My last post spoke of rejection, and of fellowship with the Lord experienced. Through knowing rejection I shared His suffering and pain—horrible, deep, raw pain.
The Lord is merciful. He allowed me fellowship in His suffering, and He gave me fellowship in His love. If the last months have been a time of unprecedented agony, they have also been a season of previously unknown intimacy. This blog began as a chronicle of moments when the Lord’s presence embraced me in moments of anguish (though I wasn’t able to share the worst moments.) And I suspect that like childbirth, the intensity of pain will one day be forgotten. I won't lose sight of the fact that it really, really hurt. But the more enduring memory will be of love which overshadowed the pain.
Sorrow often overwhelmed me beyond comprehension. I continually turned to a reliable haven of safety, my God the Lord. Abba. Jesus was there too. And the Holy Spirit is always present. Each of their distinct personalities enfolded me in comfort with a different touch, a particular manner of speaking, a separate dimension of love which pressed into my soul, reaching a place no human can touch.
Paul said, "I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead." (Philippians 3:10-11 NIV)
To again experience such love, I now know I am capable to endure such pain. I could face it without fear, knowing I'd not only be not alone, I'd also be carried.
I'd be held.
The sweetness of intimacy with the Lord is a taste of Heaven—a promise of what is yet to come in the resurrection of the dead. Like a lover's kiss that infuses one with desire for all that will follow, drawing desperately near to the Lord ignites a hope for all He's promised which infuses strength for the hour.
My other blog will say more tomorrow, with a different tone for a different audience. But both posts will include these words from a song which compels me to affirm "Yes Lord!" when asked if I will wait upon the Lord, however long the hour.
This is what it is to be loved
and to know that the promise was
when everything fell
we'd be held.
If hope is born of suffering—
if this is only the beginning—
can we not wait for one hour
watching for our Savior? *
*Lyrics from "Held" by Christa Wells © 2001 Weimarhymes Publishing Inc.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Rejection
Personality quizzes peg me as evenly right brain / left brain. I'm analytical and logical yet sensitive and emotional (an intense mixture).
When problems surface, I plumb the depth of emotion and then rationalize solution: what's the core, the root issue to be addressed? And because I spent five years as a cop, where analysis was performed and executed in minutes (not days and months and years), I apply what I learn with immediacy: dive on in to the emotions, then resurface and get to work on the solution; if there's misery to traverse, let's go through it, learn from it, and then get on with life.
In January I took a day away from life to pray and fast about overwhelming problems. The Lord asked me, "Are you willing to go through this suffering with Me?" I could only think, "Dear God, is there more? More than this?" But I also could not resist a personal invitation from the Lord.
In the days to follow one word became huge: Rejection. I analyzed what I was experiencing so I could work with the Lord on the solution. I began to see every hurt as a form of rejection. The past came to the forefront, and I looked anew at hurts through this lens. I understood that over and over, as I had reeled from hurts and bounced back with forgiveness, I had missed a step.
My pattern was to accept the pain of offenses and analyze only my own culpability, because I'm only responsible for my actions. I'd A-B-C: Admit my sin, Be repentant, set about Change with the Lord's empowerment. I didn't dwell much on what could be behind another's sin, because I figure that's between them and the Lord.
By no means am I saying that it was wrong to not evaluate the offense on the part of someone else. (I'll talk about that another day, perhaps on my other blog.) But when confronted with the past's path to present problems, I was forced to go back and analyze what hurt me then, what was hurting me now.
Rejection rejection REJECTION!
Whether or not it was intended, someone had communicated rejection to me in the past—and in the present. Billows of pain continued to wash over me, and I understood something.
We reject God. Over and over, in a million different ways.
When He asked, "Are you willing to go through this suffering with Me?" I thought He meant more of my own suffering. I was given the opportunity to experience His suffering. My heart felt pain that was not my own. I recognized the pain as that of God living within me. Horrible, deep, raw pain. The pain of pouring out blessing, love and sacrifice—and have it rejected.
Since my M.O. is to accept the lesson and move on, I expected to do so. God has another plan. He is allowing me to experience continued rejection, morphed into new shapes and words. Every time I think I've turned a corner, I face a new form of rejection, such as these:
From a trusted friend of many years, unfounded accusation, and admonishment to seek the Lord, prefaced with the words, "I have your best interest at heart";
From a confidant, disbelief that I've heard from the Lord at all;
From one to whom I've been a mentor, withdrawal, because I'm superfluous if I'm weak.
I see that although I've received fifty or a hundred times more messages of encouragement and hope from loved ones, a single message of rejection from a loved one devastates. I see that while rejection from those with whom we rub shoulders stings, rejection from those to whom we've opened our hearts stabs.
And I wonder if those who hurt the Lord most are not those who reject His sacrifice and refuse salvation, but those with whom He is intimate by His indwelling Holy Spirit, who accuse Him of disengagement, who doubt His Word, who seek His hand and not His face.
Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.
Even so, I will defend my own ways before Him.
He also shall be my salvation,
For a hypocrite could not come before Him.
~ Job 13:15-16 (NKJV)
When problems surface, I plumb the depth of emotion and then rationalize solution: what's the core, the root issue to be addressed? And because I spent five years as a cop, where analysis was performed and executed in minutes (not days and months and years), I apply what I learn with immediacy: dive on in to the emotions, then resurface and get to work on the solution; if there's misery to traverse, let's go through it, learn from it, and then get on with life.
In January I took a day away from life to pray and fast about overwhelming problems. The Lord asked me, "Are you willing to go through this suffering with Me?" I could only think, "Dear God, is there more? More than this?" But I also could not resist a personal invitation from the Lord.
In the days to follow one word became huge: Rejection. I analyzed what I was experiencing so I could work with the Lord on the solution. I began to see every hurt as a form of rejection. The past came to the forefront, and I looked anew at hurts through this lens. I understood that over and over, as I had reeled from hurts and bounced back with forgiveness, I had missed a step.
My pattern was to accept the pain of offenses and analyze only my own culpability, because I'm only responsible for my actions. I'd A-B-C: Admit my sin, Be repentant, set about Change with the Lord's empowerment. I didn't dwell much on what could be behind another's sin, because I figure that's between them and the Lord.
By no means am I saying that it was wrong to not evaluate the offense on the part of someone else. (I'll talk about that another day, perhaps on my other blog.) But when confronted with the past's path to present problems, I was forced to go back and analyze what hurt me then, what was hurting me now.
Rejection rejection REJECTION!
Whether or not it was intended, someone had communicated rejection to me in the past—and in the present. Billows of pain continued to wash over me, and I understood something.
We reject God. Over and over, in a million different ways.
When He asked, "Are you willing to go through this suffering with Me?" I thought He meant more of my own suffering. I was given the opportunity to experience His suffering. My heart felt pain that was not my own. I recognized the pain as that of God living within me. Horrible, deep, raw pain. The pain of pouring out blessing, love and sacrifice—and have it rejected.
Since my M.O. is to accept the lesson and move on, I expected to do so. God has another plan. He is allowing me to experience continued rejection, morphed into new shapes and words. Every time I think I've turned a corner, I face a new form of rejection, such as these:
From a trusted friend of many years, unfounded accusation, and admonishment to seek the Lord, prefaced with the words, "I have your best interest at heart";
From a confidant, disbelief that I've heard from the Lord at all;
From one to whom I've been a mentor, withdrawal, because I'm superfluous if I'm weak.
I see that although I've received fifty or a hundred times more messages of encouragement and hope from loved ones, a single message of rejection from a loved one devastates. I see that while rejection from those with whom we rub shoulders stings, rejection from those to whom we've opened our hearts stabs.
And I wonder if those who hurt the Lord most are not those who reject His sacrifice and refuse salvation, but those with whom He is intimate by His indwelling Holy Spirit, who accuse Him of disengagement, who doubt His Word, who seek His hand and not His face.
Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.
Even so, I will defend my own ways before Him.
He also shall be my salvation,
For a hypocrite could not come before Him.
~ Job 13:15-16 (NKJV)
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Hello Again
This blog was started in January 2010. At the time, circumstances prevented me from writing for my blog "Building His Body," where I’d posted Bible insights daily since March 2008. Though I willingly paused writing about the Bible when I knew it necessary, I found myself far more devastated by the loss than I’d anticipated.
I am a writer. Others call it my gift and I’m inclined to agree. While writing is not my primary identity, it nourishes my soul in a unique way because it affords the opportunity to share with others the things God shows me that are just too good to keep to myself.
Sharing about my God is happily done via other avenues. The rare invitation for public speaking is a treasure, whether to lead prayer among citizens and community leaders for National Day of Prayer, to talk with familiar faces filling any sized room, or to preach at the county jail for women once or twice a year (my favorite).
Talking one-on-one is nearly the opposite kind of sharing. It is impromptu rather than prepared, for a moment or for hours, and may affect one or both of us for a lifetime. The Lord amazes me by what He does when I suddenly face a treasured friend, a nearly forgotten acquaintance, even a complete stranger, and suddenly find Him ministering to them through me. It fosters a special dependence on the Holy Spirit. On any given day, some appointments are written on my calendar, and the divine ones are written on the Lord’s.
How else do I share the Lord? At church, there's children’s Sunday School, drama team, and sometimes the praise or dance teams. Among relatives, sharing is by turns candid around dear ones with whom I’m most at ease, or cautious because they best know my failures. At home I feel my every move is a sharing of God with husband and children. I am keenly aware—often painfully aware—of how much impact I have on their lives, for better or for worse.
But my primary identity is also not wife and mother, or any one of those other multitude of roles I enthusiastically embrace. My core identity is ambassador of YHWH—of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Synonyms for ambassador are representative, diplomat, emissary, envoy. ‘Ambassador’ carries connotations the other words do not. It is derived from the Latin ambactus which means “servant.” And the Oxford dictionary defines ‘ambassador’ as “a diplomat sent by a state as its permanent representative in a foreign country.”
This is a permanent servanthood assignment rather than missions trip. My citizenship and nativity are of another place. I’m in close contact with my kingdom but don’t receive furloughs at home.
I live among foreigners inclined to misunderstand me.
When I paused Bible writing for my other blog, a friend suggested I keep writing anyway, even if it wasn't shared. Writing, for me, has never been about the recording, but about the sharing. So I started this blog to simply share what God was teaching me personally. I quickly discovered that God had far more in mind than I did. He took me through the darkest of deep pits, and there I heard the Lord speak more clearly and frequently than I ever have in my life.
I've felt exposed. I've been misunderstood. And I've been called to account by more than one person who alleged improper motives where I knew myself guiltless.
I’m by no means sinless. The Lord does a plenty adequate job of calling me to account where needed. My desire is to be blameless—that is, to settle accounts with the Lord as soon as they come to my attention. I've no reason to resist the One I trust implicitly. I respond to Him as He enables with confession, repentance, and change. I never do so adequately. He nonetheless assures me that I am not condemned.
When I felt overwhelmed by exposure and accusations, I quit posting here and took the blog offline. I’m ready to go back online with it. It will be a chronicle of things I learn on a personal level while I continue my wayfaring as an ambassador in a foreign land. I leave in place the private, precious conversations I had with the Lord in my darkest hours, labeled "Abba Whispers." In days to come the blog name will change. Though the comments remain off indefinitely, I've no objection to emails when a situation calls for it. I'm praying about what else this blog should be.
For the next few posts, I’ll simply tell what the Lord’s taught me in recent weeks that I’ve yet to share.
I am a writer. Others call it my gift and I’m inclined to agree. While writing is not my primary identity, it nourishes my soul in a unique way because it affords the opportunity to share with others the things God shows me that are just too good to keep to myself.
Sharing about my God is happily done via other avenues. The rare invitation for public speaking is a treasure, whether to lead prayer among citizens and community leaders for National Day of Prayer, to talk with familiar faces filling any sized room, or to preach at the county jail for women once or twice a year (my favorite).
Talking one-on-one is nearly the opposite kind of sharing. It is impromptu rather than prepared, for a moment or for hours, and may affect one or both of us for a lifetime. The Lord amazes me by what He does when I suddenly face a treasured friend, a nearly forgotten acquaintance, even a complete stranger, and suddenly find Him ministering to them through me. It fosters a special dependence on the Holy Spirit. On any given day, some appointments are written on my calendar, and the divine ones are written on the Lord’s.
How else do I share the Lord? At church, there's children’s Sunday School, drama team, and sometimes the praise or dance teams. Among relatives, sharing is by turns candid around dear ones with whom I’m most at ease, or cautious because they best know my failures. At home I feel my every move is a sharing of God with husband and children. I am keenly aware—often painfully aware—of how much impact I have on their lives, for better or for worse.
But my primary identity is also not wife and mother, or any one of those other multitude of roles I enthusiastically embrace. My core identity is ambassador of YHWH—of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Synonyms for ambassador are representative, diplomat, emissary, envoy. ‘Ambassador’ carries connotations the other words do not. It is derived from the Latin ambactus which means “servant.” And the Oxford dictionary defines ‘ambassador’ as “a diplomat sent by a state as its permanent representative in a foreign country.”
This is a permanent servanthood assignment rather than missions trip. My citizenship and nativity are of another place. I’m in close contact with my kingdom but don’t receive furloughs at home.
I live among foreigners inclined to misunderstand me.
When I paused Bible writing for my other blog, a friend suggested I keep writing anyway, even if it wasn't shared. Writing, for me, has never been about the recording, but about the sharing. So I started this blog to simply share what God was teaching me personally. I quickly discovered that God had far more in mind than I did. He took me through the darkest of deep pits, and there I heard the Lord speak more clearly and frequently than I ever have in my life.
I've felt exposed. I've been misunderstood. And I've been called to account by more than one person who alleged improper motives where I knew myself guiltless.
I’m by no means sinless. The Lord does a plenty adequate job of calling me to account where needed. My desire is to be blameless—that is, to settle accounts with the Lord as soon as they come to my attention. I've no reason to resist the One I trust implicitly. I respond to Him as He enables with confession, repentance, and change. I never do so adequately. He nonetheless assures me that I am not condemned.
When I felt overwhelmed by exposure and accusations, I quit posting here and took the blog offline. I’m ready to go back online with it. It will be a chronicle of things I learn on a personal level while I continue my wayfaring as an ambassador in a foreign land. I leave in place the private, precious conversations I had with the Lord in my darkest hours, labeled "Abba Whispers." In days to come the blog name will change. Though the comments remain off indefinitely, I've no objection to emails when a situation calls for it. I'm praying about what else this blog should be.
For the next few posts, I’ll simply tell what the Lord’s taught me in recent weeks that I’ve yet to share.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
You Didn't Ask
Thurs, Feb 18, morning
Place:
Prayer closet. I've been praying about many things. I want to hear the Lord's voice but sense this is a time that His Spirit may only speak with understanding of the heart and not with words. My prayers turn to some difficult blog posts I've been working on about suffering, and about the Q&A I've been struggling with on how Christians should treat homosexuals. The Lord is indeed providing understanding, but I do not hear his voice even after much prayer.
My prayer:
I want to get this right. I want to provide an answer that honors You.
Abba whisper:
You didn't ask.
[I realize I have not actually asked for the needed words, but have simply been relying on Him to provide them.]
Me:
I'm asking now. Please show me what to say.
[The understanding in my heart is that I need to apologize on behalf of other Christians. I formulate the needed answer. I feel so sad for all the hurt I start to cry.]
Me:
Lord, I'm so small for this task. So many misunderstandings. So many hurtful words. I know You must be so disappointed in us. I ask You to please go before me. Please go to every single individual who will read these words. Please give each and every one of them the right spirit to receive them. Please bring to this site by whatever means possible the exact people who need to see these words, both Christians and homosexuals. Dear God, please forgive us for how we grieve You with our selfishness. Please bring healing. Please draw people to Yourself. Please, Lord, be glorified in this. This post has been so difficult to compose. I beg You to use it to work unity, forgiveness, and love. Please, Father, teach us to love one another.
Place:
Prayer closet. I've been praying about many things. I want to hear the Lord's voice but sense this is a time that His Spirit may only speak with understanding of the heart and not with words. My prayers turn to some difficult blog posts I've been working on about suffering, and about the Q&A I've been struggling with on how Christians should treat homosexuals. The Lord is indeed providing understanding, but I do not hear his voice even after much prayer.
My prayer:
I want to get this right. I want to provide an answer that honors You.
Abba whisper:
You didn't ask.
[I realize I have not actually asked for the needed words, but have simply been relying on Him to provide them.]
Me:
I'm asking now. Please show me what to say.
[The understanding in my heart is that I need to apologize on behalf of other Christians. I formulate the needed answer. I feel so sad for all the hurt I start to cry.]
Me:
Lord, I'm so small for this task. So many misunderstandings. So many hurtful words. I know You must be so disappointed in us. I ask You to please go before me. Please go to every single individual who will read these words. Please give each and every one of them the right spirit to receive them. Please bring to this site by whatever means possible the exact people who need to see these words, both Christians and homosexuals. Dear God, please forgive us for how we grieve You with our selfishness. Please bring healing. Please draw people to Yourself. Please, Lord, be glorified in this. This post has been so difficult to compose. I beg You to use it to work unity, forgiveness, and love. Please, Father, teach us to love one another.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Never Enough
Sat, Feb 13, morning
Place:
Prayer Closet. My thoughts turn to the blog post I did for today on why a good God allows suffering.
My prayer:
How did I do? Did You show?
[There is silence. I pray some more, but my heart comes back to the same question.]
Me:
Did I do justice to You? Did Your goodness come through in my words?
Abba Whisper:
For some there is never enough.
[I feel God's sadness. My heart is moved to tell Him how good He is.]
Me:
You are good.
[I hear in my head the song "We Worship You" as I'm praying]
You let us live when we prove how evil we are, so we might accept Your redemption.
[I begin writing, so I can record everything.]
Everything You did at Calvary—so much—proved Your love and goodness.
(Holy Spirit, help me!)
You come to live within us. [with amazement]
You put Your breath in us. [my heart thinks of what it must have been like when the Lord created Adam and breathed life into him]
You give us people to love us when we're so impossible.
You make our wildest dreams come true when we honor You.
You pour out pleasure for us in all creation.
[My prayer time is interrupted for the second time to help kids get going who need to leave in a few minutes. I need to go but can't tear myself away yet.]
You provide our every need.
You supply so many wants.
You heal.
You restore.
Your love never fails or leaves us.
["We Worship You" has not stopped playing in my head. I pause praying to sing part of it in my heart.]
Lord You are good and Your mercy endureth forever.
Lord You are good and Your mercy endureth forever.
People from every nation and tongue
From every generation to come
We worship You
Hallelu Yah!
Hallelu Yah!
We worship You for Who You are
And You are good!
All the time
[I continue my own praying while the song keeps playing in the background of my mind]
You ask so little of us when You've done so much.
You forgive our continual failings.
You include us in Your glory.
You want us.
Oh Lord, despite all my failings, I love You.
[I feel my love for the Lord well up inside me.]
Father, it's so hard to be away from You.
Abba Whisper:
It needs to.
Me:
Why? Why can't our souls be satisfied?
Abba:
That's how love is.
Scripture comes to mind:
Love is as strong as death,
Jealousy as severe as Sheol;
Its flames are flames of fire,
The very flame of Yah.
(Song of Solomon 8:6, author)
Me:
I hear You less when I'm not suffering.
Abba:
You listen less.
Me:
I have to go. Help me. Help me listen more.
[I think of my day. I need to get my kids to church for a woodworking day on their AWANA Grand Prix cars. Then grocery shopping. Then food prep for a birthday celebration. Then get my daughter to a violin audition. Then birthday celebration. Then a funeral for a police officer my husband works with, who was going through a bitter divorce and committed suicide.]
Me:
Use me today? Please?
[On my way to the grocery store the next song that comes up on my CD player is one I play over and over, singing as a prayer:]
Abba, Father
My loving Father
I've come to worship You
To say 'I love You'
To lift my hands up to You
I've come to worship You
I am Your child
Born of Your Spirit
Called by Your name
Chosen by Your hand
I belong to You
Abba, Father
Our loving Father
We've come to worship You
To say 'We love You'
To lift our hands up to You
We've come to worship You
We are Your children
Born of Your Spirit
Called by Your name
Chosen by Your hand
We belong to You *
* Lyrics of "Abba Father" © 1998 Vineyard Music Group
Place:
Prayer Closet. My thoughts turn to the blog post I did for today on why a good God allows suffering.
My prayer:
How did I do? Did You show?
[There is silence. I pray some more, but my heart comes back to the same question.]
Me:
Did I do justice to You? Did Your goodness come through in my words?
Abba Whisper:
For some there is never enough.
[I feel God's sadness. My heart is moved to tell Him how good He is.]
Me:
You are good.
[I hear in my head the song "We Worship You" as I'm praying]
You let us live when we prove how evil we are, so we might accept Your redemption.
[I begin writing, so I can record everything.]
Everything You did at Calvary—so much—proved Your love and goodness.
(Holy Spirit, help me!)
You come to live within us. [with amazement]
You put Your breath in us. [my heart thinks of what it must have been like when the Lord created Adam and breathed life into him]
You give us people to love us when we're so impossible.
You make our wildest dreams come true when we honor You.
You pour out pleasure for us in all creation.
[My prayer time is interrupted for the second time to help kids get going who need to leave in a few minutes. I need to go but can't tear myself away yet.]
You provide our every need.
You supply so many wants.
You heal.
You restore.
Your love never fails or leaves us.
["We Worship You" has not stopped playing in my head. I pause praying to sing part of it in my heart.]
Lord You are good and Your mercy endureth forever.
Lord You are good and Your mercy endureth forever.
People from every nation and tongue
From every generation to come
We worship You
Hallelu Yah!
Hallelu Yah!
We worship You for Who You are
And You are good!
All the time
[I continue my own praying while the song keeps playing in the background of my mind]
You ask so little of us when You've done so much.
You forgive our continual failings.
You include us in Your glory.
You want us.
Oh Lord, despite all my failings, I love You.
[I feel my love for the Lord well up inside me.]
Father, it's so hard to be away from You.
Abba Whisper:
It needs to.
Me:
Why? Why can't our souls be satisfied?
Abba:
That's how love is.
Scripture comes to mind:
Love is as strong as death,
Jealousy as severe as Sheol;
Its flames are flames of fire,
The very flame of Yah.
(Song of Solomon 8:6, author)
Me:
I hear You less when I'm not suffering.
Abba:
You listen less.
Me:
I have to go. Help me. Help me listen more.
[I think of my day. I need to get my kids to church for a woodworking day on their AWANA Grand Prix cars. Then grocery shopping. Then food prep for a birthday celebration. Then get my daughter to a violin audition. Then birthday celebration. Then a funeral for a police officer my husband works with, who was going through a bitter divorce and committed suicide.]
Me:
Use me today? Please?
[On my way to the grocery store the next song that comes up on my CD player is one I play over and over, singing as a prayer:]
Abba, Father
My loving Father
I've come to worship You
To say 'I love You'
To lift my hands up to You
I've come to worship You
I am Your child
Born of Your Spirit
Called by Your name
Chosen by Your hand
I belong to You
Abba, Father
Our loving Father
We've come to worship You
To say 'We love You'
To lift our hands up to You
We've come to worship You
We are Your children
Born of Your Spirit
Called by Your name
Chosen by Your hand
We belong to You *
* Lyrics of "Abba Father" © 1998 Vineyard Music Group
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Prayer Closet
Wed, Feb 10, morning
Place:
Prayer closet. I'm thinking about the questions I've had from people about my prayer closet, especially since I've started this blog, and am bringing before the Lord what to say about it. I am thinking about what this prayer closet is to me.
Scripture:
But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret ...
(Matthew 6:6 KJV)
My prayer:
Father, how do I describe it?
Abba whisper:
You know.
[I consider that despite being enclosed by no more than a curtain, this is a private place to meet God on the most intimate level. It is a private chamber for Him and me.]
Me:
What is this place to You?
Abba [I sense sadness in Him]:
Have you forgotten the pleasure?
[I know He means the pleasure of intimacy. I feel sad too, to think of days I've hesitated to be here, or been distracted. I don't specifically pray, but I feel Him knowing my thoughts.]
Abba:
You know how to lock a bedroom door, how to shut out distractions there.
[I understand His reference to marital intimacy, and the comparison to me being hesitant or distracted here.]
Me:
You're right. I'm sorry.
[I spend some time reminiscing on the many hours of joy I've had here, on all the times I could hardly wait to get here, could hardly tear myself away.]
Me:
Please help me rediscover the joy of meeting You here without fear of pain, without hesitation, without distraction. [Pause. I'm thinking again about how to describe this to readers.] Please help me know how to describe that being here is a pleasure not a duty, the way sex should be.
Abba:
You just did.
Me:
I can't say that! I can't compare this to sex so openly!
Abba:
It's what they'll understand.
[My mind is spinning. I'm grasping for words to veil the intimacy in a more reserved manner.]
Abba:
Isn't that how you meet Me here? Make the comparison.
Me:
When I come here, I am exposed to You at the same time I am at ease with You. I freely offer myself to You.
[silence]
Me:
You want me to say that?!
Abba:
Just speak the truth.
Place:
Prayer closet. I'm thinking about the questions I've had from people about my prayer closet, especially since I've started this blog, and am bringing before the Lord what to say about it. I am thinking about what this prayer closet is to me.
Scripture:
But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret ...
(Matthew 6:6 KJV)
My prayer:
Father, how do I describe it?
Abba whisper:
You know.
[I consider that despite being enclosed by no more than a curtain, this is a private place to meet God on the most intimate level. It is a private chamber for Him and me.]
Me:
What is this place to You?
Abba [I sense sadness in Him]:
Have you forgotten the pleasure?
[I know He means the pleasure of intimacy. I feel sad too, to think of days I've hesitated to be here, or been distracted. I don't specifically pray, but I feel Him knowing my thoughts.]
Abba:
You know how to lock a bedroom door, how to shut out distractions there.
[I understand His reference to marital intimacy, and the comparison to me being hesitant or distracted here.]
Me:
You're right. I'm sorry.
[I spend some time reminiscing on the many hours of joy I've had here, on all the times I could hardly wait to get here, could hardly tear myself away.]
Me:
Please help me rediscover the joy of meeting You here without fear of pain, without hesitation, without distraction. [Pause. I'm thinking again about how to describe this to readers.] Please help me know how to describe that being here is a pleasure not a duty, the way sex should be.
Abba:
You just did.
Me:
I can't say that! I can't compare this to sex so openly!
Abba:
It's what they'll understand.
[My mind is spinning. I'm grasping for words to veil the intimacy in a more reserved manner.]
Abba:
Isn't that how you meet Me here? Make the comparison.
Me:
When I come here, I am exposed to You at the same time I am at ease with You. I freely offer myself to You.
[silence]
Me:
You want me to say that?!
Abba:
Just speak the truth.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Annie's Song
Tues, Feb 9, 6:30 am
Place:
Lying in bed. I just woke up. When I have sufficient presence of mind, I bless to the Lord with my first conscious thought. I do so today:
Me (whispered aloud in Hebrew):
Baruch ata Adonai Yad He Vav He Eliohe-nu, Elyon Melach ha-Olam, Eli.
Translation:
**Blessed are You YHWH our God, Most High King of time and eternity—my God.
Abba whisper:
Prove it.
[I know He means my prayer closet. I close my eyes for just a moment, trying to wake up. I think I momentarily doze off.]
Abba whisper:
Meet Me.
[I get up and go to my prayer closet. It's cold here, next to a leaky old front door, in the part of the house opposite our wood stove. I turn on the space heater and lay my face on the floor.]
My prayer:
I'm here.
[I wait to see if the Lord will speak again. He doesn't.]
Me:
I'm here. And I'll continue to bless Your name, in the valley, in the desert place.
[The Lord is silent, though I can feel His presence. I call to mind a song with special meaning between me and God. I sing the words mentally, as a prayer, in the order they come to mind:]
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed Be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be Your name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
[I'm still waking up, trying to remember the words about sunshine. I go through the same words over and over, but I can't remember the words about sunshine. I look them up on my iPod, and then mentally sing whole song, skipping the chorus:]
My mentally sung prayer:
Blessed Be Your Name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
Blessed Be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed Be Your name
Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's 'all as it should be'
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name
Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be Your name*
Me:
I've not failed to bless Your name. As long as You give me breath and grace to do so, I'll not fail to bless Your name.
[I think about the difficult times I've gone through, in which the Lord has brought this song to me. My mind wanders to the blog post I did Saturday for Bullets & Butterflies—"Why Pray"—and the ensuing discussion in the comments about God's love and need for us.]
Me:
Please tell me, Lord. Do you need us? If I'm wrong I'll admit it.
[The Lord is silent. I think more about the words I quoted in one of my comments: "Mature love says I need you because I love You."]
Me:
Is it true, Lord? Do You love us enough to need us?
[The Lord remains silent, but I can feel His great love. I reverse the words (the Spirit's leading I think): Do I love the Lord enough to need Him for that reason alone?]
Me:
Yes, Lord. I love You. I need You. I need You more than the air I breathe. I love You more than I love life itself. I love You more than anyone else, more than anything else.
[I feel the Lord bring to mind all the distractions that have sometimes prevented me meeting Him in my prayer closet in the morning.]
Me:
Yes, Lord. I need You, I love You more than all those other things. Please help me remember that when I get distracted.
[The Lord remains silent. I begin to tell Him all the reasons I love Him, I need Him.]
Me:
Please tell me, Lord. If I'm wrong I'll admit it. Do You need us?
The Lord's whisper:
I need to be needed.
[I wonder for a moment if it was the Lord's voice or my own, because of the many ways those words have come up between my husband and me in recent weeks.]
Me:
Lord, please tell me. I need to know if it's You speaking. Do You need us?
The Lord:
I need to be needed.
Me:
Please give me other words so they'll believe they're true. ["they" being blog readers.]
The Lord:
They don't need to believe. You believe.
[I call to mind the first time I understood God's need for us, and the ways it was made clear. I call to mind one way I recently experienced profound grief, and the way I understood it to be the Lord's own grief. It occurs to me that just now when I heard the words "I need to be needed," I didn't distinguish the voice of the Father or the Lord Jesus. But I wasn't paying attention.]
Me:
Jesus, was that You speaking?
[I don't hear the Lord speak, but all I can think of is Calvary, how much I needed it, how grateful I am for Jesus' blood. And then another song comes to mind. I mentally sing it as a prayer to the Lord, thinking of each experience the song describes, and of Him being so much better:]
You fill up my senses
like a night in the forest
like the mountains in springtime,
like a walk in the rain
like a storm in the desert,
like a sleepy blue ocean
You fill up my senses,
come fill me again.
Come let me love You,
let me give my life to You
let me drown in Your laughter,
let me die in Your arms
let me lay down beside You,
let me always be with You
come let me love You,
come love me again. **
* "Blessed be the Name of the Lord" lyrics © 2005 Matt Redman, Six Step Records
** "Annie's Song" lyrics © 1974 John Denver, RCA Records
Place:
Lying in bed. I just woke up. When I have sufficient presence of mind, I bless to the Lord with my first conscious thought. I do so today:
Me (whispered aloud in Hebrew):
Baruch ata Adonai Yad He Vav He Eliohe-nu, Elyon Melach ha-Olam, Eli.
Translation:
**Blessed are You YHWH our God, Most High King of time and eternity—my God.
Abba whisper:
Prove it.
[I know He means my prayer closet. I close my eyes for just a moment, trying to wake up. I think I momentarily doze off.]
Abba whisper:
Meet Me.
[I get up and go to my prayer closet. It's cold here, next to a leaky old front door, in the part of the house opposite our wood stove. I turn on the space heater and lay my face on the floor.]
My prayer:
I'm here.
[I wait to see if the Lord will speak again. He doesn't.]
Me:
I'm here. And I'll continue to bless Your name, in the valley, in the desert place.
[The Lord is silent, though I can feel His presence. I call to mind a song with special meaning between me and God. I sing the words mentally, as a prayer, in the order they come to mind:]
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed Be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be Your name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
[I'm still waking up, trying to remember the words about sunshine. I go through the same words over and over, but I can't remember the words about sunshine. I look them up on my iPod, and then mentally sing whole song, skipping the chorus:]
My mentally sung prayer:
Blessed Be Your Name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
Blessed Be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed Be Your name
Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's 'all as it should be'
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name
Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be Your name*
Me:
I've not failed to bless Your name. As long as You give me breath and grace to do so, I'll not fail to bless Your name.
[I think about the difficult times I've gone through, in which the Lord has brought this song to me. My mind wanders to the blog post I did Saturday for Bullets & Butterflies—"Why Pray"—and the ensuing discussion in the comments about God's love and need for us.]
Me:
Please tell me, Lord. Do you need us? If I'm wrong I'll admit it.
[The Lord is silent. I think more about the words I quoted in one of my comments: "Mature love says I need you because I love You."]
Me:
Is it true, Lord? Do You love us enough to need us?
[The Lord remains silent, but I can feel His great love. I reverse the words (the Spirit's leading I think): Do I love the Lord enough to need Him for that reason alone?]
Me:
Yes, Lord. I love You. I need You. I need You more than the air I breathe. I love You more than I love life itself. I love You more than anyone else, more than anything else.
[I feel the Lord bring to mind all the distractions that have sometimes prevented me meeting Him in my prayer closet in the morning.]
Me:
Yes, Lord. I need You, I love You more than all those other things. Please help me remember that when I get distracted.
[The Lord remains silent. I begin to tell Him all the reasons I love Him, I need Him.]
Me:
Please tell me, Lord. If I'm wrong I'll admit it. Do You need us?
The Lord's whisper:
I need to be needed.
[I wonder for a moment if it was the Lord's voice or my own, because of the many ways those words have come up between my husband and me in recent weeks.]
Me:
Lord, please tell me. I need to know if it's You speaking. Do You need us?
The Lord:
I need to be needed.
Me:
Please give me other words so they'll believe they're true. ["they" being blog readers.]
The Lord:
They don't need to believe. You believe.
[I call to mind the first time I understood God's need for us, and the ways it was made clear. I call to mind one way I recently experienced profound grief, and the way I understood it to be the Lord's own grief. It occurs to me that just now when I heard the words "I need to be needed," I didn't distinguish the voice of the Father or the Lord Jesus. But I wasn't paying attention.]
Me:
Jesus, was that You speaking?
[I don't hear the Lord speak, but all I can think of is Calvary, how much I needed it, how grateful I am for Jesus' blood. And then another song comes to mind. I mentally sing it as a prayer to the Lord, thinking of each experience the song describes, and of Him being so much better:]
You fill up my senses
like a night in the forest
like the mountains in springtime,
like a walk in the rain
like a storm in the desert,
like a sleepy blue ocean
You fill up my senses,
come fill me again.
Come let me love You,
let me give my life to You
let me drown in Your laughter,
let me die in Your arms
let me lay down beside You,
let me always be with You
come let me love You,
come love me again. **
* "Blessed be the Name of the Lord" lyrics © 2005 Matt Redman, Six Step Records
** "Annie's Song" lyrics © 1974 John Denver, RCA Records
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
