I’m going to through out a word. Sit on it for a minute or two and simply take note of how you react. Ready?

Daddy.

Who did you think of?

Your own physical dad.  God. A Spiritual leader. Bob Saget perhaps?

What emotion was evoked?

Love. Tension. Home. Laughter. Disappointment. Yearning. Fear. Security.

What pictures popped in your head?

Pancakes. Coffee. A belt. A badge. Bikes. Fishing poles. High Fives. Tears.

I would bet most of the cheesecake in the world that whatever just happened in your head {and probably your heart} is directly correlating to your relationship with God. Because I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but God Almighty is actually your Dad.

God is a Father.

God is mighty. And strong. Valiant and victorious. Just and jealous.

image from Google images

But He’s also a Dad. A lover. Affectionate. Gentle. Caring.

He goes to ball games and tells jokes {maybe even bad ones}. He falls asleep next to his kids brushing the hair away from the face of His created ones. I hear He even has tickle fights from time to time when we get a little too serious.

For so long, the Father heart of God has been simply acknowledged. And the reality is that this part of the Trinity is the foundation for accepting all of Him.

God is a Daddy. And without accepting His love, where does that leave us?

Alone.

Fatherless.

Orphans.

And without choosing to acknowledge His identity as Your Father, good and caring, can you even receive Jesus as a gift? Can you see the Holy Spirit as a Helper and a Comforter?

I’ve always seen the Almighty side of God foremost. And for a long time I haven’t been able to relate to anyone who called the Lord “Dad”. “Father” I could relate to and used the term regularly. But, having grown up in the Catholic Church, I’ve realized that the term I once thought personalized God could be as impersonal as addressing a man you see once a week passing out communion wafers and watered-down wine. The term “Daddy” was great for some people, but it always felt silly to me. I even convinced myself it was irreverent for me to call him something that human I guess.

But that’s the thing. How can it be too human for a God that chose to become human out of unending compassion for us? It’s like The Little Mermaid {just go with it for a second}. Ariel wanted more than anything to have legs and be a human so she could be with her prince. Once her Father blessed her and gave her what she wanted at the end of the movie, who would I be to come say “Hey Ariel I’m gonna just keep calling you a mermaid because it seems so below you to actually call you what you wanted to become for the one you love.” That just doesn’t make sense {and for reasons other than potential convos between humans and cartoon charters}.

I’ve realized that I’ve always shied away from calling Him Daddy because of the perception that places on me. Being a “Daddy’s Girl” in our generation doesn’t always have the best connotation. And to be completely honest, it made me feel weak. To be known as “Daddy’s little girl” carried an undertone of wuss-ness, if you will. As for someone that’s spent the last few years fighting for people and wrestling with the enemy, something like “mighty woman of God” just made more sense as a self-descriptor.

Then it clicked:

When God is your Daddy, being known as a “Daddy’s Girl” is just about the highest compliment that could be paid. And when what I want, more than anything else, is intimacy with Love Himself, why would I try to be anything else other than simply His?

My understanding of the Almighty God has been permanently shifted. My resting place in my Daddy’s lap has been eternally established, and that’s where I want to spend my days from here on out. Laughing with my Pops, head on His chest, and tugging on His beard {because deep down, we all know He has one}.

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My favorite photo of my dad and I is from when I was about 5 years old {taken with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle camera of course}. We’re in the front yard of the first house I can remember, mid-laughter and mid-tickle fight. And we all know when it’s a tickle fight between a 5 year-old and her daddy who the ‘victim’ always ends up being. Upon both of our faces are the biggest grins. I’m safe, trusting the arms holding me so tightly and enjoying every second of being there. He’s loving his daughter, exuding affection, and knowing that his love is being received well. And that one moment carries over into 20 years later. Because every time I look at it I feel safe all over again. I’m reminded that I have a dad that loves me. It makes me smile wide and positions my heart to believe even better things about my Daddy that’s showering me every second with even more than that picture could ever capture.

God plays with us.

image from Google images.

He loves it when we use our imagination.

He sings silly songs with us.

He loves giving us extravagant gifts.

He’s always there, every dance recital and graduation.

He loves it when you sit in His lap.

When He sees you coming home, He runs out to meet you.

He throws you parties.

He never hesitates to claim you with His Name.

He’s there, always  ready to love. Afterall…He IS love.

Walking through the cereal aisle at WalMart

Waiting for the deep conditioner to do it’s revitalizing magic.

Or sitting on the kitchen counter having {just one more} glass of wine while talking to a roomie about the adult-version of Dunkaroos.

Well maybe that last one’s just me. But somewhere in between analyzing proper cookie-dunking methods and arguing about “bazillon” being a real word or not {ahem}, we wandered into a conversation about evolution. Since God decided to leave out that sciencey part of my brain, the very knowledgable roommate {who dunks his cookies based on size & rations every ounce of icing accordingly, because i know you were wondering} filled me in on what the nuns “forgot” to mention about the beginning of the universe way back in those good ol’ catholic school days.

Evidently there were all of these atoms particles skidamarinks things in space that just randomly collided causing one heck of a rumble {and a hilarious tv show to boot} and slowly but surely, life began.

{insert explosion sounds effects here}

As he explained it, I blurted out question after question {i blame the moscato}. “So it was just random?” “yes.” “Where did they come from?” “we’re not sure but there are theories.” “How did they collide?” “they were moving around and eventually one smacked into another.” “Wait why were they moving?” And as he answered the questions {while only mildly rolling the eyes}, the revelation settled in:

There was movement.

I jumped off the counter and grabbed my {I’ll look like a better Christian with this} study bible off the living room table and turned to Genesis 1:

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.”

The Spirit was hovering.

There was movement.

It might seem silly, but I haven’t been able to shake that idea since. For any kind of creation…for any form of evolution….there had to be movement. How easily that translates into the everyday:

Want a real relationship with someone? Move towards them. Be intentional. Initiate.

Want something new in the spirit? Move towards in it. Or just decide to operate in it.

Want a new experience or adventure? Go. Step away from the computer and grab a helmet. It gets wild out there.

Want to widdle that wasitline? Move around. {and maybe only have one of those delicious brownies strategically left next to Mr.life-sustaining coffee pot}

It seems like everything to be created, or shifted, or reset, or revolutionized, has to start with a move. A choice to go and an actual going. It seems contrary to everything I’m learning about right now. {About just being, remember.} But I can’t help but wonder if the movement is deeply connected to the being now. After all, if I’m trying to be more of the woman He created, it’s His movement that actually created me, right?

- Steffany Frizzell, Bethel Church                                       {watch the video}

{Duh, right?}

What I wrote was about where I’ve been…

But I’d much rather tell you about where I’m going.

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This summer I’m going to the 18 Inch Journey, a school designed move knowing who God is in your head to knowing who God is in your heart. The distance from the head to the heart is only 18 little inches, but it’s the greatest distance a man {or woman} can walk.

It’s so much more than a school, though. For me, it’s multi-dimensional:

 1. to glean.

I’m hungry and I’m curious. I know what I want and the woman I want to be. So, quite logically, I’m looking for women who are doing what I want to do  being who I want to be. And sure enough, in the backwoods of North Carolina I’ve seen a woman operate out of the Heavenly places I long to dwell in. She’s a wife, a mother, a worshiper, a deliverer, and just a catalytic woman of God. And I don’t know if you know this, but who you are is contagious. And I hope to catch whatever crazy disease that Melissa Helser has.

2. to worship.

Hahaha. Oh, the core of my heart. I thirst for it. I get lost in it. I long to never leave it. In a weird way, I think I am it. And there are exponential new levels to be found in it. My voice {and sometimes even a guitar} is an instrument through which He allows me to meet with Him and somehow lead others into sweet places with Him as well. There’s more, though, and I’m going to find out what it is.

   3. to be. 

A place to be still, to stop swirling, and to just be. Why was the Journey created in the first place? To “join with God to create an atmosphere for 60 days where someone could pull into this farm and for 60 days have an encounter with the love of God.” {Jonathan Helser}.

Um, yes please!

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Not going to shy away from the fact that I do need financial help getting up to North Carolina this summer. And I need it fast. So click here if you’re interested in helping out. And if you’re not, that’s okay too. I’m just glad I got to share with you the tiniest glimpse where I’m headed.

be.

The creature of change and newness that I am, it’s strange that it’s been like that for so long. And the settling effect it still has on me guarantees it’s spot as the mantra of my computer-universe for some time to come. But I still can’t seem to grasp that concept. So abstract and yet so practical, the weight and importance of such a tiny word continues to smack me in the face daily.

My name is Lauren, and well, I’m a DOer. a GOer. a FIXer. a SERVEr. a THINKer. a FIGHTer. a MOVEr {and yes, a SHAKEr}. a STRIVEr. a PLANner. a LOVEr. a WORSHIPer. a WORKer. a STUDIer. a GETter.

And normally, that wouldn’t be a big deal. All of those things I just declared are not bad. In fact, most of them have come quite in handy on more than one occasion in my life. They’ve probably helped me get somewhere I wanted to go or achieve some new accomplishment I sought after.

There’s something you need to know about me though. I love Jesus. Oh gosh, do I love Jesus. And I have been ravished and pursued by a God that I am so unworthy to even be thought of by. But the crazy thing is that not only does He think of me, but He wants me. ME. All of me. And now the one thing I want more than anything else in the entire universe is Him.

So unlike before, what I want now is not obtainable by DOing. In fact, the GOing pulls me farther away with every action and reach of my arm. Somehow I seem to discover new facets of Him when I stop seeking answers to my endless questions of who He is. Someway I actually accomplish more for the Kingdom when I stop and rest than if I constantly go-go-go. And somehow I think I look more like Jesus when I drop-kick my “A good Christian is…..”-list out the window. Because it’s when I stop and just be with Him, that I know more of who He is and who He created me to be.

So this is my journey, my lifestyle, my adventure in simply BEing more of who I am so I can BE more of who He is.