5-minute Friday: "Still"

Here is my first ever "5-minute Friday" post (idea courtesy of The Gypsy Mama over at (in)Courage) ... where I write for five minutes without proofing or editing. I just write without worrying whether it's just right. Man, that's hard. But here goes ... (today's topic is "Still") ...

 GO.

After all this time off, I still haven't cleaned out my closets. I still haven't helped the kids go through their clothes. I still don't really know how to do yard work. I still haven't gotten in the habit of a real exercise routine. However, summer still isn't over yet.

I still hold onto the things I need to surrender. I still wish I'd done things differently. I still battle my own plans and desires for my life. However, I'm still just a work in progress and He's still not finished with me.

This is a crazy life we live ... madness all around ... turmoil and pain and upheaval and no sense of direction. And in the midst of it all, I don't stay still enough to listen. Even when I'm in a tailspin, I have the choice to plant my feet firmly on solid ground, bow my head, close my eyes, and seek His presence. And in those still, quiet moments--in the midst of the chaos--I can hear His whisper.

Be still, and know that I am God.

Be still. No matter what's going on around me, I have the choice to simply be still. It doesn't matter about all the things that are still wrong in my life. It doesn't matter about all the things I'm waiting on that still haven't happened. None of it matters when I am truly, perfectly still. Stillness is His peace.

Be still, and know that I am God. Listen for My whisper.

Lord, help me be still.

STOP. :)

Lessons learned in days gone by

On the day I was born, my mom tells me that one of the first things my dad did was look at my hands. He had high hopes that I would grow up to play the piano, so he was checking to see how long my fingers were.

Lesson #1: Some men look at a girl's hands first before anything else.

When I was two, I smashed my fingers in a stroller. My dad freaked out, and my parents took me to the emergency room even though I'm sure money must've been tight back then. (Anything to preserve a future music career, I guess.)

Lesson #2: Fingers are really important. Take care of them.

Some of my earliest memories are of sitting with my dad on the piano bench, playing the high notes with my pointer fingers as he made his music. He let me play along to my heart's content as long as I didn't bang. (I thought I was really good.)

Lesson #3: Banging isn't good for pianos.
Lesson #4: Let your kids express their creativity even when it sounds terrible.

Once I was old enough for piano lessons, my frugal father decided to teach me himself. This new student/teacher arrangement lasted for approximately half a lesson. He asked me to clap a rhythm but I wouldn't cooperate, so I ended up in the time-out chair, and he ended up walking out of the lesson. (From that day on, he paid someone else to teach me piano lessons.)

Lesson #5: Don't try to give your own kids piano lessons. They will drive you crazy, and you will lose your temper. Period.

Nowadays I'm so thankful I learned how to play ... so thankful the Lord sees fit to use me in worship ministry. After my recent post about Fanny Crosby, I remembered a little devotional I wrote soon after I graduated from college. It was inspired by one of my most cherished F. Crosby hymns. I wrote about using our gifts in service to God and about memories of my Daddy's beautiful piano playing. If you know my family well, then you understand what I'm talking about ...

Sunday, December 1, 1996

I am blessed to have been reared in a home filled with beautiful music. As a child, I used to sit under my father's piano and listen to him make the sweetest music in the world. I still love to hear him play. I marvel at the way his fingers move so gracefully and effortlessly across the keyboard, producing the most glorious sounds on earth. Those sounds are precious to me. Yet even more precious are the messages behind those familiar old hymns I've so often heard him play. 

     Consecrate me now to they service Lord, by the power of grace divine; 

     Let my soul look up with a steadfast hope, and my will be lost in Thine.

-- "I Am Thine, O Lord", Fanny Crosby 1820-1915

Each of us has been blessed with our own unique gifts and talents, and God expects us to use and cultivate them in service to Him. How sweet it is to know that when we use these gifts to serve Him to our fullest potential, He draws us nearer to Him, to the cross, and to His "precious, bleeding side".

I cringe a little when I read stuff I wrote way-back-when because I see countless ways I could've made my stories more compelling. Yet reading this reminds me of just how richly the Lord blessed me when He allowed me to be born into a music-filled home--but even more than that, how blessed I am to have grown up watching my parents use their gifts to serve the Lord. I thank God for their example.

Lesson #6: Your kids are watching you closely, so be sure the example you set won't come back to bite you.

Today my home continues to be filled with music. Am I a professional musician? Hardly. But I'm still playing ... and my daughter sings like an angel and plays guitar ... and my son is the coolest drummer I know ... and the twins are both starting band this year (okay, so the music in our house might be less than beautiful for awhile, but we'll get through it).

Lesson #7: We serve a God who loves to bless us with the things we enjoy most.

One of my most fervent prayers is that my four kids will remain faithful in using their gifts to serve the Lord all the days of their lives. I could burst with happiness at the prospect ... and truly, I can think of no greater legacy to leave behind.

May I be just the example they need. Amen.

When God picks your seat

A cute girl in a trendy business suit sat across the aisle from me. I kept glancing her way, and I could've sworn she was looking at me, too. I wanted to ask her why she was headed to North Carolina, but I didn't have the nerve.

As I rehearsed the conversation I would have in my publisher meeting later that day, I stole another glance her way. It looked like she was reading some sort of article about pitching a book. I had to close one eye to see because I only had one contact in (I can be nosey sometimes).

I was starting to get a headache from looking sideways so long, but I watched as she folded her article up and put it away. Next, she took her glasses off to take a nap ... and then I recognized her. She was the girl I'd connected with on Facebook a few days earlier! We'd made a deal to critique/edit each other's first chapters for our book proposals. I knew she was from the Dallas area, but I never asked about her flight information. It turns out she chose the same airline as me and the same flight as me ... and God chose our seats.

I finally spoke. "Um, are you going to a conference?"

"Yes ...."

"Sarah??"

"AMY??!!"

Both of us: "OH MY GOSH!!!"  I don't know about Sarah, but by the flight's end, my throat hurt from talking so much. It was a delightful flight.

It was the first in a weekend full of God-moments.

It's funny how things change. When I left town for this conference (She Speaks 2011), I was on a mission to find a publisher and get a book deal (you can read about it here). By the time I hopped on the flight to come home, a book deal really was the last thing on my mind.

I'm not completely sure how that happened. My publisher meetings went okay (who really knows what'll happen? ... it's a waiting game that can take weeks). But while I was there, the Lord confirmed to me that if He's laid a message on my heart, He will provide opportunities to get it out. It might be through a book, but it might not be--and I'm okay with that. I do love to write and will continue as He leads.

But back to my weekend ... it's hard to describe it, except to say that the Lord made His presence known in tangible and amazing ways, and I just soaked it in ... the speakers, the girl time, the books, the hotel room, the teachings, the food, the laughter, the tears, the connections, the worship ....

My crazy friend of 20 years, Rhonda (we laughed our
heads off all weekend! Well, and cried a lot, too!)

I couldn't even blog about it all when I first got home because I was too overwhelmed (in a good way). The two most important things I took away:

1) I've surrendered my own plans to Him. I want His plans rather than my own because His ways are perfect, and He knows far better than I do what's best for me. A long time ago He promised me beauty for ashes--and He knows perfectly well how to make my life beautiful. After all, He is the Creator of beauty. I will let Him do His work in me, and I will not interfere. I really won't. I'm done trying to make things happen on my own strength.

2) I'm determined to live my life with a grateful heart. I will thank Him, no matter what. I've always been taught to thank Him in all things ... and even in all the trials of my life over these past few years, I've found tons of reasons to be thankful. But I had come to a point where I'd stopped looking for new reasons (you can read my revelation about gratitude here.) My new mission in life is to find things to celebrate even in the cruddiest moments of life.

To sum it up, it was a weekend unlike anything I've ever experienced ...  I pray I'll be able to remember and apply all the great information I learned ... I pray I'll always hold on to the things the Lord showed me while I was away ... and I pray He'll let me go again next year!

For now, I'm thankful I get to be home and hug my kids (and B!) and pet my doggies. Even if the trip was wonderful, it's always good to come back home. If you prayed for me while I was away, THANK YOU. :)

The face I long to see most

Whose face do you want to see first when you get to Heaven?

Each and every heart-wrenching goodbye in this life creates in me a deeper yearning for my true home in Glory. As I ache for those I long to see most when my time comes, I can't help pondering the words of Fanny Crosby, a blind and prolific poet who authored some of the the most popular hymns of our day:

"It seemed intended by the blessed providence of God that I should be blind all my life, and I thank him for the dispensation. If perfect earthly sight were offered me tomorrow I would not accept it. I might not have sung hymns to the praise of God if I had been distracted by the beautiful and interesting things about me. When I get to heaven, the first face that shall ever gladden my sight will be that of my Savior".

Her words make me cry. How could a woman blind from infancy write so beautifully about "visions of rapture" bursting on her sight ("Blessed Assurance")? What made her long to see the face of Jesus before she'd ever seen a face at all?

To be thankful for a handicap because it prevents distraction ... what a unique perspective.

To consider the fact that out of a godly woman's blindness came such timeless hymns of praise ... hymns like "Near the Cross" ... "All the Way My Savior Leads Me" ... "Tell Me the Story of Jesus" ... "Pass Me Not" ... "Rescue the Perishing" ... "I Am Thine, O Lord" ... "He Hideth My Soul" ... "Praise Him" (just to name a few) ...

... it all causes me to wonder just how far God might take me in the midst of life's hardships if I allow myself to be used.

I also wonder ... how did I sing these hymns my whole life and still not notice their messages? But today the words are precious to me. I marvel at the depth and the anointing. I marvel that the lines written so long ago still endure ... truly some of the sweetest words on earth. Words that express a longing to see Jesus.

Of all the faces I've been blessed to see in this life--even the ones I see now only in photographs and memories--the Face I long to see most is the face of Jesus.

I thank God for my sight, but may I never be so distracted with what I see in the world around me that I forget to focus on Him. May I live my life each day as though tomorrow is the day I'll meet Him face to face.

When what God gives doesn't feel like a gift

How do you open your hand to receive from God when what He's giving you feels nothing like a gift? 

 I heard someone ask this question today, and it was a long time before I could speak without tears.

I'd been a widow for only a short time when a dear friend came to visit. She sat across from me and as we talked, she looked into my eyes and said "You've been handed a gift." I thought, This seems the least like a gift of anything I've ever known. My life hadn't turned out at all like I expected.

We all have dreams. One of mine? To stay married to the same person forever ... to grow old with the father of my children. But this dream that eluded me for years is now forever gone from my reach. Instead, I've been served up a dish full of hurt from plans gone awry, and it's hard to choke down at times.

But something happened in my heart tonight, and as I contemplated that intriguing question about receiving God's "gifts", I realized that everything--everything--is a gift. Even in times when we don't see reasons to thank Him, we can place enough trust in His love to thank Him anyway.

Tonight, I'm thankful even for the gifts that seem like curses--because in my suffering He draws me near. He is Peace in my chaos. Focus in my confusion. Healing in my brokenness. Refinement in the furnace. Everything is a gift.

My incredibly wise friend spoke the truth. What if the magnitude of our loss is the same measure the Lord uses to fill the empty space in our lives? What if He doesn't stop there? What if He overflows us with even more than we had before? That's the kind of God we serve. We only have to sit back and take notice as He does His work.

And even when my fist is clenched too tightly to receive, He uncurls these fingers one by one and places His gifts in my hand anyway, knowing full well that in no time I'll be lifting this very same hand to Him in worship and gratitude. Everything is a gift.

So, tonight I lay my hopes and dreams down at the foot of the Cross, realizing that He has plans to prosper me and not harm me ... knowing that He is the Giver of all good things and His dreams for me will far exceed my own  ... trusting that His purpose for my pain merits in me a heart of thankfulness ...

... believing that only when I come to a point of full surrender to His will can I have the life He has planned for me. And it all begins with a thankful heart.

He's an amazing God who desires only good things for me. A God whose beautiful plans for my life far surpass anything I could ever dream up. And I am thankful.

I get a getaway :)

Just two more sleeps ... and then early Friday morning I'm bound for North Carolina. I'm attending courses on the writers' track of She Speaks, and I'm also meeting with an agent and a publisher on Friday to pitch my book. In the past week, I've learned that writing a nonfiction book proposal hurts more than writing an actual book.

In fact, these past two days have been filled with all sorts of pain. In addition to nearly cutting my finger off on a shard of broken flower pot, I took my second chapter to my critique group last night. I didn't expect to be rewriting anything this late in the game, but I was so thrilled with their suggestions that time suddenly didn't matter all that much. I couldn't wait to change things up and make them better.

So, sporting my Strawberry Shortcake Band-aid, my fingers flew over the keys almost all day long--and I'm much happier now with what I'm taking with me to North Carolina. Someone said once that writing a book is like having a baby elephant, only a book hurts worse. I think they were right.

My final surge of pain came tonight when I got a migraine after sending my query, proposal, and sample chapters to a friend for editing. I'd let a few others read it already, but not anybody I have to face on a regular basis (at least not during the summertime).

I'm praying for God's will in the publishing process. At the very least, it's been good for me to be writing something. And also at the very least, even if nothing comes of my publisher appointments this Friday, I'll get to go on a girl trip and attend a great conference, in a place where God is sure to show up. :)

Say a little prayer for me?

Lately my mind keeps wandering back to my life's scripture, Psalm 40:1-3:

I waited patiently for the Lord; and He inclined to me, and heard my cry. He also brought me up out of a horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my steps. He has put a new song in my mouth--praise to our God; many will see it and fear, and will trust in the Lord.

I would love to be published, but what matters above all else is that He has rescued me and established my steps, and nowadays I really do sing a new song. I pray that many will indeed "see it and fear, and will trust in the Lord." So whether He accomplishes His purpose in me through a blog or a book or by word-of-mouth, I know He knows best, and I am in Good Hands. :)

Would I have the guts?

Two robbers walked into a 7-11 and pulled a gun on the clerk. They instructed her to give them all the money from the cash register. She said, "NO." One of them pointed a gun straight to her head and said, "If you don't give me all the money, I'll kill you." She looked at him straight in the eye and said "INSTANT DEATH, INSTANT GLORY." The two robbers took off running!

That woman was gutsy. I heard that this is a true story. I can't wait to go to Heaven, but I must admit that I'm apprehensive about what kind of pain I'll have to go through to get there. I heard a teaching yesterday on Hebrews 11 that prompted some much-needed self-examination.

Others were tortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a better resurrection. Heb. 11:35b

I also learned yesterday about an Iranian pastor who sitting in a prison cell this very moment because he refuses to renounce his Christian faith. His name is Youcef Nadarkhani, and he's been convicted of apostasy (leaving Islam for Christianity). His two sons were attending a local school when the government decided that all children should be taught about Islam, including those from Christian families. Nadarkhani objected, pointing out that the Iranian constitution allows for freedom to practice religion. They charged him with protesting, but later the charges against him were changed to apostasy and evangelism to Muslims. He refuses to convert back to Muslim and so has been sentenced to hang. Here are some words from the pastor himself:

What we are bearing today, is a difficult but not unbearable situation, because neither He has tested us more than our faith and our endurance, nor does He do as such ... we must consider these bumps and prisons as opportunities to testify to His name.

I am praying for this pastor. His story got me thinking about how I don't have to suffer in any way by choosing to live for Jesus. I gain everything, but I lose nothing. How would I react if I knew I would be stoned or tortured or imprisoned or murdered just because of my faith? What is the suffering of my life compared to the suffering of those enduring persecution? What is my fear compared to the fear of being tortured or murdered (or both) just for saying "I love Jesus"?

I hang my head in shame when I think about the times I've been embarrassed to read the Bible in public ... or the times I've been too ashamed to keep it out and open on my desk at work for fear others will think I'm a Jesus-freak. God, forgive me.

For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words, of him the Son of Man will be ashamed when He comes in His own glory, and in His Father's, and of the holy angels.  Luke 9:26

*You can read an article about the situation in Iran here. You can read a letter from Pastor Nadarkhani here.

Do you have the "write" degree?

I dedicate this post to a friend of mine (you know who you are...). It's kind of funny. My friend and I are both writers, and we are also both musicians. I was an English major, and she was a music major.

My friend is a great writer, but she's not crazy about letting me read what she writes. She always points out that I'm the one with the degree in English...that I'm the one who knows about clauses....that I'm the one who understands active/passive voice...etc., etc., etc.

I understand how she feels. It took me a while to get the guts up to play in front of her. It can be intimidating playing in front of someone with a music degree when you've never had formal musical training. But she's always said that it doesn't matter. I protest because of all I don't know. I don't always follow the rules of musicianship...I don't know how to stack chords...I never studied music theory...etc., etc., etc. Sometimes I just feel inadequate around professional musicians.

Likewise, I suppose she feels intimidated letting me read her writings because she doesn't have the same training I have (which is kind of comical since I earned most of my degree reading Masterplots summaries and Cliff's Notes rather than studying the actual works themselves).

The fact is, our education doesn't always necessarily match up with our calling. My friend is a writer without an English degree. I'm a musician without a music degree. But you know what? The Holy Spirit anoints my music anyway. He anoints her writing anyway. He equips us and empowers us to do what He's called us to do. All it takes is for us to humble ourselves and then say "Use me, Lord".

Who cares if we don't have a clue what transformational generative grammar is? Who cares if we can't explain why the world needs something called the circle of fifths? I'll just keep on abusing ellipses and playing strange chord progressions as He leads me. I'll trust Him and keep my heart open to new possibilities. I invite Him to do with me as he pleases. The Lord doesn't care what degree I have. My incompetence is His competence. His strength is made perfect in my weakness. Pretty cool, when you think about it. He's a pretty awesome God. :)

So he answered and said to me: "This is the word of the Lord to Zerubbabel: 'Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit,' says the Lord of Hosts. 

- Zechariah 4:6 NKJV

Loving when it hurts

We have a really cute miniature Schnauzer puppy named Samson. But poor Samson encountered a misfortune in the cuteness department this week. His fur had gotten really long and scraggly, so one of my daughters trimmed his beard and eyebrows a little. I thought she did a really good job, so I asked her to even it up just a wee bit more.

The next time I saw Samson, he had no beard or eyebrows left. 

I have to be honest. It hurt to look at him. He was ugly as sin! A Schnauzer without a beard or eyebrows is one dawg-ugly dog. And it was like he knew it because he hid under the piano for a long time afterwards. But ever since his little mishap, he's seemed sweeter to me. He comes up to me and puts his little paws on my legs and just looks at me, saying with his eyes, "Please love me anyway!".

Sweet little doggie. It's not his fault he's ugly. But even in his pitiful state, he just wants to be loved. Aren't we all that way? We just want others to love us, despite our ugliness. Despite the mistakes we've made. Despite the imperfect love we have to offer in return. 

It seems everywhere I turn, I see people who are unhappy with each other. I go to the grocery store and hear parents and children talking disrespectfully to each other. In Starbucks, I hear a husband berating his wife. Outside a restaurant, I hear a boyfriend calling his girlfriend ugly names. In my own life, I see people I love letting anger, pride, and unforgiveness come between them. I have dealt with relationship problems for much of my life, but these days, seeing others hurt from the same kind of pain just breaks my heart.

A while back I wrote a post on unforgiveness, which fostered some good discussion in other venues. Admittedly, I'm not very merciful by nature...but I wish I were, because God commands us to forgive. It seems people just want to blame each other. It seems they just sit around waiting for the other person to apologize. But I have learned the hard way that showing mercy has nothing to do with my offender, and everything to do with me.

What if the offender isn't sorry? What if their pride stands in the way of an apology? What if their anger is masking the truth and they can't even recognize their part in causing the strained relationship? Is there ever a good reason to deny someone mercy? 

That isn't the example Jesus set for us. He loves me no matter what I do--and I know I must be hard to love, for reasons that go far beyond a bad haircut.

I want to follow His example. I want to love others with the agape of God. He is the One True Example of what it means to love. He loves me when I'm ugly. He loves me when I make bad choices. He loves me when I hurt Him. He loves me when I'm blind to my own faults. He loves me even when I haven't yet realized all that I need to be sorry for. His love is real, steadfast, and unconditional. It's the kind of love I pray we open up our hearts to receive, and may it flow freely out of us and into the hearts of others. 

I believe that His love is the key to getting along with others. May His love cover the ugliness in our relationships. May His love cover our mistakes and theirs.

Love (the agape of God, that is) never, EVER fails. (1 Corinthians 13:8)

This path is really narrow and REALLY obscure...

It takes guts to travel down a path when you can't see where it leads.

It's a scary thing to forge ahead when there are no guarantees that the way will be smooth and pleasant. Maybe you'll encounter treacherous twists and bends in the road. You might be led through deep, dangerous waters. Perhaps you'll face steep hills and dark valleys. You will certainly grow weary along the way. But what if you know that something wonderful is waiting for you in the end?

I studied Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" (below) over twenty years ago as an English major. I was intrigued from the moment I first read the poem. The poet is noted as having warned,

"You have to be careful of that one; it's a tricky poem--very tricky."  

Frost never makes it clear whether or not he chose the better of the two roads. Instead, he closes the poem with a sigh and asserts that his chosen path has made "all the difference".

But what difference did it make? As a young college student, reading these closing lines moved me beyond intrigue to frustration. I wanted to know more! I wanted to know if he regretted his choice. I assumed so, perhaps because of his little sigh in the last stanza. But if he did have regrets, what had gone wrong? Even at that age, I guess I saw it as a good thing to try and learn from the mistakes of others.

Back then I was just a small-town college kid trying to figure life out. If I'd had more spiritual depth to me at the time, I might've gone to the word of God to see what He has said to us about choosing the right path . . .

Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.   

Matthew 7:13-14 NKJV

This morning my pastor taught on faith. He talked about Moses, and how he forsook wealth, power, and all that he was destined for as the adopted son of Pharaoh's daughter so that he could follow God's command and lead the Israelites out of Egypt. Moses couldn't see what lay ahead for his people on the path of obedience, but he trusted. And because he acted in faith, God used him mightily and delivered them from Egyptian bondage.

The broad way may have seemed easier at the time, but Moses resisted and took the narrow way, and God moved in awesome ways, performing some of the most amazing miracles in all the Bible.

The narrow path usually isn't all that appealing. Entry through the broad gate is much more alluring because we can see what's just ahead for us. Naturally, we are drawn to the path leading to happiness, and the enemy is always there coaxing us, tempting us, and prodding us along however he can so that we'll follow our passions and our fleshly desires. But all of it is only temporal, and eventually, the things we found enticing enough to chase after end up causing us untold misery and heartache. But by the time we realize that we've been deceived into choosing the wrong path, it's too late to turn back.

Moses wanted out of Egypt--and he found his way out by following the narrow path. As my pastor pointed out this morning, we are all looking for a way out of Egypt. This world is our Egypt, and the only way out is through the narrow gate.

Admittedly, this path is not an easy one to travel. But when I stumble, He picks me up and encourages me along. As I walk through the darkest valleys, He lights the way for me. When I pass through turbulent waters, He keeps me from sinking. When I walk through fire, He protects me. When it storms, I find a safe haven in His shelter. It's a hard road, but I don't have to be afraid.

I don't know about Robert Frost, but I do know that I don't regret my choice at all, not even for a second . . . because I know where this path leads.

. . . because I know that at the end of the road, He is there waiting to meet me and take me home. And for me, that makes all the difference.

The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.

Lawrance Thompson, ed. Selected Letters of Robert Frost. New York: Hold, Rinehart and Winston. p. xv.

The healing room

"...and by His stripes, we are healed." Isaiah 53:5

I've experienced unbelievable warfare in the past couple of weeks, and now I know why. Yesterday is a day I will never forget. Yesterday I was healed.

Last night I took off from serving on my praise team to attend a worship service that my boyfriend, "B", was helping to lead. It was quite a ways away, so as we were driving, he talked to me about some things. I am so thankful for his boldness in talking to me even though he knows my tendency to react emotionally. I can be a hand full, but he is always very tender in the way he prays for me and encourages me. And yesterday he knew I was in need of some ministry. (Did I mention how wonderful he is?!)

He encouraged me to be careful about the things I speak. He's noticed some negativity coming out of my mouth. Not toward him, necessarily, but just about my life in general--about my past, about the kids, about the way things are for us now, and about the future. So he talked to me about the power of the spoken word and about how important it is not to speak negatively about the things I am praying for.

He helped me realize that I am likely placing limits on God by the things I say. He gave me a scripture, and he made me read it aloud, slowly, twice. :) He also had me count how many times  the word "says" occurs...

For assuredly, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, 'Be removed and be cast into the sea,' and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that those things he says will be done, he will have whatever he says. Therefore I say to you, whatever things you ask when you pray, believe that you receive them, and you will have them.  Mark 11:23-24 NKJV

I could see immediately that even in the times that I do have faith, I talk myself out of believing that what I'm asking for will come to pass because of the negative words that I speak. But according to this scripture, proclaiming that God is going to move in my life is as important as believing it.

I think that many times we as Christians limit God because of our intellect and level of education. But His power is beyond our understanding, and our expectancy can't possibly reach the degree of His ability to move in our lives. How could it? God is infinitely powerful, and He can do anything He wants to do, but we are trying to understand Him with our finite minds. It's beyond our capability to truly comprehend the magnitude of His power.

But on the other hand, what's the point of asking God for something and then proceeding to talk about how it'll likely never happen? That's just plain silly. But it's exactly what I've done.

B talked about the many, many people who come to Christ when evangelists and missionaries travel to third-world countries. People receive the gospel there more easily. They receive healing. To them, these things aren't far-fetched at all. Some would say that people who live in those places don't know as much as we do, but I say they know more. Sometimes intellect just gets in the way.

It was one of those life-changing, Spirit-led discussions. As it turned out, this conversation was a segue into another one of equal importance.

We got to the church, and I met the pastor and his wife. B went in to rehearse with the band, and I got a tour of the church. I got to see their prayer room, and it was beautiful. B had already told me how cool it was, but I didn't get what he meant. When I walked into that little room, I was overcome. I felt a rushing of the Holy Spirit the moment I entered in, and I was immediately brought to tears. His presence simply amazed me, as it always does. We only stayed for a minute, then I went into the pastor's study and talked to him for bit.

I commented on how much I liked the cowboy-themed decor of his office, but the conversation quickly turned serious and he began to talk about losing his father in an accident when he was only seven (his dad's name was "Cowboy"). Every time I meet someone who has lost their father at a young age--especially a deeply spiritual person or someone in ministry--I always ask questions. I want to know what it was like for them growing up as a fatherless child. I like to ask them how God filled the void and what circumstances led them to where they are now. So I went to questioning.

I'm not even sure how it happened, but this conversation moved into the same topic as my earlier discussion with B. The pastor talked about how important our words are. He emphasized the importance of how we pray and the things we verbalize. Then he talked about our faith and how we must believe that we will receive the things we ask for through prayer.

I'm really not sure of everything that was said. When the Holy Spirit speaks through one person to another, the details of the conversation aren't always easy to recall. It's the message He pours into the heart of the recipient that matters. And I was very blessed to be on the receiving end.

The next thing I knew, the pastor's wife and I were back in the prayer room, and she was praying for healing for me. She asked me to listen to God and to let her know what He wants to heal me of. I named something, and she prayed. But then her prayer went into other areas of struggle that I hadn't mentioned. I was amazed at how the Holy Spirit was prompting her to pray. Then she began to proclaim that Jesus has covered all my past hurts, all the horrible memories, all the consequences of past decisions, even all the blame I've carried, placed on me by self and others. It's all under the Blood, and I am covered.

And the shackles fell.

This sweet pastor's wife had only just met me...I hadn't told her details...but she prayed as the Spirit led, and God healed me. The burden of all that I've been wrestling with for so long has been lifted. I AM HEALED. I've prayed for healing...now I've received it...I believe it...and I proclaim it, in Jesus' name!

A thousand sleepless nights

A friend of mine recently sent me Laura Story's new song, "Blessings", and I cried as I listened. The lyrics articulate so beautifully the way God can bless us through heartache, and the words invite us to contemplate how our trials might just be His mercies in disguise. I heard the song again in church this past weekend, and I can't get it off my mind.

I don't think a song like this would've spoken to my heart so deeply before tragedy struck my home a couple of years ago and drastically altered life as I knew it. In a time of agonizing grief and fear, God showed up and blew me away with His amazing love, mercy, provision, and peace. By no means has it been easy, but I have known His presence all along the way, and I am forever changed as a result.

But it's an ongoing journey, and sometimes I get very tired. I grow weary of fighting battles day in and day out, of always having to struggle to keep from sinking back into that all too familiar pit of despair. I am tired of the sleepless nights, and I detest the fear that the darkness brings.

I don't remember being scared of the dark as a child. But if I ever was, it wasn't like this. When I think back to my most extreme times of hopelessness over the past two years, I think of the nighttime. It seems like life's heartaches are more overwhelming in the deepest, darkest parts of the night. Sometimes when I go to bed, I ask the Lord for peaceful sleep and then trust Him that things will look brighter when the sun comes up. Sometimes doing so is the only way I can face the night.

I didn't used to have trouble sleeping. I've experienced bouts of insomnia from time to time, but this isn't insomnia. It's a real, live battle, and it's one I'm not always strong enough to fight. The darkness brings things to mind that I don't want to remember, images I've begged God to help me forget. The night brings dread and discouragement. In the dark, I feel like a failure. I experience condemnation. I lose hope. Oftentimes I forget that the sun will rise again in the morning.

I forget to focus on the Light.

I know that the darkness I battle is of the wicked one. After all, he is the prince of darkness. And a clever prince, he is. He tricks me into thinking that I've failed so miserably that my life must surely be beyond restoration. The darkness overcomes me and weakens me. I can't shake the feeling of despair. Suddenly everything in my life seems wrong, and before I know it, I'm in the flesh and don't have the strength to fight.

In times like these I have to force myself to run to the Light of His word, which is full of life-giving reminders...

³ For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh. ⁴ For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, ⁵ casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of  God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ.... 2 Corinthians 10:3-5

Through it all, I've become very aware of the unseen battle being fought continuously in the spiritual realm. May I never lose sight of what's really going on. May I always reject the spirit of fear or discouragement. May He remind me each day to put on my spiritual armor and fight. May I never forget Who fights for me when I am too weak to fight for myself.

And may I always hold in my heart the amazing truth that He is accomplishing His purpose in me, even if it takes a thousand sleepless nights and a lifetime of being refined through the pain. May I always run to the Light.

An excerpt from  "Blessings":

'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops? 

What if Your healing comes through tears?

And what if a thousand sleepless nights

Are what it takes to know You're near?

What if my greatest disappointments

Or the aching of this life

Is the revealing of a greater thirst 

This world can't satisfy?

And what if trials of this life 

The rain, the storms, the hardest nights

Are Your mercies in disguise?

Story, Laura. "Blessings". Fair Trade/Columbia. 2011.

Risky Business

"Then the time came when the risk it took to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."  - Anais Nin

I ran across this quote the other day, and I was intrigued when I thought about how relevant these words are to my life right now. So many times I'm afraid to open myself up to new possibilities, even when God flings new doors wide open and calls me to walk through them. It's a simple fear of the unknown.

Maybe I'll fail, maybe I'll look stupid, maybe it'll hurt. Perhaps it would be better to stay like I am rather than take a chance on the embarrassment of stumbling, falling, or even breaking a leg while venturing down a new path. It just isn't worth the risk, in spite of the possibility that I might succeed. So, I don't blossom.

I wish I were one of those unique souls in life whose creativity flows forth in abundance.  I wish I were fearless enough to put myself out there and not worry about what might happen. But I'm the opposite. I can write one chapter of a book and then feel like I'd rather die than let someone read it, because to do so feels to me like walking naked in a crowd.

I'm sure I've failed to blossom the way God intended me to. I've been far too self-conscious, too afraid of what others will think, too afraid they'll laugh at me or pity me or think I look stupid.

But I'd like to take a risk and see what else is out there for me. The unsettled feeling I've had lately is about to drive me crazy. I'm no longer content with staying constrained inside my bud. In fact, it has become quite painful to remain here. To venture out and bloom is to risk further pain and rejection, but I'm starting to see that taking a risk every now and then is necessary in order to fulfill God's purpose for my life.

So, what will hurt worse? To stay tightly inside my bud, or to take a chance and bloom?

It is God who arms me with strength, And makes my way perfect.  Psalm 18:32

 Lord, I want to blossom. Grow me into all that You intended me to be. Take my words and make them Yours. May You be glorified through me.  Amen.