Abba's Lap



I really don't know how to begin.  To be honest this post is really more for me than for you.  I want to put into black and white one of the most amazing encounters with Jesus and Father God I''ve ever had.  It was during the Captivating Retreat last October at Frontier Ranch outside of Denver.  A number of times they sent us off to answer a question in God's presence.  This was the longest, hardest question I've ever asked.  And yet, my lips hadn't formed the words.  I knew He had shown me, "who fathers the drops of dew" the year before.  He became safe and good, but I heard the Father's voice more like a faint echo bouncing off canyon walls.  Significant, powerful, yes.  But thin.  I honestly wasn't sure if the echo wasn't my own.  In this vision, Abba Father was unmistakeable.  Front and center.  My Isaiah 6 moment.  The train of His robe filled the temple.







Behold He comes . . . .I see you Jesus riding on a horse straight for me--like Aragorn--I'm in a white gown with gold trim.  You extend your hand and grandly pull me on with you, my royal gown swirling behind.
       "Let Me take you to the Father.  You'll like Him too.  He's really kind.
        I promise.  He's full of laughter, smiles and tickles.  And crowns.  Lots of them. 
        And sparkles.  He won't make you work.  You can rest.  Run and play little rabbit.
        He's the King I tell you-from The Quiltmaker's Gift," Jesus whispers.

        "You are fuzzy, Elaine.  Like the lambs I hold close to my heart.  Soft.
          Remember you are that soft spot.  Come child.  Climb into my lap.
          I will never hurt you.  I promise.  I am not angry with you.
          I never was.
          Believe Me, Child.  Right here.  In this place.  I am not angry," Abba pleads.

I've never really climbed in your lap, Abba, I lament.

          "I know.  And I've waited.  Waited for you to know I AM safe.  I am the Father of
          the night dew.  There is nothing harsh about Me.  Nothing abrasive.  I'm sorry your father
          doesn't know who I am or how to love.  It's not what I planned for you."

What did you plan?

          "Soft.  And "when she landed the little rabbit came down soft" (from The Velveteen Rabbit).  In your fall, I will stay.   Right here-wiping away your dirt with My tears.  Never shaming.  Nor should-ing."

I have no answer Dad to all the should's.  There must be something wrong with me.
Remember--"I'm right, you're wrong.  You stink," he sarcastically joked.

           "Elaine, let's put to death now and forever that there has been anything
            wrong with you.  Let Me be your happy thought.  I'm not upset with you.  I AM
            safe.  I have no sharp edges.  I don't have to be carefully kept.  And I don't
            break easily.  If praise is like perfume, I'll lavish Mine on you.  Elaine, you smell
            good.  You never stunk.  And I don't either.  I receive you and breathe you in. 
           
            Elaine, I pour My love on you.  Like oil upon your feet, like wine for you to drink,
            like water from My heart.  Don't you get it??  I loved you FIRST!  Now let Me.
            I'll pour My love on you, and My love is neverending.  Do cool waters ever cease
            to flow?  Come up higher My beloved.  You've become My soul's delight.  Here with
            you I find My life.  Sit.  I am running after you!  Sit with Me here and let Me hold you.
            I never left you.  I want to hold you for a long time, Elaine.

            You've become My joy and My song.  Proclaim it.  From the roof!  I've made you to
             be a mouthpiece. Don't let the enemy steal what I have put in you.  I will guide you.
             I wanted this deeper healing for you.  I wanted you to know Me as Papa, as Daddy.
             You don't have to perform, but I sure love watching you twirl!  I can't keep My eyes
             off you!"

I am undone.

My Together-Life Exploded

I knew when I left the room, I was going to wail.  But I tried holding it in.  Just keep breathing . . . I knew it wasn't going to be enough.  It was too quiet.  And I knew I couldn't hold it in.  It wasn't time to be silent.  It was coming faster than I could handle.  So I had to head where I heard noise.  Sound was coming from the air conditioning unit downstairs by the bathrooms.  But the women's was full.  So I found myself in the men's bathroom.  funny.  The last time I was held by my earthly father was when I was throwing up-in a bathroom.  The irony of being in a man's domain.  I had to lean over the sink-the pressure against my stomach felt like it was holding me together--as my heart and my gut fell completely apart. 

The tears started flowing, my breath started getting heavy and then the pain broke out of its cage in the core of my being.  Explosions of grief.  For some reason I turned on the faucet.  Maybe I wanted to drown out the sound of my sobbing.  Wails over and over, like the tide coming in--crashing on the shore of my together-life.  My hands went numb, tingling; they felt like they were trying to leave my body.  Then my feet turned off, like I was paralyzed.  And I hear Jesus announce, "let's go.  Let's do this thing."  I've been waiting my whole life.

How many people have spoken over me that when they look into my soul they see weeping and more weeping.  The singing prophet three weeks ago said, "it is good.  It's OK to cry it out, for the joy of the Lord is your strength."  Through the earthquake that was my form, I heard, "I forgive you Elaine for being human.  I forgive you for not making him stop.  I forgive you for not giving her strength."  A memory flashed of a note with fried egg eyes I'd drawn as a very small child.  My mother wrote, "Dear Santa, I'm giving you my blankie because I want to be a big girl and not a baby.  Will you give me Tippee Tumbles instead? It's fun to be a big girl and not a baby."  In that moment I traded my innocence for self-protection and control.  And I didn't even know.

That was the only security I had.  And you took it away.  But God says, "Elaine, I've got you covered.  With My security blanket all over you--My feather wings of refuge.  I'm over and around and underneath."  So I vowed as a child I will never be a baby again.  Why can't I even say the name?  Sanguines are supposed to use "baby" with affectionate tones.  I can't get the word out of my mouth.  I wonder if this is why two of my children can't stand babies?  And now my mother declares at 72, "I want to be the baby and have others take care of me."  At 72! Who is the parent?  did she feel jealous of my needs? did my needs expose her lack?  that she didn't have enough to give?  She still gets amazed when she sees a picture of Steve and I at 6 and 4.  She says with surprise, "I really was a mother, wasn't I?"  Huh?  is that because she's seen herself as the child her whole married life?

I croaked out the words, "I get to be the baby.  I GET to be the baby!!  I was never made to carry you-to labor with you.  God will birth you.  I release you to Him."  Sob, sob.  Then a pretty girl with long black hair and pure blue eyes came in to my ashes there in the bathroom.  She stroked my back and held my hair.  Washing my feet with her presence, she gently said, "You're not alone. Are you going to be OK?"  I nodded looking up at her, hair wet, face streaked with black and salt, stomach still heaving.  "He's here," she whispered.  "Let it out."  A transcendent moment-then she was gone.  I haven't seen her since.

As she first touched me, I felt hot liquid rising in my throat.  I realy felt like I might release my lunch--years of memories of never having enough.  Starving for more and feeling guilty.  Hold on God.  Hold me.  Your heavenly Father wants to hold you for a long time," you've said through others over and over.  I 'm watching my tears fall into the sink, then soaking my face, drenching it with the cool water, splashing it onto me.  Hearing its continual noise I'm reminded that cool waters from distant sources never cease to flow.  The water from the faucet splashes against the sink, mixing with my tears.  Some I notice are round and perfect, just like dew drops.  Smile.  There you are again, Lord. 

Again I forgive myself for being a human doing.  I kept hearing, "work, work harder.  Get it right.  He still yells.  She still makes mistakes.  Fix it.  Faster!  Make them hear.  Make them change!"  Then He showed me.  He made me a human "dew"-ing.  And dew simply arrives from Him.  It doesn't orchestrate its being.  It comes in the mystery of night, when conditions are just right.  And it shows the freshness and favor of the King!  I simply am.  I reflect.  I sparkle.  I don't move.  I stay in His embrace.  I watched the sink droplets get heavier and heavier, and run down to the larger pool away from the emptiness to join Abba's river flow.