Sunday

   "Follow Me and be My disciple." Jesus said to him. So Levi got up and followed Him. Mark 2:14

  I am unable to attend church today because the ole body decided to come down with Shingles. My quarantine period isn't up yet.

  It showed up last Tuesday on my lower, left arm of all places, as a pale red rash. I'd spent the morning in the garden revamping one of the flower beds. I thought I'd gotten into something that caused an allergic reaction. It was strange that it was only on one arm and it wasn't itchy. 

  Shortly after noticing the rash, the sun came around the side of the house. The heat was unbearable. It was the first really hot day of the season. What I thought was heatstroke left me feeling feverish and weak as a kitten. I basically dropped my tools and headed inside. 

  Wednesday was a work day. The continuing fatigue made it a struggle to get through the day. It was simply a case of overdoing it in the heat. Or so I thought.

  Thursday, the red rash had started darkening and blistering. It was also becoming painful. I've never seen Shingles. I've never had it before but, and this is a God moment, it struck me that this is what it might be! 

  Doctor Google provided symptoms and images as confirmation. Just in case, I called my friend who knows about Shingles. She also happens to be away visiting a nurse friend. Both of them advised a trip to the doctor as soon as possible.

  Thankfully, I was able to get an appointment to see my family doctor early that afternoon. She confirmed Doctor Google's diagnosis and prescribed the appropriate treatment. It's crucial to start it within 72 hours of the first appearance of the rash. I was well within that window.

  I am feeling much better and smiling at my own foolish assumptions about heat stroke and allergic reactions. It was all because my body was fighting an illness and had nothing to do with what I'd been doing.

  There's a lesson here. About assumptions and perceptions. What I see and what I know can hide the truth. It can misread reality. It makes me all the more grateful to have an Advisor and Counsellor via the Holy Spirit. 

  It's important, though, to admit those perceptions might be wrong. 

  I've been wrong before. Frequently.

  It's just as important to make room for truth and the advice of wise counsel. 

  Jesus said, "Follow Me," time and time again. It's an act of surrender, not servitude. In Jesus, my wrongs will be redeemed, my perceptions sharpened, and He will guide me in all ways. 

  Besides, I loved it when He whispered in my ear, "It might be Shingles."

  

  

Conclave

   "And so, brothers, select seven men who are well respected and are full of the Spirit and wisdom. We will give them this responsibility. (To deal with conflict and discord.) Then we apostles can spend our time in prayer and teaching the word." Acts 6:3-6

  Every so often a movie comes across your path that challenges the way you think.  Conclave was such a movie. It's about the Roman Catholic event where Cardinals are sequestered in the Vatican to vote for a new Pope. It's a movie full of intrigue, of politics, of prejudices, of deceptions. Basically, it's a movie about people, albeit those who have chosen to give their lives to God. Even so, they are still very, very human. 

  There is an unexpected twist at the end which I won't get into because I don't want to spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it. The twist was not only eye opening, but heart opening. It's left me examining my own prejudices, politics, and plain old ignorance. This is a good thing. A God thing.

  There was something else, too, that spoke directly into my heart. "The church isn't about the past, it isn't about the present, it's about what we do next." Food for thought for all of us, regardless of our denomination.

  But thoughts without actions bear no fruit.

  And at the same time, our thoughts can cause our actions to be unfruitful or even outright damaging.       Actions that rise up from a place of brokenness and the fears such brokenness creates can colour the way we interact with each other. 

  I had a conversation with my therapist about revisiting traumatic events. We talked about getting stuck in an endless loop, about being stuck in that place, that time, that event by replaying it over and over in our minds. It can happened, the being stuck part. 

  Thoughts without actions bear no fruit...it would appear this is an important thought for today.

  I shared with her that rather than being stuck in a loop, when I revisit the hard stuff, it was more like a Slinky. That's a childhood toy, a metal spring made of many spirals that would move freely, slinkily. It can even walk down stairs under its own momentum! A fun thing.

  So I have the thoughts, the memories of dark days. Things that created core beliefs that poisoned my soul. My action against the loop is to ride the Slinky...to share them with God and hear what He has to say about it all. In doing so, He heals. He brings irrefutable truth and speaks life into the shadows.

  

  So today, I take these seemingly random thoughts and invest in the action of writing. I'd love to have some sort of deeply profound wrap up but instead, there is an upwelling of gratitude for the One who guides the actions of my thoughts. 

  Gratitude for the One who tempers unkindness with gentleness, who fills the pit of ignorance with knowledge and the understanding of such knowledge. Gratitude in knowing I have a long way to go yet knowing nonetheless my God is a God of grace. 

  Because, after all, the church isn't about the past or the present, it's about what happenes next.

  To God be the Glory. AMEN!

Choices

   Thousands upon thousands are waiting in the valley of decision. There the day of the Lord will soon arrive." Joel 3:14

  So here I sit, with thousands of others, in the valley of decision. 

  I believe this is a prophecy relating to the arrival of Christ. It is referring to all the people who are deciding to believe or not believe He is the Son of God, the Messiah.

  But there's something about the idea of waiting before making any decisions that is reassuring.

  There's something about the idea of waiting.

  Right now, my wait is a time of reflection, of tempering my words, of allowing the Lord into the brokenness. Decisions made from brokenness aren't necessarily the best especially if it involves others. 

  Oh. 

  And in those words, the seeds of grace are planted. 

  But what does grace look like? Specifically in regards to the situation with my mom? How is grace to manifest or shape my part in all of it?

  I honestly have no idea.

  In my brokenness, my heart wants vengeance. It wants revenge. It wants to see her suffer with the same suffering she caused others.

  Yet, I know this is not the way of love.

  I need to stay in the valley a little longer, to allow the Lord to temper the anger, to refine it and purify it.

  Right now, grace looks like silence and not saying the hurtful things I want to say. 

  Grace is leaving her to the tender mercies of God.

  Grace is acknowledging that in her brokenness, she is not a safe person to confide in or share my feelings with. Grace is understanding she will never admit wrongdoing no matter what I say. Grace is realizing I cannot change a thing.

  Here's the thing about choices and decisions, there are always consequences. 

  If I choose to continue a relationship that was unhealthy without changing the infrastructure of that relationship, it undermines and destroys all the work God has done in my life. If I ignore His work and His truth under the label of duty and familial ties and return to the old ways, I turn away from Him. 

  It is a sacrifice I am not prepared to make. 

  Decisions made from a place of wholeness are decisions made from a foundation of love.

  This means loving myself, too.

  "Yeah, though I walk through the valley..." Psalm 23:1

  

  

  

  

  

Approach

     "Am I a God who is only close at hand?" says the Lord. "No, I am far away at the same time. Can anyone hide from me in a secret place? Am I not everywhere in all the heavens and earth?" says the Lord. Jeremiah 23:23-24

  There is great comfort in these words today. The God of mountains is the God of pebbles and stones. He is the God of new life and life passing. He is the God of the wind and tides, of storms and the calm before such storms. He is the God of the calm. 

  He is the God of everywhere and everything, including each letter I type, each thought that rises to the surface, each moment I share with Him.

 

  He is the God that dwells in the nothing moments between heartbeats. 

  I've been thinking about this a lot. I feel there is something significant about it but I haven't quite grasped what it might be. 

  Lord? What are You trying to show me?

  In the meantime, I saw my mom on the weekend. It was a short visit. Allan's scent still lingers even after all this time. It was a grim reminder of everything that had happened.

  We stayed just long enough to pick up my friend's scissors and have a brief chat. I didn't say much all the same. She, mom, did most of the talking. I left a Mother's Day card for her that simply contained a blessing, none of the mushy crap. Mushy is decidedly dishonest at this point in time.

  My friend had picked it out because the last thing I wanted to do was browse through cards celebrating the lovely relationships between daughters and oh, so wonderful, mothers. Lord, please, don't let me be bitter.

  My mom wished I would talk to her about why I had left so angrily the day Allan passed. She wished I would share my feelings with her.

  As I left, I told her I wasn't prepared to talk because I didn't trust myself to not be unkind and said I would write a letter.

  So I can. And will. I am grateful to have taken the time to write out the sequence of events around Allan's passing not long after he went home to Jesus. That way she cannot twist what I say or accuse me of "mis-remembering." I can also leave my feelings out of it because it is unwise to put them in. 

  It will probably take several drafts before I end up with what I want but that's okay. God is the God of the in-between spaces. 

  So, Lord, help me find the best approach. Be with me as I re-visit the pain of shock and grief.

  In Jesus' name I pray. AMEN!

  

Decisions

  "If you need wisdom, ask our generous God, and He will give it to you. He will not rebuke you for asking. But when you ask Him, be sure that your faith is in God alone. Do not waver, for a person with divided loyalty is as unsettled as a wave of the sea that is blown and tossed by the wind." James 1:5-6 

  Dear Lord, I am in need of wisdom. I feel like the wave, tossed, storming and unsettled. I seek to do what is right in Your eyes but am conflicted and confused by what this really looks like. Images of Jesus tossing tables in a righteous anger is at war with wanting to love my enemy.

  Help me find the clear path, in Jesus most precious name, AMEN.

  So what is stirring up the wave? 

  It's Mother's Day tomorrow. It has put knots in my stomach and a tightness around my chest that makes breathing difficult. 

  Lord? There's a fire of deep fury within my heart. It rages against the cruelty I witnessed last year. It rages against the maliciousness and spite and neglect and utter disregard of and for others. It seethes with boiling heat over the deceptions and lies. 

  Dear Lord, I ask You, what am I to do with it all?

  (There was a long pause as I waited for an answer. God is good.)

  You woke me this early this morning with the idea that the stone I wrote about a couple of days ago is anger. Is it anger that enabled the determination to do right by my step-dad when I saw the terrible condition he was in? Is it anger that gave me strength to override the one who was in control up until then? Is it anger that enabled me to thwart the continued abuse? 

  I know You were with me in those dark, terrible days. 

  Can anger become my armor?

  Yes. My armor and my weapon: my stone and sling. 

  David slew Goliath, who had mocked the Israelites and God for forty days. His righteous anger made him go far beyond his own fear. His trust in God made him fearless.

  I have to decide whether or not to reach out to my mom, and possibly even see her later today. She has some things that belong to my friend and I would like to get them back. Before I started writing, I was in a mess.

  Anger that explodes is dangerous and harmful. I know this. It was a part of my life before Jesus.

  But, this anger, this stillness, this burning fire can be used, harnessed, so my aim is straight and true. For I fight against powers and principalities, not a person. 

  Lord, guide my words and actions this day.

  To Him be the glory! AMEN!

  It's time to slay a giant.

  

  

  

The Ask

 "Anyone who listens to My (Jesus') teaching and follows it is wise, like a person who builds a house on solid rock." Matthew 7:24

  In the TV show, The House of David, David is given a vision of a warrior angel standing in a stream. The angel points his sword at the rushing water. David reaches in and pulls out a round, white stone covered with blood. It would later be a real stone, plucked from a real stream, and is the one that was used to slay the giant, Goliath.

  It wasn't much bigger than a golf ball. A small thing, really, but was enough to bring a giant down.

  I've been mulling over this for several days, about the power in something so small. 

  Rocks don't start off small. They begin as a mountain. Time, weather, wind and water gradually break them down and wear them away. Only the densest rock stubbornly refuses to turn into sand. That's what David plucked from the stream. A stone which had been rounded and honed by the elements until only the hardest part was left.

  Since the dawn of creation, God had known there was going to be a precise moment in time when a shepherd boy needed a particular stone on a particular day. It's mind boggling to think about how much time it took to wear down a mountain just so. All for an unlikely shepherd boy who would become king.

  I am in need of a stone to slay my own giant; the giant that was shaped by perception, history, and childhood fear. Like sandstone, layer after layer has built up over time. Forceful external and internal pressures have fused it solid and shaped it into a seemingly un-climbable mountain. 

  However, if I look closely, it is only sand and vulnerable to the forces of a storm.

  It is not solid rock. Not one bit. 

  I can see it crumbling. If I rub it with my fingers, it disintegrates. The grains of stand can be brushed off my hands or dispersed with a light breath. 

  God's Rock, the one on which I stand, is solid.

  My giant slaying stone is within. It always has been. It has been revealed by turning to Him again and again in the countless moments when the sandstone mountain looms large over my heart and soul.

  

  "Be strong in the Lord and in His might power. Put on all of God's armor so that you will be able to stand firm against all strategies of the devil." Ephesians 6:10 -11

    And God's Word is my slingshot.

    AMEN!

Upwelling

     "You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to You and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give You thanks forever." Psalm 30:11-12

  Grief is a funny thing. It has a way of laying silent until something random draws it out of the depths of your heart with an ache...a pain...that is sharp enough, deep enough to take your breath away. It sits in your chest throbbing hard enough to make your eyes leak.

  Grief is a funny thing. A car passing, music blaring with a song that twists and warps and fades with distance but those few measures, that one line...the ache starts singing it's own melody of loss and sorrow and, perhaps, regret.

  Grief is a funny thing. It has the ability to transect time and space, dwelling in the silence that only exists between the steady thump-thump of your heart. The same heart that was present when grief became part of your story. Thump. Thump.

  I spent some time organizing my closet on the weekend. It was time to pack away winter to make room for summer. Up on a shelf was my red, hand knitted kitty cat. He's sixty years old next Christmas and was starting to become unknit. I've made him clothes but like time, they've disappeared or simply disintegrated. My childhood sewing skills weren't that good.

  Since I had my knitting stuff out, I decided to make him a new outfit to protect the fragile cotton he was made from. The holes were repaired before he got his new finery put on. The sweater even has a pocket holding a brief biography.

  We were inseparable for many years. So much so, his face got loved off. A good friend of the family, Mrs. Morgan, gave him a new one. After carefully selecting buttons for eyes, I remember leaning on the farm house table watching the surgery. It brought Kitty back to life. That face, too, is almost gone but the button eyes are still holding strong.

  Mrs. Morgan was a country hostess. No matter what time of day or night we showed up, there would be hot biscuits and homemade jam on the table. It's the only time I remember thinking about being grown up, "One day, I will make biscuits just like Mrs. Morgan's!" Thump. Thump.

   It took decades to get them just right.

  Grief is a funny thing. And this is why I am writing tonight.

  It's Mother's Day on Sunday: an annual event where moms and kids celebrate all the good things about Mom...

  So maybe I can find some good things despite all the wrong. There were music lessons and instruments, riding lessons, band practices, a bike, trips, an education. That took time, money and commitment to get me there and back. I am grateful for all of it. 

   But gratitude is not obligation is it? Thump. Thump. 

   Neither is forgiveness. 

  And on the heels of that sentence, I will choose to forgive my mom. Whether or not I call on Sunday remains to be seen.

  Prayers are appreciated.

  My joy is in the Lord. In Him I will trust. AMEN!