JENNIFER J. CAMP

3 min read ⭑

I am on the floor, leaning against the dining room wall. It is a bare space, and I feel the plaster against my shoulder and spine. My middle son is making eggs in the kitchen. I can hear him taking out the frying pan and opening the refrigerator. He runs water into the sink.

It is still cool inside. The house windows open to let in the morning air. I will shut them soon. It will be hot today. How grateful I am for the coolness and quiet now.

There are memories here on this wood floor and others through the years. While I know we can hear God anywhere, in all circumstances and places he is who he is — I feel an emotional and mental pulling inward when I physically get low. I draw inward, inside myself and become aware of my heart’s connection with God. How else can I trust what I write here? How else can I attend to and honor my careless, fickle heart?

I love her, this heart of mine, for she has battled long and hard. She has been worn down by messages that were not hers to bear. And she tried to bear them, for so long, all on her own.

Dear one, I know.

But no longer. For I get low.

Discernment is a muscle that needs working, and wisdom is a hard-won gift. Our gentle hearts are prone to being hurt, ignored and beaten. The world does this, and we do it to ourselves, too. And while we must listen to — and honor — our emotions and opinions, we must not act on them exclusively. Consider these questions: If our hearts are unhealed, can they be trusted? If they are not connected with the heart of Christ, having died the brutal death that comes when idols are identified and surrendered to the cross, should they have the influence we usually grant them, willy nilly, without care and pause? 

I cannot trust my dear heart entirely because I know who I am without God. When I am low, he teaches me what love is. When I am low, I remember my need for him. When I am low, I connect with true love, and my own heart is deaf to the otherwise loudest voice within me: prove, earn, lie, push, strive.

When we are low, we can count on God to show us the places in our hearts that need healing. When we are low, we will encounter our hearts in their purest, getting glimpses of what God sees: beautifully weak and strong.

When we are low, we see a glimpse of the miracle we are, the glorious creation, God-breathed and precious. When we are low, we feel God’s love filling us and acknowledge that we don’t have answers but can trust that he does. 

Listen.

To speak words that are not posturing, I must get low. I must listen. I must work to discern the subtle nuances of my heart’s tendency for pride, shame and self-deception. I know how easy and tempting it is to let oneself be deceived, to know it is happening and tell yourself it isn’t.

But when we are low, God’s love heals us. He invites our breaking for our healing. When we are low, we learn the difference between a closed and a vulnerable heart.

Be hungry for healing.

Be expectant for hope.

Do not despair.

Do not be afraid.

I am here.

My act of breaking open a heart does not result in a broken heart the way you think. I break open hearts to heal them, to make them mine — whole and stronger. Greater vulnerability is required. It hurts to feel, but this feeling is not logical. Trust your heart and what it knows, what it has always known. 

Ask Me. Ask Me what your heart knows. I will show you and teach you how to hear what it is saying. I will teach you its language; with this learning, you will develop the heart’s listening skills.

Floating on the Stoop (Sunday Morning)

Sometimes there is beauty everywhere,
not shadow, not
disappointment,
not memories of mishaps and mistakes

but miracle
how you
take me from this stoop,
cold and smooth and plain,

my seat this Sunday morning,
sun rising behind
redwood and cypress trees,
and welcome possibility,

welcome shadow, welcome
hiding, for nature repels the opposite of
nature — reaching out,

mouth open, palms stretched
wide — to float

a bit more,
letting the air
I breathe leave
me and come back

to me, for I am new:
the same and
different than before.

-Jennifer J. Camp

Jennifer Camp is a poet and listener who delights in investigating the deeper places of the heart. She founded Gather Ministries with her husband, Justin, and manages Loop Collective, a community for women who reject complacency and pursue connection with God. She writes on Substack at Jensen Road.

Related Articles