Today of All Days ~ As If I Were the Only One

2 Peter 1:11 -
     "for so an entrance will be supplied to you abundantly into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ."

An entrance.  It is written with such a sense of singularity, a pointed description that makes one wonder - does He supply this abundant entrance to me and to me alone?  Or to you and for only you?  A singularity about this word that causes one to envision an entrance hand-crafted, masterfully gifted and then given as if I were the only one.  Or as if you were the only one.  An attention to detail that portrays a love and devotion as if I were the only dear daughter.  It is as very needed reminder that He treats us each and everyone with such love and care that it is as if I was His only one.  That I am His best girl.  Or that you are that certain someone.  The apple of His eye.  An entrance supplied abundantly - for you, for me - with such astounding singularity; as if it were just for me.  

And the millions of saints who have walked before me?  The so great a cloud of witnesses?  For each and everyone.  An entrance given in excess, offered in abundance - as if they were the only one.

Those who have entered into that everlasting kingdom with their martyr's blood as garment, their own life's blood spilt as their glorious covering?  Entered.  As if they were the only one.  With singularity.  And great precision.  Given.  To each and everyone - as if . . .  

Oh and the tiny little babes that were sacrificed on the wicked altar of greed and deception.  Sacrificed by the very ones who should nurture and protect, slaughtered by the millions in a land that claims to be free!  And yet the most innocent of innocent,  the most gentle of gentle and truly the most vulnerable of all vulnerable are NOT free, NOT free one bit.  And they are willingly laid on the altar of Molech and Baal.  But, He knows and He sees each and every million into the very one.  He sees with singularity and clarity - as if they were the only little one.  And precious tiny life slaughtered, then enters in abundance to an eternal kingdom crafted as if they were the only tiny one!  It is a bitter-sweet understanding ~ our wickedness, the evil of this land can never altar the singularity of His love.  

He loves as if we, each and every man, woman and child were  ~  The.  Only.  One.

And on this day - today more then any other day.  When a great land stands on the brink of utter destruction, when the world as we have lived it may only be stayed with complete and utter repentance.  As judgment hangs heavy in the air and millions of tiny lives cry out for justice - and we cry out, beg our Heavenly Father for mercy on the land.  We say but for the sake of a few righteous?  Oh but for a few, stay Your hand of judgement.  We cry for mercy for a young generation to have one last opportunity to hear, to know some semblance of Truth, in a land that has grown dark and surely deaf to any shred of Truth.

On this day - far more then ever, it would serve us well to remember that He loves us with such singularity, with such precision and concern, that we can  ~  Rest.  In.  Him.  And to fix my eyes on that grand entrance designed for just me, and that way that He has hand selected for you.  And only you.  To know that He offers to each one a way, an opportunity - He gives a door home to me as if i was the only one.  

And in a land where we have chosen a deep darkness I am ever grateful for the Light that pours through that abundant entrance crafted for me at the foundation of time.  The Light that streams forth reminds these weary eyes that this moment, this day where I can not help but groan in deep mourning - He tells the same glorious tale that this day, this moment, is but fleeting, passing rapidly and these moments are gaining speed and momentum and we are surely galloping into eternity.  Here.  Today.  Now.  It is but passing into eternity.  

These few short days that are to come hold much unknown.   Do I myself believe that judgement is coming?  I do.  To the very core of my being.  Will it fall unrestrained tomorrow?  Or hit with force in four years from now?  Or drizzle?  Or gush?  For years to come?  I do not know.  But, it will come.  He can not ignore the cries of untold tiny millions of bloodlets spilt.  And His Word does promise that judgement comes to the house of God first (1Peter 4:17).  We are first, and rightly so.

And yet today - day of all days.  He points to that entrance - that singular entrance that stands wide open calling me Home.  And it reminds me that He is a Father Who loves me as if, as if I were the only one. 

In the dark days that lay ahead - that is enough.  Always.  Eternally.  Enough. 

Lately

There has been this thing of late - this weighty thing, a heaviness as lead to the legs.  And it has truly laid me land-locked, tethered tightly to the fleeting.  Sadly, so tethered tightly to the fleeting.  It is a tethering I most surely despise, being mortared to the mortal.  I know where I belong, where I should be ~ somewhere amongst the lofty breeze, head in the clouds and firmly following the foundational truth, the truth ~ that I am merely passing through and no need to be land-locked nor tethered tightly.

And yet, I have allowed it, again.  Oh, why do I permit it?  It has been my reality for weeks, but only because I tolerate the tethering.

But, she has said this thing, "Your most recent writings had expressed more mercy, a deeper grace . . . "  In the moment, I was unsure of that meaning.  And yet, I have heard those words many times over as I have lamented over the lead in the legs of late.

And He quietly whispers, "It is Truth, this mercy and grace."  And then, I slip into very well worn paths of but . . .  my choices of late do not warrant any mercy or grace?  And He calmly tells the same tale of me, and Him ~ "Truly your choices of late do not warrant mercy or grace but, then again, have they ever?  It is nothing to do with your choices and everything to do with My Choice.  My Choice chose to die so I could offer grace and mercy to the likes of you."

I don't know why I struggle to know this lesson He lays bare again and again.   A deeply rooted pride I do believe - a certainty in my self-assurance to accomplish or attain.  Until, I fail, again.  And then the self-assurance falls to self-loathing and I live faltering from one side of the pendulum swing to the other.

And yet, He still writes of a mercy and a grace, He writes the same story, tried and true, on the lines of my life.  I so often falter and flounder when I know of a better way, but He always answers with the same - an Answer of mercy and grace.

Will another brush with majestic mercy and heavenly grace be enough to lay waste to the lead in my legs?

I do not know.  I pray so.

But, regardless of lead in legs or a spirit soaring with the Son ~ He is still always Mercy and Grace to His people.

Years Into Decades . . .

I had measured not in hours or days, neither weeks nor months.  But, years.  I had measured and I still do measure in years.  And in one, I measure not by mere years, but by decades.

The measure of the waiting, waiting in years, decades.  I measure the waiting and gage the hoping on the linear scale, knowing that He is not linear and surely not measurable.  I grapple with His reality and try desperately to release my reality.  I grasp at His truth and cling tightly to a dimensionless God, He does not hold to 3-dimensions as my flesh is confined to, and He surely does not lay on my linear time-line.  I often feel trapped by space and time, caged by years and decades, a prisoner to the waiting.  But, in Truth, I am only trapped, caged and a prisoner when I permit it.  Allow it.  Own it.  And wear it.

For my flesh may lay on linear line but my spirit is linked to dimensionless God and a time-less Wonder.

Either I walk in the flesh as prisoner and captive; or I bask in the Spirit, limit-less and free.  My choice.

In one longing, I measure in year.  Just now, completed year.

In another, I count long years.  Hard fought years.

And in the last, decades.  Decades of longing.  Decades of waiting.  And decades of hoping.  

And as days have marched into years and years have galloped into decades, one would wonder at this word ~ hoping.  Hope.  How can one hope after years, decades?  And yet, my Hope lies far stronger and far more powerful on this end of the hoping and the waiting and certainly the years of praying.  I feel it my bones and I wage war with it against my flesh.  And my matter buried in my marrow does certainly know that the wonder of my Hope can not be quenched, caged or buried, even under years, not even under decades of years.

There may have been a time when you could have worried me out of my hoping, my believing.  I may have been willing to indulge the flesh and ask that awful 'why' question and quickly allowed a 'but when?!'  But, not any longer.


For        . . . I know in Whom I have believed . . . 


And all the years of waiting and the decades of wondering have not gone unseen by an all-seeing God and as He is NOT bound in the way that my flesh may lay as captive, I decidedly decide to grasp the limit-less God and know that it is He in Whom I have laid my dreams into.  I have laid and sown my dreams and my waiting into a dimension-less God and One that is so able, able to do far more then I could think, or imagine or dream . . . 

And I do dream, I dream into decades and I know the One that does not sleep, nor slumber Who laid these dreams and desires into my heart will deliver.  He will deliver.  And He will not deliver by my demanding or time table, He will deliver by His sovereignty and grace.  And it will not come even as I can imagine it, nor will He meet my expectations.  For my imagining and my expecting are so far less then He will give.  He loves me far too much to allow me to settle for my imaginings and dreams.

Do you know that?  Truly know that?  He loves you far too much to allow you to settle for your puny expectations.  For our simplistic dreams.  And He will spend eternity and open the heavenlies to show us how far our imaginings truly missed the mark.  Oh and on that day, that glorious day, we will finally know and finally see . . . 

And that is why after the years of waiting and the decades of hoping, my hope is far more powerful then I can even begin to describe.  The waiting has taught me of Whom my hope is in.  And that is worth all the days of unanswered prayers and all the years of wondering and all the decades of watching and waiting.  If it had all come when I had first begun to ask ~ I would not know.  I would not know Him, as I do now.  

And then after the countless hours of prayers and the well's worth of tears He brings me this ~

Psalm 147:11 ~

"The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear Him, in those who hope in His mercy."

Another layer to the bedrock foundation that He has laid over these years into decades ~ He has taken pleasure in me!  In these years into decades that I have hoped in Him.  He has taken pleasure.  I have brought Him pleasure.  As I hope.  As you believe.  As I continue to offer up the same prayer and hope in the Answer, He finds pleasure in us!  It is astounding.  It is freeing.  It is enough.

In the waiting.  And the praying.  And the believing.  And the hoping.  It is enough!  His pleasure, in me.  It is enough.

(And in the hoping and the believing over the years into decades, I have made a home amongst Hebrews 11 and will share of my home soon, Lord willing.)

Of Jesus-Freaks and Better-Seekers

It just has a subtle way of happening.  Often far from our own recognition of what has happened.  Often without our permission or even desire, it just happens.

Religion has a way of ushering in this happening.

It is that subtle settling for what is good, rather then fighting to hold to that which is better.

It just simply happens, we replace this better, His better for that which is just, simply good.

"But now they desire a better, that is, a heavenly country.  Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them."    ~ Hebrews 11:16

Those few who hold on and live to find "the better," He is not ashamed to be named their God.

Not ashamed.  For they, these better-seekers, know of the deep calling the deep and they refuse to wallow in the shallow, and they dive amongst the depths to know the better.

But now they desire a better . . .

I hear it in a gentle wind whistle through the leaves, I see it as dawn rises wide and wild and breaks wide upon the horizon and yet rising dawn wild with wonder is subject to the telling He.  The dawning light that bathes half a globe in glorious golden rays bows a humble knee to the telling He, Who determines the rise and fall of light and the rise and fall of nation and the rise and fall of man and even me.

I see it there and I hear it here and I do know of a better, a heavenly country . . . 

And yet, I also do know that the day will fill with math lesson and phone calls, and hours can be whittled away with unkind talk and worried planning, I can skim the news and plummet into an empty nothingness, a gaping black hole.  And then I am not one of the they, not a better - seeker; I settle for the here and the now and I let the better slip through my lackadaisical fingers.

It is a choice, my choice, your choice.  To be a better - seeker or a settler.

And in truth I do not believe this is a salvation concern.  At least not for me or for you.  But, maybe it will be for them.

It may be a salvation concern for the many 'thems'.  The 'thems' that are watching me and watching you.

I do believe there will be those in heaven who were NOT better - seekers but were simply settlers.  However, these settlers were likely deeply impacted by a better - seeker at one point or another.

Better - seekers are those rare ones, those people who have just a slight grip here on earth and very strong grasp on heaven.  I would rightly name them as Jesus - freaks. In some ways it can be difficult to even relate - they feel strangely unearthly.  Maybe even abstract.  And surely not relevant.  Many better - seekers are by in large rejected by main-stream Christianity and seen as 'too out there' (and how could that possibly be bad?) by the western church as a whole.

They are better - seekers.  And yes, they are a touch weird.  Alien.  Sojourners.

They are mainly tethered to this earth by two things - love for humanity and the reality that their flesh is still functioning, their body has not yet expired.  But, other then that, their desire is Jesus and "a better."  A better place.  A better land.

They are not phased by finances and they care not for luxury.  They are not ruffled by our offensive words to them or about them.  The better - seekers are not obsessed with the November elections for truly their citizenship is elsewhere.  And they are not impressed with your numbers ~ numbers in ministry, or bank accounts, or number of cars and the size of your jeans matter not to these others.  For those are numbers of this land and they are simply just passing through.

And weird as these Jesus - freaks may be, they are absolutely game - changers.  And whether you realize it or not - your game was changed by one of these at some point in time.

These rare gems sparkle with a glimpse of the other and in a dark world in the midst of dark times they are living, breathing examples of another way.

Now here is the hard, harsh reality ~ when Christians live life firmly planted to this planet - wallowing ankle deep in faith, merely enough to slide into heaven but still submerged in the waters of this wasteland about - they do not offer much hope of anything different then is already seen all about.  And by wastelands I do not mean the lands of depravity - I mean everyday, normal earthly living.  The wastelands of the struggle for wealth and success, for security and comfort, for friendship and people who just "get you" and "appreciate you," for the right starting spot for you child on the right team, for the right to be heard and the struggle to be understood and the endless wastelands of modern entertainment where ALL true creativity, authenticity, purity and any ounce of genius WENT TO DIE (leave it to the opulent and pampered West to truly decimate any level of true art).  The normal everyday wastelands of social media and the he-said and she-said and she wore and he dated.  And the wastelands of self-medicating with food or exercise, pills or a few drinks or many dollars.  These are all of the wastelands of this world and while we wallow and wade around here, the better is waiting and wondering . . . 

And the world is watching and dying . . . 

There is a better, a heavenly, and I do know and I do hear - when I choose to silence the wastelands and to hear from the other.

To release grip on this empty earth and climb up amongst the stars and to hear tales of Knight on mighty steed saving from the settling and teaching us of the seeking.  The better - seeking.

And we may slide into heaven but what of all the ones who are watching the wallowing in the wastelands and so they do not see the needed glimpse of the other, the better?

What of them?  Those thems desperately need to see us living as better - seekers to know this empty earth has no answers and to finally find courage in our living to look up to the Only Answer.

Bothered. Deeply Bothered.

It used to bother me.  Bother me terribly.  To complete frustration.  And agitation.  Truly bother me.  I would close the Book for the bother was so great.

" . . .  because as He is, so are we in this world."  1 John 4:17

That "He" is Jesus.  As Jesus is in this world, so am I.  Oh my, that bothered me.  Deeply.  And profoundly.  Bothered me.

For I knew deeply and profoundly that it was not so for me.  I was nothing like He was or is in this world.  I was far more like me in this world, then like Him.  And yet again, I had failed.  At another necessary benchmark, I had failed.

I was not Jesus in this world, I was me and I have sob stories from my sweet children that I have wounded over the years and hours upon hours recorded on the books spent in angry complaining to prove it.  Oh maybe, I spoke the churchiness jargon well enough to keep the complaining to myself, but complain I did.  And I knew Jesus did not complain.  He did not complain about me or about my children or about the fact that suffering and sacrifice were His constant companion as He worked upon this soil.  He never said, "After all I have sacrificed for you!  This is how you treat me?!  I gave up everything for you!  I gave up heaven for you!  And you reject me and turn from me and lie to me and steal from me and get ARRESTED!  Come on!  Seriously!"  He had not said that.  No, that was me that had thought that - on repeat.  Minus the heaven part, I had not given up heaven but I would have told you I had given up everything short of heaven.

It so deeply bothered me, for I had so profoundly missed the mark.

And I began to use words such as "manage" and "handle" - I had failed at the work He has set before me and the exhaustion took me to a place where the lost just need to be "managed."  And I knew that Jesus had never "managed" a soul on this planet - He had always loved.  Just loved.  Simply loved.

And yet, love felt so far from even remotely possible in my world.  My world was simply coping, managing, handling and surviving (dare I even admit that this surviving was simply surviving until a couple of 18th birthdays.)  You can judge, it is heartbreaking to write it and I know it sounds unbearably terrible to just "manage" the lost.

But remember, I had aimed for the mark,  ~  . . . as He is, so are you in this world ~ mark and I had failed.  Terribly.  Profoundly.  Deeply.  Failed.

I had truly wanted to love as He loves, love the hurting and the broken all around me.  I had giving it my best shot and I missed the mark.

Maybe you can not relate.  Maybe the love of Christ just spews out of you all over those lying, stealing, screaming, hating lost ones around you.  But, for me, spewing had not happened (at least not that sort of spewing) and so I retreated into the 'just manage and cope corner' to lick my wounds and pray for strength to rise another day, rise another morning and try 'to cope and manage' for a few more hours.

And at that verse I would close the Book in utter frustration and deep self-disgust.  I had tried and failed.

Enough said, I am assuming you got my point several paragraphs ago and yet, it is healing for me to admit it.  To write it.

For quite some time I have lived life as one who manages the lost and broken, holding them at an arm's length for I too deeply knew the cut of the lost, the sting of the hurting.  And I had learned that that the ones that hurt the most, were surely the ones who knew how to cut the deepest.

And my relationship with Jesus was, well, fine ~ I guess.  I had done my due diligence.  I had attempted to be as He was in this world and I had failed.  I knew He was merciful, even to failures such as myself.  And heaven was about His blood, not my works.  So, I was fine.

Somewhat empty.  But, fine.  You know, coping.  Managing.  Surviving.  Maybe more then somewhat empty, but still, fine.

He was never harsh, He knew I had tried and failed.  But, He is kind and merciful.  I was just not capable of being what He wanted or needed me to be in this world.  He would just find a "better Christian."  And they would do His work.

We had an understanding.  Albeit, a sad and disheartening understanding but an understanding all the same.  He would not strike me with lightening and I would limp along with my "managing" of the lost.

And then one day He said, "I think you finally understand that you can not do this "loving the lost" thing, that it is entirely a work of Mine, in you and through you.  I think you are ready for a few new things."

And as simply as He said, He turned it.  And a new understanding is beginning to be forged.  And the deal is laid deeply in the foundation of His love.  A God love.  Not a fallen-man love.  A God love.

And that is always has He had intended it to be and my vain attempts to do it any other way where just the necessary failures to show me how deeply I was incapable.  And no amount of self-discipline.  Or girding my loins (the XO's favorite).  Or grinning and bearing it for the cause.  Would do the work He had done.  In this world.  It would only be, only could be, a God work.  In me.  And in them.

A new day is dawning.  For me.  And for them.

It is His work.  His love.  His salvation.  And His mercy.

End of our Story.



Oh except for this one thing - I do have a part to play and it is simply this.  To lay down my rights at the foot of the Cross.  My right to be offended when you scream at me and tell me you hate me.  My right to be offended when you steal from the only people who attempted to care for you.  My right to be offended when the police call, again.  My right to NOT speak with my hands.  My right to defend myself and my home.  My right to be exhausted.  My right to comfort.  Or safety.  Or any luxury.  My right to be understand.  And of course my right to appreciated.  My right to be hurt and to talk about my hurt.  My right to my feelings.  My right to be heard and valued by my fellow man.  My right to retirement.  Or a few extra pennies in the bank account.  My right to my Friday night, or Saturday night for the matter.  Or weekends as a whole and definitely my right to a vacation.  My right to finish a sentence without an interruption or my right to NOT answer my 1,000th question of the day or the hour for that matter.  My right to not be spit on, or urinated on.  My right to be loved, coddled or pampered.  My right to rest or a nice meal.  My right to a "new" shirt that did not come from someone else's closet.  My right to NOT have to wait.  My right to complain.

My right to MY life and MY future and MY dreams and MY hopes and MY goals and MY wants and even MY needs.

If I willing lay it ALL down He will give me His heart and love for the lost.  That is the deal.  

And after years of "doing" I am ready for the "surrendering."  For it was never about what this little seed could do ~ it was always about how this little seed could die.  (John 12:24)


A new day is dawning, at least for me.  And them.

Of Fairytales and Fables

I had lived in a land of supposed facts and figures - all that is sensible and surely, always practical.

And yet, the Word became flesh and dwelt among us  .  .  .    And there is nothing of our 21st century reason found in this GodWord being wrapped in body-raiment.

But, the facts and the figures felt far more safe then fables and fairy tales and what success can be found in fanciful, flighty fables.   And yet, what is that other word that He has used?  Oh, yes ~ parables!  Parables.  And fables.  And yes, He did tell the story in such a way that many would shake their heads and cry out for, "More facts and figures!  Oh, do speak of things that bring success we can quantify!"  Our critical thinking skills and mastery of deductive reasoning does not permit us to hear the Word spoken of in a way that defies reason; and as He is the One Who embodies Defying Reason we simply can not speak His language.  But, that Word wrapped in body-raiment would not heed their need for facts and figures and He would decidedly do as His Father had said.  And His vernacular of choice would voice far more of a fanciful kingdom, then facts and figures.

And the world would be confounded by Him.  By Him, Who chose to wrap majesty and might in the muddled mess we deem as flesh.

And yet I do know - He speaks to me in a language of love that likens to fairy tales of old.

I also know what those around me do say - fairy tales and fables are for children.  Fact and figures are for the mature.

And it is so true - I see their eyes and hear their laughter, I grapple to answer their questions as we wander our way through the lovely tales of fairies and we face our fears amongst the goblins and feel the flame of the fiery dragon.  It is true.  I see it in their eyes.  Fairy tales and fanciful kingdoms are for children.

Thank you Jesus You said something of, "Come unto Me as children," and, "Suffer not the little ones . . . "

And that is how it was said and that is as You demand it.  Faith of the littles, who dream of Knight in White and the might of His steed and the splendor of the His kingdom in the sky.  Faith of a child.

Facts and figures and the world tell me to take my head out of the clouds and yet, time and time again I do know, I do testify - it is with head in the clouds that I do see this Word wrapped in flesh again and again.

For facts and figures have never led me to the Truth.

But, into the fairy tales I have followed my Father and found that He is faithful and true.

It is sad to say and very hard to hear but in our world built on practical and sensible, with all that is efficient and proven!  We leave little to no room for the Father to show faithful.

Maybe if you struggle to see the mystical majesty of the Word wrapped in flesh - maybe it is because of an existence founded on facts and figures, fueled by the world's system of thought.

Dare I offer a day or even an hour amongst the fairies and see if you can't find you Savior Knight on gallant steed, speeding with all His might to rescue thee.

A New Vernacular

It is a struggle, the writing.  Always a constant struggle.  For a number of years I struggled against the things that were said about my writing, or in reality, the things that were not said.  He graciously taught me how to lay that aside and yet, the struggle raged on.  I would then have to wage war against the things I said or did not say about my writing.  That battle ensued for months, that had piled into several years and I am just now learning to speak in a new way about my writing (and many other things for that matter).  And now, I find myself engaged in yet another battle and I do believe it is on this final battleground that I will thrust my flag deeply into the land, my land, that He has given to me.  And here, I raise my Tried and True Banner high.  My Banner has fought this war for me and through me and in the last throes of this particular war, I know I have victory.

May I share my final battleground with you?

My greatest fear when I put pencil to paper is simply this ~ that I will write something of me, rather then of Him.  I use to suffer under angst that you would reject it or laugh at it and quite often, that you would simply just not read it.  Then I lived under fear of my own rejection (sad but true) ~ I often did not like my own writing.  I spoke words of rejection and often found myself enveloped in my own satirical critique of what I had penned.  I had become my own worst enemy.  And then He graciously began to show me the futility of creation fighting the Creator.  And I am learning a new vernacular ~ hopefully a far more heavenly vernacular.  

And now my final stand against my own God-given calling ~ how to KNOW that I KNOW that I have not written of self, only of Him.

For in truth, most of you will not enjoy that which I write and far more will simply not read it.  And certainly there will be many times I will not love that which He pens, but with all of this I have made peace.  My final worry is ~ what does He want me to tell you?  What does He need you to hear?

And, is this particular scribe worthy of penning His message?

And at this crossroads I hear Him teach of a new vernacular ~ His vernacular.  I am worthy, simply because of the blood of Jesus that covers me and empowers me to do the work that He has set before me.  That is God-speak.  And yet, it is hard to pen ~ even now tears flow freely for I fight the temptation to delete those words off the screen, for they feel presumptuous - who am I?  And yet, He whispers, "You are my daughter and I asked you to write a few letters to a few dear friends.  You are my scribe.  That is who you are.  It is the Cross and only the Cross that permits you to be as such.  Do not diminish the work of the Cross by some degree of false humility and by disparaging the creation that I deemed of great value.  Value, that I would sacrifice My only Son for."

And because there is truly nothing new under the sun and the crafty serpent uses that same bag of nasty tricks continuously ~ it is likely that you struggle in your own wars.  And you hear words either spoken by yourself or by others, that disparage the creation that is found wrapped in your own skin.  And those words and that war will likely keep you locked in years of fruit-less battle until you learn a new vernacular.  You are not worthy because of you - you are worthy because He created you in HIS IMAGE and He sent His Son to redeem that created you.  And you have great value to Him and those surrounding you have great value to Him.  The image was marred in the garden but it was set anew on the Cross.  Your only necessity is to see you as He sees you and then to see others as He sees those others.  That is the work of the Cross - restoration of creation.

What is it?  What do you say to you?  What do say to others?  Or for those of us who live amongst the churchiness of our small worlds and have learned to fake the talk and barely gip along on the walk ~ what do you think about you?  And what do you think about others?

If you think anything other then ~ you/they have tremendous value!  And incredible worth!  And great giftings to be consecrated for the the glory of the Giver!  Then you need to renew the vernacular that rumbles and tumbles through your mind.

It is essential.  Monumental.  We need to see as He sees.  Time is short and there is much to be done and we can not waste precious moments wallowing under what was said about us or to us and our feelings of this or that.  The dying world around us desperately needs us to see us as He sees us so that we can see them as He sees them.  This dying world may get only one mere, fleeting glimpse of how He sees them and it will likely come through our eyes.  Our eyes need to see an image that was breathed out of the image of God - they need to know their value to Him, to see themselves as He sees them.  And God determined at the foundation of time to show them through your eyes and mine.

A Defeated Soul

I had read once that it was when Jacob finally wearied entirely of the wrestling and simply clung in a surrendered clinging - that God finally relented and touched Jacob with blessing.

When the wrestle is finally wrought out of your soul - and self is simply spent - and the struggle slips into surrender - and you know you are truly beat - and empty hands grasp tight hold of the Giver and you cling not for your cause but you cling for your survival - herein lies the moment when Giver gives gift and struggle of surrender ends in another saint.

If the wrestling has wearied you - and the fight has finally fled from you - hold Him in clinging grasp of soul surrendered.  And know in your final defeat you have entered into True Victory.

For defeated soul is surely a victorious saint.

Do not despise the loss of strength in self, for when the last penny of strength is spent, know you have entered into the Secret Place of Sacred Strength.

Halting Amongst the Himalayans

I had delayed.  I faltered in that fatal moment of the first foot fall upon the ascent.  I had halted and in my faltering I had forfeited my momentum.  I willingly laid hard earned traction at the base of this unexpected climb.

And in my halting I had hastened the heat of the day.  And now I stood basking or better yet, baking in the heat of the day.

I had had speed, momentum and I had lost it all.  And now, if I would ever be able to manage to traverse this climb it would surely be fueled and fired by something in the future, for I had faltered and lost the fuel of my yesterday.

And now, I was exhausted and frustrated.

And then He asked, "Why did you delay?  Why did you tarry rather then climb?"

And in a flash I knew the answer was simple and yet, silly ~ I had halted because this hill was unexpected.  We had just climbed long years through the Himalayas and as we had descended into the first valley, I had intended NOT to climb for sometime.  This hill.  Too soon.  Unexpected.

And in this halting I had hastened the heat of the day and yet, the hill was still ever before me.  And the halting had come in with a questioning, "Why now?"  and surely, "Why me?"

And the halting at this hill had swallowed whole the speed I had gained coming down through the Himalayas.  The Himalayas had been so . . . hard and so . . . harrowing.  Something inside of me said something of a 'deserved rest' or something of that selfist sort.

And so at the base of this unexpected ascent I sat and sulked and sullenly sorted through all the reasons why I 'deserved' a rest, a repose if you will.  And the longer I sat and sulked with my - SELF, the less and less I felt rested.  And it was certainly nothing of a repose, this was just self-absorbed, narcissism at its finest.

When I finally came to my senses, He kindly set my feet to stepping a slow and labored stride up the side of this hill.  And as we ascend He graciously grants healing to atrophied muscles and thank You Jesus for muscle memory!  For endurance forged in the Himalayas and lessons learned into achy muscles are still within.  Even after a pity-party at the base of the climb He allowed me to regain that which I had known amongst the Himalayan rises.

And on this earth we will know much of labor and much of climbs ~ my advice to myself (and to another if the other care to receive) is never to falter at the foot of a new climb but maintain momentum as you manage up the new mount.

He NEVER said it would easy here amongst these earthly Himalayans.

And we can all rest in heaven, in the meantime ~ happy and UN-haltering climbing. 

Mini-Miracles

I heard this thing once ~ that art, that creative lifestyle ~ is to put forth your best, your best creative effort everyday and bring about a mini-miracle for the world about.

And in that moment of hearing and knowing the reality of that 'bringing about of mini-miracles' I feel the weight of the battle that rages within, my conflict as a "writer" or an "artist," this conflict has been my constant companion for sometime.  For the flesh, the man in me knows that I can not produce a mini-miracle.  Mortal man can not bring forth mini-miracles.  Impossibility.

But . . .  Spirit as constant companion continually reminds that a surrendered mortal in the hands of the Immortal God become living, breathing mini-miracle.  And an artist is only giving color and shape to the mini-miracle inside their spirit man and writer only puts mini-miracle to prose through pencil.

An artist or a writer or whomever, that manages to bring about mini-miracles through their greatest creative effort are simply, surrendered saints.

What mini-miracle of creativity is He calling forth from your life?  Have you surrendered to that?  Have I surrendered to that?

What Can I Say?

What can I say to you?  What can I say to me?  After all these years, what can I say?

These years have simply shown this ~ that there is much joy and great delight to be had.  Tremendous Joy and astounding Delight.

Joy and Delight.  They are so entirely tangible for they are simply He and He is palpable, tangible here and everywhere.  And yet they come to me ~ to you ~ through much pain.  And sacrifice.

So much so is this truth, that the very pain of life and sacrifice of self will metamorphosis into Joy and Delight in self.

Look to the past, into the Ancients, a handful of thousands of years ago and we find first and most ancient of Fathers and he would know the first cut, the first slice, the first loss.  And so soon following this first cut, would come a rush of delight.  The first cut, the first loss of self would be followed by a flood of delight.  Our first Father lay to sleep and succumbed to the Surgeon and the slice would yield to his first loss.  First Father would lose of himself and would fine great joy and sweet delight.

In the splendor of the garden Surgeon would lay slice to first Father and the first cut would lay bare this man to yield forth the first loss, the first loss to man.  And loss would offer such joy, such intense delight that these handful of thousands of years later - man and wo-man would still slip longingly into this sanctified and holy delight.

Our ancient Fathers would know that pain and sacrifice would bring forth joy and delight.

They would work the field, toil in the land, sweat the sacrifice upon the soil and bring forth life.  And joy.  And delight.

Ancient Fathers would witness the ancient of Mothers endure frightful pain to bring forth life.  And joy.  And delight.

It would be common.  It would be understood.  Pain.  Sacrifice.  Toil.  Would yield life.  Joy.  Delight.

The world would soon know a flood of delight and joy - a tidal wave of goodness, the like of which had never been seen before, nor since.

And it would be birthed in pain.  In sacrifice.  Such a pain and a sacrifice had not been seen - He would endure the epitome of pain and such sacrifice, such a deep, awe-inspiring sacrifice that He would sanctify the very meaning of sacrifice.


And the world would know a Love of the heavenliness.  A Joy from the foundation of time that man had not yet held, had not yet touched.

And it came through pain and sanctified sacrifice nailed to a cross.


We take a several thousand year step forward and we find ourselves in a society sick with the lack of sacrifice and people who systematically refuse pain.


And we are lost.  Lost in ourselves.  Lost in our luxury.  Surely lost in our safety.  A society safer then any other peoples known to man - a nation that lives life into their nineties - and all our safety and lack of pain is KILLING.  US.

Why?  Because Joy and Delight our found in the pain and the sacrifice.

Matthew 16:25 ~ "For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it."  (or Luke 9:24, Luke 17:33, Mark 8:35)

John 12:24 ~ "Most assuredly, I say to you, unless grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain."


It is simply Truth.

And when we move from our air conditioned work space, to our air conditioned driving space, to an air conditioned eating place (because we do not even toil to feed our own bodies anymore, someone else will do that thank you very much!), to our air conditioned sitting place (aka couch in front of television or computer screen) - we do not know the meaning of sacrifice.

We live in a land of over the counter medications, restaurants rampant, coffee at the touch of a button, shopping at a pandemic level, churches that make your comfort and entertainment their primary concern.  And we know nothing of pain and sacrifice - in fact we run from it and encourage all of those around us to do likewise.  And yet, this NOT the way of the cross.

And this mad dash for comfort and luxury, the scramble for safety and security is the church, the Body of Christ is consumed with its comfort.

The Body of Christ spends far more time at retreat centers - retreating, relaxing, vacationing, and "healing" - then we do on the streets sharing the Gospel with the lost and the truly hurting.

We sit in air conditioned coffee shops sharing a cup of $4 coffee over an $8 muffin and we call this "ministry, building community, and developing meaningful relationships"  Or maybe it is just spending necessary dollars on unnecessary calories in a very pleasant and charming environment.

Next time, shall we try to take the $12 dollars and go sweat in the streets with the homeless dude, buy that guy, who may or may not smell like death warmed over, a cup of coffee and a muffin and hear his story.  That may be a little painful and surely a sacrifice, and now this is the makings of ministry.  At least the cross's ministry.

Our coffee shops wrong?  Sometimes.  Are retreat centers sinful?  Often.  Why? Because they have helped to foster a church culture that is entirely about self and sick on sitting around talking about how we feel.  And the real concern - we do not even know we are sick.  Satan has convinced us (which was likely quite easy considering our tendency to satisfy self) that "coffee shop ministry" and "restful retreats" are the way of the cross.

And this self gratifying ministry that sacrifices nothing of self is NOT the way of the cross and the church is failing the culture because we have substituted the cross for comfort and then we call that church.  

And yet, the Truth has remained unchanging from ancient Fathers to present - joy and delight were preceded by pain and sacrifice.

Common or Sacred?

There is such a depth of obscurity in it, such a bizarre way of being.  Too much.  Too much strange.  Too much obscurity.  Just too much.

And this obscurity You call me to - I doth much resist.

And then there came this teaching that Jesus was explaining to me -

 . . . when you pray, go into your room, and when you have shut the door, pray to your Father Who is in the secret place . . .


Secret place.  Behind shut doors.  If it was not Jesus teaching, this mother of 9 teenagers would have been entirely irate!  But, it was Jesus and He did speak of His Father in these secret places, in some sort of sacred spaces.  Surely sounds a bit of obscurity to me.

The obscure and bizarre He beckons me to does not seem quite so unappealing now in light of Jesus' Words.  This 'secret place,' this is where His Father is, behind a closed door, shut away from all the common ways of man.  That is where my Father is.

And of course, now I see it must be a 'secret place,' an unknown space to house the Creator of the universe.  Could He possibly be contained in that which we know?  In which we can comprehend?  In all that we find comfortable, natural is not to be that which could hold His majesty.  It is entirely impossible and we should dare not even think that He could be anywhere but in the entirely UNCOMMON.

He is to be found in the 'secret place' with door shut soundly secure.

And in the 'secret place' God of universe majestic is God to just me - little old, common place me.

And if you will securely shut door to all that is common and all that is natural He will become God to just you - little old, common place you.

That is one of the great secrets of that 'secret place' - when you or I willingly walk into obscurity He becomes my God,  just my God.  And yet, across this common place town and over all its common place ways, lays another shut door and in that 'secret place' He is God to just them - just little old, common place them.

It is a marvel of His majesty that He can be entirely everything to me and still be able to meet your timely need.

And what had felt too bizarrely strange (even for me), now in light of Jesus' teaching to me, now feels entirely exciting and overwhelmingly fulfilling.

Obscurity sounds terribly splendid now.  Doesn't it?

But, the world that we live in knows nothing of sacred spaces, it holds no honor for the soul who silently waits in His 'secret place.'  Our society sells its very soul for one moment of notice, one fleeting second in the sun.  Society tells us to bare all and in a perpetual raucous riot screams its soul's secrets to the highest bidder (aka - social media).  This is common, far too common.

But, the Word taught of another way - a soul silently waiting beyond the shut door to be sealed into His 'secret place.'  For Father God will not be found in any of our common spaces or natural ways.

And truth be told, it is not just our common way of thinking that insolently dares to imagine that God could be contained by our common ways, but it is a deeply rooted pride in self, pride in man.  We dare to say that our prescribed methodologies, our perfectly timed services, or our selfishly ambitious prayers could house God Almighty?!  Forgive us Jesus, wash us clean Heavenly Father of our arrogance that names you as common and attempts to house you in the natural ways of our thinking and the fleshy ways of our doing.

Of course You can not be found in our arrogance but You do patiently and loving wait in Your 'secret place' and You deeply desire for Your people to securely shut the door to our own ways and our own thinking and enter into Your 'secret place.'

If I choose, if you choose then shut doors shows the entry into sacred space.

And what had felt too obscure, I know see as actually too sacred.  And yet, You offer it anyways - to little old, common place me.

And little old, common place you.


(Matthew 6:6)

A Little Something Lost

A little while ago, we lost a little something here.

It has come so suddenly, so unexpectedly.  And then, had vanished just as rapidly.  It had just appeared and then . . .  disappeared. 

It was just a little something and yet, the loss loomed terribly large.

I had not asked for its coming, nor even dared to hope that it may one day arrive, which the coming without the asking almost caused the large loss to sting rather smartly.  It was a sting I was not braced for, had not prepared for - I had not even asked, nor dared to hope and yet He gave - and then He took away.

In the sting as I mourned the little lost something I knew there must be a something other that He was giving and was asking me to grasp for.  A loss of something for the gain of the other.

In truth, at first - I did not like the trade.  I wanted the unasked for and unexpected little something back - I did not want to trade it for another other.

But, a Father's heart beats for His children and my rhythm was out of beat, for His heart was beating for the other.

And yet the truth still remained, I did not like the other, I had tangled and tussled with this other more times then I cared to remember.  And the plain truth - I really did not like the other.

I liked my little something.  Nay, I loved my little lost something.

And yet, I know there is this dying to the little somethings that we love, in exchange for a harvest we can not fathom.

John 12:24 ~  " . . . unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain."

This is a heavenly principle I often despised; begrudgingly slinging my cross on my back, muttering things about others that I will not repeat here to muddy your innocent eyes.  But, the sanitized verse would sound something of this, "Why do I always have to be the strong one, carrying a cross?!  Someone else could take a whirl with it you know, Big Man!"  God is so gracious and merciful that He has not struck me with lightening about 18,000 times!

But, of late I have begun to relish the dying - the selfish, solitary seed falling into soil for the Masterful Gardner to create masterpiece with - it is a gift this dying to self for self is surely a surly sort.

And yet again, I asked for strength to die to the little something I loved and He answered and He gave  and I reaped a harvest unfathomable . . .

A harvest of a life and of love and a heart beat more closely in step with my Father's.


The lost little somethings in life will always reap the harvest bountiful - if we lay them in the soil of His heart.

The Ins and the Outs of the Gospel

Mark 4:11  ~
       "And He said to them, 'To you it has been given to know the mystery of God; but to those who are outside, all things come in parables."


It has been given - the mystery was already granted - and there is no understanding of mystery apart from the giving.  It is a story we can not read and a tale we are yet, too weak to tell - it was all entirely gifted.

Blind eyes open ~ Gift.  Deaf ears hear ~ Gift.  Minds unclouded ~ Gift.  Spirits awakened ~ Gift.  Sins forgiven ~ Gift.  Savior born ~ Gift.  Savior dies ~ Gift.  Savior lives again, victoriously ~ surely GIFT.

And yet ~

      " . . . but to those who are outside . . . "

This "outside " is a telling tale - the "inside" and the "outside" is not as we know being "in" or being "out" - the "in" and the "out" of mankind is yet only a self serving caste, used to satisfy the greed of  man's propensity to promote self, and only self.  But, Jesus spoke of an "outside" that entails nothing of the values that we so foolishly esteem; nothing of race or religion, certainly not of wealth, power or prestige (for the One who defines "inside" and "outside" was brought forth in a manager), it is not yet of dress or charm, further more nothing to do with degrees on the door or the size of the office,  whom you deem "friends" is of no consequence and the number of your followers or likes matters not.

The "in" and the "out" are certainly a matter of the heart.

A heart fully surrendered is "in" and one divided is "out".  For man can not serve two masters.

One can live in complete poverty, never having the opportunity to be of this "learned age", the letters on this page may hold no value to him beyond a muddled mess, a garbled lot - and yet, his heart is "in" and Master Teacher teaches him of marvelous mystery!  And man of poverty is esteemed by the heavens as genius untold.

And to us here in the oh, so modern marvel of the 21st century ~ the "information age" ~ with knowledge laying at our fingertips, and yet, so we are so dull in the mind and dark about the eyes of understanding, that we can not grasp at the genius of the Gospel.

Because for all of our knowledge, technology and modern advances, we live a new dark ages, and the light is dimming.  Fading is our window of opportunity to grasp genius of Gospel.

And the size of the sanctuary, nor the few dollars sent abroad to those "heathen nations" determines not whether you sit "inside" or "outside."  It is a matter of the surrendered heart and no amount of theological degrees determines a man's desire to surrender and your position "on staff" in that burgeoning ministry, certainly does not mean you have mastered your proud and sinful heart.

The Mystery of the Ages was given into a manager and the Giver gifted the eyes to see and the ears to hear, but out light of day is setting, and our time to see is rapidly diminishing.

There are many "outside" who hear the parable, sit under the teaching and yet never truly know the Mystery; for this road is narrow.


The difference of the hearing of the parables and the knowing the Mystery will differentiate throughout all of eternity. 

Divine Patience of the Genius

"The Divine patience of genius."       ~  Balzac

Divine patience.  I am sorely lacking.  And yet in my lacking, I still do consent the patience of genius is divine - it is a gift, gifted from above.  Perseverance.  Tenacious tendency to stay the course, to purposely persevere in pursuit of His gifted genius.  It is all from above.

The patience is entirely divine and the genius is certainly His and in its totality - this divine patience of genius - it is entirely gifted.

And I do believe this divine patience and divine genius lies within the spirt of every Spirit-filled man and woman.

For it was foretold of each of these Spirit-filled beings . . .

". . . who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ."   

                       ~  Ephesians 1:3

Every spiritual blessing.  Every spiritual gift.  Every ounce of divine genius and the necessary divine patience lies within your spirit-man (if you are born again).  It is sadly dormant in the majority, but yet, the reality of its presence is still truth.

The genius to create masterpiece to worship the Master, the gifted gifts to craft the words or spill the paint or to teach the masses, to compose medley beautiful and ornate - all the necessary genius lays within your bosom - the Word has plainly told us so.

Your genius may have been gifted in the equations of sums or it may lay in the way you whisper Spirit words in the ear of a wounded little one (the so desperately needed care of the least of these).

The genius is vast, it sojourns the expanse of the universe for Master Genius was creative beyond imagination.  And with the width of the genius and the depth of the brilliance it is ALL for such as this - the glory of the Divine.

Our culture's propensity to squander the genius renders all somewhat dull - the lustre has been lost from our longing to look long. 

We have turned from the divine patience.  Squandered the perseverance from above.

Genius is all but gone.

And yet, genius was gifted from the Giver and the Gifter can not lie.  Genius lies quietly, patiently waiting for us to decide - to decide to do it all differently.  To grasp the divine patience with a mad-fury and determine to allow the divine to kindle the flame of genius yet again.

Gospel is genius!  It is divine brilliance!  And the genius Gospel is ours for the grasping.  

Now, we must lay hold and work the patience of the Giver and persevere into the long night hour and begin to feel the warmth of radiance divine - the kindling and sparking of fire from on high.

It is a choice, we all must decide.  Our society and all that plagues our minds will lead to the dulling of the mind, a darkening of the divine creativity.  It will cause your spirit to slumber and your genius to be all but gone.

What say you this day?  The slothful slumber of sickly society or the Divine patience of genius gifted to you.