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.