"He smells like peaches, Mom"

"God, come close.  Come quickly! Open your ears--it's my voice you're hearing!  Treat my prayers as sweet incense rising; my raised hands are my evening prayers."  Psalm 141:1-2

In the wee hours of morning on the way to school, my girls and I cross a stone bridge that runs over Nolan Creek.  Many foggy mornings when the dew point is just right, this is our view.  The girls laugh declaring the water sports a beard!  I'm reminded of the scripture that describes our morning prayers are as incense to the Lord.  The wet mist swirls upward like my anguished cries.  Only my tears doesn't dissipate into thin air, in to nothingness.  My Papa, my Abba literally breathes them in!  The Old Testament reassures me that they are a pleasing fragrance, acceptable to Him (Lev. chapter 2).  And Revelation walks us into the throne room of the Holy One and reveals "another Angel, carrying a gold censer that came and stood at the altar.  He was given a great quantity of incense so that he could offer up the prayers of all the holy people of God on the Golden Altar before the Throne.  Smoke billowed up from the incense-laced prayers of the holy ones, rose before God from the hand of the Angel"  (Rev. 8: 3-4).  My prayers fill the air of heaven like incense!

For years I have wondered, "why incense? why fragrances?"  Do the Episcopalians have a corner on this?  Until I remembered that from the moment we are born, our sense of smell works perfectly.  Seeing and hearing are both a bit fuzzy around the edges, but babies are able to distinguish their mothers' smell within a few short hours after birth.  And our sense of smell is not translated into an electrochemical signal for our brain to read like the other senses are.  Fragrances come in through our nose and mouth and go directly to our brain's olfactory bulb.  No translation needed.  And we all know too how smells propel us through emotional wormholes of time to grandma's kitchen or our first trip to the beach.

What on earth is God saying? To be honest, I'm not totally sure, yet.  But in light of these verses and what I know about smell, I like to picture myself as a small child, laying on Papa's chest.  No words have to be spoken.  Not even higher order thinking is required (which is good because when I'm most upset, rationality wanes!)  He simply holds me and waits for me to exhale.  Then we breathe together. My breath synchronizes with His.  I know Him by the rise and fall of His chest, the grasp of His arms, and by His smell.  His fragrance that says I am received.  And I smell good to Him.  He is pleased and I have his favor.  His acceptance and delight.

Why smell? Because God is sensual. Can He really be about pleasure, pure and simple?  We all know the joy of breathing deeply when cinnamon rolls are baking in the oven.  Why wouldn't He?  I believe His eyes light up and His chest expands when He wants to take us into Himself--just like incense.   I impact Him immediately, no explanation needed.  My fragrance takes Him back to a time before the world was when He fashioned me.  Before sin ever entered the picture.  When ocean breezes and lilacs, falling leaves and apple cider ruled in my heart. The best of His world given to create the best in mine.  Likewise my fragrance moves Him to a time in the future when only His song will be on my lips and my jeweled tiara will never be tilted or rusted!  It is to this place I go every time I encounter Him in worship.  He and I, outside of time, breathing together.  Enjoying together.

Once I asked my then six year old son if he knew what God smelled liked?  Puzzled, he said he didn't.  I then suggested He ask God himself.  Three seconds later, he nodded and whispered, "peaches.  God said he smells like peaches."  Pure and simple.  I think I'll ask Him what I smell like . . . .

Thrown open Doors Wide Open Spaces Clear Air What's next?!

 

"But I need something more!  I've tried everything and nothing helps. I'm at the end of my rope!  Is there no one who can do anything for me?  Isn't that the real question? 

The answer, thank God, is that Jesus can and does.  With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma (Ro. 7) is resolved.  Those who enter into Christ's being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low lying black cloud.  A new power is in operation!  The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death.  We throw open our doors to God and discover that at the same moment that He has already thrown open his door to us.  We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand--out in the wide open spaces of God's grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise!

Those who trust God's action in them find that God's Spirit is in them--living and breathing God!  Obsession with self in these matters is a dead end; attention to God leads us out into the open, spacious, free life.  Focusing on the self is the opposite of focusing on God.  Anyone completely absorbed in self ignores God, ends up thinking more about self than God.  That person ignores who God is and what He is doing.  And God isn't pleased at being ignored. 

But if God himself has taken up residence in your life, you can hardly be thinking more of yourself than him. . . .it stands to reason, doesn't it, that if the alive-and-present God who raised Jesus from the dead moves into your life, he'll do the same thing in you that he did in Jesus, bringing you alive to himself?  When God lives and breathes in you, you are delivered from that dead life.  So don't you see that we don't owe this old do-it-yourself life one red cent.  There's nothing in it for us, nothing at all.  The best thing to do is give it a decent burial and get on with your new life!

God's Spirit beckons.  There are things to do and places to go!  This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life.  It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike "what's next, Papa?" God's Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are.  We know who He is, and we know who we are:  Father and children."
                                                                                              selections all from the Message
                                                                                              Romans 5:2-4, 7:17, 24-25, 8:1, 6-16


  You cannot be truly humble until you have a deep sense of being loved---Frances Roberts

What do Olaf the snowman and believers have in common?

You know the song--"the cold and the hot are both so intense, put 'em together and it just makes sense!" Crooning like Sinatra, Olaf sings "winter's a good time to stay in and cuddle but put me in summer and I'll be a " . . . . happy snowman!"  to which Cristoff replies, "someone's got to tell him!" and Anna quickly retorts, "don't you dare!"  We laugh because we know the truth, and his innocence is endearing. 

I wonder how many of us have looked in the Christian evangelical puddle so often that we've stopped asking why we believe what we believe.  We push past Olaf's uncomfortable pause as he hangs over  the puddle knowing that for a second he's facing reality.  Rather than stay with the uncomfortable or the unknown, we're quick to find a happy place.  The security of what we've always believed.  Like we've heard forever that our sin separates us from God, that He turned his head when Jesus hung on the cross, that He chooses some to be saved and others are doomed to hell.  That our lives are all about Him and to want anything for ourselves is selfish.  That holiness is what's most true about Him and my sin is what's most true about me.  That my desire to feel unique and loved by God is simply western individualism stamped with spiritual vocabulary.  That the goal of the Christian life is to be conformed to His character.  That I am still a sinner and unworthy of love and forgiveness.  That I don't deserve salvation and so I should be thrilled He loves me when He really shouldn't.  The fact that He loves unworthy me makes Him all the more glorious and me all the more grateful.   And that all those cool supernatural things that happen in the Bible are really for another time and place--either the streets of Jerusalem or maybe present day Africa.

I guess I feel like I live in Olaf's pause.  I've tried to wear these theological declarations and imagine what life could be like in the summer sun, but I'm left feeling confused, betrayed and aching for something more.  My appendages are in pieces on a wet tile floor. You may not feel this way a bit.  You might say I'm deluded.  That I read into scripture what I want to hear.  To make myself feel good.  We all tend to pick and choose "truths" to which we adhere.  I have no idea if I'm right.  I'm learning how to grow past the "good/bad tree" and give others freedom to believe differently.   However, I wanted to share some of the questions that gave me pause.  Questions I took to the One who gives me breath.

If You can't look on sin . . . then why did You come looking in the garden? (Gen. 3:8-9)
If my sin separates me from You . . . then how could Jesus become sin for me? (2 Cor. 5:21)
           and what changed between You and all of mankind because he did?
           and why would you come running towards me? (Luke 15:20)
           and how can your light be shining in the darkness? (Jn. 1:5)
If my sin is what's most true about me . . .
         then what changes because Your Spirit is in me? (1 Cor. 6:19)
         and how can I be as righteous as Jesus? (2 Cor. 5:21b)
If I am unworthy . . .then why don't You count my sins against me? (2 Cor.. 5:19)
                                  and why would you become one spirit with me? (1 Cor. 6:17)
If you demand glory . . .then why does Jesus say He came to share His? (Jn. 17: 22)
If you call me to die . . .then why did You say your offer was life? (Jn. 10:10)
If my heart is still desperately wicked . . . then how can I be a new creation? (2 Cor. 5:17)
If I could be one of the damned . . . then how can You truly love the world? (Jn. 3:16)
                              and how can Jesus say 'love your enemies' when the damned never have a chance?
If You are still angry . . . then did Jesus die to save us from your anger and not our sins?
                     and does my salvation encounter with You change you from rejecting me to loving me?
                                         then why did Jesus say if you've seen Me you've seen the Father?
                                        
If You looked away when Jesus hung on the cross . . . then why in a Messianic Psalm did you tell           David you didn't hide your face from him but heard his cry for help? (Ps. 22:24)  If You do that
    for David, a man, then certainly you'd do it for Your very own?
If You truly forsook Jesus on the cross . . .then how could you be In Him reconciling the world to     

             yourself? (2 Cor. 5:19)
             how could You be in Him and He in You? (Jn. 10:38) How can you leave yourself?
If I'm only on this planet to glorify you and take nothing for myself in worship . .
             is my need for glory part of Your very image in me or simply a nasty result of the Fall?
             are you threatened by my human need for significance? my need for glory? (Ps. 139)
             then why did Jesus tell me to freely receive?  what am I receiving? (Mt. 10:8)
             why did you tell me that a good Father gives the Spirit to one who asks? (Luke 11:13)
            
            
If I'm only here to be conformed to your character . . . then I could lose me and miss you completely.
     What fun would there be in that?

Fried Egg Prayers

 

"Simple Prayer is necessary, even essential to the spiritual life.  The only way we move beyond 'self-centered prayer' (if indeed we ever do) is by going through it, not by making a detour around it.

                                                                 --Richard Foster's

                                        Prayer:  Finding the Heart's True Home

 

What does a peacock have to do with simple prayer?  Because I believe the essence of being human, is asking the question, "what am I worth? do I matter? am I worthy?"  Questions a peacock has definitively answered!  He just is, in all of his glory.  I believe in our effort to "pray right" we believe our focus can only be about God in prayer.  After all we continually hear, "it's all about Him!"  If I make prayer about me then somehow I'm taking away His glory (as if I could).  Foster says, "but the practical effect of all this  internal soul-searching (is) to completely paralyze my ability to pray." 

 

Like Foster, I become so worried about whether I'm good enough, my desires pure enough, my motives clean enough that I stop just outside the doorway of His holy temple.  I may glance pensively in His direction, but then I quickly look down at my tear-stained, smudged apron.  Recently I heard a pastor ask our congregation why they come to church -- "because you're lonely?  you're marriage is failing?  for your prodigal child?"  In my mind I answered all of them with a resounding "yes!"  Before I finished my thought, he replied, "no!  because then you're making worship about what you get out of it.  And it's not about your needs, it's about worshiping the Holy God!"  My jaw dropped.

 

Did Jesus not say, "come to Me all you who are weary and heavy laden?"  Beth Moore profoundly asks this same question in a different way.  "In the dark of night, down deep in your soul, do you believe God is a giver or a taker?" (rough paraphrase from The Inheritance study).  Wow.  I have to admit I have believed He takes.  He takes credit, he takes my will, he takes control, and He takes glory.   He takes freedom, too much time, and my talents to use up.   I can't keep anything worth holding.  He takes what matters to me.  We move again and again, best friends are killed, husbands go to war.

 

 Funny my mind goes to this goofy picture I made at three years old.  It's a scribbled face with what I call "fried egg eyes."  I offerred up this icon of myself to the only thing I knew that resembled God--Santa Claus.   My mom I guess had had enough of the security blanket I toted around.  Probably looked like my daughter's tattered afghan we affectionately called, "the Shred."  I still have the note I dictated to Santa; my first letter to him-- "Dear Santa, I don't have my blanket anymore and throw it out.  I will go to sleep and close my eyes.  Please bring me Tippee Tumbles and Baby First Step for Christmas.  I am a very good girl especially since I threw away my blanket.  It's fun to be a big girl and not a baby."  And with that blanket went my security and all I knew to be safe.  I guess He needed it more than I did.  

 

Foster concludes, "we will never have pure enough motives . . . to pray rightly.  We simply must set all these things aside and begin praying.  In fact, it is in the very act of prayer itself--the intimate, on-going interaction with God--that these matters are cared for in due time. . . What I'm trying to say is that God receives us just as we are and accepts our prayers just as they are.  in the same way that a small child cannot draw a bad picture so a child of God cannot offer a bad prayer.  But when we pray, genuinely pray, the real condition of our heart is revealed.  This is as it should be.  This is when God truly begins to work with us.  The adventure is just beginning." (Prayer, pgs. 10-11)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seeing the God whose Face perceives us

                                         "The Sound of Silence"--Martha Kilpatrick

Mary lived in profound silence.
In all three episodes she is quiet.
            Only one small quote is recorded.
            And it was a plea directed to Jesus, not for the ears of people.

The message of her life:  not a legacy of words
                  rather the stark absence of talk,    a silence . . . rare and mystifying.

The only voice in her life was Jesus'.  He spoke for her, about her . . . in defense of her.
Mary had no drive to explain, no compulsion to be heard.
                 no obsession to be understood.

Lust for audiences had been abandoned.  All such had died in her.
        She had found her soul's understanding in Him.
        She had been still enough to know she was heard
                                                 and now --in quiet --
                                                 she could listen.

Our idea of prayer is to hurl words at God.
        Mary knew prayer as silence in His presence,
                       to listen . . . without the audacity to speak . . .

"The Lord is in His Holy Temple, let all the earth keep silence before Him."  Habakkuk 2:20

The world is a swirl of noise, a loud competition of voices, in piles of useless words.
                                             Mary neither entered it nor heard it.
The only words she strained to hear were the captivating Words of God in Christ,
                                                                         full of Living Eternity.
And they were --for her -- priceless,
                          the only Words worth hearing.

Silence is one thing - amazing in itself -
             but stillness is a rare internal quiet
                             a peace of mind
                             a rest of the heart,
             by having found one's long lost home . . .
                             in the Soft Presence of God.

Mary found serenity before she entered stillness.  True quiet issues from inviting God
      into the long-sealed chanbers of the soul and letting His invasion calm our native hysteria.

Self-centered talk is the expression of pride, of not having seen the
                             God whose Face perceives us.
Meekness is not natural to a humanity that thinks it is superior to its own Creator.
Humility is the quality of having had vain illusions cremated by the Burning Love of Christ.

Silence is born of humility, the awareness that you have
               out of your self-taught ideas
               nothing to speak worth hearing.
It is having encountered God by His True Size
                breathtaking and magnificent
                and seeing the contrast between you and Him.

It is the exact measure of your consciousness of God and the proof of your confidence in Him . . .
              that He really IS . . .
                              the God you want Him to be,
                              nothing less and so much more.

We do not grasp the Holy Gentleness of God.
If we insist on
           the babble of our crude humanity, charmed by the sound of our own noise, then
this God of Kindness will stand back,
           robed in His Tranquil Dignity
           and let us have the vain spotlight
                       of endless talk.
 His voice is not in storm or wind, not in earthquake nor fire.
We could not bear that voice in
                       the Fullness of such Measureless Energy.
As Elijah learned, His voice was still and small, "delicate and whispering."

Jesus said to his disciples, "What you hear whispered in your ear  . . ."

If humanness will merely be still,
      The entire Trinity will come forth
                        and speak
       by a whisper in the silence . . .
       heard by no one else.

Do your Kids Deserve Adoption?? warning: thoughts in process

The kitchen door slammed for the hundredth time against our faded pistachio wall.  Frames rattled their annoyance right along with mine.  I turned with a jerk.  Sweat drizzled down her dirt-stained cheeks.  Her face flushed, she ran in and tugged at my shorts, "mommy can I have some water?  The butterflies won't let me catch them!"  Turning toward her, I got down on my knees, Tinker Bell cup in hand, smiled sweetly and said, "I'd be thrilled to offer you this water, but first I need to remind you that you don't deserve this.  didn't you slam the door open?  look at the mud you brought into the house!  It's all over your face."  With arms outstretched, "I really shouldn't offer you my kindness, and you need to remember that.  Now doesn't that make the reality that I'm giving you this water even more special?  I really shouldn't but I'm going to.  Because it really is all about me.  Delight in my water.  I'm so generous I'm going to overlook the messes you continually make.  I'll overlook the circumstances of your birth.  Because that's who I am. There's nothing you've done that could earn my water.  Now that we both know the playing terms, feel free to drink."

Is anyone else choking?!  I know it's a crazy analogy but I needed to flesh out what my throat does every time I hear "I don't deserve you Jesus."  The Christian group Plumb has a beautiful song with those words in the title.   I'm singing loudly in my van but I can't choke those words out.  I can't get past that wall of shame to receive the hug on the other side.  "Not deserving" is like a thorn that snags the sweater of warmth and comfort.  By singing the words it's as if I have to pay homage--bow to the God who reminds me that I'm unworthy.  Do You want my unworthiness continually before me?  Are you saying that I need to acknowledge that when it comes down to it, You really shouldn't love me?  Like a leash around my ankles, You'll yank if I get too far into a kingdom of freedom.  I still have to pay, even if it's remembering I'm unworthy and undeserving.  I drop my sweaty worthless coin in the bucket at the doorpost of your throneroom.  Maybe you'll think I'm special if I humbly remind you there's nothing special about me.  As I bow my knee before a holy God and look into His pleading eyes--I speak the words, "I'm so undeserving." Where does my gaze fall? to my dirt-stained sneakers. I can't say the words and hold His gaze.

If you've adopted a child, how long would you want them to whisper, "I didn't deserve this rescue" as you tuck them under the covers? a year later would it bring tears to your eyes to hear them playfully singing off the back porch, "you didn't have to love me, but you did, I'm so undeserving, unworthy of your love"? Do you keep their adoption papers on the kitchen table, so that with every bite they're reminded from whence they came? Did the word "deserve" ever enter your mind as you were anxiously, longingly scanning websites looking for your adoptive child? When do the terms of their entry into your kingdom become overtaken by their daily presence within it? Why can we say that every child deserves a safe, loving home simply because they are human, but yet we get nervous when someone suggests we deserve God's forever home?

At this point in the discussion my opponents would make sure that I make the distinction between deserving love and deserving forgiveness. No I can't do anything to earn forgiveness- I get that- but
unfortunately Christians get caught in this whirlpool that filters the real truth of adoption down to the bottom of the pool and get distracted with all the unworthy leaves swirling on top. Once we have found our way back home, the adoption is sealed. Done. Over. Your past, your failures, your neediness are no longer on the table for discussion. The prodigal Father shouted "Quickly!!" Why? so that his son's shame wouldn't overtake him. Not for a minute did the Father need to hear his son's confession. His son's act of returning told Him everything He needed to know.

Abba what do I need to know? "Elaine, please walk through the doorway of the cross.  There's a whole kingdom to explore.  By believing you're not deserving, you paint Me with one hand open and one hand closed.  Why do you need to keep reminding Me you're unworthy?  why shouldn't I love?  because you believe what's wrong with you  is way bigger than what's right?  which came first, the glory of Genesis 2 or the shame of Genesis 3?" 

As His eyes light up and welcome me into them, He speaks without speaking, "I'm thrilled to see you Elaine! " Joy explodes from His face!  He picks me up off those crusty Converse rubber soles and lifts me skyward, twirling as we go.  He reminds me that at the infinitesimal moment I welcomed Him into my spirit, He flooded me with the spirit of adoption.  His Spirit cried within me Abba Father and in a flash of lightning I became born from above! 

. "Yes, I say Yes to each one of you!  Always and forever love.  You do deserve it.  Why? I formed you in your mother's womb.  Let's Quickly deal with this sin issue and put it behind Us forever.  Behind the cross.  Now take My hand and skip into My kingdom of light and immeasurable glory.  Mine and your's."  Amen!

Pour it on Abba!

One day out of the blue, the Father asked me a question.  "Do you know why Jesus died?"  Sure, Father. So I could be forgiven of my sins.
"Yes and no.  He died so you can have access to come and know Me.  Your sins
are just in the way.  But He died to give you the right to come and know Me."

A week later He asked again, "do you really want to know why Jesus died?"
Father I thought you told me!  He said, "there's an even higher purpose.  I AM
love.  I was tired of having to restrain My love.  I wanted to be able to freely
pour it out unrestrained on whoever would receive it.  Jesus went to the cross
not just because He loved you but more because He loved Me so much. He said
Father I'll do whatever it takes so that You will be free to pour love on people
the way you want to."                                                 --Janice Seney
                                                                                       The Goodness of God CD

          
                 Daddy God, I choose to open my heart to let You be good and love me!  Make me
                 an amazing squishy receiver, a sponge, as big as the ocean, to soak up all the
                 love you have for me--  Pour out Your greatness on me in such measure that
                 others will come and splash in the overflow!

Taste and See!

 

In all sincerity she implored, "Don't worship the experience Elaine because then you'll demand more and more experiences.  Live in the truth that He is who He says He is and you are who He says you are.  Otherwise you'll grow discontent and seek the experience, not the Giver.  You will end up questioning God's reality rather than questioning your experience, your own dustiness."

How many times have I heard this? Too many to count.  This one came from a beloved friend at Pine Cove Family Camp.  The last person I'd expect.  And I felt a curtain fall down on my soul.  My heart wanted to push away from the table.  Maybe from the relationship.  I have to be careful.  Do you ever struggle with receiving feedback?  I need friends to be "disruptively honest" as Jesus was (Eldredge's Beautiful Outlaw).  Lord help me keep my ears open.  I pondered her ideas like a lemon drop in my mouth, gently pulling flavors out and was about to swallow when the drop turned into licorice.  I hate licorice. So I spit it out.

Abba, How do I separate You from my experience?? I find You in my experience!  I experience You as a Giver.  I know you as good.  You are my Source--from distant streams that never run dry.  To know You, to be in Your presence is to experience You.  Is she afraid to get you wrong?  She seems more convinced of her failings, her ability to miss You, than she is of your Spirit inside.  Is she suggesting I could pursue You apart from an experience?  Seems like then I'd only be receiving knowledge.  Propped up.  Puffed up.  Outside of me.  Plastic. 

I guess if by "experience" she means Christian rock concerts, mountain top retreats, even refreshing family camps, then experience becomes a noun, a place, an event.  I actually consulted Webster for his definition.  "Experience" the noun means to try, to put to the test, to prove, and anything personally observed or lived through.  Is 'experience the noun' something I attend where I'm demanding God show up?  I guess I could put Him to the test and He might fail and stay home that day.  Hmmm, then I'd be disappointed, discontent.  So the lie goes, "Elaine don't expect Him to show up and you won't be disappointed.  Or be careful trusting the Road Adventure, the Captivating retreat, or the St. John the Divine prayer time.  These could simply be emotional highs that won't carry you when the curtains fall in your life. Those nasty feelings.  They'll take you right off a cliff.  Trust the dry, crusty truth.  Who wants to wake up the dusty aching longings of the past?  Those giants are too big to tame."  I hear the accuser sneer, 'you know you can't trust yourself or anyone else for that matter.'

And yet Daddy God you reveal this mystery to me that Jesus in me is my assurance of glory (Col.1:27). Glory--your Presence within, your favor, your shining, your value, your beauty, mingling in oneness with my own!  To be with You is to be touched. Felt. Known. Heard--experienced. Lived. From the inside.  Not an outside event.  "Taste and see that I am good," you shout (Ps. 34:8).  Or do you whisper?  Sounds like Truth to be taken in--sensed.  Sounds like experience.  Raw, wrestling, bumpy, tart, soft, loud, raspy, wet experience.  Blackberries in summer.

Webster continues "experience in verb form means to undergo, to feel, to meet with, to endure, to encounter."  Phew.  Sigh of relief.  I can live in this verb.  "In Me you live and move and have your very being," You remind me (Acts 17:28).  Can a fish not experience the water?  So I choose to encounter and meet with the entire outrageously lavish Trinity every day.  Where love is a verb.  Where experience is an every day encounter.  One that intertwines with my soul.  As we dance, we impact each other.  He takes me in and I take Him in.  "I AM the Truth," juicy and full of flavor.  A person, not just a set of ideas.

As I was wrestling with this, He spoke, "Take Me in Elaine, like rich, dark chocolate and fresh lilacs.  Breathe Me in--receive Me as I have received you.  I receive you like fragrant  incense.  Your prayers tickle my nose.  To be with you is to experience you.  Your affections fill My throneroom like alabaster oil.  I continully give you immense love, wild freedom, and bubbling joy.  My eyes open wide and light up when you peek out from behind the veils still lingering in your soul.  A longing fulfilled indeed is sweet to your soul (Proverbs 13:19).  I truly desire to fulfill every one of your longings.  Did you know My name means 'to fulfill'?  I've hidden myself in this verse."

Sure enough, I looked up the verse and word "fulfill" in my Key Word study Bible, and the word for "fulfill" in the Hebrew is "hayah" (Strong's #1961).  The editors' commentary states, "the key to the meaning of the name Yahweh is found in this verb."  Again Websters' defines "to fulfill" as "to fill to the full, to carry out something desired."  Then Yahweh fill me! to the full!  I desire to feel, to know Your desires.  To burn from the inside with Your fire.  The Message paraphrases Proverbs 13:19 as "souls who follow their hearts thrive; fools bent on evil despise matters of soul."  Then would it be snarky of me to say to my critics, don't worship your lack of experience?  I plead for you not to settle for mere words about Jesus.  Eldredge in Beautiful Outlaw explains mere words about Jesus are useless if they don't point to an experience of Jesus.  Jesus himself challenged the Pharisees saying, "You have your heads in your Bibles constantly because you think you'll find eternal life there.  But you miss the forest for the trees.  These scriptures are all about me!  And here I am, standing right before you, and you aren't willing to receive from me the life you say you want" (MSG Jn. 5:39). 

Funny how Abba speaks.  Driving home from gymnastics today with my ten year old daughter, she'd been given a lollipop as a reward for hard work (and why are we getting exercise?!).  After a few licks of this red heart shaped confection, she shoved it into our trash cup declaring, "I can't eat plastic candy Mom."  Neither can I, Savannah.  Neither can I.  Follow your heart sweet child.  Your longings will take you right into the throneroom filled with pungent perfume, soft delicate orchids, and luscious strawberries.  Take and eat!

MORE

The Quiltmaker's Gift

"My child,
 I AM more kind, more generous, more mysterious, more pleasurable, more fun, more holy, more righteous, more together, more powerful, more loving, more here-with-you, more real, more abundant, more steadfast, more unfailing, more present, more whispering, more shouting, more triumphant, more known, more hidden, more glorious than you can ever think or imagine.  And I invite you into Me--into all the MORE that I AM.  Let Me flow through you awakening the crushed petals longing for life. 

Let Me breathe pure goodness over you, in you, through you until every pore is alive with life!  Let Me set you on fire with My glory.  For this child, you were made.  To pulse with my very being, my heartbeat.  You are beautiful.  Just as you are.  Totally enough.  Live in Me, move and have your being as a fish swims in the fathomless ocean.  Breathe in Me.  Let My waters, living waters, that well up to a fountain gushing forth flow into you and surround you.  You are wrapped in My arms of love, you can never leave."

Ps. 18:9, 16  He parted the heavens and came down.  He reached down from on high and took hold of me!

Remember, we get to live our rescue!

Love Wins!

"What?!! She's bringing her foster baby??  You're kidding!"  Not what I wanted to hear.  How could she ruin our coveted annual girl's weekend?  Babies and bed and breakfasts don't mix.  Why would she do that?  Karen says because the baby won't let anyone else comfort her.  In her short two years of life, she's had both arms broken and her bottom badly burned by the man called to cherish her.  My friend's introduction to her occurred in the crowded halls of Parkland's burn unit.  Doctors called the scalding pattern, "classic."  Others refused to foster her.  Her blisters repelled them.  Her wounds too deep.  Her skin too dark.  But my friend said,"Yes."  Yes to tears.  Yes to stares.  Yes to love.

When they arrived at the house, the baby seemed overwhelmed.  Too many new faces.  She clung to the folds of my friend's shirt.  Wide eyed--beautiful eyes--but tinged with terror.  Slowly her soul began to thaw, and she relaxed.  A smile escaped.  Did I catch a sparkle in her eyes?  And then this lost and rejected toddler said one word that tore through my mind like a knife-- "mama, mama--please, mama." 

"What?!!  She's not your mother, don't you know that?  You shouldn't call her that!  Can't you see she's one color, you're another?  Don't you know you don't carry her name?  You're only a foster child.  You don't belong--" came spilling out like blocks falling down onto the floor of my mind.  What is this about? I ached.  Why do rights, fairness and truth rise up in me?  Why do I feel that baby needs to know she's not home?

I think I hear loud echoes that whispered, "don't trust baby--it's not real.  It won't last.  You're fooled.  Keep your guard up.  You're not safe!"  Yet with every smile between them, every tickle, every laugh that escaped, the two of them shouted back, "She is mine and I am her's!  No scars, no wound, no color, no different origin can keep us away from each other."  What was so profoundly between them was bigger than anything that had gone on before them.  The baby's need to connect consumed her fears, her position, her memories of her own mother.  I rried to imagine this sweet toddler pointing to her dark skin, her ugly keloid scars proclaiming, "can't you see them?  This is what's most true about me.  Hold me at arm's length.  I don't get to call you mama.  I haven't earned the right."

That weekend I witnessed a miracle.  Love wins.  Love triumphs.  Pains and past recede.  She GETS to.  She gets to call her "mama."  She CAN relax.  She doesn't have to heal herself first.  She doesn't wear the label of "foster."  She doesn't carry any of the shame.  None.  She is her mama's daughter.  As light danced between them, my wounded soul gently warmed.  Thank you beautiful baby for giving me the gift of belief.  Belief that in my Father's arms, I truly am home.  Love really is bigger--what's between us overwhelms what went before us.  I can relax.  I am very much loved.  I am fathered.  I can leave behind what failed before.  I CAN live my rescue.  I get to!  And so do you.

Footprints with a Twist

I received this story several years ago from Lana Bateman.  I still love it!

Imagine you and the Lord Jesus walking down the toad together.  For much of the way the Lord's footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying the pace.   But your footprints are a disorganized stream of zigzags, starts, stops, turnarounds, circles, departures and returns.  For much of the way, it seems to go like this, but gradually your footprints come more in line with the Lord's, soon paralleling his consistently. 

You and Jesus are walking as true friends!  This seems perfect, but then an interesting thing happens: your footprints, that once etched the sand next to Jesus', are now walking precisely in His steps.  Inside His larger footprints are your smaller ones; safely you and Jesus are becoming one.  This goes on for many miles but gradually you notice another change.  The footprints inside the larger footprints seem to grow larger.  Eventually they disappear altogether.  There is only one set of footprints; they have become one.

This goes on for a long time, but suddenly the second set of footprints are back.  This time it's even worse!  Zigzags all over the place.  Stops.  Starts.  Deep gashes in the sand.  A veritable mess of prints. You are amazed and shocked.  Your dream ends.

Now you pray:  "Lord, I understand the first scene with the zigzags and fits.  I was a new Christian; I was just learning.  But you walked on through the storm and helped me learn to walk with you."
"That is correct."
" . . .and when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours, I was actually learning to walk in Your steps; I followed you very closely."
"Very good.  You have understood everything so far."
" . . . and when the smaller footprints grew and filled in Yours, I suppose that was becoming like you in every way."
"Precisely."
"So Lord, was there a regression or something?  The footprints separated,and this time it was worse than at first!"
There is a pause as the Lord answers with a smile in His voice:

"You didn't know?  That was when we danced."

Drawn Away

Just as a prism of glass miters light and casts a colored braid, a garden sings sweet incantations the human heart strains to hear.  Hiding in every flower, in every leaf, in every twig and bough, are reflections of the God who once walked with us in Eden.  --L.B. Cowman

"I will come again and again for you.  Bounding over the hills like the great Shepherd from Hinds' Feet.  I call you hungering with fire!  I will set you ablaze my diamond fire.  You are that prism!  catching My light, casting a colored braid that twists and surrounds those I love.

Yes, I see you.  I receive you.  You touch Me.  You always have.  Come away with Me.  Stop wrestling with My creation (people).  That is time wasted.  Waste time with Me, the lover of your soul.  Time with Me is never wasted.  It's glorious--and so are you, My little one.  My dew drop.  Sparkle, child.  Reflect Me.  Worship Me--for only I am worthy of worship.  No one else--when you wrestle with them, you're worshiping your own experience and judgments.

So why don't they get it?  get me?  "It's not your story.  Pray for them."

God's holy beauty comes near you, like a spiritual scent, and it stirs your drowsing soul . . . He creates in you the desire to find Him and run after Him--to follow wherever He leads you, and to press peacefully against His heart wherever He is.  --St. John of the Cross

Joy is the flag flown high

from the castle of my heart

when the King is in residence there.

So let it fly in the sky

Let the whole world know

That the King is in residence there!

 

--anonymous childrens' song

Ponies and Precious Jewels

Three years ago I traveled to my very own Mt. Sinai.  I journeyed to Redding, CA nestled in a very HOT valley of 10,000 foot piney mountains.  I attended a writer's conference featuring Paul Young, the author of The Shack.  Here's my testimony that I posted on their website:

I hear some people find precious gems in the bookstore at Bethel.  For me, I found out that I am His precious jewel in the bookstore at Bethel!  A friend told me about the conference whose pastor did indeed find a gem on the bookstore counter last December.  I wondered as I went if God had gems and gold dust in mind for me.

Early Monday morning before the conference, God brought me beauty and stillness at the Arboretum and a shining smile on the Sundial bridge.  A gifted musician saw the sparkles on my shirt and sang, "Jesus, you are a precious jewel."  As Abba so often does, He held up a mirror and reflected this praise offering back in my direction.  "You are a precious jewel Elaine, and I love how you sparkle for Me," He whispered to my heart.

After the conference I got in my car to leave, but then I remembered I wanted to buy yet another book.  Deborah behind the counter graciously chatted with me and then offered to pray.  When she took my hand, she bowed her head, then looked at my wedding ring and jerked her head back up.  God projected an image from the movie Aladdin onto her heart's screen.  She saw the lion roar, "Only the diamond in the rough can enter the sacred cave!"  Deborah proclaimed, "You feel like a diamond in the rough.  But that suggests a process yet to be finished.  God wants you to know you are completed.  You're polished and shining, a perfect one-of-a-kind cut.  A God-cut, not man made.  You are so precious to Him, a very precious jewel--a diamond.  He wants you to live in His smile."

Deborah laughed a bit because she worried how I might receive a word from Aladdin.  With tears streaming, I reassured her that I tell my friends if I could be reborn, it would be in my daughters' fairy princess movies!  I thanked her and headed for the prayer chapel.  I guess I wanted an encore.  I sat at Jesus' feet in that transcendent place, and I happened to open my Bible up to Revelation 21.  I don't really know how I landed there.  I caught my breath when I read, "And He . . . showed me the Holy City, Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God.  It shone with the glory of God and its brilliance was like that of a very precious jewel" (Rev. 21:10-11).  Could there be any doubt?

Getting up to leave, I noticed a couple sitting behind me.  I had seen them earlier and overheard that they traveled all the way from Florida.  The man wanted prayer for his diabetes.  I sensed God speaking again, but this time He called me to encourage them.  In the thin air of Bethel's heavenly places, I didn't even question His call to obedience.  I got up and positioned myself outside the door, ready with His affectionate ambush.  They stepped through the door and I declared, "This may seem a bit strange, but Jesus calls you His cowboy, and He's telling you, 'Let's ride!'  But I don't know if He means horses or motorcycles.  I see both.  He really loves you, and He's going to heal you.  Now it's time to ride with Him."

I paused, a bit unsure how my Bonanza word would resonate with them.  I glanced at his wife, tears spilling freely onto her cheeks.  "I know exactly what He means," she said.  "My husband just retired from long haul trucking.  Seven years ago before he got diabetes and almost died, we used to ride motorcycles.  And I loved it best when he wore his cowboy hat and boots!  And God showed me years ago a vision of Jesus and I riding up a mountain on a white horse.  It's time for us to move with Him."

My jaw flew open.  I told them I was a bit new with this prophecy-thing.  Recently when I shared with my church life group that I was a bit bored with my old spiritual gifts of mercy and exhortation, and I wanted to move in prophecy, miracles, and healing, a man sitting next to me retorted,"It's not like it's a wish list you know!"  But before I came to Bethel, a prophet at my friend's church declared that God was about to release His prophetic voice into my life, and a breakthrough for my family would result. 

So when my new friend cowboy Chuck offered to pray for me, I accepted eagerly.  "You are a diamond in the rough," he began . . . and now I felt like I was IN a movie!   "But God has made you His perfect diamond, a pure cut precious gem."  Linda exclaimed, "I see it too!  a marquis-cut diamond!"  I don't know how I remained standing.  They continued to pray that God would awaken the dead places quickly within me and release me into His prophetic flow.  "A shifting in the giftings is taking place," Linda said.  I began to laugh after we finished, and I couldn't stop for several minutes sitting in my black rental car.  So this is what a testimony is!

My denoument occurred when I got stranded in Denver due to a delayed flight.  I had a quiet moment at the hotel to reread over my notes from the conference (that's all I had to read; all those books I bought were in the bowels of the airport).  At the first session I had written in the margin of my notes about hearing the guitarist sing that Jesus was a precious jewel.  I looked again and immediately to the right of that scribble I noticed the words, "You do have something to say," spoke Kris Vallotton.  "You need others who see a diamond in the rough!" 

After coming home and adjusting to another altitude, I opened the door to the children's wing at my church.  I have to admit feeling some sadness after being 'ruined for ordinary.'  The door trudged open and before me as far as I could see on the carpeted hallway were silver, sparkling flakes glinting in the light!  "I go before you Elaine.  I have prepared the way.  I AM here and I know your heart--your shining, sparkling diamond heart.   Do not lose heart or grow weary," Abba shouted!  What on earth possessed the children's minister to celebrate the fourth graders' promotion with thousands of foil flakes?  Who knows, maybe he loves Barbie's Diamond Castle too?! 

"Oh Lord, You are my God.  I will exalt You and praise Your name . . . You have done marvelous things."  (Isaiah 25:1)

An Adventure Begins

Picture yourself in an ancient European city-Florence perhaps or Madrid. You find yourself at dusk, wandering through the older parts of town. Narrow streets are lined with dimly lit shops-pawnbrokers, no doubt, alongside various dealers in antiquities, booksellers, curious haunts harboring mysteries from far-off lands. Partly out of curiosity, partly out of a wish to avoid the jostling crowds, you turn into a musty parlor. As your eyes adjust to the twilight inside, you discover aisles crammed with Babylonian trinkets, Persian rugs, suits of armor, Colombian pottery. You browse indifferently among everything old and intriguing.

Then, something catches your eye. Sitting in a pile of forgotten silver urns and incense burners, it might have escaped your notice altogether. But it seemed to call to you, whisper your name. In fact, it is already in your hands. This is ridiculous, you think. You turn the lamp over and over most carefully, looking for . . . you're not quite sure what. Obviously it is from the Middle East, Arabia most likely. What am I thinking? These things happen only in fairy tales.

Something you read long ago-was it in Chesterton?-crosses your mind. "An adventure is, by its nature, a thing that comes to us. It is a thing that chooses us, not a thing that we choose." He's right about that, you admit. Alice wasn't looking for Wonderland when she fell through the looking glass. Come to think of it, the four children just stumbled into Narnia through the back of the wardrobe. Anodos simply woke to find fairyland had taken over his bedroom.

But another voice rises within you, urging caution. You've got places to go, for heaven's sake. Don't let yourself get carried away. The voice is full of common sense, of course. But the voice also seems old and tired. From how many adventures has it swayed you in your life? How many dreams left in the closet? "Closing time," calls the curator of the shop. He begins to blow out the lamps. Your heart is racing. Somewhere back in your mind you hear the voice urging you on to your duties. But it is too late. You've already rubbed the lamp.

(The Sacred Romance Workbook & Journal, v-vi)

 While I wasn't lost in a dusty corner of Madrid, I was with close friends at an outdoor market in Helotes, TX.  Betty and I were oohing and ahhing over real antiques--not someone's dimestore junk, but genuine articles like a Lionel Richie record, a first edition Mark Twain, a milk glass vase and lovely cats painted on rocks.  All of a sudden she 'rounds the corner cradling this lamp, saying, "here, this one's calling out your name!" 

Beautiful Jesus, You knew I had read this Eldredge devotional just days earlier.  You know the intense burning in my heart to fall out of the wardrobe into Narnian woods.  You know the pain I carry, some days feeling very crushed and broken.  You astonish me, Lord.  "I see you, Elaine, I really do.  And I have brought you an adventure all your own.  Don't lose me in the cobwebs and the dust of your heart.  I AM sweeping them away and replacing your tears with life and joy.  I promise." 

Bowed low, I am grateful.  I can breathe again.  And I rubbed the lamp . . .

"God"-iva Moments in my Macaroni Life!

I love that title! It's where I live.  I can imagine it splashed across a book at Barnes and Noble. Maybe one that Barbara Johnson would have written.  I want to share just such a moment.  It happened on my birthday during a chapel class at my childrens' Christian school last year.  Miss Rosalind had been teaching the kids all of the different names for God: Jehovah Shalom, Jehovah Nissi, and the one for this particular day, Jehovah Jireh--God provides.  She asked what does God provide for them?  Little Lacy said He gave her a puppy.  Brian said predictably He provides our parents and our teachers. Others dutifully added houses and clothes.  I was proud when my daughter said that He offers us grace and love.  From the back of the room, I enthusiastically raised my hand.  A bit surprised, Miss Rosalind called on me.  "What does God provide you, Mrs. Fish?"  "Raspberries,"  I proclaimed, and as my hand was coming down, I added, "and chocolate!" 

Satisfied with my originality, I headed upstairs to attempt to work on the school newsletter at the computer.  The wonderful mom who had created it had moved away.  With fear and trembling I desperately tried to recall her instructions.  After a grueling hour, I still had not formatted one text box.  The printer was offline and it had taken twenty minutes to hunt down the password to the PTA account.   I felt so incompetent and frustrated.  And very alone.  So many times I felt that I carried the school's existence on my shoulders (my control problem rears its head!).  If I couldn't create the newsletter, then I feared several past donors would dry up and blow away.  The phone rang.  Not the rescue call I'd hoped for.  My husband voicing some frustration at me for something I'd forgotten to do.  More failure.  And frustration.  I was definitely done with the computer.

My friend Mary Ann called next to see where I wanted to go for my birthday lunch.  She offerred to take me to Cheeves, the town's ultimate tuxedo and lace establishment.   Looking down at my faded shorts, my flip flops and my failing heart, I squeezed out, "if I go anywhere, I'd be more at home in Cracker Barrel."  You can find me somewhere by the old waxed lips and Bonanza reruns.  Minutes later, I found her and pulled my chair up to the table, wondering if I could make it through ordering without wiping my eyes.  She wished me happy birthday and added, "oh, I found this walking through Macy's this morning and thought of you."  Then she reached into her purse and put something onto the table.  Stunned, I looked down and saw a Godiva raspberry chocolate candy bar! 

I laughed out loud and shared with her my Jehovah Jireh moment.  My heart melted, warmed by Abba's sense of humor and perfect timing.  He truly reached down and took hold of me! (Psalm 18) and "provided" the best birthday present ever--I truly am known and loved by My Creator.  The next week I shared with the kids how He came through for me in the midst of my ache--my macaroni life.  I don't know if they remembered my story past lunch, but I've never forgotten.  Even today, He still makes me laugh.  May He bring you many more raspberry chocolate Kisses!

Wardrobe's Wide Open

"To know Him as he is, is to come home."--John Eldredge, Beautiful Outlaw

Something happens in my throat when I read that word, "home."  My eyes fill.  My throat tightens.  Why do we long for home?  I think of the faith walkers in the book of Hebrews who "were longing for a better country, a heavenly one," (Heb. 11:16).  C.S. Lewis concluded, "maybe we were made for another  world."  What if this other world arrives before the coffin closes?  What if it's just beyond the wardrobe door?  Lucy kept her eyes open and peered into another realm.  She believes Aslan exists and that He rewards those who earnestly seek Him (Heb. 11:6).  Why don't we press beyond the fur coats?  They soothe us with their softness.  They lull us to sleep by their warmth. 

What drives you to tiptoe past what you can't see?  What unseen thing are you craning your neck to discover?  What propels you into the unknown?  For me, Tozer accurately describes this yearning with his phrase "children of the burning heart."  --much like the Emmaus disciples who pondered, "weren't our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road?" (Luke 24:32).  Curiously, Jesus played hide and seek with their hearts.  He "acted as if" he had dinner plans somewhere else.  They had to beg him to stay.  Why Lord do you seem to tease?  John Eldredge jokes in Beautiful Outlaw, what kind of God spends his resurrection day playing tricks on his friends??  I'd understand better if Jesus grabbed a megaphone or a TV camera and shouted, "It's really me!! I have returned!  No worries!" 

Has He ever brushed so close to you, you felt His fur on your cheek?  only to run away again?  Did you know it was Him?  Too often I demand He shout into my pain.  I want real answers written on a wall.  What if instead He shimmers in silence?  What if He really is playful as Eldredge suggests?  A few months ago the wardrobe door flew open on its hinges, and Jesus handed me a glimpse into  another world.  Two weeks before school started my twelve year old son let out a wail as he collapsed on our couch.  In his world learning he couldn't be with his friends as he entered middle school was devastating.  I had made a grievous mistake.  I read the map wrong on the school website.  The city built a new school at the edge of town and drew the boundary lines to include our home in that catchment area.  Only I missed it.  For months we were under the impression that he would be at the old school closest to our home with all his friends from his former school, from church and all his sports teams.  No.  And even my crying in front of administrators fell on deaf ears.  As a mom, I felt I had failed my son.  I had worked so hard to be sure I had gotten it right.  My words, "I want to get this right" that I spoke numerous times to the counselor echoed back to me in my head.

You know, I think in life I work terribly hard to "get it right."   Even as I write this, I'm agonizing over following good writing rules. I've broken them all: too many "be" verbs, passive voices, and negative wording.  I can get constipated emotionally and become paralyzed with the fear of being wrong.  Maybe in this boundary situation Aslan called me into the realm of the invisible where "right" is not something I do but it is something in Him I already am.

As I ached for my son and my need to fix the unfixable, Jesus flashed on my mind the principal verse from Beth Moore's Inheritance study.  I rehearsed this verse weekly for six months (the study isn't that long but I decided to take it twice!):  "The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places, indeed I have a beautiful inheritance," (Psalm 16:6).  Whoosh--what was that??  Narnian snow fluttered past my cheek.  Oh.  Jesus.  "How could I have missed you?  You're in this?" I asked.  "Of course I AM, " He whispered.  "I have drawn these boundary lines.  You never got it wrong.  I know what I'm up to.  Trust Me.  Your son is My beautiful inheritance."  Then I realized over the past several months there were countless opportunities for Yahweh to reveal the truth to us--numerous conversations, friends admitting they knew I was wrong but assumed we had worked something out, so they kept quiet.  And so did He.  He veiled Himself on my Emmaus road. 

I hesistantly told my son the divine whisper in Psalm 16:6.  In our family we call this a "God sighting."  My son believed it too.  I asked him if he wanted me to pursue a transfer with another administrator.  "No Mom, it's OK."  That night during our prayer time he prayed, "God thank you for helping me get used to the idea of going to the new school.  And thank you for giving Mom a God sighting."  My heart exploded.  I was so proud of him.  Maybe I was "right" after all.  Maybe . . . it's even bigger than that.  God had stretched my boundary lines past the walls of this world.  Together my son and I saw Him who is invisible! (Heb. 11:27).  And I laughed outloud as He disappeared from my sight again (Luke 24:31). 

Lord, I will follow your game of hide and seek.  Like Lucy, the Voice I like best in the world is calling my name.  Help me push past the false fur of the world for the richness of Your mane.  You draw all my boundary lines even those that look like they're on the other side of the cliff.  Help me trust You in the unseen.

 Sometimes Elaine the best form of transportation is a leap of faith.

What is Joy?

One morning recently as I watched steam curl upward from my pumpkin spice coffee, I queried the Lord.  "What is joy?"  I wondered.  He whispered,

Joy is what you were made for--
Joy is where I AM, joy is who I AM.
It lifts you to where you belong
   in front of My shining face, My glorious smile.

Joy is movement bursting forth,
Joy is the song of the stars,
   pulsing My presence to the world.

Joy is beyond--
   the feeling of My lifegiving fountain
   pouring out your fingertips,
   effervescing fizz, bubbling over.

Joy is being fully satisfied--
   a quiet, solid rest
   that slows the restlessness, leaving all that is quaking  . . . still.
A knowing deep in the soul
that I have made all things right.

Joy is the dance You and I do together
  anywhere . . . anytime,
  lost in love.

"Wilderness and desert will sing joyously, the badlands will celebrate and flower--
Like the crocus in spring, bursting into blossom,
a symphony of song and color. . . .
God's resplendent glory, fully on display.  God awesome.  God majestic.

Energize the limp hands, strengthen rubbery knees.  Tell fearful souls,
'Courage!  Take heart!  God is here, right here, on his way to put things right
And redress all wrongs.  He's on his way! He'll save you!"  Isaiah 35:1-4 (MSG)

I would love to know how you define joy!

                 Gathering Prayer


Give me a candle of the Spirit, O God
as I go down into the deep of my own being.


Show me the hidden things.  Take me down
into the spring of my life, and
tell me my nature and my name.

Give me freedom to grow so that I
may become my true self--
the fulfillment of the seed which
You planted in me at my making.

Out of the Deep I cry unto Thee, O God.  Amen.

George Appleton

Rock On Sister!

Have you ever waited on God for something so long that you've wanted to give up? Are there places in your life where you've boxed up your hope like last year's christmas decorations? A good friend once told me, "you've had arrows in your heart so long, you've decorated them." She was right. Glitter is my friend.

I'm always amazed at my ability to pretend. Pretend the heartache isn't real, the longing doesn't matter, the weariness is normal. John Eldredge asks, "Does the king in exile pretend he is happy there?"

I love what God showed Linda Dillow about waiting in Satisfy My Thirsty Soul. She wondered with me what God meant in the verse,"I will watch expectantly for the Lord, I will wait for the God of my salvation" (Micah 7:7). It seemed contradictory to her. "Watch expectantly" creates the image of standing on tiptoes, peering through the window anticipating daddy's return from war. Yet "wait patiently" seems slow, unending, twirling your thumbs. She asked Jesus how do these two go together? He whispered to her heart: "Rock" and showed her a picture of a rocking chair.

As we rock forward, we lean looking ahead in to the future. Expecting. We confidently anticipate God is working and will show His power.  Knowing He will.  Then we rock backward.  Resting.  Remembering how Abba has been faithful in the past.  Patient. Together, these two rhythms of life soothe and comfort my anxious, doubtful heart.   Hmmm, maybe I need to pull that old glider out of storage . . . .