling monotony of days and empty hands and babies and dirt and sweat. Because Uganda, while I love it, takes my little heart and rubs it raw.
Too busy to tend it; I falter.

I need a safe place to be still.

Sometimes we have to come to the end of ourselves to finally come home.

No longer a mother. But allowing myself to just be a daughter.

One

who is loved.

I find this revelation hard to receive: God the Father loves me as I am, just as much as He loves Jesus. He loves me just as much whether I am sleeping, or yelling at someone, or praying for the sick and spending myself on the poor. Whether I feel far from him, or close to him, my identity does not change. I am His.

That His love is not a temperature gage.

Does not rise and fall with my good and bad actions. Not dependent on what I do, but just because I AM. I am His girl.

The Father's heart is a deep-boned thing, something that covers and calms every anxious voice, every fearful thought, every long to do list. It is life-changing.

To know this. It shifts everything. Because

I no longer have to do for approval.

I move from approval.

My heart learns the lesson again. And again.

How to stop and know. To know. And believe. And receive. His love.

I had a vision.

Me and Jesus on a beach.

I am a little girl busy building my sand castle. Jesus wants me to come join him for a swim in the water. But I refuse, because I want to build this castle to show him. To show him he can be proud of me. He insists. Come join me. Be with me. So I relent. We play in the water for hours. When I come back to the beach, my sandcastle has washed away. But I did not feel the pain of it. It was as if it no longer mattered. Because His presence was so real and so sweet.

I look up further on the beach and there is a large castle, built of stone, made for a princess, like a backyard play house. And as I enter I realize it's big enough for me and Jesus to fit inside.

And I did nothing to build it.

I come out of the dream, and I know:

Everywhere all of us dying on our knees, when we could be with Him.

This is His furious longing.

And He is able. To cover our hearts with His hands. All the dissapointments, and the shattered dreams, the betrayals, and the back-stabbing. His hands hold them and absorb them into His heart.

So much healing in this place. So much healing for me. So much revelation to bring back.
These women, these girls, are loved exactly as they are, regardless of their actions.

This is the most important thing in the world: To know we are loved and receive it. And to finally accept ourselves and be free.

The heart is where everything springs from.

And how we view God has everything to

do with how we are going to live our life.

From GRACE. Or from DOING.

This is the calling. The reason we are in Uganda.

The reason Zion Project was born.

A destiny of healed hearts walking in wholeness awaits us.

So much love received, to give away.

The truth becomes real. There is no other way.

And gratitude.

The gratitude of feeling His love. So much more than a thousand gifts.

The plaintive prayers find rest.

I am home.

Will you join me?

*If you are interested in inner healing/the father's heart, a great resource is Catch The Fire School of Ministry in Toronto, Canada. May you be blessed! http://catchthefire.com/