breakfast with Jesus

If I could just have breakfast with Jesus. It would be on a beach, and though I picture Hilton Head Island in place of Lake Tiberias, I think it still would be holy. And it would be overcast, and we would sit on the hardened sand and on a charcoal grill he would cook the food and then he would look at me and say,

"Come and join me for breakfast."

And I would oblige. Of course I would. I cry just thinking about it.

Perhaps we would have fish like he did with his disciples when they ate their breakfast on a beach so long ago, or perhaps I'd bring him hot coffee and vanilla cream and we would share a thermos together.

But it doesn't matter what we'd eat or drink, because I'd be with him.

And I try to imagine the kindness in his eyes that I'll see as I sit across from him, but I know they'll hold a kindness in which I cannot understand. And I'll want to take his hand, and I briefly wonder: will they still hold the scars of the world? Will he hold me and allow my fears to wash away like the tide that kisses the shoreline?

I wonder if he'll ask me three times if I love him. I'd say yes. I'd say yes. I'd say yes.

And I wonder if I'd ask him the question that presses in on my heart.

How can I love you deeper?

And I wonder if he'd answer me or simply smile, and I hope I'd thank him for saving me and setting me free. I hope I'd fall down on my knees in front of him and tell him he is still good, when sometimes life isn't.

Or perhaps, I wouldn't say anything at all. And maybe I'd just listen.

If only I could have breakfast with Jesus.

John 21

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lionheart

I always wanted to be fearless. I remember the day. I was seventeen. I was in my creative writing class and my teacher came over and placed the essay I had written in front of me. I had worked hard on that essay. He smiled at me and slid the essay closer. I leaned in to read the comment he had written near the top.

Aliza, it said, you have the heart of a lion.

I sat there for a long moment, staring at the red cursive that inked the papers. And I was overcome by this longing deep inside of me - because that’s what I wanted. To be strong, and brave, and daring. To have the heart of a lion. To be fearless.

But I’m not.

I liked to pretend that I could pretty much conquer anything, willing my heart to transform from lamb to lion. But it was useless. Four days before Africa, I laid in bed, crippled with fear.

I was encouraged to write down my biggest fears before I left. This is what I wrote:

1. I fear Rwanda is not all that I hope for it to be and that I could, quite possibly, hate it.
2. I fear becoming lonely.
3. I fear snakes.
4. I fear my family and friends forgetting me.
5. I fear missing out on what is going on back home in Canada.

Those were my top five fears - and I know I had more but the rest were all pretty minor in comparison (ex: the plane could crash, I could possibly get malaria and die etc.).

Turns out, I experienced most of those fears. Except number 3, which I whole-heartedly thank Jesus for!!! (Phew.)

In the beginning, I hated it. I was homesick and lonely and unsure of my purpose. But those fears were transformed from something ugly, into something really beautiful.

I experienced what I was afraid of. And to my disbelief, my little life has only been enriched and deepened because I encountered (and to my surprise, lived through) those fears.

Fearlessness is not about not having fear. Fearlessness is not always a ferocious lion, or a huge army of strength. Instead, I believe fearlessness is being brave enough to try. Shaking knees, nauseous stomach, want-to-run-as-far-away-as-possible bravery. That’s fearlessness.

Mary Anne Radmacher said it best: “Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow.”

Yes. That is fearless.

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junkyard masterpiece

It’s dusk - that perfect blend of night and day. The one half of the sky is lavender purple and cobalt blue, the other half a mix of fiery pinks and oranges. The sun is behind me and the moon is in front and for one sweet instant they stare at each other longingly before changing shifts. I linger at a stop sign for a moment, enjoying the spectacle being painted in the sky, and I notice an old pick up truck on the side of the road, garbage and junk surrounding it.

I slowly drive past and realize that it’s not trash around the vehicle, instead garden art, that the old man in the pick up truck must have created.

Long necked birds with strong beaks, small fish frozen in their jump across the water, delicate animals fastened by old weary hands.

Created from junk, produced into art.

I can’t take my eyes off the fascinating creatures. What once was trash - old tires, broken appliances, recycled pop cans, knotted wires, tarnished metal - all were used to create a masterpiece.

And that old man who made them... he loved them. He loved them because they were his. He created them because he saw them for what they could be, not for what everyone else labeled them as.

While everyone else assumed they were simply garbage and threw them away, he saw their potential to be something great.

It reminded me a lot of... me.

Sometimes my hurt inflicts bruises so deep that I’m left scarred. Sometimes my heart feels weary and my soul aches, and I’m tarnished, and broken, and old. And I wonder if I truly have purpose, or dreams, or aspirations.

But the One who made me... he loved me. Loves me. Loves me because I am His. Created me because he saw me for what I could be, not for what I label myself as.

Because I have the potential to be something great.

I am a recycled piece of garden art. A junkyard masterpiece.

Once was broken, now am beautiful.

And so are you.

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scribbles + scrabbles

Today I created art. I doodled on a lampshade, bits and pieces and scribbles and scrabbles and quotes and verses and letters and dots and all sorts of things that remind me of who I am and who I'd like to be. Even a lampshade can be art.

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missing Jesus

It’s Halloween morning and “Here Comes Santa Claus” is playing throughout the house. My mom hates Halloween, so she blasts Christmas music. (I think it’s her one form of rebellion.) That means our family has to endure through two full months of listening to holiday tunes. This happens every year. Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas - but there’s something strange about carving pumpkins to the melody of “Let It Snow” while the crisp orange and red leaves fall to the ground instead of snow.

But it makes her happy.

Dark clouds are rolling in, and our home feels solitary and safe all at once. Bing crooning in the background contributes to that safe feeling. So does my moms’ sweet soprano.

And I’m here wondering: am I ever going to get this faith thing right?

Last night as I was lying in bed, somewhere in the midst of sleep and clarity, I cried.

I cried because I was missing Jesus.

I longed for him in a way I’d never longed for Him before. I wished I was back in Africa, back in a place where I saw Him in the eyes of the children, felt Him in the wind that curved against my cheek, knelt next to Him while I painted the nails of women with HIV aids.

I wanted to be stretched and uncomfortable again - because those things seem to make me closer to Jesus. In those moments, I must rely on Him, because I have nothing else to rely on.

In Africa, I was constantly chatting with Him because He was the only soul friend I had (someone whom you have a soul connection with).

But now, at home, I’m surrounded by comfort and family and luxury and soul friends.

Still, every morning, cozy mug of hot coffee in hands, I talk to Him.

And today, He and this Christmas music ringing throughout the house, reminds me of one beautiful word.

Immanuel.

God with us.

Not just in Africa, not just when times are hard, not just when days are good, but always.

Immanuel.

So today, instead of missing Africa, I’m embracing Him, because each day He embraces me.

God with us.

Always.

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parenting lessons from a 19 year old

There are 3 kids in our family. (Technically four, because of my brother-in-law, but we’ll ignore him for the time being. He’s super awesome though - I promise.)

There’s my older sister who recently got hitched, my younger brother who just celebrated his sweet sixteen, and then there’s me, who according to my mom, am the “ham that keeps the sandwich together”. She tells me that every time I whine about how unfair life is for the middle child. I think she’s secretly calling me a ham. This is a list of things my parents rocked at while we were growing up.

(Side note: I’m still growing up.)

(Another side note: I’m in massive denial about the whole “becoming-an-adult” thing... adults have way too many decisions to make and I can barely decide what ice cream flavour I want.)

... today I'm hanging out over at my friend Natalie's place. You can find the rest of this post here

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extended arms and open hands

I’m not a graceful girl. I think that’s part of the reason why I am such a terrible dancer. I have no technique, deliver no poise; instead awkwardly attempt to recreate steps that do not flow or come from the depths of me.

I’d love to be a graceful girl and be the most elegant, delicate ballerina you ever did see, but I’ve realized that most likely will never happen. Today I’m choosing to leave behind the desire to be a graceful girl, and embracing the need to be a girl of grace.

I always thought grace meant allowing people to walk all over you. I’ll admit it: I’m a girl with a little bit of feistiness in her. The whole “getting walked on” thing never sat quite right with me.

So instead of offering grace with extended arms and open hands, I closed my fists tightly and gave a snubbed nose and an extra large dose of sass.

To me, grace seemed weak. Grace seemed sensitive and emotional. Grace seemed like giving in.

The truth? Grace isn’t giving in. Grace is letting go.

Grace is letting go of the past - the past hurt, the past assumptions, the past mistakes - and moving on towards something better. Grace is practicing forgiveness, showing mercy, allowing the possibility of sweet, sweet second chances.

What if we were to create a culture where grace was our first reaction - a place where we could stretch out our bodies and sprinkle grace into the lives of others?

Grace is unfastening the doors of my hardened heart and seeing the world from the eyes of Jesus: eyes that see beautiful, broken people who need beautiful, unbroken grace.

I want a grace-filled existence..

17 prayers of thanksgiving

Dear Jesus,Today I am thankful for...

1 - water It is easily accessible, plentiful, pure and nutritious. Thank you.

2 - food Really, really delicious! With always more than enough in the cupboards and fridge. Thank you.

3 - daily provision You meet my needs every single day. Thank you.

4 - a home A place in which I find comfort and joy and strength and love. Thank you.

5 - safety I am always safe within your arms. Thank you.

6 - my mom Thank you for a mom whose heart is tender, whose spirit is kind, a woman who exudes serenity, graciousness and compassion with every step she takes and every word she utters.

7 - my dad Thank you for a dad who loves me more then life itself. A father who keeps me safe and protected; who cherishes my gifts, and refines my weaknesses. A father who would do anything for any of us, and whom I don’t thank nearly often enough.

8 - my younger brother Thank you for a brother who teaches me new things all the time. A brother who is incredibly smart, who constantly is searching for opportunities to expand his knowledge, and who has a heart that is so, so kind.

9 - my sister Thank you for a sister that has become my best friend. Thank you that no matter what, we always love each other. Thank you that she is honest and loyal and true. Thank you for her exceptional generosity and her unfailing love for the people who surround her.

10 - my older brother Thank you for an older brother who continuously challenges me to love you deeper. A brother who always stops to listen, who cares and cares deeply, and who loves my sister more then words will ever be able to express.

11 - stretching moments These moments are hard and aren’t fun to be a part of, but I want to thank you for them, because through these hard moments, I am made to be more like you.

12 - africa A continent where I have learned to give grace, practice forgiveness, show love and have real faith. Thank you for Africa.

13 - the girls at 24/7 church Beautiful girls from Tuesday and Wednesday nights who whisper genuine prayers, possess positive outlooks on life, and have kind hearts. They teach me new things every week. Thank you for them.

14 - my friends Thank you for friends who soften me, encourage me, strengthen me, hold me, teach me, laugh with me, and love me.

15 - dreams Thank you for allowing me to dream, and for giving me extraordinary dreams that can only come from you.

16 - the stars When I look up at the stars, I feel small and safe and tucked directly in the palm of your mighty hand. Thank you for your creativity and brilliance.

17 - your love Thank you for loving me. For this, I am so thankful.

Thank you Jesus for all of these things, and many, many more..

love again

love again

you tell me that you love me so with which you overwhelm my soul there's no greater love

hold me safe within your arms I rest and try to count the stars I'm not worthy of this

tonight I'm gonna love again it's never like I planned but that's okay tonight I'm gonna love you more than I have ever before I'm here to stay

whisper songs into my mind a lovely tune which you designed to show your love to the likes of me

someday please tell me why you chose to love a girl who'd decompose without sweet love and you

tonight I'm gonna love again take me to your holy land I need to praise tonight I'm gonna love you more I'll do whatever you've called me for give you fame

i love you you love me too there's nothing that could take this love away

you call my name and with that you take away my shame you take it all away

tonight I'm gonna love again I'm in the palm of your hand small and safe tonight I'm gonna love you more you're everything I'm living for always

always.

to the girl who thinks she's not enough

To the girl who thinks she’s not enough - I see you everywhere.

I see you in the grade five, six, seven and eight girls I hang out with on Wednesday evenings, who think their self worth comes from the cute little skater boy with the charming grin. I see you in the high school girls on Tuesday nights - beautiful girls who are steadily flowering into delicate, strong, lovely ladies.

I see you in me.

Your overbearing shadow is in the haunted smile on the faces of my friends. Not only do you appear in young girls, and middle girls, and already-in-university girls, I see you in women, too. You've whispered lies to us our whole lives, hissing that we're not nearly as pretty as the girl standing next to us, muttering that a boy could never love us, declaring that if we only had flat stomachs or toned arms or skinny thighs we would be beautiful.

My dear friend, I feel so sorry for you. I know you are hurting. So am I. How could you not hurt in a world so cruel? A world intended on bombarding us with pictures of beautiful girls in beautiful bikinis with beautiful hair and beautiful eyes and beautiful...

You are enough. I am enough. We are enough.

Boys don’t help with this, I know. Boys are great, and I believe that God designed us for one another, but he didn’t design them to be the ones to measure our self worth. I promise I’m not going all crazy feminist on you, but I also promise that a boy does not define your value. He’s not worth it. A boy will probably break your heart, or you’ll break his, and it will be a giant mess that promises nothing but a little pain and a lot of bullets to your self esteem.

If you allow him to define your worth, you’ll never feel satisfied or content with yourself. He wasn’t created to define you. That’s a lot of pressure on that poor boy. He has enough on his plate, learning to be content with himself.

Do you believe me when I say you are enough?

My Pinterest often makes me depressed. I scroll through pins that my friends have posted and the majority of them are healthy food recipes, weight loss tips, and work out routines advertising how to "get flat abs in less then 7 days!!!!”. Mostly it makes me sad because I’ve tried all these things before - many, many times - and I’m horrible at them. I can’t stay healthy, I’ve never been able to lose weight in my life, and my abs will never be flat in 7 days. Or 7 years.

It also makes me sad because it shows me how important these things are to us girls, and how even when we don’t quite realize it, we’re buying into the lie that if we somehow accomplish these things, we will one day be good enough.

Being healthy is good, working out is good (or so I have been told), but the girl who thinks she’s not good enough, that girl that seems to live deep down inside of us, makes it seem as though eating healthy and working out and being loved by a boy will make us beautiful. Will make us enough.

She’s wrong, my friends.

You are beautiful. You are enough. No healthy diets, strenuous workouts or cute guys included. Just you. Beautiful, plain, gap toothed, stretch marked, laugh lined, musical, tone deaf, wonderful you.

You’re enough because you’re you. So how about we tell the girl who doesn’t believe she’s enough to shut up and get on out of here, because as of today, she doesn’t live inside of you anymore.

You’re beautiful and you’re enough. You’re a masterpiece, a work of art, a glorious ray of warm sunshine on a rainy day. You’re the most beautiful song on earth.

I hope you feel beautiful and enough today. And even when you don't feel it, I hope you know you are.

Please don’t ever forget that.



(If you need a reminder of your worth and beauty, please email me at alizalatta@gmail.com. I would love to remind you. Another thing: I believe that God has created us and loves us and wants us. Sometimes it's hard to believe that, but it is totally, 100% true.)

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