The First Snow

The first snow of the season has fallen here.

It was so surprising how it swept in so quietly, unassuming. I sit here, wrapped in a blanket, staring out my window as the flakes swirl by the street light I had never seen before. The ground is slowly being coated in white, and a siren hasn't gone by in hours. The exuberant laughter of the young seems to be coated in a quiet "Shhhh...." for once. Subconsciously the whole city responds in kind. I have Norah Jones "The Long Day is Over" on repeat. It seems to be the only appropriate song. A sigh escapes as I allow my mind to drift with the snowflakes.

Even the soul is quieted. The rushed thoughts, the hurried emotions, the confusion of life, it all just slows down.

And as it slows down, quietly, unthreateningly, a thought creeps around the corner of the empty spaces I have allowed be. A thought I haven't wanted to think for a while. A thought I have been avoiding, hoping would go away with time, like a bad case of the flu. But instead it has remained, and in the relative safety and peace of the moment, it collides with the snow flakes and me. Maybe I don't have it as figured out as I thought I did. Maybe, just maybe, after years of self-therapy, real therapy, hangovers, prayer sessions, Bible readings, sermons... I am still a basket case. Maybe none of it really worked.

Ironically, in the quiet of the moment, and in the space I have created, the thought doesn't frighten me. In fact, it makes sense, and even more so, it frees me just a little. I laugh quietly at a silly presence of peace.

The sense of freedom grows as I realize, as I finally faced the harrowing thought, I can all of the sudden hear now. I don't always have to speak. Maybe being wrong more often than being right isn't such a bad thing. It just means I get to learn more. I get to keep growing, changing, listening to the wisdom of God through the mouths of others. Alone in this lonely city, when I don't have anyone to fool but myself, it seems foolish to keep trying.

It's risky... being wrong. It means I have to start over in some places. It means I have to be more vulnerable than I thought with others, and with others still, I have a lot of undoing to allow God to mend. Scarier still, that means I have to trust beyond myself to do it. The loss of control is a sharp contrast to the freedom, yet poetic.

As I continue to watch the flakes find their own distinct path down to their preordained sight of death, I am mesmerized by their carelessness. They are not preoccupied with the end that is coming to them; the ground that looms large to take their existence. Instead they are consumed by the path the wind takes them. Dancing freely they succumb to the grander motion of the unseen. This way... then that... up again, now down... Maybe, just maybe, the goal is to be preoccupied with the Wind that guides me, and allow Him to worry about the death.

That is His job, maybe I should let Him do it, and just enjoy the Wind. And maybe, just maybe, it starts with being a mess. A wholly unapologetic, unthreatened, confident, vulnerable, scared, angry, hurt, healed, manic, crazy, frustrated, peaceful, outrageous mess.

I love the Holy Spirit. Only He could tell me I was a mess, and me to laugh and love it. Thank You oh Beautiful One. Thank You.

Perfume

These last few weeks have been tough. Harder than I thought they would be. I questioned myself more than I have in a long time. My purpose, my reason, my desires, my path: all of the things that should never be entrusted to me in the first place. Who I am has been getting lost in what I am doing. Inextricably tied, unapologetically tied, I can’t get past the pace of DC and the pace of You.

I was listening to a worship song by Kim Walker. I surrender. Great concept.
There is this one part where she sings, “if my worship is like perfume, I will pour mine out in You…” and I thought about that woman, that prostitute in Scripture. That perfume, that cost. It was everything to her, it was her beauty, her path in life, her choices, her destiny, her money, her trust in her own ability to provide a future, her needs for tomorrow, her everything. She gave it all. She poured it out. It was significant in so many ways. Her trust, her understanding that is was rubbish next to Him, but it was all she had so she gave it. Scared, shaking, shameful, in front of the wrong people, at the wrong time… she didn’t care.

I wonder, I wonder what brought her to that point. I wonder where she got that idea. How did she know where He was, what made her say “Now!!!!! I have to do it now! I know he is in there and I know whom He is with and I know what they think, but I can’t wait another minute! Now! It must be now!” Was she at home when she heard The Voice? The Voice she knew, but had never known before? Was it so powerful she couldn’t ignore it? It must have rung through her like a bolt. Weighing her down, she must have known. I can see her sitting at her mirror breathing heavily as the spirit weighed her down. What is this? She must have thought. She must have felt it was time. She had to be released; she had to give it up. Suddenly she looks at the perfume, and she knows what she must do. The urgency building in her she stares at the bottle. Can I do this? Why this? Why now? She brushes the thoughts aside. I can’t do this. Then the suddenly she knows. Her life flashes before her and she gets it. All the pieces fall into place. It’s not can she, it’s can she not?

Tears streaming down her face, hastily she grabs her cloak and the bottle, running out the door. You can see the perfume getting heavier as she is carrying around. Running from person to person in the village impatiently asking, “Where is He?” Indignantly, one would look back her and say “Who?” the word spit out like a bad sip of wine. She was a prostitute after all… “You KNOW who! Where is He tonight?!” Heart beating wildly, the rush was more urgent, the Presence was getting thicker, she had to find Him.

The need growing with every minute she carried that perfume. It was her treasure and folly, she had to give it to the only One who could make it worth it’s weight. She had to pour it onto the only One that could make it clean. This perfume that had been created for beauty and used for shame now had to be turned back.

“Where is He?!” She would yell into the crowd. Couldn’t they see? She was the perfume. She had to find Him. She had to know!

After a few moments of panic, someone yells from across the square “He’s at the Pharisee’s tonight. Go there woman.”

For an instant she recognizes the danger, but it doesn’t matter, she has to go. Picking up her skirt she runs. Careful not to drop the perfume she winds her way through the city. The tears were getting worse, so bad she almost could no longer see where she as going. Panting, finally, she finds her way there. She bursts into the home, no thought of anything but Him. The servants stop her before she can throw herself in the room, “Let me through! I have to see Him! Let me through. Please! You don’t understand, I have to! I need to see Him!” Crying and panting she continues to fight.

Suddenly the Voice stops her. “Let her through.” Immediately, everything stands still. Even the Pharisees stop their protesting. The servants let her go. Heart beating wildly, slowly she turns around. Clutching the perfume to her chest, cloak falling off her shoulders, she walks around the corner. There He is. He sits regally, yet humbly. She can feel every eye on her. She can feel the scorn. Then slowly she raises her eyes to His and she finds her answer. The answer to the question she didn’t even know she was asking. “Yes.”

A small gasp escapes her as she half stumbles, half runs, half falling, she meets His feet. Somehow, she knows exactly what she has to do. She breaks open the jar and the room is filled with the smell, powerful and beautiful. Unabashedly she soaks His feet, His cloak with it. Tears fall with unknown emotions. Pleadings of a heart wounded. Not knowing what she was asking, but asking none the less. She has nothing to dry His feet, her hair will do. Peace fills her. She has poured herself out. She is spent. Someone whispers “Waste of perfume…”

Slowly, He reaches down. He cups her face. All of the sudden they are alone. She feels Him searching her soul, and for once, she is not afraid. Let Him see, let Him know. His eyes hold no hatred, no indignation, nothing but pure, violent love. She is breathless. Without leaving her eyes He speaks to the man of the house, “When I came tonight did you give me anything to wash my feet? This woman has cleansed my feet with her tears, far more pure than your water. She has dried them with her hair, softer than your linens. She has prepared me for my burial. Your sins are forgiven loved one.”

And with that look, she knows. She will never be alone again. Her shame vanishes, she has poured herself out and it had been called good. She has fulfilled her purpose.

Her grief, her life, her wounds, her everything was wound into that one moment. So hard to comprehend is what she lived through before then. The life she led and the violence she had seen. But all of that, all of that existence was validated. Not only was she freed, she earned a place in history. She had prepared Him for His death. He was cleansed by her heart, His body was readied for the death that would come to Him with her perfume and gentle touch. She was why. She was why He came. He was prepared heart, body and soul. After a dinner of wondering if this generation would ever get it, His Father had sent her to remind Him. He must have must have carried her home with Him on His cloak. I wonder how long the scent remained? Every time a breeze would lift the aroma to His nose, I can see Him smiling. I can see Him longing for her the way she longed for Him, knowing He must die so He can be with her again, so He can justify her pain. Every time he smelled it, it must have reminded Him how hard this life is for us, and how great a sacrifice that was for her. It must have been like a love sonnet repeated over and over. He must have basked in her love the way she basked in His. He must have cried in joy and love and grief over her. I imagine He smelled it again in Gethsemane as He prayed for us. He was still human and her love had been sent by the Father to remind Him of the gift she was, to strengthen for the road ahead. She had prepared Him for death after all…

When I think of her, I cry. Her role is one of the most beautiful is Scripture. So small compared to her life, but so powerful in the role of history. So important for what it has taught millions to follow. He asks me, do I think He looks at me the same way He looked at her. And if I do, what is He saying….

That’s between me and my Husband.

One word

The amazing power of one word astonishes me. One word with all of it's baggage and meaning, and placement within a frame. Even without the placement of a frame. This one word has brought me to tears. It is the word that best describes my hearts greatest struggles. It is a simple word, no academia needed to interpret, not grandiose meaning to be had. Nothing artsy or flowery, or even existential about it. It is not complicated, there are no innuendos surrounding it, or even double meanings hidden within. It is simple in its power, efficient in it's rendering of my heart. It cuts through the confusion and lays bare the fears and wounds, lessons and disappointments, and gropings at healing. It is unpretentious in it's presentation, clear and concise. It is my nemesis and greatest ally in trying to understand myself, and subsequently the human condition. It is the emotion you see on a crying child's face, the homeless man on the street, and the lover you just walked away from. The innocence in the word itself leads to a humility that cannot be ignored. It renders one helpless... and explained. It is what I run from and what I can't escape. It is the one word I look at, and the world stops. I get it. 

Unwanted

Wandering aimlessly, this word haunts. It steals place, recognition and value. Basic attributes of life, I look at every face and secretly ask yes or no to that word. And even when the answer the antithesis and it seems defeated in some sort of miracle, I wonder, to what extent? How conditional is it? When will I push to the point where the word comes back and reappears? 

Lord?    

Freedom

I was walking back from the store tonight, two bags of groceries in hand, a cold wind whipping by, and ineffective shoes. The holes in my jeans were acting as air vents, and my two sizes too big sweatshirt kept flying up with ever little breeze. I was cold, tired, five blocks from home and... happy.

 

The other day I had a memory: when I was young, I used to say that I wanted to live by myself, in a studio, in some city. Hmmm... I guess dreams do come true.

Moving here was so hard. So painful. It seemed like it was just going to be another step to survive. Another break I had to endure as I scratched my way out of choices I had made without making any at all. The first few months were brutal. Lonely for sure, but just brutal. Overwhelming, and it still is, but now it's different. It's getting better. I walk from here to there alone and okay. I look around my small little place and think "I am doing it." I am struggling through. 

Mike came last week. For two days before he came my stomach was in knots. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, and I didn't even know why. I just knew I was having a hard time. I knew I was scared. 

When he got here, it took me two full days to get myself back to normal; to acclimate to him again. He saw it too, and the most incredible thing happened: he understood. He got it. He romanced, and loved on me in ways I thought were too good to be true. He spoke to my heart... he saw heart. Few have ever done that. Well, to be honest, I don't know anyone that ever has, ever. I love my friends and family, but few have ever seen in me what I have always wanted seen, but would never put forth and he did, or does I should say. 

But still, it took a few days for me to even get a grip on why I was so freaked out before he came. Then as I was talking with my mom, it really started to sink in. Most successes in my life have been fragile. They have been halfway and I have always waited for them to fall apart. I have never trusted the strength that God has breathed into me. And the times I had, the times I was so excited about something, few understood the importance of. 

When I was married to my ex, I worked hard to meld my life to his. It was easy, I was young, and it was hard, I was strong, but I did it. Independence and individuality were sacrificed on the alter of his need. I could never surpass him. What I didn't know, was that I already had, and that was why we struggled so much. So when Mike was coming out here, I was so scared. How could I expect him to be happy for me building a life that was 3,000 miles away from him? How could I expect him to understand how important this is to me? To succeed at this, to own this to do this, and do it alone? It doesn't depend on him, it doesn't have anything to do with him, it isn't about him, how would it be possible for him to be happy for me in that? It seemed to much to ask. And I am still so fragile in it. So easily could it be wiped away for me. The joy in my fight through to this point, it can still be negated, it's still fresh. 

Then one night when he was here, he looked at me, and in the candlelight of a dinner he cooked (yeah, he cooks too), he took my hand and said "Baby I know there are things you need to do for you. I want you to do them. You need to do them. This is your second chance, and I am so proud of you." He placed his face in my hand and I cried... just a little. I saw his love so vividly. I feel it so wholly. There was freedom in his love. I didn't know that could exist. I thought loved stifled, I thought it controlled. It was so powerful, so pure.

I can't help but think is it possible this is the same kind of freedom Jesus gives me? So often I think if His love as rigid. Easily lost, easily violated. The famous 1 Corinthians chapter 13 is a way to love, not a description of His love right? Or wrong? Can love really trust that much? Can love really trust that much? Can it really heal and release? I have always feared that if I don't love blindly it isn't love, but here, here is something so different. A love that sees the risks, knows that I may never come back, but refuses to stifle me. The cuffs are off, the chains removed. Where do I go now?

Could it be that the freedom is even more frightening than the control? Yes. That's exactly right. I always thought I wanted Him to force me to love Him. He can't do that though can He? Thank God.  

A few things you should know before voting

Okay I know people are probably getting tired of hearing about politics, but in the light of requests of not only media think tank gurus such as Hayden Panietter and Halle Berry, but Myspace elites requesting people make “informed” votes, I thought I would throw my two and a half cents/sense out there (I add the half cent since I actually did some research other than personal opinion and a quick listen to CNN regarding the opinion I am about to post). These are a few things I have come across in conversations that I thought deserved some not too surface consideration:

1. Ties to William Ayers. “Who is William Ayers?” you might ask. Good question. I am so glad you asked. William Ayers is a founding leader of an underground “organization” (I use the term rather loosely here as to not alienate readers by calling it the true term) named Weatherman. “What does this group do?” Ahh, another good question. This group is responsible for some seriously violent attacks against the United States, such as the bombing of the Pentagon and several others between the years of 1970 and 1974. “Why does this matter?” you may ask. I mean Obama was only 8 years old at the time the group was active, right? Well, here’s something to chew on: Ayers has as recently as 2007 stated that not only does he feel no remorse over what he has done but “wished he had been more active.” Okay, so that’s one guy right? Here’s the kicker: he not only has served on boards at “charity’s” with Obama, held the stage with him at educational events, but has also monetarily given to the campaign. If this isn’t cause for concern… YOU AREN’T PAYING ATTENTION.

2. Has campaigned for Raila Odinga in Kenya. Okay, so this one is what really gets to me. For those of you that are Bono fans, and love the idea of saving Africa, pay close attention. This just may make you think twice. Raila Odinga is a former PM of Kenya. He campaigned again in 2007, but lost. When he lost, his supporters decided this wasn’t acceptable and thought genocide would be a better answer. New Years day 2008, women, children and others were locked in an Assemblies of God church, and then burned to the ground. Those that tried to escape were machetied to death. Sound like nice reasonable people don’t they? The kind you want to leave your kids with.

Once again though, you may find yourself asking “What does this happen to do with Obama?” Good question. Mr. Obama has the distinct resume of having campaigned for Mr. Odinga. Not only did he spend six days with him vigorously campaigning, but he called him “Kenya’s instrument of change.” Sound familiar? If it doesn’t YOU AREN’T PAYING ATTENTION.

I know we all want change. I know we all want something different then what we have now, I agree, but that doesn’t mean the pendulum has to swing that far from the other side. Just because someone proclaims what sounds good, doesn’t mean it is. Look at history, even Stalin could win a smile from FDR and Truman, sounding “all together quite intelligent.”(That was a direct quote from Truman.) And I am not saying what I am saying just because I want people to vote for McCain. When it comes to politics, it really is the lesser of two evils. Just think. What kind of president do you really want?

What did your parents always say “Be careful who you run with, you will be judged by their character as well.” We have to start taking these things into consideration. We have someone running for the presidency that was actively campaigning for a man that would NOT denounce his ties to a militant Muslim group that slaughters people.

If this does not cause you to pause… YOU ARE NOT PAYING ATTENTION. You are just toting the line hoping this guy cashes in on his promises. That is one hell of a gamble. Are you sure you want to make it? Let's not jump from the frying pan into the fire.

Autumn

The leaves are just starting to turn here. Outside my window you can see the trees lining E street grasping their last rays of summer, holding firm to the green, struggling to release none of themselves to the golden brown that is creeping in. The sidewalks are stained by their outline, some having already succumbed to their time.

It's still warm, but you can feel the change. You can feel this restlessness of autumn. It's beautiful. The sun shines at an angle, warming in the face, with the coolness of the shade foreshadowing the winter to come. 

Tonight a harvest moon has made an appearance over the peak of the Washington Memorial. For the first time it feels a little like home. 

I have always said autumn brings promise for me. Hope. It has been a time of hinting at what is to come. More than spring it bears a sense of purpose. This year is different. This year I am charmed not by the peace of death in it's time, but instead I am lulled by the peace and quiet of it. Outside the nighttime rush is at peak. College students rush off to who knows where, cars are bustling and sirens go off at regular increments of about 30 seconds, but there is quietness. Hiddenness I can't explain. As though the moon in the haze of the evening cloud cover.

I am wooed by the Presence. Peace settles over, and in a place I don't know, I am tucked away. I am under a Wing in a place somewhere unknown to even me. I am not in DC, I am in Him. 

It's hard to explain, but for the first time that is okay. Sequestered away from all I have known, I take pleasure in the anonymity. Tied to the past through the internet, and all the commodities of the information age, when I turn them off, I am alone. The delight of seclusion is intoxicating. No longer lonely, it is welcomed. 

Years of pursuit, and for once, I feel as though blindly I followed the right path. Or maybe it wasn't so blindly. Maybe it was exactly as it had to be. Maybe it was all purposed from the beginning of time. Somewhere in the Good Book it speaks of Him coming at "the fullness of time." Perhaps that's what I have been waiting for. My fullness of time. Maybe that is what we are all waiting for. Our individual moments of fulfillment. And maybe, just maybe it can only be then. It can only be in that moment, because if it wasn't, it would be what it is supposed to be... full. Perfect. Promising. Peaceful. 

Hmph.

Political for a moment....

Here's what I don't get: As American's, we pride ourselves on a few key traits: our entrepreneurial spirit, our independence, and of course, our wit. This being said, why is it, that in the midst of a presidential election and an economic crisis, most American's can't see the forest for the trees?

Hang with me here, I know this is hard to swallow…pardon the pun, but really, let's critically think this all the way through.

We have an economic crisis that the answer has become the government rescuing us from something that is the fault of a president that spent so much money on loans for inadequately and inefficiently organized social programs (Clinton) along with foreign loans that I don't even want to get into combined with inappropriate spending by the American people that confuse mutual funds with group orgies. They say that it takes 8 years for governmental initiatives to take effect on the economy. Hmmm... I think that lands us just about the ending of the lest "democratic" president. Add to the fact that the American populous acted like it was the bangin 80's again, buying inappropriately, inflation moving up the ladder and government lending to people and places it was completely inappropriate to do and here we find ourselves. Risky business as they call it.. So now at the manipulative behest of a "democratic" Senate, someone suggests an "economic recovery plan" to cover up the actually illegal distribution of funds made by this "democratic" Senate and all the sudden the crowd is wailing for a bail-out. Oh and don't think I can't see through the bull enough to know that what you are really calling an "economic recovery plan" is really and truly a "here's a chance to get my hands into a somewhat still free market and fuck it up" plan.

Sound irrational? Try this one on for size: Europe is widely known as a fairly socialistic country. Free (yet crappy) health care, over 50% of paychecks going into governmental spending (and let's not all be so naïve to think that it is all going to 'worthy' causes) and completely a-moralistic value sets. I site the recent child-pornography ring bust in Spain ending in 125 arrests, and that was only those that could be proved. It is the largest bust in history by the way. All of this being said, even EUROPE is a little nervous with their own governments sticking their hands into the pockets of businesses and ultimately the people. I quote from BBC news "It is an unprecedented move, and arguably the government's biggest intervention in the country's banking industry… In return for its investment, the government expects to get a stake in the banks."

Helloooooo people!!! Are we seeing something somewhat frightening here? I know, socialism sounds great, but think it through. Do you really want someone else telling you were you HAVE to spend you money? Is that really what life is all about? Here's a thought, let's say someone walks up to you off the street and says "I really don't want to work, but I would like to have another child, would you do me a favor and pay for half the cost of that child? I, I'm just too tired to do it on my own." Then have your government tell you, by the way, "You can't go see the doctor you want to. That one that you have seen for a really long time, yeah, he's out of business now; we are the only game in town." So when you are sitting there with your balls in some strangers hand and they say "turn and cough"… you voted for it you schmuck, suck it up. Socialism (and don't be fooled, that is what we are heading for) is fascism without as big of a military. It is a gradual usurping of the general rights of people. 

I was actually listening to a French diplomat last night give a lecture on how the states of the EU are gradually handing over more and more of their power to this "council" of sorts. This small numbered aristocracy of higherarchical demagogues that want nothing more in life than power. Money doesn't make the world go round, but sure as hell it is the strings on Pinochio. I prefer to be my Gepeto, but hey, why not cast our lost, toss aside our good sense and ask someone else to manage our funds? Anyone up to giving me their account number? I promise... I mean I really promise to manage it well for you. What? No takers? Hmm.... surprising. So why are we so quick to assume that the power hungry at the top of the political food chain, that we all know got there kicking and screaming, gauging eyes, and stepping on hands, are going to be any better with it than I would? 

This isn't a joke people. This is life. This is REALITY. We just let the government into our piggy-banks, so here's the question, what new president do you want with his hand near it? The one threatening to take away your choice, and squeeze those precious family jewels you just placed in his oh-so-cold hands, or do you want to let someone that might be slightly more, shall I say… conservative near your cookie jar?

All I have to say is, when I put my feet in those stirrups, I want to know I decided who is sneaking a peak. That is something I like to call good old fashioned smarts.

Happy voting!

Oh, and by the way... I INVITE conversation about this. If you have anything to say back... SAY IT!!!! I won't lay my opinion out there and hide behind anything. If I am going to say something, I am damn well going to accept any criticism, thoughts or corrections. I mean hell, I am only studying this stuff for a living in the epicenter of power in the western world... but then what the hell do I know right?

Loneliness is the key to happiness?

Isolationism is a good thing. And no, I don't mean in the political foreign policy sort of way... although that is debatable. Anywhoo...  

What I means is, the general consensus of most people, I believe is that loneliness is the worst form of depression. It breeds this intense sort of island that only the person bearing the brunt of the loneliness can understand. And mostly I would agree, until recently.  

I have spent most of my life trying to understand myself. Hell, I think that is bares itself out fairly well through my somewhat egotistical need to blog my all important thoughts right? Well let the illumination of salvation come... once again, I was wrong. And when I mean wrong, I mean really, profoundly, intensely, wonderfully, hopefully, brilliantly wrong. I love it when that happens (truly, no sarcasm intended).  

See, the first two weeks I was here, I was sufficiently distracted with the trappings of setting up a life here, that the being with no one but myself didn't really matter. I had TV and a cat, I was set. Well about two weeks of that, and I think my head started to explode. My poor cat actually tried to sew my mouth shut with here own whiskers just to keep me from talking to her anymore. Restlessness that I have never truly known set in. TV can only take you so far, so when that didn't do the trick anymore, I was left with really... nothing. Just me. I had left Christ at home with everyone I know, forgetting that He is just as much a part of me as He is them.  

Time and the Spirit had it's way with me, and I found myself so restless I was I brought to tears. Anxious, hurting, lonely, frustrated, the only source I found was inside me, and hell, that was sure not going to do the trick. I don't even like me most of the time, how am I supposed to be alone with me for that long? It's like living a small cell with someone you really don't like. Eventually you have to make friends if only to keep yourself from going insane.  

All of the trappings I had built to keep myself propped up in the past came crashing down in the glory of tears and a lot of Myspace usage. I guess those trappings weren't as sturdy as I had thought.  

All of the arguments I had made to keep progress from happening all of the sudden were worth nothing. Being a victim, by myself, wasn't fun anymore.  

One night, I sat down to blog, and my world came crashing in again, this time in the form of that gracious entity we call the Holy Spirit. In all the glory I know He has, in all the love I know He possess, in the unfathomable reality that He is, He cracked me.  

It didn't take much, but man, when He moves, it's swift, and perfect (on that part I will claim I have always been right on). He cut right to the heart of the issues, my heart. With passion, conviction, love and patience, I heard the words that made my life worth living "It took 3,000 miles to get you away from all you have known that wasn't me. I have waited SO LONG for this time with you. Welcome to Egypt."  

I am not going to lie, it was hard for me to choke down. As sobs emanated from me, every feeling I have ever felt gushed out. Rejection, hurt,, passion, desire, fear... blood and water mixed as I choked out one question: "Why?"  

Then I got it. I couldn't see Him through the veil of everything I had known. I had to be rescued again. Not from a marriage this time, but from me. From every good intention, from every misguided thought, from every heartbreaking attempt to see Him through the eyes of everyone but me. This time is sacred. Not for forming of a life, but for the forming of a relationship. His and mine. The most precious one there is. The only one that matters.  

For once, what I am going to be, what I will do, who I am, none of that matters. I have been pulled away from herd, selected from the group and chosen for a time separate. I have been pursued. The implantation of desire for Him brought me out here, completely unwittingly. Grace is knowledge not yet realized and beneficent actions of the entity which holds that knowledge until the right moment. Like a horse chasing a carrot, I came out here, and like Him, my mind was blown bigger and better than ever.  

In the midst of this learning, the realization does settle in that I am scared it will go away. That I will ruin it somehow. I will set up a life again, the same trappings, the same perspectives, the same downfalls, just a different coast. I am a creature of habit after all. I just don't want to. I want to learn Him knew. I want this to last forever. I want to be lonely, only to be satisfied by Him. Is that too much to ask? Guess I will find out... as long as I don't screw it up.

Tears and Fears

Two weeks. I have been gone, or here, for two weeks. The streets have started to look familiar, and the humidity doesn't effect me anymore. The campus still feels like everyones but mine, and I am still trying to figure out a place here, but here I am none the less. 

So often I sit in a coffee shop, or I go for a walk, and I look around, just watching. Faces of the young pass so fast they start to blend. Ironically I think I know I love those I left more than ever. I am living in one of the most powerful cities in the world. Laws are passed, policies are made, and the powerful step down from their podiums just long enough to brush with the bourgeoisie, but I have never felt more disconnected. More at a loss, more... lonely. An emotion so foreign, so alien to me. The four walls that I exist in know me more than the pavement just outside. 

Last night I climbed into bed, turned off the lights and laid there. The city lights were bright and intrusive, the noise from below inviting and isolating at the same time. I looked out the window and life was below. In between the honking horns, and the shouts of greetings, laughter caught on a breeze floated up into my bedroom. It was carefree laughter, the kind that can only come when it is an inside joke. Something spoken in the silliness of the moment. 

I couldn't help but laugh with it as a tear rolled down my cheek and it the covers below me. I know what I am doing is good, it is a good, good thing. An opportunity most would die for. I am living my dreams right? Taking back that which was stolen. Hooray for me, right? Why does it hurt so much then? Why do I feel so out of place, and lost? Why is everything a fight? I can't help but see the irony that a lot of hard things in my life are cloaked in "goodness." 

I am trying to find You here. trying to see your path for me, but to be honest, it's hard. So much of the time I just see blank spots and walls. Once again, I feel like a fish out of water, wondering what pond I will land in next. I am grateful for the lessons I have learned, but there are times I feel as though the pre-life crisis I have faced (and henceforth overcome) have actually stunted me. I can no longer settle for relationships based on banal commonality, and teachings shrouded in "seeker friendly" ideals. Once again, the trust I want to place in You is waning. I want to say "You brought me out here, You will take care of it," but I fear what happens if in two months I still feel the same way. Disappointment is not foreign, but how much can one take?

I guess I have no choice. Once again, I am out on a limb here. 

I take a breath out as I finish the prayer running through my head. With the breath, once again, I release my future, my present, and my past.

I am who and what I am, and I have to believe You brought me here for a reason. Lord, give me the humility to keep trusting, and the faith to keep walking. I need You.

A quick recap.....

I said good-bye to the true love of my life to get board a six hour flight from hell that including my cat throwing up, my mother having to be medically sedated through a mixture of prescription drugs and alcohol, to get lost for two and a half hours in a rental car that apparently runs on four mice and a hamster, on the way to a hotel that was technically in southwest DC, but in actuality bordered the southeast and was so frightening I wouldn't send Mr. T out there without back-up, to finally get to my apartment, so I could sleep on the floor for six nights because the moving company had logged the wrong day and, while I was in DC, all of my stuff (including my bed) was still currently in California, which has resulted in me having the shin-splints from hell do to lack of any footwear other than my broken down flip-flops and a neck strain so bad I have to have my 60 year old mother pull me off the ground so I can pee all the while attending "orientation" for transfers where I haven't seen anyone over the age of 20 and are giving lectures on "Is it sex, and is it safe?" 

Okay, as long as we are all on the same page......

I miss you already

You sleep here next to me. Solid, study breathing escapes from you along with the occasional sigh as you fall deeper. My cat has curled herself snuggly into the crook of your arm... usually where I sleep. The room is so quiet, I can almost hear your heart beat. I look at your sweet face and see how a smile plays at the corners of your mouth, and not the kind that comes from a moment of happiness, but the kind that comes just because you are always happy. A perpetual smile. A positive outlook that dances across your continence even as you sleep. I miss you already.

And I sit here thinking... what if. Earlier you mentioned something. Something I think you let slip. A curiosity of what would be if I wasn't going... I cried. You said you were excited for me to gain all that had been stolen and all I could think was but will it come at another loss? 

The irony does not escape me. 

You just stirred and mumbled something while you reached out to find me. I moved back slightly so you would catch me, knowing if you found me, you wouldn't wake up fully. You need your sleep. I need you. What happens when you reach out, and I am not there? What happens when I reach out, and you aren't there? 

I have tried to slow down lately. Tried to memorize your touch, your smell, your face. The scar on your chin, the crook in your nose, the way you brush your hands across my lips before you kiss me. 

The sound of our laughs colliding as something stupid happens between us. The way you look at me when I do something ridiculous. The way you hold my hand, the way you lead me into a room, protective and sweet. The way you won't let me open the door for myself. 

I scoot away slightly closing my eyes. Maybe if I pretend you aren't here right now, if I try to remember the way you feel while you are still near, somehow that will comfort me when you really are no longer there. I see your face in my minds eye, smiling. 

It doesn't work. I just want you near. Without you knowing, I reach over and place your hand on my hand. Just the touch is enough right now. 

I know all too well what life can bring. I am so scared darling. The unknowns weigh heavier than the knowns. Will this time change you, will it change me? Will it change us?

We always said a day at a time; I hope that is enough. 

I hope you know how your love has healed me. I hope you know how much you have taught me to try again. I don't know if I ever told you how scared I was at first. How powerfully you affected me immediately. I was so scared to lose that bit of control I had just gained back. I tell you every so often thank you. Thank you for loving me. You always laugh and say it is so unnecessary for me to thank you, but what can I do? I can't help but be thankful for a man and love that is so... real. I hope you feel my love, I hope you see my heart, I hope you happiness, I hope you blessings. Ugh, I hope... I hope you know. I will love you forever. 

I miss you already...

Trust

The last two years of my life have by far been the hardest. More change, metamorphosis, learning, mistakes, fears lived through, victories gained, and just plane grunt work of the soul has been walked through than I thought at one time was humanly possible. In two and a half years I have been married, separated, divorced, relocated three times, had three different jobs, and have lost and gained over two sets of friends. I have changed cars, houses, clothes, desires, fears and personalities more than a multi-personalitied schytzo-phrenic with an American Express. 

All of this to say, for the first time I have found a place of peace. A piece of rest (if you will excuse the play on words). 

Why is it, that you have to find just this place, so you can launch again? 

A year ago I was sitting on my therapists couch hearing her say "I promise it will get better, just keep looking toward the future," and today I heard her say "I told you so." Damn, $115.00 dollars an hour for something my mothers says to me for free. 

That being said, I am amazed. I am amazed at what God has done in the midst of my own turmoil. Small words of encouragement here, a tender moment there, and here I am again on a platform ready to dive. I can genuinely say I never thought I would be here again. I thought I was threw. Washed up. Tired, bedraggled and too worn out to try for the something that I thought was more than I deserved in the first place. 

But as I look back at the miracle of a love recently given (he is currently snoring next to me, having succumbed  to his inability to stay awake during a movie), I can't help but smile. Oh Jesus, when will I get it? When will it move past my head to my heart?

I don't know, maybe the next time he turns my ashes into robes of royalty, or my tears into diamonds. Then again, maybe it won't take that long. Lord, take my heart and make it Yours. Be merciful to me and show me wounds not yet healed, parts not yet broken, and places You have et to go in me. I give you my permission. And if it takes two more years of radical change... so be it. Because this time I believe You. I believe in Your ability to heal, to change and to redeem that which was irredeemable before. I am walking, living, smiling proof of it. 

Out in the Yonder

The count down has begun: 29 days.

I am not going to lie: the emotions rolling around are mixed to say the least. For the first time in... I don't know... ever I have finally found some peace. Some sense of stability in a long period of instability. I know who my friends are, where my place is with my family, who loves me, and what is most important. I feel healed. 

The kicker is, that is exactly what kicks me out the door. I know it's time, I know it's right, but man, that doesn't always make it easier. I mean lets me honest, this is super exciting, super perfect, super... unbelievable. But then again, that is what makes it what it is. 

I have an apartment I have never been in, tuition for classes I can barely pronounce the name of, and a plane ticket baring a one way flight pattern. I am all set. 

I guess chapters are funny like that; as soon as you hit the climax of the text, you turn the page, and you have to start over at a new beginning. 

Interesting

So I got this email from a friend of mine, and the question he brought up was a good one that I think plagues a lot of people. I tend to be very analytical and his thoughts are some that when a believer faces the world, needs to be able to process. It's not easy facing difference philosophies at times, and these are just my rambling thoughts, but they are what they are.


From my friend:

What if God is a Motif and the real loss is when he became a fact??

My response:

You are asking if God is basically a penicillin for the epidemic of human selfishness correct? As if He is only a tool we use to reach into the psyche for a sort of consciousness awareness? That the preference would be for me, or others to believe in Him as an ethereal idea to construct our own healing through. Correct me if I am wrong, but that seems to be the idea you are coming from correct?

If you are, my response is this: you can not have relationship with a Motif. It can not speak back to you, know your heart, hear your prayers, be the base for your existence. The true sadness would be if He were just that ( motif that is). My heart and spirit are what urge me to pursue Him with the belief that He is much, much more than that.

At the end of the day, we all ask ourselves one basic question: Do we believe in God. See, belief is inevitable. We have to believe, have faith in something. There is an innate need in every human, to believe in something. Will it be God, or will it be something truly more Motif(ish) if you will. Something that grounds us in reality, that keeps us from spinning too far out into the existentialism that is truly sociopathic in nature.

So the real question seems to be, why do I choose to believe in God? Why is it that I believe in Jesus as the Christ, the one and only, and all that goes along with that? The relationship, the purposed, the drive, the fulfillment? Good question. And in all honesty I could give you some well thought out analytical answer regarding how we have proof of Christ walking the Earth, and recorded miracles He preformed, or about how the Bible happens to be one of the most historically factual books in all of history, or even how it takes more faith to believe in the concept of spontaneous life (and this comes for a studier or biological anthropology and statistics) than it does in the creation of a world and life by a higher power, but that isn't what I would spit at you.

What I would say is this, I believe for two reasons: 1. I have seen Him. I have felt Him. I have had experiences that my mind can not explain. Things that are too coincidental, that are too far beyond my reason, and trust me, I can reason myself into, or out of anything. I know that sounds juvenile, easily susceptible to self-soothing hallucinations, or created connections from a deep need to ascribe to the faith of my father, but really, that's not the case. With all that I have gone through in my lifetime, my faith has taken a beating. There are days it would be so much easier to not believe. Days I wish I could not know. The path of a believer is difficult. The world we live in is full of dichotomies and ironies that seem to send a message of disbelief. But I fight through, and that leads me to my second reason for believing: 2. because I know. Because everyday I wake up knowing that there is something beyond me. Knowing that there is an energy that no scientist can explain physically holding my body together. There is something that keeps the world from spinning literally out into orbit, there is something that keeps the balance of the universe in it's place. The longing in me to be fulfilled by something, the longing for a relationship beyond that of a physical nature, the need for a purpose that goes beyond my 80 some-odd-years on this earth, a need to dedicate my life to something worthy, righteous and justified, are not the needs and desires of a self-delusionalized idealist, but placed there by the same Source that created me. They are just as real as the ground I am standing on, and has just as much of a purpose; to draw me in to searching. To keep me unsatisfied with what the world gives me as it's created answers.

What do I think the real Motif is? The denial most people live in. The self-talking out of that which seems to bizarre to believe. Too juvenile, too irresponsible and simple? What if that is the excuse people use to keep the fear at bay that they may be wrong? We have all been wounded by the church (a misconception of what Jesus really wanted expressed through those that claim His name), but can we always allow that to be the reason to hide behind the desire to run from something we don't understand. It is harder to believe than it is to not believe. If God is dead, isn't easier for the society that we live in to keep people unsatisfied and coming back to whatever source for more? It feeds the product of need that keeps our greater culture running.

Wow, I think I will blog this. LOL.

Sara

What if God is a Motif and the real loss is when he became a fact??

Protection

I have been thinking a lot about protection lately. What it means to be protected, what it means to honor someone that way.

I thought about my dad a lot. The things I wish he had said, the things I wish he had done when I was young. I guess things I still wish he would do.

I was standing in the kitchen, kissing my boyfriend the other day, and my dad walked in. My face turned beat red and immediately I jumped away. My dad just walked by and kinda smiled, meanwhile Mike and I were trying not to melt into the floor.

Later that day, I was talking with my dad and just casually said "Sorry about that earlier, I didn't mean for you to walk in." He laughed and said "I wouldn't care if I walked in and you were naked!" Immediately I gasped and yelled "Dad that gross!!!" He laughed even harder and walked away.


I didn't think much of it at the time, but after the day had settled down and I returned to the exchange in my mind, I kept wondering why it bothered me so much. That should be a good thing right? I mean my dad sees me as an adult making my own choices. Great, I mean I have been married and divorced, I am my own responsibility right? Right. Of course, so why was it bothering me so much?

Later that night my boyfriend ended up staying the night at the house. It had been a long weekend, with an even longer day, and we both fell asleep. Well somewhere in the middle of the night, as it always goes, we both woke up, and stared straight into the face of temptation, and all I could think of was my dad saying he didn't care if he walked in and we were naked.

All of the sudden all of the protection I thought I had under my parents roof... vanished. There was no need for my boyfriend to or I to fear the protective heart of a father... it wasn't there.

Another piece of the little child each of us has in us died in that moment.


Now don't get me wrong, I love my father, but he is only human. What can you expect, he's an ex-hippie, but still, the sting is there. All of the sudden some things make sense.

Could it be that the protection I seem the be unable to afford myself, could be based on the lack of protection I received? Is it possible that maybe I was never taught?

I have been struggling in my relationship with God. I think that is perfectly obvious, (I do nothing to hide these struggles... it takes too much energy) but the question that seems to be in my heart at this point is one that I don't really want to ask, but will never be satisfied until I have the answer to: is my lack of trust in God a correlation to my lack of trust in my father, and neigh, even in myself? Upon realization of this lack of protection, certain things make sense, like a light in the day, but it has also thrown some other things into the dark.

Since I can't expect my father to protect me the task falls in my own lap. Learning how to do what is best for me despite what I want in the moment is a parenting lesson I now have the responsibility to do for myself, and that is fine. That is something I can learn through self-evaluation and trial and error. I can begin to trust myself that way, but here's the $24,000.00 question: what does it truly mean to be protected by your heavenly father when your earthly father fails you?

Updates to follow....

Betrayal

I sit hear, hands poised over the keys, waiting for revelation. Waiting to understand. What am I missing? What piece isn't connecting?

You see, after much examination of my own heart, I see the deficiencies. I see the inconsistencies and the backwards thinking. I get that there is something basically broke. Something basically off. Like a fault line, I keep waiting for another shift to make the breach wider: for the settling of a large quake to bring me back down to even unsteadier ground.

I have waited, I have listened. I have cried, I have forced a laugh. I have sat quiet and run around like a mad man. I have read, and stopped reading, I have sang, and sat quiet, I have shouted and whispered, I throw my fists in the air and I have fallen to my knees.

But most of all I have tried. Oh how I have tried. Oh how I have allowed denial to rule, just to get me through.

So you gave me an answer: burden bearing. Intercession. A purpose. Okay, a purpose. Some hope a the end of the tunnel. On shaky legs I got back up to stand. Walking slowly with a limp, breathing heavily, I got back on the path. Force the smile, it's something right? Joy fleeting, but hold on tight, so tight, it might fly away. Your face, oh, your beautiful face, I can barely see it... but I squint, I strain, wait, don't go...

So I tell you my secrets. My truest desires, deeply, secretly, I thought they were from you. I thought maybe... but I never dared to dream. It was easier to stand on the ground of waiting for you. Places were my passion was released, where I felt at home anywhere. Safe, these were mine.

On unsteady feet, thrown a rock... a small one, but still the weights enough, I tumble down with it. I collapse, bones snapping as I crash into the ground. Unforgiving ground bruises and tears at my body. I cry out... then stop short. Why cry? No one is near enough to hear. I lay on my back, silent tears streaming. Waiting, hoping; maybe, just maybe the rescue I have heard of will find me. I am so tired of picking myself up. I don't even think I can this time.

I look around and see a group passing me by on the path. Jubilantly they pat each other on the back as they congratulate each other on jobs well done. Some taller than others, they step over me as I lay there. I see one secret something to another. I watch a limb grow back for one, and a heart restart for another as they continue walking. Miracles to be sure. Even I at one time reach out to pass a note I had been given, but no one sees the bleeding. I don't even want them to this time. That bone protruding, that weak pulse, it is my burden to bear. I can't take the looks of confusion at why I am not being healed when the person next to me just had sight restored. I don't know either.

Slowly I start to sit up. I can't stay here long, I will die for sure. Oh God, I am so tired of picking myself up... my body groans it's protest.

Loneliness is thick on the fringes... how much more? One is given a package, opening it delightedly, they squeal. They show it around... my heart skips a beat, that had been one of my secret desires. Another tear falls... Oh, I thought maybe, if I had been faithful enough... I guess not. I hear a commotion to my right, another package, please God... no... again. My last secret dream, given away. This time I can't stop it, I fall back, like the bones that had held me together disappeared. A deep grief enters my heart unstoppable. My last uniqueness. My last bit of something good I had, given to someone else.

From somewhere I hear a voice "Thank you for burden bearing, but this belongs to someone else now."

Somehow I gather enough strength to curl into the fetal position. I look to my right, and there lies an opened package. It had been a gift given to me. It was beautiful for sure, filled with anticipation and promise, and I loved it, but it wasn't the one I had secretly wanted. The one I was too scared to tell anyone about, anyone but You that is. I look at the card, it reads "Good luck!" with a smiley face.

A wind comes by. It's full of life, vibrancy. I hear my name in it "Sara..." It breathes into me, and for a moment, my chest raises and I inhale deeply. It strengthens my pulse. Enough. It gives me enough for life. Another comes by, a bit stronger. I start to breath easier. The pain is still there, but I am brought back from the brink of death. Still another... this time I sit up and try to reach out for it... "Come back..." The cry comes from my soul, the only words I have uttered since I have fallen.

Slowly raising my head I look around. The others had felt the same wind, some are dancing, some are crying out in joy, and some even being tossed around by it, faces alight with joy and wonder. Tears fall again. Enough for life right?

As the crowd moves on, slowly I turn my head from sides to side. The silence is so thick, it's oppressive. It's condemning. Only one thought looms, it just must not be for me. My hopes, dreams and desires that is. I just hope that I can stay alive long enough to make it home.

New Hair - New attitude

Why is it that a hair cut can change an entire perspective?

I went to get a "trim" today, but alas as most things go in my life, what I thought would be a small amount of changed turned into a butchers dream. To quote "Um, you realize most of your hair is so damaged it is completely irrepairable." Hmm... I think I said that about my life at one time.

So the scissors came out, and the dead ends came off. By the time she was finished, it looked like a wild animal had been shaved.

The one redeeming factor was this: I got bangs. And not just bangs, but BANGS. The kind you see in the magazines but you usually don't have the guts to do because you aren't sure they will look good on you. Gutsy move, I know. Spur of the moment. I am not sure if I have buyers remorse yet... that could be a good thing.

But as I walked out of the salon, I noticed I was walking different. A slight tilt of the head, one eyebrow cocked, and steps just a tad longer than before. I got into my car, flipped down my visor, looked in the mirror and thought "Hey, why the hell not?"

Why is it that a hair cut can completely transform your attitude? Because it can. It can change your whole outlook. One moment I am overrun by dead ends and added weight that does nothing but keep me down, the next I have cut that loose and took a chance with a little flare. Life is not meant to be lived in safety. What we know isn't always what is best for us, and what we have isn't always so beautiful.

I wondered if it would look good, but really was I wondering if anyone would be there to catch my fall? A little too analytical you might say, but really, isn't hair just an extention of inner mechanics? Sometimes you have to give someone else the scissors and say... "Get off the dead stuff!" I am going to take a risk and find out if anyone else is at the bottom.

And no matter what... it always grows back.

Mania

A few weeks ago I hit the year mark of the end of my marriage. I spent it with my boyfriend… an ironic laugh escapes as I think about it. Such a juvenile term for such a time in my life.

I have never been more, satisfied, confused, plagued, jubilant, free, consumed, empty, and all together… chagrined. Tongue-in-cheek, I think I am bi-polar.

Example: so the other day I was on my way past my parent’s house to the place I am sitting at until some friends get back from vacation, and I stop to get my mail.

I open the mail box and low and behold there is a very large white envelope. Oh yes, it is my third acceptance letter; this time to George Washington University, and the Elliot Walsh school of International Affairs. If it sounds intimidating and prestigious, that’s cause it is. Intense. Sweet, I don’t have to go to my back-up school. Like the five year old I secretly am, I squeal and throw myself into my car and hit the gas with the same vigor I always do… full throttle. So excited! I am calling EVERYONE. “Holy crap, I just got into…. I know, crazy! No I am not sure about the tuition yet. Woo hoo!! DC here I come!”

As I am flying over Kirker Pass (behind a car going the exact same speed might I add), I look up to see a cop with a radar gun pointed at me as if it is a sniper pointed at a terrorist with a WMD. SHIT. I am so in for this, and there is no way I getting out of it.

I throw the letter of acceptance onto the floor and pull over. Insurance and license in hand I roll down my window and say “Here, please be kind.” He laughs, walks back to his bike (should have figured) and writes me up a ticket without another word. Now I am pissed. This damn car, and the roof that is going to cost me $1300.00, the fact that is stalls in intersections, sucks gas like it is the V6 it definitely doesn’t act like, now is getting me a ticket. Ugh! What else could go wrong?! I hate this. Cops suck, money sucks, life sucks. Whatever! So annoyed.

My phone rings, I look down and it is the love of my life. Ooohh, a sigh escapes as a giant smile leaps onto my face. Mmm, I love him sooo much! “Hi baby, I miss you, I love you, where are you, when do I get to see you?” Twelve questions become one sentence as I spew epithets of love and ooey-gooey goodness. “I know I miss you too. How was your day? No… I miss you more! No… I love you more.” Somewhere in the back of my mind it registers that I never want anyone I know to hear this conversation, and I am sort of making myself sick. I can’t help it though, I love him that much!

We get off the phone, and a song that reminds me of him comes on. Oh, what am I going to do when I am in DC and I can’t see him everyday? What is it going to be like when I can’t feel him brush my face with the back of his hand, and melt into him just a little more? How am I going to handle phone conversations 3,000 miles away when I can’t see his beautiful face and run my fingers along his stubbly chin? A tear starts to fall as my bricks crumble and I feel just a touch of the loneliness I know I am going to feel.

I pull over to my friend Catherine’s house, and she hops in… “Oh gosh, it has been too long!! How are you, what have you been up to?! You look GREAT!!” Our conversation takes a turn that would rival any thirteen year olds junior high mania as we excitedly share and catch up on the last… twelve minutes.

Hm. Anyone get all that? The adult in me just cringed. I need a valium.

Falling

The amazing thing about God is... He will never cease to amaze. From beginning to end, the God we serve is steadfast and true. His touch shakes your soul and moves your earth.

I live for Him. It breaks my heart when I don't give Him my all and I seek experience over intimacy, emotion over reality, sensationalism over service, but my heart is deceitful. He knows it. It's so funny, He is a catch twenty-two. He asks for purity, but knows it is impossible and will accept you anyways. The purity is for our own benefit.

See we are already justified through Jesus' blood. We have been deemed acceptable, but the request for striving, for purity, for service, for choice, for hardship, loyalty, drive, self-sacrifice, killing of the flesh... Those are for us. Our own benefit. 

Think about that for a second. The implications are intense. If we say that it is not out necessity, but out of choice that we remain pure, love others, choose Him, how much more powerful than those that say we HAVE to. Those that say it determines are acceptability to the Father. Our access to the throne room What if we can go in imperfect, but still come out have been touched?

Could that possibly mean that His love is  based more on Him and His desire to love, than our ability to earn it? Could it be that free? What happens when we learn that it will be there no matter what? We are chosen and that will never change.

Could that be the defining moment of all of life? Only if it shakes our reality enough to meld hopes and dreams into intimacy and need. Remember, He is the breath of life, and LOVE is the only noun/verb He gives as what He IS. Not what he inhabits, but what He EXISTS in. Could that invade us enough? 

LORD hear my prayer.... 

Foreign Relations?

Post modernism is an interesting phenomenon. I say this as a precursor to an even more interesting phenomenon: the isolation to which post modernism is applied.

When it comes to religion, the culture that currently has its grips on society (or the latest intellectual fad), seems to be the notion of “Whatever works for you.” All paths lead to nirvana correct? Or even your own sense of nirvana. Existentialism be damned, we can all find a meaning of our own. Just don’t let yours get in the way of mine.

When it comes to social welfare issues, Marxism seems to be making a comeback if with the necessity of blindess to true belief in the essence of bourgeoisie ignorance. We choose to ignore the Orwellian horse analogy in favor of praising the purported Robin Hood’s of our generation. Throw in a little mother-earth love and we have a solid hodge-podge of social ideals that leads us straight down a path of… huh?

With all of this greater love (with of course some figurative member of that horse-machine paying the price), I find that there is one area post-modernism has not left its imprint: foreign affairs.

With the United States waking up from its drunken stupor of the 80’s and 90’s, it seems we are looking around with a little bit of trepidation at the partners we have hopped into bed with. Did I just sleep with my best friends girl-friend question lingers in the air as we deal with the Middle East and east equally. Beer/Power goggles seem to have affected some of our decision making abilities as the hungry for glory have taken the reigns and promised invulnerability in the face of a vulnerable time.

Though this seems to be a crude and awkward association, the apt question is, what happens if we are stripped of title of Big Dog on the block?

I was reading an article about the rise and fall of Britain as a Superpower, and the analogy to our current trend. Caught in a net of our own making, intoxicated with our own power, what happens when not only the rest of the world, but the peoples of that world, realize the chain may actually have a chink in it?

The first Bush, and to be sure the second Bush, would say that to remain safe, we have to stay on top of the pile so to speak, and not that don’t disagree, but I can’t help but wonder if a little post-modernism wouldn’t actually benefit in terms of diplomacy at this stage in the game. It could be the naïveté of youth, or the hangover I am enduring myself, but the recurring nightmare of loss of control seems to have faded with the light of dawn. Still a little chagrined by activities the night before, I wonder, could safety in numbers be a more plausible step?

Britain may not be THE Superpower, but it still holds up nicely to the rest of the world. Though more vulnerable to terrorist activity, is that due to policy, or geography? Diplomacy and economic niceties have proved smart moves in placement. Coming from a bi-partisan political system, seeing the effects of too little balances and views, all paths leading to… something, might not be the worst place to land (in terms of foreign relations of course). We as a nation have always ascribed ourselves to that constant need of balance of power internally, would we be okay sharing that same stage with a few others internationally?

Hmm. The irony is not lost on me. The people of Britain, France, Germany, and most of Western Europe, that at one time or another battled to stay on top of the mountain, and eventually came tumbling down, seem to have found their equilibrium, why not us?

Or I could be completely wrong and we could all die if we do not stay the number one power. In that case, let’s hope that same post-modernism I am hodge-podging throughout this commentary saves you.

The Tension

Below is an email I sent to a friend of mine. It began as something to explain my heart: it became a statement of life. I don't know how much of that makes sense, but I can tell you this, true hunger for Christ is only born through the Holy Spirit, and though I ache, I rejoice that He has deposited in me that hunger, and I refuse to believe I am the only one that feels it. That is why I am posting it. I am posting it as a declaration of what God is going/doing, not only in me, but in a generation of people. True change can not come with love, and true passion can not come without abandon. I believe He wants both for us. I believe He wants us ravaged, breathless, overcome with His Presence the way we are by a lover.



I won't lie though, it is hard for me to leave this much honesty out on a page, but I can't help that I am a truth speaker. It is who I am, but even still I ask... am I throwing my pearls to the swine? I post it for the promise of what He is, was, and will be.



So here's the deal. You know how you talk about co-laboring with God? Well, it dawned on me about a week ago, I feel like I have been co-laboring/interceding for the revival that is going to take place for about the last 7 years of my life. This unrest with the norm, this craving/desperation for the intimate encounters, the knowledge that without His love we are nothing, the understanding that without Him we cease to exist, this incessant need to be nearer and nearer, this burning comprehension that there is more, that we are to be ravaged by Him, that He wants more, that there is power in intimacy, that only true peace comes from exchange, that the Kingdom is the only true call, this innate knowledge that we are foreigners here to bring heaven to earth... Ugh I could go on and on!!!

These things have been born and breed in me for years. They are facts I understand, they are passions I have, but they are realities I have yet to experience first hand. When I started voicing these thing I fumbled around in the dark, as if my tongue were in molasses and I couldn't quite utter the phrases that come so easily now, so the struggle came out as bitterness and frustration. People didn't understand. I remember sitting in 7 Pillars, talking about it, being honest, and proclaiming the fight, and when I was finished I looked up to see blank stares, and uncomfortable silence. It took a lot not to feel defeated. And I as I struggled, and wouldn't give up, people asked me what was wrong with me? Why couldn't I see break through? I felt so out of place... still do.

Now I see people like you and Amy(name changed), normal, everyday (though extraordinary and blessed) believers having what I have been longing... GROANING for in my spirit, it's just a little hard. I don't know, maybe it is a form of intercession that won't lift until it comes to fruition. Maybe there's something wrong with me, maybe it's just not my time. Neither of you claim perfection, so I know that can't be a requirement. That thought brings peace and unrest simultaneously.

What I really struggle with is this: I want what you have. I want it bad. I have been searching, striving, pushing, pulling, asking, not asking, reading, not reading, sacrificing, not sacrificing... I don't know everything. I keep thinking something more is expected of me, and yet I look at you and Amy and neither of you have done anymore, or any less than I. I don't mean that in any other way other than just looking at it from the perspective that it can't be about me, or you, or Audrey then. It must be about who and where and where God chooses to breath in. I live for those moments when He breathes into your soul. Those (for me) snippets of time when for one minute you feel more alive than you have ever felt. Those moments when it feels as though every cell in your body is filled with light, when your mind is flooded with nothing but the Presence and you feel more validated in being alive than ever before. Your existence makes sense... He is near. Heart finds it's resting place, and you understand the prophets of old. You would love to have nets to throw down so you could chase Him.

I have lived for months on just those few moments that are so tenuous, so fragile, and yet, they shouldn't be. They should be weighted down, immobile by His power.

I hate that I feel I can control God. My heart feels so dead at times. So numb. Immune to joy, to life, to love, to hope. I hate that I want to break it myself and feel, and yet I know.. I know that the only thing that can is Him. I am completely vulnerable to when and where He chooses to move. The irony does not escape me. I would DO ANYTHING for Him and yet know I can do nothing to gain more of Him. I can pursue, I can ask, I pound heaven, but only He opens the door. You did nothing to earn the experience of Sunday. That is a beautifully frustrating thing. It is not dependent on your perfection, your righteousness without Him, yet you wait with bated breath for the next moment.

I will/would follow Him to the ends of the earth. I would sacrifice mind, body and soul for Him, yet in Zephania it says He desires loyalty, not sacrifice.

He should not be this untouchable, but for me He is. I know that can't be the truth, I have examples of others that it isn't that way for, but I don't know what to think. I don't want to think the secret thoughts that I do, fearing that maybe it is my lot in life to settle. Maybe I am not chosen for the sort of experience I desire. Logically that can't be it, but for the heart of a woman struggling, those lies loom large and powerful. Could it be, that as I have found I have the personality of a prophet, that as an answer to my prayer years ago for use in any way, I am to be the burden bearer for a generation? Could my place be to know the longing as God does and carry it with me? I don't know.

I wait. I just wait, and pray that hope deferred does not make my heart too sick for recovery. As I sit here writing this, my heart longs, tears fight to fall as I hold them back. I don't know what He wants. My heart wants to believe it is just me, so I answer by throwing myself at Him. Grasping into thick darkness. I wander through a maze, feeling hedged by that I can't completely understand, bouncing off walls I can't see. I don't want to be jealous when I hear either of you talk. I hate that I feel that way. I feel like a jealous lover watching her husband go off with another woman. How can you rejoice for that woman? How sad (angry connotation, not sympathetic) is that? How stupid.

Please, just pray for me. I will fight this battle as I have for years, and I will not give up, but in this moment I am so tired. I am so disheartened. I just want Him. The only peace I find is in just waiting. There is nothing you can say, nothing you can do. I actually don't want anyone to say or do anything. I am tired of relying on others for the voice of my Husband. I want His voice. That being said, if you really do feel like He is saying something specific, don't stop. I will take anything. Also, you are welcome to send this on to anyone you think may have some insight or revelation, or even is an intercessor that can pray for me.

Redemption

What was stolen being returned ten fold

Healing words, touches and actions breaking a cynical heart,

The knowledge that He has given me something no one can take away, purity that is a beautiful aroma to Him.

Words spoken into the secret places of my heart, that only He knows.

Through my grief, my anger,

my pride, my doubt, my blame, my adultery... You, You have blessed me. You made me a bride, and I left You. You gave me provision, and I stole still. You loved, and I rejected. Your goodness is unfathomable, Your faithfulness necessary for my life. I don't exist with You, my heart does not breath without Your breath. Your beauty frightens me with it's power, Your

love confuses a diseased mind. I need you more than breath,

more than life, more than even I can comprehend.

I want you like a jealous lover I wish I had more of You. I want to see and feel and know You the way a wife knows her Husband. The way she knows what he likes and doesn't like, the way He calls her name, the way He whispers only the things she can hear. I want to share moments with You that rival the greatest romance novel. You

have this imagination, and creativity when it comes to wooing, that blows my mind. I want more of it! I want more of You. I crave Your pillow talk. I need to hear Your words about life, hope, fear, and success.

For now I will say though, Your redemption has been sweet. Everything lost has been gained back. My future is secure in You. Show me Your path for me and I will walk it without fear. Beautiful You...

Don't You know? You have won my heart... and I know I have won Yours.

Holy Crap

I don't get it. I don't get you.

I have known you less than two weeks and already I wear you like a comfortable pair of sweats. Warm, cozy and so completely perfect.

How have you already won my heart? I walk around with butterflies in my stomach, a smile on my face, and ridiculous giggles escaping as I think of the last thing you said to me. Who is this woman?! I don't even recognize myself.

Somewhere in the midst of me finding every wrong man, you walked in and swept me off my feet. Disorienting for sure, but amazing for sure. With you, there is no past, there is no future, only the present exists. I have never lived for the moment more. I have never been more happy with the exactly the way something is.

What do you even see in me? I think the crazy thing is, you see me, I mean really see me. Who was it that said the greatest thing is to know and be known? It's like in an instant you saw me. You really saw me.

I don't want to make too much out of this though. I hesitate to say too much, to reveal too much.

I don't want to jinx it, I don't want to make it into something it isn't.

I fear the falling, I fear the landing.

We are both standing at the precipice: I guess only time will tell if we jump.

Failing again

I was reading what you wrote again, and not only what you wrote, but the way you wrote it. It was lyrical and beautiful, like a mournful melody that can break open even the hardest of hearts. I was grateful for it, I needed to be broken.

I think I am beginning to understand. I think it's starting to click. I really can't do this on my own can I? I really can't love you the way I want to. At least not without you. The irony is not lost on me. I must receive your love, and the strength of your love, and even the ability to love, to love you back. You must give me the ability to love to love you. I know I keep saying it, but it just strikes me as odd. Actually, it makes me sad. You deserve so much more than that. I should be able to love you because of you. Because you are perfect, and holy and lovely and good and generous and kind and strong and so... well, my whole world. It feels so strange, are these steps forwards or backwards?

I tried to do it on my own and I fell apart. you healed me, and like the 9 lepers, I just kept right on walking. I did not run back and ask to walk with you, there was no gratefulness in me. My shame is deep over that. Your healing was turned against you. Can you change that in me? Can you make that different? I know you have forgiven me, your love is too deep not to, but can I change? Can you do a mericle in my heart and change me? I am so desperate for you to. I want to please you and feel you smile.

My pride was so arrogant. I thought I would love you forever, and cling to you forever because of me. How ironic. Uh! I don't breathe without you. I don't sing, I don't dance, I don't live, I don't know, understand, comprehend... I don't exist without. If you were to cease, I would also. I forgot that. I thought I loved you out of my own power, once again, my shame is deep. I took credit for what you did, I believed not in you, but in me. Of course I ended up doubting, I was believing in something that hinges on insanity most of the time.

Oh great one. Oh creator, even now, I doubt your ability to change me. the only thing that gives me hope is your own word says you are bigger than my heart. You are beyond it. My hope for change, for growth, for the ability to honor you, it is only in you.

I think I trust you, I know I don't trust myself. I will run. I thought I was so faithful, I thought I was so good. you have shown me otherwise. You have humbled me with your truth.

I guess I will wait for you to lead me from here. I will wait for you to touch me witht hat touch only you can impart. That vision, that tought, that voice that speaks down into my inner most being. The true voice of intimacy, my favorite voice. I never feel as alive as when I hear or feel it. Its like a rushing wind into my soul. Like a heat source bring blood back to damaged tissue. How do you explain a fingertip so gentle and beautiful grazing over scar tissue? You don't. You just wait and desperately pray for it again. You sit and hope with all hope that graces you again.

I will build my life around those moments, pressing in for more. Let the strength you give me to love you be known it is from you and only you.

My savior, please don't ever stop saving me. I love you.