Sober: The Unveiling of My Broken Hallelujah

 Today’s post is part of a link-up sponsored by Prodigal Magazine and SheLoves Magazine. So often we know our cracks; we’re familiar with the brokenness. On this journey, by writing through our stories, we hope to let in more of the light and find more of the Hallelujah. Add your story or read the broken hallelujahs of others here.

"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship." 
— Louisa May Alcott 

I remember my last taste of beer. It was with my then roommate. I was warily learning to navigate the world of sobriety and had set in place rules and boundaries so that I would be able to drink, safely. For some people this would be sufficient, but for me as I tentatively sipped the frothy dark, chocolaty, brew, I realized that my relationship with alcohol was over. It wasn’t because I behaved uncontrollably in that moment. Or that those few sips were sinful, or that those moments were held against my rules of accountability as a broken contract.

This season marks four years. Four of the hardest years of my life. Four years of growing and shaping. Learning to face the pain head-on that I had tried to tuck so deeply inside of the muted superficialities of my addiction. Four years of sobering realities. Four years of learning to be vulnerable, to love deeply, to show up in my own life and to be known. Four years of learning to navigate self-control. Four years of learning to navigate life with restraint. Four years of learning that limits are sometimes more freeing than unlimited possibilities. Learning that parameters allow my heart to beat rhythmically. That the quiet muse of creativity is borne out of the moments when the screaming hag of addiction is quelled.

I never finished that beer. Halfway through tipping the glass back, the realization hit that there was no room in my life for both addiction and creativity. I found the numbness overwhelming my senses and realized that everything inside of me was screaming for clarity. That my heart was beating out of sync as the claustrophobia of this moment continued. I noted that there was no longer any room in myself for dampening or muting or hiding. I realized in that moment that I had always been hiding. Hiding behind the folds of my mother’s skirts, hiding behind my siblings’ big personalities, hiding my truest nature in the oddity of my homeschooled ideations. I have always hidden. Sobriety is unveiling me.

I imagine God to be a bit of an extremist when it comes to rescuing people. Through the Gospel narrative, I find hope and healing bound in radical ways. Jesus sought out those who weren’t worth much in the eyes of the religious norm. So it was in my story, God swept me off my feet in the darkest night of my soul. I had forgotten what it meant to be loved. I had forgotten what it meant to be alive. There I was at the bottom of the pit, that I had deliberately dug, so far down, I had forgotten what it meant to be a child of the day.

In THAT moment. He came. Jesus fully garbed with climbing gear and ropes to spare, found me shivering and loveless. He wrapped his arms around me, resuscitated me, breathed life into my weary threadbare soul, and sobbed with me. Then he fitted me with a harness, and rigged me up to a rope of hope. He rescued me, but his rescue did not just mean an easy fix. I had dug myself a hole, and restoration meant climbing back out of it. God and faith are not a quick fix. There are days that I feel this climb has more backwards regression than forward momentum. True. Honest undoing has called for a real look at painful realities.

Sometimes I wonder what progress actually means. Is it forward motion or does that even matter? Because sometimes I feel like simply I’m spinning my wheels, that I’m only repeating patterns, that I’m incapable of loving rightly.  Sometimes I still feel more broken than whole and that balanced wholeness is just a myth. And that sober minded means more than refusing alcohol.

This journey is harsh and I’m in the arduous middle parts. The unfulfilling padding thud of redundant and ominous realities that Tolkien paints in the tale of  Two Towers. It’s the weighty sigh of a woman learning to live uprightly. Not that I think my life compares to the epic nature of Middle Earth, but I do see the similarities of my plodding monotony. Truthfully, I see that God is here. He is with me in every redundant failing, in every labored leading, in every painful fatigued and broken hallelujah.

“Maybe there’s a God above, but all I’ve ever learned from love, was how to shoot someone who outdrew you. It’s not a cry you hear at night, it’s not somebody who has seen the light. It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah.”

Hallelujah—In all my broken wanderings.

Hallelujah—through every pieced together beat of my broken heart.

Hallelujah—in every whispered cry for help.

Hallelujah—in every day faced with a fully-present mind.

Hallelujah—with every sorrowful realization of my own incompleteness.

Hallelujah—with every cracked cry I make in my daily living out understandings of worship.

Hallelujah—for grace that covers every inadequacy, and every half attempt at love.

Hallelujah—for the beautiful moment that Christ incarnate, burrowed into my hole, and rescued me.

Hallelujah—for the day when all the sorrows of this broken cry, will be made new.

Hallelujah—for undeniable hope, and relinquished control. For a sobering courage to try again. For the strength to sing once more. Hallelujah. 

 

 

From Evernote:

A Stirring Clipped from: http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=philippians%202&version=ESV

Blogging used to be a simple open conversation, a place to speak out loud the rumination of my mind, a "chewing on the cud" if you will in a virtual setting. What I am finding though is that it has become a platform for dissension. Frankly, I only write when I'm frustrated. Now as an artist, I do understand that there is a place for this. This is not something I every want to lose. Beauty will always abound in the torrential, in the unsafe and in the discord. But, if I ever want to become a Titus 2 woman, who grows in Godliness, then I must also be conscious of the beauty that abounds in moments of peace, in sacred contemplation, and in times of exuberance. 

So, I am introducing a new recurring theme to my blog. One that will continue to answer the question: What is stirring my affections for Christ? Answering this question will cause me to reflect on the good. To asses what brings my joy, hope, and strength; in essence where my dignity resides. Though this blog platform will never show my truest nature, and I will never have the ability to be so self aware, that I understand myself completely, I do hope that this paints a fuller picture of the woman of God I have been called to be. I pray also that as I open up a conversation into a bigger story, that this would spark a fire in your own life. Christ is everywhere, but it is our responsibility to point out and proclaim those divine intersections. 

Without further ado, here is what is stirring my affections for Christ: 

Just recently, my life has taken a sharp turn towards a fuller missional reality. I work part time as a hairstylist and part time at my church. One unexpected result of this transition has been a huge freeing up of my time. As an artist, this allows me space in my day to create in response to inspiration. It has given room in my schedule for times of organic creating. This gray swing top is an example of just that. I was inspired here, and because I had time, that inspiration became a reality.  

Another design flow:

This + this + this + that = 

These moments of creating have allowed me to sit under the tutelage of our God as creator. In these moments of fabric collisions I am utterly aware of how deeply I worship through the act of making something out of "nothing". It draws me to realize how colossal God is, and how difficult it is for me to create and how with ease God created in divine complexity. My heart is deeply stirred for God in these moments. 

Little miss Ava is my buddy. We are learning from each other. A few months ago, Ava's mother Ashley and I were asking each other what a Titus 2 woman looks like. What does it mean for a woman to train up another in real moments of LIFE? We decided to put feet to our question and begin to messily integrate our lives. We both saw a common need, and began to reach out and meet it. Ashley and I now walk every morning. This daily rhythm is becoming such a sacred space for me. Allowing room in my life for daily conversations with a Godly couple such as Ashely and her husband Brian, is teaching me so much about intentional Godliness in a family setting. What a treasure this is for me as a single woman to be able to be a part of a family. I am so thankful for these moments!

My sister Hunter has decided to move to Colorado. She is staying at my house till she finds a space to call her home. We have been able to drink coffee together, squint at For Rent signs and get all her applications for college squared away. I love having active relationships with my family and this has been such a renewing season for use both! 

Speaking of coffee... I got a cold brew coffee system and I am in love! It brews simply, sweetly and fully loaded with flavor. It also enhances my patience as it takes anywhere from 12-24 hours to brew. In my opinion the wait is worth every second! How do I see God here? Well, I have a hard time seeing ANYTHING before I have had a cup of coffee. :D

This year has brought me to such a wonderful place! I am so astonished that I have the opportunity to serve God with my specific talents. I am amazed that God would write into my daily life small tales of restoration as I walk ladies through the process of cutting their hair. There is such a sense of renewal and reviving. This is hard work, but the end result is purely divine! 

Finally, I have been meditating on Philippians 2:1-11. It is such a simple, yet complex telling of the impact of the Gospel in our lives. 

So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.  Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

I wanted to really sit on the first part of this passage for awhile, so I decided to chalk it up. I had seen some handlettered art that really inspired me, so I shamefully copied their style and input Philippians 2:1-3. Its lovely, and it is moving me closer to the heart of God. 

 

*the two on the left are the inspirations and the one on the right is hanging in my house*

Two questions I hope you ponder deeply:

1) What moments in your week were intersected with the Divine?

2) What actions are you taking because of these moments?

Don't Ever Aspire to Change the World...

"Don't ever aspire to change the world, because you can't change the world. Nobody can change the world. The very best thing you could hope for, is to change yourself."
-Jean Vanier Founder of L'arche

There is Always Beauty in the Pain.

Its true. There is such beauty to be found on those dark days that reek of death more than life. 

Funny thing though, sometimes you must work hard to unveil the beauty...

Sunday night my sister finished the intern requirements that she committed to. I am so very proud of her! She has such a love of theology and discovery. She is not afraid to ask the hardest questions and she charming beyond measure. This program has taken so much of her time that she hasn't had the chance to really settle in our adorable little home. 

I decided it was time to change that! Hannah's room is huge! In the sense that giants built her room. If I had to guess, I'd say her ceilings are 11ft tall. No matter what you put on the walls, there will still be a huge gap as the ceilings make everything miniscule. I decided she needed a chandelier. 

Since money still doesn’t grow on trees, I had to be thrifty.

I grabbed a wire rack from my Mama’s give-away pile, and I repurposed a couple bunches of dried roses that Hannah had tucked away in her closet. I do say the result is quite lovely. 

I hung the wire rack between two of my dining room chairs as I strung them on the rack. I really wasn't too particular, but I did want a cascading effect so the longest roses are in the middle and they get shorter to the sides. 

This process was quite tedious! I would reccomend a seccond hand if you try this at home. One person threads the roses and the other hangs them on the rack (chicken wire would actually be pretty neat also!).

I would reccomend also being careful stringing them on the rack. It would be really easy to get the roses tangled and once haning hard to undo. I used green thread, but fishing line would work just as well! 

What a fun and simple way to make this room shine! As this is a surprise, so I hope she likes it as much as I do!

I think this would be a great view to wake up too! :)

Divine Intervention; A Lesson on Failure and Scars.

The taste of failure is bitter.

I remember the first time I took a dive on my bike. It was as if the whole world shifted off its axis and threw me off my wheels. The shot-putt trajectory was aimed directly at the pavement. I can still taste the metallic sting of blood in my mouth and see the fried nerve endings retreating back into my gaping knee. My skin still bears these scars of failure, those ever-gruesome moments a faint memory as the skin has healed and by divine design the flesh resolved to renew itself.

I carry failure with me in these scars.

I believe that this physical world shadows the spiritual. Just as our skin bears wounds, so do our hearts. Several months ago, I maxed out. Hit the proverbial wall. Burned out. Fried. I was working 42 hours a week, churning through a full semester of accelerated college courses, all while trying to balance worship band and odds and ends at church. My plate was so full, it was overkill.

It was all about me.

As I look at all the "stuff" I tried to accomplish, I cannot help but laugh at myself. What was I thinking!? Once I felt the fall coming, I paired down everything I could. I stopped bringing snacks and coordinating the welcome team, I said goodbye to my fellow bloggers and fired myself from all of the superfluous. I thought bare bones would be enough, but when the world tilts, and your balance is shot, sometimes the only way out is down.

My failure was blindsiding.

Finally pastors came to me, lovingly and gently. With courage and great strength they told me I could not help them in this season. I was too busy. I was too weary. I was already bloody. I just couldn't see it on my own. They helped me see my failure and face it head on. They apologized for not leading me well and allowing me to overextend. They shouldered the weight and cushioned my fall. After we sat and cried, I left the room and for the first time in months felt freedom.  My heart was relieved, as I fully felt ok to be broken.

Let me repeat: the physical is indicative of the spiritual.

My failure was painful. This cost more than a simple swallow of pride. I extended every ounce of energy into this monumental breakdown. My body revolted and the wound reverberated into every area of life. A visit to the doctor was just as revealing. He told me abruptly that he couldn't give me a pill for a lifestyle, and if I was trying to take my body past the point of its capabilities it would shut down. His diagnoses (not surprisingly) was that my adrenal glands were fatigued. I needed to make some radical lifestyle changes or there would be no healing of my ailments. I realized that my physical condition mirrored well the taxed state of my soul.

"It's ok to break, but it isn't ok to stay there."  -Matt Chandler.

As I took a look around at the aftermath of this failure, I realized that the very things I wanted to do most were the first things to go. My failure cost me my passions. This recognition hit me very hard. I retreated as, introverts are prone to do, and I faced off with my oldest foe: depression. But as all seasons change, so did this one. In the Spring, I felt the surge of new life and realized that I had to make a significant step.

Trust.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
    and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
    and he will make straight your paths.
Be not wise in your own eyes;
     fear the Lord, and turn away from evil.
It will be healing to your flesh
    and refreshment to your bones. Proverbs 3:5-8 ESV

God woos. This is a repeating pattern in my life. As I was nursing my broken spirit and my bruised pride, he gently began what he is always best at: restoration. My passion was redeemed and I finally was able to face the depth of my failure. “Do not lean on your own understanding.” It is one thing to see that with your mind, it is an entirely other thing to actually live it with your heart. Like a bull in a china shop, I followed my instinct, relied heavily on my own understanding, and let my life become more about the doing and less about the being.

Redemption is a relationship.

It takes more than I possess to live out my calling. As I realized the loneliness of my failure, I found again the refreshing life that comes from the ache for my Savior. I began to dig into Scripture and pray that He would guide my steps and fashion my days. As I realized more and more what direction I wanted to take, I realized that only he could make it a reality.

When walking hand in hand with Jesus, the burden is light.

Suddenly, my life was simple. Though I am still battling with my health, I am no longer stressed by the "small stuff".  I trust implicitly that God will take me where I need to be. He has intricately juxtaposed my life with certainty. The act of living out the call he has placed on my life became so simplistic, I barely had to lift a finger. Through his guidance, I am now a paid intern at my church, through his leading I am now a business owner, through his softening I am getting paid to style hair and help others feel the inherent beauty that resides deep within. Through his guidance, the things that I am most passionate about are the not getting swept aside. God is using the past to redeem the future. None of this would have happened on my own accord and none of this would have happened if it were not for my failure.

Failure happens.

It is messy and painful. But as I stand amazed at the renewal of redemption, I realize that this failure was a tool for God's glory. I am honored to bear this scar on my heart; I am better for it. I pray that this broken moment would shine brightly of the exquisite nature of my Beloved. I pray that the scar of this failure would be an ever present reminder of how much I need him to survive. 

The Cost of the Artist

So you say you are an artist.

You CREATE.  Or was that REcreate?

There is nothing new under the sun.

True.

But still…

 

Is your art costing you ANYTHING at all?

 

Imagine with me for a moment at the dawn of time. Either you will believe this or you won't but at least follow my logic for a moment.

 

God.

Created.

 

Do you think that a being who is known as almighty, all-knowing, and present everywhere did not understand the cost of this creating?

 

Do you think he had no foreknowledge of the amount of pain and suffering that he HIMSELF would endure because of the story that would unfold?

 

God created the heavens and the earth, afterwards he looked out and called this creation good. He looked out at his creation and saw it not simply for what it was, but for what it was going to become.

 

Fallen.

Broken.

Void of goodness.

 

Yet he looked out and called it GOOD.

 

God cannot lie. It is outside of his nature.

When he calls something good, he means it.

 

Now back to you, the artist.

 

When was the last time your art cost you deeply?

 

When was the last time you stuck your neck out to CREATE? Not just another knockoff that others might enjoy, but something deeply transparent, something insanely different, something far from selling out?

 

I ask again, how much does your art cost you?

 

Are you willing to create something so magnificent that it may cause you pain?

Are you willing to pay the ultimate price as an artist? 

Or are you simply looking for the fame and glory?

 

If I were to look at companionship for a moment, and say that I was a gold digger looking to get married you would scoff. Because that is selfish. Marriage is not about what you can get out of a mate, but more so what you can give.

 

So it is with the creative soul. I can tell by your paintings, your stories, your poetry and your designs, when they cost you something deeply.

 

I can also tell when they don't.

 

How much are you willing to offer?

 

I ask again how much is your passion actually costing you?

Living Out Your Gifts

"We are all missionaries. Wherever we go, we either bring people nearer to Christ, or we repel them from Christ. I believe God that God made me for a purpose, but He also made me fast. When I run, I feel his pleasure."
Eric H. Liddel, Chariots of Fire

What are you an expert in? What is the thing that you do so well that you know you were made for it? What is your life bent around? What is that one thing you do that you feel Gods pleasure over you when you do it?

For me? Its bringing out the beautiful in others. What joy it brings me when I have the chance to help someone see something in themselves that they didn't know before. I was made for this. God gets excited when I am able to act out my calling. Now your turn.

What were you made to do?

How Can You Know?

Of Aslan in Prince Caspian: When all seems lost....

Peter: How can you know?

Lucy: What do you mean?

Peter: To have seen Him? I wish He had given me some sort of proof.

Lucy: Maybe we are the ones who need to prove ourselves to Him.

Tension. Introversion. Brokenness. Healing. Glory.

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The wealth of information at our fingertips is vast, yet no matter how hard we try, our ability to absorb it is weak.

 

Tension.

This is the state of existence that an introvert resides in. Tension, like a rubber band pulled taut. There is a consistent pull of her level of comprehension and normalcy at any given times. Some people think that the term introvert means that she doesn't like to interact with people, but this couldn't be farther from the truth; she longs to interact, she longs to embrace the exuberance of the people around her, she longs to belong in the social world.

 

The reality is though, that she sees the world through different eyes, and as such, she must live out her perception of it. Though you often will find her on the outskirts of a crowd, unable to reach out, there are times that she is able to mask it, temporarily of course. This dichotomy is deafening, defeating, differentiating, yet deliberate. You see, God made her this way, with forceful intention and descriptive creation. "I knit you together in your mother’s womb, carefully constructing the woman I want you to be" he says.

 

Perception. It is the way you see the world. This girl will always see more than necessary. She will stand at the concert taking in the music that overstimulates her ears, she will absorb the flashes of light, she will notice the irregular stance of the couple in front of her, she will notice the quality of the fabric that covers the skin of those around her. She hears the whispers and the mutterings of those around her. The lady across the room with the elegance of a monarch butterfly catches her eye, while another fellow introvert to the left of her shrugs off the caress of his girlfriend; his mind is overtaken also and that touch puts him over the edge. This girl catches every spilled drink, every odd look, and every thudded trip on the stairs next to her.

 

                                                                             

Overstimulation like a bad drug will run your mind, body, spirit, and emotions into the ground. An overdose of endorphins;  your body can't take it and shuts down as more stimuli is presented. Sometimes I wish that I could share the way I see the world with others, moments like these are too torturous to bear, and wouldn’t it help to have someone carry the burden? Tears well up as I write that last line. Yes, it would be nice, yet empathy can only go so far. The reality is that you can only understand what you yourself have discovered.

 

 

I try and compose my heart, but the rhythm of my day is beating down on me. Grind, settle, tamp, pull, froth, pour, flourish, repeat. There is simplicity to this monotony, yet the excessive babble of those around me crashes into my harmonious relationship with the espresso machine. The only way I am able to survive in the world of an extrovert, is through the rhythm of this complex process of extraction; making coffee soothes my mind.

 

Grind, babble, settle, yammer, tamp, gush, pull, yap, froth, yell, pour, sigh, flourish, marvel, repeat. What is it about this position where people feel the need to expose their souls and share their depths? I fail to see the similarities between me and the shrink, yet so it goes, an outpouring of the human condition with every drink made.

 

 

Stimulus can be addicting. As stated before the rush of endorphins to the adrenal glands is exhilarating. Addiction though, will kill you in the end. The overload to the system always comes at different times. I pull up to the gas station realizing my car is facing the wrong way, a simple problem with an easy solution, but not today. Today, I cannot fathom the intricacies of the geometric pattern it will take to get my car in the right lane, facing the right direction. I know I cannot see what I must do, but I try it anyway. More cars begin to fill the lines for the twelve pumps ahead, and my options for successful entry dissipate, seconds pass with the thud of blood rushing through my veins, my heart swells as the race to feed my brain oxygen ensues. My breath becomes shallow as the cars close in around me. I forcefully exclaim some profanity or another and then the torrent unleashes: “Why can I not do this?” “Why is this simple task so hard?” “What the hell is wrong with me?!” I finally admit defeat as I almost back into another car, my heart is thudding so loudly it leaves little room in my body for anything but forceful motion of the blood pumping thruough extremities.

 

Overstimulation should be fair reason to take ones license away. When your body tenses through the climax, the remaining reality of claustrophobia ensues. As your brain shuts out all excessive provocations, the natural state of  seeing everything becomes an oppressive reality. In protection your body gives you tunnel vision, your hearing goes dim, and forward momentum becomes as difficult. It’s as if you are suddenly swimming through Karo syrup. Everything goes eerily far away, yet the dimmed perceptions only mask. Your mind knows it is being tricked. Subtle reality check ensues and a crash of mental acuity begins. The world is closer than I perceive it, and in a flash all deceptions fade away, the reality left behind is stark and closer than my skin. The  protective haze is gone and the world is so present. I cave in and simply want to sleep, this caustic moment must decease!

 

 

Pull over, shut your eyes, breathe deeply, sense nothing. As if you could separate the heat from the flame, the logic of this notion compels you to scoff at the very nature of your predicament, but you must try. “Lord help me!” Breathe. “Become the peace you promise me!” Breathe. “Be with me in this moment of suffering!” Breathe. “God let this cup pass!” I selfishly cry. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In Out. Deeply the rhythm once again calms my soul. “Ok, Lord if you ask me to suffer this way, then I ask that your glory shine brightly through it. Take this heartache and use it for your fame.” Breathe, deeper in my core with each gasp, closer to the nature of my being with each exhaustive exhale. They say that Yahweh literally means breath. Every deeper grasp of oxygen I take, draws in the essence of the Divine. Even in this broken moment God is significantly present. As I push away from the world around me, I settle in the deeper understanding of why God made this broken reactionary trail that leads me straight into the arms of my Savior.

 

 

I cannot love God rightly. I have no capacity for the fullness this requires. I have no capability to see him in the strange extraordinary places. In my dim understanding, I love him as I must, but in these terrifying moments of human brokenness, I love him as I am. God goes out of his way to woo me, and this is why I would never ask for a more sympathetic understanding. God fully knows me in the darkest places of my soul, he transcends all understanding and reality to paint the canvas of my life with the enormous reality of his love. Broken I may be, that Christ, be the glory that shines in my healing is his and his alone.

Learning to Love

"My beloved speaks and says to me:
'Arise, my love, my beautiful one,
   and come away,
for behold, the winter is past;
   the rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth,
   the time of singing has come"'
Song of Songs 2:10-13

All that I am, every facet of my being, every stirring of my soul, is swept up in the most romantic love story. I am bound by this love, rooted by this love, and established by this love. All that I gain, all that I do, all that I accomplish, is for my beloved. For the glory and fame of the One that I love. I am swept away by the absolute  grace that frees me daily. Thankful for the opportunity to live redeemed. Not perfect, but saved nonetheless. How can I respond in any other way than deep, eternal, intrinsic, love? This is truly a divine romance, and I am simply captivated. 

 

Intellegence Rarely Comes From Knowledge...

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Leadership:

"Although he received only an elementary level of formal education, Charlemagne possessed considerable native intelligence, intellectual curiosity, a willingness to learn from others, and religious sensibility—all attributes which allowed him to comprehend the forces that were reshaping the world about him. These facets of his persona combined to make him a figure worthy of respect, loyalty, and affection; he was a leader capable of making informed decisions, willing to act on those decisions, and skilled at persuading others to follow him."

- Charlemagne. (2012). In Encyclopædia Britannica. Retrieved from http://ezproxy.ccu.edu:2059/EBchecked/topic/106546/Charlemagne

 

"And my prayer for you is that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment."

Phillipians 1:9