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C O L L E C T I O N S

A curated gathering of artistic works that capture the heart of the Father 

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The Field in the Hands of the
Loving Farmer


by Kyle Brown

The long, eternal game of walking with the Father~

This is a relationship in which the summation of the desired outcome isn’t directly expressed in temporary, trivial wins or black versus red in the short term. The value developed is the shape of how the hand holding onto the Hand of the Father is grown, weathered, and made into something wholly unique…A weathered hand, tethered to the Hand of the Father, that receives the gift that few expect: the gift of being wholly unique and laid bare for others to see, and to see the scars and wounds that have been healed solely by the balm that comes from the deep, experiential knowing of his proximity.

https://open.spotify.com/track/7d5ozgkWEAwAUEf8w23rLP?si=ff2af92039cc498d

The wealth the Father desires to see is the wholeness of the relationship he has with his sons and daughters.  This doesn’t ever initially express itself in success outwardly. Quite the opposite, actually. It begins with stripping, fighting, unearthing, tearing down, laying bare, clearing the foundation, digging to the roots just to dig again, agonizingly going over again that thing we assumed to have already learned. This in the short term seems to be more destructive than restorative, but the purpose of plowing ground is to eventually clear the way for fruit. One must first allow the Farmer to destroy the life that currently exists in disorder, so it can be put back in order ~not because the Farmer despises the life that is growing currently, but because of how much he values the field. His knowledge of the capabilities and destiny of the field drives the Farmer not to settle for a misappropriation of the soil that he has prepared. Many choose to never allow the Farmer to plow the ground, because of the pain that comes in the process of feeling the plowing. They perceive that pain is a symptom of their own inadequacy, and the lack of current fruit as a judgement of their lack of value. But it is, in fact, the opposite. The higher the value of the soil, the more precise the plowing. Even good things get removed from good soil, not because they aren’t good, but because they aren’t appropriate for such a valuable field.


https://open.spotify.com/track/1J23hs69GudwBCnX1obKg5?si=cb647695d5534019


As this process continues, the Farmer somehow simultaneously plows and harvests from the same soil. In the midst of focusing on the long game, he uses the process to spur others on to allowing Him to come that close. They see the beauty of a field laid bare, and they wish so badly to be the field that is worthy of being laid bare. They then position themselves to experience the necessary destruction that comes with purification unto identity. This process is somehow sowing and plowing all at the same time.

As this continues to unfold, the trust in both the soil and the Farmer deepens, and the land is finally comfortable enough to rest in the hands of the One who knows best. The soil, prepared and trusting, enters into rest…a rest that allows it to do what it has striven to do with its own might, and now gets to rejoice internally that everything moving forward will be wrought because of the hands of the Farmer, and its trust in the value of its own worth.

https://open.spotify.com/track/7lRc8O2FimJY3yKNloyn0z?si=41ba27537a64495b

Then comes the fruit…the fruit no longer yielding and quickly dissipating in turn … but fruit, the abundance of which has no end. Here is fruit that, even when it falls onto the soil, instead of rotting and yielding nothing, grows again. This is because the soil has so yielded to its nature that every seed that touches it springs forth and produces. The bedrock of this field is so strong and sturdy that other fields are built by the transplants from the overproduction of fruit. Even the fruit that has grown in disorder is taken and used for other fields in other lands. Now all can come and admire the field that produces continually. The now-quiet field isn’t moved by those admiring, but is only rejoicing in the rest that has come from the work which the Farmer has wrought in it.

Intimacy

by Hannah Silk

When the shine fades and the glitter dims. When the novelty is gone and the newness settles, you are left with the substance of the thing. A familiarity settles in, cozying up against your spirit like a child in assurance. Unsteady self awareness is replaced by a deep comforting current, flowing from raw reality. 

 

Rawness. The framework of the thing. The bones of it.  Sturdy and sure. Unmoving and unglamorous. That’s the stuff of love. That’s where intimacy is grown, fingering its roots down into the dirt of our souls. Over days and months and years and decades. The sun sends its fiery rays, the rain pours in torrents, the wind gropes and pulls with threatening force. But the roots have caught hold now, deep in the soil. Out of the sight of man and beast. Down in the bowels of the soul, hidden in the dirt. There in the rocks and the mud and black earth Intimacy grows. Not up in the treetops where the view is stunning and the air is fresh. That has its own beauty, but it is not the stuff of intimacy. 

 

No, intimacy runs deep and takes a very, very long time to develop. A twisting, writhing persistent thing is intimacy, stubborn and quiet. Have you ever pulled up a flower by the roots? The blossom is delicate and beautiful, a work of art that catches the eye of every passerby. But the roots…they are ugly, twisted, mangled things, covered in dirt and grime. No one looks at them in awe and admiration. But that is where the life of the flower is. In the darkness and the ugly dirtiness. That is intimacy. The roots that dig through the dirt to hold that beautiful blossoming soul upright. 

 

Intimacy is not afraid of the dirt and the darkness, it embraces them, grows in them, wraps them up in strong arms and says “This, this is where I will gather nutrients and strength.” We try to hide our dirt and darkness beneath smiling blossoms and distractingly beautiful colors but Intimacy delves deep. For you cannot have the flowers, and the colors and the blossoms without that thing that rolls up its sleeves plunges in with a smile to create the framework, the foundation, beneath the exterior.

 

Intimacy is a messy business. Its nature demands it to be, for by nature it will do whatever it takes to get to the thing it aimed at.

ZION

by Mariah Hein

It’s where all of us meets all of Him 

It’s the birthplace of the covenant people 

It’s where Heaven and earth MEET

It’s where my yes meets His yes and amen. 

Where I say, “I want more of you”

and He replies, “I want more of you.” 

 

Zion

 

It is where the King Himself lives forever

His favorite city.

His place. His spot. His dwelling. 

From it streams His light. His hope. His help.

A mighty fortress is Our God and His fortress is Zion. 

It’s where everything makes sense. 

Where we see eye to eye with him . 

Zion. 

You Are Good
Intrinsically


by Mariah Hein

You are good intrinsically

You are made fantastically

It is from My heart—imagination

I poured you out into creation

 

My fantasy is unity 

You in Me in reality

You are My fancy, My greatest treasure

That thing which I fashioned out of pure pleasure

Under the stars I made, love I gave 

I’ll never take away, no, I’ll never take away 

 

I saw you take in your first breath 

Now I’m breathless

Your eyes beautiful 

You’re Mine, love deathless 

I created this

I created us

My greatest fantasy

You. held in heart and hand

You are My destiny 

I poured you out into creation

It is from My heart— imagination

You are made fantastically 

You are good just like Me 

You are good intrinsically 

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