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what's invisible is visible in all of creation and this is where I speak of the supernatural among the natural. (Psalm 19:1-4, Colossians 1:15-16, Romans 1:20)
Friday, September 30, 2011
Saturday Evening Post for Sept 2011
Come on over.....and join the fun
Thursday, September 29, 2011
the firm anchor
It's the wobbly axis of life spinning out of control from our every turn that's sets us adrift in worry and anxious seas.
The headlines continue to pump out gloom and doom. I know of jobs hanging by a thread.
And we see the angry sea in a world gone topsy-turvy.
The mounting waves threatening to drown salty sprays of discouragement on many already battered households, if not for the seizure which anchors us down.
Maybe you need a strong encouragement.
Maybe you need refuge.
Maybe you need to flee.
Maybe you need to still your worrisome boat by throwing down the only sure weight to your soul.
Lower your lifeline until it enters within the veil, a place sure and steadfast in hope.
Because our Hope became the forerunner who entered on our behalf.
Jesus.
Should all the world fall away, this never will.
The way of flying above the fray is gestating in this which pulls our caterpillar self from the cocoon of Hope and carries it in flight.
The headlines continue to pump out gloom and doom. I know of jobs hanging by a thread.
And we see the angry sea in a world gone topsy-turvy.
The mounting waves threatening to drown salty sprays of discouragement on many already battered households, if not for the seizure which anchors us down.
Maybe you need a strong encouragement.
Maybe you need refuge.
Maybe you need to flee.
Maybe you need to still your worrisome boat by throwing down the only sure weight to your soul.
Lower your lifeline until it enters within the veil, a place sure and steadfast in hope.
Because our Hope became the forerunner who entered on our behalf.
Jesus.
Should all the world fall away, this never will.
The way of flying above the fray is gestating in this which pulls our caterpillar self from the cocoon of Hope and carries it in flight.
"We who have taken refuge would have strong encouragement to take hold of the hope set before us. This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, a hope both sure and steadfast and one which enters within the veil, .." Hebrews 6:18 and 19
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
the adornment
We long for a fulfilled and consummated marriage to the Lamb that draws us into the intimacy of its mystery. These are the things we hunger for but are never satisfied with because a vibrant union always hopes.
And so we're constantly casting off the slumbering beast of dullness and apathy as we grope for His heart, and cry "My God, my God, speak to your people!"
Even seasons of marriage must endure their allotted time before the next one enters in but faithfully, they come. And drawn deeper into the cords, we go as we hope in the goodness.
Like a tree established near living waters, we want only to drink. And so we march apathy up the furnace walls so it becomes soot and we're able to converse with Jesus among the flames. But we need spiritual ears for heaven's speech, our Beloved's language to us.
Where's the coal to cleanse our lips? Where's the flaming tongues that would cause every listening ear to hear His language? Where's the power to scorch our dusty fruit and pierce us with the heart of our Betrothed so it beats with his?
There must be a shaking of our foundation that's filled by the Holy Spirit to speak boldly. Where are the bold-speakers? Many times we do everything in our power to keep our foundations safe and still.
Eternity has made a deposit by the Spirit. So we struggle here, eeking out our walk in this rotten skin. But there's a race to run, each day made up of decay and glory.
Hope is like the ring that reminds us of our marital vows, a sign of that we belong to another. Exposed and laid bare, the way to intimacy, means taking off the layers which clothe us. Pride, pet doctrines, human reasoning, worldly knowledge, entertainment quenching, or insert your article of clothing here.
We must come naked of ourself.
Because hope is the adornment of a wife who's making herself ready.
And so we're constantly casting off the slumbering beast of dullness and apathy as we grope for His heart, and cry "My God, my God, speak to your people!"
Even seasons of marriage must endure their allotted time before the next one enters in but faithfully, they come. And drawn deeper into the cords, we go as we hope in the goodness.
Like a tree established near living waters, we want only to drink. And so we march apathy up the furnace walls so it becomes soot and we're able to converse with Jesus among the flames. But we need spiritual ears for heaven's speech, our Beloved's language to us.
Where's the coal to cleanse our lips? Where's the flaming tongues that would cause every listening ear to hear His language? Where's the power to scorch our dusty fruit and pierce us with the heart of our Betrothed so it beats with his?
There must be a shaking of our foundation that's filled by the Holy Spirit to speak boldly. Where are the bold-speakers? Many times we do everything in our power to keep our foundations safe and still.
"And when they had prayed, the place where they were assembled together was shaken; and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit, and they spoke the word of God with boldness." Acts 4:31
Eternity has made a deposit by the Spirit. So we struggle here, eeking out our walk in this rotten skin. But there's a race to run, each day made up of decay and glory.
Hope is like the ring that reminds us of our marital vows, a sign of that we belong to another. Exposed and laid bare, the way to intimacy, means taking off the layers which clothe us. Pride, pet doctrines, human reasoning, worldly knowledge, entertainment quenching, or insert your article of clothing here.
We must come naked of ourself.
Because hope is the adornment of a wife who's making herself ready.
{severly edited} from the archives
"Let us be glad and rejoice and give Him glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and His wife has made herself ready.” Revelation 19:7
Monday, September 19, 2011
why we need droughts--though I loathe them
Maybe you're tired of hearing it, but I've been tired of living it. This historical drought, which has cracked wide openings and harbored swarms of grasshoppers fed from brown grass, felt like my own spirit had dried up and been eaten by locusts.
But I've realized something remarkable in this process.
We need a time or two of droughts.
How else do we know the bounty of rain and the pleasure of fertile soil? How else do we know the Keeper of the storehouses or the miracle of it's tipping?
We grow complacent and so the droughts must come to dry up our resources.
We must crack like craters under barren skies to drink and receive the coming rains. We need stagnant growth to stall us for a time so we can wait, by faith, for the Giver of life to stretch us more.
And it took many waters before this pond could finally hold any. There were many days in the last few weeks were rains came intermittently but left nothing at the bottom of the pond.
The ground was too busy drinking.
There was too much lapping in every single drop and taking it underneath mud and clay to the roots.
There was a thirst that needed more.
And don't we need the same in our spiritual walk and life with God? A drought which makes us so very thristy that when He does rain His Spirit down, we take as much as we can to the innermost parts? So much so, that we become bowls that hold the water too?
We need the dusty palate of leaning into the dry spells, offering our worship despite the lack of worshipful feelings, because we know by faith, the rain comes.
And what a sweet day it is to smell the fragance of His coming....
At Laura's place...
Linking up with Michelle...Also here and here:
at Jen's 
and Shanda's
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
because moments slip away--so I write
Finding words has been hard, lately.
I come here with good intentions with a word, a thought, a veil of something to say and then stage fright or some sort of brain suck leaves me blank.
Frustrating.
Because, really, I want to just. write.
But how do I find the right words or express all the blurring things whizzing past me? Have I lived enough today, slowed moments down for words to catch them?
I want to live it as much as I write this living.
I want to remember the way our days feel like gentle breezes whispering dream's coming true.
I want to remember how I used to be and how changed I've become, always ever onward the same and different. I want to slow the days of my boys growing into men, to savor these moments like the jewels they are. I want to remember the vigor of a marriage which is like the best blend of friendship and spiritual companion I never had imagined.
How can I not write when there's so much slipping in silence, away?
But I stall and fizzle and leave white pages, blank.
So I just write, anyway. Not because it's easy but because I can.
Before time races through the day and another marathon forgotten, I write.
Wrap it all up in letters and punctuation like memorials of bygone days, which are never gone, but forever in words.
Joining over at "Extraordinary Ordinary" on "Just Write"
I come here with good intentions with a word, a thought, a veil of something to say and then stage fright or some sort of brain suck leaves me blank.
Frustrating.
Because, really, I want to just. write.
But how do I find the right words or express all the blurring things whizzing past me? Have I lived enough today, slowed moments down for words to catch them?
I want to live it as much as I write this living.
I want to remember the way our days feel like gentle breezes whispering dream's coming true.
I want to remember how I used to be and how changed I've become, always ever onward the same and different. I want to slow the days of my boys growing into men, to savor these moments like the jewels they are. I want to remember the vigor of a marriage which is like the best blend of friendship and spiritual companion I never had imagined.
How can I not write when there's so much slipping in silence, away?
But I stall and fizzle and leave white pages, blank.
So I just write, anyway. Not because it's easy but because I can.
Before time races through the day and another marathon forgotten, I write.
Wrap it all up in letters and punctuation like memorials of bygone days, which are never gone, but forever in words.
Joining over at "Extraordinary Ordinary" on "Just Write"
when you feel defeated and battered
Life does it to us sometimes. This narrow road of joy and happiness zigged when you thought it would zag.
And before you know it, the ditch slammed all your hopes and dreams.
So you wait.
For Rescue or a way to climb back on the road which seems to have crumbled there beside you.
We feel defeated, battered by life, and now would be a good time for Jesus to come back.
If you are: the single parent where each day is a double workload of responsibilities that takes your breath away in weary and worry. The unmarried whose desire is just to share life beside another because doesn't that make all of it's special-ness bloom, when it's done in pairs? The one who works extra shifts to make ends meet and despairs because today's wages fall short of tomorrow's hope.
If you are: The one who's lost their new brick home to live in a single-wide mobile home with rotten floors which feels like you could fall through the crack of anyone's help. The homeschooling parent who questions if they are any good as a parent, much less a teacher. The one who gave up the "American dream" to pay down debts, only to find out that "giving up" doesn't feel noble at all, but vainly hard.
Last week in my home fellowship of Believers, I haven't been able to forget a scripture that we read.
My friend, you may not feel like it, but it only takes a mustard seed for victory.
All of life's worries and weary tolls takes one thing to overcome defeat:
Faith.
Not that life is lollipops and sunshine, but that your hope is planted in that word. Your joy is hidden in that one word.
Faith.
A hope unseen, of believing in what you can't feel right now, trusting in His reliability even without proof of it, because this comes first...
Faith.
Oh my friend, I've been there too. But He does rescue. He does restore.
But above all, He's in the muddy ditch of your mess. And we have the victory even if our lives don't look victorious.
Because, by faith, we conquer the world.
And that's not formed by feeling but by trusting, even if that trust is thinly threaded in faith. It only takes one small fiber of it to pass through the eye of life's storms and victory is sewn in the heart.
sharing at Shanda's
And before you know it, the ditch slammed all your hopes and dreams.
So you wait.
For Rescue or a way to climb back on the road which seems to have crumbled there beside you.
We feel defeated, battered by life, and now would be a good time for Jesus to come back.
If you are: the single parent where each day is a double workload of responsibilities that takes your breath away in weary and worry. The unmarried whose desire is just to share life beside another because doesn't that make all of it's special-ness bloom, when it's done in pairs? The one who works extra shifts to make ends meet and despairs because today's wages fall short of tomorrow's hope.
If you are: The one who's lost their new brick home to live in a single-wide mobile home with rotten floors which feels like you could fall through the crack of anyone's help. The homeschooling parent who questions if they are any good as a parent, much less a teacher. The one who gave up the "American dream" to pay down debts, only to find out that "giving up" doesn't feel noble at all, but vainly hard.
Last week in my home fellowship of Believers, I haven't been able to forget a scripture that we read.
My friend, you may not feel like it, but it only takes a mustard seed for victory.
All of life's worries and weary tolls takes one thing to overcome defeat:
Faith.
Not that life is lollipops and sunshine, but that your hope is planted in that word. Your joy is hidden in that one word.
Faith.
A hope unseen, of believing in what you can't feel right now, trusting in His reliability even without proof of it, because this comes first...
Faith.
Oh my friend, I've been there too. But He does rescue. He does restore.
But above all, He's in the muddy ditch of your mess. And we have the victory even if our lives don't look victorious.
Because, by faith, we conquer the world.
And that's not formed by feeling but by trusting, even if that trust is thinly threaded in faith. It only takes one small fiber of it to pass through the eye of life's storms and victory is sewn in the heart.
"...because everyone who is a child of God conquers the world. And this is the victory that conquers the world—our faith." 1 John 5:4
sharing at Shanda's
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
when you need faith to believe your gifting
All it takes is one harsh word or a rejection, of sorts, that our gift seems to run away with the spoon.
Doubt creeps in and just like that, the thief has hijacked all you had to give.
How many times have we set course on our dreams when insecurity or failure deflate our sails?
Suddenly, we're dead in the water.
Not even a little ripple of our dream is left on the surface. Just smooth glass of a heartache that's ready to shatter all hope of it coming true.
It seems better this way. To no longer dream big or have high ideas of something, it seems better to just return to "normal" and leave mighty things to someone else.
But then it happens.
A slight and subtle thing begins to change as you feel a new little stir. Was that the breeze of a dead hope softly blowing, or just an imagination of one?
And it grows, again. The ripples begin to move the once still surface and you see with your own eyes, motion. Your sail begins to bulge as it cups, once again, the forceful blowing of that gift which never really died.
Hope begins her journey once more as you're carried away on a dream which wasn't yours from the beginning. You've been given a gift only He can do through you.
And He wants you to ride it out, weather it through all the storms of life, but especially when it dies. Then you must rely on the invisible Holy wind blown in by the Spirit.
In Him, your gift can clip the waters of adversity, a raging ship sailing strong by faith into the fullness of His work that can only be done, by Him in you.
There are times we don't feel gifted.
And so we float on the stagnant waters of disbelieve. But, my friend, I'm asking you: raise up the sails of faith to capture the gift already in you and let the Wind carry you out to the deep waters of impossibilities.
Let the sails of faith set a course which isn't measured according to your own heart.
God has already placed the grace of your giftedness inside you.
Now use them.
With Ann....
At Michelle's....
Doubt creeps in and just like that, the thief has hijacked all you had to give.
How many times have we set course on our dreams when insecurity or failure deflate our sails?
Suddenly, we're dead in the water.
Not even a little ripple of our dream is left on the surface. Just smooth glass of a heartache that's ready to shatter all hope of it coming true.
It seems better this way. To no longer dream big or have high ideas of something, it seems better to just return to "normal" and leave mighty things to someone else.
But then it happens.
A slight and subtle thing begins to change as you feel a new little stir. Was that the breeze of a dead hope softly blowing, or just an imagination of one?
And it grows, again. The ripples begin to move the once still surface and you see with your own eyes, motion. Your sail begins to bulge as it cups, once again, the forceful blowing of that gift which never really died.
Hope begins her journey once more as you're carried away on a dream which wasn't yours from the beginning. You've been given a gift only He can do through you.
And He wants you to ride it out, weather it through all the storms of life, but especially when it dies. Then you must rely on the invisible Holy wind blown in by the Spirit.
In Him, your gift can clip the waters of adversity, a raging ship sailing strong by faith into the fullness of His work that can only be done, by Him in you.
There are times we don't feel gifted.
And so we float on the stagnant waters of disbelieve. But, my friend, I'm asking you: raise up the sails of faith to capture the gift already in you and let the Wind carry you out to the deep waters of impossibilities.
Let the sails of faith set a course which isn't measured according to your own heart.
God has already placed the grace of your giftedness inside you.
Now use them.
"..Think soberly, as God has dealt to each one a measure of faith....Having then gifts differing according to the grace that is given to us, let us use them.." Romans 12:3 and 6
"Do not neglect the gift that is in you..." 1 Timothy 4:4; "Therefore I remind you to stir up the gift of God which is in you..." 2 Timothy 1:6; "As each one has received a gift, minister it to one another.." 1 Peter 4:10; "For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable." Romans 11:29
With Ann....At Michelle's....
Monday, September 5, 2011
preaching to yourself in a historical drought
We had went to our small fellowship, called church, just that morning. And a friend said the very thing I'd done all week: "I have to preach to myself".
I don't know how to be unified to this Body we're called to be bound to, in peace. My flesh doesn't want to die, it longs to live and live strong.
But we're called to the cross, to carry it daily. Not so much for it's burden but for it's hanging. Our flesh needs reminding of its daily crucifixation.
So I preach to myself.
I need the nail of Grace to pierce me so unity may resurrect. I need death in pride and divisive thoughts, to be lowly and gently. But I can't do these. Else, I'd take the credit and make my flesh stronger.
I'm a failure at Grace if done on my own. I can only surrender myself up to the power of One and that means paying a price.
Because dying doesn't come naturally, but by the Spirit, alone.
We only need to endeavor toward the chains of peace, allowing His power to do the rest. Bondage is a sacrifice and we are to walk worthy of it's call.
"I, therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you to walk worthy of the calling with which you were called, with all lowliness and gentleness, with longsuffering, bearing with one another in love, endeavoring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace." Ephesians 4:1-3
Between the morning church gathering and the evening golf cart ride, high winds from the cold front kicked up a fire only feet from a friend's house. The local fire department and ones from neighboring counties combined their forces to battle the blaze.
Why do we rally a united front only in the face of disaster? Why do we resist unity when we're at peace, to only strive with one another? Why is it in the face of death and destruction we collectively fight for some rescuing cause?
My husband said to me, this week: "There'll always be division in the Body, because we only know in part. We can't deny or ignore it. " Yet we aren't called to leave it there and go on living like that.
He said there's only one way to bridge the gap, to cross over divides and chasm of opinions. He held up two hands on opposing sides of his body and started connecting the right hand over to the left hand like it was jumping over the Grand Canyon for both hands to hold eachother in unity. He said there's only one possible way to come together.
Love.
By the Spirit which counsels us in Love, this is the glue which covers a multitude of sins or differences. But in the end days, love will grow cold, not just in the world but in the church. And so we must always endeavor to gage our love. We must pull out the dip stick of our hearts and see the measure of it.
We must stir up the flames of Love before the embers burn out.
Because it takes more than a burning bush to bring people together.
It takes a flaming drought in our flesh to burn up every seed and blade of our desire to keep Love burning bright and together. It takes a raging fire across our souls to bring a Body together. It takes a supernatural rescue to face the flames and let Love burn high and hot.
And I preach it to myself, again.
"..Whom the whole body, joined and knit together by what every joint supplies, according to the effective working by which every part does its share, causes growth of the body for the edifying of itself in love." Ephesians 4:15 and 16
At Laura's place today...
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Saturday Evening Post--September
This month we are highlighting August AND July. Yep. That's right, TWO previous months. No need to write a bunch of new ones, just a one with your link up. Then pick two of your favorites or ones you'd like read again and link that direct post to EE's page and you're "in"!
Hope to see ya there!
My two were: "search of the paranormal.." {August even though it says July 30th??}
and
Thursday, September 1, 2011
when you cradle death
Like a black night snuffing
out light, many times I wrote
this way back then.
Words darkened by poems and prose,
abstracted to twist the inside
to paper and be done.
The poured ink would rest the stormy seige
on a page and I'd feel better, let the lone
words stand as a bygone moment
and leave it there.
I carried them in a black, soft binder.
And if I had to travel, they too came with me.
All my writings from a youth on up to my late 20's
never far from my reach
always close at hand, kept hidden,
like my heart beating behind my chest.
They're gone now,
destroyed over ten years ago by my own hand.
Everywhere we go, death comes with us,
carried on the heels of every passing moment.
I felt it's cold, black breath as a wisping reminder
so many years then, that it always found escape
on slips of white sheets and blue or red pens.
But then Death was swallowed up
and I didn't want to write of him anymore.
I didn't want dark memorials of a by-gone time,
with it's soot dusting up the corners of an old life
when I'd been set free from it's bony clutch.
I'd been given over to Life.
And this is what I wanted to glorify in all the whitespace
of every corner of life I had, to shout it
from the rooftops, ink it up and down and sideways,
because we still carry Death.
But Life swallows every morbid piece and who
would want to hold on to it's black
cloak when robes of righteous
blind the night?
{based on a conversation I had last week about throwing away all my writing (over a decade ago).....to start over and write for One thing}
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