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Tiffany Nesbitt
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Tiffany Nesbitt's G+ page for her blog, Streamroots
Tiffany Nesbitt's G+ page for her blog, Streamroots

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Coming into More

I’m coming into the journey.
In years past I was a staunch believer in destinations: finishing what I started. Achieving my goals.
I was adamant in the conviction that accomplishment, be it monumental or insignificant, was the focus. Push through and finish the task to revel in the achievement. Process is important, yes — but completion is the key to satisfaction.
That drive spurred many a tear of frustration; nonetheless, I accomplished much.
But at what price?
Joy, peace, contentment… those gifts were spuriously traded for achievement. My heart, propped by a few moments of accomplishment, grasped some sense of false worth.
I hope I’m wiser now.
Thirty years have passed since that girl began adulting — so many footsteps into the unknown. And somewhere in the middle of it all, grace came to encounter me, such grace. The unraveling started and eventually I stopped trying to knit myself back together, trusting instead that I would somehow learn to feel whole in the middle of the process. To find satisfaction in the messiness of a journey not yet completed.
And here I stand.
There’s not much which falls into the things done category of my life-list. Far too much hovers, incomplete. But it matters less. Because I’m abandoning that soul-prop — that sense of worth tied to accomplishment, embracing instead the climb towards further up and further in. It’s an arduous journey and at times, more than I can bear — but I was never created to shoulder that burden from the beginning.
And as I stoop, breathing the potent scent of wildflowers along the way, it’s a bending of relinquishment, spurring so much joy.
Instead of the constant rehearsal of lists and methods, I’m tuning my ears to the melody which He whispers over me. In order to catch hold of the music, my striving has to cease; so I lean into His arms, at rest. He leads me in the dance, and I notice that the things which I was born to accomplish are already written in the sky. I laugh at the thought that any  effort of mine could achieve what only God could dream up.
And that simple sound releases freedom.
Best of all, beauty waits along the way — step by glorious, difficult step into the more of Him.
So there’s no fear in the mess. Because every unfinished piece left dangling, every hairpin turn in the path is actually an opportunity — a chance to grow closer to His heart, where all the unfinished business of my life comes together in a symphony of joy. His delight is always in me. I feast on His presence and we revel in our togetherness, wholly satisfied.
Nothing undone.
It’s always been about the trek towards Him. I simply hadn’t seen it in those early years. And even now in the knowing, it’s still a discovering.
What a breathtaking journey.

Photo by Lance Nesbitt

 


(Published in full here: http://www.tiffanynesbitt.com/coming-into-more/)
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A.W. Tozer

“If we co-operate with Him in loving obedience, God will manifest Himself to us, and that manifestation will be the difference between a nominal Christian life and a life radiant with the light of His face.”


(Published in full here: http://www.tiffanynesbitt.com/testimonials/a-w-tozer-3/)
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Breaking the Shell

Momma, I think she’s dying.  
My younger daughter had spent the weekend with someone most dear to our family, and I could hear the catch in her voice, carrying across the miles.  
She can’t get out of bed.  Her systems are shutting down.  
In the silent pause, a host of unspoken questions tightened both our throats.
She’s too young. An entire lifetime of memories and milestones ahead. So much yet to live.
I could feel the pain exploding, piercing like a thousand tiny shards.  Tears came slow and deep.
Momma?  I’ve never seen anyone like her.  She’s fading on the outside.  But her spirit — her spirit is more alive than I’ve ever seen.  She radiates the love of Jesus.  Luminescent.  
I flashed back to the moment I had met her, a skinny thirteen year old wearing a fresh sprinkle of summertime freckles. So much joy and hope.  Almost without warning, her young adult years had brought a shift, marked by a wrestling with God. Then, at last, a beautiful surrender to Jesus; the joys of husband and precious children. Military travel: isolation from friends and family. And sickness. So much sickness.  
Too many doctors and far too many unanswered questions.  Nothing made any sense.  
I recalled the tucked-away birthday greeting I had received just months prior.  It had been typed by her faithful man because her arm didn’t have the strength for pen and ink. I pulled it out, pursuing her thoughts like they were new:
We just can’t get enough of our King, right?
It was as though the veil of her earth suit had become mere gossamer; all that remained was the triumphant glow of her spirit.
I had heard her stories, bits and pieces of the journey.  How when she first became ill, so ill that household routines had to give way, she would lay in her closet for hours.  There, in the quiet, she would meet Jesus, singing at the top of her strength and pouring out her heart.  In the stillness, she would listen.  And the One who loves her wildly would whisper His faithfulness, all His goodness.  She would soak it up like a woman starving for sustenance.  
It had transformed her, that illness.  She had never been the same.
Lovesick.
There are those who allow their yes to Jesus to become their most potent source of joy. When we’re with them, we can almost touch eternity.
That lovesick yes — it can carry us through illness and heartache and disappointment. It can propel us past fears and insecurities. It can transform us from glory to glory, from strength to strength. And though our bodies may waste away, we become more than conquerors through Him who loves us.  
Because there’s just no love like the love of Jesus.
In the overflow of that love affair, my girl had been splashed by the passion of a sold-out servant of the King, dipping a bit deeper into heaven.  
There’s no one like her, Momma.  There’s nothing like that kind of love.  
You’re so right, beautiful girl.  
There’s just nothing like it.  

Photo by Hannah Klause

 


(Published in full here: http://www.tiffanynesbitt.com/breaking-the-shell/)
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Francis Chan

“If you have not known and experienced God in ways you cannot deny, I would suggest that you are not living in a needy and dependent way.”


(Published in full here: http://www.tiffanynesbitt.com/testimonials/francis-chan-4/)
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Handful of Pennies

This one is for all those mommas.
Those dauntless women who might have a precious little clinger under two and maybe a passel full of other priceless clutchers and hangers-on in various stages.
Because sometimes you may feel just a mite smothered with all the sloppy love-tokens and sticky grab-a-holds and continual I-need-you’s?
I recently took a glimpse at a young momma’s unspoken cry for help, subtly pictorial and yet so blatant.  And it all came flashing back. That day so many eons ago when I took my husband to the airport to send him soaring into the next challenge while I had to turn back to a car filled with tiny faces of expectation.  Peeping nest-bound birds with mouths gaping, longing for whatever nourishment of body and soul I could scrape together.
And I was slammed with the urge to run.
Just to jump the fence and flag that plane bound for who-knows-where and fly.  It froze me cold and fired me with a burning to live larger. To taste what life looked like outside the walls of my safe haven and indulge in a bit of reckless daring.
Then came memories of the moments when I would sob in the shower, convinced I couldn’t do one more day. I had these four gloriously crafted basins needing to be filled, but this cracked pitcher of a momma kept on leaking.  And who was going to replenish me when I got drained to the dregs?
Why didn’t anyone tell me it was going to be this hard?
Amazingly enough, the Giver of all grace saw fit that my anchor held. And those flaming longings for adventure and daring, those heart cries for fulfillment and just plain more, well, they found their place.
I learned to grow up into the richness of contentment. The beauty of gratefulness. But I gained more than that.
I learned that to give myself wholly, no hold-backs, was the most glorious adventure of all.  To pour all of me into all of my little ones by the mighty power of the Spirit brought a deeper fulfillment than any wild excursion or fantastic adventure might ever do.
Because I was created to invest.
To deposit treasure with a pay-off so rich that I could be the Queen of Sheba for all my wealth. Like any decent financial planner can tell you, those get-rich-quick sparks lead to nothing but empty disappointment.  A wise investor plans with an eye to the future, waiting for the ripe return.  Yeah, there’ve been countless days when I’d much rather splurge deep at Nordstroms than tuck away those few pennies. And the self-denial…ouch.  But the glory of the reward is so far exceeding what I could have imagined in those tough days of everything being just so hard.
So I carried on, day after golden day, reading countless books, snuggling, wiping tears and bottoms, correcting and disciplining.  Loving and laughing.  And training. So much heart training. Tucking away those pennies.
Today, I’m the Queen of Sheba.
Hang in there, momma.  Invest wisely.  Lean hard into the One who created you to lay a foundation which will never be shaken.  Learn to die to yourself, allowing Him to be all your strength in the weakness, all your contentment and thankfulness.
And take joy in these golden days.
You’re far, far richer than you know.

Photo by Josh Wray (#josh_wray)

 


(Published in full here: http://www.tiffanynesbitt.com/handful-of-pennies/)
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Peter De Vries

“The value of marriage is not that adults produce children, but that children produce adults.”


(Published in full here: http://www.tiffanynesbitt.com/testimonials/peter-de-vries/)
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Coming Undone

There isn’t a thing the matter with me.
At least that’s what I’m being told.
My head too often seems to gyrate with the notion that I have to be a different me to be a better me.  You know… smarter.  More hip.  More together.  
And sometimes, many times, more confident.  More sacrificial.  More humble.  More accomplished.
Just plain more.
In the early days, I would eagerly gulp that Kool-Aid.  The enemy of my soul, slimeball that he is, would whisper those lies and I would swallow hard, naively ingesting the poison.  And boy, how it did spread:  a wicked cancer licking through every crevice of my soul-system.   
Yeah, maybe I was encouraged to perform early on, bystanders clapping hardily as I cleared every hoop.  And maybe along the way that did begin to twist into some type of identity traffic jam.  At some point, however, it took on a life of its own:  the daily dose of pride and perfectionism and the adamant unwillingness to let it all go.  
But tucked away in some corner I could still feel it, the desperation.
How do I keep this thing going?
All those plates spinning perfectly in synch with a grin spread across my aching cheeks and that cry throbbing in my chest.  
How do I keep this flying without some fall-to-pieces finish?  One slight tip is all it would take.  One little kink in the armor.  
I’ve seen it happen too many times.  I’ve heard the heartache.  I’ve listened across the room and watched the tears come fast, trails of pain marking yet another set of cheeks.  And I’ve felt the pain of each dear one as deeply as my own.  The wrestling struggle to let go, to drop abandoned into that pool of grace and just rest in Him.  
‘Cause when Jesus found me trapped in that crazy circus show and I finally got it – there’s real freedom waiting for you – I felt like a kid let out for permanent summer vacation.  Delicious, thrilling freedom.  And through spankin’ new lenses, I could finally catch it:  the only solitary person who cared about those plates being perfectly spun was me.  
So I began to ditch the demeaning self-talk and the outlandish expectations and the ball-and-chain of guilt.  I had to pull out the big guns, ‘cause those lies die hard; but by then, the freedom, the joy, was  too great. I couldn’t go back.
Jesus would meet me and we’d talk about the way I really look to him.  When I’m lounging on the front porch. Snuggling with one of my precious children. Walking the beach trail.  Holding my husband’s hand.  Not scrambling to check my boxes, not grasping hard to make it all work.  Just resting in my Daddy’s arms.  
Oh, how sweet it is to be free.
My Father seems to take a great deal of genuine joy in reminding me that I’m His, and that He’s already done it all, everything I could possibly imagine might need to be done and more, through the work of His Beloved on the cross.  And I can’t add one iota to that righteousness through any scuffle of my own.  So I might as well just lean back into my new, undeserved identity and take joy in His work.  
Either that or strive my way into 10,000 kinds of miserable.   
So now when He whispers so tender in my ear that I’m His and that’s enough, I grab ahold.
He’s got such a way with words, that Lover of my soul. 

Photo by Josh Wray (#josh_wray)


(Published in full here: http://www.tiffanynesbitt.com/coming-undone/)
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C. S. Lewis

“No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good.”


(Published in full here: http://www.tiffanynesbitt.com/testimonials/c-s-lewis-2/)
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