The Kindest Thing I Have Ever Seen

John 4 ~

She has always been this wondrous thing, this marvel of marvels, this woman at the well.  Her story, we do know a few of the sordid details.  Things were not as they ought to have been ~ the whispering, wagging tongues toted that tale all over town.  This woman at the well, all the women did know and all the wagging tongues did tell ~ she was not as she was suppose to be.  And all the whispering women make this woman at the well all the more wondrous.  She was not as she was suppose to be.

She went alone to the well that day, quite possibly to avoid all the finger wagging women.  She went alone to the well and she would learn a thing or two about true, living water.

The world constantly reminded woman at the well that she was not what she ought to be.

Five husbands and now another.  Adulterer.

But, He met her there at the well.  What a Wonder.  Taking a cup of water from an adulterer.  He certainly is the Wonder of the world.

I too know the long stares, the whispering, wagging tongues.  I was, I am not what I ought to be.  I do and did know better, but yet, I have faltered.

And I too have walked to many wells, alone.  So wanting to avoid the whispering, the murmurings.  Solitary sinner, woman at the well.  I know this place oh so well.  And that is why she and He, are such a beautiful wonder at the well.

Solitary sinner could not handle another long stare so she ventured out into solitude.  And this wayward woman would meet the Wonder of the world at that well.

The Wonder of the world.  He met her that day, He purposed a path to meet this solitary sinner for He desired, intended to share His saving grace with solitary sinner.

Oh, the church does whisper about the woman at the well.  We tell her sordid story, we sip coffee over her every slip, her mis-step.

But, the Wonder of the world does not whisper, He simply meets with woman at the well.  And He tells her a new tale ~ a tale of silenced murmurings and offered mercy.

The Wonder and the woman at the well.  Oh, fantasy turned reality.  Wonder and the woman at the well.

He is so sweet to taste, after long droughts of thirst.  And after the parched throat swallowing down all the whisperings, the murmurings ~ now the sweet of His offered living water.  Soothing balm to her parched lips and cracking throat.

~

I sat there silenced.  The priest covered in ink and with a few sordid stories of his own, he said these words that silenced my soul, chilled me to the bone.  "We know there are many Christian women seeking abortions because they can not face the shame from the church.  Pastor fathers taking daughters to kill grand babies because they can not face the shame given by congregations."

I sat, silence sinking like ice into my soul.

What have we done?  Oh sweet Jesus, what have we done to the woman at the well?  The solitary sinner.  What have we done to You?

Babies murdered because they know no mercy will be offered.  What have we done?

I sat, silence sinking into my solitary sinner soul.

I have been sordid sinner sitting solitary.  And, I am certainly sure I have been murmuring member of the "body" offering shame rather than mercy.  Oh, what have I done?

Savior slips me back into the details of that day.  Slips me into the sordid story and shows again how Savior meets with sinners.  And He tells me, this is as you are to do ~

You go into the highways and byways, to the wells where solitary sinners sit and languish lonely over their unquenchable thirst.  You offer them living water, not judgmental whisperings.  You extend a hand of mercy, not condemning murmurings.  They have faltered.

And I do so deeply remember the day at the well He met with me in all of my failings, all of my faltering.  You met me there and revealed to me the Wonder of the world.

I remember, I am woman at the well and I am whispering woman as well ~ I have been both and You met me anyway.  Oh, the Wonder of the world.

~

Often the church can be merciful to the lost but surely merciless to our own.  "Well, she knew better."  And certainly to be true ~ I knew better and yet, I still stumbled.  And the church was brutal in their pummeling in my stumbling.  And yet, I have turned at times and said the same words, "Well, she should have known better."  Oh, the hypocrisy in one soul can be terribly frightening.

But, I wondered at this maxim of ours, 'They knew better,' as we throw a few stones at the sinner.  The sinner who knew better, raised in a Christian home, has a faith foundation ~ how dare they falter!  I wonder at our stones and our justifications.

That day at the well, with the woman whom sat alone to avoid the whisperings ~ she said this thing, ". . . our father Jacob . . . Sir, I perceive that You are a prophet.  Our fathers worship here . . . "  And then she said this, "I know that Messiah is coming . . . He will tell us all things." (vs 12, 19, 25)

This woman at the well whom sat with the Wonder of our world ~ she certainly knew a thing or two of the faith.  Our father, Jacob.  Our fathers worship.  Here we have one who "knew," she knew better.  She knew the lingo, the vernacular of our religiosity ~ prophets and such!  She "knew" better!  Woman at the well, "knew better."

I held my breath ~ certain that my Wonder would throw no stones.  But, she knew better.  And I sat as woman at the well, adulterer with those sordid six affairs, that solitary sinner.  But, yet I stood a few feet away with stone in hand.  You see, I have been both ~  solitary sinner with all the sordid stories and I have been the stone thrower as well.

And my Wonder, has been neither.  I have been both.

I watched from both angles ~  saying not a word, taking not a breath.

What would the Wonder of the world do?  She certainly knew better, should I toss Him a stone?  But, solitary sinner aches for a gentle touch, a kind word.  I have certainly been, am still today ~ both.

Saying not a word, watching breathlessly.  As both, I can not see what the answer should be.

But, He does this thing, this marvelous thing.  The kindest thing I think I have ever seen.  To solitary sinner sitting at the well our Wonder reveals Himself as Savior for the first time ever!  There are no stones and yet, the sin He does not condone.  Rather He reveals Truth and peels back the veil from a mystery of the ages and He reveals Himself to that woman at the well!  Woman whom went alone to the avoid the whisperings and He met her and for the first time as we know ~ He declares Himself as Messiah!  (vs 26)

It is quite unfathomable.  Sordid stories received no blows by stones.  Her sin was not condoned but Wonder of the world threw no stones that day or any other day.

His response was all mercy and goodness.  The kindest thing I have ever seen.

Romans 2:4 ~ "for the goodness of God leads us to repentance."

As woman at the well and the stone thrower ~ I witnessed the kindness thing I have ever seen.

He reveals mystery untold that day at the well.  To solitary sinner with all the sordid stories.

To the church it was unthinkable, unconscionable and unacceptable to even pass a word with such a woman.  And yet, He offers mystery revealed and living water to that woman at the well.

And all our maxims about, "knowing better" and "faith foundations" ~ our justifications as we lob a stone, or pass a rumor, or isolate a sinner whom "should have known better"?  Well, I see with stone in my hand ~ we are just solitary sinners with stones.  All one in the same ~ sinners who have faltered ~ all who have but one Savior.  And our Savior never throws stones at a sinner.

A woman at a well or a woman walking into a clinic.  What would the Wonder of the world say?

"I who speak to you am He."  Your Messiah.  Your Savior.  Your Living Water.  (vs 26)

And the truth that she "knew better" is no matter.  He came to save sinners and we ALL are such.

Church can we lay down the stones?  Never throw at each other?  She faltered, she fell.  She knew better, but that was no matter.  He saves us all the same.

Oh Jesus, our Wonder of the world ~ forgive us for the tiny ones lost for the Mamas who could not face the shame we gave.

Oh Jesus, forgive us our sordid stories and our stones thrown.  You, Savior offer nothing but goodness that causes repentance.

That day at the well.  From both perspectives.  I saw Him do the kindest thing I have ever seen.

Cause us to do the same Jesus!

Just Around the Bend

Did you know it is but half a mile?  My slow sojourn over dry, dusty ground ~ but half a mile.  The rhythm would surely weary some, a slow steady trudging but a handful of feet to turn and return just as I had come.

Thy rhythm of but half a mile might wear on some, but my slight slice of road, is a slight slice of heaven.  Just a sliver of ethereal and my heavy footfalls fall are oh, so grateful for my sliver.

Dry, dusty road runs with the stream.  Trees and greenery abound.  Today, deep into the midst of earth's flowery bloom there are brilliant splashes of color expertly spread about.  Stream runs, ever running telling me tales of a better place, babbling stories of Grace.

In the rhythm of the run, the running water runs much of my worries and cares away.  In my slight slice of heaven, as sun sparkles on stream, I feel there is so much more than meets the eye.  I run in slight slice of heaven, heavy footfalls fall deep into Hope and Faith.

But, do you also know that this slight slice where I sojourn, ends at pack of crazed dogs?  Just right there, just around the bend are crazed canines that would certainly, gladly tear me from limb to limb.

I make my turn just before they would be visible to me, and I to them.

Many footfalls fall under their noise and clamor of their desirous growling.  I hear their angry cries often, demanding of me in their growling.

Just right there, just around the bend.  I mark my turn by their snapping jaws and very angry calls.

I sojourn my slight slice of heaven, a bit of ethereal splendor just on the border of their crazed frenzy.

Under the chill of the early morning light I wondered at this reality, my reality.  It seemed a bit odd to trudge and traipse through His beauty just around the bend from what might certainly be my death or at least my maiming.  Strange.  A bit odd.  Some would say possibly unwise.  And yet, not only did my trudging under their snarling NOT feel unwise, it felt necessary.  As if to say to their angry cries, their demanding of my flesh growling ~ I will not be forced as prisoner in my home.  And, you can NOT steal my slight slice of heaven.  You do not have that power over me.

I continued on at their cries, turned and made my way through wonderful sliver He has gifted me and then I heard Him say ~
           "He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty."  (Psalm 91:1)

Slight smile now carried me a few more yards.  This is us, this is His people, His remnant.  We labor and toil under the Son and He gifts us our slight slice of heaven we sojourn through ~ our Secret Place.  

And yes, we do know our Secret Place is surrounded my crazed pack of canines.  We hear their calling cries, we do know they aim to maim or just to steal, kill and destroy.  But, we trek through our days knowing and believing they can not alter our ways.  His ways.  The things He has given us to do, our slight sliver of heaven ~ He gifted it and we shall not allow them to steal it.

In our present climate I hear the snap of their vicious bite in startling and terrifying intensity.  The pack appears to have multiplied, grown rapidly in these few days, short weeks into several months.  But, against the Cross of Christ their angry cry is all bark and no bite and we must not give even an inch of our slight slice, give not way to fear at their foul cry.  The pack is yapping, crazed and frenzied for they know their time draws nigh.

I do know their incessant, crazed cries can be slightly overwhelming but this it no time for us to cower under their cries.  He has gifted us our sliver, our slice, our Secret Place and we must sojourn our sliver with full confidence in He who is able to keep us.

I trudge a trail under His blazing Son ~ a slight slice of heaven, just around the bend from their demanding cries.  He knew it would be as such for a season on this broken, spinning globe and underneath His Son blazing down He gifted us our Secret Place, our sliver.

Let us walk in it, run in it, rejoice in it and carry it out to this broken down world about.  They are desperate for just a taste, a glimmer of what we carry in our heart.

" . . .  He has placed eternity in their hearts . . . "  (Ecclesiastes 3:11)

Grace of the Ages

There on that hard packed dirt road, he flew just past me.  Just right there, just right before me.  Alighted high atop a tree, he did.  Dry, dusty road and sun blazing hot down and there he was just above.  Middle of the sun blazing day, he came to rest just there before me.

Grace.  Grace of the ages in those wings spread reaching, climbing through the air.  Grace of the ages in the middle of the sun blazing down day on that dusty road.

He landed high to the right of me, I froze daring not to break the majestic spell that had just alighted to the right of me.

His back was all he showed, at first, but I waited silently.  He knew I was there.  I waited, as statue, waited for the majesty of the moment to look full at me.  And then, just then in the middle of the sun blazing down day he turned those eyes upon me.  Grace of the ages in those spread wings and wisdom of the cosmos in those round, wide orbs.  He looked full on me, me frozen on hard packed dirt road.  He looked full on me and certainly deep within me, that sagacious creature knowing a depth of truth and creation that I have not yet even begun to scratch the surface of that knowing.

Under that sun blazing down day, he and I stared in a full knowing for an eternity of a moment.  He who certainly knew that he ought to have stayed under the cover of night, he had ventured this journey over my dusty day and laboring run.  I was quite certain he had been sent to turn those round orbs to me ~ to look full well into me with an unwavering glance.

We live in a world where we are almost always seen, yet hardly ever known.

And yet there he was, watching and knowing.  Me.  

In our present world of pages full of friends and likes and yet, so few feel even known at all.  And certainly not truly 'liked'.  We exist in a society that rarely knows how to slow for anything and certainly can not slow to know a someone in their reality.  In this world, I think we may have felt isolated long before this present 'forced isolation.'  We have languished long at being unseen long before we were told we had better not be seen.

Were we ever really known?  Even before this madness of forced hiddenness, had not we already felt hidden from any true knowing of one other?

And I have run many long, lonely miles down long, lonely lanes in my days.  Unknown.  Irrelevant.  Certainly not needed.  Long, dusty miles on lonely lanes through a tucked away, hidden life.  Buried under a world too wild for me to be seen and lost under this load of aloneness, and surely lost under loads of laundry.  Wondering under the buried-ness of it all ~ does He ever really see me?  With the millions into billions of masses and with the so very little bit of usefulness I offer, how can He care to see me?  Down long, lonely miles in a tucked away and seemingly insignificant existence, what is there for Him to really see?

And what was it in those wise eyes, under the sun blazing day, looking full well right into me that spoke of His eyes ever on me?  I am not entirely sure and yet, there it was, the Truth of the ages on that dusty, dirt road ~ His eyes are ever on me and there is no turning, no glancing away.  He ever looks upon me; down long, lonely miles in my fairly insignificant moments into years, He never looks away.  That Godly glance is always upon me.

And as the world spins quiet these days, do you know His Godly glance is always upon you?  Has your globe stopped galloping about enough for you to see His goodness that was always about?

I do so wish you had been with me there, under the middle of the sun blazing down day.  With me when He looked full well into my soul and did not turn away.  Oh, how lovely it would have been for you to have seen the grace alight atop the tree, if you could have seen that with me.

I wonder at the losses.  All the loss.  All about.  But then, there was that Godly glance just there, that eye upon me that spoke that it will never leave me, never turn from me.  All the loss may yet just bring us such a gain, such a Godly gain.  What would it mean if we could all see, begin to truly see His eye ever upon us?

The losses are real ~ mortal enemy waging war against our mortal bodies, vicious attack against our personal liberties and certainly so much economical loss.  But, as the world slows its spin and in the midst of the stillness of it all, if we finally do see His Godly glance that has ever been upon us, then certainly it is all to our GAIN.  Eternal gain to know His glance upon our mortal frame.  All for our gain, loss at the temporary that gives into the eternal is for our gain.

I encourage you, challenge you to set out to find His ever upon you Godly glance.  Eyes wide open, hearts full of expectancy, we journey out to find His eye ever upon us.  Upon you.

And that moment of an eternity, under the middle of the sun blazing down day, he whom ought to have been wise enough to stay under the guise of the night, he turned and looked full well into me.  And under His eye, His ever present eye, His Godly glance I run down long, lonely lanes and certainly sojourn a dusty path or two ~ but never without His eye ever upon me.  Always knowing me full well, and loving me yet.

It is all to our gain, this present loss, if our world slows just a bit and we fully and finally see that Godly glance that has always just alighted upon me.  Upon you.

Suggesting A Crown

Something suggesting a crown.  Suggestive of royalty.  A crown.  Suggesting Kingship.  Suggestive of our king.

There is so much in a word.

Corona ~ something suggesting a crown.  (Merriam-Webster)

Look it up.  There is far too much in a word for us to not know what we are dealing with.  A fake.  A faux.  A liar masquerading as a king, our king.  Demanding that the entire world bow in fear, bend a knee in anxiety.  He is a fake, a liar.  A master masquerader.

It is only suggestive of a crown, it is NOT a true crown.  It is NOT our King, we know Who rightly wears the crown.

But, a word does hold much meaning and power when given the authority to hold that power.

The enemy of mankind is yet again, masquerading as a king.  Wearing a faux crown, demanding our knees bend to him and his false kingship.  It is an age old game he has run, routing against man.  He has always attempted to fool man into believing he is more than he is and he often succeeds in the foolish game because we rarely slow to listen to the words actually being spoken.  To stop and pause and determine is this a faux crown or our real Crown speaking?  We are duped because we run too hard and too fast after the things of this world to be able to steady ourselves to hear and receive Truth.  There is a constant bombardment of words, false words being spoken in our world.  Far more fake and faux royalty running about then we would care to believe.  We bend our knee, we cower or grab greedily at the faux crowns about.  We are guilty of both ~ cowering and greedily grasping, depending upon the false words around us.

Our flesh is facing its own mortality and quakes and quivers at every possible threat.  But yet, it is also that very same flesh that grabs greedily at the faux crowns of luxury and leisure.  We run the gamut on allowing ourselves to be drawn in by false words.  Words offering a fake kingship, a false security, a faux universe unto ourselves that we rule and reign.  It is all deception.

2 Corinthians 11:14 ~ " And no wonder, for even Satan masquerades as an angel of light."

Or a king wearing a crown.  Suggesting that he has kingship, that he wears the crown.

He is a liar, a fake.  And he only takes and occupies this faux kingship in our lives when we permit it.  We have to give him the authority that he deceives us into believing that he already has.

And we often give up place to him through words.  Words that we speak and words that we absorb into our being.  Words do have power.  And here is why   ~

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God . . .  And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth."  John 1:1,14

All the Goodness of heaven wrapped itself in our feeble flesh and walked beside us and as the power of the cosmos sat and supped with us we began to behold His glory.

The glory of the Word become flesh.  The Word.  Wrapped in our feeble flesh to allow us, enable us to behold His glory.

It was likely something that we were unable to see without the packaging of our feeble flesh ~ too glorious for our frail and fragmented faculties to absorb.  Too glorious to behold without the familiar flesh encasing it.

The glory of the Word become flesh.  It is unthinkable as to what He forsook, what He endured to be wrapped as us.  To allow us, enable us to see more clearly.  And even then it would be years, decades for many to know what they had beheld.  And many who walked and talked with the Word wrapped in our feeble flesh would still never allow themselves to see.

But these years into a few millennias later some of us do see the glory of the Word wrapped in flesh.  But, those very same often miss the tremendous power behind every word spoken, received, read and sent.  And there is so very much buried into the millions of masses of words we hear spoken all around us.  We rarely slow to listen to the words flying around us, to stop and wonder at the meaning of them all.  Which is a travesty and in our present moment in time ~ a global travesty.

The God of the universe tells us His son is the Word and then we carelessly and flippantly throw words around as if they are nothing.  Empty.  We speak and type, we listen and read, we consume words as if they are empty.  Nothing.  Yet, in this barrage of words we feast on the vast majority of words we consume and digest are TOXIC & DEADLY.  And we absorb this toxicity into the very meat and marrow of our bones, into our homes.  All these toxins, all the time.

Proverbs 18:21 ~  "Death and life are in the power of the tongue . . . "

It will be either one or the other.  Death or life.  In the words we consume.  In the words we pour forth.  Death or life.  Words are not a matter of neutrality.  Words have power, words have meaning.

And to the beginning of this all ~ this current word that consumes much of our world ~ it is a fake, a faux.  A father of lies masquerading as a king.  Suggestive of a crown.

We know Whom wears the crown.  It is King Jesus.  The Word became flesh and dwelling among us. Let us put our King in His rightful place and use words wisely and sparingly.  

A World In Respiratory Distress

Again and again ~ I have so many things to say and yet, nothing at all.  But, I will trust that if you have perchance stumbled upon these words it is because He intended you to read them and maybe you might even need them.

What is He saying right now to His people?  To His bride?  Oh, so many terribly, wonderful things and quite a few terribly, terrifying things as well.  And so often as He speaks a shock of terror and wonder runs deep through our veins.  As we listen to the immortal God, our own mortality shakes and quivers under the reality of His tremendous power.  It is a shock of terror to the flesh and a shock of wonder to the spirit.  And quite possibly that is exactly what we need in our present day ~ our flesh to take its rightful place, recognizing its own mortality and to fall in line behind our spirit man.  Flesh no longer tolerated as master of our lives but as servant to the spirit man to enable us to fulfill the work He has determined for our days.  Flesh was never intended to be master of our minutes spent, our days passing.

2 Corinthians 2:14 ~  "Now thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place."

Truth ~ if we our surrendered to Christ, we are living in complete victory and triumph today.  Not tomorrow or the day after, but today.  We are living, breathing triumph.  Being lead about by the Spirit of God in complete victory.  Now.  Not tomorrow when this crazy corona thing subsides, but now.  Triumphant.  Victorious.  That is the truth.

The question of the hour is are we walking in that truth?  Are we speaking in that truth?  Are we texting and typing in that truth?  Are we thinking in that truth?

Or is our mind caught in a continual news feed of fear?  A social media diet of anxiety?  If we allow it, our flesh will walk us into fear and defeat, for our flesh is facing its own mortality.  Our flesh will pass away.  And if given even an inch, it will grab a mile and then another and then yet, a few more miles.  It will walk many miles in defeat, if we allow it.  

But, our spirit man knows a different way, a different tale.  Our spirit man knows we will live an eternity with God, rejoicing at His feet, dancing through His thrown room for ALL OF TIME!  Our spirit knows that God is taking us by the hand, grasping our sweaty, clammy hands and leading us in victory.  Triumph.  Our flesh will quake and quiver at the thought of its mortality but our spirit rejoices in its complete victory over death, through the cross of Christ.

Even in the midst of crazy corona ~ you my beloved son and daughter of God are TRIUMPHANT.  VICTORIOUS.

Now we must walk in that.

For much of the world around us is dead and dying.  Reeking of the fear and anxiety that grips and chokes our world.  Our world languishes under the stench of the sick and dying and we beloved are "diffusing the fragrance of His knowledge in EVERY PLACE."  We are His fragrance being poured out into the stench of the sick and dying and the very whiff of His knowledge brings the dead back to life!  And every place where our feet step we pour forth triumph and victory.  And the beautiful fragrance of the knowledge of God ~ the very truth that an Immortal God deeply loves us and cherishes us is diffused into every space we occupy.

That is our great calling, that is our purpose, that is the work we were intended to do.  Diffusing the knowledge of God EVERYWHERE and at ALL TIMES through ALL CIRCUMSTANCES.

For we are triumphant EVERWHERE and at ALL TIMES though ALL CIRCUMSTANCES because of the cross of Christ.

We know this truth ~ we are truth bearers.  We carry a gospel in our very hearts that our dying world needs to breathe in.  We are diffusing the breath of God as we go forth into this dying world.  

In a world caught in the very grip of an enemy that steals the breath of humanity, that drains the life blood from the losts' veins one painful drop at a time ~ that very world needs us to breathe forth the very breath of God!  The life giving breath of God.

A disease of the respiratory sort, shortness of breath, can not catch my breath, can not inhale and exhale ~ that reeks of a nasty enemy does it not?  Stealing the breath of humanity away!  Figuratively and literally!  Can not breath in, can not breath out.  Trapped as prisoners in our own homes, terrified of this loss of breath.  Oh, that reeks of a nasty enemy for certain.

But, we beloved carry the very breath of God!  And every place we step He diffuses the very breath of His knowledge!  And the world so desperately needs His life's breath right now!  At this very moment, church breathe His life giving breath out!  Exhale the knowledge of Him to the world around you that is languishing, perishing under this present dark loss of breath!  We can not take a deep breath under the fear and anxiety of it all WITHOUT THE KNOWLEDGE OF GOD!  The very knowledge of God sets us free to breathe deep and lungs fill with life giving air!  Church this is our hour to diffuse the knowledge of God into every place!

This is the essence of who we are, the very work we are called to do and we are called for such a time as this!

Do not permit your flesh to worry under its mortality, to walk you into anxiety and fear.  My flesh will die, your flesh will pass away and praise God that it will!  For then we enter into eternity with our Creator, to spend our days in eternal bliss.

Strange Things Are Happening

Life feels terribly strange these days.  For example, I am currently staring out the window watching my dog eat dirt ~ that is terribly strange.  And that I currently can not get online due to a storm here in Nashville, yet I was able to log into my blog to type ~ that is VERY strange.  Or the terribly odd fact that I am typing before I picked up a pencil ~ that feels eerily bizaare.  It all feels quite odd and terribly uncertain.

I feel as a foreigner in my own land ~ one eyes another with suspicion across the empty toilet paper aisle.  Eyeing one another as if that one may be the enemy ~ may be the one that has stolen all of the globe's toilet paper!  Or may be the one that carries this deadly virus and spews it on every unsuspecting soul they can!  It all feels quite bizarre.  Entirely strange.  And absolutely nefarious.

I am a sorjourner in my own land, an outsider in my own Walmart.  Enemy to my fellow man across the sidewalk.

Nefarious for certain.

I have so many things to say, yet nothing at all.  It all feels a bit of a jumbled mess inside and surely outside.  Dogs eating dirt.  Online when Wi-Fi is down.  Mortal enemies over a roll of toilet paper.  Strange, quite strange.  Except for the 'eating dirt dog' ~ that may not be that far out of the realm of her possibility.

But, social distancing, now that is STRANGE.  We have all become a stranger in our own land.  A foreigner in the aisle.  The enemy who hordes ALL THE TOILET PAPER!

And in the spirit of strange I have decided to try to a new and strange thing ~ to write without agonizing over every word.  To post without hours of blood, sweat and tears.  It is not for you, in fact I recommend that you delete this post from your memory.  It is for me.  It feels as if I am righting my world by small degrees to type, it feels a bit of certainty amid global uncertainty, to see words on a page.

And can I just say that we do have an enemy and it is certainly NOT the man or woman who was able to grab the last package of toilet paper or bag of rice.  They are NOT our enemy, they just happen to be a moment quicker than us.  And our enemy is entirely NOT that one we hear cough into their sleeve ~ they are not the enemy people!  Not the enemy.  We have an enemy and the other across the aisle is NOT HIM.

Shall we stop eyeing one another as if we are in mortal combat, a fight to the death as we wonder empty stores?  I say we shall, we do determine to stop staring at another with fear and suspicion.

Ephesians 6:12 ~ "For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places."

And then this ~

"For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh.  For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ."  2 Corinthians 10:3-5

Money Box (Part 3)

I have started this several times to no avail.  Start.  Stop.  Start.  Stop.  Lay it aside and then pick it up again.  All to no avail.

Worshipping amidst the stench of dead called forth?  Pouring forth the fragrance of the heavenlies when the foulness hung heavy?  It was powerful.

Mary managed to offer a safe space for Lazarus to sup with his Savior ~ to drown out the stench of the sick and dying.

But, there was something else there.  There in that room, amidst the magical worship in the deafening stench.  There was something else there in their midst.  And I kept picking this up, turning it over and around, writing a few lines only to lay pencil aside, again.

Bu, there was something else there in the room that day.  And I think we may not like to hear of it.  I may not like to write of it.

"Why was this fragrant oil not sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor?  This he said, not that he cared for the poor, but because he was a thief, and had the money box; and he used to take what was put in it."   John 12:5-6

There it was, amidst the stench and the magical worship.  There with those supping with their Savior and Mary pouring forth costly oil and fragrance that poured forth freedom from the suffocating stench.  Amidst it all ~ the money box.  And held by a thief.  He was a thief and he continues to this very day as thief.  And he spoke forth what appeared to be reasonable religiosity.  He certainly used the prescribed format ~ giving to the poor etc. etc.  Our comforting vernacular ~ sold to be given and so on and so forth.  And it rings nicely in our religious ears.  Well yes, now that thief mentions it, certainly the worship was wasted (at the feet of Jesus no less!) and should have been sold to be given away, for the thief and liar loves to a appeal to our over practical, carnal thinking.  To ever temporal way of functioning, rarely able to glimpse the eternal and always cemented on crazy globe.  For thief and liar hates pure worship and will work to deceive and manipulate, appealing to our fleshy tendencies to draw us away from our worthiest calling ~ pure and extravagant worship.

Mary had stepped in, just walked right into that deep place.  She poured forth costly oil and worshipped Savior and she called down the heavenlies and that home was filled with fragrance.  That oh so needed, heavenly fragrance.  And the dead called forth supped with Savior, the stench of the sick and dying was squelched with the heavenly fragrance.  Magical worship had won the day.

And there in their midst, the thief and liar called foul at the costly fragrance for he hates pure worship that gives freedom to the sick and dying to sup with Savior.

Should have been given to the poor.

As he sat holding the money box.

There in the room, with the sick and dying and Savior come to save, was the ever present money box.

And liar and thief cries to our carnal ears, "Put it in here!"  Your wealth, your time, your energy, your family, your talents, your everything!  Put it here, into my money box.

And we think of the practicalities of carnal life and we think of payout we can hold in our fleshy fingers.  We struggle to worship into the heavenlies, to pour our time, wealth and energy into that which we can not see.  Can not hold and manipulate in our hands.  We oh so want the dividends our practical minds see in the money box.

Career.  Education.  Programs.  Wealth.  Status.  Retirement.  Leisure and Luxury.  Oh, we can see and taste it and feel it rolling around our fleshy fingers, in our human hands.  That money box looks so appealing to out constantly grasping hands.  Grasping at that which we can hold, manipulate.  It lays just there, just there within our reach.  Just there.  In the liar's lap.  Just there.

But, Mary grasped into the heavenlies.  She reached hands into heaven and brought down that healing fragrance that her brother sat and soaked in as he supped with Savior.  With Jesus.

Panicky liar.  Someone had poured forth quite a large sum into pure worship.  Panicky liar was worried for he grasps the magnitude of the power of pure worship.

Oh, but the poor!  Don't forget about the poor!  Our practical, carnal minds pause at the practicality of the poor.  We can grasp at the practical programs for the poor.  But, pouring forth costly worship with no tangible dividends?  We do struggle here.

And the money box sitting in the liar's hands, grasped in the grimy grip of the eternal thief.  He whispers and screams into our ever need to grip what is ours!  To hold so tight to today.  We want to see payout, hold the dividends.

Education.  Career.  Family.  Talents.  It can be so very hard to pour it out on that which we can not see.  This magical worship.  But, what is the payout?

Panicky liar was panicking for this mere woman had modeled what magical worship can do ~ call down the fragrance of heaven to lay as balm on the stench of the sick and dying.

Mere woman had modeled the magic of calling down His majesty.  In spirit and in truth, she had kept her costly sum from the money box.  She had not fallen into the trap of the practical, subtle serpent.  And the heavenly fragrance squelched the stench.

That ever present money box.  In our lives.  Our homes.  Our churches.

The practical mind puts wealth into retirement, saves for a rainy day rather than saves a soul.

Our talents and time into career, rather then calling down the heavenlies through magical worship.

We can not see the dividend.  Yet.  We do not comprehend the payout.  Here.

But, Mary modeled the truth, when our best, when our brightest is poured into magical worship ~ our God is honored and men are brought into contact with His majesty.  And the ever present, practical money box is finally closed.

Panicky thief can no longer steal that which was given to worship Master.

I do not like this one.  I turned and twisted it around in my mind, mulling it over for months.  For I see that money box in my life.  Money box being filled with that which I ought to give to my Master.  And thief siphons straight from that blasted box!  Siphons straight away and the stench hangs so heavy!  And I flounder and falter under the staleness of the stench for Satan siphons, steals straight away that which would bring the fragrance of heaven straight into my space, into my soul and spirit.

Money box.  Oh, but the practical poor.

And we all stay poor, poor in spirit, poor in soul when we do not pour our best and brightest into pure worship.

The poor will be so greatly served when they are bathed in magical majesty of their Savior.  When they too sit and sup with Savior amidst the costly fragrance of our pure worship.

Do you see the money box there in that room there that day with supping Savior?  Do you see the money box sitting there in your room?  In your home?

Maybe today we finally close and seal money box, maybe today we pour our best into that Whom was always due our worship.

Maybe today.  Let it be Lord.  Let it be.


~


I wrote that over a month ago ~ it is quite strange to read it in light of today's present money box that the world has named the Corona Virus.  Could it be that today, more than ever God's people must determine to pour our absolute best and our very brightest into pure worship.  There are so many sick and dying all about ~ sick with worry and dying under the fear of it all and they so desperately need the fragrance of heaven to squelch the suffocating stench of fear and hysteria.

Magical Morning

There are all too many things that spin wild about, whirl chaos, twist and turn pain all across our days until we feel we may not be able to bear up under it all.

Individually.  Collectively.  Humanity cries out under it all.  Inwardly, as one man in the millions, we lament under our loss.  Outwardly, as a mass of many, we cry at the craziness of it all.  This wild world whipping us about.

But, then there is this magic that can silence it all.

There are these truths that are too magical for man to replicate.  Or contaminate.

And woods whispering silent, covered in whiteness, telling of His righteousness are ethereal and magical.  Magical in a way no man can duplicate.  Nor contaminate.

There were snowflakes falling and I stood watching, snow tripping lightly through woods whispering of Home.  There I do know the magic that silences the wild world whipping.

Standing there, snowflake settles somewhere in my spirit.  Too many truths telling of too much magic to be duplicated, nor contaminated by man.

And settling snowflake settles something in my spirit, settles a wrestling in my soul ~ the things that twist and turn pain all about, the weight of the hurt that cause us to wonder whether we can bear up under it ~ is this all that is about?  Is the cacophony of crazy chaos the only melody I will hear?

But, settling snowflake settles the wrestling once again, there is a telling magic too tangible to ignore.  It tells of a better, a Best, that constantly calls us Home.  A glimpse here, a glimmer there ~ a bit of magic to remind us of the Majesty that is ever so near!

The finest artist only reaches into the Majesty and grabs a slice of the Magnificence and lays in on the canvas ~ the Magic was already there.  Placed by a Creator who craves our homecoming and whispers through woods and settling snowflakes the our Home is heaven, not here.

When the world whips wild, the weight weighs heavy we must silence the sounds save the Spirit so we can hear the telling tale that there is an oh so much Better than here.

If we do not silence all the sounds and listen into the Spirit the world whips us wild and we stagger through days dizzy.  That was not as Creator intended our days to be - dizzy days wasted under the staggering steps of souls who never slow to silence, to listen into the Spirit.

That morning, that magical morning with snowflakes settling into my soul, settling the wrestling in my spirit ~ the too magical to duplicate, too beautiful to replicate and certainly too much Majesty in that downy flake to contaminate ~ it was all settled again there in my spirit.  Amidst the whipping wild and crazy chaos He has splashed too much majesty across the canvas of my days to doubt, to doubt the goodness of my God.

Sometimes a slight snowflake is all it takes to settle a soul.  But, all the time we must work to silence all the noise, to hear the whispering woods whisper words of His Goodness.

His Goodness is everywhere, if we but stop and listen into the silence.

This One Is Just For Me

I wanted to be that sort of a somebody, that type of writer who is brave enough to sit with you in your pain.  To taste the bitter of tears falling, to taste the pain and stay on with you anyway.  I had wanted to be brave enough to sit with you through your pain.

To write in a way that holds your hand on the hardest of days.

I wanted to be that type of person, that sort of writer.

He was.  And He ever is.  And a day.

So, I pushed through.  I  thrust out my hand and grabbed yours and I held on tight.  I held on for dear life.  And the pain was real, the pain was palpable.  But, as the taste of terrible lingered on my tongue, I tasted the bitter and began to so desperately long for the sweet.  And as the terrible lingered long on my tongue I let loose just slightly.  Ever so slightly.  As the pain stayed on, I felt it slide through pores, pouring pain palpable.  On me.  And my grip slacked just slightly once more.

I wanted to be brave enough, to write courage into the pain and push it back, that palpable pain.  I wanted to be that type of person.

He was.  And He is, forever and a day.

But, the taste of bitter lingered terribly long and my hand grew weary under the palpable pain.  I began to look for the way, the way out.  To let go and leave you while you lingered, laboured under the pain.  It was terribly reasonable, all too reasonable — at least I had come for a time, at least I had lingered for awhile.  Sounding so reasonable.

I had wanted to be that type of a person.  He was, He is now into eternity.

But, under the pain I had buckled and withered away.  And under the withering I slowly let go.  Slipped hand away.  Disentangled fingers, slightly and so quietly slipped my palm from your pain.

I had wanted to be brave enough to sit and hold your hand while you wept.  To whisper words of sweet story to sing you to rest.  But, under the lingering labour of placing hand on palpable pain — I faltered and I walked away.

So, here on these pages, do you hear my pain?  I had wanted and then faltered.  I had wanted to be brave, like Him.  But, I faltered under the pressing of your ever present, palpable pain.

Today, I stand back and look back.  What was it?  What should I have done?  Never thrust my hand into your place of pain?  Left you alone, ever alone in your pressing pain?

Perfect Father is Bravery, Courage.  Into the face of danger, under the crushing, pressing pain of humanity He walks willingly in and stays on, sits on and hand never slips away.

So, why had I faltered so fast?  Should I never have tried, never attempted?  Am I void of any stories to sing at your side?



As I stand and look back, I often just see two — me and you.  I sat by your side, I wanted to be brave — for you.  For me.  I held on into your pain — I oh, so wanted to be brave.  But, as I look back I see just two — me and you.  And now I see, that was never as He intended it to be, it was always meant to be three.

Maybe, just maybe I had wanted to be brave, to sit in your palpable pain, to bear the terrible load.  But maybe, just maybe in my pressing need to bear your pain, I had held to tightly and caused my own slipping away.

It was never my burden to carry you through your pain, it was always my task to slip your hand into His.  To sing a story of His telling song, His sweet melody.

It was too often only two — just me and you.  It was not as He intended it to be — it was always meant to be three.

I faltered and floundered, for I forgot my stories are always suppose to be sung as just a simple, yet eternally sweet introduction.

I am sorry I did not know or maybe my pride caused me to purposefully forget.  Misplace what I knew — it was never suppose to just be me and you.

I am terribly sorry I sang a story song that supposed I could be brave, when what you really needed was to be near the One that is eternally brave.

I do see now.   All of life, all of love — what it is and must be, is us three, you and me and forever and always He, into eternity.


But, He is gracious and oh, so long suffering with me.  He allows me to sing another story song.  A song of simple, sweet introduction and He gently grabs our hand and holds on through pain and He sits and stays on forever and a day.

Moments Matter

As you will quickly see, I am terribly late.  My apologies.

I had heard it early into the ending.  The end was drawing near, another year, one more decade drawing to a close.  And early into the end I heard that Voice, that calming thunder of a Voice, "Account for your time to Me."  Amidst the busy, in the clamor, I heard the calm, "Account for your time to Me."

Oh, but sweet Jesus!  I have babies and teenagers!  Any parent knows that babies AND teenagers are as fast flowing siphon!  A gushing out and away of time and energy.  Gushing, flowing river of time — away from me.  It feels as if always and forever and a day — time rushing away from me.  Jesus, sweet Jesus!  Babies and teenagers.  Time gone.  Simply gone.  There is no accounting, nor explaining beyond — babies AND teenagers.

"Account for your time," was all He said.  After my song of lament of time rushing as river far and away.  From me.  He simply said, "Account for you time."

I tucked it away and proceeded to change the dirty diaper, chuckling at the sweet simplicity — account for my time.  As if that could stop the siphoning, the rushing of moments as water pouring down river — rushing moments, rushing away.

And the end came on, ever marching on.  Another year, one more decade gone.  And the ending coming caused me to question — what had I done?  All the moments rushing away — how had I spent them?  So many felt wasted, shamefully wasted.

At the ending coming — I saw so much wasted.  Rushing moments flowing by.  And I could not account for so much — where had it gone?

And that tucked away Truth, that calming thunder, said yet again, "Account for your time to Me."  I ran it over and under, through and around.  My mind questioned the how but the truth ran deep somewhere down in that place that Truth finds its welcome and while mind rebelled, spirit man welcomed.

Time running away — seconds squandered and moments fleeting, flying past.

Account for my time — to Him.  And before.  Before they fly into sight, determine moments before they fly into view.  Determine my moments purpose before it appears.  Determine to give it to Him before I spend it on wasteful purposes.

Account for my time.  To Him.  And before.  Hour by hour?  Minute by minute?

Well yes, now I do see certainly — minute by minute, moment by moment.

Before and to Him.  It is precious, gifted commodity.  And time is a flyer and finite.  It can be fleeting and it certainly is final.  Flyer can fly out and up and on and on into this great big world and moments fly full of hope and love, courage and compassion!  Or flyer can fly away — wasted, squandered.  And finite gift given to the enemy of our soul, the enemy of mankind.  Lost, with certainty and finality.

Time flies — regardless.  And it either flies full of life and love.  Or it flies, just away, forever and away.

Account for my time.  To Him.  And before.

Fleeting, flying and rushing away.  The moments, the decades drawing to a close.  Oh Jesus, sweet Jesus, I want them to carry weight, to carry matter, these moments — to carry the very matter, the very weight of Love into the world.

This purposing before moments flew by and determining to Him the matter of these moments.  It matters, it matters much.  This purposing, it rolled and rumbled around in my rebellious mind and thundered its whisper into spirit.  Account.  Before.  And to Him.

Decade drew to a close.  And I could not shake this weighty matter of moments accounted for.

And then, yesterday . . .  he just stood there.  Stood right up there, in front of us all and said those words and spoke that Truth.  Just there, right in front of me and thundering whisper sunk deeper ever into spirit.

WATCH.  WATCHFUL.  ATTENTIVE ATTENTION!  This new year, this next decade — we must focus most determined attention and WATCH.

Mark 13:33-37

"Take heed; watch and pray; for you do not know when the time is  . . .  watch, watch therefore.  I say to all; watch!"

And I felt the thundering whisper dance a jig through my spirit — Account.  For.  Your.  Time.  Watch.  The.  Moments.  Before they fly into focus, watch them, account for them before and to Me.

Babies and teenagers are no excuse.  Moments matter.  The weight of my time can fly into this wasting away world and carry much matter to restore, to redeem time.

The enemy is a thief though.  And one of the greatest commodities he steals, constantly.  Hour by hour, moment by moment, seconds siphoned.  Stolen.

We stop, I stop, the siphoning of seconds when I account for my moments.  Before and to Him.

Should seconds be scheduled?

Maybe.  Moments matter.  The weight of time can be precious and powerful or lost and fleeting, flying away and forgotten.

Our time is a gift, finite but yet powerful when purposed to worship the Creator and to love His creation.

"You do not know when the time is . . .  Watch."  Ever watchful.  This focused attention.  This purposeful accounting — it does not always sit well in my rebellious mind.  But, my spirit, sings a song at moments that matter, dances at days that carry the weight of Your Love into wasting away world.

"Account for your time.  To Him.  And before."

Maybe your seconds have already been scheduled and I applaud you.  Or maybe, you like me, have squandered a few to many seconds.  Either way — we stand at a new year, another decade and we can determine to dedicate this decade to spending our currency, the matter of moments on worshipping Creator and loving His creation.

But, it will take an accounting.  A determining before those moments fly by us, how we will spend them.

Watchfully accounting.  To Him.

P.S.  And food for thought on this birth of a new year — is technology really the future or is it just thief of our today?

Marching with the Masses

Jan 18 ~

And that day that I hit publish to the telling of talents, buried - that day, I said that I must stop hiding. That day I hit publish was the day I finally hit purchase.  He had told us several months before to GO but I had danced the dance I dance so well and dragged my dancing feet.  Argued.  Analyzed.  Over thought and under prayed.  I had just about talked myself out of this simple, yet hard command to GO, when He started talking about these hidden talents and darkness.  So, on that telling of talents day, I finally hit purchase and we are GOING.  And one slight portion of talents lay exposed (oh, I do so hate to be exposed).  It is not much, I do know.  A few extra feet added to the thousands of others — it is not much, I do know.  A few extra voices added to the chorus of cries that cry for our country's unborn — it is not much, I do know.  Five extra faces in the mass of many, declaring that we care for the little lives being slaughtered — a few extra faces in the masses is not much, I do know.  Our governing body will not notice another name or two of those present amongst the numbers, a few extra names who march to name the nameless.  It is not much — I do know.

But, that telling of the talents, buried.  Does cause me to wonder — is it not much?  It is not much to add to the marchers?  A few more names added, my name added to this war to name the nameless . . .

These hidden talents telling, this unprofitable servant cast into the outer darkness — causes me to wonder.  Maybe, just maybe, it does matter.  Maybe it does mean much.  Maybe.

Maybe He already told us it matters!  It matters when I march!  It matters when I name the nameless. He already told us about this burying of talents — it is time to stop hiding.

And it does matter much.  To Him.

The world will not notice my name added to the list of those naming the nameless — the world will tell me it is insignificant.  Worthless.  It matters not.  But, I do believe the world doth lie.

It does matter.  And it is much.  To Him.

The buried talents, the hidden treasure.  Matter much to the Giver.  Insignificant, they are not.

So, we fly this week.  Babies in tow.  We fly and gather to declare to the gathering storm of darkness that they matter much, these little nameless, lost ones.  They matter much — to us and to Him.  And we cry for our country, weep for the world and we declare to the darkness — they matter much.  To us and to Him.  And my hidden talents now unearthed and exposed — matter much to Him.


Jan 28 ~

And we did fly, babies in tow.  We flew and He reminded me again and again — it does matter much that you march, it matters much to Me.

What can I say?  How can I describe those days spent amongst the masses — muttering my mantra, "It does matter much to Him."  What can I say?

To the mother of many who has spent countless years wondering at whether I matter, to the mother who entered into motherhood with an offered abortion.  Marching with the masses meant that we ALL matter — to Him.  Marching with the masses meant that the world is still rightly spinning all these few decades later and life is still given by the Giver.  And that day all those 22 years ago, I could not be the thief that took what was not mine to take.  Marching with the masses confirmed a knowing in my little girl heart who knew all those years ago that carrying new life in that sacred space can sanctify a mother — if she will allow it.

And marching with the masses meant a new knowing — a deeper knowing — I matter to Him.  With each footfall I fell firmly into a deeper knowing that I have always mattered to Him.  From the very beginning of time and certainly from my first moment of existence — I have mattered to Him.

Why would all these decades later I march to know that I matter?  Why would He fly me, insignificant me, to the capital of the most powerful nation in the world, to march with the masses to declare to the gathering storm of darkness that these tiny lives matter?  And that I, in fact matter.  I wondered why I would have wander to Washington to know.

But, it was there, those miles from home, amongst the masses that a deeper knowing He would whisper into my soul — that day in the doctor's office, if I had made another decision, exercised my right to "choose" — I would STILL MATTER TO HIM.

If I had done the unthinkable and stolen the life that had been gifted to me — HE WOULD STILL LOVE ME.  No more.  No less.

I matter, not because I "chose" rightly, but because He loves me.  And He loves me not for the choosing I do or do not do but because HE IS LOVE.

And all those years into decades of attempts turned into failures, of my trying into exhaustion, of my working tirelessly to show a thing, a thing I did not believe but so desperately wanted — I matter much.  To Him.

And here at this place with my failures mounting I hear a mantra in the masses marching — YOU.  MATTER.  MUCH.  TO.  ME.

I always did.  I always will.  No amount of teenage pregnancies, awful parenting, books unwritten, prayers unspoken will ever change that.

I matter much to Him.

My flesh may say different, but my flesh is not to be trusted, it is oh so weak and confused.

I matter much to Him.

The world surely spins a different tale, speaks to my lack of significance, my smallness.  But, the world whips all too wild under a counterfeit master.  Whips wild ... for a time.

I matter much to Him.

And this counterfeit master, he certainly tells an entirely different telling.  He speaks always to my failure, he lies into an eternal unworthiness, an unworthiness he wants to work into my eternal unworthiness.  He is a counterfeit master, a master liar — determined to speak me into a determination that I do not matter.  He is a liar.

I matter much to Him.

I marched with the masses to name the nameless.  And yet, Perfect Father was whispering my name.  He was naming me into a new knowing, naming my new knowing.

I matter much to Him.

P.S.  You may be noticing a growing trend to LIFE here.  ALL LIFE, it is all He has taught me these years into decades.  He loves all life and we as His people must do the same to push back this gathering darkness of hate.  I feel I must come to this place again and again, my slow to learn heart needs to hear again and hear again, He loves ALL life.  Bear with me please.

Plunging Head Long

I had stepped back in.  Just right there.  Unbeknownst to me, just yesterday.  Stepped back in, plunged head long into the wilderness, I did.

I had not seen this one coming.

I was amongst the wild limbs, yet again, being jostled through the jungle.  Before I even knew what had happened.

Stepped right into this one, I did.


This morning, after a few quiet moments of prayer, in the dark of the day, he said — "You need to listen to the Nature of God."

I said nothing, held my tongue.  But, truth be told — I had no desire to hear much of His nature, not today — not stepping about in the wild wilderness.  Again.

But, I did listen — to Your Nature and to Your Voice — even here in this wild wilderness, I did hear.

Hosea 2:14-15
       "Therefore, behold, I will allure her,
               Will bring her into the wilderness,
                   And speak comfort to her.
         I will give her vineyards from here,
      And a valley of Achor as a door of hope;
                  She shall sing there,
           As in the days of her youth,
                As in the day when she came up from the land of Egypt."

You have called me, allured me, enticed me into this place — this wild place.

But, before I heard Your voice this morning, my flesh had lied a telling lie — my flesh and the liar (the liar of mankind) had said — baited and trapped, deceived and betrayed into this place again.  This wild wilderness.

But, now I hear Your Nature, Your Voice — it is never baiting, nor betraying — it is always your better.  Better path, better way, better journey.

Hear me here, please.  We so often, so deeply listen to the lies that His alluring is a betrayal.  We find ourselves wandering wild in this wilderness and we feel betrayed, abandoned.  His alluring can appear as abandonment.  And our ever orphaned lying flesh feels — lost, left, our flesh feels forgotten.  And enemy of our soul, master deceiver of mankind — lies, lies, lies.  And twists Heavenly Father's gentle leading into a torrid web of lies.  If you find yourself wandering wild in the wilderness throw every ounce of strength you have into silencing your flesh and the enemy of us all.  And I do tell you, promise you — He is speaking Comfort to you — just beyond the lying voices lies a land of lovely Comfort.  Just there — in that wild wilderness, just beyond the lies of abandonment and into the land of His lovely allurement.

Alluring you into His spoken Comfort. (vs 14)

And to those who wander wild, we do so rightly know how deeply we crave His Comfort.

And yet, enemy of soul knows that soul's crave for Comfort, so he cries afoul with this alluring and twists it into abandonment.

We must not listen.  Those of us who wander wild.  For it is just right there — Heavenly Comfort.  Just there, right there.  Beyond the lies.

And on this great, green earth what could we need more then that Heavenly Comfort?


And this Comfort, Spoken Comfort.  Word become Flesh and Flesh holds us in an eternal Embrace.  Spoken Comfort.  Word become Flesh.  And Flesh walks the road with those of us wandering wild in the wilderness.  Comforting Word walks as Flesh in this wild wilderness.  With.  Us.  With.  Me. (John 1:14)

For I do know this telling truth, this timely tale that when toes touch wild wilderness and you are alone.  Alone.  So.  Very.  Alone.

The wild wilderness can not be traveled in twos, can not be tread in tandem.  No, you fall in head long — all alone.  The wilderness is a solitary sojourning.  Oh, don't I know, the aloneness of the road.

And just then, just the other day when I tumbled into this place — I had forgotten, forgotten the aloneness of the road.  No man can traverse this terrain with me — it is an intended sojourning as a solitary soul.  Oh, and I had forgotten.  No man.  Can.  Walk.  This.  With.  Me.

Only Word became Flesh.  Spoken Comfort Word can walk this way with me.  And I do re-remember now — it is as He intended it to be.  This wild wilderness — just Spoken Comfort and me.

So, dear friends, if you find yourself wandering wild, wandering solitary.  Stop stumbling.  Stop grumbling.  Close your eyes.  Hold your hands out — He is coming, making His way, just there — Spoken Comfort.  Word became Flesh coming to you in Comfort as you have never known.  Selah.

Selah.  Know.  Breathe.  Inhale.  Exhale.  Spoken Comfort — Word became Flesh.  Coming to you.  In this wild wilderness He has allured you into so He can Comfort you.  Commune with you.  Be with you.  Abide with you.  Only you.  You and He alone.  In this beautifully wild wilderness.

Selah.  Think of that.

And to hear this Nature of God spoken far beautifully then I could ever dream of writing it ~

Nature of God by Graham Cooke and Ruth Fazal

Things Out Of Order

I had just said those words, not but a moment before.  And then walked out to retrieve my Bible, still in need of today's devotional consumption.  I am currently reading through the Bible this year (or more accurately last year) with an amazing devotional (focused on missions) attached to each daily Bible reading.  And I am behind.  Very behind.  Of course.

November 8th on January 1st, to be exact.  And He would know.  Exactly how far behind I was.  And today, it would be there, because He always knows exactly where we really are.  Regardless of the date on calendar, He knows where I am.  Not where I say I should be or where the world tells me I ought to be — but where I am actually at.  He knows and He loves anyways.  So, November 8th was in actuality January 1st and He would know what I would need and better yet, what I could receive.  For so often I am unable, unwilling to receive that which I so desperately need.

And I had just said those words, just moments before.

"No one has ANY expectations of me now.  No one here expects me to write anything, speak anywhere, plan, adopt of organize a thing.  They know me as a person to have no expectations of.  Come or don't come — no one here cares whether I do or don't.  Because no one expects a thing of me.  AND I LIKE IT THAT WAY.  Years of failure — and this is the way I want it now."

And he said (my husband that is, not God, granted God may have said a similar thing), "That is not right, you have to stop hiding.  It is not right that no one expects anything of you.  You need to stop hiding."

And then I walked out and grabbed my Bible and read November 8th on January 1st and You spoke words of hidden talents and being afraid and things of that sort that I certainly did not want to read, nor hear.  And it was January 1st, not November 8th and truthfully, that is just not fair!  Really!  November 8th on the 1st of this new year, this new decade — it just does not seem quite fair.

Matthew 25:24 ~
        ". . . Lord, I know you to be a hard man, reaping where you have not sown, and gathering where you have not scattered seed.  And I was afraid, and went and hid your talent in the ground . . . "

Sometimes God — You. Can. Be. So. Impossible.

How can I out wit that, reason or argue my way out of that one?  He had just said those words about hiding and now You!  You too!  Rearranging time and determining from the very beginning, the very foundation of time that those words would be out of place, here today, when I can most receive them.  That just does not seem fair at all.

November 8th on January 1st —  Sometimes. You. Are. So. Impossible.

So, as to this burying talents and fear business — I just do not really know.

The servant had said to his master, "Lord, I know you to be a hard man . . . " and I do know, rightly know that God has determined to show Himself as quite the opposite in my life.  In reality, He shows Himself to be patient, kind and terribly long suffering towards to me.  No, in my life it is not God that has been the 'hard man' and I do know that I often confuse Him to be that 'hard man' — but He is in fact, not at all.  He is not at all unfeeling nor callused to us and our fears and this nasty business of hidden talents.  He is gentle in His leading, His guiding.  He carries us as Father carries new born babe out into the fields, the deserts to our hidden and buried talents.  He carries us gently, kindly and unburies that which He has gifted there; and shows us yet again, with such love.  Always the love.  Never anything but the love.  In His eyes.  And He reveals again that buried gift.  Never hard.  Always Love.

But, the message that servant spoke was not entirely lost on me.  Things have been hard and I have been afraid, sorely afraid and have purposefully hidden talents.  Because things are hard, often quite hard.  So, I have intentionally dragged myself, shovel in hand, talents wrapped tightly away from the world and trudged into the middle of nowhere (figuratively and literally) and buried my talents.

And maybe, just maybe if I bury them far enough away, deep down within — then maybe the hard world will forget about me and stop being so hard on me.  Maybe the enemy of my soul will just forget about me — for a moment and I can catch my breathe.

It is a cowardly way to live.  I know.  Cowardly.

And it actually does not seem to work either.  For me or the servant in that parable.  There is/was that matter of outer darkness and weeping and gnashing. (vs 30)

When you bury talents, things grow dim and darken from within.  The outer darkness of buried treasures.  Dreams dormant.  Vision darkened and no longer visible.  It is no way to live.

I do not want to live in the darkness anymore.

I do not want to weep another tear over things buried.  And I certainly do not want to gnash my teeth on fear any longer.

"It is not right, you have to stop hiding," he (the mortal type) had said it.

But, on January 1st, You said that impossible November 8th thing and it sounded all too familiar.

It is time to stop hiding.