It’s a fascinating word. Kind of poetic and painfully beautiful.

Painful, because while in the mind, “unraveling” sounds like a silky ribbon fluttering and being set free to the wind, unraveling in real life often feels like hell.
Earlier this year, my husband received a word about unraveling. Things often must unravel to heal and be redone correctly.

“Correctly” sounds like a formula, and formulas don’t work well with humans.

Redemption, it is.

Redemption is beautiful to watch from the outside in. It is a supernatural phenomenon that may actually feel like a natural surgery without anesthetic.

Without  anesthetic, because while we are divinely eternal spirits, we enhabit human bodies that are intricately entwined with sensory experience and ALL the emotions.

It’s the tension of being spirit human. The beauty of love is the choice to walk away. Angels wonder at the jealousy of redemption. The Lover went to hell,  rose up in a time-bending explosion of Light to curse death. All for his children. All for his bride.

For thousands years, the human heart has struggled to grapple with the phenomenon of outrageous love. Cults and religions have formed only to grossly  misunderstand and misrepresent the Author of Life all because we simply can’t receive the simplicity of our Father whose DNA we share.

We can’t see past the shadow of ourselves into the light of the unknown home of our hearts.


We think we can’t. We simply have to change our minds!

Faith is hope + imagination.

I can imagine that I will be more loved tomorrow because I am more open tonight. I can imagine more freedom because I feel a hunger pain.

And so it begins. Change your mind.

Here’s to unraveling.

…Unraveling what we know for the sake of discovering who we are, in who He is.

©️Brenda Kanagy




God Who Speaks

“God isn’t speaking to me.” 

Actually, God is speaking on a regular basis, but we generally like for him to swoop in and make our lives more efficient, peaceful, and overflowing instead of us cultivating what he’s giving and saying. All the effects of his presence in our lives are good and needed, but he’s not a microwave. Character in us and intimacy with him takes time and energy from us. (Different than striving.) 
Tonight I was struck by the amount of times I have creative ideas and brilliant and wonderful things whispered in my ear when I stop to think about it. Generally, I am inspired or excited and start following the path, wildly writing notes and taking it all in…until the path hits a wall and the trail of my idea or mystery or truth or healing runs cold. The picture is incomplete, yet I lack follow-through. 

I turn away from a treasure hunt so easily, yet how often do I allow condemnation and frustration and rejection and discontentment to steamroll through my mind without permission? That’s the enemy. He’s loud, impatient, and possessive. 

Your Prince, on the other hand, is a gentleman who knocks and has given you the key to control what you connect to. I can have all that I am willing to receive and invest in. I instinctively want to wait until the result or the journey is perfect to move forward or grow or share what I have. But that is just not how the Father works. 

“It is the glory of God to conceal a thing: but the honour of kings is to search out a matter.”
Isn’t that the most beautiful reality? 


Rainbows & What Can Happen When We Need Him

My baby has never been a stellar sleeper, but teething has forced me to dig deeper creatively to make bed time more manageable and less hysteria. 

My life is a little crazy, and a lot of the time I feel like don’t know what I’m doing, and occasionally I fall apart in the worst moments. But sometimes something wonderful comes from the stretching if I am open to something new.

The other night after her last bottle, we read rhyming stories about prophet Jeremiah  and God’s special spy, Caleb, to try to wind down and trick ourselves into sleep mode. We tried to read the “rainbow book” (The story of Noah’s ark and the flood) but as usual, she firmly insisted that we skip the words and only look at the pictures with  rainbows on them.  

“Raymo! Raymo!” she exclaimed over and over. I told her that a rainbow is a sign of God’s promise, and even though we skipped most of the story,  it was a good word. 

When I was putting her to sleep, I felt the sleep fighting hysteria rising, so I started singing silly songs she didn’t recognize to distract her. I knew singing anything she associated with bedtime would upset her, so when I forgot words, I started making up tunes. 

She starting drifting off, and I knew she would be asleep in minutes if I kept it up. My brain starting going blank, at a loss for anything to make up a song about. 

God, help! 

Words started coming, and soon I was singing spontaneous worship to Jesus. Weirdly, words rhymed and melodies flowed, as my heart unloaded all the affection I had in the moment. Suddenly there were tears, and I felt so overwhelmed with the presence and goodness of God with the heaviness of my daughter in my arms. 

She was asleep, and my song faded. I was quiet and a little surprised at what had just happened. 

I thought to myself. That was such an intimate moment I needed to have. I never would have gone there if there hadn’t been a need. 

In the beginning, connection was all Adam and Eve knew, but now, being saturated in brokenness, we developed connection amnesia and forget what it’s like and how desperately alone and futile our “full” and noisy lives are without The Garden inside. How can we forget we are restored and alive to the Spirit? Need breaks my spiritual amnesia. 

No one is immune from struggle. And honestly, sometimes the deepest treasures are found beneath the deepest pain.  I don’t want to relive pain or wish it on anyone, but I don’t regret the incredible strength and wisdom that can come from it. It has everything to do with how we handle it. 

Need drives me to the only Solution, the only Comforter, the only Rock. In fact, I really screw up my life when I forget I have need of something greater than me. So not in a resigned sort of way, but in a redeemed awareness, I don’t regret weakness. He is there. He has overcome, and I can rise with his victory.

I’m not crazy enough to think that God purposely puts harm in our way to teach us things. (Bad theology alert) But I am crazy enough to believe that His goodness is so intense that he redeems even the worst things to draw us back to what we need: Connection.

Let your pain and struggle take you deeper. 

©Brenda Kanagy

Adopting Baby #2

:to take by choice into a relationship; to embrace voluntarily as one’s own child- to say, “I want you, you are lovable, you belong, as if you were always mine.” 

We talked casually about adoption multiple times in our early marriage, but I almost expected the idea to fade away when the exciting prospect of biological babies took the forefront. Once I experienced love for baby Alexandra, my heart didnt retract in contentment only to continue growing our family biologically. The experience of being a mother for the first time only seemed to enlarge my heart to all the possibilities within the father and mother heart of God. 

Motherhood and fatherhood is life altering, it turns out. Physical conception of babies happens all the time, but actual parenting- from the heart of the Father’s love has wrecked us in all the best ways. 

I have so much respect for parents who pursue adoption as the redemption of the pain of infertility, so to speak, but I want to adopt, not because I can’t have children, but because I’m learning to experience the Father’s love and I have love to give. Why on earth should those already hurting be the only ones to give love where there is already an astronomical need for fathers and mothers? 

I’ve heard it said that, “It takes special people to adopt.” No. No, it doesn’t. It takes normal, every day human beings who simply know the Father’s love. Orphans shouldn’t adopt orphans. Biology and shared genes aren’t a magic pill to make the parenting gig all work out.  The more I pursue the Father’s love, the more adoption squeezes out of me because adoption is EXACTLY what he is doing in me.

Making a baby with a piece of you and the one you love is the best, most wonderful gift, but loving a baby you didn’t carry in your body, but in your heart-  that is supernatural. We dream of the day we get to give the literal gift of adoption to a child- to say, “I WANT you. You are lovable, and you belong.” 

Logisticly speaking, we completed our home study so far this year, which means we are legally approved to adopt! There’s no hiding from the FBI now, if we wanted to. 🙂 Financially, we were able to submit the final check to be fully activated in our adoption consultation program after our fundraiser last weekend. We are so grateful for the unexpected support! We may have actually received more separate donations than food sales, but we are blessed that God looks out for us when we take scary risks. 

We have also been working on our adoption profile, which some call a “dear birth mother” letter, that helps us to reach out to pregnant women looking for loving homes for their babies. We don’t know when, but hopefully before too long, we will be a family of four! 

We are preparing. We are learning. We are growing. We are dreaming. We are taking risks. We are excited!

“The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father.’” ‭‭Romans‬ ‭8:15‬ ‭NIV‬‬

©Brenda Kanagy 

Homemade Playdough

You can make just about anything yourself at home these days, including play dough! It might seem like a lot of unnecessary work when you can just buy it at the store, but there are several reasons it was worth it to me.

1. It’s something fun you can do with your kids.

2. Store bought play dough might not kill you, but I’m not crazy about the ingredient list, and if my kid (or me for that matter) needs a cheap therapy session, it may as well be simple ingredients we can take a bite out of and maybe even get some health benefits from. (Although you will probably change your mind as soon as you taste the salt. ) The joy of watching the colors blend with natural ingredients from my pantry and refrigerator just gave me a homemaker’s high. 

3. It’s cheap and actually super simple if you care enough about points 1 and 2 to try it! Combining memories AND healthy living is a win win and worth the effort in my crunchy, attachment parenting stylin’ opinion. 

Coloring: I used turmeric, juice from canned red beets, and activated charcoal. The white ball is the plain recipe without coloring added. The beet juice is obviously liquid and feels slimy at first, so you’ll likely have to add a bit more flower as you go, as opposed to the powder colorings, which are pretty straightforward. Don’t be scared of the weird texture at first. It perfects itself as you get into it!

To be honest, I actually play with the playdough more than my daughter does now. It just feels so therapeudic and relaxing to squish it in my hands and inhale that childhood smell. I store it in the refrigerator, and the cool temperature adds another soothing element. And if you really want to top it all off, add lavender essential oil. I probably look rediculous inhaling the beautiful blobs of dough, but I can’t help it. It’s amazing. 

Thank you, Pinterest for guiding me to this mommy blogger’s recipe. Try it out on a rainy day!

© Brenda Kanagy

Who Is Woman?

The “Oh no,” voice in my head was almost as loud as the pounding of my heart. Those pretty blue lights flashing behind me were not something I wanted to see. After recognizing the last name on my license, the officer asked if I was a son of the Mr. Kanagy he knew. I told him I was. He responded with quick warning and told me have a good night. Although the circumstances were still the same, I didn’t get a ticket because the officer knew my dad. You can imagine how happy I was to be a son!

Everything we do flows from who we think we are. “As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.” (Proverbs 23:7) If we have the minds of paupers, we won’t live as sons and daughters. Whether a man or a woman, we will act on what we believe our identity is. Identity is what our lives are built on. So who are we? Who are we meant to be?

If we are made in God’s image- designed to reproduce the fruit of relationship, that means the only way to become our true selves is to know where or Who we came from. Jesus was God, but many people didn’t recognize Him because they didn’t know the Father. I believe the greatest revelation Jesus brought to the earth was who the Father is.

When I think of the identity of women specifically, I’m taken back to the Garden of Eden where it all started. Lucifer was originally the most beautiful angel of God’s creation, but he was thrown out of Heaven when he lifted himself up in pride and wanted to be greater than God. I imagine Lucifer witnessed God fashioning His most prized creation after Himself, complete with the living breath of God.

When man was lonely, God split His human image into two beings. The second, woman, was the beautiful likeness of God. She carried the intuitive nature, the motherhood, the fertility, and gentle grace of the Godhead. It’s likely that Eve’s design felt like a slap in the face of the fallen angel.

Eve’s deception is often spoken of in light of weakness, but maybe we’re missing the point. Is it possible Satan tried to deceive the one he was most jealous of? Would Satan sabotage something of little value? The fact that there is specific enmity between woman and Satan says something about her design. What did Eve have in the garden that Satan wanted to steal?

Satan’s method of deception involved persuading Eve from her identity- convincing her that she needed to make an action to become like God. Eve was already God’s likeness; her mistake was being drawn from the ultimate reality she possessed to a lousy counterfeit. Obviously, Eve suffered the consequences of her agreements with Satan. It was a painful road for humanity until the cross, where the provisions to restore identity were made.

Lucifer was cursed for his evil intentions against the first couple. Now the enemy crawls on his belly, squandering his bail on further lying pursuits against humanity before his ultimate eternal sentencing. His goal is to muddle our identities, keeping us slaves of counterfeit reality.

On this side of the resurrection, Satan only preys as long as our agreement permits. If the curse of sin and death is truly broken, when we die with Christ, we also rise with Him. Woman’s journey from a weakened mind to an unveiled mind, restored to the likeness of Christ, begins with a choice.

Identity is like a passport. A passport includes who you are and everywhere you have been. When you get a new passport, old passports are void.

When we enter the kingdom, we get a brand new passport. We shed old facades as we are immersed in Jesus’ identity. There’s always history behind an identity. In the spiritual, when we are seated in heavenly places with Christ and God, His history becomes our history. There’s no double identity going on. Our passports are inked in His righteousness, His authority, and His unfailing love. Our travel stamps are eternal marks of Christ’s sacrifice and His purpose for our lives.

When Satan approaches woman, she doesn’t even have to say anything; the Enemy only has to see woman’s passport to know Whose she is. We probably don’t realize how often Satan comes into God’s presence only to hear God boast about His kids’ righteousness passport stamp.

Identity is not about performance. I don’t have to work to be an American. I took on that identity when I was born, but now that I am American, I do American things. I don’t try to create history in order to find my identity. History flows behind me because I already have an identity. People who don’t go anywhere in life or experience little to no freedom simply aren’t living out of their true identity.

Personally, one of the best ways to know where I’m going is to know who I am. I’ll have a really hard time fulfilling the greatest commandment to love God and love my neighbor as myself unless I see and love myself the way God does. To the natural mind, self love might seem selfish, but I can’t expect to be effective in speaking to other people’s identities if my own identity is not saturated in the mind of Christ towards me. John 8:32 says I will be set free by knowing the truth. Knowledge with wisdom requires a response. The more I know who I am, the more freedom I have to walk in the vision God sets before me.

Identity precedes destiny. “But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name…” (John 1:12 KJV) First came the receiving, followed by the power to become little replicas of God’s image once again. “They are reborn—not with a physical birth resulting from human passion or plan, but a birth that comes from God.” (John 1:13 NLT)

After woman receives her passport, (identity) she can start traveling. She is now equipped to start creating personal history with God- her destiny. Ezekiel’s experience with the the Lord in the valley of dry bones is a good example of that process.

God asked Ezekiel, “Can these bones live again?”

Like a trusting son, Ezekiel answered, “Only You know the answer to that.”

Then God gave Ezekiel strange instructions. “Speak a prophetic message to these bones and say, ‘Dry bones, listen to the word of the Lord!’” One definition of the word prophetic is prognostic, meaning “an advance indication of a future event.”

Ezekiel proceeded to speak to the dead bones the exact words of life and intent that God had given him. The New Living Translation says, “There was a rattling noise,” as the bones came together to complete skeletons and were covered in flesh and skin. These human bones were already made in God’s image, but with a prophetic word, they were restored to their original fashion.

It didn’t stop there; God directed Ezekiel to speak one last prophetic word. “Come, O breath, from the four winds! Breathe into these dead bodies so they may live again.” I doubt it’s a coincidence that God’s Spirit is often referred to as wind in scripture.

Woman’s bones may have dried in the death following sin, but the cross and resurrection reinstated her destiny. The coming together of bones signifies the renewing of minds and the building up of godly strongholds that agree only with the thoughts of God.

Even after the skeleton is re-formed and flesh is restored to previously dried bones, it is only the breath of the Spirit of God that can bring woman to life. The wind of God inhabits woman again; it is her royal passport stamp that activates her to walk in fullness, trampling Satan under her feet as the glory of the Lord rises from beautiful woman as an incense to her God.

There’s no stereotype for this fulfilled woman. Whether old, young, single, or married, the same Spirit lives in each diverse woman, creating a multi-colored picture of God’s glory. Whether she is a physical mother or not, I feel like it is the destiny of every woman to nurture and incubate the life and things of God to maturity on the earth. This poem, read by Kathy Vallotton in Kris Vallotton’s 2013 Mother’s Day message, is a powerful picture of that destiny.

I Am a Woman

by Christiana Moss

My willingness to carry life is a revenge –

the antidote,

the great rebuttal of every murder,

every abortion,

and every genocide.
I sustain humanity –

deep inside of me life grows;

I am death’s opposition.

I have pushed back the hand of darkness today

I have caused there to be a weakening tremor among the ranks

of those set on earths destruction.


a vibration that calls angels to attention

echoed throughout time;

our laughter threatened hell today.

I dine with the greats of God’s army –

I make their meals,

I tie their shoes.


I walk with greatness,

and when they were tired,

I carried them.

I’ve poured myself out for the cause today.

It’s finally quiet,

but life stirs inside of me –

gaining strength.

The pulse of life

sends a constant reminder to both good and evil

that I’ve yielded myself to Heaven

and now carry its dream.

No angel

has ever had such a privilege,

nor any man.

I’m humbled by the honor;

I am great with destiny –

I birth the freedom fighters.

In the great war,

I am the leader of the underground resistance.

I smile at the disguise of my troops,

surrounded by a host of warriors.

Destiny swirling – invisible yet tangible

and the anointing to alter history.

Our footsteps make our land for conquest;

we move undetected throughout the common places.


I was the barrier between evil and innocence.

I was a gatekeeper,

watching over the hope of mankind,

and no intruder trespassed.

There’s not an hour in the day or night

when I turn from my post.

The fierceness of my love is unmatched on the earth,

and because I smile instead of frown,

the world will know the power of grace.

Hope has feet;

it will run to the corners of the earth

because I stood up against destruction.

I am a woman

I am a mother.

I’m the keeper and sustainer of life

here on earth.

Heaven stands in honor of my mission.

No one else can carry my call.

I’m the daughter of Eve,

and Eve has been redeemed.

I am the opposition of death;

I am a woman.

*article originally published in Daughter’s of Promise magazine

© Caleb Kanagy, along with Brenda Kanagy

My Shack

When I experienced God for the first time- truly experienced him, several years after salvation and water baptism, my takeaway was this: You know can never ‘unknow’ what you’ve known.

The trouble is, the longer time goes on after the knowing and the exposure to goodness is that you can never be satisfied again, except to move forward and grow beyond that initial taste. The longer one lets time pass without instinctively acting on the need, the desire, and the hunger, the harder it is to be childlike. The intellect kicks in, crowding out organic faith.

Several weeks ago, I found myself surrounded by people full of life, ready to give, ready to grow and take risks. A gift was being offered that I wanted to reach out for, but as I went forward for prayer, all I could see in front of my face was the word PAIN. I felt God’s presence and started shaking.

“I want you to be a little girl. Can you get back into your heart into a place where you’re a little girl, who’s innocent, who longs for more, who loves presents…” Huge swells of pain and secret groaning started bubbling up in my stomach in waves. I cried at the horrible agony of pain and loss, but also like the pain of birth- the pain before a good thing. I thought I knew what I wanted or needed, but I realized all over again how empty and broken I was. How broken I am.

Children instinctively cry out for their needs to be met. They rush into the arms of their parents. They don’t look around with doubt or fear of disappointment when they are freshly created from God’s heart. Disappointment and doubt and fear are learned behaviors that grow in the soil of human depravity, the longer we exist apart from the Father’s arms of love where we were born. Running to the Father should be instinctual and habitual, but often in our pain and trauma we subconsciously guard our hearts from Him instead of surrendering to His love.

I cried my way through The Shack the week it came out in theater, and one scene perfectly describes the condition of my heart right now. Mack found himself back at the shack where his daughter was murdered, and he asked Papa, (God) “Why did you bring me back here?”

I asked the same question as I stood cautiously humbling myself to receive, yet staring the pain of trauma square in the face instead. I remember pain so intense that felt like my spirit slowly drowning until life was squeezed out.

“Because here is where you got stuck.”

No. Not here. Not now.  I heard accusing voices in my head, trying to convince me that I was being humiliated and mocked.  I didn’t open my eyes because I knew I would shut down and go cold to what was happening in the moment. And a big part of me knew God was there-  the safe, perfect, loving Shepherd, beyond any humans around me, past and present. I wanted to stay.

It’s where you got stuck. It’s where you believed that I was the one betraying you. That I was the one hurting you. That I was the one condemning you. I wasn’t. I’m not. Stay in the moment. I’m right here, loving you where your heart was shattered, where you were humiliated, where your trust was broken. It wasn’t me. I’m right here. I want you to go free from this moment. 

Vulnerability, humility, and courage in the location of trauma is excruciating. How ironic is the 23rd Psalm? When he could lavish us only in secret,  it says He prepares a lavish feast before us in the presence of our enemies. Let the giants who roar like lions tremble because their deceit is exposed. The one Lion of the Tribe of Judah is here.

I stood, tears streaming from my eyes. Of course I know he’s a good Father. I’ve always known it. I never struggled with bitterness when my dad died. I never wanted to make the careless driver who hit him feel the pain I did. I never hesitated to forgive; it felt completely natural. I don’t view God as angry. But there’s all this pain, all this fear, all this self imposed pressure. I don’t know who He is in me or when I do, I have no I have no idea how to let Him out. I have no idea how to let go. 

I didn’t know I was broken because I’ve already been healed from and overcome so much. I know I’m still broken because shame and indifference and performance is my default. I know because orphans work for blessing, and children live from love. I know I’m broken because I have no idea how to receive- I have no idea how to not perform for love and blessing and gifts.

I cried and grieved my dad’s death as much as a pre-teen knows how, but I became the queen at adapting and coping and existing in the safety in my comfort zone- the zone where I had faith in God to give me just enough just in time, because he is the Provider for the widow and the fatherless. I knew it well. I still do. Poverty might be associated with humility and godliness, but as I try to receive the father’s love and hit the concrete wall of my self, I realize I didn’t just become familiar with God’s provision, I adapted to being a PAUPER. (God will rescue me just before I die, but I won’t thrive. ) I don’t know much about throwing my head back and laughing with Jesus who loves when I’m silly and ridiculous.

I feel like the disconnect between me and the Father’s love didn’t come with the initial loss of my dad, but in the absence of unconditional love and approval as I went forward. I felt forced into situations beyond my control. I felt trapped and scared and completely alienated, like a square peg in a round hole. I felt shame. I remember dealing with paralyzingly fear. Such intense fear of man and fear of failure that I felt nauseous daily. At first, I stopped eating because of fear and nerves, but eventually it turned to a coping mechanism. My family started noticing how thin my body had become, and I hated that they bothered me and tried to get me to eat more. Everything in my life felt forced on me and in my fear of being exposed as a worthless failure and a shame, I scrambled for something I could control. I remember the day it dawned on me, “They can’t make me eat.” In some strange and sick way, I felt success when people exclaimed over me. I felt love and care when I performed.

The eating disorder is a thing of the past, and I experienced a lot of healing and received a lot of tools in dealing with destructive thought patterns, but much of the visible fear and performance disappeared because the circumstance changed. I adapted and became more comfortable with that particular fear, but when I am faced with new mountains and opposition, the same fear, shame, and performance appears with a different face.

The orphan in me manifested again in the absence of a father’s love and approval as I grew to adulthood, when it was time to spread wings and learn and grow and take risks. As I took my first spiritual steps, I felt it. When I truly experienced fulfillment and friendship with the Trinity and I looked to the sidelines and heard jeers and taunts, when I heard words expecting me to fall. Correction over celebration. Fear over love. Words that schooled in performance instead of childlike need. If your dad were here, you would be a grief to him. Disappointment. Behavior equals worthiness of love. Change. Surrender your will. Then you will be loved. Then God will bless you.

I realized that over and over in my journey with God, (even this past year) I have allowed opposition and questions and my loneliness with the little I did know to create a tough skin around my heart. I want to protect what I experience with God because it is my life and only hope, but in trying to fend off opposition and naysayers, I start guarding my heart FROM HIM, instead of letting him guard my heart. I become a victim of people instead of a daughter of One. Then and now as God is taking me back to my shacks, I still have no idea how to process, to heal, to overcome, except to practice surrender to His love. 

Those of us raised in religious culture are familiar with terms like surrender, but for me, it never felt like welcoming arms. Surrender spoke of control and the loss of my will, the striving for my perfection and disappointment. What I didn’t realize is that God values my will so much, he submitted HIS will to the cross so I can receive the free gift of God. That requires complete freedom to walk away on my part, without the loss of His love, or it wouldn’t be a free gift. 

I know pain. I know shame. I know suppression. I know behavior modification. But a gift? I know about surrender to remove guilt, but it’s shocking to realize that surrender is actually necessary to experience pleasure. Oh, I want that. I know that healing for all the pain caused by misplaced energy of believing and living lies is a doorway to where I’m going.

I’ve spent years suppressing my responses, my worship, my emotions, my gifts, in order to be “blessed.” Don’t be fake. It’s hype. Don’t put on a show. Watch your step. You’re going to fall. Oh look, she slipped. I called it. One failure was all a big validation of what was spoken over my life. I’ve been well versed in what is bad, and yes, I’ve been redeemed from so much. I’ve tasted a little of what is good. 

The spirit of religion, the performance, the form of godliness dictated my external world for years, but as I enter the Spirit realm of fellowship with the Trinity, those same orphan motivators manifest to torment my mind. As I continued to process, I questioned whether I should quit writing. Shall I put everything in my life on hold until I find a breakthrough in my shack? Is everything I’ve ever done or said invalid because I have issues? Am I a hypocrite because I grapple to receive and experience and live the same things I write about or hear God tell me? Writing is my language and in my DNA. It’s how I process and it’s how I most fluently hear God speak to me, but I don’t want to find security in what I’m fluent or gifted at. 

I guess I’m sharing this publicly because I want to be vulnerable and real. By that, I don’t mean that I’ve been fake up to this point, but I want the growth of personal character and deeper love to translate in my public material. The measure of love I have towards others is directly connected to how I let the Father love me. And friends, I am the most broken of you all. I feel saturated in truth, yet far from the whole daughter I am meant to be. I don’t want to defend what I know. I have a messy past. I am in process with all the revelations I write about.  Please forgive me for the moments I’ve been an orphan on my public platform. An orphan either feels inferior or superior. Forgive me for both shame and pride. I don’t want to be rehearsed and repeated and taking my cues from anything than the Father’s eye. I want to get back to instinctual, childlike wonder.

I think birth, sex, worship, and death are the four most vulnerable, divine encounters of the human experience. Having experienced all but the latter, I crave that worship would dictate all. While those are intimate moments for only a few, I want to be the same person in private and in public: known by God– my Daddy. Unfraid to be seen vulnerably by people, because God has already seen me in secret, and he has not made me ashamed. 

©Brenda Kanagy