tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50450574041763388282024-03-14T00:13:47.556-04:00Grace-periodI am living in my grace-period by grace, period.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.comBlogger505125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-4628329064109001222021-01-27T15:49:00.003-05:002021-01-27T15:49:42.810-05:00A Crack in the UniverseWatching Doctor Who, particularly his 11th regeneration, viewers notice a pattern beginning with the crack in the wall of little Amelia Pond's bedroom. She prays for help because she knows something is wrong.<div><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.75); font-family: proxima-nova, sans-serif; font-size: 20.3125px;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.75); font-family: proxima-nova, sans-serif;">"Dear Santa, Thank you for the dolls and pencils and fish. It’s Easter now, so I hope I didn’t wake you. But honest, it is an emergency. There’s a crack in my wall. Aunt Sharon says it’s just an ordinary crack but I know it’s not. Because at night there’s voices. So please, please could you send someone to fix it. Or a policeman… or… </span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.75); font-family: proxima-nova, sans-serif;">Thank you Santa."</span></span></blockquote><p>Of course, this isn't the last time we will see the crack because it is actually a crack in time and space caused by two points that shouldn't exist in the same plane. Yep. Easy to understand, right? I mean, how often through our lives do we run our fingers over the same crack and tell ourselves this isn't the way life is supposed to be. Two worlds intersecting...heaven and earth colliding...the crack tells us that there is something wrong.</p><p>A friend texted me the other day and asked why everything has to be so hard? Why can't people just live in peace? Why don't things get better? She doesn't believe in Jesus or an afterlife. So where can she get answers? Santa? She comes to me. I wish I were Santa. </p><p>Praying last night, the place where I can get the realist, even realer than a therapist, I noticed how sad and tired I am. Curiously, these feelings didn't arise from some confusion, unknowing, or resignation about life, like my friend. My feelings were from knowing who God is, believing who God says he is. I know my solid footing and hope lies in those things. But it felt like I found a new crack in the universe last night. Simply put, I don't believe I am who God tells me that I am. </p><p>Have I been chosen? For a purpose? Am I made wonderfully? Am I a joy to God?</p><p>Scripture is bipolar-yes I am and no I am not. I bear the image of God but I am also in need of a Savior. I am fearfully and wonderfully made but I am also made of dust to which I will return. I am a broken sinner and God cannot look at sin but God seeks me out. Oh, I know the answers to those things, and several others are the yeses and the not yets. But the small, broken heart overwhelmed by this beautiful and generous God... It breaks my heart even more. </p><p>We are all trying to find our way, imperfectly through this world. I don't believe that is the same as you do you but more akin to Romans 3:23. We can pray to Santa, or talk to a friend, but will it bring the relief we need? Verse 30 in Romans 23 says:</p><p></p><blockquote><span style="background-color: white; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial;"></span></blockquote></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div><blockquote><blockquote style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial;">"There is only one God,</span> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial; font-size: small;">and he makes people right with himself</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial; font-size: small;">only by faith... "</span></blockquote></blockquote></div></blockquote><div><p>Faith alone? What faith can hold back the crack in the universe? What faith can soften those sharp edges? Why am I so faithless? People who look to me as this woman of faith simply are unaware of how small I am and how broken my heart is. In prayer I encounter discomfort and flee to Him, but that doesn't make things right. Sometimes it makes me more conscious of how flawed I am and how broken this world is. I am not sure I know what faith is anymore. Too often my prayer time is just sharing sadness and grief with this invisible infinite God through the crack in my wall.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.75); font-family: proxima-nova, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Dear God, there's a crack in this universe. <br />So please, could you send someone to fix it?<br />Not me. I am not able or not enough. I am weak and scared and alone. <br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.75); font-family: proxima-nova, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Maybe send them a prophet or a preacher...<br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.75); font-family: proxima-nova, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Or Jesus… Amen</span></p><blockquote><span style="background-color: white; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial;"></span></blockquote><p></p><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.75); font-family: proxima-nova, sans-serif; font-size: 20.3125px;"></span></div>Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-55712610299692776492021-01-08T13:21:00.000-05:002021-01-08T13:21:53.219-05:00Epiphany<p> I haven't written here for a long time. Well, over a year, despite me telling myself that I would. Life sometimes gets in the way, and writing for school had filled this hole. </p><p>Epiphany is the day that I celebrate as my baptism anniversary. When asked what my favorite holiday is, I always struggle to come up with an adequate answer because I fear that people won't understand, but this is it. Epiphany is a day that I look forward to every year.</p><p>And it isn't just for my baptism but also because it is the day that the Church celebrates the wise, learned men finding the babe they sought to honor-the Christ child. The Epiphany is also known as Theophany, the manifestation of God When I awaken every January 6th, I seek to "see" God. </p><p>This January 6th, I woke from my night shift sleep to a riot happening at the Capitol. At first, I had to double check the channel of the TV at the diner. This couldn't be real, could it? Not on THIS day. But yes, of course, it was. </p><p>American and Trump flags, even the Gadsden flag, waving in a throng of people don't bother me. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_7zLSsvgfDsqMW9ojfOqENZeA4ePygOngQODXnpk6pLzQt2L2KHBo4nOyDthgV7rd27Og1j7xVdzKVqqkOqNK5fsN3o-MOQ4oHybwH-NGz5CziLBwkFBKHiVzlsgFtWp7cJk1ZwEV2ZCv/s1024/image2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_7zLSsvgfDsqMW9ojfOqENZeA4ePygOngQODXnpk6pLzQt2L2KHBo4nOyDthgV7rd27Og1j7xVdzKVqqkOqNK5fsN3o-MOQ4oHybwH-NGz5CziLBwkFBKHiVzlsgFtWp7cJk1ZwEV2ZCv/s320/image2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But this does:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfv6g1dgIo993hKg967XUHOxJk9aXgweSMD4lL5sLKULNIXgYgdupFxDvfvFJr8Fh4Ag3gQNgXbJRRmZJS3iJWsUnzm88P0S0VcMHuzkh8vh8Q3Ug9MnLZ2SA-FGurnKqV6YUEQvEH8-7S/s450/image0+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="298" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfv6g1dgIo993hKg967XUHOxJk9aXgweSMD4lL5sLKULNIXgYgdupFxDvfvFJr8Fh4Ag3gQNgXbJRRmZJS3iJWsUnzm88P0S0VcMHuzkh8vh8Q3Ug9MnLZ2SA-FGurnKqV6YUEQvEH8-7S/s320/image0+%25281%2529.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">People will no doubt argue that the gallows are for the traitorous Democrats who "stole" the election-the same allegation that that has repeatedly been invoked, regardless of party, because Americans don't trusth their own system of government. However this symbol is a cruel and distateful abomination that has no place in any political rally, though it is compatible with a mob.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This Epiphany, instead of God, I saw the evil. I saw a crowd of ridicuous white individuals "storm" the Capitol without purpose. I saw interviews of confused or dull witted individuals who could not articulate what was happening because they were swept up in the emotion of the mob.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Consider this photo of another happy mob...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNzIpS82vqzj6ht3pGjKJ3SGG_guTaLKbBWiYh9PnH2Qd7Ra3Gwnde6-YRf2oxA14Ems7p3BhNllzz2M4QvJQJfE1sLHqSbVgg96DjkOIfilSbW5Er9CA8PF-2NIYrf8CGkz2KR-tZT1Bt/s1050/image0+%25283%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="1050" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNzIpS82vqzj6ht3pGjKJ3SGG_guTaLKbBWiYh9PnH2Qd7Ra3Gwnde6-YRf2oxA14Ems7p3BhNllzz2M4QvJQJfE1sLHqSbVgg96DjkOIfilSbW5Er9CA8PF-2NIYrf8CGkz2KR-tZT1Bt/s320/image0+%25283%2529.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Did you know that the last "reported" lynching was just in 1981? Sure the picture above was from the 1920s, a century ago, but it was only 40 years since Michael Donald was lynched by KKK members in Mobile, Alabama. In 1981!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have seen the pain and trauma on the face of my black friends. I hear the fear of my brown and gay friends. I cry because my heart breaks to know that because I am white, I am placed in the same category of (white) that my friends saw on TV during this riot. Yes, I am certain the media is slanted and yes, I am sure that not everyone participated. In the same way that blacks are stereotyped, so will whites be, or continue to be.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These days since Epiphany, I have been watching for God. To be honest, I am not sure where He is in this. I want Him to strike these people down. I want Him to somehow heal our country which can only happen after there is healing of hearts. Some people just aren't interested in that. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Until then, I will search my own heart to dig out any sin of prejudice or fear that lurks. I will continue to seek God's face because although hidden for now, He is faithful. He will set all things right in His time as He does not tolerate evil. I will not allow the evil of this world to dull my love for Him. Reading Scripture and being with believers strengthens my love as I am reminded of how great God is. I will strive to celebrate Epiphany everyday, offering my gifts and honoring my Lord. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-46961076849874489052019-12-25T23:42:00.000-05:002019-12-25T23:42:25.805-05:00Dark...and Light<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3px;">
<span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">Christmas is most tangible <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>for me at night with a blue black sky sprinkled with stars and a chill in the air that causes me to snuggle into my coat or, better yet, closer to someone I love. </span><br />
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<span class="s2">Maybe it is because my mother would drive us around to look at Christmas lights in the old Vega with a Christmas 8 track playing while me would lay in the back watching stars pass. Maybe it’s because I would walk to the local church for midnight mass when I sung in the choir. Maybe it is just the nativity is set at night. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">Many faiths celebrate light at this time of year. The druids, pagans, and those who worship the old gods celebrate the winter solstice, the shortest day which is followed by progressively longer daylight. Many of Jewish heritage celebrate Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights. Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus, also called the Light if the world. People greet the sun in nature while Christmas lights and menorah candles are lit to celebrate. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">But these lights were only found in contrast with the darkness.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">Light a lamp in a bright room & you probably won’t notice any change. Light a lamp in a dark room & it will fill the room with its glow, shrugging off the darkness. I have heard and overheard women who are in darkness this holiday season. Brave and amazing women who are shouldering more than they think they can without breaking-losses and separations, consequences of someone’s sin. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">When the holidays are rotten because of hurts and brokenness and injustice, I remember that they are actually holy days. Gone, at least for now, are the easy, ride-in-the-back-watching-stars nights. These are nights of questions, prayer, & restlessness. These are nights of praying with hope but without expectation. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">A long time ago, in a small town very far away, there was a long night of waiting. Then the Light of the world arrived, not a light but the Light. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); color: #001320; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The people who walk in darkness </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); color: #001320; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">will see a great light.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); color: #001320; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> For those who live </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); color: #001320; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">in a land of deep darkness,</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); color: #001320; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">a light will shine.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); color: #001320; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); color: #001320; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Isaiah 9:2</span></div>
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<span class="s2">We need the Light. I do. Bring Your light into these dark nights, Lord. Dispel this darkness and illuminate the way forward. Heal these wounds and deformities of our spirits‘, the injuries incurred in the dark. We need you, the Light of this world. When everything is wrong, I know that it is You I can cling to for all of You is right. Give us today Your light. Amen.</span><br />
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Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-1524483377856378522019-10-08T13:25:00.001-04:002019-10-08T13:25:23.028-04:00Comparison (and a lesson from Philippians)I have spent a lot of time comparing myself to others. When I was in first grade, one girl was given permission to read chapter books like Nancy Drew. She got a lot of attention since she was considered gifted. I didn't care about the attention, but I wanted to read the special books, too. I am not sure if I was simply competitive or if I was jealous, but I worked and read until I could also be given that privilege. Comparison can help us do well and learn to choose what is better.<br />
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It can be a hindrance as well.<br />
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I was put into a special reading group when I was in 3rd grade. The kids in this class needed extra help. I was confused. We had moved to this new school during 2nd grade, and it had been a challenging transition. Mom had a new boyfriend. We moved from our city home to an apartment complex where we had to ride a bus. We had to make new friends. I thought I was a good reader, but since they put me in this new class, maybe I wasn't. I figured I was kind of dumb, like the other kids. I became discouraged and introverted.<br />
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Eleanor Roosevelt is credited with saying, "Comparison is the thief of joy."<br />
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Now, a grown woman, I still compare myself to see if I am where I should be. I look around and see some believers with such solid confidence in God that I am ashamed at how easily I argue with God instead of accepting His sovereignty, how I struggle to believe how wide and long and high and deep His grace is and that He really loves a mess like me. This comparison used to be a simple shame at my lack of domesticity; I don't cook much. It was so much easier then. <br />
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It is a quandary: this lack of confidence and this deep need. I am never going to be that gifted child, and I worry about being stuck in a dark classroom with the rest of the needy kids. I desperately need this recognition of my desire because it is obsessives, all consuming. I crave being seen as worthy and wanted. If God doesn't love me or want me, my existence is a hollow shell without life. There really is no point in this striving.<br />
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Many years later, my mother heard me telling the story about my remedial reading class, and she stopped me, surprised. After all those years, she told me that I was placed in that class because it was a pilot program to put students who had above average reading levels with those who struggled in an attempt to increase the reading scores of the latter. Here I was, chosen, seen, worthy...but all the while believing myself to be less than.<br />
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Whispering a sheepish prayer of repentance as I pen these words, I see the reflections of truth. I invalidate myself and believe myself unlovely, not because God told me, or any of those friends who are believers that I admire told me, but because I interpret the situation based on my feelings without understanding the truth.<br />
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I can picture Jesus stopping me, surprised and amused at my explanation of being inadequate. I have been given these unique struggles and unique gifts to advance the gospel in places and to people who would not think to step into a church or seek the counsel of a pastor. Although I am restricted by illnesses and traumas, just like them, I am a daughter of God and his light shines through my struggles. Because I am honest and bold when I speak about wrestling with God about these things, others become aware that they needn't be perfect or good before seeking Jesus.<br />
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What if this IS the truth of this situation? Just like the reading class, I may not find out the truth of the reason for the pain and the grief and the loss until much later. Should I sit in discouragement and withdraw into my doubts and despair until then? Of course not, especially having experience that puts it into perspective.<br />
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I will stay on this journey, trusting that there is more to this than just me hurting and struggling, more than him just deciding to work this out for my good later, more than just a dumb test when he already knows how I would do. I may not know why I walk with certain people or have particular experiences, but God does. Just like the fond memory of the entire class giggling uncontrollably when learning to read "porpoise," I will look for the giggles here and be transparent with both the struggles and the reason for my hope in this life.<br />
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<br />Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-79604464978680769902019-10-03T17:59:00.000-04:002019-10-03T17:59:19.209-04:00Life to the FullestThis adventure, following Jesus, can be strange-often exhilarating, but sometimes intimidating. Still, there isn't anywhere else I would rather be. If there were no life with Him, there would be no life. Yeah, our relationship can seem complicated, but that often is a reflection of me. My heart is full of fears, unwillingness, pride, and limits.<br />
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Create in me a new heart, Lord. </div>
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I wish that this weren't the case, but it is (again and again). People are funny, thinking that Christians believe they are different than others, better than others. I wish. I am so acutely aware of my shortcomings, but that leads me to being aware of how good, how faithful, and how gracious God is.<br />
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Remember me when you are in Your kingdom.</div>
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In odd ways, God reminds me that He is with me and that He cares for me. It could be a weird day full of potential coincidences-which might be supernatural, or it could be encouraging friends praying for me. No matter how it happens, I am certain when I see it. These reminders humble me, but my enemy tries to use them against me.<br />
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<i>Who do you think you are?</i><br />
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Part of me backs away, taking the easy, lazy way of shaking it off thinking I don't get it. I am such a mess. I make such messes. Why would the Creator of galaxies and amazing varieties of life be bothered with such an insignificant mess? In Him, I not only find life, but I also find value. That value is not diminished because I am afraid to accept it or even because I devalue myself. My true value remain because it is from God. <br />
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My daughter...</div>
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In this slow time of healing from a broken heart and spirit, I have been seeking God's attention to do something, right the wrongness of events, heal my spirit, transform my heart, rekindle the light that had been extinguished. I have been following instructions-resting and waiting. Something is happening, something that I mildly fear because I am in unfamiliar territory. I take comfort that God knows where He is taking me. The GPS in my truck is some British guy, a bit snobby, telling me where to take tea. This new GPS is gentle and soft and kind. God is leading me toward wholeness and life. </div>
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Come to me, and I will give you rest. </div>
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It's still a strange adventure.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
I am the Light of the world. </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Whoever follows me </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
will never walk in darkness, </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
but will have the light of life. </div>
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-38220868108281292082019-10-01T18:22:00.000-04:002019-10-01T18:22:39.820-04:00"It's Complicated"If Jesus and I updated our relationship status on Facebook, our relationship status would have to be "It's Complicated."<br />
<br />
When friends struggle with their significant others, they sometimes change their relationship status, maybe to annoy the other or send an indirect message, that they are on shaky ground. I wouldn't say Jesus and I are struggling in that way, but something is going on.<br />
<br />
It's been a rough year with lots of change and losses. It has been dark and disorienting at times. There were times that a voice whispered that "you have the chance to choose-life or death right here" and somehow I found the courage to choose life, to accept help, to pursue treatment. But there has been an unexpected cost for me due to this process and this bad year. I am not the same person that I was before. Each experience chipped something away...a sense of self, an understanding of purpose, personal security, pride, a level of independence.<br />
<br />
I want to believe that I am recovered but in actuality I am still in the process of recovering. My heart still aches, and I lose my voice when I try to talk about sad things. I want to be joyful and excited, but I am conscious that the bottom can fall out of life at any time. Prayers of gratitude well up until I suck in my breath to take it back. I am not ready to commit to being well. What if things never get back to "normal?" Well, what if I don't? I don't feel like myself, and my relationship with Jesus doesn't feel the same either.<br />
<br />
Faith can be a "feely" thing. We want the mountain top experiences. We want to experience miracles. We want to feel the Holy Spirit moving. If we live only a feeling, experiential faith, what happens when we feel, well, alone or empty or absence. A nun once told me that hell is the absence of experiencing God. Maybe I have been in hell. I think when we make our faith about what we experience or how we feel, it isn't really faith anymore.<br />
<br />
Experiencing "faith" or a relationship with God is a way to control the uncontrollable when we are afraid or life is messy. I am afraid. I know that there will be more pain, at some time, probably sooner than I like. I will probably have another depressive episode at some point, or so I am told. This makes my relationship with God complicated. How do I choose to submit to more pain? How do I choose to pursue relationships that will inevitably create pain? I don't know, to be honest. But I believe that faith is about more than feeling.<br />
<br />
<b>Faith is trusting that what God said is true.</b><br />
<br />
He said He would fight for me. He said that there will be trouble. He said that he will never abandon me. He said there is nothing that will ever separate me from Him. He said that I will find Him if I look. He said that He will lead me to places of rest and abundance if I follow Him.<br />
<br />
He didn't say that it would feel like He were with me. He didn't say following His lead would be a one time thing or an easy thing or feel great. It is actually this hard thing that causes me to consider my actions and responses and intentions. It causes me to think that about more than the here and now and physical, and I think about the long term, spiritual consequences of choices in that present moment.<br />
<br />
Faith isn't entirely rational. There is emotion. Jesus wept. Jesus was angry. Jesus was desperate. Faith can be both-a middle way of choosing despite logic or feelings, of choosing the best way. Jesus was brave. Jesus was wise. Jesus was generous. Jesus had faith in His Father.<br />
<br />
Jesus told a woman who was desperate and ashamed that her faith made her well. She chose to try one more time. She chose Jesus. Perhaps my faith will make me well. Perhaps our relationship isn't really that complicated.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-6520899460784531512019-09-07T14:35:00.001-04:002019-09-07T14:35:03.687-04:00Sucking Life<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Depression sucks. Literally. It sucks the life out of the individual (sometimes literally). It sucks joy from a sunny day spent with friends. It sucks the energy to put on makeup or even wash your hair. It sucks the desire to achieve goals, or make goal, or even consider that there is anything one wants to do. It sucks you away from people who love you and who you love, creating a cocoon of depression that reinforces the depression. It sucks satisfaction from work and even fosters a hostility because the lack of energy and desire makes work, and coworkers, overwhelming. It sucks curiosity and courage leaving only emptiness and <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>apathy. The suction is painful, not because of the losses but because of the seeming endlessness. It snowballs. It is circular. It is cumulative. It. Sucks.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<br /></div>
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. John 10:10 NIV<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I don’t believe God intended us to be depressed. Nor does he desire abuse, addiction, alienation from family, anxiety, and many other things that we tolerate or recover from. These things are not from God. These things steal from us. Our innocence is stolen. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Our peace is stolen. Our hope is stolen. Our joy and connection is stolen. Our desire to live and love is stolen. </span></span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am realizing the thief is more real and more present than I believed. Finally, when I am ready to listen, the Word of God shows itself to be more intuitive than I thought. Jesus is not surprised by this, or by my depression; I am. </span></span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I will continue to fill up these leftover empty spaces with awe and worship of God and his Word, with the love and tenderness of self-care, with relationships that nourish and encourage, with words that tell my story of who God is to me. </span></span></div>
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-48170576826335311222019-09-03T12:07:00.001-04:002019-09-03T12:07:16.237-04:00Spiritual Incision Pain<br />
When an incision is made into the body, even for happy occasions such as birthing a baby, there is muscle stretching. Connective tissues are torn. There is bleeding. The surgeon tries to modify the damage-sutures and cautery. Later he closes the patient's incision and often glues the skin closed. The patient often requires special care for weeks-not too much lifting, limted exercise, pain medication, watch for infections, make sure the wound edges remain well approximated, good nutrition with protein to rebuild muscle.<br />
<br />
When my soul is torn into, why do I expect it to be over? Or perhaps, why do I expect that I should just get over it?<br />
<br />
This year has been a really, really hard year. Sometimes I can wear the same person I did last year. Other days the mood and energy last year's person requires is too overwhelming. Sure, I pretend pretty well at work-where I can be a functional individual without feeling the authentic weight that my spirit has put on.<br />
<br />
Smiles and laughter are moments that I regret later. They hurt. I forget to splint my body when I laugh. Memories are tender, inflammed areas. I worry that an infection has set in. I am distrusting that there is a higher power that is loving and caring. I am numb and apathetic to the Spirit. The antibiotics of Psalms and minor prophets isn't working. I can still smell the necrotic areas of depression and fear. The incision isn't holding together either. I keep putting steristrips on it, trying to keep it closed. I am worried my guts might spill out through this hole. I am afraid that the succession of interventions this year might kill me.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-76509259264612471812019-01-10T21:34:00.001-05:002019-01-10T21:34:49.896-05:00Get Well! 💛, the LightIt is so odd-<br />
The tension between feeling and believing.<br />
Take every thought captive...<br />
But it seems the feelings take hostages first.<br />
<br />
I want to believe;<br />
Help me in my unbelief.<br />
I want to get well;<br />
Help me to stand and walk.<br />
<br />
The darkness is real<br />
Although it’s only power<br />
is to infiltrate and lie.<br />
The Light can dispel this darkness-<br />
Will dispel it-<br />
but perhaps not for me?<br />
Definitely for you.<br />
<br />
I know so many people<br />
Infected with sickness of this dark.<br />
The hissed lies take root and sprout.<br />
The confusion swirls and twists<br />
what was once known into:<br />
“Did He really say...”<br />
“Did He really mean...”<br />
<br />
Old lies.<br />
Old voices.<br />
Old darkness.<br />
Comes to revisit and stay a while.<br />
<br />
You can leave now darkness,<br />
We are not old friends,<br />
no matter what the tune.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-86273103868809428832019-01-06T21:10:00.002-05:002019-01-06T21:10:51.958-05:00Pursued<h1 class="passage-display" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 500; line-height: 1.1; margin: 0px 0px 20px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">Where can I go from your Spirit?</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where can I flee</span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-16247A" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-16247A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> from your presence?</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I go up to the heavens,</span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-16248B" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-16248B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">you are there</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">if I make my bed</span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-16248C" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-16248C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> in the depths, you are there.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I rise on the wings of the dawn, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">if I settle on the far side of the sea,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">even there your hand will guide me,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">your right hand</span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-16250E" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-16250E" title="See cross-reference E">E</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">will hold me fast.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and the light become night around me,”</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">even the darkness will not be dark</span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-16252F" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-16252F" title="See cross-reference F">F</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> to you;</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the night will shine like the day,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">for darkness is as light to you.</span></div>
</span></h1>
<h1 class="passage-display" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: 500; line-height: 1.1; margin: 0px 0px 20px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="passage-display-bcv" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; margin: 0px; padding-right: 6px;">Psalm 139:7-12</span> </span></h1>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
Life has been overwhelming lately. Depression has been heavy. I have struggled with feeling less than enough, competent, worthy...etc. My prayers seem empty. I feel alone and unworthy of His attention or love. But I am not alone. I am pursued.<br />
<br />
Seemingly normal events-like coffee with a friend-have become encounters with the Divine. We started talking about recovery and children but then gingerly touched on spiritual things. We didn't know that we were sisters in Christ. When the date was over, I was convinced that this was not an accidental coffee date. This was God showing up. This was me being loved and encouraged. I am not alone. I am pursued.<br />
<br />
As I struggled with feeling that who I am, the realest me who is bossy and opinionated and can't seem to control her emotions, is holding me back and might never change, a friend texted me unexpectedly with reminders of who I am-a daughter of the King who is loved by her Father more than she can know. Once again, I am not alone. I am pursued.<br />
<br />
An article, an anniversary, an adventure just for me...He keeps showing up. He keeps reminding me that I am loved, that I am not alone, and that I will be pursued.<br />
<br />
I once thought the psalmist was sharing that he couldn't find anywhere to hide from God, that his sin was constantly exposed, that he was vulnerable. Now I read it and realize that the psalmist is sharing his confidence that he is not alone, that God will pursue him.<br />
<br />
Although it is difficult to remember when the pain is great, I try to keep in mind that the darkness of my depression will not hide me from my Father. There is nowhere that the Spirit cannot reach me. There is comfort in this because accompanying this depression, there is a loneliness, an isolation of pain, but I am not alone. I am pursued. I am found.<br />
<br />Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-64866842259745444742018-12-22T12:07:00.000-05:002018-12-22T12:07:12.293-05:00Soul-stice <div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Jesus,</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Lord of my life...</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">How are you my Lord and I am a mess?</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I want to follow you so much that it twists my insides in the longing</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">,</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">But my outsides remain frustrated, short tempered, and accused.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Lord of all creation...</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">You have power and authority over all things, </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">But you have not brought this struggling soul into full submission. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">LORD...</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">You are the I AM, </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">But </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUIText-Bold"; font-weight: bold;">I am</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"> in need, of nothing as much as your power. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">These defects, in response and in personality, strangle me,</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Leeching the now and even the yet to be from me. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">They steal my hope and snatch the meager dreams that I dare. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I am without shelter or care in this long night.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">The full bodied moon mocks me as it dances playfully with sheer clouds.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I am alone. I am broken, and I am trapped within my brokenness. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Change me. CHANGE ME. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Lord, I beg. LORD, I beg.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">But I know I am not worth your glance, your pause. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I am inconsequential, I hear.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I am fine as I am, I whisper back.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">No, I am not. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I need you.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I need you to heal me-</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Make me whole.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">No longer bound by the past of which you freed me,</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Help me to walk out of this prison.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">LORD, Lord, yes, I want to get well! </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">But all my efforts are ineffective. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I need you. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">LORD </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Lord </span></div>
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Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-19840864901753577182018-12-21T19:55:00.000-05:002018-12-21T19:55:04.835-05:00Untitled<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I like to belly laugh but dislike soul shaken sobs</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I raise my face to the wind but turn away from the sun</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I believe better is possible but know worst is probable</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I desire to respond in faith but tend to react in fear</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I follow after one but travel with the many</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I am here and I am no where</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">These threads between now and then and yet...bind me to unchanging</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Unchanging internally but with two natures</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Solid resignation with sprinkle of hope</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Mid night blue drapes and a spattering of crystal diamonds</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Always the same but never steady</span></div>
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Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-68677976719309576462018-12-03T14:19:00.002-05:002018-12-03T14:19:27.381-05:00Sorting Through PilesChristmas season is here. Families are going into closets for decorations, tidying up for visitors, making preparations for parties. But that doesn't mean that their lives stop. Daily life continues and messes will be made. When the visitors come and the parties happen, there may be a place that the host would rather their guests not see, or at least not look closely. It could be dust on a shelf that was missed or the children's room or the garage. It could be a room named "the junk room" or sometimes called a craft room where odds and ends are tucked away, or piled. We all have some piles somewhere. That is what I woke up praying about today.<br />
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<i>Father, I need you. I need your help. </i><br />
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My life piles around me-books to be read and books read but not returned to their shelf, clothing to wash and clothing washed but not slipped into drawers, school work to complete and school work to put those finishing touches on so it can be sent off for grading. A couple days off should help with all this, right?<br />
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<i>I can't seem to do this on my own. I don't want to anymore because I have made a mess of things. You asked that man by the pool if he wanted to get well. Well, I know that I do want to be well. I know that you can heal me and that you can transform me. Please do!</i><br />
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But my interior life has piles too. My heart has been heavy and my mind has been swirling as I try to control and straighten up, to manage. There is that sadness again, even some borrowed sadness of others as though I need more. Injustice and pain, suffered by myself and friends, and those I don't know but whose suffering I do know, sinks into my heart. How do I make a difference? Why is the world so? When does the grieving stop? <br />
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<i>I am so tired of feeling this, Father. Please heal me. I know there are many more important things on this planet that you have to manage, but...my small little planet needs you too. If you think anything of me, please.</i><br />
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I scold myself, and I trip over the pile of shame. I am not worth him bothering with me. Who am I that I can do anything? How could I even consider the course of study I am? A person that helps and heals others. When do I practice this for myself? How foolish and prideful I am!<br />
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<i>I can't fix myself, Father. I see how I try to pretend that I am someone who I am not, at least not yet, and I hide things that I don't like. Worse, I have often tried to sort through these piles alone, out of shame, just moving the mess from one place to another. Please take over. I surrender. I want to follow your guidance and submit to your will...</i><br />
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Well, most of me. The pile of pride stinks of rebellion but is right beside another pile of fear. I try to be obedient to God's Word but I don't do it well. It isn't easy. I end up trying it my way. And the thing is, it isn't that I don't want to follow the way...it's that I wonder who I might have to be, who God might make me into, if I really do surrender completely and obey completely. Won't I just fail? What would some of the people that I love the most think? Especially since they aren't all that keen on obedience and God.<br />
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<i>Lord, look, I can't do this. Not on my own. I don't follow well. But I am willing to try if you will help me to be brave. One day at a time, taking one moment at a time, knowing that you haven't given up on me, despite the condition of my interior "house." Breathing in your peace as I make a list of the housekeeping needed and figure out what we can do. Breathing out my excuses and fears. Breathing in your strength. Let's sort through some piles. </i><br />
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<i>Amen.</i>Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-4579579324733647362018-11-28T15:51:00.000-05:002018-11-28T15:51:36.542-05:00Time to Empty<br />
My heart is full of burden. My spirit is heavy. My eyes well with tears. My brain turns with ideas and regrets and plans but does not know rest. My bones ache as I move through the days with this weight. Of my world. Of the world? I am tired but cannot sleep. Until the morning when I lie there pondering how the day might unfold poorly, adding to the weight.<br />
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Depression is not unfamiliar to me. If it were simply discontentment with the way my world is, I would divorce the husband, move to another town, ride a scooter, speak a different language. Whatever it would take to find joy. But it isn't my external world. It is the internal world. Despite having a dear man who tries to love me, despite a job that I enjoy more often than not, despite a faith in a God who holds me close, despite all sorts of goodness and purpose in my life, this internal burden nags and holds me back.<br />
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Much of the time it is manageable. Sometimes, not so much. A friend of many years, a woman who I had mentored, prayed for, guided, and loved, died suddenly this fall. She and I had contact off and on for about 15 years. She made a poor choice-one often chosen by those in her situation, an on-again-off-again using addict, essentially taking her own life. Everyone knows that the dope of today is more dangerous. Cut with fentanyl and carfentanil, addicts die almost immediately. Watch the news and you will hear about deaths, often clusters, often in small towns. The pain is palpable. The mothers and fathers left behind. Burying adult children with life insurance policies because this isn't the first overdose, because on some level, the family has resigned themselves to the inevitable.<br />
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Fear of death is not a motivator for those suffering in addiction. While narcan clinics are held and drug dealers are prosecuted for murder, the addicts are trying to find out who sold that "good" dope. Somewhere between fearless and hopeless is where the addict lives. Somewhere between the adventurous "I'll try anything once," and the despair of "God, please don't let me wake up," is the addicts mentality. Warnings of the danger, that they choose death every time they stick a needle in their body, that only 1 in 3 will find recovery, that it is easier to stay clean than get clean, falls on deaf ears, even as the pleading from the loved one to go to treatment. It has been said that no one stops unless they want to, but that doesn't stop the families and friends from wanting.<br />
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I think of my friend, and others, for whom I have begged God's help. Did it fall on His deaf ears as well? I dismiss that idea, because my God is neither deaf nor able to ignore the pain of both wails and silent tears. Is earthly salvation just a sort of life insurance policy that the Almighty took out because He knew we were screw ups? Again, I dismiss it and still hear this "did God really say..." whisper in the back of my mind. If life is 100% fatal and full of pain, is there a point? Yes, I stammer, but the questions pull me back to why did she die? Did He save her from hell? Or is she suffering hell now after the hell she suffered here? I am not good enough or kind enough or obedient enough and must rely on Christ's mercy myself. If she is suffering, why might I not?<br />
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God feels far off, in another land, in another form, not Who I know or knew. I still see evidence of His goodness, but it isn't the same. There is a hollowness to me. My soul does indeed pant for refreshment and comfort. Like I would caring for a child, I run through my needs: fed (check), slept (check), spent time with people who love me (check), cared for someone else (check), worked through any anger or resentment (check), spent time pondering God (check), laughed (check), watered (check), spent time walking outside (check). But I long for more of Him-true hunger and thirst in a visceral way not just flowery speech. Pondering on what I know of His goodness and reading His word is vital for me, but I long to sit near Him. I cannot imagine being in His presence now, or ever really, I just want to know that all my faith is not for naught. That He really is who He says He is and that there is unequivocal evidence for hope, especially in this land of long, dark, cold nights.<br />
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<i>Father, I believe that you are near. But I desperately need you to be closer and make your presence tangible. This season of Advent, the whole of Christendom awaits the birth of our Savior, but I am so tired and fear I will miss it. That I miss you in the midst of these dark times of pain. That I miss the point and you are not here, not really, not for me, not for my people. Another people long ago thought the same, but they wanted you to overthrow the government. I just want you to overthrow heartbreak and pain. We need you. And I need you more desperately than I have for a while. I am emptying all this pain and loss and mess from me that you might fill me with things to sustain me, even help me recover hope. Come soon, dear Jesus, but until you do, please give me your strength and peace. </i><br />
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It isn't that this post is made to read, but it is made to be written. This treatment for emotional and spiritual constipation is the only one that has been effective in the past. My apologies to any readers.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-26129559872279404872018-01-21T18:01:00.001-05:002018-01-21T18:01:35.399-05:00Here We Go Again<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I should have known what the message would be. I have been studying Colossians as the current sermon series has been camped out in the 3rd chapter. I knew what was left, but I forgot. And I went to the church gathering anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">“Wives, submit yourselves to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord. Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them.” Colossians 3:18-19</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">There goes the “S” word again. It isn’t as scary as it once was. I love my husband. But that doesn’t mean it is easy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Really, the fact that there was so much time spent on defining submission annoyed me. It seems simple: if a husband loves his wife like Christ loves the Church, it is easy for a wife to submit. There would be lots more sex and home cooked meals. It seems so straightforward: husbands need to love wives better. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Simple, perhaps, but yet there is sin, and struggle, and fear. We both have needs and desires that we fight to meet, sometimes even fighting against each other. But even the desire for the husband to love better first is borne of sin. I don’t want to control him, but I want complete safety and security in my submission. Where does my hope come from? My husband’s behavior? My husband’s love?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I am not an expert on marriage, though I have been married long enough that I should probably be better at it. What I seem to be getting quite familiar with is my deceived heart. The world says we should treat people according to how they treat us. If we aren’t happy, we should find something or someone that will make us happy. My heart wants to follow the world’s logic. It feels safe. It feels secure. But I am not content to follow the world because I desire to submit to the leadership of Jesus in all things, even in this. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I don’t want to presume that Paul meant something he didn’t, but perhaps he, or at least God, chose the sequence for a reason. If I were writing about the head or the important person to the least (child, slave), which seems like a clean linear way to provide instructions, I would probably start with the husband. Instead, this passage instructs wives first. Why?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Maybe because submission is an action that makes us vulnerable without direct dividends. Maybe because it is a higher calling to encourage new behavior than to discourage bad behaviors. Maybe because this very instruction elevated women in the church. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">There was one other thing that struck me this morning. We always puff up the idea as noble that husbands should love us like Christ loved the church, dying for it. But we, wives, are called to submit to our husbands and we have two pictures for that. It could be as reciprocal and simple as the church submitting to the leadership of Jesus. The one that I began to understand today was that we submit to our husbands as Jesus submitted to the Father. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Jesus gave up all to fulfill the Father’s will. Jesus demonstrated powerful images of submission: He endured harassment, abandonment, and misunderstanding during His life for His Father’s sake, in the hours before His death, in Gethsemane Jesus submitted to the will of the Father (Your will not mine) and one last time while on the cross (into Your hands).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I have loved my husband since the second week of our dating. But submission is costlier and I have not been able to submit for as long as I have loved him. Jesus continues to work on my heart, to make it brave and strong and remain submitted to Him, even as He teaches me to submit, with joy not grudgingly, to my husband.</span></div>
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-88197481922585075522018-01-08T09:14:00.002-05:002018-01-08T09:14:38.264-05:00Dawn is Coming<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">A series that I did in the past was Armchair QB-Monday morning meditations, sometimes critiques unfortunately, on the pastor’s sermon. For those that became critiques, I feel quite ashamed. As a speaker, we merely ask to be God’s mouthpiece to share the truth that the Holy Spirit desires someone hear. Ultimately, it is God who must show up and even show off at times. When God shows off, I can’t help but smile widely. Sunday morning He was showing off. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I have been meditating on God’s holiness lately and trying to sort out what my response has been, and what it should be. While I haven’t been to Hope lately, and this sounds quite presumptuous, God met me there. Holiness was in the fellowship, in the worship, in the message. Perhaps it is always there, but I finally had eyes to see it and ears to hear it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Hope still sung off key and off tempo, but the melody rose to affirm His otherness and our humility. On that frigid January morning, friends and strangers gathered together because God is worth it. He is worth the mild discomfort of the cold, the early hour for some, the sleeplessness for others. Friends encouraged one another in their walk with the Lord. We shared communion, reminding ourselves of His irrational sacrifice in order that we might draw near to Him. The message from Colossians 3:1-10 echoed Romans 6, which I had focused on this week, but in a delicate way, Paul’s words brought new hope to me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Perhaps I needed to feel convicted in Romans 6. In fact, I would undoubtedly agree. Grasping God’s holiness requires a stern humility of self. Not only am I not God (in control) but I am not good as I believed (pride). As I intently I focus on God’s holiness, I keep uncovering a deep hidden and even “tame” (secret motives more than actions) sin of my heart. I despise the ugliness of it. Truly, wasn’t I doing better than this? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Paul wrote Colossians to help the church mature. In the passage the pastor taught on, Paul had given them instructions: focus their heart and mind on Christ, kill some sin, remove others. But, the pastor reminded us-“Perfection is nothing that you can achieve; it’s only something that you receive.” We kill our sin as God develops a holiness in us, like Himself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">With deep gratitude for beloved friends, a faithful community, and an amusing, holy God, I went home Sunday. Despite knowing how dark my heart is, there is still hope because my Lord calls me to holiness. Perhaps this dark night was to show me these things. Perhaps it was to show me how brightly His holiness shines in the darkness, how brightly He wants me to shine in the darkness. My spirit is stirring. Dawn is coming.</span></div>
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-68117934273679382622018-01-06T09:08:00.000-05:002018-01-06T09:09:54.597-05:00Holy Whole<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Today is the feast of the Epiphany. One of my favorite holidays. Traditionally it is celebrates when the three kings found the baby Jesus. For me, it is about the treasure we all may find at the end of the search.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext-bold"; font-weight: bold;"> “</span><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” Jeremiah 29:13 NIV</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The treasure I thought I had found in grace.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Perhaps I was short sighted. Maybe I simply was so taken aback by grace that I didn’t need, or want, to look further. While swimming in God’s lavish grace has been delightful, lately something is different. I still live in this Grace-period, breathing only because of His grace & mercy, but there is more now. In this space of His silence, I find it filled with God’s holiness which seems to judge my reliance on grace, at least as I perceived it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">My reliance on grace brought on a cozy familiarity that seemed to remove the holiness, the otherness, of God for me. It isn’t that God wasn’t God, but the focus on grace drew me back to myself. God loved me just as I was. God rescued me. God sought me. The focus had moved from God to me-who I was. Grace made God so near...I forgot He was so above.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">A friend once cautioned me about blasting God with my anger. I quickly shot back, “Pretty sure He can handle it.” I am still convinced that He can, but I am less sure that it is the appropriate response. My reliance on grace was total, to the point that I justified being a total mess. Does that really play to His otherness, that He can and ought to handle my anger, and my mess, since He had a hand, actively or passively, in making it or does that demonstrate how utterly disrespectful I was? </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I am embarrassed by how little I appreciated God’s holiness, even to this point of disrespect. Since realizing this, I spent some time hunkered down in Romans 6. Yes, I have been saved by grace, but I haven’t been saved to not be changed and grown. My life ought not look the same. Grace is wonderful but can be taken for granted.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">When I think of God lately, Jesus isn’t my homeboy but my Lord. He has done marvelous things through divine creativity. His unending love overflowing to share with us seems counterintuitive when you look at us. His power blows my mind: a dead man was returned to life-and not just dead. It wasn’t like God had to jump start a heart with a defibrillator. This body had been mangled and punctured and broken. Then He even chose to bring me back to life. His provision is both extravagant and delicate. His faithfulness goes beyond what I can grasp. The holiness of God is so breathtaking. It is no wonder that we use our talents in arts and construction in attempts to demonstrate His majesty. But the most awesome beauty of any cathedral is a barren hall compared to Him. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The homeboy has been replaced by a King and a Physician and an Artist and a Savior and a Father, all combined in this one known but incomprehensible God. Even writing the word seems too familiar and I empathize with my Jewish friends who do not write the word out. The focus on holiness has led me to want to sit up straighter. My sin glares at me. My heart breaks that I do not do better. As I spend time in prayer, not asking for a million things but sitting quietly, breathing in the incense of His throne-room, I am aware of Romans 6. I have been baptized into Christ Jesus and also baptized into his death. My old self was crucified that I could be set free from sin because I now dwell under grace. Amen. Let it be so. </span></span></div>
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-7595761181898662672018-01-02T05:08:00.000-05:002018-01-02T05:08:15.966-05:00Wholly Holy<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I have been thinking a lot about holiness lately, as I have been reading about the early fathers and doctors of the Church. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">When Teresa of Avila encouraged her sisters to be “holy,” I think of those women -pious and good. Everything they did was directed by virtues to please God. Holy seems kind of like an abstract concept though. When I try to imagine “holy,” I see gem colored frescoes and gold leaf, I smell incense, I hear tenors singing “ahhhhhhhh,” I feel awe and feel my littleness, but none of these things really speaks to holy. It isn’t just a behavior or a sensual experience. It is being other. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">The word “qadosh” (holy) means something that is “other” (set apart) - the exact opposite of the something that is common. It is a state of being different and unique. So God is other because there is none like Him. We are all creation while He is the Creator. He is unique and other while we would be common. This is where my questions start showing up:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">If, as it says in Leviticus, we are to be holy like God is holy, using the definition of “qadosh,” doesn’t that mean God would not be so different anymore, so apart from us? Do we become holy or does God become less holy? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">The Israelites were set apart through circumcision and dietary practices and religious rituals and clothing. They, of course, were the chosen people. Perhaps that exhortation of setting apart in Leviticus was just for them. Really, what would it look like for followers of Jesus to be set apart today? Do we need to utilize religious and cultural differences to maintain our set apartness? Would that look like the Amish? And how could the Gospel be culturally relevant if we are set apart? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I think about these things because if they are important to God, if holiness is important to God, then they are important to me. I wonder if I look too much like the world: a house bursting with possessions, professional and personal ambitions, and seeking financial security through a retirement fund. Sure, I give to charity and church. Sure, I quit smoking. Sure, I read and meditate on Scripture. Sure, I pray, just ongoing conversations with Jesus really. Is that enough to offset my addiction to social media, my brain’s chemical imbalances, or my not-so-charming ability to cuss like a sailor? Does church shopping/hopping as you look for the “right” fit (programming, demographic, style) or buying the latest (and hopefully greatest) books on meditating on the Word of God or on the most effective way to disciple others emphasize the Christians are set apart (a holy people) or do we fit in with a selfish and self-help culture, with just a twist of Jesus?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Mind you, I don’t want to be a freak. The most freaky thing I consider is to work at a church, for much less than my education would have me earn, because I so deeply want to serve God and people. I don’t necessarily want to run off to the other side of the world or kiss MRSA wounds like some saints kissed hands of leprosy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">So what does holiness look like for me, in my life? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I am still processing this, but I think I have found a few things:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">*I am committed to my marriage and my husband. Yes, there are moments when I can’t stand him, but I choose to, because I think fidelity and commitment are right. This sets me apart. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">*As much as I struggle with belonging somewhere, I am committed to the idea of church. I want to have a home among believers. I have somewhere to be on Sundays. This sets me apart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">*I actually have these odd ideas that there are objectionable movies, music, and media because I believe that what I hear, see, experience can affect and infect my spirit. This sets me apart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">While these things do make me look a little weird to the world sometimes, I believe that if they are indeed examples of being “holy,” they also demonstrate the relevance of the holy Body of Christ. The world doesn’t really have answers. The world doesn’t teach us how to do relationships and community. The world doesn’t set aside time for God or God experiences. The world doesn’t encourage one to protect itself but to “free itself” which often looks like enslavement or at least continued perpetuation of abuse on one’s self. In being in the world but not of it, in being present but also holy, we can point to the Truth and model the Way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">As I said, I am still mulling over what holiness means. I am sure it cannot mean perfect, both because of Strong’s word definition and because that is not going to be in my repertoire this side of eternity. I wonder sometimes if I think about things for so long because I am trying to find a loophole - surely God doesn’t need me to do all these things...but most of the time, I am just looking for Him or direction toward Him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Have you thought about what holiness would look like in your life?</span></div>
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-58083829168995720712017-12-28T06:14:00.003-05:002017-12-28T06:14:53.868-05:00Dreams<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I dreamt I was dying the other night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I had been to a sort of rally listening to various candidates, political and religious, share their visions for how they could change the world when I realized it was all empty rhetoric. Without any effort or thought, I walked away into the dark night. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">The darkness seemed to engulf me. I knew where I was so I wasn’t exactly afraid, but I was also aware that something was happening. The street were dimly lit and lined with darkly painted buildings with windows that were also painted like old factories. To my left, something caught my eye. At first my mind tried to deny it, but then it registered as a shadow figure. I picked up my pace trying to look casual as fear rose. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I knew the figure was following me. My pace began to quicken. A light shone on a strip of stores. As I leapt through the automatic door of one, I found myself bathed in the bright light of a sporting goods store. When I tumbled across the threshold, I fell, my side pierced. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">The severity of the wound didn’t register immediately. A diminutive blond woman came running to aid me, helping me to stand, hiding me, and then distracting the figure who had been following me. The figure was another woman who crouched down like an animal hunting, sniffing for a scent, searching for evidence of me. Not finding anything, she left to continue tracking me, and it was at that time that I realized I was dying. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Dying wasn’t awful at all. My everyday life and worries and resentments and desires and dreams simply fell away. All these layers seem to be worn by us to protect the nakedness and vulnerability of our hearts. With it all stripped away and my heart laid bare, only love remained. The peace swept over me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Somehow I was given an opportunity to see many important people, those I loved, to encourage them and love them a little more before I went away. Technically, I was being taken to surgery, but the doctors had little hope. While waiting, I was visited by individuals. Through my own eyes I loved, mended, instructed, but mostly loved. Resentments dropped. Perceptions corrected. Truth spoken. Tears flowed, though always joyful. I refuse to share the words here. They are still private, though I have shared them with some of the individuals that visited me while dying.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I became aware that I was slipping away in a starry night to Another. Relaxed and drowsy, there was no fear. There was joy-Jesus. This was another darkness but one decorated with dancing illuminations. As though objectively observing myself, I noted that dying felt very much like living-but without the chains of worry, schedule, & desire. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Dreams may be visions sent by God or unresolved wounds of the subconscious working their way out in our slumber. Whether dream or vision, it doesn’t matter. I see now how protective I am of my heart, even to God, with my plans and my desires. I see now what a barrier these things are to real relationships-God, my husband. I wonder if it is truly possible to live completely in the now, without regret or desires, in unrestrained love with an unprotected heart. Still waiting on that dream answer.</span></div>
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-25208161312079644512017-12-12T15:13:00.001-05:002017-12-12T15:13:34.344-05:00Prayer for Today<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">My spirit is full, pleasantly satiated at this moment. </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">I find it curious that God remains hidden but yet is infused in it all. Less Himself and more Other-self.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">The comfort of a relaxing shower and a favorite shirt, authentic conversation with a dear friend over a delicious cup of tea, an impromptu encounter with a sponsee and a meeting with beautiful women and warm hugs where truth is spoken and a new life practiced, shopping for delights both for creativity and physical sustenance...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">An old sing-song prayer comes to mind: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Praise Him, all creatures here below;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Praise Him above, ye heav’nly host;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">All goodness comes from Him. All sweetness comes from Him. All gifts of nourishment for body and spirit come from Him. He is present with me because He is life to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">And then the whispers...all trials? All tribulations? I hesitate, not wanting to be blind but not able to dismiss the pain-or the grace. I look up where billowing silver clouds sail in front of a yellow and gray winter sky and am aware of how little of the world, and the greater story of humanity, that I know. God, author of this story, the Creator and the Finisher, probably has a very different perspective. (These silly whispers, always trying to derail me.) But, yes, I believe trials can be good gifts from Him. I have witnessed it in my life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">A glimpse of blue between clouds, the joyful greeting of the pups, preparing a warm meal for my husband, the fragrance of goulash filling the house, listening to a book being read with rhythmic diction as I crochet, my phone vibrating alerts of messages from friends...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Praise Him, all creatures here below;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Praise Him above, ye heav’nly host;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText";">Amen.</span></div>
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-23894410783451927692017-12-11T15:43:00.000-05:002017-12-11T15:49:20.490-05:00Thoughts...<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sf ui text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">None enough for a post, I am just going to drop off these odds and ends here:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">It is interesting to me how readily words come one day and how barren my voice is others. Do I say too much? Is this my self trying to be modest or protect itself from exposure?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I watch this show to go to sleep. Yes, I am that person-I need background noise to sleep AND I watch British tele. But sometimes tidbits like this come along: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I am aware of how good it has to be that it is just painful now. -The Great British Baking Show</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">This reflects a bit of my soul right now. As I have been thinking about God’s holiness, His Other-ness, I continue to be confronted by my awareness of sin. Part of me is really aware of how good God and how dreadful I am is that it is painful. Then I seek I am also aware of just how unpleasing the world is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Sure, that London Fog was warm and cozy, but now it is just an empty cup. Christmas shopping is making the mall madness, but will our purchases matter in a few months? It is all consumable. It is all meaningless. Ecclesiastes has been on my mind. And I have always disliked the melancholic tone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Your dreams deceived you, boy. They told you what you wanted to hear. -The Gunslinger in The Dark Tower</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">The temptation to deny the dreams of my heart, those odd callings to my soul, are constant in a desire to please others and fit in. At times I wonder if I have been deceived and have heard only what I wanted, what feeds my pride. Even as this exercise of becoming more aware of my sinfulness continues, I hope it is preparing me to do something good for God. And then I dismiss those thoughts for the pride that fouls them. Perhaps being who I am, in the simplicity of the present path, is all I am supposed to be, setting aside these dreams and callings that have deceived me.</span></div>
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Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-50797378686667898532017-12-06T10:23:00.000-05:002017-12-06T10:23:24.099-05:00Missing Narnia<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">My dreams have been filled with examining religious traditions lately. I almost wonder if I was awake some mornings. It amuses me but is also interesting as it appears I have been working things out in my dreams. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">In my waking life, I practice a spiritual life of following Jesus. I call it a spiritual life because it is built on relationship rather than rules. Certainly I defer to God, but I don’t feel trapped in a rule book of do this and never do that. I live certain ways because i love God and I fall short in other ways because I still dislike myself too much (thus getting lost in being undesirable and unworthy of God’s concern).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Examining religion in my dreams amuses me because it is yet another way that I am still trying to control this time of God’s absence from me. It has always been my default anyway: if I know the right answer, the right way, the right church...then I can be worthy of God’s affections. Silly pride. I will neither be able to control this Lion not be worthy of His affections. Even though it seems desirable to want to control Him, would I really want to be equal to the only Power that I truly have which would then become no power at all, simply because of the ability to comprehend and control it with human ability? No, of course not. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Knowing some of the character of a God through Scripture and experience has become a comfort to me as I focus on the knowable rather than the fear. Instead of being filled with anxiety about this hollow space where God’s presence seemed to dwell, I am now finding some peace and rest in the stillness. I wish the destination were known, as if there were a map, but what I do know about it is that God is good, God desires to give me good things, God loves me, and I can trust Him. Any destination that He brings me to will be good. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">There is a whisper every so often, “Are you sure he hasn’t left you?” which I dismiss as quickly as I am able. Some days it is immediate and other times I have to fret for a few moments before I put my head right again. There is only one who whispers doubts and lies to me like that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">So much of this journey right seems to be choosing-who will I listen to, how shall I walk if there appears to be no encouragement one way or another, where should I go when there is no guidance, how do I pray when it seems no one is listening? Perhaps I am truly just learning to do all of this for the first time. I remember when I was coddled and encouraged, and listen to that Voice in my memory so to listen for It now. I remember where and how He encouraged and prodded me so that I go and do those things now. I live now by memory but not in the past. I do hope to see that Lion again as Lucy did. I would rather not grow up. It doesn’t seem like much fun to be excluded from Narnia. </span></div>
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-16045965511475060492017-11-30T04:54:00.001-05:002017-11-30T04:54:38.621-05:00Still waitingAs we enter the season of Advent this week, it occurred to me that we, I, may need to check our, my, expectations. From the Christian perspective, the Gospels don't seem so far away from Jesus' birth. Sure, that one starts off like an ancestry.com commercial, but it is still merely the opening credits. We get to the action quickly.<br />
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The promise and mystery is revealed to Mary in chapters 1 of Matthew and Luke but Jesus is born in the 2nd chapters.<br />
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It is even better in Mark & John. John the Baptist is introduced proclaiming the Messiah is near and Jesus the adult shows up in the first chapters.<br />
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It seems like we just want the Messiah and Jesus shows up. Maybe this spiritual instant gratification is only found in Christians who "live" in the new covenant. But God's people didn't start there. Apparently Isaiah wrote about Jesus almost 700 years before Jesus showed up. That's some commitment. I mean, I struggle with this sense of absence lately but this gap meant generations relied on the character and promises of God-generations of trust and faith.<br />
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I guess it really comes down to what we, I, expect. Do I expect hope or expect more of the same? If I resign myself to more of the same, there is no reason not to be depressed. But if I expect Hope, if I wait anticipating what new thing God is doing in my life and for my benefit, I may wait impatiently like a child at Christmas, but it will be an eager and faith-filled waiting.<br />
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To be honest, as much as I want to be faithful, I really dislike this lonely place. I wonder sometimes if God was some made up idea from my childhood. I try to remember all the times that He was active so that I can at least point to those moments when God was real. My grandmother once told me that God refuses to listen to the prayers of sinners and I woke up the other day wondering how I might have offended God unwittingly. Sometimes when I pray I get angry. How can He make us to be in relationship with Him but then He takes off? That isn't fair.<br />
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The only time I can sense His nearness is when I am having spiritual conversations with people and prepping for or teaching. I can't do those things all the time. I have a life. I read and pray and consider Him daily with only my rememberings. But in those activities, there is vibrancy and energy and His Spirit makes mine dance. I am embarrassed at how much I crave the next time He shows up. I should just trust all that He says about Himself and not desire to be with Him as much as I do. It is silliness. But it is also life giving.<br />
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All I can do is wait.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-28147342308578909932017-11-28T15:22:00.002-05:002017-11-28T15:22:13.056-05:00HollowIt's been at least six months. The I am kind of growing used to the absence, to the loneliness of my spirit. I dream about You...about You guiding me and talking to me. I walk on, practicing the principles of truth in faith, because sitting down does me no good. It doesn't draw You nearer. It gives me no rest. I have no direction. I am torn between not wanting to wander too far in case You return and wanting to flee this barren land in search of You.<br />
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Shadows lengthen as evening approaches. The whole world seems busy, clattering with preparations. In some ways it is a relief that the day is ending. But I can already feel the tension-my head hurts and my muscles ache-because I have to wake up to another solitary walk tomorrow.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5045057404176338828.post-46919696687487670252017-11-18T14:10:00.001-05:002017-11-18T14:10:48.287-05:00Perfect LightThere is this light, this delicious golden shimmer, that I have noticed. I have found it in the still sleepy country mornings and in the glorious autumn evenings when the sun is at just the right angle. This light is my favorite for taking pictures.<br />
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I stumbled across this light again yesterday and googled to see if anyone else had recognized its splendor. Surely it had a name. I found out that it is called "the golden hour"-a brief period soon after sunrise and shortly before sunset. It is a period of transition, a passing through time, when the soft light gives a warm glow to landscapes and portraits.<br />
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This golden hour reminds me of the nearness of God. (And I always enjoy finding things that do.) In fact I wonder if all of heaven isn't awash in golden light. Certainly it was not created with me in mind, but it just reminds me of the Light of the World and how He changes how we see everything.<br />
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Tonight an individual asked to speak to me. My initial reaction was a bit of dread. I had spoken to them before and wasn't sure what new ideas I had. Really, I wasn't sure why they asked me anyway. Perhaps simply because I am a believer and I know enough Scripture for a persuasive argument. Still, this individual had more education and experience than I did with both believing and Scripture. At some point, I knew I would fail them.<br />
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This person complained of being in a spiritually dry season. "There is no joy bubbling from my spirit. My salvation feels up in the air" they stated. This was evident to the person's by their perceived lack of emotional response to God. Anxiety continued to grip and tear at this individual's spirit.<br />
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I half smiled as I prayed for this person silently, asking God to give me words of comfort & encouragement. While I have not questioned my salvation, I have been searching the Scriptures for hope and for evidence that God is still for me, even when I cannot sense Him especially when things feels so wrong. This exercise has taken me through Psalm, Jeremiah, Lamentations, Job, Habakkuk...and this exercise prepared me to share with this person.<br />
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Just like the Golden Hour, God's light shown. For a few moments, the conversation I was dreading because I doubted myself, was full of Perfect Light. I described a little about my journey and how it has changed me. The person smiled as I reminded them of Scriptures where salvation and knowledge of God did not show up in victorious or elated emotions but in the stubborn worship of a holy God during depression and hardship because the character of God does not change based on our feelings. I don't know if my words will change this person. In fact, I hope that just like the Perfect Light of the golden hour attracted me, that they are encouraged to begin their own persistent journey to find this Light. <br />
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And in the midst of my own struggles, I smiled broadly when I realized my Lord allowed me to glimpse Him, as I did those brief moments of perfect light yesterday. <br />
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(Yes, I am aware of my pronoun/noun issues but this person deserves full anonymity.)</div>
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12020865969599875558noreply@blogger.com0