Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Step 2: Redemption

I've been struggling to get into words more of the amazing-ness of my weekend with God, which has now been more than a week ago.  I'd get some beautiful sentiments down, then be stuck.  Unable to move, as if locked in quicksand.  Pen moves no more, brain not sending any more signals.

I managed to (try to) get into words the story of Ruth, so soul-stirringly told through the eyes of Boaz.  Once I went over it, through numerous editing attempts, I finally came to the conclusion that whatever I wrote sounded so incredibly inadequate, like a caveman grunting. 

I couldn't quite get into words the relationship between Boaz and Ruth, which I saw as Jesus and myself.  I knew that I was going to name this post "Redemption", but seriously, there are no other words I could come up with, in any semblance of order, to express the true beauty, power and strength of redemption, all while sharing the pain it takes to get there, sacrifice, and death.

So I was so kindly reminded in prayer of a vision I had back in February.  So I'll share that instead, since it more than covers anything I could express about my weekend.
Enjoy. 
Cry. 
Be shaken, be broken. 
I was.


I close my eyes in my worship and prayer time, close my eyes to focus on the Almighty, so I'm not distracted by what my eyes see.  The music plays, beautiful, intoxicating music; I've prayed with it before.  No words, just music, so I can sing my own praises from my heart.

The darkness behind my eyelids gets deeper, darker, surrounding me. 

As clearly as if I opened my eyes after a satisfying slumber, I see I'm not in my usual prayer place.  The darkness is encircling my view, like those old-timey movies. 

At first all I can see is my feet, but I'm standing on sandy, rocky soil.  The darkness retreats a little more to reveal more of my surroundings; a rocky desert path, winding its way between the arid vegetation up the hill I find myself on. 

I turn to my right a bit, and see that there's a large outcropping of stones and boulders.  I notice it's the highest spot around me, and pay it no more attention, as my focus is drawn to the outskirts of the darkness, now quickly fading. 

My gaze, in slow motion, moves beyond the stones, down the hillside I'm perched on, to take in the view of the adjacent hillside. 

The entire scene opens up to my view now, I'm no longer watching an old movie; I'm in it.  Breathing the dry air, feeling the blowing sand hit my skin, hearing the noises.  I see the walled city off to the right, and the clouds in the vast sky.  I notice the gathering on a low hilltop between the city walls and the hill I'm standing on. 

As perception and memory begin to work together, the grim realization of what I'm looking at hits me:  three crosses, with three men hanging on those crosses.  The center cross is higher, and supernaturally, much much larger.  My breath catches as I whisper, "Jesus".

I notice the crowd at the base of the crosses.  I see my Savior's mouth move, I see the crown of thorns stuck into the flesh of his forehead and temple.  I notice the faces in the crowd, some covered in tears and dirt.  I see the roman soldiers, their mocking gestures and sneering mouths, as they tear at various fabrics, as one picks up a spear and jabs it into my Savior's side.

The clouds in the sky are gathering; getting larger, darker, closer together, and more ominous. 

The music in my ears intensifies, as if all the angels in heaven are singing together in fervent premonition.  Just like the soundtrack in a movie, I know something is about to happen, I know in my heart what's to come.

The clouds darken and build upon one another, following the intensity in music, until only one beam of sunlight breaks through, shining its last light on the center cross.

I see Jesus' lips move in anguish; He cries out, then drops his head onto his chest.  At that same second, the beam of sunlight is overtaken by the clouds, thunder explodes, and the immense weight of God's wrath upon Christ physically shakes the earth.

I instantly feel my heart physically breaking in my chest, an incredible, gut-wrenching pain like I've never experienced before.  Sorrow steals the breath from my lungs and replaces it with fire.
I just witnessed the death of my Savior...the death I deserved. 
As I fight for air, and fight from downing in my own tears, I hear a voice say, "WAS IT ALL FOR NOTHING?"

I weep and weep as my view goes dark, my heart breaking, my face pouring out a tidal wave of tears, my body shaking and trembling from uncontrollable sobbing.

Overwhelmed.

Broken.

The darkness gives way again, I catch my breath, and I quickly recognize the scene.  I'm back where I first was, at the top of the same hill, beside the same grouping of boulders.

I see the stone, and now see it for what it is; I know it's THE stone. 

I try to take in more of the view, but it doesn't extend any further than the rocks.  I notice the lingering shadows of night; it's still early morning, the sun hasn't yet risen.

All of a sudden, a sliver of brilliant white light, almost a pinhole, comes from between the stone and the rocks around it.  Just a peek at first, but growing from the original speck of light.  It spreads to surround the stone in the foreground.  Just like an eclipse, the entire stone is now surrounded with light.  I realize the stone is rolling to the side, effortlessly, until the hole left behind is exposed, emitting such a brilliant light; I can't see anything behind the Light.

The the source of Light moved out into the open.  I cannot breathe, I cannot even blink.  I'm afraid it will disappear if I blink.

Then, as if He knew what I was feeling as I watched, I was flooded with the most amazing feeling of peace I've ever known.  That peace filled me and sustained me, strengthened me as I watched Him go.

My view went dark again, and the air rushed back into my lungs.  I was completely overcome.



Whew!!  I still cry!!


Redemption. 
Webster's dictionary has six definitions:
1)  To buy back / to get or win back
2)  To free from what distresses or harms
     - To free from captivity by payment of ransom
     - To extricate from or help to overcome something detrimental
     - To release from blame or debt
     - To free from the consequences of sin
3)  To change for the better
4)  Repair, restore
5)  To make good (fulfill)
6)  To atone for


After that, there really is no way to "tie up" this post, no way to sucessfully close.  There's no blanket answer, no general rule.  Your individual walk and relationship with Jesus will help you finish it, for your life, for your situation, your healing.

God bless.



Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Step 1: Affirmation and Love

     This is an absolutely joyous morning for me.  Not the "wake-up-on-the-right-side-of-the-bed" joy, or "nothing-bad-or-unfortunate-or-challenging-has-happened-this-morning" kind of joy, or even "the-dog-ate-nothing-of-value-overnight" joy.  I'm talking about a deep seated, despite the above things, nothing-can-steal-this joy.
     I say this with the utmost confidence, deep in my soul feeling of affirmation, that there has been absolute renewal in my Source of Joy.
     I just came from a weekend of retreat, a getaway with God, where He lit the spark of pure joy in my heart.
    
     I can't express what I experienced these last few days.  Something totally indescribable, unworthy of mere words.  I truly experienced God.
    
     A reconnection to the heart of the Father - His heart for me.
    
     A weekend of moments between He & I, to heal wounds, address my insecurities, and to reestablish my identity as a daughter of the Most High God.
    
     I went into the weekend full of expectation- I expected Him to meet me there, a place and time I could devote fully to Him.  I expected Him to speak to me, not in the ways that I wanted Him to, but in the ways that HE knew best.  My trust in Him, my vulnerability to what He knew I needed, opened the door for ANYTHING He might say to me.
    
     Now, this wasn't a "Moses- burning bush" kind of weekend.  It reaffirmed for me, how God loves us, by sending His Spirit to minister to those who need to hear His words, through the people He loves so much~ moment after moment.
     I went into the weekend longing for my identity in Christ; something only God Himself could define.  Like the artist, when He names a painting, or a sculptor, identifying and defining His treasured work.  Plans and purposes...
     It's like He met me at the door, waiting for me, welcoming me in.  And I'm pretty sure He noticed my anticipation and excitement; He did not disappoint!!

     The weekend started in worship.  Holy and beautiful moments, for me, have always been ushered in by worship: be it music, be it prayers of praise and thanksgiving, be it quiet reflection of the Creator witnessed throughout creation.
     The Lord must have known what a monumentous task I was, because He began his work immediately.
     I sat down, very aware of my feelings of intimidation being surrounded by the women in the room.  For some reason, I've always been uncomfortable around large groups of women.  Maybe because I'm not a "typical" woman.
     I've always strived to be me, choosing to stand out in the crowd instead of following the crowd.  I'm tattooed, pierced, had multi-colored hair, long hair, short hair, definitely my own style of clothes.  I'm creative (in my own mind), I'm loud, and a lot of times I'm crass and foul-mouthed.  I'm the kind of woman who likes to do the unexpected.  If someone tells me I can't do something, my sole motivation becomes proving them wrong.  (see my military career).  I'm strong- physically, emotionally, and mentally.  And without getting into too many details, I'll leave it at that.
     So this was the "identity" I was laying on the table; this was the "identity" I so desperately needed God's help in making it all make sense.  My insecurities in the presence of so much estrogen made me feel like my femininity was lacking.
     I closed my eyes, and told Him, "Lord I need You."  Immediately, the movie screen played images of my life across the backs of my eyelids.
     I saw moments from my younger days that spoke to my soul- moments that my conscious mind told me were the moments that shaped my identity.  But as the movie of my life played before my eyes, my spirit knew that something wasn't right.  My body responded by sending wave after wave of hot tears down my face, dripping into my praying hands, waterfalling onto the floor.  I felt like my life was being erased...moments lived in the physical were now devoid of any meaning to me.
     I cried out to God as I watched the "old me" die...  "Lord, then who did you create me to be??"
     I felt my heart nearly explode as He answered my soul-cry: I created you to be a WOMAN."  He instantly validated my presence among these other women in the room.
     I could feel women praying with me, touching me on my back and my shoulders throughout this whole weepy interchange, as if passing along their acceptance, their love; the Father's love, the Father's acceptance.
     Hearing these words from the Lord were exactly what I needed to hear from Him.  Even though there were no further explanations, no further details, just knowing that the Father, Creator of the Universe made me to be a woman -
          Even without stunning beauty
               Even without strong femininity
                    Even without oozing sensuality
                                          Even without a womb.
 
The things I associated with womanhood - beauty, gentleness, softness, child-bearing - I've never felt like I've had.

Yet He affirmed me, a woman.
     At this very second, I'm feeling a strange kinship with Abraham's Sarah...  (Boy, that opens up a whole WORLD of possibilities...)

Back to women ministering to one another.
     I know the Holy Spirit was busy this weekend; He sent numerous women to me, to further affirm my identity, to share His love.

     Women were telling me my tattoos were beautiful.
          (Really??  I never hear they're beautiful.  Pretty, interesting, I get those.  But never beautiful.)
     Women told me my smile is beautiful.  That when I smile, my whole face smiles.  My eyes smile when I smile.  Which makes me smile.  :)
     Women telling me how beautifully I worship.
          (Awe.Some.  'Cause I felt like an idiot.  But I didn't care.)

    I also saw this weekend, women being who God created us to be.  Warm, nurturing, loving.  As I would look around, I would see women praying with other women.  Women who were crying, being held.  And so often, the one who was holding, was crying too.  Sharing.  Compassionate.  Numerous times as I watched the intimate interactions among women, I was broken.  I was reminded that women are not were not created to be hurtful, catty, spiteful, jealous.  I witnessed the opposite.  I remember seeing one woman be moved by God to invite another woman in tears to take communion.  They didn't know each other; they weren't friends before they met this weekend.  It was the most peaceful, loving gesture I'd seen in a very long time.  I cried.   I cried not at the moment, but I cried because I'd held such a wrong perception of women.  And I realized that because I held that innacurate perception of women, my identity was thus hindered. 

Each woman who stopped to pass along a message of encouragement, a message of love - I thank you. I recieved each word of encouragement from you and embraced it, because I took it as a message from our Father, delivered by the most precious creatures of His creation:
You.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

For the Love of a Dog

Spencer...  The most loyal dog I've ever known.
     Not just loyal, but obedient.  I never knew how important those qualities were.



A beautiful creature. 
Bear with me as I publicly grieve the loss of my friend, and process it all.  ALL.

Spence was my hub's dog, he was one of the gifts in our marriage.  He was my step-son's "brother", as they were only months apart in age. 
     (I dread this afternoon, when I break the news.  I'm crying in advance.)

We called him "airplane ears", "old man", & "squiggle-butt" - because when he got excited to see us, his tail would wag so hard that his rear-end would swing around next to his head.  Hilarious to see, really. 

He was, at times, so human.  His compassion for us when we were hurting or sad was unbelievable.
Other times, he was so...dog. 

So many memories...  He just turned 13 years old last month, and I've known him for the last 8 1/2.

He adapted to all of the other animals in our house and on our farm so well.  Some better than others, (any chicken.  any guinea hen.  mice.  Levi).

He got into a fight with Levi in the driveway one day, it was by far the most brutal thing I've ever witnessed.  I had no control over what was going on, I couldn't get either one to stop.  Horrible.
     Anyways.  After bringing him home from the vet with stitches, drainage tubes in his neck, I laid him on the couch.  Our cat instantly laid up against him, purring her heart out, soothing his pain.
I sat on the floor, just stroking his fur, comforting him, for hours.  I remember getting up to go to the restroom, and he cried and cried and cried.  I couldn't leave his side until Daddy came home. 

I remember when my hub returned from deployment, after 5 months away. 
    I pulled into the driveway, and G hid on the side of the garage while I ran in the house to get the dogs.  They ran out to greet me, and G walked around the corner...  oh.my.gosh.  Talk about an excited pup!!  He jumped all over him, whining, crying, barking, yipping, jumping all over the place! 

One winter, I let the dogs out in the morning.  I watched them bee-line towards the back forty, like any other morning.  Thirty minutes later we called them back to the house.  The first two dogs come back, slowly dragging swollen bellies.  It was hunting season, so we figured they found some one's deer-gut-bucket castoffs.  When off in the distance, here comes Spencer, trotting happily... with something huge and floppy hanging out of his mouth.  As he approaches, we try not to laugh out loud, seeing the deer liver barely hanging in between his lips.  He stops at my hub's feet, gently lays down the liver, butt just-a-swinging, smiling up at him.  "Look what I brought for you, Dad!!"

No matter how old Spence was, if it snowed here in NC, he reverted back into an energetic, spastic puppy.  Jumping, hopping, spinning, flipping, putting his face under the snow, then throwing his head in the air, watching the snow fly off his head.



Spencer could dig a hole to China, as long as a mouse or mole once occupied said hole.  He would dig with such purpose, fast and furious, then cram his shepherd nose all the way into the hole he dug, until only his eyeballs were exposed.  We would get him riled up, instigating him, just because it was super-duper amusing!

He was the protector of our canine family; and of myself and the boy.  God forbid if anyone tried to come at us - the distance between a threat and his charge grew immensely when he stood in the gap.
   One night we were sitting at the fire pit with the neighbor, in the middle of the night (yes, it was one of those nights) when we saw someone walk up and down the street one time too many.  We live in the country; there's no gas stations, stores or payphones.  So anyone walking the streets out here is, 9.9 times out of 10, up to no good.  Especially at that time of night.  My hubs, the neighbor, and Spencer all crept to the road, hidden in the shadows.  They met the suspicious individual in a particularly dark spot in the road, and confronted him.  First, with voices.  They surrounded him.  Hubs was holding a flashlight on him, from high in the air.  The neighbor asked him what he was doing, right at the moment the light lit up his face.  All the while, Spencer was walking in a circle behind them all, growling...
     Between the voice coming from one spot, a light in his face from somewhere else, and the growls coming from different places, well, we never saw that guy again.

Before me & the hubs moved into the house we built, we lived in a farmhouse on the edge of a bean field.  The beans were tall that summer.  I only remember this because Spence and my Welsh Corgi ran out into the beans, and the corgi got lost.  We called for her, and Spence kept leaping in the air, trying to see her.  We'd see bean plants moving, then Spence would hop.  More beans moving, and another straight up in the air hop by the dog.  Over and over.  We couldn't stop laughing! 

One day we were working on some landscaping in the front yard.  The dogs were out running around, doing God only knows what.  (I'd soon find out)  Once the work was done, and it was time for dinner to get started, I looked over to see Spencer laying out in the grass, chewing on something.  I ran over to investigate, only to see him gnawing on a rabbit head...One ear gone, one eyeball hanging out. 
Gross.
So I took him inside, along with the other dogs and the boy, while hubs discarded of the softball sized rabbit head.
The boy went to the right to the laundry room to take his shoes off, while I went left to the kitchen to wash the dirt from under my fingernails.  A few minutes later, we met in the middle, in the foyer.  We were both drawn to a quarter-sized spot of what looked like water, right in the middle of the floor.  We looked at the spot on the floor, then at each other, then, as if choreographed, he looked right, I looked left. 
And saw the carnage. 
Imagine this, if you will...
     In the middle of the day, summer time, so the sun is just getting to the point in the sky where it's starting to filter through the french doors in the living room.  An invisible sadist has taken a bunny rabbit, and stuffed in to a chipper-shredder.  The switch is flicked on, and in an instant, the ENTIRE living room is covered in blood and bunny bits.  The sadist and the chipper shredder disappear, and in his spot, stands Spencer.  Head down, barely looking at me, tail between his legs.
Moving on.

Spencer loved going to the woods with us... that's where the squirrels are!  He would take off after anything, and be gone for what seemed like hours.  Then return, giddy, and lay down wherever we were. 


Happy dog!!

One night, we were getting ready to go to bed.  The dogs had been out, and were settling in.  All of a sudden, Spencer stands up, in the middle of the living room, and pukes something huge up.
Whatever it is, it looks like it's whole.  And, it has fur.
Have you ever had one of those moments where you can't believe what just happened, where morbid curiosity takes the place of "clean it up!!!"?  We were crouched over the first gift, when he walks four feet away, and pukes up the rest of it.
It is then that we see, with the two pieces of the puzzle together now, what used to be a squirrel.
     He got up on the couch, laid down, and went to sleep.

He has eaten whole flocks of guineas, plenty of our chickens, too numerous to count deer parts,squirrels, rabbits, and God knows what else. 

But he was our loyal, well-deserving buddy.  He got snacks, treats and privileges the others didn't.
And he did the dishes every once in a while.




Now the painful part. 

Spencer was getting old.  I mean, come on, he was 13.  His hearing was just about completely gone.  His kidneys and/or bladder didn't have the capacity it used to.  It took him a whole lot more effort to get on and off the couch, not to mention just get up from laying down. 
My biggest fear was since he was just about deaf, he'd be out running around, go to cross the street, and not hear an oncoming vehicle. 
And that's exactly what happened yesterday afternoon.

When something like this happens, you kind of go into autopilot mode, and I did, taking care of everything that had to be done. 

There's something tragically beautiful in how we treat our animals when they die.  The longest walk of my life, carrying my buddy's broken and bloody body, tears pouring down my face, dropping onto his shedding fur.  Our other dogs saying goodbye before we buried him.  It's always the one you least expect to be affected, that breaks your heart.  Squatty smelled Spencer, sat down at his head, and started trembling, and would.not.leave.his.side.

I lost it.


This morning I was praying, just longing for the comfort that comes in the Presence. 
     It came.  And remains.  For now, I'm not weeping at the drop of a hat, or at the sight of Spencer's food bowl, or the blanket he laid on every night, or the memories that come flooding back.  For now.

We were so incredibly blessed to have this dog in our lives as long as we did.  He lived a good life, and set a standard in our hearts for (canine) loyalty, faithfulness, and obedience.  His passing was instant; merciful, considering the situation. 

I'm still processing the effect he's made on my life, and learning the lessons from him, that we so often ignore.  But, if ever a dog is crowned royalty, there is none more deserving than him.



We love you Spencer.


Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Conversation of Compassion

There he was.
One the corner, standing in the shade of a pear tree, holding his cardboard sign.

On a whim, we had decided to eat breakfast at a fast food joint; never been to this one before, but here we were, and so was he.

It was almost as if time slowed down as we drove past him, so that we could read his sign, see his face, take in the whole scene.
His sign said "homeless marine" on top, and "god bless you" across the bottom.  Crude cardboard, half crumpled, letters all capitalized in neat thin black marker.
His hair was braided under his ball cap, his t-shirt dark colored but faded, his jeans well-worn, almost threadbare.
His smile was desperate, yet beaming with hope.
He waved at every car that drove past him; ever car that pulled into the McD's in front of him was paid close attention to... words of greetings, blessings and well-wishes for a good day to each one.  Some greetings were ones of recognition, but each one given whole-heartedly.

My husband and I were moved, something shifted.  We decided to buy him some breakfast; it was one of those rare days we had something to give.
On our way out of the parking lot, we asked if he was hungry.  He replied "Yes Ma'am!" So handed over our gift of a meal.
We spoke with him briefly- we found out he was a Marine some time ago, that his name was Russell.  We told him we were both prior military, and that we'd be praying for him.
     (I know it sounds overused, but that's what we said. Leave me alone.)
He thanked us, reciprocated the prayers, and we drove on.

For the next thirty minutes, we drove in complete silence.  No chitchat, no jokes, no radio.  The cars on the road with us didn't even seem to produce any sounds.  Nothing.
God was working on each of us; compassion was tumbling through our thoughts.
But so was a mocking spirit:
     -Here you are thinking you've done something nice. (putting me on the defensive)
     -You gave him a measly biscuit meal while you kept the bigger, better, tastier breakfast.  (accusation... this one hurt)
     -Is that really all you could've given him??  (enter doubt and second-guessing)

All this was going through my head while thinking about this man, the situation he was in, how'd he get there, was he trying to feed a family with whatever was given to him throughout the day, etc.
By the time my husband and I starting talking, I was almost in tears; between the battle raging in my head,and the genuine concern I was feeling, I was sooooo ready for the silence to end.
We went back and forth with our questions about this man:
     Where did he sleep?
     Was he trying to feed a family?
     When was the last time he talked to anyone in his family?
     Was he safe where he was?
And so on.

He permeated our thoughts and prayers for the rest of the day.
My concerns were typical female; nurturing in nature...food and clothes.
My husband's were very male:  shelter, job.
     (We make a great team)

The days went by, and our physical separation from his situation lessened the urgency of our prayers and concerns. 

Until last Friday.

I had to run into the city again to pick up supplies for work.
Within ten minutes of being on the road, thoughts of Russell snuck into my brain again.
And so did the destroyer, the accuser.

For well over an hour, my curiosity of meeting this man again was overwhelming.  I prayed for God to put me where He wanted me; I'd be in the same area again, if it was His will, I'd see Russell again.

Fear crept in:
   -You're alone this time.  What girl in her right mind goes to see a homeless man alone??  What if he does something to hurt you??
     Smash that!  God's got me, no weapon formed against me shall prosper.  ( I was a bit more prepared for the attack this time...)

Then doubt:
   -He won't even be there.  Don't waste the gas.
     Smash that too!  I'M GOING.  If he's there, it's meant to be,  If not, I'm not out anything.

Then my own heart kicked in.  I realized I wanted to know this man.  Who he is, his life, his military service, his family, how he got where he is, where he slept. 
The only way to find out was to talk to him.

My heart lept when I saw him.  I must have been beaming when I pulled up to him and asked him to come in and eat lunch with me.  I saw hesitation, but he met me at the door of my truck after I pulled in to park.
We ordered our meals and cookies (insert Homer Simpson donut-drool noise here) and sat down together.
He profusely thanked me, and we each blessed our meal.  I was so intent on talking to this man that I rushed a quick prayer over my food, only to look up and be stopped dead in my tracks.

He was still blessing his food.  His eyes were closed, hands open facing up, quietly, almost inaudibly, praying.
I almost cried.
I was half-embarrassed, like I walked in on something private, something intimate: his beautiful, quiet worship.

Russell and I sat there for almost an hour talking.  We chatted about our parents, our kids, time spent in the service, being raised up north, bad decisions, hunting and fishing, and tattoos.
Then we got to the meat.
He spoke of Jesus, he spoke of God, as a trusted friend.  He talked about the church he went to, he talked of his dreams to have a ministry.
He talked about his current station in life, how he know that he would only be homeless until God called him out of it.  In the meantime, his goal was to spread a little bit of Jesus to everyone he met.

And that he did.

We could've sat there for hours talking.  The more I talked with him, Russell was becoming my friend.  But we had to part ways.  So we hugged, blessed each other, and parted; I to my truck, him back to the corner in the shade.

Since then, I've learned a couple things.
  1.  I thought I was helping Russell.  Turns out, he was helping me.
  2.  Whenever I step out of my comfort zone, thinking I'm going to help someone else, that when God teaches me.  He changes my perspective.  He humbles me, lovingly.
  3.  This has changed my life.

You see, once I saw past the label of "homeless", I saw the man.  The human being, the person with a family, a history, feelings, a heart.
Just.  Like.  Me.

I connected with him.  He's a veteran, we're veterans.  He's homeless, we've been painfully close.  He begs for food, we fight to feed our family.

The three things he publicly stated, I related to.

I saw the human behind the sign.
And I realized it could've been me.


My instant reaction is to put it on myself to find him a job, secure some shelter, and find a way for him to be fed.  I racked my brain for days, agonizing over different possibilities for him.  And I realized suddenly that he's only one of many.  My perspective broadened:  the city of Raleigh has homeless people all over the place.  What could be done for them?  North Carolina, these United States - homeless everywhere.
An overwhelming task, and it isn't just mine alone, or a task set for only a few organizations.

I was gently reminded last night to bring this into the church.
There are churches everywhere, awakening to the call of the Holy Spirit.  These churches are hungry for their part in God's mission field, so to speak.  They realize that our job isn't to seek approval from another person who's just as clueless as we are, it's to seek God.  It's not our assignment to seek our own justification via presence in a pew on Sunday morning.  The longer we sit in the pew without doing anything with what we're learning, the frustration factor grows.  They get it.  They understand the mission:  GO.

Every single one of us has/had a mother, a father, siblings, cousins, children.  These are the faces of the homeless.  Does compassion change, or become intensified, when the face is one you recognize?

Every single one of us has made mistakes in our lives, been down on our luck, and suffered.  Will our compassion change when we realize that each one of us could be the one of the faces of the homeless?

Russell's passion for God, and his appreciation for, and joy despite, his station in life has taught me to be oh-so-very-thankful for everything God has given me.
     I may not have a huge house with the white picket fence, but I have a roof over my head.  I have a climate-controlled space that relieves me from the elements.  (Thank you JESUS for my air conditioner!)
     We may work our tails off to fight to keep the lights on, and food on the table, but God has given us bodies that allow us to do so this season. 
     And He always comes though for us.  ALWAYS.  It may not be how we expected; usually it's better.
     He is teaching me, day by day.  I cannot wait for the lesson to be completed before I step out, I'll never go if that's what I'm waiting on.  So much of the lesson comes after I go.

We are the Body of Christ.
     Hands, feet, hearts.
          So I'm going to starting reaching out.


(I'm positively sure I'll be posting more on this subject...)

Lessons from a Butterfly

(written 9/24/12)

We overlook the little things so often that it's almost painful.
The tiny, the ordinary, the taken-for-granted.
A butterfly, for example.
     One decided to grace me this morning, by landing directly in my path.

It was brilliant, beautiful.  Eye-catching and breath-hitching.

God teaches me really big lessons though really little things, and I love it.

Immediately I saw how similar to people she was, this butterfly, what a stunning snapshot of humanity she was.

The colors were the first things that caught my eye.  Colors so radiant, that only God could create, and nature herself could display.
     What struck me, was that without that color, she wouldn't be who she is.  The color was strictly an identifier, what made the kind of butterfly she is unique.  What those colors represented, how she is initially identified tells so much.  She, as this particular kind of butterfly, is native to a particular geographic area.  But it's this geographic area that tells of the surroundings, the climate, the food sources, the life, the struggles, the level of perseverance she has to develop to endure and overcome.
Hm.

My eyes are drawn to a blemish, a tear in the delicate wing, which provides flight, her mobility.
     Aren't we all damaged?  Haven't we all experienced something along our journey that damages us, hurts us, tears at our spirit?  Something we have to recover from, something that changes us, who we are.  Whatever this thing is, it leaves a mark, a scar.  A reminder of the trauma endured, the battle overcome.  One more thing in the list of life experiences that continues to shape the person we are becoming.

She closes her wings rhythmically, as if breathing.  It's almost like I'm watching her tiny heart beat.
In the brief moments of her wings being together, I see the spots on the underside of her wings.
     A stain here, an imperfection there.  Flaws, faults, imperfections; we're all riddled with them.  Sometimes they're hidden from immediate view.

Those imperfections, the dark discolorations, they don't take away from her beauty, they only add to her uniqueness.

And I'm struck:  I need to look at ALL people this way:
      As individuals, colorful and delightful; revelling in the uniqueness of each one, not judging for what they've been through.
     Celebrating and loving each life as the precious gift it is, chosen and set apart for its very own journey and purpose.
    

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Conviction

Have our hearts become so focused on ourselves that we've forgotten how to be compassionate to other human beings?
    
          (Mine has.)


Have we been so stricken by fear that we're afraid of anything that isn't like us, or anything that may (or may not) disrupt our little slice of normal?

          (I have been.)


Are we rendered speechless when kind words or prayers of encouragement are needed?

           (More often than I'd like to admit.)


Do we restrain ourselves, when we should be reaching out?

          (All the time.)


What would it look like to break that chain that holds us back? 
What would it look like to overcome fear for just long enough to step out of our comfort zones?
What would it look like to reach out?

           What would it look like to care for others more than we care about ourselves?

My answers are different that yours.  My heart is different that yours, my calling is different than yours. 
    
BUT... if we were ALL to do that, can you imagine how different this world would look?


Each one of us might, just might, impact a life.

  
Just one.  That's where it starts. 

It has to.

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Music

Music moves me.
   
      It's what opens up my soul to the world around, as if my whole being is saying, "THIS is how I feel!"   "THIS is what I'm experiencing!"  "THIS is what I'm unable to say!"

Sometimes it's the words sung, other times it's the accompanying instrumentation, and more often than not, it's the combination of the two.

It's the lovely combination of notes, the sounds produced by the instruments.  The infusion of the Spirit into every single note, every breath taken, every pluck of strings.  It's the power that drives the inspired singer to cry out during a specific word; that's what speaks to me.

It's the divine hidden in the song.
It's the Creator of all things, gifting us with a sound that rings of the heavens.

It's the surprise of keys being changed, bringing a whole new emotion to the awareness.

It's the gift of the Holy God, sharing His ability with us to make something...beautiful.

It's the appreciation for vision, to see the process of putting sounds together to feel what inspiration is.

It's the uncanny combination of electric guitar mixed with primitive drum beating.
     The simplicity of spoken prayer accompanied with simple strings of acoustic guitar.
          The sould-penetrating power of amplification.
               The binding of sound to emotion.

Music brings an intimate awareness of creativity; to pull out of yourself newness, expressions of beauty.

All music speaks to me this way.  To listen to some of the most well-known songs, and hear something new each time.  Listening to music from all over the world, I am moved by the universal desire of all humanity to make music, allowing me to partake in the pain, the rejoicing, the fun, the uncertainty, the bliss... all through music.

It makes me appreciate the Almighty even more, for creating sound, and the ears to hear, and the connection of the two to our souls. 

Music allows me to feel the small-ness of me in all things, and the absolute immensity of God in everything.


Now if you'll excuse me, my favorite song is on.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Into the Woods

Trying to be silent, working under the advantage of early morning fog, which deadens our footsteps.
     At least I think it seems to...

Dodging cobwebs & their residents, avoiding branches in our path.  Looking to the sky, there's now just enough light to distinguish between the treetops and the sky, but no more.

Gazing back at the needle-covered path, trying to see if the beginnings of daybreak are reaching into the depths of the forest, but it is still black as night here on the ground. 

Amber light from the penlight shows just enough of the ground to illuminate the path one foot in front of us, one step at a time. 

The excitement of the hunt ahead, and the anticipation of the day brings beads of sweat to our foreheads and sneaking down my spine.

Around the path, through the campsite, my bearings start to straighten.  Even though I know I can get to where I'm going in the dark, the possibility of tripping over an unseen stump and stopping my fall with a faceful of green briars is enough to force me to keep the light on.

We round the corner into the next section of paths, deeper into the woods, thankful that the fall leaves underfoot are soggy with dew.  Suddenly, a treetop to our left EXPLODES into a rustling, wing-flapping moment of chaos.
     Whatever it was we scared... was HUGE.  As it left the treetop, I could hear the air rushing under its wings...
     one...
          delayed...
               flap...
                    after...
                         delayed...
                                  flap.

It may have very well been a pterodactyl.

I catch my breath, and tell my heart "Chill, it was just a turkey, or a giant owl,... or a dinosaur.", and continue our travels down the path, both of us smirking.

We reach the point where my other half and I part ways for this particular hunt; he climbs into his tree stand, and I cross the rotten log into "no-path land".

I may think I know where I'm going at this point, but in the few minutes since I realized the sky was starting to get lighter, I also travelled downhill and into thicker trees.  The absence of a path definitely does not help, either.

I'm completely reliant on the tiny flashlight I hold in my hands, because when I turned it on, (upside down), the artificial light blinded me.  (This is not starting out too well...)

So I weave my way through the briars on what I'm hoping is a deer path, when I walk through yet another spider web.  I keep forgetting that walking through the woods in the dark demands a different level of focus; I was focusing on the corn pile in the distance.  I should've been focusing on my steps directly in front of me, every few steps re-orienting towards the goal in the distance.  Hey, it works for me.

I remember when I was a kid, (and younger than I am...today) I was terrified of the dark.  It wasn't so much the dark, it was what could've been hiding in the dark. 
     This morning I laugh at that memory, almost aloud.  I'm more worried about being the monster in the dark to the deer we're hunting!

I'm obviously not too worried about spooking the deer, because I bumble my way through the last fifteen feet or so, and climb into my tree stand, pulling my bow up along side of me.  I tied myself to the tree and plop down, quite disgracefully and noisily.

I'm here. 

My breath is hot and humid under my camouflage hood, and my heart feels like it's going to beat right out of my chest.

The noise coming from the woods around me isn't helping; with the humidity in the air, the sweat pouring off me, and the noises surrounding me, I feel like I'm swimming in the world's largest bowl of Rice Krispies. 

The thought makes me laugh, but I'm still a nervous wreck.  So I do the only thing I know to do when I'm feeling anything but peaceful:

Pray.

Well, not so much " pray", really; more like straight-up worship.  Hands in the air and all.

I call on the Lord as my comforter and my peace; I praise Him for being my strength, my joy, and my rock.
     Over and over and over again.

Works every time! 
     I open my eyes to a brighter view, one where I can appreciate the beauty that surrounds me, and see it all as a masterpiece.

When I look at it that way, I don't fear any part of it.

The fog isn't eerie anymore, it's more like a veil - a veil being lifted off a waking planet.

The veil being lifted reveals a morning breeze...a breeze that does NOT work in my favor, but a breeze none-the-less.

I can now see what's making the cereal noises:  as the breeze blows in the treetops, it's dropping fat dewdrops onto the forest floor, onto the leaves below, and onto the crunching underbrush.

In the sparse moments where there's no noise, my eyes become my heightened sensory organ.  I can see the yellow poplar leaves floating from the canopy to the earth below.  When more than one leaf is falling, the crickets are muted out.  But, for just an instant, I watch one single leaf fall, and realize the crash of that leaf in its collision with the ground below... is deafening.

And I praise God for all of it.

The birds coming out of their slumber singing into the new day, the crickets for their serenading, the crows for their "caw-rus" off in the distance.  (Caw-rus?  get it?  crows caw? chorus?  Anyways.)

My heart quickens each time I think I hear footsteps; could that be a deer on the other side of the pine tree I can't see around?

It's almost as if God comforts me, lovingly laughing, as a huge rabbit jumps out into my sight.

Peace reigns once again.

I hear a deer grunt off in the distance, but I don't get the feeling I'll be seeing any today. 

I'm cool with that; I think the Lord had other plans for me this morning.



Wednesday, September 26, 2012

(Big Exhale) Here we go.

Fear is almost paralyzing me right now. 

The thought of baring my soul; the things I write, the way I write them, what I see and how I see it...
    to have that private, intimate part of me on display, open for criticism, correction, judgement...
                              
 I AM TERRIFIED.

But something inside me, stronger than me, or you, or all of us put together, moves me to do this. 
     Surely, it isn't confidence.    (Jeez, who in the world says "Surely" anymore?)

See?  This is going to be a process for me.  (enter in more doubt...)
        
I'm going to share what moves me.  Sometimes I write, and months later, I'll be hit with new meaning, new understanding.  (Just happened again this morning.)

Maybe somewhere, some way, some one will read this and understand. 
Maybe they'll be inspired. 
Maybe they'll be moved closer to whatever it is in their life they're moving towards. 
Maybe there's one little ol' person in this big ol' world, that these words may connect with.

That's what I'm hoping for, praying for.

But, it's not really about me.  It's more about the grand story, and this is just my little ol' part to play.