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!

 

Anointing

   "What are mere mortals that you should care for them?" Psalm 8:4

  We've been watching the first two seasons of The Story of David. While it may not be completely accurate according to Scriptures, it has been enlightening all the same. Being mindful it's not a hundred percent true and being mindful of what I already have read of this story, I find it's helpful to get a sense of the context of David's time. The history, the culture, the wars, the violence drive home the closeness to death the people and kings of the time lived in.

  I've found myself reflecting on the parallels of David's life and the life of Jesus. How David's story is a foreshadowing of what was to come many generations later. 

  But most of all, when Samuel, the holy prophet of God, anointed a shepherd boy to be king in Saul's place, it drove home how special this gift is. It was rare in those times. 

  God's anointing was reserved for only those chosen by God: kings, priests, or prophets.

 There's a saying, "Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely." Saul, the first King of Israel, was corrupted by the power of the throne, the victories he claimed for his own...he stopped giving the glory to God and instead placed the glory on his own shoulders. His need to protect his reign created a man corrupted by madness, paranoia and fear.

  The tv show says that God revoked Saul's anointing and gave it to David who would be the next king of Israel. I am not sure if this is scriptural or not. What I do understand is Saul's ego and pride eradicated the blessing and drove it out of his own heart, mind and soul.

  In the context of the Old Testament, being anointed means being given the gift of not only God's blessing, but His Spirit.

  Fast forward several generations and a young woman in a backwater town was anointed and chosen to be the mother of God's Son. Jesus is the game changer, the Redeemer, the bearer of a new covenant between God and His children. 

  Because of Jesus, God changed the rules. He doesn't pick and choose those He anoints. Instead He waits for us to invite His Son and His Spirit into our heart and lives.

  The gift that was once reserved for great kings, the holiest of priests and carefully selected prophets is ours...mine...because God has chosen us all.

  

  

In Practice

 "But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus first possessed me...I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us." Philippians 4:12,14

  My friend and I just completed an Alpha course. It's good to think about what you believe. It was an opportunity to ponder and celebrate the ever changing self that comes through faith; through letting go and letting in all that is good and true.

  In coming to the end, I realized my own spiritual practices needed to be more consistent. There were several resources offered. The one my friend and I have started doing is through an app. It's called Lectio 365, produced by the same people who created the Alpha program.

  There are three opportunities throughout the day to tap into the app but I've only been doing the morning one. The teaching can either be read or listened to. I like to read and listen at the same time. It seems to sink in better that way. 

  It's also nice to have something to look forward to after waking up before getting swept up in the to-do's of the day. 

  Those ten minutes have made a huge difference in less than a week. I feel more centered and grounded in my faith. I need to view it as necessary as eating a good breakfast. This is more than creating a new habit, it is feeding my soul on a daily basis.

  I also didn't realize how much I was hungering for something like this or should I say, how much something like this was lacking in my day to day.

  But God is good. All the time. He knew exactly what I needed and provided it in exactly the right moment. He does that a lot.

  Lord, I thank You for the creators of Alpha and the Lectio 365 app. Bless them, guide them and guard them. In Jesus name I pray. AMEN!

  

  

A New Way

   "Unless the Lord had helped me, I would soon have settled in the silence of the grave. I cried out, "I am slipping!" but Your unfailing love, O Lord, supported me. When doubts filled my mind, Your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer." Psalm 94:17-19

  My therapist patiently listened as I revisited the events of my step-dad's passing. So many moments have been forever seared into the visual memory bank. Trauma does that and when hyper vigilance is in full gear, it amplifies everything: the sounds, the smells, the environment, the slightest of changes unfold in slow motion. When the memory leaps up out the past, it's strong enough to erase the present. 

  Clinicians call it flashbacks. They can be utterly debilitating when your body stays in the present but your brain is reliving the past.

  I have an arsenal of tools I've used over the years whenever the flashbacks decide to appear. Mostly they help me come back to today. 

  It's taken some time to realize I have no control over a when a flashback might strike, but, by the grace of God, many of them have lost their power through other healing strategies. The memories are still there but they don't hijack my brain as often. For that I am most grateful.  

   Today's conversations led to a different approach. The other tools were about breaking free from the flashback and coming back to the present. Basically they slammed the book shut. Sometimes successfully. Other times not so much.

  The flashback memories are just one piece of a whole story. I think most of us can relate to reading a book with a scary part. Unless it is really scary, we all continue to turn the page to see what happens next. Our hearts may beat harder, our mouths may be dry, our hands may even shake a bit as we keep on reading. Nevertheless, we keep on going!

  A traumatic memory has already been written, unforgettably so. There were events leading up to it. There were events afterwards. Today birthed the realisation it's important to give space for further remembering or, at least, trying to remember what happened next. I am hoping it will enable me to find closure.

  We gave it a trial run. As my therapist and I explored a key childhood memory. (It's one that the Lord has been bringing to mind a lot lately.) So, stretching back through time and allowing myself to remain in the memory, I tried to remember what happened next. 

  I hit a wall of blank nothingness.

  Instead of giving up, I looked closer at the wall. The event had birthed a stew of overwhelming, confusing and toxic emotions. So fierce was the incomprehensible, emotional onslaught on a little girl's heart, it only left one option: shut down. It was the only thing Cricket knew would work to stop the pain.

  So even though I have no memory of what actually happened next, there is greater understanding. I can identify our feelings and validate them. I am able to offer comfort when there had been none. I can reassure both of us that we had no other option but to shut down. 

  This is good. This is a key to wholeness and wellness I've been missing. But most of all, instead of locking the flashback memories away in a box, they will be integrated into our, my, story.

  Just not too many in a day, okay, my Lord? This isn't easy.

  As for my step-dad, I can remember other things beside the shock-trauma over the state he was in...like his utter delight in having a Quarter Pounder with cheese for lunch. I can focus on the peace he found once he was hospitalized, clean, receiving pain meds and having his head wound cared for. I can celebrate that his childhood friends could finally see him and that his son was with him in his final hours. 

  I can be most thankful that through everything, I knew the Lord was there.

  Jesus, You are who You say You are...Comforter, Redeemer, Healer, Friend. Thank You for all You are doing, for all You have done. AMEN! 

  

Psalm

   "But in that coming day no weapon turned against you will succeed. You will silence every voice raised up to accuse you. These benefits are enjoyed by the servants of the Lord; their vindication will come from Me. I, the Lord, have spoken!" Isaiah 54:17

  I am God's child. He is my Father, my Abba. 

  He is truth and hope and love and all that is beautiful in this world. He is the joy that greets the rising sun. He is the peace that watches the waters ripple and wrestle with the wind. He is the wind. 

  He is the companion of sleepless nights and watchful days. His Word, His Son, are all I need to overcome the thief, the liar, the author of doubt and self loathing. But most of all, He will cast confusion aside and scatter it to the wind. He is the wind.

  He is my comforter. Like a soft down filled blanket, His feathers cover my heart and wrap my soul in shimmering, living, breathing light.

  I am not alone. 

  

  Ever.

  In the times when I feel unseen, He sees.

  In the times when I feel unheard, He hears.

  In the times when words don't come easily, He waits.

  In the times when I doubt the path I am on, He guides.

  In the times when I feel I've failed, He redeems.

  In the times when I don't understand, He teaches.

  When I am afraid, He is courage.

  

  With Him and because of Him, I become real, not some deceptive fabrication formed to appease, to please, to earn love. With Him, I find the strength to break out of the mold. Even when I crawl back into it because it is familiar, He offers a hand to climb out once again...and again...and again. Each time I become more real.

  His real.

  The need to lie falls away as grace heals the wounds that built the mold; as I forgive the builders and release them into God's hands again...and again...and again.

  And when the builders cry out to come back, I find the strength to walk away.

  I am a child of God. I am His. He is mine. Always.

  

  

  

Heavenly Whispers

  "He also asked, "What else is the Kingdom of God like? It is like the yeast a woman used in making bread. Even though she put only a little yeast in three measures of flour, it permeated every part of the dough."" Luke 13:20-21

  There's been a bubbling up, a rising up, of clarity. With clarity comes acceptance. With acceptance comes peace.

  My friend and I have been doing the Alpha course. It's been challenging and thought provoking but well worth doing. Last night was about sharing your faith with those who may not know Jesus. Most of my friends are from church. I don't go out much. Never mind the fact that talking with people I don't know is very difficult. But then I shared about the blog and how many people have read it.

  Writing these words is where my faith has been cemented. It's a record of God's healing and redemption. His patience and grace are documented, celebrated. It's also where I am challenged to be better than I am. But more importantly, it's a written record of the dialogue I have with my Lord and Creator. It's the foundation of our relationship.

  But most of all, it's where I become more and more like the person God destined me to be. It's only through Him can it be even possible. 

 Next weekend the Alpha group will spend Saturday together to learn about the Holy Spirit. I've been asked to host an afternoon activity. It will be an introduction to praying through art with time to spend working on individual pieces.

  In true, human fashion, I was nervous about it.

  My friend and I have also been watching season 5 of The Chosen. It focuses on the events leading up to Jesus' betrayal by Judas. It is powerful, beautiful and sad all at the same time. 

  Time and again, Jesus tells the disciples He will be leaving them. He repeatedly assures them they won't be left alone, that His Spirit will be with them...always.

  

  I have been discipled in the Art of Prayer. The art making has become a sacred act, carefully refined over thousands of hours of creating images before God. I have experience in helping others rediscover their creative abilities. God prepared the way for all of this to be in place. It is also a redemption story recorded over hundreds of posts.

  It's a great comfort. 

  As the ole gray matter ponders the events unfolding next Saturday and practices (aka prays) what needs to be said and how, I am left smiling. God has given me a dream, a hope, for the future. For the first time in my life I can see it, taste it and welcome it.

  The yeast has proved. All that remains is learning how to bake bread!

  Maybe tomorrow.

  

  I heard the best description of sin this weekend thanks to my pastor. Sin is everything that takes us away from love. 

  If you haven't ever done so before, I ask you, dear readers, to turn towards the Author and Creator of the purest love that ever existed. Let Jesus show you what that's all about. He's pretty good at it. AMEN!