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A New Year, Christ has Intruded.

Today, with enough God-given chilly breeze to blow away any lingering doubts, I am overcome with a new kind of joy. A new kind of peace has flooded in me, and I know I am being called to remain still as He fills me up to overflow.

I have a wonderful boyfriend. His name is Isaac, and he fears the Lord. We met while at Work Crew for Young Life in New York during the summer of 2013. Our story is funny, and I’m hoping it is one that I can share for the rest of my life. Anyway, the Lord uses Isaac in just about every way I can imagine to pull me off of my high horse and set me on the solid foundation that is Christ.

When I think of Isaac (I can’t lie, I don’t know if I ever stop thinking about him), I am reminded of promise and safety and hopeful strength. I never stop laughing when I am with him. He makes life enjoyable and fun. He reminds me that life is an adventure that is meant to be lived to the full. Such a blessing. And I hope and pray that all of my girl friends end up with someone that loves the Lord like Isaac does. Everyone deserves to be with someone who loves them because they are compelled and inspired by Christ.

But, I cannot bank on that. I am realizing for the millionth time this afternoon that these  promises don’t ring true because people like Isaac are willing to ring out. The same goes for anything else that I treasure and consider good. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, remains except/without Jesus. It is enough to make me want to crumble up and fall to my knees. It is a strange kind of heartbreak to release everything but Jesus to Jesus. It is not a painful or lasting heartbreak (or maybe it is better labeled as heartache) simply because nothing is being lost. Nothing is being broken.

When we surrender everything (that we do not have ownership of in the first place) to God, peace floods into our hearts. Jesus can wash our feet, as He longs to. (John 13:1-7). The Holy Spirit will become more apparent in our lives. When God moves, we will not be able to just smile it off and say  “Thank You”. We will have no choice but to fall down (however that might look) and worship. It is a beautiful, beautiful thing when Jesus invades and everything is placed into His hands.

I, along with so many others that I know and love, have been trying too desperately to run away from this truth. I can laugh now because it seems like such a hilarious concept to run away from the only lasting and good thing in existence. I want to make this year (sorry for the cliche, but I am beyond determined and am not planning on letting anything get in my way) entirely about Jesus. It is our purpose to do that, anyway. I want Him to intrude and invade and make my life His dwelling place. I want to walk into a room and make others uncomfortable because they don’t see me, they see something too large and wonderful to grasp. I want to throw all of the things I love, good and bad (including myself), into the willing and capable arms of Jesus.

I hope this has encouraged some of you to do the same. Jesus is waiting for us. The least we can do is wait for Him.

In light of all of this, here is the most recent song I recorded. It’s a Judah Lee song, set up to sound like wedding vows to our Creator. I hope it blesses you as well.    Happy New Year!

-Rachel

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Let Heaven Shout

Let Heaven Shout (Bethel) – Rachel Shambaugh

Okay, God. I’m defenseless and tired. I’m failing others and others are failing me. I can’t hear You respond when I cry out, but I know You hear me. Now, I’m listening to You. I really am listening.

Yesterday I had the loneliest, most unbearably beautiful drive back into the Valley. Every mile became more and more glorious as I noticed Jesus in the scenery around me. I started looking toward trees and up at mountains hoping to see something more beautiful than the last. Eventually my eyes were tired and I couldn’t even remember my standards for beautiful in the first place. I realized, after a while, that my search didn’t make the beauty any more real. Beauty exists in things because God puts it there. If I’m not seeing Him in things, I can’t fully grasp the beauty before me.

With that being said, life has been hard. If I were to paint my current state, I’m not sure I would feel worthy enough to use any colors other than black and gray… which don’t seem to be colors anyway. I fear routine and legalism. I dread loss of excitement and freshness. Night time is daunting and mornings are a tease. Conversations begin to drown underneath expectations, or lack thereof.

I expect all the wrong things, and I think we all do that most of the time. I look at people the way I look at God. Or maybe it’s the other way around. When I think of comfort I imagine my house on a hill in northern Virginia, and I taste strong coffee and sweet oranges. When I think of love, I think of sacrifice… but the wrong kind. When I think of acceptance, I think of how many of my words are lost in cold air with no response.

I forget to look for God in those things. I forget that He is the reason I can feel comfort and love and acceptance. No daunting future or terrible present day can diminish His active presence in all things. It’s no wonder discomfort and sour tastes are all I’ve had, because I haven’t looked for or listened to the Lord in the things that are breaking me. I think I’m listening as I open up the Word and a few good devotional books. I think I’m listening when I babble in prayer. But I’m just creating noise to cover His voice. I’m painting black and gray over His colors.

But now, I’m listening. And I’ll let heaven do the shouting.

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The Woodpecker’s Song

I think there is a beauty within irony that is easily avoided and ignored.

In every area of my life, I try to create songs. There is a lot of silent seeking done in order for me to be at peace with a melody that I discover, or words that weigh on my heart. I’ve noticed recently, though, as certain things cripple in my life and memories try to secure themselves in places where I have fought to rid them, the songs that I am able to sing are a bit ironic.
It’s instinctual for me to look at my life as I look at a song. There should always be a sweet melody, something to dance to, something to sing to, something appealing and enticing and right in every way. But life isn’t entirely like that.

Through recent attempts to paint better pictures of how the Lord and I converse, I began to realize that I’m not meant to be a certain melodic beauty that can captivate a heart or two. I can very clearly picture huge things being thrown at me, and I know I’m supposed to chop away at these things until I reach the core. There is a joy deep within the most ironic and seemingly twisted parts of life that Jesus has been showing me, and it comes from nowhere else.

When allowing my hands to communicate this on guitar, I fell short. I felt like there was something pulling me back, repeatedly. Much like the chopping that has been speaking for me, when I’ve lost words. And so, I’m left with the image of the woodpecker. It whistles no perfect little tune, but rather drums it into a tree again and again. I feel like God is crafting a lot of situations in which I’m supposed to sing like a woodpecker instead of some graceful bird.

Here are the words to the song (which is down below), since I’m kind of hard to understand in this recording. I hope the words I’ve written mean something to somebody.

The Woodpecker’s Song

There’s an old woodpecker
who gave his song to me
he told me to tear down the houses
but savor the trees

Now I come heavy and lonesome
with a ringing to cling to
it falls simple and sweet like the song
that was given to me

Hallowed, hollow but living
broken with golden seams
nothing is as it seems

So I tore down the houses
that held all my memories
to comfort the ache in my bones
the splintered wood of an oak tree

And when I hear knocking
there is no door to be locked
only leaves to be turning
and a woodpecker’s thoughts

Hallowed, hollow but living
broken with golden seams
nothing is as it seems

Hallowed, hollow but living
broken with golden seams
nothing is as it seems
painted so brilliantly

And when I’m failing to climb
and falling down has taken all my time
I let that old woodpecker chime
over me

– Rachel