Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince is soooo good, I’m reading again! š
I can’t believe what she did!!! I can’t believe who dies in this one! It took me so by surprise, I couldn’t get it out of my head for days after I finished the book (last weekend). So tonight I decided to read it again, in case its been "magicked" so that the one who dies changes upon second reading… š
Mega-migraine. Began building after my lunch-time visit to the gym. Made me sick as a dog by the time I got home. Not a happy camper. Sorry for the no-post day….
Too much work to do, not enough time to do it. I’m exhausted.
Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
–Isaiah 40:20-29
I saw The Skeleton Key tonight. Good movie overall. I like scary movies and this one has a few good "jumps" in it — where you butt may leave the seat. š
What struck me most was the spiritism pervading the Old South. Living in the Land of Many Churches, I sometimes forget that this is also the Land of VooDoo and folk religions of many kinds.
The movie reminded me of my time in Ethiopia. How the witch doctors there work in conjunction with the Ethiopian Orthodox church, handing out "blessings", spells, amulets and all manner of things to ward of evil spirits, heal sicknesses and ensure long life and good crops.
As a western culture, and as Americans especially, we tend to forget what the rest of the world knows: the spirit world does exist and really does interact with the physical one. Spiritism and folk religions are alive and well in America — and impacting and influencing people all around us every day.
Ignoring it or not believing it has any power, as the movie clearly points out, does not negate its power. And don’t be fooled, it does have power. God allows Satan and his minions to "rule" here on earth. As spiritual/supernatural beings, they do have power. That’s why it is so vital that we as followers of Jesus step into the lives of others and envelope them with His love. We are like candles in a pitch black room illuminating the Truth so others may find their way to Him.
On my way home my mind began turning over what I’d seen and contemplating what God would have me do to help those blinded to the Truth of His love and His redeeming power. I was so deep in thought I hardly noticed when I arrived home. I guess I am still a missionary at heart, ’cause all I could think of was, "Jesus, how can we reach them? What will it take? What needs to be done?"
Sometimes I just need a little kick in the pants from God to remind me how wide the field and how ripe the harvest, and that it’s right in front of me.
I tell you, open your eyes and look at the fields! They are ripe for harvest. Even now the reaper draws his wages, even now he harvests the crop for eternal life, so that the sower and the reaper may be glad together. — John 4:35-36
Taken from Inside The Actor’s Studio. This is one of my favorite quizzes. I think it gives some good insight into people, when they choose to answer it honestly — even if not seriously. š And the cool thing is, the answers could change from day to day, depending on what one’s mood is, where they are in life, and what new things they’ve discovered in life.
What’s your favorite word?
I think this is one that changes from week to week, perhaps even daily. Right now it’s "integral".
What’s your least favorite word?
Again, it changes often. Right now I think its "organic".
What turns you on, creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?
Music. Listening to it or mixing it. People who are authentic, not playing at being something or someone. Hanging out with my friends (all of whom are very creative). Lively conversation.
What turns you off?
Cliches of the day and people who use them. I’ve been around long enough to have heard many pop-culture and church-culture words and phrases go in and out of fashion. And I’ve never liked it. One person comes up with an idea, or a new way of defining something, and it is great and wonderful and powerful. And soon everyone is using that definition or idea to describe a great many things that its originator never intended it for. It becomes a watered down shell of its original self. I hate that. Nothing turns me off faster.
What sound do you love?
Laughter! Especially a baby’s or child’s joyful laughter.
What sound do you hate?
Ringing telephones. ugh.
What profession, other than your own, would you like to attempt?
Oh, so many… Astronomer, archeologist or paleontologist, something in organizational communications or human resources, recording engineer/producer; to name a few off the top of my head…
What profession would you NOT want to participate in?
Dentistry. I have a good friend who’s a pediatric dentist and I just can’t understand it. Sticking my fingers in someone else’s mouth?? Ewwww….
What’s your favorite curse word?
shit — which for some reason seems to be a really bad word to say here in the South. In LA, it was incredible tame, and unoriginal, compared to what I heard on a daily basis. I never knew the f-word could be joined with so many other words and used in so many various ways…. Here, I’ve noticed, sometimes people will even whisper "shit" rather than say it aloud. Very different.
If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you get there?
"What took you so long?" (with a twinkle in His eye, of course) because no matter what will have happened between now and that moment, no matter how hard or how easy "death" was, I’ll be ready for a good laugh.
"Pain is seldom expected nor embraced. When it comes, it is often denied or swept under the rug of ‘God’s Sovereignty’. The Apostle Paul tells us that, as we ‘groan inwardly,’ we ‘wait eagerly’ for our final redemption (Romans 8:23). But few of us enter the tragedy of living in a fallen world and simultaneously struggle with God until our heart bleeds with hope. — Dan Allendar, The Healing Path
Back in June I spent a weekend in Alabama with one of my best friends, KatRose. We hung out at Lake Martin with her close friend Jen, Jen’s mom and a couple of Jen’s friends. It was a very refreshing time.
As we sat at dinner Friday night, Kat queried about my posts here, stating that some had scared her that I was losing my faith in God, because I talked of fighting and wrestling with Him. My other best friend Wendy had spoken of similar fears a while back. I think most people aren’t used to someone so desperately in love with God fighting with Him as much as I do.
Or should that be said in reverse? Someone who fights with God so much couldn’t possibly, in the minds of most, be so crazy in love with God as I am.
I think that’s because people tend to say they are fighting with God when, really, they’re ready to walk away from Him and this is their last, "do it or I’m walkin’" moment with Him.
How do I explain what’s going on with me? I was at a loss as to how to communicate this during my weekend with Kat. But I think I may be able to now.
Love, especially a Father’s love, for me has always meant a stoic non-emotional pattern where love and presence was withdrawn when I stepped out of line. I know that in reality, my dad never withdrew his love. However, to my tender young heart and mind, that’s how his actions were interpreted. And I was the most favored of my dad’s children. He often confided to me his disappointment and frustration in my siblings, something I didn’t want to know — and which led to a pattern in my own life of walking on egg shells, of expecting the best performance out of myself at all times, so I wouldn’t lose dad’s love. And when I did, I worked very hard to get it back and and not allow myself to do something to lose it again. Often that meant not being honest with myself or with my dad about most of the things in my life.
Throughout my life I’ve seen God as somewhat an extension of my dad. I have rarely fought with God, or been brutally honest about the whole of me because I believed if I did, He will withdraw His love and presence from me, just as my dad did throughout his life. It wasn’t until recently that I’ve been able to fight and wrestle with Him from a place of love, and feel like I’m standing in a place of grace and acceptance, no matter how brutally honest and argumentative I get.
The year I was overseas (2002-2003) was so incredibly lonely and pain-filled. I don’t want to belabor this point, because it’s not worth doing so now. But, please understand, it was the most difficult season of my life up to that point, and I was in desperate pain.
That was the year God revealed His deep, passionate, intimate, intense — man, is it intense! — love for me— me of all people! Me, who is obstinant, headstrong, vocal, brutally honest, argumentative, disgustingly messy, amazingly unorganized and ruthlessly lazy. He met me at my every point of need. And I had A LOT. Yet He met me there every single time. Every day, every night, every moment, He made His presence and love powerfully known. My relationship with Him really became a relationship — much more than it ever had been.
Interestingly, during that time I often scoffed at the phrase, "God is my husband". God cannot be my husband, I would whine. He lacks the physical equipment.
Yeah, go ahead… take a moment and digest that…. I can be pretty shallow at times.
Yet I realize now that during that time we truly were becoming Husband and Bride. Our relationship moved from "buddy/pal" — phileo love — to "Bride/Groom" love-affair agapao. Now I really DO feel like I’m married to Jesus, in an emotional/spiritual way. And I wonder sometimes how a relationship with a man is ever going to compare to what I have with God.
Then mom and dad died, my team was disbanded, I resigned from the mission agency I was with and moved back to LA, broke, homeless, jobless, careerless, and most of all dream-less and hope-less. The agony of losses I suffered, and the complete chaos my life has become in the last two years would have, most assuredly, brought me to a breaking point in my faith had it not been for the foundation of passionate love forged by God both in that year overseas, and the two or so years leading up to it.
It’s precisely because of the intimacy and depth of relationship we, Jesus and I, developed during that time that I am held fast to Him, and it set me up to be able to experience, for the first time, what healthy conflict is really all about.
It started with a desperate wailing cry, "If you’re going to rescue me, God, NOW is the time to do it. I need You NOW! Not later, but NOW. NOW is the time of my salvation! Please come NOW and save me! I’m drowning in this flood of emotions and thoughts!"
He came. He fought for me. Smoke billowing from His nostrils and thunder and lightning in His hand. I was rescued. My first "demand" of God since I was a small child, and He responded.
Since that time I’ve tested the "ice" more and more, like an ice skater on a frozen pond in Michigan in April. I poke my angry-confused-frustrated stick into the ice of God’s love to see if it will hold my weight. Each time I poke, I push harder, to the point where now I’m pounding it.
And I am blown away every single time. It holds. He holds. He is not at all like my dad. He doesn’t clam up and withdraw in hurt or punishment when I fight with Him. Instead, He fights back. He meets me right where I am and argues back with me. I feel like Jacob/Israel. Really! God loves me so much that He shows up to the fight and argues His case.
Do you know how amazing that is?? Do you understand the magnitude of this new revelation of His character? To be able to fight with God, and have Him fight back, not back down or withdraw or overpower or squash, or even threaten to do so because He is God. To me, this means that He really is that loving, gracious, compassionate, slow-to-anger, understanding God the Bible says He is. He’s not judgmental. And He’s not just merciful. He’s so strong and confident in His love for me — and so humble! He is Almighty God, after all. He could just quash me for my "impudence". But He doesn’t!! He doesn’t even seem to dream of it — that He’s willing to duke it out with me. He loves me so much He fights with me over things that I’m angry about, or confused or frustrated about. Oh. My. Gosh. He really is the best Husband a girl could ever dream of!
Being able to fight with God has caused me to fall in love with Him even more. I can now be honest with God about the full extent of my pain and my anger, of my wounds and my dark places, because I know He won’t leave me or run and hide His love from me till I "get it right".
Oh, and then there’s the best present of all. You know I said I know what it’s like to be Jacob/Israel. Well, in that struggle God saw that He could not overpower or prevail against Jacob… well, here it is in the Amplified Bible.
And Jacob was left alone, and a Man wrestled with him until daybreak.
And when [the Man] saw that He did not prevail against [Jacob], He touched the hollow of his thigh; and Jacob’s thigh was put out of joint as he wrestled with Him.
Then He said, Let Me go, for day is breaking. But [Jacob] said, I will not let You go unless You declare a blessing upon me.
[The Man] asked him, What is your name? And [in shock of realization, whispering] he said, Jacob [supplanter, schemer, trickster, swindler]! And He said, Your name shall be called no more Jacob [supplanter], but Israel [contender with God]; for you have contended and have power with God and with men and have prevailed.
In my wrestling with God, sometimes I see His point and move a little closer to His thinking. Sometimes, however, I cannot be moved. And, amazingly, I don’t ever feel like God is exasperated with me or surprised or angry that I will not concede to His viewpoint. Sometimes He doesn’t seem to even tell me His point of view; just lets me argue until I’m too hoarse to speak. I get the distinct impression this is how God wants me to deal with Him always. To be brutally honest and to not be moved unless and until I am truly convinced.
I’m becoming convinced of this more and more because, it’s in those times that I cannot be moved that I receive the greatest gift: my own "wound" from our tussle — My heart bleeds with Hope.
God–you’re my God! I can’t get enough of You!
I’ve worked up such hunger and thirst for You,
traveling across dry and weary deserts.
So here I am in the place of worship, eyes open,
drinking in Your strength and glory.
In Your generous love I am really living at last!
My lips brim praises like fountains.
I bless You every time I take a breath;
My arms wave like banners of praise to You.I eat my fill of prime rib and gravy;
I smack my lips. It’s time to shout praises!
If I’m sleepless at midnight,
I spend the hours in grateful reflection.Because You’ve always stood up for me,
I’m free to run and play.
I hold on to You for dear life,
and You hold me steady as a post.
Psalm 63
It’s been a long 3 years. But as I look back, I can see how God has carried me every step of the way. I can remember all the times I felt His loving arms wrapped around me, holding on to me for dear life. I can see all the times I powerfully felt His presence. I remember times He came to my rescue and fought off the enemy who was nearly succeeding in stealing the last ounce of sanity and strength I had left. Smoke really does flow from His nostrils, the earth really does quake, He really does thunder from heaven and His voice really does resound when He comes in anger (Psalm 18:6-19) to rescue His Beloved ones from the father of lies! There was the time on Easter Sunday 2004 when out of the depths of my agony I cried and wailed as the morning began. He met me in that moment. I really saw the smoke flying from His nostrils as my anguish compelled Him from His throne and to my very side, sword swinging and destroying the enemy as He came.
He brought me out of a disastrous situation and provided for me while I began the long road to recovery in LA. He provided a car for me to drive from one end of LA, where I was staying, to the other, where I was serving at Mosaic, or where I had the women’s Bible study, or where my life group met. God showed me His love through David and Gina, who gave up their second automobile so I could first borrow, then buy, it — even though they have two small children, live in South Pas and David works in downtown. God brought me out here, providing for my needs at just the moment I thought all was lost. He continued the healing He’d begun long ago, took me the next step and then the next, and is still with me every step as we walk together into wholeness.
He continues to heal me, love me, pour His grace and compassion over me as if I were standing under the world’s largest waterfall. He doesn’t just provide what I need. He gives me more. He gives me good gifts! Gifts I know I don’t deserve, gifts so sweet and amazing. A perfect place to live. A job that rocks, and co-workers that are amazing. Sunsets, thunderstorms and the perfect chai tea.
I eat my fill of prime rib and gravy;
I smack my lips. It’s time to shout praises!
If I’m sleepless at midnight,
I spend the hours in grateful reflection.
Because You’ve always stood up for me,
I’m free to run and play.
I hold on to You for dear life,
and You hold me steady as a post.
Alex asks an interesting question, which we are all still tossing around.
And Dawn asked me another good question of me this morning (see the previous posts comments for her questions and my response).
And now I can’t get the overarching question out of my mind. What are we creating? What are we called by Jesus to create, here on this earth, in order to advance His Kingdom?
What was it that the early church was creating when Luke said this about them, and what does it mean for us today?
They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe, and many wonders and miraculous signs were done by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved. — Acts 2:42-47
I arrived late, because I over-slept. But I made it.
I was made later still by lack of parking. I drove around and around but couldn’t find a single space available. No one was in the parking lot to guide me to another place to park, or give me permission to create one. So I was on my own. I finally made my own parking space in the parking lot. Had I not been determined to be there, no matter how late I was, I would not have stayed. What was the point? It seemed no one there really cared if I, or anyone else as late as I, stayed or not because no one was outside to help with the obvious lack of parking.
I walked into the building, but there was no one there to greet me or guide me to a place to sit. I entered the room, which was very dark because the overhead lights were off and nothing but a few bright lamps lit the space. I stood in the doorway for quite a while, visible to most, if not all, the people, as I scoured the dimly lit crowd for a friendly face. One kind, recent acquaintance cheerfully greeted me, but the seats by him were filled. No one ever got up to lead me to an empty seat. Everyone was too busy talking to people around them, their friends.
Finally, as the musicians began to play again, I saw one friendly face and made my way to her chair. After a warm, long hug — we hadn’t seen each other in weeks — we chatted briefly and I thought to sit at her feet, since there weren’t any other free chairs nearby and still no one was offering to help me find one.
That’s when I heard it. The voice of my kindred spirit. I turned and saw him clearing a chair for me. Of course he would! He knows. He knows what its like to be in my place. He knows what real community is about. He understands that it must be purposeful and intentional, not random and "organic", whatever that means.
I sat with him the rest of the time.
I listened to a "talk" about community. About how it must be organic — yet no explanation was given what that means or what that looks like — about how it just happens and no amount of "systems" will make it sprout or grow; about how someone wants to move here because of the accidental and incidental "community" that exists when people unintentionally run into each other in the grocery store or at the local coffee shop. Big city flight to the appearances of community offered by a small town neighborhood.
I listened and felt sad. Sad for the speaker and sad for all who listened. If the speaker was describing what community at this place looked like, I didn’t want any part of that "organic" stuff. I’d just experienced a lack of welcome or help. If that’s what he considers community, no thanks. I can get that at the grocery store.
Real community rarely just happens. It has to be created. It has to be nurtured. And it has to be intentional. The kind of community described in the "talk" by the email-writer-big-city-mover soon to be in Nashville isn’t the kind we as followers of Christ are called to. It’s accidental. It’s nice. It’s good. And it should be used as an open door. But it’s not the real deal. The real stuff lies beyond the doors of communal living.
Real community is intentional. It is created when people intentionally build it, not just accidentally run into each other at Kroger. That’s nice and fun and wonderful and all, but what if the person who needs community doesn’t live in your neighborhood? What if they are at your work? What if they walked into your "gathering" just off the street?
What if I was that person? I would not have found it yesterday morning. I was not sought out by anyone who didn’t already know me (and very few do at this point, most of the folks I know having left already). No one was in the parking lot to help, even though there is a very, very obvious need for that. No one came to my aid as a stood as obvious as a naked statue at the "pulpit" of a Southern Baptist sanctuary, obviously in need. Yet no one was there. No one who did not already know me extended community to me. And only two from the other group who did know me sought me out.
Had I been in desperate need, I would have left still in need. And I would not return. Why should I? "Organic" community did not happen for me.
Finally. The migraine I woke up with has subsided. I’m sitting on my bed, fan blowing a gentle breeze, listening to Martina McBride sing Christmas carols.
Yeah, I know its only August. I used to listen to Christmas music starting around April. But since mom and dad died I haven’t had the heart. It’s been too painful. So this feels like a giant leap forward. I actually wanted to listen to it tonight.
Christmas was always a special time when I was growing up. Mom made lots of candy, the fake tree (dad hated the mess and danger of real ones) went up and got decorated the day after Thanksgiving and didn’t come down till several days after New Years. Sometimes my oldest sister or my brother, or both, and their families would come and celebrate with us. Mom would always play Christmas carols at the piano and we would sing, each of us kids taking a part. I usually sang alto. Don’t know why — especially when, as a senior in high school I discovered I was actually a first soprano — I just love the sound of harmony. I love making harmony to someone else’s melody. It’s just no fun to me to sing the melody. Too easy and too generic.
Speaking of… One Christmas I remember with particular fondness was that year. My senior year in high school I was part of the Chamber Singers (our elite, madrigal group) as well as another elite group Girls Vocal Jazz. We as the Chamber Singers spent much of the holiday season singing at various functions and wowing every audience that heard us (we were so good that we had to compete at the college level so we wouldn’t sweep every high school level competition we entered — even at some of the college level ones we garnered top level awards). But my favorite part of the season were the evenings we went out caroling around some of our own neighborhoods, just for the heck of it, for the joy of singing. Awesome! I’d never had so much fun as that year.
I also remember the first time I went overseas. I visited some workers in Japan and China in mid-October 1996. I remember thinking, after being in China about a week, how Christmas would never be as cheerful or free-spirited for me, for I now had seen how much overseas workers sacrifice for Jesus and His Kingdom. How could I ever be so selfishly happy at Christmas knowing that so many were in foreign, often rural and poverty-stricken places unable to spend those beautiful holidays with family and friends, safe and warm by a fire, mantle hung with stockings.
Silly me. Years later I discovered that, even when things on the field (yes, I myself become one of the very missionaries I swore I could never be, because I could never bear the sacrifices they make) are blowing up in my face, I could still enjoy, be cheerful, even joyful throughout the Christmas holidays because I was with Jesus — the best Christmas present of all. One I’m still unwrapping.
The first Christmas without mom and dad, however, is probably one of the most painful and yet most fulfilling Christmases of my life. There was such grief and sorrow and such a hole in my heart. It was a daily battle to just survive; I think that’s when depression truly gripped me. It drug me into an abyss that I’m still trying to climb out of. But the relationship that grew between my sister, Nina, and I nourished my deeply thirsting soul, literally to the depths of my being. We grew so much during that time. And we grew so close. She means the world to me!
I don’t know what brought me to these Christmas moments tonight. I know there are some who may read this and think, "yikes! Don’t remind of all the shopping I’ve got to do and all the candy-making and decorating and hustle and bustle and…." I guess, for me, I’m realizing afresh what Christmas is about for me. I think it means different things to different people. For me, its about family. Not the mom-dad-sister-brother family – though those relationships are important. But those who act like family, who embrace me and whom I embrace as family would; those willing to go to the deeper, darker places in my heart with me and those willing to expose their own hearts; those who purpose in their heart to know others and be known.
That’s why my Mosaic LA family is truly family and means so very much to me. They dug into those places and lived there with me. They didn’t "do life" with me, they were part of my life and made me part of theirs. Their hearts belonged to me and mine to them, in a way that cannot be explained, only experienced. How I miss them! What a wonderful gift from God they still are to me!
I think I may have found a community like my Mosaic LA family. I don’t know yet. It will take more time to feel that out and discover for certain. In the meantime, I will continue to unwrap my Greatest Christmas Present of all, wait for the leaves to fall and the air to chill and for the sweet aroma of Christmas to arrive.
Anyone care to give me an early birthday present…?
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