The Little Dancing Girl

God put this on my heart late last night and I felt led to post it as a Facebook status. I'm copying and pasting here because my hope is it might touch those that need it. 

Sometimes I accidentally step into a darkness that makes my stomach hurt. 

I don’t watch the news, you know. 

I’m too visual. Too imaginative. Just a few words and I’ve painted a picture that won’t go away. Just a single story of some awful thing; abuse, rape, pedophilia, murder. 

And then there it is, burned in the back of my eyelids to see every time I close them until I fight it down, shout truth over it and go to war for the story.

I was a slave to fear. For a long time. And like an alcoholic does himself well to avoid liquor stores, I do not play with fire by consuming graphic horrors. 

I remember the moment I first knew Jesus. It was a defining moment, a memory that lingered longer than was normal until one day the Holy Spirit spoke to that deep rooted place of my soul and told me that was the day He first held my heart. My Nanny was visiting and sharing my bed. I was seven I think, maybe eight. I laid on my full size mattress with her, much past bedtime, while my toes brushed against her nylon gown and I marveled at her skin that smelled of Avon and felt like loose elastic. 

She told me a story, about Solomon and his wisdom and two prostitutes fighting over a baby. I remember even then feeling the great loss, imagining that dead baby and the terror of the live one being cut in half. And I knew what a wise king Solomon was, and how wicked the other mother was, willing to have someone else’s child sawed in half in response to losing her own. 

And somehow in that night, I heard about Jesus and salvation and it struck me as truth. 

It wasn’t at some camp when the music was blaring and the altar was open. It wasn’t after a week of Vacation Bible School or after a childhood full of happy Sunday lessons. 

No, there’s nothing romantic about my come-to-Jesus story. Maybe the softness of the nylon and the sureness of my nanny. Maybe the fact that as she spoke, I faced my side table fiddling with some medical tape I’d stuck on the aged wood. I remember turning the tape into a cross, overlapping one piece over the next. 

It was not an overwhelming sense of love that lead me to Jesus, it was an awareness of wickedness, and a desire to instead live in the security of a wise King. At seven years old, or maybe eight. 

I didn’t realize the oddity of that until much, much later. 

And while I grew up with the knowing of grace and forgiveness and never really struggled with that idea of unworthiness that Christians so often carry, I had my own chains. 

This is a very dark world. I see it, all the time. Tonight, I saw a friend on facebook sing a song so lovely that it moved me to tears. Her voice rose and fell, strained in all the right places and I couldn’t make out the lyrics but it didn’t matter because they were only trappings to the gift displayed. But I was curious, because I am that way. And I searched the song, unfamiliar as I am to secular music. I found it, then I found myself watching a video of a child in a nude leotard dancing around a room. She looked naked, and her eyes were unsettling and I thought, “What is this darkness?” so I dug more. I found this Sia, so embraced, was making a statement about some dark something. Either she hated it or celebrated it, I’m not sure but even if it was a protest, it was a strange one with this girl in little to nothing dancing in video after video. 

I felt confused and I felt sick because in my life and in my world 12-year-olds do not wear heels like that or make up like that and they have no mind to move their body like that. 

In my world a rooster crows in the morning and a baby cries in the night and through it all, the bible lies open to the last place I was reading. 

It’s not like I was always this way. I was just going about life once. I never thought about revival. I didn’t have to google popular artists and I wasn’t routinely assaulted with music videos that left me reeling into the night, typing feverish nonsense into my laptop in a dark bedroom with a sleeping husband and son. But I did lose sleep. I did stay up often after nightmares, I did have occasions of a shaking in my hand and a tightness in my breathing that assured me Fear was tightening his grip. 

Until I learned his name and told him to flee in Jesus name. And he did. 

It was rather simple, but I found myself in the wilderness like an Israelite delivered of Pharaoh. My anxiety gone. My worries gone. My constant feeling of failure and terror completely gone. Deliverance in the most super-natural way. I wasn’t going back to Egypt. So I wandered, relying on God to get through. Renewing my mind with what I fed it. Until one day, I stepped into the promised land. 

Listen, I get it. Anytime someone hears the world “minister”, the language changes. People stop saying things like “Shit” and start saying things like “The Lord.” And I just want to tell them, you know Jesus loved the tax collector. He saw Saul of Tarsus and said, “Oh yes, just what I need.” He lent His hand to the adulterous to bring her up from the stoning. I say this to tell you, this isn’t some high horse I’m preaching from. It isn’t some superiority where I turn my nose up because I don’t listen to that secular music. God only ever gives us wholeness to have a solid place to plant our feet when we reach out into brokenness.

Tonight, I write, because I am more than a conqueror. And as I read about that little girl and I watched those videos, basted with the flavor of pedophilia for whatever statement it meant to make, I felt fear knock on my heart. I felt that slimy thing whisper what he’d like to do to my kids and instead of inviting him in for a cup of tea and a chat, I pointed to the blood smeared on my door and watched him run away. 

Then I turned to this, what platform I have, to wage war against Fear and the twisted game of the enemy. 

I don’t even know why. Half of my readers follow for the chicken talk and the pictures of farming. The other half are here because of a tornado and either way, I’m here to tell you that you can claim that same Blood. 

Against that worry and that fear and that lie. Against that sucking darkness that has been defeated by a wise and faithful King. Oh! You are not a failure. You, who measure out your quiet time with God and chastise yourself for not reading The Word enough. You who remember your divorce or your jail time or the doubt you hide underneath the position you hold. 

Draw that secret thing out and let God set it ablaze. 

I was afraid of the diagnosis they gave me. When they said I couldn’t have babies. When they said my kidneys would fail before I turned 30. Until Deuteronomy 7:14

You shall be blessed above all peoples; there shall not be a male or female barren among you or among your livestock. And then Isaiah 53:5 But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.

I was afraid to walk through parking lots because I read a story once about a woman who was hit by a car after she put her son in his car seat. She died, and I imagined my sons watching that happen. Until Psalm 91: 9-10. If you say, “The Lord is my refuge,” and you make the Most High your dwelling, no harm will overtake you. 

I was afraid I would lose my kids. That there might be some misunderstanding. Some crazy accusation. Until Psalm 84:3 Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow builds her nest and raises her young at a place near your altar, O LORD of Heaven's Armies, my King and my God!

I was afraid of not having enough, of shut off notices and bills we couldn’t pay. Until Philippians 4:16 And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.

And I was afraid of man. Of being rejected, mocked, called crazy. Of saying words like prophesy and having them roll their eyes. I was afraid of being wrong. Until Galatians 1:10 Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.

Let the light shine in. 

Really. Let it shine in. 

And be prepared because when it does, you will not be the same. The soul craves the light and the darkness becomes a sickening thing. And after months or years or however long it takes, you will find yourself so brazenly fearless that you will be the one the enemy hides from.

Whoever this is for, I pray right now it finds you. I pray you resist the devil and his attempts to scare you and I command him to flee from you now, in Jesus’ mighty name. 

I pray that you learn to embrace your heightened awareness of darkness. You, with your deep, knowing of things that go bump in the night, the way your mind goes to the worst case scenario. I’m telling you now, God custom made you for a purpose. And you may not be able to watch the news because of how it turns your stomach, but if you give Him control over this thing, you will be amazed at the walk He has for you. 

After all, awareness of wickedness leads people to glory. I know because it happened to me. When I was seven, or maybe eight.

The Homesteads of Billy Goat Mountain.

We live on Billy Goat Mountain which is, if you ask me, completely lovely.  When we found our house, that name seemed like the perfect place to start a homestead.

Now, a year and a half later, our homestead is thriving, growing, a fully living thing. While we don't have a billy goat, our little piece of Arkansas is the only place I could imagine being.

Several months ago, I stared getting really serious about taking photos of the kids, the animals, the work, and the adventures of homesteading. I began sharing on instagram (@roots_and_refuge). And to my surprise, people were watching. I don't know why I didn't expect that. I know for the years I lived in town and dreamed of country living, I lived off of blogs and online photos of homesteading, living vicariously through anyone who would share their life with me.

I've thought about that a lot. I shared some in my last post about the conviction I felt when I realized God had told me to share and I hadn't. And the decision I made to open up my life.

That's when we started the YouTube channel. Of course, I'll still keep my blog and Instagram going but some things are just better shown than told. We've joined forces with a few of our neighbors to bring forth this channel that will share our knowledge, adventures and mishaps. I love the diversity that will be displayed on the channel. We are all in different stages and the sense of community I've experienced just since starting this endeavor has been nothing short of heartwarming.

So, here is one of our first videos. This is me talking about chickens, which if you've been reading this blog long at all, you know I am crazy about!
I hope you enjoy, like, subscribe and share! Thank you all for your support. It means more than I could ever put into words.

This Little Life of Mine

I have opened a blank document no less than three dozen times in the last couple of months and just stared at the blinking curser.

Maintaining a blog is hard for me. It’s like there’s a deep rooted something inside my heart that knows I am supposed to write, to use my camera, and to turn the walls of this simple farmhouse into glass so that this little life might shine for the world to see. But it’s wrestling with the fear of not having anything good to say. It’s battling with the idea that it might not be worthwhile for anyone.

I’ve been convicted. I’m sitting on something God has told me to do. I write occasionally. When God lays something on my heart too heavy for me to carry, I lay it down in words. Then I’ll share. Because I feel so certain that God’s words are always worth saying. But what if it’s just my life, my day, my family, my words? Then I second guess. I can’t imagine that it would inspire anyone at all.

I’m not saying this to have anyone puff me up. I’m saying it to hold myself accountable. Even writing the 195 words I’ve already typed into this document, I’ve already imagined three times this standing as a lonely and forgotten post with no follow up months from now. I’ve already thought, “Don’t post that. You’ll feel foolish when you don’t do anything different.”

That’s the enemy. He’s a liar.
He is always standing there waiting to remind you of your failures. He’s always whispering that you can’t do better, can’t grow in discipline. That’s because he doesn’t know grace. He can’t comprehend mercy. He’s just a thief, set on stealing God’s plans for us.
I rebuke that nonsense. 

I’m here to tell you that this isn’t easy, but the best things never are.

A year and a half ago, God laid one of those heavy things down on me. It was about my friend April, a few days after a tornado killed her sons.  I wrote it because not to would have been treacherously disobedient to God. He is mighty. His plan is unthinkable. So when millions of people streamed in to my rarely-touched blog, I was so incredibly humbled. 

Since then, I've felt the same pull. I've felt like I should teach people about chickens and show how we live. It just feels so minor compared to that massive thing that jumpstarted my writing. It feels like when compared to the big picture, the everyday things couldn't possibly matter. 

But they do matter. Because God said they matter. They do matter, because even small things inspire people. They do matter because it's my life. My life matters and when I walk in that confidence, it changes peoples hearts about their own life and their own dreams. My faith matters because it encourages the faith of others to grow. Isn't it funny how much just stating the truth can embolden you?

Over the course of the last two weeks, I have really sought God on some things.
I want to be obedient, you know. I mean really. My heart burns with desire to see revival in this country. And I know that the only way to be a herald for the fire of God is to have a repentant heart. So I ask Him, regularly, to search me. (Psalms 139:23)

I wasn’t really prepared for this conviction.

He took me back to the parable of the talents. In Matt 25:14-30, we hear a story of a master who gives a number of talents to each one of His servants. That word, Talent, when you take it back to the Greek is actually a measure of gold. And a heavy measure at that, weighing roughly the same as a person. It’s not a number. It’s not an amount, per say. It’s a weight.

Two servants took their measure and multiplied it. One buried his in the ground. And this week, as God showed me what He had asked of me, and showed me that when I operate in doubt and do not share my life for fear of criticism or failure, then I am no better than that lazy, slothful servant who buried his measure out of his fear. 

I have been doing this, burying my measure. Maybe I've done a little bit of what I should. But partial obedience is total rebellion. Maybe I've been writing and sharing a little. But I have allowed fear to override truth.
Man, that’s a hard conviction.
This week it was mine.

It is not up to me, the servant, to decide the value of my measure. It’s not up to me to worry about how it will be received. It’s only up to me to do what I have been told to do with it.
In this case. It is to share.

At the height of this revelation, I was sitting on our bed with my Word open and praying. Jeremiah came in and I looked at him and said "I just feel so heavy. I feel mixed up." So we began to talk and pray, and suddenly, I was reminded of a conversation he and I had years ago on a random night outside of a pizza restaurant in our old town. It was before we had any hope of owning a homestead in the foreseeable future. I was a full time student and we had recently invested quite a lot of money in photography equipment with the plan of me opening a business and working hard to make it succeed. 

I remember sitting in the car that night. It was winter and I was crying. I told Jeremiah that I didn't think God wanted me to be a photographer. That I didn't understand the set of gifts and desires He had born into me. The writing, the photography, the love of the Word, the desire to stay at home with our kids and then that life-long burning to have a farm. I couldn't reconcile them. I couldn't figure out why I would have such longing in my heart for a life that felt so far away from where I was. 

So I kept praying. And years later, God reminded me of that night, that conversation. He reminded me and showed me that He had actually given me every desire I'd had for my life. And He has only asked me to do one thing with it. 

Honor Him by sharing it with others. 

So I am. 

I am. From now on, I am. Even if it feels silly. Even if it doesn't feel worthwhile. Whether it feels heavy or not. I don't decide the value of this thing, He does. 

He's given me everything I asked of Him. And let me tell you, it's messy and its hard but it is a beautiful life. While I hope it inspires someone, it can't really matter to me if it doesn't. 

All that matters is hearing those words when I'm done with my race. All that really matters to me is hearing Him say, "Well done, my good and faithful servant. Well done" 

This is my blog, my life, my measure. For it, I am thankful.

Things I Love: ZLYC Fauxdori Traveler's Notebook

I recently got bit by the Traveler's Notebook bug and got an opportunity to review this set by ZLYC. It's available on Amazon for a fraction of what a Midori costs. The set of 2 books, the Travelers size and the Passport size, currently sells for around 40 dollars. They are made of very high quality leather, and despite what some of the Amazon reviews stated, I found them to have no adverse smells or any bleeding. 

I took pictures throughout the unboxing to show what all was included right from ZLYC:

Super nice packaging. This would make a great gift. 

Everything comes in this nice dustbag.  

Comes with a larger Traveler's size book and a smaller Passport size. Also has a nifty little pen holder that frankly, I will never use because I carry 50 pens at a time and they demand a pouch all their own. 

I chose the Dark Coffee color for no reason but for that nifty orange elastic. I like a little color in my life. My books varied a little bit in color from each other, but I like it. It just shows that they are truly hand-dyed, real leather products. Variation like that is, in my opinion, just part of buying these sorts of things. 

It

It  also came with a nice long length of black elastic. This would be plenty to replace the orange if you liked things a little more low-key. I used mine to make so variations which I will show later in this post. 

Right inside the cover, beautiful soft leather. Each book comes with 3 notebook inserts chosen at random. My Passport size can with 3 blank inserts, which is awesome for what I want to do with it (That will be another post). The Traveler's size came with one blank, one lined, and one calendar which is also just what I was hoping for. They all have brown craft covers.

Also included was this neat insert that has a pouch on one side and a card holder on the other. Also awesome for what I have in mind for this notebook.

Now that you see what comes out of the box, you'll know why I was so excited about finding this product. One Midori Traveler's Notebook cover costs around 40 dollars on Amazon. So for the same price, you can have both size covers, 6 total notebook inserts, a wallet insert and extra elastic. It is hands down, a much better deal. The leather is still very high quality so I feel like the only real difference is the brand name. If that doesn't matter, definitely go for this deal. 

Now, each person's use for a product like this is going to vary greatly based on their life. I don't know many people with a life like mine, but I'm going to show you how I'm using mine and hope it inspires you. 

First things first, I decided when ordering this that I didn't want it to end up as just another notebook that gets used a while then forgotten. God recently led me to go on sabbatical from my smart phone (I'll be writing more on this later), and one of the problems with that was not having my calendar or the ability to take down a quick note or thought while on the run. Enter the Traveler's Notebook. To make sure that I always have it, I knew I wanted a wallet insert to keep my IDs and Debit card in it. Since the ZLYC Set came with one already, I was set from the start. 

While I was waiting for it to arrive, I found this free printable to make an insert myself. I printed the grid paper and cut it down to size along with a cover from white card stock. 

I printed out 15 pages of front & back grid, so there are 30 pages each with a front and back.

This became my farm log to journal the happenings of the everyday stuff around here. We have tried to keep several different logs for what we buy/sell, hatch, butcher, plant, etc. but it ends up being a little overwhelming. My idea here is to have one place for everything and always have it on my to be able to keep better records. So far, I am loving it. Yesterday I planted a raised bed of fall greens and radishes and I was able to draw out the bed on the grid paper and label what was planted where. 

We had a chick hatch out crippled and devised a little incubator egg out of a water bottle to help straighten his legs up (He's fine now!), and I was able to draw it out and keep a record. 

I'm actually really enjoying the time of writing everything out each day. Some days it only takes half a page and sometimes it takes 2. 

I took the extra elastic and strung it through the holes with the orange elastic (I had to stretch them out just a bit with a pen) so that I could put more than the intended 3 inserts in comfortably. I can post a video on this is anyone needs help. 

Next, I went to Pinterest and searched "hand lettered scriptures" to find ideas to decorate the fronts of my other inserts. I assigned the lined notebook to be my prayer journal. I keep my written prayer lists as well as the scriptures and prayers that I regularly pray over my family, and I have room to write out my prayers (which by the way, is an excellent way to remember the things God has heard you on.)

The majority of my sermons come from the Notes section of my iPhone. I usually start a new "Note" each week and it ends up full of the things God puts on my heart as I go through each day, studying, listening to other speakers, etc. Since I am currently going without a smartphone, this was something that had to be addressed. I took one of the little notebooks from my Passport sized journal and slipped it in to be the catch-all for random thoughts. 

Then, the blank journal has become my bible study notebook. I love the size of these because I can always have it on me. I usually use composition books but it gets a little bulky carrying it around. I'm never without my journaling bible so this just couples well with it. I plan on making several more inserts myself and will probably have to change them out regularly. 

Last to be addressed: the calendar insert. I don't really love it. It's weird how it just starts with 1 and goes to 31 with 5 days on each row. I'm actually planning on replacing it with one made from this template.  I really like to plan by week anyway so even if the monthly calendar has been laid out better, I may have still replaced it. 

I am currently in the process of turning my Passport size ZLYC notebook into a carryall for meal-planning, grocery shopping and organizing feeding whole foods to a big family like mine. I'll make a seperate post about that later. 

Obviously, I'm thrilled with this product. Even in the week I've had it, the leather is breaking it nicely and I've really started building the habit of going to it to write things down. 

I'm going to also make a YouTube video for ZLYC to show how I'm using my notebook and I'll link that here later if that interests you!

I received my set of ZLYC Notebooks at a discount in exchange for my honest review. There are also affiliate links in this post that compensate me a small amount when you use them to make your purchases. All proceeds of this blog go to feeding chickens and small boys. Thanks so much, friends. 

Love, Jess

The Pursuit of Passion

Before I had it, I longed for passion.
I’d see it, you know. I’d see it on movies and read it about it in book after book.
I wanted it. I wanted to be it. I wanted to feel it.

Before I was old enough to grasp it, back when I knew everything and before I still had worlds to learn, I went seeking passion.

I found a fleeting look-alike. The smell of it clung to my hair on hot summer nights.
It set my heart to racing and made my words sweet like sugar water.
But it was a childish thing. Found in all the wrong places while exploring with

All the wrong people. And like sugar water, it became cloying and rotting.

It was a hot pink passion. Like bubble gum, sticky but not holding, a mess when misplaced.
Like construction paper hearts on elementary Valentines days, embellished with lace and paper doilies and written with pretty sentiments that would surely fade when left in the

Back window on a sunny day.
It was an easily torn passion. Easily wilted. Tossed away and tried again.
It turned into marriage one day. And I thought surely I’d found it,
Of course it would hold that real-life romance where dancing happens in the kitchen and nights are spent under the stars.
And I was disappointed to find that real life doesn’t usually read like romance novels.

There was a time I thought I could find

All the passion I could want in my sons.
Them with their sweet, soft skin, and their insatiable need for me.
Them with their doe eyes and grasping hands that held my finger so perfectly.
But it quickly turned from a baby blue passion into a

Black one.
A sucking black thing that ate me up when I realized
I was not enough on my own.
And fear gobbled up my heart in the night.
And told me I was failing them.
Then the passion was disabled, it came rushing and pulsing then choked me because I could not protect them as much as I loved them.
It was a dark and scary passion. A desperate-not-to-fail passion.

So I ran, went looking for deep and rushing elsewhere.
I found myself searching marriage again, seeking to understand where passion fit in the

Thing I didn’t comprehend.
And I found that marriage passion is much less moonlight dances and down comforters and much more concrete.

I thought it a white passion. Lacking luster and tearing down trust.
Sometimes it was blinding and sometimes it was dull and

All the time I didn’t understand why.

Why would we be called to something so hard?

I got close once, picking through just going to church.
Like a game of Marco Polo, I was warm but not hot.
I felt a tickle of conviction in the knowledge. Felt a little

Stirring in the lack of understanding.
I didn't seek. I was lazy.
I felt a hunger on Sundays.  The way you feel when you need to eat fruit and water

But your drink soda instead. And the hunger goes away.
But not really.
It was quite a grey passion. A little blurred.
A little between the lines.

It was like a smudge of ashes, like smoke without fire.
A little bit of a mix between black and white.
It was a very small passion. Too small to carry me through

Big leaps.
Big hurts and big needs.

So I sought to fill the gaps it left in a lifestyle.
In warm eggs in a nestbox,

Homemade bread, clothes on a line,

Babies on the hip and a mason jar of sweet tea.
How romantic it would be to have a life to be passionate for.
It was, and it is.
However it’s a very green passion. Shifting with the seasons.

It is like grass, growing rampant when the water is plentiful but turning brown in drought.
It’s a passion that dies a little in the wintertime.

It strains a little when there is no time for showers alone.

When the kids get sick and when a goat gets sick, or when a

Mother rabbit decides not to care for her babies because it’s too hot,

And so they grow cold.

I see people looking. 

All sorts of people, surely we were made to be passionate. 

Surely, we were made in the image of an incredibly passionate God. 

And he would not leave us searching.

I found it unexpectedly. On a random Tuesday.

I found Him in a shopping center, on a cross, in the Book, in my dreams.
I found Him when He was chasing me. And I heard Him shouting,

“I AM PASSION! I AM PASSION! I AM PASSION!”

And I realized I had been running. Searching relentlessly, longing for the very thing

that was hot on my heels. Pursuing me uncompromisingly, longing to have me.
And one day, a random day, I simply turned direction.
And I ran towards Him.

I laid down my ideas of what passion looked like, of what knowledge looked like, of what romance and marriage and motherhood looked like.
And I ran.

And it hardly took long at all until I collided into the arms of

Passion.
I fell in love and caught on fire.

Passion changes things.
It puts fire-tinted glasses over searching eyes.
It reveals the hidden obvious.

It shows that marriage’s white passion holds every color of light.
That true love is both a downy place to land and a concrete place to  

Stand

Build

Grow.

True passion filled in the black hole of fear in motherhood.
It brought back the baby blue. Reminded me

When their chubby hands outgrow my finger,
I need only hand them over to Him.
It assured me that if I am enough or if I’m not,

It doesn’t matter because He always is.

He tore down my walls of knowledge. Erased the smudges of grey

And with red blood, made things

Black and white again.
And then my eyes were opened

And the Word was alive. It was speaking to me.
And I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t wanting.

I became a girl dancing on the feet of my Father.
With freedom to twirl, arms spread wide in
deep and solid abandon.

Passion made me grateful.
For all these things I have to be passionate for.
It has ignited all the dry places.
Healed all the scarred places.
Made light all the dark places.
It covered the lies with truth.
The fear with peace.

I became bold.
In this passion that is security that is mine, I am bold.
A roar or a whisper, whatever He calls for, I can be.
I am armed and not afraid.
This is a red passion, and a orange one, with flashes of blue and white and sometimes

There is lightning.

It is an unconceivable passion.
Such a beautiful passion. It is the

Loveliest of romances.
It is honey. Life-giving. Unable to spoil.

It’s yours too, this passion.
Whether you know it or not.
Whether you are running fiercely or sitting comfortably in warmth.

There’s a fire on your heals.
Do you want it?

Hear these honey words,

Feel them drip down into that longing, deep place of

Needing to burn.

I pray now that if you are reading this, 

You will catch fire. 

I pray that some place in you that longs for passion perks up, 

Maybe it's tired of searching. 

Maybe it's tired of running. 

Maybe it's just tired. 

Let this honey drip down and let the fear shut it's mouth and 

Hear me. 

Passion is hot on your heels. 

Fire is hot on your heels. 

Turn around and pursue the arms of Jesus. 

He is passion, and when you collide into Him, 

You will be passion, too.