Letter #24: Live Action Real

Carrying a gallon of paint at Lowes today I had to abandon it so I could escape to the bathroom and relieve myself of the weight of a broken heart. It seems arguing with God over His sovereignty, His waits He ordains (unanswered prayers) for longed for answers, can surgically cut into your soul and blood let like a mother . . . and then this. This post on Facebook by my nephew Phil’s Pastor Tony.

Read it.

I did.

“God ordains our trials. They’re always for our good and His glory.

That helpless, frustrated feeling we have – that sense that God isn’t

taking care of us – is by His design to make us eventually see He’s

all we need and will not forsake us.”   – Tony Felich

And I thought about that moment standing in Lowes today wondering why that secular song beaming into my brain via their sound system was causing me such pain. It literally paused me in the paint section with my brilliant white primer gallon of paint to see the despairing truth. The ugly “What if. . . ” – you know that thing the enemy likes to do to you when you’re the most vulnerable and God is silent — watching the boxing match, seeing the upper cut that’s sent you to the mat. You’re there tasting your own blood, feeling the blow down to your soul and you’re giving up. “Just give up” satan salivates next to your ear. And the song in Lowes speaker system goes on and on and on and then it happens – your soul leans into it.

Like Kevin Costner in the movie “Dances With Wolves” (opening scene) you look around at all the sorrow of the battle around you and you climb on top of your horse and aim it right out in the middle of the battlefield. You position yourself for BOTH sides to shoot you, to end your suffering – arms thrown wide and high you ride with abandon. . . You’ve given up! That was me today, arms a flailing running to the bathroom in Lowes to escape that damn song driving my heart to dispair of God – be mad at Him.

Well the paint made its way through check out, into my car, and dutifully awaits my complaints of the application process (my basement doors and their neediness). As for me well Pastor Tony Felich probably didn’t realize the words he typed out on his phone tonight would hit my heart like that song hit my heart in Lowes.

Only this time it’s like Kevin Costner after his surrender scene (his attempted suicide – desire to make it all go away) when he is rambling along in his horse drawn wagon to the great wild western states where everything will be different and he becomes “Dances With Wolves”. . .

God does NOT play fair and the enemy of our soul suffers this humiliation again and again and again. What appears to be victory (my suffering) gets twisted and the foot of our LORD crushes his skull again. My problem remains live action real HOWEVER so does my Yeshua, who apparently intends to teach me how to dance with Wolves.

Letter #17: This Little Sailboat of Mine

I am but flesh – I learn that in the working out of my salvation, especially here lately through the faithful guidance of a skilled teacher of God’s Word. His handling of the Word is precise (in context, direct quotes – sacred text from the Holy Bible), his voice calm, his cadence addicting, like the lulling of waves lapping up against a sailboat while one lazily suns themselves on an Indian summer day.

Yes, indeed it is soothing to my injured soul but do not let him fool you, he has brought a knife – a sharp, glistening two sided knife he intends to use. The Word of God.

God tells us to not judge others – instead He tells us to judge doctrine. . . to test the spirits and see if there be any error.   There are no “grays” no “shades” of sin in God’s judgments – there are yes’s & no’s – things allowed, things not allowed.

The judgment of doctrine requires a two sided knife.   Churches in error are like odious abscessed wounds requiring a cutting – a cutting into errors oozing putrefying puss (false doctrine – first clue, shades of sin).

Without correction they infect the entire body.

You’ve heard that saying “cussed like a sailor” – yeah, pretty much describes my mouth during this decade – my 50’s (menopause really doesn’t allow much editing space for one’s heart, especially when angry).   I once wrote a letter describing my injurious condition caused by church folk (can’t nobody hurt you like those in your own bunch) and when read by another member of God’s flock he stated “I’ve never heard the “F” word used so poetically.”   He was a pastor.

This woman is traveling a rough road back to her God. . . and I’m not out of the weeds yet! Leaving this decade of my 50’s can’t get here quick enough!

Yep, that little sail boat is seeing some pretty rough seas these days and I would be completely tossed into the abyss if it weren’t for that knife (God’s Word) that pierced my wounds, drained my soul of bitterness and helped me regain some strength. And I need that strength to hang on.

Recently, while in the midst of yet another difficult trial I am in, a Christian began speaking to me of satan and his powers and my need to rebuke him and his influences upon my family. You see, here lately, my little sailboat has capsized and the waves are washing over me – I’m all tangled in the rigging of the sails and winds are blowing gale force and dragging me farther and farther out into even deeper waters.

I dropped my head and began to weep. I remembered those Indian summer days floating in this same little sailboat and the voice of my mentor calling out to me God’s Holy Scriptures. I remembered that shining knife that cut into my wounds of bitterness, anger, and unforgiveness. I remembered scripture. I raised my head and through swollen eyes and gushing streams of tears looked them straight in the face and stuttered out the following — “I’m not afraid of satan, I’m afraid of God.”

I’m not afraid of satan, I’m afraid of God because He is relentless in the pursuit of His goal to make me Christ like. The pressures of my life aren’t satan inspired (he is but a tool in it) they are instead God inspired. His desire is to make me like Christ – an obedient (holy) servant who loves the unlovable, shows grace to the unthankful and gives mercy to the guilty.   And btw I’m speaking here of the church.

He is healing me and returning me to His church.

You see this little girl has been saved since she was 8 years old . . . by the side of my bed, on my knees having been lead to the Lord by my sister Maureen.   Nope, not in a church. However the working out of that salvation, the early stages (my childhood – my youth   and young adult life) was.   Interestingly enough as a child it wasn’t through my parents. Nope, an elderly man in a huge turquoise car would come by the house and load up 5 girls and he and his wife took us to church.   His generation believed in sacrifice and the church.

Now, in this generation, is it the same church he knew?   Probably not.

There were no “Rock Star” preacher men strutting across the “stage”. There were no “campuses” or large screens beaming their images and people lapping up their very breathed words. They didn’t make idols out of mere men – and they certainly didn’t tolerate sin amongst the flock.

They judged the doctrine. They didn’t do gymnastics to bound from one scripture (or story telling) to another one that sorta kinda released them to be happy instead of holy.   They judged doctrine. They preached repentance of sins and about a place called hell and a man named Jesus. A savior – passing through your life, calling out to you with the simple gesture of his hand waving you towards him. To come and dine with him in the presence of all your enemies (pain / suffering). Psalms 23:5

Isn’t that the most profound thought sitting down to a table, resting – receiving nourishment with enemies present around you? That the one who serves you is God and He’s not troubled about your trouble. Not that He doesn’t care — no, no, no —- instead that He’s able to care for you in the midst of it! Sort of changes the narrative doesn’t it! First that God serves, second that He’s (and I say this with the utmost respect) one cool Cat and desires you to see that!

He is the Universe’s authority!

As for me (through the Word) — the sovereignty of the personhood of God the Father no longer settles him in my mind as the Principal’s Office of which one desires to avoid but instead now the One whose Holiness calls out to me as “otherness”, a place I do not belong but yet hold an invitation to. A banquet hall in His heaven I shall one day frequent with His son – Jesus, the one waving me in, providing the way.

This little girl shall one day see the evidence I travel via hope through now.
Until then I watch His testimony every day out on my back deck. I watch the heavens and the earth and marvel at His credentials.   ” . . . like the lulling of waves lapping up against a sailboat while one lazily suns themselves on an Indian summer day. Yes, indeed it is soothing to my injured soul but do not let him fool you, he has brought a knife – a sharp, glistening two sided knife he intends to use. The Word of God.”

This is what I’ll leave you with – my mentor’s words “What does the Word say?” To this and this alone I say find your way. The smallest little prick to one’s soul God cares for – come and dine with Him today! Receive him through His Word – His Son. John 1:14 And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth. (KJV) 

And Jesus, thank you for this little sailboat of mine. . .

 

 

Letter #11: Life is a Story

Life is a story. . . keep reading – you’ll find your stride, you’ll like the next chapter. It isn’t always about the bad guys winning – you’ll find a way. The rain will stop, the pain will ease up. . . she’ll smile at you (the one you long for) or he’ll open your heart and you won’t be afraid – you won’t be afraid for the first time ever! You’ll kick the butt of the one who’s needed it for a while . . .you’ll slow down and breathe – it isn’t always about the hustle, you can learn to trust, to rest.

Keep reading and turning those pages – if you read fast enough or just simply long enough into the night you just might catch HIM writing the script – God wants to be found by you – don’t ever give up the chase, cause He won’t let you . . .it’s not you, after all that’s wrote the story.

So catch your breath, lay down in the green grass – close your eyes and believe again in this epic story of your life! Tomorrow there are dragons to slay and fast food to eat and decisions to make but for now, right now – rest a while and let God make your way known – this isn’t a dry piece of toast He’s busily cooking, instead it’s like a feast within a fairy tale.

Tomorrow there will be plenty to make you believe nothing is fancy about your life, nothing is lovely or even clever but for now, right now – rest and believe the same God who each night brings us star light to look on in amazement, to search for Him in . . . writes your story and sees the beauty of you in this exact moment.

And here’s one for the books – finds you – you, that would be you quite interesting and never boring and always worth fighting for! Calling out to His angels to move the text around, to weave mountains for you to climb, and then walks those with you – dragging when necessary and carrying you when you’ve given up and never once, not once believing you when you say you don’t love Him anymore.

In fact His touch is even more tender for He knows the soul you are and the wonder He has created you with – quitting Him isn’t possible – for this story, your story wasn’t begun in you.  Instead, within Him, from the foundation of The First Story – The Word made flesh bore you to Himself.  You want to understand the deep theology of that statement here it is . . . You became His to have.  So quit fighting this chapter in your life and wait for it – the narrative often needs the ending to make sense.   Keep turning those pages . . .Life indeed is a story!

Letter #7: God Sits in My Driveway

God sits in my driveway on summer nights and hands me Kleenex’s.   And while I question all that I know, He listens.

Tonight it is one specific question.   What of kindness? He hears me tell Him to his face, a lot, how far away He is. Calmly He moves in front of me – the clouds part in the heavens and I see stars.   Stars shimmering against gorgeous navy blue skies, soon enough blackened, settling in for the ride to sunrise.

I see His work and He lets that settle around me.

Massive sculpted moving clouds cluster as one, as He is One.   His throne room, these clouds – it seems move directly above me in the darkness – bright white, the clouds reflect, illume the darkness – who tells the moon to shine like that?   And how do those clouds prove His presence so calmly and hang there as if not moving? And not moving. And not moving.

Seeing me, always seeing me he says “Who Am I, and what of you don’t I know? What shall I take from you? This trial?   What of all the trials in your life – what of those have not brought you something worth having? You want me to take this from you? I can’t or I won’t. . . which is easier for you to hear”?

“Lean in”, He says – now lowered softened voice – “I won’t.”

It is whispered, and it is sure, and He hands me another Kleenex.   I look away. The evening’s breeze – His breath, touches my cheeks as the warmth of tears find their way, cools my face, and now my neck .   The throne room dissipates.

Sleepy, suddenly I am – the trial with me, I stand. He watches as I go and sees my bedroom light and then no more.

A soft whistle awakens his little ones, those little creatures that play outside of my home office window each morn – they flutter awake and fly into darkened heavens. What could it be, this need God has of them, excitedly they land upon His hand.

He leans forward and whispers – “She watches you, you know. Tomorrow you will carry a message to her.”   They flutter and fly around him – it is too much joy to know of – He laughs, captures each one and pets them to calm. He raises his hands full of finches, the tiniest of his feathered creation and grins at them. Turning their little tiny heads sideways they listen. This is serious business now.

They see Him seeing her – the woman in the window gazing out yet from her darkened room, through pulled blinds, one last time before bed. “Tell her . . . ”   What was said is kept between them – they flutter off his hand and carry his words meant for the morning – she’ll watch them as she always does.

And I did.

They’re gentle, sweet little birds ya know – these little finches – and live as they were created and bring glory to God’s name. There is nothing weak in that – to live being gentle. Interestingly enough, the bush they live in near my home office window is a thorny bush – it is their protection. God protects them in thorny places – his finches, his gentle ones, his kind ones.

And I am no different – kept in thorny places, to live out my purpose – to bring glory to God’s name. And it is true – everything He’s ever allowed into my life, has dug deep wells to give refreshment to those parched in their journeys.

He knows, that I know, it is my joy to give hope to others and He knows where hope is seeded – the fertile ground of suffering. Never more than I can bear and that He can lead me through. . .

The little finches and I live protected – in thorny places . . . and so do you.