: going beyond the limits of ordinary experience.

: climbing so high that you cross some boundary.

Merriam Webster describes a transcendent experience as one that takes you out of yourself and convinces you of a larger existence.

This word, transcendence, halted my mind when I heard it for the first time.  I said it over and over in my thoughts. I think it might’ve become a favorite, immediately.

For me, it is a word that holds power. It describes something that happens to me almost daily.  Strong emotions that cause the hairs on my arms to shoot up, or tears to escape from my heart and leak onto my face.  Out of nowhere!

My step-brother had a dream about a golden heart being offered to him.  He is convinced it was Jesus’ heart.  His life was transformed in that moment.

Eric Metaxas had a dream about touching a golden fish who was looking up at him through a hole in the ice.  He is also convinced it was a moment with Jesus, where Jesus spoke to him in the “secret vocabulary of his heart.”  His life was also transformed in that moment.

I had a dream that I was falling to my death from the highest floor of the tallest building.  I believe that Jesus was there with me, showing me the condition of my heart. It was a moment that went beyond the limits of ordinary experience.  A transcendent experience.

I also “crossed a boundary” the day I forgave my ex-husband. Releasing the bitterness, hatred, and disgust set me free… to love others in a way that I couldn’t do until that place was available,  nor could I have done it on my own.

Loving our enemies, seeing purpose in the pain, knowing that the evil that is here on earth will not piggyback into heaven… there is hope.

Experiencing a love that feels like the biggest arms wrapped around me, every time I feel sad. Wiping my tears. Comforting me.  Hearing the tender whisper, “I love you, my sweet child.”

God continues to go beyond our limits, allowing us to cross boundaries so that everyone might know His love.

Forgiveness

Faith

Sisterhood

Surrender

Servanthood

Humble

Loving

Brave

She endured the worst, harshest, most disgusting environments I’ve ever heard of. She saw and felt devastating losses. She never lost faith in the God that made Himself known to her in the midst of the unimaginable hell that Hitler and the Nazis created. Her heart remained true to God, as she barely survived. Through prayer and thanksgiving, her faith was made stronger. It became the truest, strongest faith I’ve ever heard of. The life of Corrie Ten Boom.

Inspiring.

Life changing.

Amazing.

My life has taken a turn.

If I were watching it on “the big screen,” it would be the part of the movie where you look around to see everyone smiling. Maybe even a happy tear would be rolling down a cheek or two.

Chapter 43 we will call it – “Bold & Passionate.”

I’d be reading books, more than I could keep up with, and writing every moment available.

I’d be inspired by podcasts, and teachings, friends, and gifts that are wrapped up inside hearts instead of boxes.

The movie would slow down to turtle speed, and everyone would glance at each other wondering if maybe the tape broke. The screen would jump a few times, and then roll out smoothly again.

You’d see me walking often, with friends, alone, or seemingly alone yet smiling quietly to myself. Entranced, and captivated.

Chapter 43 unfolds as a story of peace.

Peace that is unleashed as forgiveness rolls out and prances down the red carpet.

Forgiveness joins hands with joy and they frolic in the same meadows that Laura Ingalls Wilder depicted as her way home.

Revelations, epiphanies, dreams, and acceptance would be the feast at every meal.

They would devour me, yet somehow sharpen me, releasing ugliness in order to make room for the endless transformation.

You would see acceptance. Not from others, as you’d expect, but of myself.

That acceptance would increase confidence…

To be who I am. The me I’ve been called to be…

… someone with hope that sits outside and waits for me to join, in the most beautiful melody of boldness & passion… for something only our souls can see.

My two year old niece put her tiny little hand in my son’s giant hand and walked out of the room, looking up at him with wide eyes.

I’m amazed at how much she adores him.

My mom told me that she bosses him around, and since he just loves making her smile, he obeys.

I couldn’t help seeing the similarities of their relationship in my relationship with God.

It took me awhile, but I put my tiny little hand in His giant hand when I trust Him.

I don’t always trust Him, but He holds out his hand anyway.

He leads me, when I trust Him.

He looks down at me, adoringly.

My niece feels safe with my son. She sincerely adores him.

They walk, hand in hand, on all of the little adventures that she dreams up. It’s the sweetest thing to watch.

I’ve learned that this is the only way to walk through this tough life here… hand in hand with the One who created me.

He found a broken vessel that washed up on the shore right in front of him.

He picked it up, admired its beauty, saw through the brokenness, and tucked it in his pocket.

Later that night, he pulled it out and set it on his desk. He examined each fracture. He was able to see the pain in the lines that attempted to leave it shattered.

He felt a strange connection. He knew it was a rare gem.

He was drawn to the pain. Perplexed by it. Affected.

He kept the vessel in his pocket during the day, yet it never left his mind. He incessantly pondered the strange feelings that overcame him as the days passed by.

Every time he had the chance, he’d pull it out to examine it again. Each time, he felt the pain.

“How can I fix this? I don’t have the tools.”

Kindness was whispered to him. To his soul.

“What?”

“Kindness?”

He walked to the sink to wash the vessel.

“Kindness?”

“I don’t understand.”

As the water from the faucet ran over the vessel, it began to sparkle. There were parts that even shimmered. It was so beautiful to him.

He wanted to know where it came from. How it got there. Why it was brought to him. What he was supposed to do with it!

He was hopelessly lost in his thoughts.

And then, in that place, he began to see things.

He saw a young girl, alone, scared. He watched her grow up. Alone, scared.

She was in the ocean. The waves tossed her. She reached for safety. It disappeared. She disappeared.

Kindness.

Closing his eyes, he tried to find her again.

Nothing. Night after night. Nothing. She was gone.

He met someone, and he soon forgot about the vessel he left on his desk the last time he searched for the girl who was lost in his thoughts.

The woman he met reminded him of her though. He was drawn to her painful past. It felt the same. The pain, it was familiar.

He knew she was a rare gem. He saw her beauty beyond the fractured and broken soul that she hid behind.

He covered her with Kindness.

She had never experienced this. Every time her fears attempted to overtake her, he met her with reassurance. Endlessly.

The vessel fell off his desk one day, when he was dancing with her.

It shattered into a million pieces.

As he swept it up, he was overwhelmed… with peace.

It was in that moment that his thoughts were finally clear.

He knew what he was supposed to do.

He knew what Kindness meant.

They picked up their dance right where they left off. Hand in hand. Soul to soul.

At peace with the fading pain.

It’s crazy how we learn so much about ourselves when we are back on land and we look back at the raging sea we were finally smart enough to exit.

For me, the raging sea was deception.

It was inviting. It appeared calm & collected.

As soon as I tiptoed in, it overtook me. It’s waves devoured me.

I struggled to spring up toward the surface, each wave throwing me back in, further, deeper. My choices brought the waves. My actions gave them fuel.

A life preserver was waiting in the distance. I knew it was for me. I just couldn’t let go of what was holding me back.

Until the day it was placed in my hands.

The waves were commanded to carry me to shore.

I walked out, looked back, and smiled.

Farewell to the rage. You no longer own me.

Kindness met me on the shore.

Sincerity held my hand.

Love swept me off my feet.

I was introduced to a woman that loved writing, and used it to change the world from 1745-1833.

Eric Metaxas, in “7 Women And The Secret Of Their Greatness” describes her as brilliant, eccentric, and incomparable. I must agree.

She was a playwright, author, poet, slave abolitionist, politician, advocate of educational reforms for women, among many other achievements.

The trait that impressed me most was her passion.

She was passionate about morals, politics, helping and educating girls, women, poor people, and slaves. She was one of the first to present the idea of a companionate marriage – where an educated woman would make a better companion in a marriage.

She did not change who she was, even when she was with people who didn’t agree with her. She accepted them and loved them.

“It is in her ready acceptance and love of those who did not share her faith that we see an important aspect of Hannah More. She did not let the indifference or even the irreligiosity of most in [her] circles dissuade her from enjoying their company. She did not lose her wit when she found God.” – Eric Metaxas.

Her voice was heard.

She used her gift to reach people.

I’ve heard of her. I knew she did something great, but until reading her biography by Eric Metaxas in “7 Women” today, I had no idea how great.

At age seventeen, she was fierce. She ambitiously, and boldly, sought justice as she fought for France.

Joan of Arc listened to God and then marched forward in obedience.

To piggyback on what I wrote regarding protection of souls recently, her life illustrates this idea magnificently.

In the midst of an unfair trial, after all of the promises she offered were fulfilled, she was sent to prison.

When asked whether or not she was in a state of grace, she offered a miraculous wisdom. “If I am not, may God put me there; and if I am, may God so keep me.”

I’m amazed at her answer!

Despite her obedience, wisdom, ambition, and ferocity, she was put to death. Crucified.

Her last word was “Jesus.”

Joan of Arc knew, as do I, that her world was temporary. She was aware of the injustice that seemingly won upon her death.

The injustice was trumped by a crucifixion that preceded her own.

Marching forward, with unique convictions, I would also like to be boldly obedient.

I know what is at stake.

I’m aware of a war that remains unseen.

It is a daily battle. One that I’m reminded of as soon as I feel strong enough.

Grace is a gift that is sought, requested, and eternally admired.

With a renewed purpose, I march forward, with just an ounce of the bravery displayed by the great Joan of Arc.