If Meadows Speak....

when the stillness seems too much

2012-01-23T20:10:00.001-06:00

I don't know why this is hard, the waiting, the standing still.

But it is.

Some days I long for it and yet, when it arrives, I'm not sure what to do with it, how to be still or sit still, or quiet the still.

But I need it.

And when the stillness is longer than I planned, when God seems silent because His words have stilled, isn't this where I reach a blind hand in faith to know He's still there, even if I can't seem to feel His fingers.

It's like our Texas trees, when the sky has stilled it's rains with drought, roots desperately search deeper waters under brown grass. A hidden work of ripping through new dirt to just find a drop of living water.

Our survival depends on it.

The sometimes dormant stillness of our faith seasons can feel like a winter-ed soul shut inside, frozen by the absent awareness of an active God, hibernation besetting our hearts under layers of stillness.

Waiting, praying or not, begging or beyond even trying, searching to only stop, because it's all there, a stillness so strong, you must painfully wait the next season.

Trees rest, grasses give up their green, perennials drop away from life, for the still, dormant time needed to grow. But then spring surprises us with its buds of sun-filled blossoms and lures our hearts to come and smell the cup of Hope rising with the temperatures....then we know.

Being still has supernatural qualities.

But even better, being still is the way our awareness is acutely affected by His presence and all the more beautiful once we sense Him springing in our hearts. And when we embrace the daffodil blooms, the redbud's unfurling, the dogwoods' wispy whites and pinks, when we look to the hills and see where our Help comes, then our faces shine in His glorious rising.

And we want to still this moment too and just bask in Spring's embrace after Winter's hold on us.

Seasons rotate in cycles and He's still creating, still changing, still speaking, still moving, still looking, still searching to and fro, still waiting, still sending His Spirit to plant new life so that our hope resides with this Counselor who's a most gentle, and faithful Gardener of our souls.

Even if my finite mind can't find the edges around His infinite ways, I know one thing is true, He's still here. And no matter how quiet the stillness is, how lonely our heart's ache in it, if we are don't give up chasing with all heart and soul and mind, He's still near, too.

{re-posted from the archives}

warning~~radical church rant

2012-01-14T14:46:00.000-06:00

I interrupt this regurarly scheduled blogging experience with an out of the box Christian experience. This may challenge your thinking and hence, any like-ability I may have or have had with you. If you want to keep it same/same, then just click away now. Otherwise, this might be a polarizing experience.

"The very flaw of the pastoral system and it’s hierarchy is what makes you inept to operate fully in Christ to begin with. It stunts your growth.

The system limits the Spirit’s operation in His Body, under man’s system or program, by saying His Spirit can only speak here, or in this way, or preferably not at all, as He will only disrupt the service.

They place themselves between you and Christ and wonder why you aren’t more mature in your walk.

But, when the Body begins to question the church, then the question-er is considered a trouble maker."

{to read more about the dangers of people demanding a "king" to rule over them, click here}

Frank Viola: Beyond Evangelical

2012-01-06T14:05:00.000-06:00

brave writing and your reputation

2012-01-05T09:37:00.016-06:00

I share questions and my deepest felt faith with my closest friends, namely two: my husband and a friend from another state (although a married couple also comes to mind). I stay, primarily within this circle because I think: people (like you) aren't ready for the real me {<---link}.

I remember telling that to someone years ago.

They asked me, after having known me for almost a year, how come they didn't see this side of me before?

It seems they liked it. I was frustrated with them and told them just what I felt. I don't know who likes being told off, but I guess anything is better than being something you aren't.

I tend to circle my wagons in a tight little circle and only there, too those two, can I really be all of me.

That's where I am safe to explore possibilities.

That's where I can be crazy with ideas and they'd be crazy with me.

That's where I can express my failures and know they'll share theirs too.

That's where I dare to be free, in the secret and hidden places of two people.

However, His ways are higher than mine means I'm in a constant stretch upward and upward always has a way of going outward.

Writing does that too.

Going outward, is both liberating and terrifying. There's risk involved when you leave bits of yourself on a page.

What if they can't handle your real-ness? What if they don't like you anymore? What if they think you're a loon? What if they think you're not nice? What if they think, "you shouldn't say that"?

The what-if's are killers.

And if I'm writing for the what-ifs, then I'm just borrowing someone else to be me.

I've come to the point where I must be true to myself (and to Him) and surge past the what's and if's.

They say it takes a year or two, maybe more, to find your writing voice. I usually take that to mean, listen to His voice and write.

But I know.

In these two years of blogging, I might have toned it down to make it more palatable for you. I might have phrased it just so, that it would sound slightly like someone else. I might have made it nicer so you'd like me. I might have made it catchy, so you'd think I was clever.

I might have made the words soft so you'd feel good about yourself, and in essence, about me too. I might have read your story and wondered, "now why don't I write those kinds of things"?

I've done all those things at one time or another.

I want to be nice and for you to like me.

But we know that's just vanity talking.

I want even more, to burn and speak boldly what He gives me to do and say. And it doesn't always look nice, but it's eternal.

Lately I see my responsibility in not being afraid of man, or his opinions, or my reputation. Some people will think that is just rebellious.

But I'm not after man's praise, just God's praise.

That means, breaking the habit of preserving myself. Which begins with a new habit of speaking from the burn in my heart and with all cost to myself, releasing them.

The first step is dying to flesh.

And popularity.

With Ann....

who's in charge of the church anyway

2011-12-30T16:56:00.001-06:00

The church is losing control of its people. Maybe now Jesus will have a turn.

To keep reading, click over to "eating locusts"...

dirty word of submission and crazy Jesus talk

2011-12-29T15:42:00.001-06:00

Read this and tell me how you like them apples on wively submission?

{one of my radical rants}

debunking silent women in church--guest link

2011-12-28T18:00:00.000-06:00

"There is no scripture from Genesis to Malachi that prohibits women from speaking in church or to literally keep silent in the church. There is not a single scripture verse in the entire law of Moses that deals with this subject." --Geneva

Click here, for a more exhaustive look and background to those pesky scriptures that Paul was referring to about women must be silent in church.....

{women} go tell the men--guest link

2011-12-28T08:22:00.000-06:00

"Why couldn't I make myself fit those {silent woman} guidelines? I tried, I really worked hard at it. I prayed, I repented, I apologized and I pleaded with the Lord to change me into what a godly woman was supposed to be....The worst question of all, why did I sometimes feel I was called to “speak”? " --to read more of what Geneva has to say click here.

My good friend is finally writing, in the open, and you don't want to miss this post.

~~Tammy

post-Christmas in all its weirdness

2011-12-26T18:16:00.007-06:00

We didn't have the tree this year. Or the manager, stable, and all the porcelain Christmas characters on display to remind us of that special birthday.

Our Christmas was brown.

But it was packed full of stuff, to be sure, as our time was spent moving. And between the boxes and the mud, well, that's where the brown comes in.

The severe drought we had all year, it's long gone. I can't complain, the mud looks real nice after a summer like that.

Except we have short memories, I think. No on knew when, if ever, we'd see rain. And then it comes, and comes, and runs all over the place, fills up the ponds, keeps coming, and it isn't long before we're wondering when it'll stop.

This Christmas, I didn't have time for all the hype or reflection.

And now this is the day, after.

Strangely, I don't feel the usual let-down, somehow.

I've spent most of this month moving, being thankful, and appreciating God's abundance. He lavishes His goodness on us and I'm always amazed or surprised by it.

I wrote and posted this here on Christmas day and thought, who posts such un-Christmas-y things on the day of Christmas?

Apparently, I do.

Even though I was aware of Christmas, this year, it didn't come to me in the usual Christmas wrapping.Yet it's been very special in it's own weird way.

There have been some great times of meditating on Him and keeping our thankful hearts before Him without all the other trappings, this year. Our family has been having a relaxed and joyful time without the usual stuff.

Our lack of preparations for Christmas, and now without my usual post-day blues, I feel as though I've been given the best gift, ever:

Peace and joy.

Funny how that works.

at Laura's.....

the church and its hostages

2011-12-25T06:00:00.003-06:00

{What better way to celebrate the post-Christmas season, than to talk about what Jesus did for us.}

I’ve seen how the Holy Spirit is sucked right out of church by doing, doing, and more doing. Or maybe it’s going, going, and more going from one program to another meeting, or confined by limited doctrines and intellectual religious experiences or exercises.

But few allow a Holy Spirit to live and breathe, and Lord have mercy, have control.

Join me at the new website to read more...

the Christmas of cows, dirt, and Heaven-help-me's

2011-12-23T20:47:00.008-06:00

I had a camera in my hand when a small herd of cows began stampeding me for their daily chow. I didn't know fat cows could run so fast. Let me tell you--they sprint for food.

I didn't get any pictures of what a blurr of slobbering heifers running toward dinner (or their Server) looks like. Let just say, it was a whole lot of ugly and a bunch of scary rolled into one.

Fortunately, I was the server so they stopped just shy of giving me any of those dark hoove tattoos.

My oldest son was with me and he said the oddest thing after such a near death experience.

In open pasture and cowboying up some chores, he brought me dirt. Holding a pile, he excitedly says, "Mom look, we have good soil!" And then began telling me the qualities of good soil.

Being the good parent I am, I didn't hear most of it.

I was thinking of why he said soil instead of dirt? And what child says we have good soil? And he's excited about "good soil", really?

Afterwards, I found out he and my Hubby have been talking about farming and growing hay.

But that doesn't change the fact, I'm slow.

We can spiritualize just about anything, but I'm really thinking about this soil business.

I want good soil and I'm wondering if the fruit of my lips speak good soil to my boys?

Black and loamy dirt is the best for growing crops. The dark color comes from all the fertilizing, plowing and rich minerals.

It's the place for roots.

So this Christmas, I'm gardening.

I'm checking my heart and tending to weeds, fruit inspectin', if you will. Lord knows I need plowing and planting with minerals from the Word so my heart can be fertile ground for change.

Soil sits. The Gardener does the work and fruit is the product of His labor. I can't make myself better. And sitting soil isn't idle. It's an incubator for Life.

I must be changed inside, out. And honestly, change seems harder as I get older. Or maybe its that I see more needed change than ever and that's what is hard.

Soil determines the quality of fruit and life and I'm no scientist or God.

I'm just the fruit bearer.

Good or bad.

I'm reminded, wise men went looking for a place to bring gifts, a babe, a King. The skies announced this good Seed planted on the earth that day.

So this Christmas, I'm tending to my soil because I want some of the Good stuff.

edited from the archives

what is going on here

2011-12-18T14:32:00.002-06:00

Besides the fact that I'll be boxing up my house this week, I'm also in the process of brainstorming for a new blog. It's at the infancy stage. (while also keeping meadows speak)

We'll be posting over there on what God has been doing and showing us about the church. If you feel like you want to contribute, please email me your thoughts and I'll be in touch with you.

The new link is here:
http://eatinglocusts.wordpress.com/

The "About" page says a little more of what this blog will be. You can also link up and follow so when we do start, you won't miss it.

I have some posts brewing and raring to go.

But, I'll be back after the dust settles here.

there ARE wolves in the church that want you to shut up, {guest post}

2011-12-14T08:12:00.007-06:00

Geneva, a friend of mine, will be guest posting today. She doesn't blog, yet, but she writes and sends some of them to me by email. This post is one of those emails and with her permission I'm sharing it with you. She longs to see the church turn with their whole heart, but she knows how the world and man also compete for those hearts. She strains her ear for the pure Truth, one which comes by fire of a Holy Spirit. But many times is disappointed by the watered down rhetoric from church today. As I prepare for a move, over the next couple of weeks, my time will be filled with boxes and transitions. Thankfully, it's just down our farm road.

For years I have had a secret fear there could be something wrong with me.

Something wrong with my understanding of God, His love and His expectations of us as His people.

It has been difficult to identify "it" but I am confronted with "it" regularly when I am open and honest with other believers who don't share my views. So, after numerous well meaning corrections over the years from fellow believers, I've learned to tone down my expression of the stirrings in my heart. I have also never been able to get away from "it'.

The corrections I refer to are the many exhortations I've received to repent from my own "judgemental mindset and critical thinking" concerning Christians who live in sin and even love their sin.

Sometimes these corrections have been gentle and sometimes they've been harsh but all of them have caused me to seek the Lord over and over again for His help in identifying these "judgemental and critical" tendencies in me, if indeed they exist.

The "it" in my life has been the secret fear that the "exhorters" could be right and I have a huge blind spot about my own motives and intentions. I have all these questions before the Lord.

Am I guilty as charged? Does my heart really have a huge deficit of the love of God for others? Does God's love for the church really negate the glaring lack of fervour for holiness and appalling lack of intolerance for that which is ungodly?

Am I guilty of "preaching law" as accused, or is He really the same yesterday, today and forever and it is us who have grown lukewarm?

Am I way out in left field or am I hearing and sensing the heart of God when I chafe in uneasiness at the discomfort I feel when I examine tepid beliefs that most accept as truth?

I have been on this journey for years to discover the truth about "it". So, let me share with you where I am at. Let me also warn you, if you are one of those believers who is convinced God is always pleased with you simply because you are His child or simply because you "believe and have faith", you will probably be offended by the following viewpoints.

I believe Paul knew what he was talking about when he warned by the Spirit of many false prophets, false teachers and false brethren in the church, especially in the last days.

Let me ask you, are there any in your church? Do you know of any in a neighbouring church? What about your entire denomination? Where are these wolves in sheep's clothing? I have found few people that will admit to personally knowing one, yet Scripture says they are among us.

Are we so politically correct we can't speak truth. Or is it because we are so blind we can't see the wolves?

Where are the watchmen who warn? Where is the fire that purifies? Where is the conviction of the Holy Spirit that produces a crying out from the depths of the hearts of sinners? A crying out for mercy and deliverance from sin and hell? A crying out for separation from the world and a separation unto God?

I listen transfixed to revival sermons of reformations and revolutions gone by. My heart leaps in confirmation at the scathing rebukes and laser point corrections that produced a yearning and a determination in people to walk in holiness before their God. I feel a burning and a stirring deep within me that causes my heart to cry out, "Oh God, Oh God! Let me be a part of revival like that!"

I am so hungry to see a holy hatred of the unclean thing. I am so hungry to see the fear of God return to His people. So hungry to see true repentance toward God, true faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and a true walk in the Spirit. I am so hungry for these things that words themselves cannot paint the picture adequately.

I am so weary of the many flavors of doctrines of devils that abound everywhere around me, with a new one springing up on a regular basis. New flavors of half truths, twisted scriptures and hyped up atmospheres that produce anemic converts who have a profession of God but no power in their lives.

"Converts" who are powerless against sin and instead cry "Don't judge me! God loves me!" when confronted with the truth of their condition. "Converts" who have no hatred for that which displeases God and who will fight for their right to embrace the various flavors of the day. I am so weary of these things and the utter distaste of them sometimes causes me to run and hide from the conflict they produce.

This is where I am in my journey to discover the truth about "it".

As I have begun to ponder, could "it" be a myth and then coming to the idea my heart may actually be beating in tune with the heart of God, I have become hopeful.

If the hunger that resides in me is just an extension of the hunger in His heart, I even dare to be excited. Maybe, just maybe I will see revival and I pray, Oh God let it be so!

~~Geneva

when Christmas isn't what you planned

2011-12-07T07:38:00.002-06:00

Christmas is different this year. It reminds me of when we first made our move back to Texas three years ago. The one we said we would never do.

I didn't know Granny would be that sick when we came to visit on Thanksgiving. We flew down with a couple of suitcases for our week-long event of turkey and cat hair.

And never left.

It was worse than I remembered. The cats, that is. I didn't know what a hoarder was back then. All I knew was, she had 30 of them living inside her house, plus 3 dogs.

But as age draws us away from youth, so it does with other things. We lose our agility too take care of a house or cats, least of all yourself when you have terminal lung cancer and you're a widower living on a diplated farm with no help.

So we made the move we said we would never do. I think that is God's sense of humor. When we say "never!" (maybe with a stomp or two), He shows us "never" really is just a joke.

We left our nice, newer two story house for a cat-infested one that had mold growing on wood floors and closests crammed full of stuff. We found rats living in them once we cleaned them out.

I loved Granny. But this was something else.

Christmas was just 'round the corner but there was nothing familiar or traditional about this one.

No decorations. No time to ride around and look at lights. No husband. He was gone, back to work in another state, the same state of our house that we loved so much.

Christmas was exceptionally hard that year. All we had was praise and worship and it played 24 hours because if we ever needed to worship in the mess, this was it.

I had to keep from crying with my kids when tucking them into one of the antiquated iron beds that hadn't budged from its spot in years.

But I still loved this farm.

I remembered laying down in chicken houses of fresh new wood chippings and letting the fuzzy yellow balls of a chick come near my stock-still, fourteen-year-old frame. Or the crooked hay rings that my sister and I would stand up, like a tire ready to roll. Or the woodland trail that I'd follow and wonder if the coyote we saw outside the back door was still out there watching.

I just didn't love living in this house.

On bad days, I felt as caged as those black security bars that were rusted shut outside our windows. The same ones put on in the 80's and hadn't been opened since.

Christmas had to be done from scratch, that year.

Which brings me to this year.

All the normal stuff isn't happening.

We'll most likely be moving somewhere near Christmas, so we haven't done the things we usually do. It's not far, just back to one of my favorite meadows here on the farm.

Preparing has been more internal than external.

I guess it always is, really. But without all the decorating, somehow the tunnel vision of Christmas is burrowing inside, more than out. It feels strange, good, and simple this one time.

It doesn't look Christmas-y around here. But there's a place where we are decorating His good gifts in our hearts and keeping the day He brought Light, fresh in our thoughts.

Because Christmas is more than what hangs on our walls, or lights up the night, or bakes in a oven, or is hidden under the wrapper.

It's about enjoying these things without needing the things to enjoy. It's about loving the gifts without giving to get. It's about counting our blessings without the fear to subtract. It's about living with Christ without forgetting the cost.

It's about alot of things and preparing is like stringing them into a garland, Named from the start, even if it's only hung in our heart.

At Ann's...

for when your life seems stuck in the mud

2011-12-06T14:07:00.003-06:00

Life has a way of doing that. Just when we think it's all dried up, it changes.

Lately, I've been experiencing lots of change and for the last two days, part of change has been rain. And if you know where I live, then, you know how important that is.

Black holes appeared in the ground where ponds and lakes used to be. Green became brown. Trees became dead. Humid become dry. Heat became sweltering. And summer roared it's hot breath like a prowling lion looking for whom it may devour.

Pastures were haunted with vacancy, as one by one, cows were sold because there was no hay or grass, or water.

But now?

Now we have mud. Who knew it'd be so soon?

And so much?

In the past, I've taken it for granted. I've been grumpy at how that sticky stuff tracks through a house full of boys. I've been a bear clawing at dirt-clodden jeans and wet shirts before two rambunctious boys cross the door's threshold.

I've downright hated mud.

I mean I really, really hated mud.

Because I only see a mess waiting to happen and I get stuck right there.

I'm looking for the next mess. It's coming, be sure.

We're talking mud, people.

But after the summer we just had, I'm seeing mud in a whole new light.

Somehow, when it's a given, when it's taken for granted, when it's just an ordinary thing, that "It", whatever It is, seems to be a nuisance and I'm just a mess-cleaner-upper. Being a homeschooling teacher, chef, full-time house keeper, dry cleaner, dishwasher, toy coordinator, at times can overwhelm me so that all I see is the dirt and the unclean.

I become a leper.

It's when we expect the expected and then it comes, we grumble. Or when it doesn't come, we grumble. Or when it really comes, alot, we grumble. Or if it comes a little, we grumble.

So I thank the mud and a Creator who's canvas happens to also be carpet and clothes and boots.

Because when life takes away what we took as given, when these kids grow up and out, when there's a drought of years left living, I'm going to wish I had one more day of being stuck in the mud of this day, with them.

In all it's stained carpet and wet red clay of it, I want these memories to cherish, not just ones already made, but the ones we're living, right now.

At Emily's......

and at Jen's....

The Crux-Interview of a {former Amish} Woman, Part 6

2011-12-05T13:28:00.001-06:00

“Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake. Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you." Matthew 5:11 and 12

This is the last installment of the "Interview of a {former Amish} Woman". Deborah may guest post on here periodically, so check back and I'll make her writings easy to find. We hope you enjoyed this series as much as we enjoyed sharing it.

Q: You were in your 30’s when you left the Amish order, so when was it your life changed? How did you find God in a closed society?

Deborah: I was approx. 18 years old when I became born again and this journey really began.

I had a hunger for God and He visited me in response to that hunger.

I was alone that day and found myself weeping for several hours because I felt the drawing of the Spirit of God. This had never happened to me before and I did not know I was actually experiencing Him.

I felt an urgency and a tremendous yearning in my heart that caused me to weep almost uncontrollably. I remember crying out, "I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do!"

I had gone to see a gospel sing at a nearby non-Amish church the day before and as I watched the people on the stage I could see they had "something" I wanted.

It was against the rules, of course, to go to a gospel sing but teenagers are braver then other age groups and the Amish expect and tolerate a certain amount of youthful experimenting.

As I wept before the Lord that day I started to hear His voice.

My heart could hear Him saying He wanted me to stand and be a witness for Him just like the singers the day before had been doing. I kept trying to explain to Him that was not possible. I was a young Amish girl and Amish girls just can't do those things. The battle went on for hours, just Him and I in the room.

I had a choice to make, would it be His will or mine?

The Lord was unyielding in His conviction and I wanted so much to say "Yes" but I instinctively knew if I said "Yes" from my heart, my life would change.

When I finally yielded my will to His and said, "Yes Lord, I'll do what you want me to do" the peace of God rolled over my soul.

The weeping stopped and I experienced something like warm honey being poured over me and through me, starting at the top of my head all the way to the bottom of feet.

I was cleansed by the blood of Jesus and the love of God enveloped me. I felt a great weight lift off of me and I was forever changed.

I joyfully basked in the glow for days. I knew I had been "saved", saved from an eternity without God by a God who loved me.

Q: What did you do right after your newly discovered faith?

Deborah: After some time I secretly contacted a full gospel church from a nearby town.

I was hungry for fellowship and I began to share my experience with them from the security of a neighbours phone.

I also sneaked off to their church service a few times on Wednesday evenings. They encouraged me to say the "sinners prayer" at their altar and I complied.

They were so excited but I knew nothing actually happened at their altar, it had happened weeks before when I was alone, weeping before the Lord and all I had said was "Yes Lord, I'll do what you want me to do". My surrender was not in my words, it was in my heart.

They then encouraged me to go home and tell my parents and family I had found the salvation of the Lord.

Q:What happened when you told your parents?

Deborah: I was hesitant because I knew what the consequences would be if I did that.

However, I had been trained my whole life to be compliant and obey those over me, so I did as they suggested.

Everything I anticipated that would happen, did happen.

The stand off lasted for a few months until I felt I couldn't take it any more.

I broke.

Or maybe I bent so I wouldn't break.

I compromised and moved my line in the sand.

I moved it back, a safe distance away from the onslaught of anger and gnashing of teeth, away from the tears and pleading to a more manageable position of personal guilt for being so weak.

I had no money and knew no one I could turn to for help but I retained my secret hope for freedom some day.

I gave up on the idea of explaining to the Amish what I had experienced and went underground with my faith. I settled in to stay until I was older and could better make my own way. I prayed for a "knight in shining armour".

Q: How long after this happened did you meet your husband who also was part of the Old Order Amish? And how did that affect your faith?

Deborah: Two years later a "knight in shining armour" did come into my life but he didn't look anything like what I wanted or expected. I heard the voice of God clearly say to me, "This will be your husband."

I resisted adamantly.

He was a young Amish man, quiet, soft spoken and not interested in me either. We were only acquaintances and I was happy to remain that way. To marry a young Amish man would seal my fate as a member of the Amish order for life and that possibility was what I resisted.

I was sure I had heard wrong.

Several months later I found myself thinking about this young man a lot even though we were still only acquaintances and not dating. I realised my heart had become engaged and I couldn't make any sense of any of it.

Our acquaintance changed to a relationship and I was very happy but I was confused about the direction my life was taking. I loved him and decided it must have not been the will of God for me to leave the Amish order after all.

We were married and I settled into a happy life with a young Amish man. I was a secret disciple, a Nicodemus who would come to Jesus under the cover of darkness with my questions and my faith.

Q: After “sealing” your fate with the Amish way of life, how did it conflict with your new faith?

Deborah: God has a way of working in our lives even when we aren't aware of it.

I was happy in my marriage but three years into it my heart was again crying out for freedom.

Freedom to worship the Lord in Spirit and in Truth.

As I stood by my kitchen sink weeping into the dirty water and piles of dishes, once more I was crying out, "I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do!"

Again I heard the Lord speak so clearly. "I will lead you out. I will take your hand and lead you out."

Faith exploded in my heart.

I didn't share what I had heard with anyone, not even my husband. It was like a life line and so precious to me.

I lived in expectation of that promise for a very long time.

It did not come to pass immediately, but I had a hope that kept me from despair during those years. I waited on the Lord and on my husband.

The time finally came and God supernaturally lead us out as a family.

Looking back I still don't understand some of the leadings of God in my life.

I'm amazed that I have my husband and children with me and we are happy serving the Lord together. I marvel at my journey with the Lord because it doesn't look like I thought it would at all but I have learned I can trust my Father who loves me.

His work is redemptive and restorative.

Romans 8:28 and we know that all things work together for good to those that love the Lord, to those who are called according to His purpose.

The Harvest-Interview of a {former Amish} Woman, Part 5

2011-12-01T22:21:00.053-06:00

A video with interviews of how some former Amish found Christ in the midst of a closed society. And if you have ever wondered how you can make a difference in the Amish society or if you are former Amish or Mennonite and you know others still "in", then stay tuned to the very end of this post. Today, we're continuing our series about an Amish woman who was shunned for her faith and left the Order when she was married and in her 30's. Once she began questioning the "faith" based on Jesus Christ, her troubles began inside the Order. All the words are solely "Deborah's" and in her "voice" and because of her contacts, in present day, with the Amish, she needs to remain anonymous (thank you for understanding, ahead of time). I only edited paragraph sizes (smaller bites for easier reading). Bold, italics, and larger print are all mine, to emphasis areas of interesttWe'll be doing a series based on questions from Hillary's gracious readers!

Deborah: Over the years I've thought a lot about how to minister to the Amish and to help bring a clear understanding of salvation, By grace are you saved through faith... not by works lest any man should boast Eph. 2:8-9

Q: So what exactly is the "rumspringa" and why do the Amish have it?

Deborah: "Rumspringa" is a time in every Amish teenagers life when they are allowed to be unsupervised in their activities and time spent with other Amish teens.

It starts when they are sixteen and continues until they are married. The rules for this period of life vary a little in the different communities but the main purpose is to find a life partner from among the other Amish young people.

Because this time in their life is largely unsupervised there are a lot of things that many of these teens participate in, including drugs, alcohol and sex.

Most parents know their children are participating in these things but it is looked at as "sowing a little wild oats" before you "settle down". These parents would not give their verbal consent to these things, instead it is consent by non-confrontation for the most part.
The parents themselves went through "rumsgringa" and expect their children to do the same.

It is in no way seen or endorsed by the Amish as a time for clear thinking teens to "make a decision" if they want to stay in the order or not.

To portray it as "a time to make a decision" sounds very noble but anyone that leaves the Amish order regardless of their age, will experience rejection.

Some will experience more rejection then others based on their respective community and a number of other variables including how much they speak up and proclaim truth.

If the former Amish joins a congregation that is similar in lifestyle, that can be viewed as much more acceptable then forsaking it all for the sake of Christ.

Q: What happens if someone runs away and needs help?

Deborah: Most in this group are teenagers and eventually do go back to the Amish order.

Many are so hungry to experience some freedom and the braver ones often run away from home. For this group, the motivation may not be hunger for spiritual freedom or truth, instead it is often the same lack of maturity that causes teenagers in general to experiment in the forbidden, regardless of the culture.

These teenagers eventually get lonely and homesick and go back to what is familiar and comfortable, especially when their motivation for leaving was merely to experience things like driving a car, going to the movies, etc..

However, from this group of teenagers, there is a percentage that respond to the gospel when they hear it, most for the first time. These young people hopefully will then go on to experience true freedom, a journey that is often difficult and hard.

There is also the issue of not being able to help those who run away before they are legally adults. The law requires they be returned home to their legal guardians, of course.

Q: So how can an outsider, an "English", reach the Amish?

Deborah: The biggest misconception I think outsiders have would probably be that the Amish are somehow "different" then the rest of humanity. They have the same physical, emotional and spiritual needs that the rest of humanity has.

Their values may be different because of their culture, but those among the Amish that don't know the Lord are just as lost as any other person without Christ.

For those that live near an Amish community and have a desire to minister, pray and ask the Lord for open doors of ministry.

Pray for an opportunity to share the Gospel with those that are hungry and trust Him to send some your way according to His will. If you experience a lack of response please keep in mind you may be planting seed for a future harvest.

The Amish do not have TVs or radios and most of them read a lot to quench their curiosity about things outside their community. Because of this I believe handing out very simple gospel tracts is a good way to present the gospel to them.

Please don't pass out any literature promoting your church doctrine or your denomination, only the simple gospel of "repent and believe on the Lord Jesus Christ." Trust the Lord and allow Him to lead them by His Spirit to the congregation He has for them and the life He has for them.

These are "my people" and I cringe at the thought of them exchanging one set of "rules" or man's expectations, for another set just as damaging.
This happens to many of them and it happened to me.

I had to "come out" out of several congregations that took advantage of my propensity to follow man in my early Christian walk, a propensity that I believe came from immaturity and a childhood that trained me to obey without question.

These subsequent quagmires I walked through after leaving the Order in search of freedom, added to the pain by repeated rejection.

Q: What do you consider the best effective tool for reaching the Amish?

Deborah: My own salvation experience is a good example and proof to me that the Lord will meet a hungry heart where ever He finds one.

I was alone in a room when I found Him as a teenager and my life was forever changed.

There really wasn't any single person or act that spoke to my heart and caused me to reach out.

The Holy Spirit is not at a loss or limited to help those whose hearts cry out to Him even if they don't have access to the things we often assume are necessary to experience salvation.

I have come to the conclusion that prayer is the most necessary and the most effective tool in my pursuit of bringing the glorious Gospel of Jesus Christ to the Amish.

Prayer that the Lord would open the eyes of their understanding and turn their hearts to repentance of sin. Prayer that they would turn from dead works and serve the living God.

Prayer that the fire of God would burn in their midst.

Prayer that they would be filled with the power of the Spirit to live in victory.

Prayer that they would be more than conquerors through the Him who loves them.

Mission to Amish People Promo from Shane Burgett on Vimeo.

To know more and hear in their own words {former Amish} people tell how living in a closed society and with rules was like "digging a hole" with no purpose, then watch this video. Deborah wants you to know about her heart for setting the captives free. Visit the Mission to Amish People (MAP).

And also their Facebook page at:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mission-to-Amish-People/324236356023

the cheap trick of Santa Claus

2011-12-01T09:49:00.012-06:00

Unwrapping the One who's birth came, is about the year-long preparing, the daily, hourly, minute, preparing.

The kind we grow weary of preparing.

"'Prepare the way of the LORD; Make His paths straight.'' Luke 3:4

All year ticks away and so goes the mundane, the ordinary, the surviving, and we get tired of it with a worn down living. Our everyday-battles make us war-torn and always looking for peace in our home or in our hearts.

But Christmas?

Christmas is mystical. When it comes, we look for mystery. We gaze into the unknown and feel the deep waters of an ocean so far and wide, we know not it's depths.

This is when we're able to breathe on dry bones to live or how we know hard stone quenches a thirst. Because we come here, back to this preparation of a Man becoming, man.

Yet, some want to fashion the mystery out of their own hands and so go the stories. The mystic becomes the magic of Santa Claus, talking reindeer, little elves, and the sledding Snow Man. But if we really know Who came, magic's true nature would be revealed for what it really is:

A cheap trick.

Magic is an inverted way of mimicking a Miraclemaker. It always leaves an empty shell once the trappings are gone.

That's why we must unwrap, not the magic but the mystique of Who came.

We remember that He is and always was and always will be and we let it blow our minds. We marvel at wonders and we awe at majestic's and we open those spiritual eyes to see Him behind every one. We look at expanses, watch the way of wind dancing in trees, let clouds bellow like an orchestra fiddling out cotton candy, and we know Who made those is bigger than we imagine Him to be.

And we begin to love Big-ness we can't define or contain or even try to.

We allow Him to be more than a "what would Jesus do". We allow Him to be "whatever Jesus does" and we go with the mystery.

Preparation is intentional and necessary. It's a laboring journey toward the event. A Man who was before time began, didn't just come, He prepared.

"Therefore, when He came into the world, He said: 'Sacrifice and offering You did not desire, But a body You have prepared for Me.'" Hebrews 10:5

Much preparation is being done, not just here but in the Heavens.

Unwrap it and open your mind to the possibilities.

"Then I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband." Revelation 21:1-3

Join me over at Ann's and Bonnie's for more journeys.

when you need a Phoenix Rising

2011-11-29T09:44:00.006-06:00

The day was turning out a bit Van Gogh-ish, after all, I just recently watched a documentary on his art and life.

I came out here to breathe, to let the cusp of evening air shock my lungs with crispness.

I needed a reminder of how life is always changing like the seasons. Because change does come and sometimes it seems long in coming, but it always does.

And I need to remember, now, to remember now, to be present and just still some part of my spinning days.

Because honestly, sometimes I feel like that sky, like a Van Gogh painting all vibrant in blues and yellows, with hard brush strokes. Except it's not the vibrant beauty I feel, but more the energy of colors moving.

Always moving.

Those pronounced and intentional strokes with multi-colored layers of a true, later in life Van Gogh painting is like the tornado which seems to always be ripping through inside my head. Like the tornado-ish cloud in the first picture.

I was transfixed. So I took pictures.

Lots of them.

The next day when I pulled up my small view window on my camera and showed my husband, he said, "My goodness, how many did you take?", to which I replied "Um, alot?"

Yeah.

Because in all our broad strokes of life, when the day is wrecked like a canvas of spilled paint, or vibrant by the loud colors of a temper, for when we just need to breathe, to Breathe deep, we look for the Phoenix rising.

Except its not some mythical bird, its this one Creature who has healing in His wings, who covers me with His feathers, whose wings are my refuge.

And I see Him on the horizon.

Slowly rising over the tree tops, with security lights on electricial poles blinking on, He rose like an eagle in the clouds. A blue wing sweeping over me for more than half the hour, growing bigger as I clicked.

Sure, I know there is "science" behind wind and currents that affect nature but I also know Who's in charge of clouds and tells the sun when and where it should go. I know Who sets boundaries for the sea and tells it can only go this far.

And I refuse to close my eyes or turn away from what creation cries out, You are there. We need only see it.

So I open.

I see the "Phoenix Rising".

"Who makes the clouds His chariot, who walks on the wings of the wind..." Psalm 104:3

Happy, happy day to be here again....

The Outside-Interview of a {former Amish} Woman, part 4

2011-11-28T22:17:00.007-06:00

An Amish woman who was shunned for her faith and left the Order when she was married and in her 30's, is opening up about her experience. Once she began questioning the "faith" based on Jesus Christ, her troubles began inside the Order. She's graciously allowed me to interview her. All the words are solely "Deborah's" and in her "voice" and because of her contacts, in present day, with the Amish, she needs to remain anonymous (thank you for understanding, ahead of time). I only edited paragraph sizes (smaller bites for easier reading). Bold, italics, and larger print are all mine, to emphasis areas of interest. We'll be doing a series based on questions from Hillary's gracious readers! Thank you Hillary and all your dear Facebook friends for giving us a plethora of material.

The interview will be published on Tuesday and Friday. Feel free to join the discussion in the "comment"s block. Any malicious comments will NOT be published. This is meant to be a safe place for her to share her story for the first time.

Join me in welcoming her......

Q: What do those inside the Amish Order think of those who live outside their culture?

Deborah: Many have a façade they wear when they are around the "English".

While most desire to have the respect of the "English", they aren't always sure what is required of them to earn that respect. As an example, "please" and "thank you" are seldom used in their interaction with each other, while American society recognises such things as basic etiquette.

In their interactions with the "English", most will also be very guarded and never completely trust anyone that's not Amish. Because of this, it is almost impossible to actually get to know who they really are as a people, especially on an individual basis.

Within the Amish there are various degrees of admirable traits and dysfunction in family relationships, just as there are in all societies.

Some children are taught more respect for the "outsiders" or "English" than others. Most have a respect for people in general and even an admiration for people in professions such as doctors, nurses and law enforcement etc..

Some do not care how the rest of the world views them and they can be very rude and overbearing to "outsiders". These are the ones who would be obnoxious in any society.

Q: There's a lot of attention on the Amish culture in mainstream media. Are these realistic or misconceptions?

Deborah: Some(Amish) feel they deserve admiration and special treatment just because they are Amish and live the Amish lifestyle. I believe that attitude has been strengthened by the unrealistic romanticising of their way of life in recent years.

For example, most of the books that have been written, especially the Christian romance books, bear no resemblance to reality.

The tour groups that visit Amish communities are presented with an almost idyllic life style, giving no hint to the complexities and hardships of living in a closed society without many modern conveniences.

The TV shows portraying "rumspringa", supposedly time that Amish teens are given to experience the things of the world to make the decision if they want to remain Amish or not, are a farce.

Every Amish teenager knows full well they are expected to stay in the order after they are finished "sowing some wild oats".

Q: What are some things from your upbringing that you've kept a part of your life?

Deborah: The Amish way of life does have some good things that I have hung on to.

Things like learning how to sew, growing and preserving my own food, the ability to survive off the land should I have to do so etc.

All these things with freedom in Christ are a blessing to me but my allegiance is to my Lord Jesus.

Q: Shortly after leaving the Amish, what was your experience like?

Deborah: When I first came out of the Amish order, I was very hurt by things that were said and done to me and wanted nothing to do with anyone in the Order ever again.

I felt anger and anxiety and a range of other ungodly emotions for a long time.

For me, the "coming out" was a relatively slow process and involved trying to find a place to "belong" among other ex-Amish who had formed a church. They were very cruel and still carried a lot of the self righteous baggage they had grown up with. They called me "Jezebel" and kicked me out of their midst for speaking up about things that weren't "my place" to voice.

We moved out of state for five years to escape some of the on-going conflict.

Because of the separation, the Lord ministered healing for some of the pain of rejection and I started to really miss the people I loved. Amish family relationships are very close knit and friendships within the community are usually from school age to death.

Q: Do you have any contact with family members still inside the Order, today?

Deborah: When I began to realise how much I missed the people I loved, I also began to try to re-establish some of the friendships in various ways, but my efforts failed for the most part.

I then needed the Lord to deliver me completely from soul ties to these people, their way of life and their belief system. The power to hurt me with their disapproval and rejection needed to be broken and cut off.

I still feel twinges of pain at times but the ability to cause those debilitating wounds that would incapacitate me for days, has been broken completely.

I no longer have a relationship (or practice) with any other Amish order or belief system. I have been separated from that way of life.

However, my relationships with various family members that are still in the order, cover a broad spectrum.

I have some family members whom I hardly ever see, some by their choice and some because of circumstances, since I am seldom present or invited to community events, etc.

On the other end of this spectrum, I have a sibling within the order who is born again and filled with the Spirit and we are very close, encouraging each other in the Lord continuously. She will most likely never leave the order because of other circumstances in her life.

As for past friendships with non-family members within the order, they are totally gone.

Q: How hard is it for you to have family members still inside the old Order and you living outside of it?

Deborah: The Lord God is so good and His tender mercies endure forever!

Recently while in prayer and waiting before the Lord, I was thinking about how I love these people but I no longer have a desire to be with them. As I was contemplating this fact, the Holy Spirit brought a scripture to my remembrance.

Matt. 23:37 O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you are not willing!

As I read this scripture I heard the soft whisper of the Holy Spirit in my heart.

The love I now have for the Amish people comes out of the love and longing of God for all people, including the Amish. My heart rejoiced because I will always love them but I no longer identify with the Amish and I no longer "feel" ex-Amish.

I now identify with Christ. I am in Him and He is in me.

on why i need you to be you

2011-11-28T10:56:00.001-06:00

I was a chameleon growing up. Moving every year does that too a person. Adapting is critical to survival and I did more than survive, I thrived on it back then.

It wasn't until the last 15 years of my 40ish life that I've lived anywhere for more than a year.

There's danger in staying put, in living somewhere longer than the "new" girl wears off.

You might get to know me, the real me, the ol' rubbed off me. The kind I'm not sure I want you to see.

It's that rejection thing.

As homeschoolers, we are an isolated bunch most days.

I recently told my husband "I need to make an intentional effort of meeting with other ladies." Because too much time away and I become the turtle in a shell and I'm a people person, people!

I need you.

I need rubbing off and a place of encouragement-for-grumpy-days-me. I need the Holy-Spirit-filled-changing-me to fellowship with the Holy-Spirit-filled-changing-you.

Several Saturdays back, I was in a room full of women. No kids, no spouses, just us grown-up girls.

In other words, a rare night.

At one point, we all came together from our little chatty groups we'd been clustered in. In one big circle, we sat 'round a living room sharing, laughing, lots of talking.

I looked at each one and thanked God for their unique selves represented there.

Not for one second did I want anyone to be anybody else. I wanted them to be exactly as they were, individually different.

I prayed, "Lord, give them permission. Give them that deep-abiding joy of just how You made them, and that they not try to be someone else for the sake of being someone else. Give them permission to just be who they are."

That doesn't mean we don't improve or change according to His will. Heaven knows, I need lots of changing.

But we only change because it is His will and not our own.

There are many faucets of the human personality which make each one a delight or a trial unto itself, but oh how lovely the differences are. And perhaps my marveling at the gems sparkling from each one of those women is really a way of turning the mirror on myself and allowing my own "permission".

Go and be who you are in Christ because we need the authentic Body. Our differings, the essence of given grace, is what makes all our individuals, members of one another.

"We, being many, are one body in Christ, and individually members of one another.

Having then gifts differing according to the grace that is given to us, let us use them..."

(some italics and bold are mine) Romans 12:5 and 6

at Michelle's....

and at Laura's...

on losing my religion

2011-11-26T09:52:00.006-06:00

Mine was one of those southern brewed religions. And I kinda liked it that way since it was safe and all. No weird Holy Spirit going-on's or any make me-break-out-into-a-sweat kinda religions. We kept things calm and dull and familiar.

My old religion had always been the steeple kind, with white doors, and an altar call ending Sunday morning service. Right on cue, the choir would sing their practiced praise and break for the tithe plate, followed by the punctual preaching 'til lunch time.

But somewhere along the way, a slow and long way, I lost my religion.

I started to want something more than I could control because my control only stinks things up. But without me, I'm left to Him.

And that's scary.

That means crazy stuff could happen.

That means I might look foolish, or silly, or heaven forbid, charismatic.

The 'holy spirit' in my old religion was an orderly kinda fellow, kinda quiet too.

I knew this religion. My denomination was my god of worship because it was safe, a god-in-a-box-so-I'm-comfortable-christianity.

But it's not safe, at all. It's a ham-strung and white-washed tomb for the dead.

This is where rules, or man, or doctrines of belief, or Sunday school, or programs, replace Relationship. It's where leaving is easy because I know there's no real fellowship to sharpen like iron once I vacate the pew or contemporary chair I parked on that Sunday morning.

I have grown tired of lifeless Christianity. I don't want to wait for "some day when we all get to Heaven". I want Heaven now.

I don't want any self-improving how-to's, I want the power to die for Good, from all self.

I don't want spiritual spoon-fed, I want the crunchy locusts of repentance.

I want the Holy Spirit church, the sanctified church, the wedded Church. I want anything there is and if I don't believe, help me overcome un-belief. Because the invisible is being made visible and I want eyes to see, that look straight into mystery and marvel at the Wonder.

And I've learned that losing my religion is really when I began to find it.

The Medicine-Interview of a {formerly Amish} Woman, Part 3

2011-11-24T21:30:00.005-06:00

Deborah: I have found the grace of God to be vital in true forgiveness or any real change in my inner man.

For instance, I can mentally know I need to forgive and I can make a mental decision or choice to forgive, but only by the grace of God that comes through the working of the Holy Spirit, can true forgiveness take place in my heart. Wondrous Grace, that supernatural ability to be like Jesus.

I would like to add something here concerning the Grace of God.

I believe there are many people that have a misunderstanding of the Grace of God. There is this idea that Grace is like a sort of "magical blanket", if you will, that covers anything about us and in us that is not pleasing to the Lord. These things are covered by this "magical blanket of Grace" and He isn't able to see them.

I disagree with that idea and believe it is a great disservice to the people of God when they do not know about and partake of true Grace that is available to all believers.

The Grace of God is the supernatural ability of God to take any of those things you may feel like hiding from Him, change them or take them out of you and replace them with Himself. You will then become more and more like Him, not a "magic blanket covered" version of self.

There is a huge difference.

Q: What has the healing process been like for you since leaving your Amish roots?

Deborah: To be honest, for me much of the healing in my life has happened without me being aware of it, which is probably the case with most healing.

Time was a big factor I'm sure, time and some distance.

As for my personal healing process, He will often make me aware of some emotional connection that has the ability to cause pain in my life. I will then give Him that relationship or situation and invariably I will discover some time later that it no longer has the power to hurt me on a level that is detrimental to me

There was a grief process to go through when separated from family members but it is amazing how the Lord has been restoring some of those relationships for me. But they are very different then the relationships we had when I was in the Amish order because they are new, not a recycled version of the old.

They are on the basis of me being who I am versus me being who they want me to be.

I believe the Amish are a people in bondage to a belief system with cult-like tendencies.

The way the Lord explained it to me was as follows; the more individual personal choices that are taken from a people group, the closer it becomes to a cult.

The Amish do have a range of personal choices left to them, such as the freedom to choose a spouse and the freedom to choose a vocation however, there are some conditions to these choices. For the Amish, their choice of spouse also needs to be in the Amish order and their vocation choice is limited by the amount of education they are allowed to pursue.

Q: Have you found peace in Christ?

Deborah: Yes, I have found peace in Christ. Growth in all areas is a process but the Scripture is true....we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Romans 5:1

The Shunning-Interview with a {former Amish} Woman, Part 2

2011-11-22T04:00:00.020-06:00

"Deborah": Rules are enforced by varying degrees of isolation for those who do not obey them.

All the rules are a part of a religious belief system that controls the people through shame, fear of man and lack of understanding or knowledge of God. The people are taught and many truly believe, to leave the Amish Order and disobey the rules, is to leave God.

There is usually a kind of grace period where the use of persuasion is employed, which means the leadership will be making numerous trips to your house to talk to you about your "disobedience". This is an awkward and embarrassing thing to endure for all involved.

Then there is the ordeal of confessing your "sin" publicly to the rest of the congregation when you finally do comply and come back into obedience to the rules. This is the method most often used in "correction" and is very effective because it causes such a feeling of shame.

If this process fails and a person persists in refusing to comply, they will eventually be excommunicated.

This means they will not be allowed to partake of communion, and in many communities, no longer allowed to sit at a table and eat a meal with any other Amish church member. An Amish person who eats a meal with an excommunicated member is considered to be violating the rules.

The Amish culture is held together and revolves around their religious belief system. That belief system consists of traditions and good Biblical principles, mixed with misinterpreted scripture and superstition.

They are a society within a society, or a culture within a culture, just like the Black communities or Hispanic communities of America have their own cultures or societies.

They have their own language and traditional rules to follow, some are written and some are not. The rules that are not written are no less powerful than those that are, and all community life and behaviour is governed by the rules.

Q: What sect of the Amish Order were you in?

The particular order I was born into is known as the Old Order Amish.

Q: What does the Amish faith look like? For example: What is considered sin?

"Deborah": Sin is considered to be disobedience to the rules. There is a lot of emphasis on submission to authority with the attitude that submission to authority is godly even if authority is wrong.

In the event of excommunication, the Scripture in 1Cor 5:11 is often used. But now I have written to you not to keep company with anyone named a brother who is sexually immoral, or covetous, or an idolater, or a reviler, or a drunkard, or an extortioner--not even to eat with such a person.

However, many of the actual sins listed in the verse are considered minor offences if considered to be sin at all, and many of the rules that govern daily life have nothing to do with behaviour the Scriptures would actually call sinful.

As Jesus said in Mark 7:13 ..making the word of God of no effect through your tradition you have handed down.

The bishops make the rules for the community.

There are no women in any positions of leadership or authority. Because of this, the rules for the women's everyday lives often do not keep up with the rules for the men's lives, in terms of ease and convenience.

For example, the rules for the men may allow them to use machinery that is powered by a gasoline motor for their work in the field or barn. In contrast, the women may not be allowed to use tillers or gas engine powered lawnmowers to do their work in their lawn and gardens.

The women are seen as a vital part of the family and community but not expected to give any spiritual counsel or input. They are expected to "be silent" and they are not involved in any decision making concerning the rules for the community.

As in all societies the most dependant are the most vulnerable and most likely to be abused.

Within any self governing society there is usually a hierarchy and the same is true of the Amish. There are some families in the community who are a lot more influential then others. They can sway the leaders to make or change the rules to benefit them and/or their businesses, and do so at times.

Q: So, would you say the Amish faith is based on how well you obey the rules vs. a relationship and faith in Jesus Christ?

"Deborah": Yes I would say that. A relationship with Jesus Christ is not emphasised and in my experience, many Amish lack a personal relationship with the Lord. They are sincere and have a zeal for righteousness but it is not according to knowledge.

I would also say, "The harvest truly is great but the laborers are few; therefore pray the Lord of the harvest to send laborers into His harvest." Luke 10:2

the disease this time of year

2011-11-21T10:50:00.006-06:00

You've met them and at times, you have been them. Because really, in our culture, that seems to be the battle.

It's the Wanna-be-War which rages against us in a world full of stuff. And with Christmas, in all it's "finery", beginning to parade around in stores, I'm reminded of how stuff pulls me in.

Inside Costco's neat and tidy aisles, I'm assualted with lines of sparkling goodies, and the suck begins.

I immediately whipped out the paper from my purse and reminded myself: list, list, list.

But as good parents, we allowed our kids to go up and down the toy and gadget aisles, and nod "Yes, that's neat.", "Oh yes, I like that.", "Why yes, that'd be a great project." followed by the, "No, we aren't getting it, and it, and it."

I began to get irritated, not by my kids, as much as by stuff.

But it's a battle.

Because I love stuff too. I'm just like my kids. I survey the warehouse and I begin to want, too.

Stuff kills. I know this.

It quenches heaven and starves the spirit, until we're spiritually anorexic. Stuff makes us feel fat, while thinking just one more thing, is the key to making it all better.

And Wanna-be-Wars begin as we think about, so-and-so who has stuff, or so-and-so magazine girl looking like that, or so-and-so friend did this, or so-and-so does that thing better, and we're off.

The race has begun.

Before my family knows it, I'm at the cell phone booth to switch out my service. Already, the glossy new phones seem too "smart" to not sign up for the new do-dad, gizmo, or data package, it has to offer.

Family after family comes to the booth, ooo-ing and aw-ing over this phone or that. Teenagers with parents trying to convince them, "This is the one I need."

All I can think about is the rapture on their faces, eyeing stuff. And I think how that's me, merrily going along with my man-made worship, mesmermized by things carved by hands.

I'm grieved, Holy Spirit, by our happiness-search.

Instead of eagerly coming to Your booth to get Your latest upgrades, we go to the world. Instead of searching out Your social media, we click away. Instead of handling the invisible spiritual matters with ooo's and aw's, we fix our eyes on the visible--stuff.

In our western culture, we are in a minefield of trappings. We carefully step among materialistic cursings that brightly allure us. We have to deny, deny, deny in a humanistic culture that says, "good ahead if it feels good" or "if you can have it, get it."

We must choose, the foot of the mountain or the climb. Lingering too long at the bottom, is where we build golden-calves.

So, up we must go.

In my western world stream there at Costco, I tried to swim up a ripple.

At the cell phone booth, I did what I came for. I downgraded. It's small, I know. Minor, really. Nothing even, compared to Heaven or the poor in spirit.

No phone email, no phone internet, no more Google searches, no phone with Facebook or Pandora. Just a phone.

My husband and I left.

And in the car, we wondered outloud, the disease of stuff.

“ Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." Matthew 5:3

at Laura's ...

and Michelle's.....

The Crucible--Interview of a {former Amish} Woman, Part I

2011-11-18T01:00:00.010-06:00

An Amish woman who was shunned for her faith and left the Order when she was married and in her 30's, is going to be opening up about her experience. Once she began questioning the "faith" based on Jesus Christ, her troubles began inside the Order. She's now ready to start sharing her story and has graciously allowed me to interview her. All the words are solely "Deborah's" and in her "voice" and because of her contacts, in present day, with the Amish, she needs to remain anonymous (thank you for understanding, ahead of time). I only edited paragraph sizes (smaller bites for easier reading). Bold, italics, and larger print are all mine, to emphasis areas of interest. We'll be doing a series based on questions from Hillary's gracious readers! Thank you Hillary and all your dear Facebook friends for giving us a plethora of material.

For Part 2, click here. The interview will continue on Tuesday and Friday. Feel free to join the discussion in the "comment"s block. Any malicious comments will NOT be published. This is meant to be a safe place for her to share her story for the first time.

Join me in welcoming her......

Q: What is it about your faith that conflicted with the Amish order?

"Deborah": There is a scripture verse that comes to mind. John 4:24, God is a Spirit and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.

Starting at a young age, even as a child I could see there were rules that just didn't make sense.

I'm sure I was a challenge to my parents because many times I would ask questions like "Why do we have to do it that way?" or "Why is this wrong?" The standard answers of "That's just the way we've always done it." or "Because the bishop said so." would never satisfy my sense of what was right and what was wrong.

As I got a little older and started to see some hypocrisy and double standards I had even more questions to which there were no satisfactory answers.

I was born into one of the more dysfunctional homes in our community. Into a home where the family regularly experienced a lot of pain from the rages of a father who had an uncontrollable temper. All of us did our best to hide what was happening in our house because to be "different" was something we dreaded, as most Amish do.

Acceptance and value comes from conformity and non-resistance to the "rules", not in standing out. Looking back, I believe the conflict in our home contributed to my desire to seek out truth because the pain in my life kept me from ever being comfortable or happy at that time.

When I met the Lord Jesus as a teenager I recognised the Truth I had been looking for. For years I had heard from the leaders in their bi-weekly sermons that it was "impossible to know that you are saved".

Using various methods, they explained to us the way to being right with God was to obey your parents and submit to the ministers, which we all knew meant to obey all the church rules.

When I met the Lord I knew they were wrong.

I immediately had a revelation by the Holy Spirit that I had been "saved" and my salvation had nothing to do with all their church rules. I knew it for months before I was able to find scriptures that proved it.

It became impossible for me to live under a belief system that I knew to be wrong in its interpretation of what was required for salvation.

Q: Do you feel like it was worth the sacrifice to leave?

"Deborah": I have only recently been able to dissect this part of my life into several different pieces or components:

1. Who the Amish are as a people.
2. My life growing up in their midst and then leaving the order.
3. My journey with the Lord that started while I was still a part of the order, a journey that continues yet today.
4. My complicated connection with the Amish that still exists because of relationships with family members that are still in the order and will remain there.

The answer to the this question involves several of the components I just mentioned. I do feel it was worth the sacrifice to leave because I left in obedience to the leading of the Lord.

I have the joy of the Lord and have no desire to go back. I am so thankful for the freedom that God has brought me into. Not just freedom of lifestyle but freedom to worship Him in Spirit and in Truth.

However, after all these years, sometimes I still feel a twinge of pain when I see certain interactions among them.

For instance, when I see a group of young mothers, small children peeking out from behind their skirts, chatting with that relaxed ease that comes from having known each other all their lives. Or when there is an accident, disaster or a death in the community and all the buggys start to pull in immediately with food, supplies and support for as long as it takes.

This kind of community life was a part of my life for many years but I am now an "outsider". They expect nothing from me and would be uncomfortable if I tried to be a part of these interactions.

I believe the Lord wants to bless His people with "community" but it is difficult to find it among His people today. True "community" is relationships that are based on the love of God for each other and the freedom of the Holy Spirit in our midst.

In conclusion, if I would have known before I left, how hard it would be to have all those emotional ties severed, I may not have had the courage to leave.

Nevertheless, looking back from the vantage point of freedom, by the grace of God I would do it all over again. Once I tasted of the all-encompassing love God has for me, I also began to experience from Him the value and acceptance my soul was so hungry for.

Also shared at Charlotte's.

when your faith fails

2011-11-16T08:43:00.009-06:00

It's dark and the Husband is home after his hour-long drive from work. His dinner waits, the kids eating earlier instead of waiting for this late hour to be fed. Just when he sits down, when husband and wife finally have time to talk, the noise level rises.

Our two boys, suddenly wrestling right there in our dining-office-school room, and I feel the blood rising.

All I want is a little slice of time, a quiet corner of this small farmhouse, a moment in the day to catch up and converse with him. But I'm distracted by two rambunctious boys running through the room.

So I snap.

And I bark.

Irritation rises and all those good feelings I was having a moment earlier, vanish.

I fell off the mountain.

I'm in the valley of grouchies with a long shadow of peaks over me. And I hate it. And disappointment in myself only compounds the irritation and so I bark more, hate it more.

I've watched her walk among the children and I think of all those lost ones, needy ones, hopeful ones. But I can't seem to even tend to the needy ones right here, underfoot, so who do I think I am?

I have faith to believe all kinds of things, but I've realized my faith for good parenting is a mustard seed, if at all.

It's the try-hard-flesh wanting to speak softly and kindly. It's the I-wanta-look-good-parent which causes me to have failure feelings when it's my squirmy kid in a quiet room full of the Body. I become disillusioned, frustrated with the same ol' thing, always back to me and how I do it wrong. And this is when I know Paul.

"Who will deliver me from this body of death?"

And the clues are in the "I"s and "me"s, the self-life which eats away the spirit. All I want is a cure.

"'I fail continually,' many must confess. And what is the reason? the reason is simply this--they have never learned to believe and accept the truth that the Holy Spirit can pour God's love into their heart. That blessed text has often been limited! 'The love of God is shed abroad in our hearts' (Romans 5:5). It has often been understood in this sense: It means the love of God to me. Oh, what a limitation! That is only the beginning. The love of God is always the love of God in its entirety, in its fullness as an indwelling power." (italics and bold, mine) Andrew Murray's writing "The Fruit of the Spirit is Love"

This is the faith I need--to believe and accept the truth of God's power to shed abroad His fruit, not just with others, but with my own. That I have fullness of power by that Indwelling, not just in church, but even more, in home. That I turn from self-life quicker, not only for the Body, but for ones birthed from this body and womb. That I know valleys only mean it's time to climb, not just for getting high, but also for taking those who live with me, along.

At Ann's.....

{An Amish woman who was shunned for her faith and left the Order when she was married and in her 30's, is going to be opening up about her experience. She's now been gone for 21 years and it's taken many of those years for her healing. Amish is a Patriarch religion of the strictest order. Once she began questioning the "faith" based on Jesus Christ, her troubles began inside the Order. She's now ready to start sharing her story openly and has graciously allowed me to interview her on my blog. The first in the series will be THIS Friday. Join me, sweet friends, in welcoming her......}

of being high

2011-11-12T11:53:00.007-06:00

{if you ever wanted to know about the Amish-then hear it from an insider as I interview "Deborah's" journey of faith that shunned her from her community....only this is real and not fiction. The series starts on Friday. If you have your own questions you'd like to ask her, email them to me. Until then...}

Today I stared outside my farmhouse with yellow trees beckoning me from my bedroom window as the wind playfully pulled on their limbs.

My husband and I call it "blah" days. But my visual self, sees gray ones.

In saving gas and money, I tried staying home more. I'm discovering I'm not cut out for so much isolation. God created me a people-person and 'though I need quiet times, I need people times too.

But also, too much of the world gets in the way, even in isolation.

And so I separate.

"What does it mean to go up any mountain? It just means getting away from this world. When you get up the mountain you have left the world behind; there is a great separation between you and the world, and you will never see heavenly, spiritual things until that has happened." T. Austin Sparks' sermon "In the Spirit or in the World"

I travel up. I climb higher. I need more.

As much as I go, I need you to go too. Because we need to touch Life and move from death, the natural of this world which pulls the gray down 'round us.

We need to speak this language, those tongues speaking spiritual things which burn away the deeds of flesh. We need to each be part of the Living water pouring forth from your cistern to mine so we can refresh and reinvigorate our mountain climb.

Come away from the fog of this world, where death curses the object of our desires outside of Christ.

I need you on the mountain of revelation as much as I want to be there because we edify and are filled when the Spirit comes teaching us all things.

I need friendship with Holy Spirit and fellowship with his Person which brings all fullness there. And what a joy to receive double portions of it, when you are there too, sharing it. It's why we need the climb, together.

Above doctrines, and comfort levels, or intellect.

Above self, and others, and what-they-thinks.

Above luxury, and gluttony, and trinket-buying-just-becauses.

Above gray-blah-days, and complacent ways, and luke-warm-I-don't-cares.

Above how-we-feels, and unbeliefs, and I-wasn't-taught-thats.

We must rise above all else and come just as He is: the great "I AM". And nothing else. But oh how hard it is.

Only those eternal seeds remain and all flesh is grass. But Heaven walks earth by His Spirit and we don't have to wait for death to see it because we are carriers by design. We only need to open the gates and start the climb.

"You will never see the things of God until you get above the fog of this earth....The language is very simple and very significant: 'I was in the Spirit, and I was on a great, high mountain, and then I saw something.' You see, these are spiritual laws of the Christian life and they are very real. I hope we do know something about this." T. Austin Sparks "In the Spirit or in the World"

at Laura's....

and Michelle's....

when you feel the snares of the world

2011-11-01T22:49:00.011-05:00

We've waited for this.

Erecting from grass where long, green strands of used to become hay, are now long sticks and gray concrete of what will forge a home.

But for now it's a shell of a house.

I can't deny I've anticipated being where deer graze and seeing that blue-bodied woodpecker at the edge of the pond. The only pond left still holding water, after our drought, is just a glance out our future bedroom window.

The new place is a quarter mile back from the road, strategically placed on a meadow near a wooded area.

I'm still sorting it all out, while the end rapidly nears.

I'm excited.

But I dread.

Sharing isn't always safe. People look at what they have or don't have and the tendency is to compare.

These three years, we've been in a place of deconstructing the "American dream". Three years of giving up many luxuries and whining about it. Three years of wrestling with where I am and pining for what could be. Three years of feeling financially lighter with a smaller debt load, but freedom isn't free. It costs.

This has been three years of uncovering a stealth predator known as pride.

And I know. The cost isn't really about me or my stuff.

It's about how our flesh is caught up in the materials of this world.

It's about the heart and it's flow from the mouth.

This is why I dread. I dread the heart of others. I dread my own.

Building a life with God, isn't cheap.

The Kingdom comes and we must die. But not stopping there. We rise anew in Christ and then we carry it. Our feet are shod with news, our innards permeated by the Kingdom that created them.

Heaven dwells in our marrow.

And the exchange begins when the scents of our praise perfume the Heavens.

Why do we long for things fashioned by man? Or why should we despise the gifts in clay and wood when Heaven is at hand?

Give us eyes to see, not as the world is, not what our neighbor has, not how a friend lost weight, not by what you can afford, not by what we're missing, but by that realm of Spirit. And clothe us, layer upon layer of Heaven, that our spiritual lives are grown into a big house, a village, a fortress of Christ.

Let us carry that residence. And groan for more.

"For we who are in this tent groan, being burdened, not because we want to be unclothed, but further clothed, that mortality may be swallowed up by life." 2 Corinthians 5:4

Shared at Lisa-Jo's....

when the burn comes, blow

2011-10-30T13:49:00.019-05:00

Last night, I couldn't sleep. This restless mind kept me up to the wee hours but even now, after lunchtime on the next day, I don't know if it'll rest.

I don't want it to, really. I'm stirred. Whoever wants to leave the mountaintops to walk the valleys? But I know we carry the mountaintop wherever we go and so we go. And we try to write it.

Signs and wonders pass our way but it's the vessels that make me marvel. These beautiful souls surrendered to His bidding, never ceasing to amaze me.

I've been witnessing a blossom of the Body here.

But I'm not sure how to begin or where to end. There are words, but too many of them.

How do we explain the ways in which His Spirit moves? The ways in which His Spirit operates in yielded vessels, the ones dashed on the beach of Christ?

And isn't this how we know Him: that our love and unity wouldn't be from knowing one another, but from one another knowing Him? How else would a room of strangers feel like family, if not God?

The words wanted to flee, to slip away and not be bothered in the middle of night. But I wrestled them. I wanted to make one or two stand still long enough to unwedge their fullness from my heart.

I was reminded of the Body's beautiful and well-oiled parts, last night. Not an amputated gathering. Not a dismembered cast with parts on the wayside. Not a quenching of blazes and fires until only one hot coal is left to dully light.

I've seen His glory residing among the sacrifices of flesh. People, surrendered. People, open to more. People, hushed for hunger. People, quenched by liquid Fire.

I saw the burn. His heat rising among the embers of His people. And then that Wind blows and licks the Heavenly heights of His flame.

When we come open-handed for God, we may carry out a handful. But when we come open, when we say "Give me all in All and what I don't believe, help my unbelief!", who knows the fullness of that, but God?

But it takes bold faith to walk it. To bring it to one another. To fearfully encourage and bless. To cheer each onward the race before them. To lay our whole life at the altar so we may bring the Kingdom down. To stand as bizarre aliens so He alone stands in our place. To be humbled as a Jesus freak rather than preserving self and pride which quiets us when He says speak.

When He's fully operating among believers, I feel Love, fully. What beautiful blessings of His gifts flowing down to us, individually. Ones so needed, Hallelujah. What encouragement they are!

But it's that mystery of Love by way of others which blows me away. every. single. time.

Love is that abiding fruit that keeps our feet steady.

Love and humility brings all of Christ when they are holding hands.

Oh that we'd know and seek the burn of it. May your feet find that solid ground of it, friend. And should you feel the slight warmth of it's heat, fan the flames.

"He who loves his brother abides in the light, and there is no cause for stumbling in him." 1 John 2:10

Many blessings to those who bless...and you know who you are.

At Laura's....

At Michelle's...

when my First-world sensibilities clash with a hurting world

2011-10-25T11:52:00.009-05:00

We've been busy building a new home on our property the past two months. You'd think I would want to shout it from the rooftops, announce it in big, bold letters here on the blog.

But I haven't.

Instead, I struggled before we ever got started.

We prepared for years but should we? Are we vain? Selfish? First-worldly-and-spoiled-kinda-folks when people are starving and poor in Third-worlds?

I've not known how to share my excitement. I've been giddy with materialistic details such as: carpets, paint colors, door types, cabinets, and such. While others 'round the world may find satisfication from food picked from the trash. Or others around my corner who'd be esctatic to know they'll have a job tomorrow or food enough to feed all their hungry mouths.

I live in a First-world, world. But still there's pain here too. I think of the scripture which says to take care of the poor, the widows, the alien and orphans, within your gates. Yes. Even here in all our first-world-worldliness.

A friend from Indiana, who I shared my struggles with, said God looks at the heart, not the outward things.

I've thought of King David building beautiful buildings, mindful of God's handiwork to allow such building in the first place.

But I'm not King David.

And we aren't building anything of splendor or granduer, nor cities or temples for His people.

Just one lone house on a farm, for us. Even with our organic house church in mind, it's mostly for us, isn't it?

And then there's the economy and world events and how it's affected so many I know.

Maybe it seems foolhardy with so much chaos and instability. But I know Jeremiah bought a field when his world fell apart. When his world was handed over to the Chaldeans and it seemed nothing was left and all was gone. Economically. Socially. Physically. All was swept away. And yet, God said, go buy that field.

"‘Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel: 'Take these deeds, both this purchase deed which is sealed and this deed which is open, and put them in an earthen vessel, that they may last many days.' For thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel: “Houses and fields and vineyards shall be possessed again in this land.”’ Jeremiah 32:14 and 15

Yet, I'm not building as a sign from the Almighty. Although it's been a promise given us over 6 years ago, ours is more personal than national.

We've spent the last three years planning, designing our own floor plan to maximize space and reduce costs. A place to house organic church and let it flow naturally from kitchen to living, from dining to prayer, from inside meetings to outside play. But also a place of building house and home, to nuture and school, to live and love on this favorite meadow of mine.

And still I struggle: how do I glorify Him (and build a house) in a hurting world?

I've only been reviewing this myself, just recently:

I put no hope in the manmade. I rest no happiness on earthly structures. I exalt not, earthly riches. I despise not, those good things which are from Above. I reach out to those in crisis. I trust not, the world's finances. I share my food with the hungry. I give away so others may have. I depend alone on God's economy. I place no foundation anywhere but on Christ. I seek the driveway which leads me Home. I shelter only under His wing. I take no pride in the things that burn. I boast not in that which comes to ruin. I favor not, a roof of shingles but instead favor the roof of Heavenly sky.

I think not, of my own power but of the feebleness of clay hands.

And no matter first-world or third, this I aim to do: Remember Him. Bless Him. Praise Him. Wherever in the world we are, it's not forgetting Him which can't be bought or built.

“Beware that you do not forget the LORD ... lest—when you have eaten and are full, and have built beautiful houses and dwell in them; then you say in your heart, ‘My power and the might of my hand have gained me this wealth.’" Deuteronomy 8:11,12,17

at Laura's place....

and Jen's too....

when losing the facade seems worse than death

2011-10-17T16:33:00.003-05:00

It's obvious isn't it? People can be cruel and Christians in particular.

I mean, there's the high-n-mighty-horse that we Christians like to ride. We have our ideas of what's right and wrong and we aren't afraid to tell you about it. After all, scriptures are black and white and we can wield them like a sword to cut others down. And before we know it, our tongue is forked with Christ and sharp words and criticism.

All the more reason to hide.

Take your faults and your clay self to the kiln of goodness and willfulness. Then present to the world your porcelain face of religiosity and painted fairy-tales. That's safer, after all.

We don't want others to know how we really are, our sinful tendencies, our imperfected relationships and our struggles within and without. Pretending seems safer.

Who can judge what they don't see or know?

The secret place prides it's favorable position from those who know it from afar but also fearing it be exposed, found out, and flawed. Or worse, that it'd be more sinner than saint.

Porcelain sainthood is a vice of bondage, at best.

Drop the law-abiding, rule-keeping, I-don't-want-you-to-know-the-real-me, self.

Admit it.

There's no good in me and you might as well know it. There is only Christ and I thank God I'm unable to do any good because then I'd be expected to perform it. Hitting the bulls-eye of righteous and goodness, isn't a mark I'm able to consistently repeat.

We know that I's and me's fail somewhere, if not everywhere.

Why hide it and be a slave to sin as we pretend not to?

Why not openly confess, not from pride for our mess but for it's truth in our life. Freedom starts with that.

Truth.

So we begin with ourselves.

We unchain our will for His works. We know weakness before we know power.

We're humbled under our true state before we love with that kind of Love.

This is a messy, ugly work that scars our pretty facade. This is a violent work that shatters our delicate sensibilities. It's why we would rather the fake than the real. Because anything more, anything exposed feels like a stake-burning, a hero turned horror show villain and we played the part.

Too bare ourselves open feels like a blood bath.

But that is the very thing needed to live. Humility and Love reigning all Good things in us but only after we die a horrible death to self.

"Who longs to have the power and the liberty of the Holy Spirit? Oh, brother {or sister}, bow before God in one final cry of despair: 'O God, must I go on sinning this way forever? Who shall deliver me, O wretched man that I am from the body of death?'Are you ready to sink before God in that cry and seek the power of Jesus to live and work in {not by} you? Are you ready to say: 'I thank God through Jesus Christ?'"

from: Andrew Murray's Sermon on Romans 7:24,25 "O Wretched Man That I Am!" (reading from this weekend)

so many others going before me, dropping self and facades for Christ...oh the humility of Truth!, may we be faithful to it....sharing at Laura's place today :)

and at Jen's place...I'm loving how she's listening to God's direction.

when the church is divided

2011-10-11T20:06:00.001-05:00

Sometimes we are asked to choose. Should we take that job, live here, visit that, give to this, spend our time there. Choices abound. And in America, we are spoiled from our choices.

Church too is a choice with one on most every corner. If you don't like one, then go to another. And even church leaders and pastors seem to like the choices too: if you don't like us, then leave.

Either way: "Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation, and a house divided against a house falls." Luke 11:17

If we're all in the same Kingdom, we're never really leaving, are we? What matters is we're connected to the Body in some way, by a consistent fellowship of believers.

What we need aren't loyal people but ones seeking an undivided loyalty. The kind that only goes by One denomination, a slave to one Master, a volunteer to One divine program, a learner according to One Teacher, an alien membership unto the same city of Zion.

Perhaps pastors and elders of religion think we're a fickle bunch of sheep. But fickle isn't confined just to congregants.

Maybe its the whole institution of the thing that creates apathy among the herd or burnout among the leaders.

We are humanly flawed with this sin nature and there is that.

All the more reason for submitting one to another, each one, not just some. Not just pastors to an elder of their choosing, or "members" to the pastor of their choosing, but all submitting one to another esteeming others better than our self.

This is a hard one, because I have a great adulterated affair with my flesh.

"It is often asked--how can we count others better than ourselves, when we see that they are far below us in wisdom and in holiness, in natural gifts, or in grace received? The question proves at once how little we understand what real lowliness of mind is." Humility by Andrew Murray

There's the struggle.

And there's my wrestling.

For we are born with that pride nature and I fear it above all else.

Humility is the equalizer of division.

And if I'm to be in the Body, I choose to be in the elementary of humility, a daily graduation of death. One I need schooling on, minute by minute.

hunger for heaven

2011-10-02T22:11:00.003-05:00

My wearied self has been operating with a numbed mind for over a month. I blame it on allergies. Sleep has been intermittent by night, leaving me sluggish by day.

But today was different.

And I'm not so sure it was allergies.

On the way to this Body of church, I drove the 40 minutes (one way) to meet them, with my Pandora channel streaming worship through my car radio. My appetite had returned.

Lately, I have felt full or empty or satiated but something other than hunger. I felt rich in all the wrong ways. I was afraid I'd forgotten how He filled, how the kingdom is gained by the poor and lowly. How the hungry aren't satisfied with table scraps. And I wanted to remember but I couldn't.

I've been wading through a foggy, tired brain like a blind person groping.

Today, it cracked. Maybe only a hairline fissure or possibly a large fracture, I'm not sure.

But I remembered.

I felt.

I stirred.

And the crisp fall air gleaming under the sun's bright rays like a beacon of Glory felt just like Heaven had landed all around me.

Day uttered speech and night revealed knowledge and I heard them speak.

Finally.

I was soul-starved, spirit-thirsty and I'm more alive hungry than I am as a rich bloated soul. The soul wants cake. But it needs a lean diet of Spirit-fed nutrition.

I don't want satisfied.

Give me a gnawing hunger for the things heaven declares. And let them be heard.

"Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night reveals knowledge.
There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard. Their line has gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world." Psalm 19:2-4

At Michelle's...

At Jen's......

And at Laura's....

Saturday Evening Post for Sept 2011

2011-09-30T18:21:00.002-05:00

Join us over at EE's place. It's easy. Pick a post from September, any one of those posts you already wrote, and link it up!

Come on over.....and join the fun

the firm anchor

2011-09-29T17:48:00.002-05:00

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.

"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

With Ann on hope...

the adornment

2011-09-21T12:06:00.004-05:00

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.

"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

with Ann...

"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

why we need droughts--though I loathe them

2011-09-19T12:55:00.003-05:00

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.

Last night the rains came, again. Only this time, our front pond was left with standing water after it completely dried up this summer from the heat and drought.

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

because moments slip away--so I write

2011-09-13T13:11:00.008-05:00

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"

when you feel defeated and battered

2011-09-13T12:38:00.008-05:00

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.

"...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

when you need faith to believe your gifting

2011-09-07T11:04:00.009-05:00

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.

"..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....

preaching to yourself in a historical drought

2011-09-05T12:33:00.004-05:00

I parked our golf cart in the middle of one of our partially dried out fields, to remember the caress of 80 degrees blowing over this cracked earth. Yesterday, the cold front came in as a reminder that all fiery trials come to an end, eventually.

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...

At EE's....

Saturday Evening Post--September

2011-09-03T11:21:00.005-05:00

I'm visiting at EE's for the September issue of "Saturday Evening Post". Hop in and join the fun by adding a post you've already written from the previous month and link it up at the blog party at E.E.'s place.

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

"a church without walls (or a 501c)" {July}

when you cradle death

2011-09-01T15:22:00.009-05:00

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}

At Em's "Imperfect Prose"....

the canvas of faith

2011-08-31T08:33:00.007-05:00

My faith is written

in pastel hues,

a globe tilting

to Fall.

Each day we walk

the halls,

a gallery of art.

Pink and purples brush
their mark,
a canvas up on high.

Creation paints a picture

and tells on the heart.

Nature's exhibition

appoints it every day,

an invitation start.

You only need but look,

the hidden made it known,

a signature each one.

Art only is

what the Artist makes,

an Author for all work.

But should you need

faith to believe,

a look is only part.

For sunset plays a glorious tune

and sure melody,

a Composer's manuscript.

And every beat of nature's drum

courses invisible time,

a physical evidence.

But if you'd peer beyond
the grasses stringy strand,

to plant a lone, small seed,

this mustard of believe
see each green witness
their testimony stand
to grow over
unbelief,
a faith across the land.

"For by Him all things were created that are in heaven and that are on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers.." Colossians 1:16

where I admit I need a Writer's Retreat

2011-08-28T12:09:00.010-05:00

I realized my mistake of entering a writing conference giveaway, earlier this year.

My first entry, read by my Husband, was told to me "You wrote it like you didn't want it. I did not think it was one of your better writings."

Ouch.

It was true.

I was embarrassed to actually say I wanted to write, to acknowledge it's importance in my life.

And since that time, I've regretted how I didn't admit the truth.

Since writing that entry and mulling my insecurity about writing, I've been remembering things I'd forgotten as a child. Things, like my excitement of new colored pens: pink, blue, red, purples with fresh, blank sheets of papers and journals.

I remember being huddled for hours in my room with a poetry book by Emily Dickinson or Edgar Allen Poe as their words touched something inside me. I remember how I'd play instrumental music and mused my own words into songs on paper.

I remember attempting a diary, even though I preferred prose and poetry, instead.

Then recently, a high school best friend contacted me and cemented it. Twenty-five years later, I'm realizing how true it is, my love for writing

She said she used to have a box and in it were some things I'd written for her. Then she tells me how I was always taking pictures, back then. "Really?", I incredulously asked.

Even as a child, drawing and writing was my passion. Many birthday gifts and Christmas presents had some art supplies or fresh writing tools that I couldn't wait to be alone with.

All these year, I've tried to squash my love for writing. I've talked down to it and pegged it as some "doodling" of words because admitting the truth was too risky.

But those things aren't why I need to go to the Laity Lodge Writer's Retreat.

I'm done belittling my passion.

I'm done trying to make sense of the way I get lost for hours writing in my pajamas. I'm done excusing why I'm invigorated to pen a thought, that I'm scratching the words on receipts or napkins so I can remember them until I get home. I'm done with not admitting it because of what people close to me would think.

I'm done with self-preservation which tries to tame this wildness when I see a sunset that I'm compelled to write how it shimmered. I'm done ignoring how the stomach is made to wait hours until my heart is emptied on a page.

I'm done with the bubble of fear which keeps me trapped in my own head, with the minions of failure, frailty, insecurity, and unbelief.

I'm done denying the gift which He placed in me as if it were something I shouldn't accept.

I'm learning the art of the Embrace, of who He created me to be. And as much as I like to encourage others, this idea of being with other writers sets a thrill of excitement on the wings of another kind of encouragement.

My need to go to the Laity Lodge is more than just writing, it's also about community. I need a place of digging below the surface of what I want to say to find the things I didn't know I had to say and doing it with others, just like me.

It's about being with birds of the same feather daring eachother to fly off the cliff of possibilities.

My need is: to be around this strange flock of folks who are like me. And from there fledge my writing wings in an atmosphere where we're pushed beyond the perch of our comfortable nests, to newer heights.

And soar.

If you're a writer, and deep down you know you are, then enter in with me and give it a whirl. Who knows, it just might work this time. Go here to learn more "Win a Free Trip to Laity Lodge Writer’s Retreat".

and then a high school best-y is found

2011-08-26T11:32:00.006-05:00

The years add up and move us further away from youth, but then something happens bringing it all back.

My punk-rock teenage self had an accompliance back then. As a teenager, I was on my own in alot of ways except for a friend of mine. We faced the world like a dare.

My family life was separated by the chasm of angst in those days, that not even my own sister and I could be friends, then. She was only two years younger and dealing with her own hormonal change.

So we both had best friends, like the sisters we didn't have in eachother.

Hers was named Sandra and mine was named Xalli.

Technology can be both a curse and a blessing. At times a total time vacuum, but other times, a way of connecting people too.

And so it is, I traveled back in time this week. Xalli found me and we've been laughing, so hard, at our innocent-but-punk-rock-trying-to-be-hardcore ways.

I was in Sonic and couldn't even talk when the speaker buzzed to life and THE VOICE wanted my order. A quick text from my old friend had sent me shaking with laughter and it was all I could to maintain what little composure I had to squeak out something. I'm sure I looked cuckoo with a delirious grin that was managing a guffaw rising up on the inside, although not so successful on that front.

I could barely talk once the order was delivered.

Instantly I was back in Dallas and 16 all over again.

Being "off my rocker" is a perk with age and older years. It's a lovely advantage, in which we don't take ourselves too seriously, that can keep us young.

with Lisa-Jo, on "older"

when your long, lost daughter calls...today

2011-08-23T19:36:00.014-05:00

It was the fourth time in one day and the silence sat between us. We'd talked long and covered much in comfortable cadence during phone calls one, two and three that same day.

But now, number four comes and I'm afraid of saying it wrong, of spoiling the whole day, of inserting too much eagerness by saying too much.

My daughter, the one estranged from me for so many years, was talking to me. We had one of those rare and long conversations and for a moment I remembered what if felt like. The ease of a mother-daughter sharing life as if we had always done this, even though we hadn't since she was a little girl.

When call number one came, I was surprised by the spiritual questions she had. The way she's able to discern so much and how the enemy has kept her bound in lies. She's known the darkness, the paranormal, the attempts on her life, the degrading names spoken over her, the partying, the abuse of boyfriends, for the last several years and all I wanted to do was point to the Light.

And say "Run! Run! See your strong Tower?"

But I didn't.

Not that I didn't try, at first. It was cut short with, "Mom, this is why I didn't want to call you. Because you don't listen to me?"

"You're right. I don't. Go ahead and I promise to listen", I tell her.

And so I do.

There's a purpose for her and she's yet to know the true depth of God's beautiful way with her. She sees the world from a darkened veil and I am only a clay creature too clumsy to remove it.

She talks and shares and I'm amazed at the hidden work of God. When all seemed silent and passive, as if the enemy's grip was too much, the Spirit reveals He's alive and active. Oh, how I marvel at the mystery of this secret ministering!

The surface isn't where a seed dies to give birth to it's plant, but underneath our soiled soul. Sometimes life plows it up, ripping the surface with lines dug by heartaches and disappointment, before they become loamy in sprouting the eternal Seed.

So here I am, listening and trying not to interrupt. Quiet and marveling.

Then she quiets too and I wait in case there's more, but nothing. So I share and we begin sharing back and forth. I tell her what God's shown me, like her, those paranormal evidences of darkness. She knows there's a spirit realm for she touches it's blackness most nights and this I know too.

And I tell her there is a way out through a Relationship and by the Blood.

But I don't know if she wants out.

I can only share how I did and I wanted answers.

I wanted to know, once for all, for Him to be real to me.

I needed Him to be really, real to me. And I made the decision to chase Him, full on, from that day on, giving all of myself to Him, alone. My restored relationship with the Holy Spirit meant all his power had free acces to all of me.

Only then, did I begin to unravel it all.

Only then did I begin to understand the darkness with clarity by the Spirit. All my years of confusion were finally arighted by righteousness. All my years of turbulence smoothed by Peace. All my mistakes concealed in Love. All my wrongs cast to the sea of Grace. All my pain covered in Forgiveness.

Only when I knew Him, really knew Him, could I forgive myself.

And in forgiving myself, I can admit to my daughter, my wrongs, the ways I had inflicted pain, the faults I have, the mistakes I've made. I can admit them without flinching, now.

We must not stop at the pillar of Forgiven but forge ahead to forgiving ourselves. Our children need us to hear them, to understand them, and not to hear us defending our parenting ways from way back then.

When we put ourselves on trial, nobody wins the court of guilt and shame. We only turn like defense lawyers pleading our case because truly the guilt hangs like a noose and we demand a reason, an answer, for how the parenting went awry. We turn our relationship from parent and child to something of plaintiffs and defendants.

It's better to go ahead and plead away.

Guilty.

Guilty. As charged, I am, on all counts, guilty.

Then get about the business of Forgiveness both Upwards and inwards.

Our children need us to acknowledge their pain, without trying to explain it away. We must seek the Balm which soothes the ache, in the way only He can. And by that crucible of guilt, this repenting, can we be about Forgiveness of so many things but especially of ourselves.

Only then, may we stop pleading our "innocence" and drop the gavel. Only then are we able to face the darkness and only see the Light. Only then can we look at all our ugliness and only see Beauty. Only then, is He able to take our death grip, this strangling clutch, and unclench our works to redeem the ruins of a family's past.

With Ann on forgivness....

when the words don't come.....

2011-08-20T13:53:00.003-05:00

I've been absent from here and from finding words.

I feel like a blank slate looking for it's chalk.

No one thought or idea seems to come to mind. Just this awareness of living by the Spirit, how I'm always amazed by the depth of it, and how I need more of it with a new and fresh pouring, daily.

No deep theological words.

Stuck here, I've been pondering "new" for 24 hours. And wondering why, I'm having a hard time with it, when so many new things are happening in the physical aspect of my life.

Aren't all new things dormant before Spring calls them out to life? And that's how I've felt in the spirit, in the soul-part of me-- dormant, in a good, but silent, way.

Today, on the heels of "new" thoughts, I remembered John the Baptist like an undercurrent of something churning below the surface.

I've been reading trail-blazers who've gone before us and some who are still with us. I see a wild abandon of a select few, who forsake their appearance to proclaim the Way through the worldly wilderness.

I see some who speak words needing to be spoken, regardless of who's in the audience or the ears which beg their itching.

I see those who digest a strange diet of the Spirit which nourishes them to speak, plainly and bold, as if the very strangeness of their spiritual food produces strange, life-giving speech.

I see this and wonder the palate of honey and locusts, to look bizarre for the sake of a Kingdom.

Though words may continue to not come over the next days, or sparingly over the weeks, there's a photosynthesis of Light seeping nourishment below the surface. Until the spiritual buds pop their heads from my dark, loamy soul, my spirit lays dormant for the new sprouts.

At Lisa-Jos', "new" word prompt

S&P downgrades? they can't give credit ratings for Hope

2011-08-08T00:19:00.016-05:00

The economy looks bleak. Or so they say.

I realized, I had relied on it always being good. And somehow, in the dire and alarmist news, I'm learning that recessions are good for faith.

Or maybe it's good to have faith in recession.

I've been in the faith gym, building muscles and training for the race in a Hope, unseen. I'm in it to win it as a Hope Olympian.

Over the last few years, I've known friends and family affected by lost jobs, dried up markets, rising food and gas prices. There's a day-to-day struggle of saving dollars here, gas there, canceling luxury items, and at times, rearranging a whole life to downgrade, downsize, and give up homes to start over. Smaller and smarter, hopefully.

We have some laid-off dairy workers, on our farm dismantling one of our chicken houses on days reaching over 105 degrees. They're helping us (by doing the work) and we're helping them as they sell the scrap metal for money as an income. I'm grateful for them, admiring their grit and determination.

We have families combining living spaces and sharing their homes, sometimes long-term, maybe indefinitely.

And with the bottom falling out of this bucket of prosperity, we're caught by faith or fall into despair's pit.

We realize, we were never in control all those years we thought we were, buying houses, or selling them, or borrowing so easily, running up credit cards, living on maxed out debt and joy riding any ol' day of the week.

Recessions allow us to know God is still in control when it seems out of control.

And that's our greatest Hope. Because no matter how it all seems to tank, we're never empty in Him.

His economy never bankrupts, His promises never suffer a recession, His resources are not weakened by a S & P credit rating, His influence isn't dependent on what MSNBC, ABC, Foxnews or another agency, says about prayer. His control isn't threatened by government shutdowns, His healing doesn't depend on a Healthcare Plan, and His long-range provisions aren't determined by a Social Security program.

He doesn't panic and sell off stocks, His futures do not tumble, droughts don't fluster His ability to produce rains, and His finances do not belong to the U.S. treasury.

All of it is His, the whole earth and all that's in it. Recessions just remind us, He still reigns.

Just in case we forgot.

Our greatest commodity is Hope, and by faith, this is the jewel with which we are rich in everyway. His life is our gold standard. For nothing has changed in His kingdom, only in how we see ours.

....at Laura's

....also, at Ann's

pulling the cord on the world

2011-08-03T15:19:00.005-05:00

I don't know if it's the heat, this Texas drought which has shriveled up dirt and sucked water out of ponds, which has me thinking about all the ways to unplug.

The world seems noisy.

And I never thought I'd want solitude from it all, as much of a people person that I am.

But there's this line of being connected, too much, of being scattered like little pieces of ourselves so thinly sliced to only have small portions of time to any one person. It's those closest to us who suffer, getting only a sliver of us, relegated to living with our harried minds which can't keep a thought long enough to have our whole person, present.

I want to come to a screeching halt, with the exception of blogging words now and again. Because I have relief here, so long as here is liberty and not expectation of some requirement to word something.

We twitter, facebook, blog, receive email by phone, text, read headlines on the internet, research books, buy products through Amazon, to the point of, where are the people? Face to face interactions? Where's the family fit in, and even more, where's room for God? Customer service desks have been replaced with phone numbers. We're constantly barraged with information, bings and bleeps and rings, until no place is sacred anymore.

And all this time-"saving" doesn't seem safe at all, anymore.

Maybe the drought has affected more than the brown grass and rain-less clouds over me.

Maybe I'm seeing the world, in information overload.

I'm one of the first to buy on the internet. It saves time and money and gas rather than traveling to the city but the internet has the potential of a vacuum. A global library at the fingertips makes it difficult to just stop at the one thing you went to do there.

It's like evaporated pond water dissapaiting into the atomsphere, I'm lured by words and trinkets of information until precious time has slipped away and I'm left with a dried up hour or two.

There are so many things which have the potential to tug in different directions as to make a person stand still, but not be still. I may be in one place and not truly be there, in mind or thought.

How do I love well, when I can't even think well?

And this isn't how God designed us, to be full of stuff and not of Him.

We need Providential quiet.

The solitude which allows us to be fully aware, present with others, instead of constantly cluttered, takes time. Time away, time together, time talking, time playing games, times to turn "off" and times to turn "on".

We need a reprieve, an old-world life which treasures life connecting and inter-connecting yet balanced between technology and the flesh. Our loved ones shouldn't be a nuisance to our thoughts, as if they are rude interruptions nor is the screen and keyboard more important than little people (or friends and family) demanding our attention or time.

In order to love well, we must dis-connect to re-connect.

We must learn how to wean ourselves from the world.

We must turn our eyes toward our first Love, who loved us first, mindful of this blessing which we rely our life on, Christ. We must commune with Holy Spirit, the Man which came in His place to make peace in our hearts, despite the world. "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives...." John 14:27

If I'm to love well at all, there's a connection which must take place outside the world, a reliance of His faithfulness and an unfailing mind turned to it.

"..For I have always been mindful of your unfailing love and have lived in reliance on your faithfulness." Psalm 26:3

"But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content. Israel, Put your hope in the LORD both now and forevermore." Psalm 131:2,3

With Ann....

search of the paranormal, a world hunting for ghosts

2011-07-30T10:51:00.003-05:00

We don't have to go far. A friend or two telling "ghost" stories and the hair stands up on my neck. And I remember fear, how close it always was. How paranormal never felt "normal" as a child, but was a terrifying occurrence for me and my Sister.

I've experienced enough of the paranormal to know it's material evidence of darkness.

Fascination with the paranormal has history. There have been many labels over the centuries but they all amount to the same-- spirit realm. And they come in two shades.

Dark or Light.

Paranormal is a testimony of Light because He came "to open their eyes, in order to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God" Acts 26:18

We operate in the spiritual every day and yet we're surprised by it, marveling at seeing the invisible like a blind person suddenly having sight. And we fumble without Light. Blindness is darkness unless you're a glow worm and if you're a Christian you're called to be a glow worm. Because he who "walks in the night, he stumbles, because the light is not in him.” John 11:10.

Glow worms.

The world searches for paranormal or hauntings, a Love hunt gone awry. A counterfeit chasing since the Garden and we look anywhere but right where He is. We go all different directions, every which way but the narrow one.

We clothe ourselves with pleasure, or satisfaction, or entertainment, or relationships and change wardrobes, asking ourselves "Is this the one? The key to all my happiness and contentment? Is this how I become spiritual by worshipping the supernatural? Is this it or should I look for another?"

"When the men had come to Him {Jesus}, they said, "John the Baptist has sent us to You, saying, ‘Are You the Coming One, or do we look for another?’” Luke 7:20

It boils down to what we're looking for. The experience? Or the Creator of all experiences?

We carry an Eden-sized hole which needs to be back-filled like a bulldozer placing top-soil over hollowed out places to make a smooth surface.

It's the gaping divorce from a Garden, a breaking of fellowship by a gluttoned appetite of the heart, which has us eating from the world or paranormal.

We're walking wounded not always knowing our condition. Sick with sin-cancer, soul limping, ill from a choice-tainted fruit, and ingesting a serpent's poison at the Garden. We operate in our "normal" as if it's limited while secretly wanting the outer limits. We watch "Twilight Zone" with interest, but without any interest in God's miracle operations which exceed ozones and time zones, or that He created our twilight zone of stars, planets, milky ways.

The normal we need isn't confined in a "para", nor is natural suddenly a supernatural, nor is ordinary special when it becomes extra-ordinary. We live in both worlds, daily designed by the Creator of both, Himself. Men devise words to speak of what they don't understand, but we need Holy speech to understand at all.

"These things we also speak, not in words which man’s wisdom teaches but which the HolySpirit teaches, comparing spiritual things with spiritual." 1 Corinthians 2:13

We long for an Eden return, to walk by fellowship through an Adam's gate through Christ. And our withered post-Garden life is renovated to fruit-bearers when we abide in the Vine. Hole-ness filled by "the fullness of Him who fills all in all." Ephesians 1:23

And it's His Spirit which groans among earthly tents. The search isn't a para at all. Ghosts are about our own inward souls wanting something to believe in and yet we're haunted by clanging chains which bind us to dust. We're hunting for truth, instead of Truth. And those that have Him, know the search is really about finding a Holy Ghost experience and our way back Home to wear the supernatural likes it natural.

"..Because we do not wish to be unclothed

but to be clothed instead with our

heavenly dwelling.." 2 Corinthian 5:4

Over at EE's for September's "Saturday Evening Post"

Still I know....

2011-07-29T08:45:00.007-05:00

I don't know why this is hard, the waiting, the standing still.

But it is.

Some days I long for it and yet, when it arrives, I'm not sure what to do with it, how to be it or sit it, or quiet it still.

But I need it.

And when the stillness is longer than I planned, when God seems silent because His words have stilled, isn't this where I reach a blind hand in faith to know He's still there, even if I can't seem to feel His fingers.

It's like our Texas trees, when the sky has stilled it's rains with drought, roots desperately search deeper waters under brown grass. A hidden work of ripping through new dirt to just find a drop of living water.

Our survival depends on it. The sometimes dormant stillness of our faith seasons can feel like a winter-ed soul shut inside, frozen by the absent awareness of an active God, hibernation besetting our hearts under layers of stillness. Waiting, praying or not, begging or beyond even trying, searching to only stop, because it's all there, a stillness so strong, you must painfully wait the next season.

Trees rest, grasses give up their green, perennials drop away from life, for the still, dormant time needed to grow. But then spring surprises us with its buds of sun-filled blossoms and lures our hearts to come and smell the cup of Hope rising with the temperatures....then we know.

Being still has supernatural qualities.

But even better, being still is the way our awareness is acutely affected by His presence and all the more beautiful once we sense Him springing in our hearts. And when we embrace the daffodil blooms, the redbud's unfurling, the dogwoods' wispy whites and pinks, when we look to the hills and see where our Help comes, then our faces shine in His glorious rising.

And we want to still this moment too and just bask in this embrace. The seasons rotate their cycles and He's still creating, still changing, still speaking, still moving, still looking, still searching to and fro, still waiting, still sending His Spirit to plant new life so that our hope resides with this Counselor who's a most gentle, and faithful Gardener of our souls. Even if my finite mind can't find the edges around His infinite ways, I know one thing is true, He's still here, always.

at Lisa-Jo's AND {in}courage

finding hope amid panic, National Debt and threats of economic collapse

2011-07-28T09:25:00.008-05:00

Waiting for rain to drop from here

The drought is breaking records here in Texas. And breaking farmers, ranchers, dairy production.

The other day, driving 65mph on an Interstate Highway, I saw a tire catch fire on a U-haul truck trailer until I saw flames shooting off the rim. Yesterday, I saw three fire rescue trucks race past our front yard, to a neighboring county needing help. Making our 30 minute one-way trip to small-town, USA, I'm always finding another black, charred grass next to black tar-topped roads.

More signs of distress.

We've kept a record 21 days over 100 degrees, in a row. More heat, means more fire hazard, less water, more injuries, less grace, more irritants, less interaction, and more risk.

And now, a National Debt looms and threatens to suck the life out of our economy, creating droughts in already lean pocket books and drying up much-needed resources.

Kindof like here in Texas, where some have a shriveled up hope, looking to the future with a skeptical eye, weighing the pros and the cons, and the cons winning.

When we look at the world and all it's doom and gloom, we begin to think this is all there is too life. We want to run, hide, seek safety, find shelter from a falling sky.

A partially dried up pasture

It reminds me of someone God told to go and buy some real estate in a collapsing economy. In fact, this piece of land was to be taken over by an invading country.

But it wasn't China.

And while the invaders breathed down the neck of this country, a collapsed economy teetering on disaster which had already begun, God told a mere prisoner, go and buy it.

Here in Texas, we have grasshoppers like swarming locusts which hop in our faces and our mouths as we drive our little motorized buggy to our back pastures.

A pestilence as come upon the land, a swaggering financial institution threatens to topple day-to-day, food prices soar so that people are growing more of their own, and each day looks more grim by the news of what is the world.

And yet, if has God called you to go and do something crazy by the world's standards, what's stopping you? Has He asked you to go against the grain, against safe and sane, and go by faith to take hold of that promise He's given you, even if it doesn't make sense now?

That's what Jeremiah did.

By faith, he bought land, signed the papers, sealed the deed, had the witnesses, only for it to be handed over in captivity and ruin. And oh, he questioned God on it. Sooner, than later, he mentioned mighty things God had done, he went on and on about God marvelous works.

Yet, he couldn't help but falter here,

"Look, the siege mounds! They have come to the city to take it; and the city has been given into the hand of the Chaldeans who fight against it, because of the sword and famine and pestilence. What You have spoken has happened; there You see it!And You have said to me, O Lord GOD, “Buy the field for money, and take witnesses”!—yet the city has been given into the hand of the Chaldeans.’” Jeremiah 32: 24,25

Yet.

Yet, You've given the city away!

And still You said, "Buy the field for money...."

Why?

We wonder, with Jeremiah, why You'd call someone, you or me, to something which seems so fool-hardy, so unconventional. Why risk it all for nothing?

You tell us it's because You have a Promise to do good. Even if it comes later, than sooner.

And I've been here, finding beauty in the courageous expenditure of Faith.

Because I'm learning, Faith is the purchase of Promise.

By Faith, we have currency needed for Heaven's exchange.

Faith becomes the active commerce by which we lay claim to the Promised deeds. And I'm awed by the beauty of this interchange.

Faith is the way we are able to stand in firey trials, run out on a limb, dance in the glory of Promises not yet seen but coming, one day. This is how you're able to do it despite naysayers.

Because it's not about Debt ceilings, raising interest rates, bank loan freezes, foreclosures, of how the world seems on the brink of collapse and is paralyzed with fear. It's about our economy of Faith and spending it. Stepping out in it means it'll be His glory and not the world's or ours....

And definitely not Congress' or people who live in big, white houses.

Over here at Bonnies...

if you've given up

2011-07-27T08:08:00.005-05:00

Dear Wayward World,

Your charms have slithered into the hearts of many people, even our sons and daugthers. Oh, not the ones who know and stay close to the Father, no.

Not those.

Rather, the ones who've bitten into your fruit and chase after the snake which coils around their souls.

Those.

You smile with knowing, Wayward World, because you know them well.

I've known you too and how you lie. How being strong meant being hard and this was how to survive. How I thought you had answers and received from your resources, esteeming knowledge as power. How you gave promises of {false} truths: if I do "this" or "that", then I'd improve myself, or finally be good enough, or in the least, better.

You drag the weary along until they're lost in your maze of self-help, self-confidence, self-esteem, self-evaluation, self-remedies, until all they have left is, self.

And no Christ.

Besides, you point out, Christ means rules, regulations, no fun, boring church, goody-to-shoes. But, should we consider, maybe just one church service, you whisper, "They'll stare at me. It'll be awkward. Where would I sit? I don't fit in. I'm not that good. I don't really need them anyway."

And our co-dependence continues. A harmful dependence of thinking I have this World just where I want it. But really, we now know that is a lie too.

I can't blame you. "For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places." Ephesians 6:12

No longer am I yours. Shell of skin, tent of Holies which burns inside, leads me to my eternal home. And for this, I write you:

Those who've fallen or jumped into your pit, for those who've been lured by your seduction, by your hideous beauty, by your black truths, I only come for One thing.

Jesus, that scandalous word so hard for me to speak during my prodigal years. The Power of that name, kept hidden by silence, tied up on my tongue, stayed by sin, swallowed in darkness, Jesus.

Little did I know back then, how this Name evokes an outpouring of love like Noah's flood and this is the ark which carries us over the rising waters of life.

Jesus.

I remember, all newly returned, the foreign-ness of that Name, how I felt red and fumble-y and shy to say the word which held Life...

And Love.

It is a radical Name.

But so is the Love contained within it.

And when all seems spinning, spiraling out of control, when we've given up, when this cruel World takes more from us than we can bear, when it feels like the bottom fell out and we're crashing to a hard landing, then we have nothing to lose.

Why not fix our eyes on that Name? Because the Wayward is a bondage of self-strengths which will fail us and we have a Liberator who sets us free from darkness and despair and we become aliens to the World. A Name which pulls down Heaven all around us and plants the residence of a Kingdom in our heart, this is where belonging to a Home that no longer belongs here is the address that Perfected peace and worth it's weight in gold for giving up on the World.

{if you given up, try One more thing}

With Ann....

when you don't know if it really will be ok

2011-07-18T14:19:00.010-05:00

There are days that hope in a situation is so far gone, that I'm blinded to how's, when's, where's, and who's. Instead, I'm left with no questions or ideas, no nothings, a double negative and the bare-faced value of a bad situation.

My grown daughter, ever-increasingly distant, has continued the silence except the occasional birthday and Christmas exchange of words and gifts.

Many I days I only see fallout mess without one life-saving move that's possible for me to resuscitate it.

I've tried.

And I've surrendered to the Peace which surpasses all I know, going beyond the things I think I understand.

Being at the lake and the pool these last couple of months reminds me of when we were both younger and how we did these same activities together back then.

Water has a way of soothing the world's aches away.

As I spent Sunday at the lake, watched boats send their large ripples upon beach shores, cooled under shady pine breezes, this fresh-water retreat was like a caressing whisperer of it's Maker.

"And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters." Genesis 1:2

The hovering--the part where nothing seems to happen.

It's the hovering which seems still and lifeless.

I'd rather the stirring waters which healed the man at the pools of Bethesda, to see God in action. But hovering? This quiet work above the waters?

There's a time when the Spirit seems absent to only find out, later, He's been moving. Because even hover isn't all that inactive, as much as it is action, many times used as a verb, of some slight movement, some fluctuation to suspend over a place or object (Merriam Webster dictionary).

And when I know nothing, when I can't see beyond right now, when I don't know if it really will be ok, I cling to the unseen Spirit which knows all things.

I close my eyes in blindness so I can see by way of a different Light. I trust by faith for Healing in hidden and exposed areas.

I know that no matter how it all seems like same-ness from day to day, the Spirit is always moving and changing lives, even at a hover.

But first it begins in the interior, dark corners of a heart, out of view from the natural. There must be a cracking, deep crevice fracture, of the hard shell one wears like armor from the world.

There must be a work far beyond the physical, pulling down to the great reaches of a wearied soul, a mystery kept behind the veil until the veil is torn.

While it all looks the same as lost, we know that we know Him and that His adoption is still at work making sons and daugthers today and tomorrow.

And this is a life-long work of knowing and trusting a faithful Love who adopts us into his Hope and frees us from needing our life to always be ok.

"...but you know Him, for He dwells with you and will be in you. I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you." John 14:17,18

At Laura's