up+up

life is on the up+up /
hyesoo brooke rho

rambleramble

My King,

I do confess,
I am that which you despise—
I am a pharisee,

I once stood strong in my perceived praiseworthy qualities, thinking myself thoroughly above visceral vices 
Unknowingly dwelling within the brood of vipers you despise…
I would have no place in your kingdom—I deserve no place
because for too long I’ve counted my successes in the meager hope of impressing the impossibly perfect savior.

Your grace follows those who are low, in spirit and posture
Your grace would not allow me to follow my pride to condemnation
So you saw to it that— 
I would be broken and beaten, humbled and humiliated through revelations of my wrongs. 
You proved your jealousy for me by shattering through my artificial ‘zeal’ 
So that I could be one that knows the joy of weeping for your mercy

My King,

I am little more than a green cadet, a rookie soldier, a fresh recruit
Undisciplined, uncoordinated, hard of hearing, lazy to obey
You council me to not live like a civilian (But I do…)
I’m sorry, I’m slow and I’m confused.
You add to your ranks daily, without fail - the unlikeliest of people
And I’m sorry, I’ve only recently begun to cheer for these…

My King,…
My King my King my King…
I am simply small, I am simply a sinner.
I’ve learned so much, but I’ve only learned so much, and there’s still so much to learn
I don’t know when it ends, but when it does
Please embrace me, tell me, “Well done, my work through you is done”…

1. Editorial for Pilgrim House Newsletter2. Promotional poster for Easter on the Quad
drawing more of my work these days. 1. Editorial for Pilgrim House Newsletter2. Promotional poster for Easter on the Quad
drawing more of my work these days.

1. Editorial for Pilgrim House Newsletter
2. Promotional poster for Easter on the Quad

drawing more of my work these days.

we should be in the news for showing selfless love and igniting justice in places without light

but we are represented by hate, condemnation, and bigotry

the cycle of life or something

It’s bizarre to watch younger sisters go through the same trials and struggles that I once went through. 

I wish I could tell them the right combination of words to grant them the proper wisdom and motivation to endure through the pain. Even pointing at specific scriptures that helped me can be fruitless. Just because God spoke to me through certain passages doesn’t mean He’ll speak to another in the same way. 

I wish I could reach into their heads and give them my perspective. The perspective I gained after weeks, months, years of tears, prayers, and confusion. But then I realize, they have to go through the weeks, months, years of tears, prayer, and confusion as well. Because even if they could understand that my words have some validity, my experiences can never become their experiences. And even if they did specific things because I think it’s wise, that doesn’t mean that they understand why it’s wise. My convictions can’t become someone else’s convictions.

That’s why I pray… Not because I have magical prayers that can change the course of people’s lives, but to remind myself that every sister my heart breaks for is in the hands of my creator. Not me. Never me. 

(And I guess many older sisters/brothers who look at me probably feel the same way. Sorry for the stress and heartache. But thank you so much for the prayers)

the other side of blessing

When you first come out of a dry, dark, depressing, difficult season into a fruitful and joyful season, you are naturally filled with songs of praise. You say, “All glory be to God,” with every other breath you take. You appreciate every moment of joy. You savor the peace you’ve been given. Your lips are filled with praise and worship to the wonderful creator who can give us freedom from sin.

Days, weeks, months pass. God is still good. God speaks to You during your devotionals, He is apparent in your interactions with brothers & sisters, He comforts you in your most stressful times. It is good. It is good, it is good…

And then… you forget.

You forget how bad it had truly been, and how you had never wanted to be back there again. You forget that it took every bit of your sanity to fight. How joy was nothing more than a concept. How worship felt so dry when you couldn’t agree with the words. How discouraged you had felt by empty words of good-intentioned but inexperienced peers. You forget the nights where you stayed up in tears crying out to God. You forget how you wrote Bible verses on your hand and wielded it like a sword. You forget the desperate way in which you prayed. 

And this forgetfulness leads to pride

"I’m really doing something right here, of course my walk is so solid… I really need to tell other people about this so that they can follow my example."

"I got this down."  

I can’t forget. I can’t forget. I can’t forget. Because man, the devil would love that. Remember the Israelites who yearned to return to slavery because they craved meat. Remember how quick they were to forget the great miracle God had shown them. 

In healing, I want to forget that I had ever been scarred, that it had ever been so hard. I want to forget forever and never think about it again. But if I do that, I’ll forget how gracious, how merciful, how gentle He was in saving me. HE saved me. There is nothing I did to help. I simply receive the privilege to be a testimony of his faithfulness.