In the Hand of God |
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Today is a journey to Bethel. My mind, heart, and soul will journey today to my own personal Bethel for a time of remembrance of meeting with God. A day that changed me and my relationship with God forever. There is an unexplainable reverence associated with today. I feel as though I should take off my shoes for it is holy ground I trod.
Bethel was a special place for Jacob. It marked the place where he met with God. It was a place of spiritual commitment for Jacob. It was a place where God gave him dreams and promises. My Bethel is similar for it was there that I met with God. It was the place where God made a covenant with me. It was a place where God asked me to dream dreams that I could not comprehend or think to dream on my own. It was a day when He handed me a promise when all my other promises were broken. My Bethel is the place where the God of glory, the Creator of the universe, otherwise known as my heavenly Daddy, reached down and held His baby girl. In my life I have been blessed to witness the presence of the Holy Spirit, but never in my life have I ever felt like I could touch Him. The Peace that came that day was truly beyond understanding. He was patient as I struggled to see the beauty in the ashes. For me, Bethel is a place of affirmations, altars, and assurance. It was there that He affirmed who I was in Him. He affirmed His love for me and His presence. It was there that I erected a spiritual altar. For me, November 5th represents the day that God met with me in a different way for the first of many meetings. Many times I find myself at that altar, thanking Him again for showing me the beauty in the ashes, joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of heaviness. My Bethel is a place of blessed assurance. A trip to Bethel reminds me of my Daddy's love and unending grace. Going back to Bethel reminds me that He is never too busy to run to me when I call. It was there that He assured me that His promises are faithful and true. He reminded me that the dream was still alive and that I was still to be its dreamer. So this second anniversary of my Bethel, I approach the altar in awe and wonder. There is no place for shoes here, for it is holy ground on which I stand. I come into the presence of the Most High God with an overflowing heart of gratitude. I find myself kneeling, and then the need to fall on my face in worship to a God who cares about His baby girl enough to run and take her in His arms. On this visit to Bethel, I must renew my commitment to Him and to His call. I must no longer be a slave to fear, but devoted to the service of my God.
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The first week of February 2014 was a week where God would teach me that if He gives the dream, if it is truly His, there is nothing that will stand in your way of fulfilling it except yourself. But before I tell that story, I must take you on a journey.
The last Monday night in January 2014 around 8:00pm, I received notification of my fourth Conference of Concern from my administrator. It was the second to include central office staff. As always with these emails, I had absolutely no idea why I was being written up, and by this point I was exhausted. I had taught fourteen years and had never been written up until now, with four in five months. I was frustrated and absolutely miserable. But that night a phone call would be made and things would start to change. The next Monday after work, I went to meet with someone, and although I felt better nothing was really different. Less than four months later I would learn that I was wrong. But for now, it all seemed the same. That Tuesday I went to the doctor and was sent home to rest due to dangerously high blood pressure readings. The doctor wrote my excuse for both Tuesday and Wednesday in case I needed it, but on Wednesday I was feeling better and went to work. I hadn't been at work longer than five minutes when I was asked to leave and practically ushered out the front door. I cried all the way home. By lunch I had reached bottom of a pit that had been growing for a year. Not only was I miserable at work, but there was plenty of other stuff too. I had lost my grandfather who loved me like no else ever had. My mom had been diagnosed with skin cancer, I had resigned my position as a Sunday School teacher which I held for over a decade. I had resigned from directing the drive through nativity at my church which I loved. In August we had left the church I had been a member of for almost thirty years. We had just started going to a new church that I didn't really have any relationships formed that I could count on to help me, I had went from threes and fours on evaluations to ones and twos. By November my marriage was experiencing some difficulty, and the holidays were miserable with the loss of my grandfather. By the end of December, I had close family who was no longer speaking to me which I didn't really understand. And here I sat with yet another Conference of Concern the next day and stroke values for blood pressure. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I went in my bedroom and bowed by my bed, laid my head against the mattress and cried. You know that verse about the Holy Spirit giving utterance? Well, on this Wednesday afternoon in the first week of February, I had no words. There were no words because of all the hard things I was in the midst of, the hardest was that I had lost my closeness with God. You see in March of 2013, God had spoken to me in a dream. Not in visions and symbols, but in audible words. I didn't understand it then, but I would come to understand it. I learned about that dream in the loss of my grandfather. I learned about it in my daughter's surgery. I understood it when the evaluations came back showing that I wasn't the teacher I thought I was. I saw it fulfilled in my marriage and family relationships. When God had said to let go and jump, He meant let go of everything and I hadn't. By October of 2013, God had spoken to me again. This time with a new calling. I was raised Baptist. I was okay with submission and my husband being the spiritual leader of the household. Although I had this secret desire to be an Esther, I had accepted being a supportive wife of a Christian man who would be a leader in his church. I had resigned myself to the fact that being an Esther was for someone else. My job was to be my husband's support and helper. But at this point my husband who had once been Sunday School teacher, Sunday School director, choir director, Vacation Bible School director, and activities director, now just wanted a church where he could blend in with no responsibilities. I understood why, but where does that leave a Jesus girl who cannot be a supportive wife of a church leader, much less an Esther? I needed a purpose. But I wasn't ready. I made the mistake one day of praying, "Here I am God. Please give me something to do for you." And He did. He gave me a calling worthy of Esther. The little girl who dreamed of helping to save her generation and be a life changing Jesus girl, grew up and she told God no. It was my turn for a calling all my own. It was my turn to be the one who would stand "for such a time as this", and I told Him no. And so He had chosen to break me. And He had. I was about as broken as I could be. Everything I took pride in....everything I thought I was...none of it was real anymore. And here I was by my bedside with no words to speak to the God who had given me a dream. And then the words started to come.... "God, it wasn't that I wanted to say no. I just didn't know how to say yes. God, what you're asking me to do is impossible. Yes, I know nothing is impossible with You, but this has to be impossible right now. I don't understand it. I don't know anything about where you are calling me to. I don't even know where to go to learn about it. And God, that's not who I am. Those aren't my talents. And God, even if I was good at those thing, You have to know that I can't do them right now. This calling could destroy my marriage. Even if I could make my husband understand that this is truly from You....even if he himself knew I didn't come up with it alone. He would never allow it, at least not with his parents alive, especially not his mom. God, I am so sorry. Truth is that I have come to love the dream. I didn't want to love it. But I have come to love it. I think about it all the time. It's part of who I have become. It's from You and I know it. But God, I can't. There's no way." And after about an hour, I ran out of tears. I fixed myself a snack, and at about three in the afternoon, my cell phone rang. It was a call from a different area code, and I had no intention of answering it, but something in the empty place of my heart said to answer it and I did. It was a stranger, but I recognized his name. His wife is a famous Christian author and speaker. The earthly reason he called me held nothing in comparison to the Heavenly reason. He would spend the next 75 minutes telling me everything I had just told God that I didn't understand. All that stuff I told Him that I didn't know about? All that stuff I didn't know where to look for answers? There it was in a phone call from a stranger. When I hung up the phone my hands were shaking. "So okay God. There's part of it, but there's still that other part..." The next day was my Conference of Concern which went as well as could be expected. It would prove to be my last. That afternoon my husband would come home to tell me that his mother had been taken to the emergency room, and by eight that night we knew that her cancer was back and had spread. She would be sent home the next day on hospice. A week later she would be in Heaven. And so here I am a year later. My father-in-law has since passed away, and my husband has come to understand that the dream is God's, but it is becoming mine. Slowly. Ever so slowly. Mine. The obstacles that I pointed out to Him a year ago are for the most part gone. This is where the rubber meets the road. The God of the Universe has led me to a place I never thought I would go. A place I am terrified of, yet excited about. His plan is not what I thought. He didn't mean for me to be a behind the scenes girl. He wants me to be part of an Esther generation. He wants me to dream His dream. It isn't a glorious dream. It is a messy dream. It is a painful, messy dream. But He wants to take the pain and give it purpose. He wants that mess to be my message. He has made me broken in places that can never heal. But it is those broken places, where He means for His light to shine through. And so, again He calls to my heart to follow this dream...to be an Esther. And this time, I tell Him yes. "Should you not also have had compassion on your fellow servant, just as I had pity on you?" - Matthew 18:33 NKJV
The king had called in his servant to settle a debt. The servant owed far more than he could ever pay, ten thousand talents, which equaled about sixty million days wages. If every member of the man's family worked every single day and gave every bit of their wages to the king for all their lifetimes, they could never repay the debt. The king decided that the man, his wife, his children, and all that he had should be sold to repay the debt. The man was desperate and pleaded with the king to show him mercy and forgiveness. The king saw the desperation in the pleas of the man, and chose to forgive him of all the debt without any additional terms. He had been granted unmerited grace, mercy, and forgiveness. This man in turn sought out his friend who owed him a hundred denarii, about four months wages. He took him by the throat choking him, and demanded that he repay his debt immediately. The friend begged for mercy, but was thrown in jail instead. The man had been forgiven of a massive debt. A debt that no doubt he owed. A debt that could cost him his family. Although the man knew that the debt was his and that the penalty was fair, he begged the king for mercy. The king knew that the man could never repay the debt. He heard the pleas of the man and was moved to forgive him. This man was forgiven a debt he could never repay, and his family and belongings were spared. What a gift of grace! We too have been forgiven of a debt that we cannot repay. The wages of sin is death. Death is the penalty for us all. And yet, a merciful God showed us grace and sent His Son to serve as our redeemer, the One who would in turn pay our insurmountable debt. We talk of Him paying our debt for us. We sing about owing a debt we couldn't pay and Him paying a debt He didn't owe, but I wonder, do we really understand grace? I personally am not always good at giving grace. Sometimes I don't want to give grace. I want to give others what they deserve. But then I am reminded of the grace that I myself was given, and I find myself being called to give the grace that I was given There is a specific area of my life where God has taught me the process of grace. He has taught me that even though some situations are grounds for me to make demands, that they are also grounds for me to forgive. He has taught me to forgive...to give grace as I myself received. I now watch someone who has been given much grace. I am watching this person be much like this servant and imprisoning the one who is in debt and yet begs for grace. I find myself much like the servants in the scripture who stand and witness the forgiven man as he fails to give the grace he was given. I too find myself running to the king and notifying him of the injustice that is being committed. In the scripture the servants come to the king and tell him how the man who was forgiven of so great a debt is now demanding his just payment from his fellow servant. What disappointment this king must have felt. He heard the desperate pleas of the servant and granted him unmerited grace. The man was given an unconditional chance to continue his life, to keep his wife, his children, and his home. Rather than feeling an awesome sense of gratefulness, he went from debtor to collector. This man who had made so many bad choices. This man who had made so many mistakes. This man who did not in any way, shape, or form deserve grace, mercy, or forgiveness, received it anyway in spite of the fact he couldn't make it right, even if he spent a lifetime. This man turned around and sought out another man who too had made bad choices, but not to the extent of the choices he himself had made. Yes, this man had a debt too, but it was pennies compared to his forgiven debt. This man could realistically repay his debt in less than a year. His debt was not even of the same magnitude. And yet this servant forgot the grace he himself had been shown. Maybe he didn't understand what a gift he had been given. Maybe he couldn't comprehend what grace truly was. Perhaps his whole life had been spent keeping a record of everyone else's offenses and debts. Perhaps he never had seen the ledger that held his own list of offenses and debts. To be given grace and yet refuse to give it in return. It's hard to grasp how it can happen, and yet it does. Even when the man was brought back before the king and thrown into prison himself for his lack of mercy, I wonder if he even then understood the grace that he had been shown. I believe that rather than realize his mistake and understand the gift of grace that he had been granted, that he most likely spent his days in prison filling in a ledger of what he must have seen as injustices from the king rather than seeing the grace he had been given. To be given a gift of unmerited grace and in turn give judgment to those who have less of a debt than you. To have had your own ledger completely forgiven, yet in turn to choke the very life from one you should grant grace. What a sad and dangerous way to chose to live life. So he answered and said to his father, ‘Lo, these many years I have been serving you; I never transgressed your commandment at any time; and yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might make merry with my friends. But as soon as this son of yours came, who has devoured your livelihood with harlots, you killed the fatted calf for him. Luke 15:29-30 NKJV
He had me where he wanted me. Stuck. Paralyzed. Bitter. I knew it was him. I knew that I didn't belong here, but I couldn't get out. I looked around me and saw the blessings of answered prayer unfolding all around me. Things I had pleaded with God for the last few months were now in place, and His promise of comfort was finally evident. Yet here I sat wallowing in self-pity and bitterness while God flooded me with answered prayers. Here I was, a blood bought anointed and commissioned Jesus girl, stuck in a dark place not understanding at all how I got here. I was desperate for someone to talk to....someone who could understand. I tried, but I finally decided that this was something that I was going to have to move past on my own with God. This Jesus girl knows that He's all I need, but let's be honest...sometimes you just need a human to be Jesus in the flesh. Someone to hug you, pray with you, and text to see if you're okay. I had arranged to meet a friend to talk, but it fell through and we didn't meet. Discouragement was creeping over me more and more when she sent a text...the text I needed. "You are the 'good son' again in the prodigal son." The thought had never occurred to me. She was right. Those who know me best know that my least favorite story in the Bible is a favorite of most preachers and Christians. I have issues with the story of the Prodigal Son. I know that it is symbolic of all of us who as sinners came to ourselves and returned to God. I get the beautiful iconic picture of the father running with outstretched arms to greet his wayward son who has returned home from his wicked ways. I understand that I too was once a prodigal and that God welcomed me with open arms through faith in Christ. But I know something else about that story...I know the older son. The eldest in the story is often portrayed by preachers to be ungrateful and jealous. He is seen as the bad guy in the story. But I don't see it that way...maybe because I can identify with him. His little brother had earlier decided to ask his father for his inheritance. Now as the youngest, he wasn't in line to inherit what the oldest could, yet he did have an inheritance to claim. Rather than waiting for his father to pass, he boldly requested his share of the estate while his father was living. He then took his inheritance and squandered it away in a far country wasting it and finding himself alone, homeless, and poor. He found himself hungry and destitute, living and eating among pigs. Finally one day he comes to himself and remembers what he left back at home and decides to return. His forgiving and loving father welcomes him with open arms. His father gives him new clothes and a ring, commands that the fatted calf be killed in honor of his return, and that a party begin to celebrate the occasion. Such a picture of unconditional love...but wait a minute. While little brother is getting cleaned up for the party complete with a new outfit and a ring, someone is missing. The fatted calf is prepared and the merriment begins, but no one goes to get the older brother. He is out in the fields working. While his little brother was living life in the far country, possibly even with booze, wild women, and parties, he stayed home. He now had to help out around the house even more, carrying the responsibilities that his brother neglected. He had spent a long day in the fields and came home to sounds of music and dancing. He had to ask a servant about what was happening. He was angry. Every preacher I've ever heard makes him sound like a horrible creature, but is he? I understand him. I want to call him over at this point of the story and tell him that I understand. He did what was right. He stayed. He followed the rules. He tried to please his father. All this time while the prodigal followed his lusts and selfishness, this man had stayed home. He had been the faithful one. He had been the one who remained at his father's feet. He was the one who continued to press on through each day keeping it as normal as he possibly could. And what did he get in return? Not even an invitation to the party. He was hurt and angry, refusing to be a part of it. His father came out, and begged him to come in and join them. He couldn't understand why his son did not share in this joy felt by the others. I can almost close my eyes and see them there. It was probably dusk when the son returned in from the fields. I see him in tears, clenched fists against his chest, pleading with his father to understand beneath the candlelit lanterns on the house. There he stands with tears streaming down his face, needing his father to look at him and see what he feels. He tells him that all these years he has served him as best as he could. He has stayed faithful. He has diligently tried not to transgress against his commandments, wanting to honor him with his life and his heart. He has devoted himself to his father. He could have done the things his brother did. He could have made different decisions. But he didn't. His brother got the fatted calf...he never even got the honor or recognition of a gift of a goat. He wasn't ready to join Team Prodigal. Especially not if he only got to be the water boy. I looked in the mirror and I saw him looking back at me. I have been that one in the shadow of the lantern light looking through the window at the party I wasn't invited to attend. I know what it's like to feel forgotten for your efforts. I know the struggle and frustration that faithfulness brings. I know what it's like to try with everything in your being to follow Him even when you don't want to, but you do it anyway. I know what it's like to feel like you sacrificed your heart and dreams to honor God in ways that don't come easily. I know what it feels like to have had the chance to make bad decisions too, yet you don't because you love your Father too much to do it, even though you aren't led there by choice but by grace. I know what it's like to be angry. To desperately plead with your Father to see...to understand...to notice. His father answers him. I picture his father laying his hand against his older son's cheek as he looks him in the eye. The father reassures his son that he sees his faithfulness. He knows that this son has sought to remain faithful. He assures him that all that he has belongs to him. His inheritance is yet to come. But for now they must rejoice in the return of the prodigal. So many things could have happened to him and yet, here he is back home again. He needs to be supported and showered in unconditional love by both of them. I think that the older brother probably got cleaned up and went in to join the party. I see him hugging his brother while his father looks on and smiles. I see an endless line of hugs and well wishes for the prodigal as guests leave. I am sure that the father rejoiced that night as he tucked his wayward son into his old bed in his old room. I think that night as his father made his way to his own room with a heart filled with gratefulness, that he stopped by the room of the older son. I think he looked in as he slept, maybe even going in to adjust his blanket. I think he smiled as he gently rubbed his hair back from his tired face. I see him kissing him on the cheek, and whispering that he loves him and that he has seen it all and is proud of the son he has been. His father has witnessed his demonstration of love, and he will not forget him.  She is like the merchant ships. Proverbs 31:14
I have to admit that I am struggling. I came back from a wonderful holy experience and rather than jumping headfirst into ministry, I have found myself sitting quietly waiting for Him to speak. I found my experience with the Holy Spirit to be so humbling and so life changing that as far as writing or sharing goes, I almost feel as though I am mute. I feel like a sailing ship that has been constructed and fitted with new strong sails, yet I am destined to sit in the harbor. I can feel the tug of the current beneath me, ready at any moment to bear me out into the open seas, yet my anchor is holding me fast to the safety of the harbor. Here in the harbor I still endure storms. I still feel the wind whip through my sails as if to mock them as though they are useless where I am. They tempt me to venture out from the harbor early, but my Captain has not yet bid me to sail. Part of me longs to have these sails unfurled and allow the wind to catch them and move me out to deeper waters. But part of me...part of me would be content to never have even left the shipyard, to just have been on display and never feel water against me at all. As I wait here among the other boats, I sometimes grow impatient and feel as though the Captain has decided not to use me after all and has chosen another vessel. Sometimes I catch glimpses of the sails of other boats against the horizon and find myself envious of the picturesque sunset lying in their path. I sometimes wonder if the waters there are tranquil and serene as they look from here in the harbor, or could it be that the waves there aren't peaceful at all but rough and choppy. I know that my Captain knows best, and that He wants to ensure that I can withstand the tumultuous waves that I am sure to encounter. I know that He has worked to make me as seaworthy as possible in order to keep me from sinking. He has tested my sails and proved them to withstand the fiercest of winds. He has shown me the beauty of life away from the shore. So I wait here in the harbor, watching other boats leave the harbor knowing not in which direction they will journey. I am often tossed between the desire to set sail and the fear the high seas bring. There is both a beauty and a threat to sailing deep waters. Sometimes just the slightest of waves here in the harbor is enough to cause me to wish to remain on land, yet I must trust that my Captain knows my ship and will guide me when the time arrives to leave the harbor and sail into the unknown. So until I am called upon to unfurl my sails and leave the harbor, I will watch the sailboats in the distance. I will learn from their voyages and find strength in their journeys. And then one day I too will sail....sail away with my Captain to be a beacon against a dark canvas, casting nets into the sea of life in order to fish for souls. Three weeks ago tonight I was packing. I stood and stared for a minute at the open suitcase laying on the bed and the dressy clothes that are so unlike me, hanging on the bedroom door. Beside the suitcase lay my book proposal, one sheet, and business cards. It was real, and it was tomorrow.
I found myself in a room with 799 women that I didn't know that weekend. I now find myself desperately missing some of those women who I made connections with, who understood me, and who believed in my calling. That business card that had mocked me all summer was now completely accepted and never questioned. The girl who questioned several times why she had ever considered this journey now knew the answer. God really did want me to go. He wanted to give me confirmation. He met me there in ways I never expected or dreamed. I had meetings scheduled with two major publishers. I knew going into the conference that the subject matter that I had been called to write and speak about was a taboo subject for publishers to publish. I knew that all the hours I spent researching and writing my book proposal was quite possibly a waste of time because of this. The problem was that even though I knew it was impossible going into a publisher with this, I knew something else as well. God called me to be His voice on the subject. He not only orchestrated my life to prepare me for it, but He had shown me over and over that it was Him. Not only did I face publishers who I knew had no interest in my proposal, but I also came without endorsement and a minimal platform. In writers' speak that means I didn't have anyone well known to support me and I didn't have that many people who read my stuff. Turns out there were a lot of women like me who didn't have these things, with many simply coming with endorsement from their home church. I finally asked a local preacher if he would be willing to possibly endorse me, and he agreed. Following that I had another person volunteer to endorse me who happened to be a pastor at a local Quaker church, and had also volunteered to be on my prayer team. Only God would orchestrate that. He knew I needed confirmation that I was in His will. So I headed off to She Speaks almost in secret, with a prayer team of eight friends carrying me in prayer to the throne of grace. The entire experience was amazing, but let me take you to Saturday. On Friday evening I had met with my first publisher who confirmed that her company would not be interested in publishing on the topic. I wasn't surprised at that but was surprised when she encouraged me that she indeed felt that I had been called and that I had to continue. But here I was on Saturday just wanting to get past the second appointment so that I could enjoy the last hours of my conference. I walked into the appointment with a publisher I was very acquainted with through reading books from some of my favorite authors. I handed the acquisitions editor my one sheet and book proposal, and started to tell her my story. I even helped her by letting her know that I knew the subject wasn't a favorite of publishers which was why I could not find any books available on my topic. She smiled, looked me in the eye, and said, "I'm not afraid of tough topics." The conversation then turned to platform building, blog writing, and speaking. I was in shock. I stumbled out of the room almost in a daze and headed toward the information desk. The slot for the 2:45-5:45 session was left blank on my paper. I was instructed to go to room I/J for the session "Discovering God's Power for Your Life and Ministry" with Wendy Blight and Micca Campbell. I had no idea that my life was fixing to change. The personal life stories that both women shared with us were incredible. You could see God's hand at work in their lives. I sat there and took careful notes of their comments and the verses that they used to encourage us. Some of the things they spoke about were things I too had struggled with or had faced in the last few months. After the second part of the session, it was announced that we would be given the opportunity to be anointed and commissioned. Did I mention that I am a Baptist girl? Did I mention that I am a Baptist girl who has attended three different Baptist churches in her whole life, all of which were small, rural, conservative churches within a ten mile radius of each other? I started trying to figure out if I could manage to go to the bathroom without looking obvious that I was trying to escape? I was going to be anointed? I was already in enough trouble with my writing back at home. If I went back telling that I was anointed, then I would have to switch denominations. My need to sit in the front had now gotten me trapped, and I sat quietly making up my mind that I just wouldn't tell anyone what happened, after all no one knew but me. A single guitarist started to quietly play from the side of the room while she softly sang. The first row on either side rose to go to the front to be anointed by the two speakers. As I sat there in that almost silent room, I started to feel Him. My mind wandered back to all those moments when He had confirmed the calling. All those nights under the stars when I felt Him so close beside me came back across my mind's eye. I could feel Him beside me. I could hear Him whispering my name. I suddenly realized that I wanted to be anointed. I wanted to be set apart for the work of God. There was no power in the oil. There was no magic that came from its application. It was simply a symbolic act which represented being set apart for a calling from God. The songs that quietly filled the room were songs that held much meaning for me. As I waited quiet and still in my chair, the song changed to one that is dear to my heart. "Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine. Oh what a foretaste of glory divine. Heir of salvation, purchase of God. Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood. This is my story. This is my song..." The last song my beloved uncle sang before he died...his testimony. Here I was in a room full of women who like me, were trying to follow this call, this call to follow God in ways we would never dream of on our own. Here was this song that had held a special place in my heart for almost thirty years. The first tear fell, followed closely by a second. It was my turn to go forward.. As I stood before Wendy Blight, she smiled and told me hello, spoke my name, and laid her hand on my head. She then prayed for me and that I would go out into the world and share the love of Jesus. As she continued to pray that God would guide me in ministry for Him, I felt the doubts and insecurities that had plagued me in the weeks prior to the conference start to leave. It was as though that single drop of oil followed by her hand on my head had started a process of cleansing in my heart and my mind. The negative comments, the ones who misunderstood the subjects of my writings, the fears I had of going back...they all washed from my head to my feet accompanied by tears of relief and joy. The Creator of the Universe had chosen me for a special task. He had met me here on this day to whisper in my ear and tell me that I was indeed His chosen baby girl and that He was enough. Enough. He was enough for my fears, my insecurities, my pain, and my passion. I went back to my seat and quietly wept while I sat still in His holy presence. I'm back now...here in reality. The subject of my writing is probably more than likely still being misunderstood and thought to be something totally different than it is. The story of my anointing and commissioning will more than likely not be understood either. Nothing here has changed much...except for me. I have changed. My remaining time on earth is short and my life is at least half over. My story isn't just my story. My story fits inside His story. He has given me a part. He has chosen me to perform a work to increase His kingdom and to bring hope to a dark world. I don't have time to worry about the things of this world, the approval of people, or the cost I will have to pay. I only have this one thing...the knowledge that I have been called and the fact that I am compelled to follow. Nothing else matters.  They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; these see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep. Psalms 107:23-14 KJV
As I begin this week, I can't help but remember that dream in March 2013, and see that frightened Jesus girl standing in that doorway with white knuckles desperately holding to the door's frame. I heard the voice of God that night telling me to jump, and I told Him no because I was terrified of free falling. Oh what that girl has learned since then. He has taught me to jump. Much like a small child in a pool, He taught me to jump and have Him catch me in midair before I ever hit the water. After awhile He taught me to jump and didn't catch me until I had broken the surface of the water. Eventually I learned to jump from the high dive knowing all the time that He was waiting below to catch me. I have now learned how to dive in deeper waters. He no longer leads me to the clear clean waters of the pool, but now He takes me to the pier and teaches me to jump into the murky waters of the deep. He has taught me to leave the shoreline, although still in sight, and swim among the depths where the sharks sometime abide. He has shown me the reefs and the beauty found only in deep water. This week I will leave the shore behind completely and travel where there is no land in sight. I will learn to sail into uncharted waters with other boats whose sails have brought them to the deep. This week when He calls to me to jump it will be different. That Jesus girl isn't afraid anymore. She has learned to jump without fear into the darkest depths. She has found Him who created the deep to be faithful. This week when He beckons her to jump, she will not only jump, but dive. In teaching her to jump without fear of free falling, He also taught her to fall freely in love in Him, and perfect Love casts out all fear.. Oh how much that Jesus girl has learned, and this is only the beginning.  "Deep calls unto deep at the noise of your waterfalls, all Your waves and billows have gone over me.." Psalm 42:7 NKJV
Well, it is harder than I thought it would be, this journey. It's pretty dark right now and the shadows are dancing on the walls teasing and mocking. The storm is continuous and the winds are strong. The waves could overtake me here at any minute. I am worn. But as I sit here I can't help thinking that you can't have a shadow unless there's light somewhere. So I'm looking hard for the light howbeit weak and hard to see. I try to concentrate on the light instead of the ...storm and faintly I hear Him. That voice. The One I love. My brain tells me how to stop these storms. It tells me how to reside in shallow still water where people are content to stick their toes in the sand and let the waves roll over their ankles. My brain begs me to relocate to a nice cabana in the sand with the rest of the happy families. It pleads with me to give my family the chance to just enjoy the fun that lies on the beach. All I have to do is stop swimming in the deep. I need to turn in the wetsuit and googles for a beach chair and an umbrella. And I know it's true....my family longs to just play on the beach with everyone else. But I am what stops them. I am the one with the problem. I so love the beach, the sandcastles, the picnic lunches. Part of me longs to just sit in a chair and watch the water creep slowly over my feet. I truly want so bad to let them play here...to fit in, to find peace. But I have tasted the deep water where the current is almost overwhelming at times. I have seen what lies in the ocean depths. I met Someone there who taught me how to see the beauty of the reefs and depths that you miss on the sandy beach. I have fallen in love with Him. I want to be in His presence even if it means swimming in the deep. But I love my family and they have a right to just enjoy the beach and fit in with everybody else. And so my heart struggles to find a way to allow my family to have the chance to soak up the sun and build sandcastles with the others while I learn to snorkel in the depths. That chair would be so much easier, but learning from Him here in the waves....there are no words. "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He has anointed Me to preach the gospel to the poor' He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set a liberty those who are oppressed; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord." - Luke 4:18-9 NKJV
So God, I've been caught in a constant barrage of You being pictured as a judge with a huge gavel throwing out judgments in the form of carefully chosen Bible verses until I have almost forgotten what You really are like. I'm afraid we, as Your ambassadors to this world, are failing You miserably. We are so consumed with fighting for what is right that we have started portraying You all wrong. We've taken Jesus and wrapped Him up in scripture taken completely out of context and set about to shove Him down the throats of anyone who doesn't look like us or act like us. No offense God, but Jesus is a little hard to swallow when he's being shoved down your throat. So I thought that somewhere in my mind I remember being called to act like my Big Brother. It's funny because I always thought He was the kind of guy who loved everyone enough to die for them. I remember stories of how He chose to spend His last three years here....stories of a woman caught in adultery that He forgave while the righteous sought to stone her. I remember Him seeking out a woman at a well whom society dictated that He not be near, and yet He chose her to ask a drink from, and more importantly a divine appointment to secure her eternity He knew she would be there, that's why He came. I remember the story of when He got out of the boat to meet the man who lived among the tombs who was possessed of a demon. He sought him out and healed him, giving him freedom from his demented state. You know God, the way we portray Your Son, one would think that He came to dress in royal robes and sit on a throne pointing out everyone's sins, because let's face it, He had a right to. But that isn't what He did at all. He didn't go around quoting scripture about destructions and abominations to everyone He met. He loved them and pointed them to His Dad. So God, I thought I would spend some time with my Big Brother's mission statement in order to help me form one of my own Of course just like You have mine, You wrote His long before Luke 4:16-21. When He picked up the book, He knew what had been penned about Him long before in Isaiah, and yet He wanted to introduce His purpose and the focus of His ministry. I'm pretty sure it should be our focus too. "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He has anointed Me to preach the gospel to the poor' He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set a liberty those who are oppressed; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord." - Luke 4:18-9 NKJV So Jesus appeared to be about preaching, healing, and freeing. Preaching to the poor, those who hoped in God despite their current situation. Notice it wasn't every day in the synagogue and temple to the religious. A "go and tell" ministry rather than a "come and see". He wanted to heal the brokenhearted, those who are discouraged. He came to free those held captive to sin. He came to bring a promise of a chance for a new beginning. He didn't come to accuse or stone. He didn't come to tell how right He was and how wrong the rest of us are. He came on a mission to tell others about His Dad, and to love them enough to make a way for them to get to Him. So if we are to be like Him, how would it look? Would we take the time to build relationships like He did? Would we be purposeful in seeking out those who are broken and captive? What would that look like? Could it be that instead of judging the alcoholic and avoiding him, that instead we would learn that his daughter died in a tragic car accident and his wife suffers from depression? Could it be that instead of judging the woman who is in multiple relationships, that we realize that her father never wanted her and she longs to be loved like he should have? Could it be that we recognize that a large percentage of homosexuals were sexually abused as children by same sex perpetrators being taught at too early of an age to associate sexual pleasure with someone of the same sex. Maybe it was because someone of the opposite sex was so abusive that it drove them to fear men or women in relationships.. Maybe instead of using someone as an object for a lesson, maybe we could see their pain. Maybe we could be like Jesus and set about to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty from the chains of sin, to set about to heal rather than persecute. Maybe just maybe if they know we care, maybe they would care about what we know. Maybe if we loved them first, we could get the chance to introduce Me and Annie are prob just gonna stay home. Me and him are going to Knoxville tomorrow. to our Dad. So God, please teach me to be like Christ and not like Christians In the words of Ghandi, "I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ." "  "Therefore, behold, I will allure her, will bring her into the wilderness, and speak comfort to her." Hosea 2:14 NKJV
While listening to the testimony of Jefferson Bethke, I was reminded of a verse in Hosea chapter two that I had read before, "Behold, I will allure her, will bring her into the wilderness." My mind immediately went to my nights alone outside with God in the darkness. The wilderness can symbolize a place of wondering, a place of darkness, a place of pain. Webster's Dictionary defines it as a region uncultivated and uninhabited by human beings, an area essentially undisturbed by human activity, an empty or pathless area, or a bewildering situation. I can identify with this verse because I know what it feels like to be led into a bewildering situation, my personal wilderness. Here in my wilderness I feel that it s uninhabited by other humans. I know the feeling of aloneness that the wilderness brings. As for a pathless area, the wilderness can definitely engulf you and make you feel as though there is no path that leads out of it. So why would God purposely lead someone into the wilderness? Well, the rest of the verse says that He will bring her into the wilderness to speak comfort to her. But why would God choose an uncultivated, uninhabited place to bring comfort? Why would He take you to a pathless area to show you comfort? Well, if you're a girl who carries a backpack instead of a purse, a girl who owns no makeup, and a girl whose idea of fixing her hair involves a ponytail, then you might see the wilderness differently. There is a beauty found only in the wilderness. There are billions of stars in the sky, and yet many people never see them. They are there all the time, but most people never notice their beauty. During the day the brightness of the sun hides them They're there just like they are at night, but you can't see them. Even at dusk only the brightest ones can be seen. To really see them you have to wait until full darkness had come, and even then you must be still and linger for awhile. Then you start to see them, and the longer you look the more that you will see. You see, there are some things you can only see in the dark. Light is beautiful. It symbolizes God and all that is good. Light brings sunshine and happiness, clarity and serenity. But if you never experience darkness, you miss the beauty of the stars. There are things you can only see in the dark. Sometimes God brings us to darkness, to the wilderness so that He can show us what we miss in the light. He leads us to an uninhabited area, undisturbed by human activity, so that when we get still and look long enough, He gets to show us His stars.. It is there in the wilderness that He speaks comfort. Even while in the middle of a bewildering situation, He can cause us to be still long enough to catch a glimpse of those glimmering lights strewn against the canvas of a dark sky. The longer we sit quietly with Him in the darkness, the more stars we begin to see and the comfort comes. In the dark stillness of night in the middle of the wilderness, He speaks comfort in a way that we miss in the light. There is an intimacy with God that only comes in the wilderness. |