Shoes

So much activity in these last weeks of the year where visiting, celebrating, eating, laughing and exchanging of gifts and stories takes place.

A year ago my Mom fell and broke her foot. Because of complications with diabetes the break has never really healed. Now she wears a brace and is having a special shoe made. She loves shoes. She has had a closet full of beautiful shoes. Now she has thrown them all away because she can never wear any of them again. Not only do they not fit anymore, they are dangerous for her to wear because she will lose her balance and be unable to walk.

Shoes that fit have been a nightmare for me all my life. I was born with very narrow feet that are hard to fit, and expensive to fit! Shoes that are easy to step into and have no heal in them are a great invention – no more blisters.

The other morning as I wrestled with some family dynamics it was like walking in shoes full of splinters of glass. Little pieces that imbedded themselves into the soul, cutting, shredding, affecting how I walk, taking away my ability to dance. How long have we worn shoes that don’t fit? They are not meant for us at all and trying to wear them not only creates blisters that bleed, heal and then are opened again, but we can’t run in them, we cannot dance in them and if worn for too long we stop walking altogether.

And so once again barefoot freedom is for me. Oh it means that this soul will feel every emotion, every joy, every pain, every temperature change more intensely. It means this soul cannot avoid living deeply and more passionately, just as it was created to. Barefoot freedom also means dancing at any point along the road of life. Even if no one else can hear the music. Will there be shards of glass? No doubt there will be plenty, there will continue to be. Yet every time I try to wear the shoes that don’t fit I realize my gait in life becomes laboured and I stop looking out, seeing only the awkward fit this footwear that is not mine. Then it is time to stop, let my soul be tended to by the One who calls me to walk barefoot, who holds my heart and asks me to look out, look beyond and start dancing again.

I think about the people in Asia that were walking barefoot along the beach enjoying the pleasure and warmth of it all. Suddenly they are swept away and may never walk again. Or perhaps they are walking barefoot in a daze surrounded by the cataclysmic changes that the earth has powerfully spewed upon this part of her planet. Their souls are in pain.

As 2004 ends tonight and we step into 2005, I stand barefoot, I kneel down and let my tears fall on Jesus feet where I know they are safe and I trust His heart. Gratitude for the adventures of the last 365 days of rivers crossed, bridges built and the knowledge that I walked through them all. There are mountains and valleys ahead in the next chapter and I consciously, deliberately stand barefoot, look ahead and chose to step into the adventure that I cannot see, knowing I will not walk alone. I am grateful for each person who walked beside me, who whispered “keep going”, and for those who simply kept walking and I could follow. Thank You Abba for the simple and elemental childlike way You want these bare feet to keep moving.

Noonday Devil

I know there's hope in anger
And tenderness in shame
Sometimes I find you
On the other side of pain

But sometimes in the heat of day
When I close my eyes to pray
It seems like you are far from me
My prayers are all in vain

In my hour of hopelessness
In my deep despair
The noonday devil whispers in my ear

I know that you are with me
But I can't feel a thing
The noonday devil
Has come around again

Oh, Lord, make me angry
Oh, Lord, make me cry
Oh, Lord, please don't leave me here
To fall into the devil's lies

Father, you have called me
To live a life that's true
That all my labours and my words
Would speak my love for you

But walking through this desert
Life is empty and mundane
The noonday devil
Has come around again

Oh, Lord, make me angry
Oh, Lord, make me cry
Oh, Lord, please don't leave me here
To fall into the devil's lies

Oh, Lord make me angry
Oh, Lord, make me cry
Oh, Lord, break my cold, cold heart
So I can know your love inside.
Song by Fernando Ortega

These words speak to my heart just now when there are things I don't understand or know how to sit with them, but these words remind me that deep emotions break the ice and allow His love to warm me deep inside.

Walking Through It

There is a song about that “feeling of Christmas”, where joy and fun and delight are “in the air”.

Sitting quietly by the fire this morning (as I often do now in winter), I am aware of friends and people I love who are in so much pain that “feeling” is not a place they want to be. There is little joy, little sense of hope or future, and deep in their soul the canyon between love and abandonment widens. How I have known that place too. And so I read the words of a man who knew the feelings of celebration, but the agony of painful places that life required him to be. These words often whispered hope to me in the dark places, and now sitting in the Light they speak Truth and I hold them as a precious gift. I hold onto Yeshua who whispers them on the wind, the Ruach – Spirit breathed on, into. And I re-read these beautiful words Isaiah wrote:

But I’ll take the hand of those who don’t know the way, who can’t see where they are going.
I’ll be a personal guide to them, directing them through unknown country.
I’ll be right there to show them what roads to take, make sure they don’t fall into the ditch.
These are the things I’ll be doing for them – sticking with them, not leaving them for a minute

Don’t be afraid, I’ve redeemed you.
I’ve called your name. You’re mine.
When you’re in over your head, I’ll be there with you.
When you’re in rough waters, you will not go down.
When you’re in between a rock and a hard place, it won’t be a dead end –
Because I am God, your personal God, The Holy of Israel, your Saviour.
I paid a huge price for you…
That’s how much you mean to me! That’s how much I love you!
I’d sell off the whole world to get you back, trade the creation just for you.
So don’t be afraid: I’m with you.

Ponderings

Jesus observed, “Without me you can do nothing”. Yet we act, for the most part, as though without us God can do nothing. We think we have to make Christmas come, which is to say we think we have to bring about the redemption of the universe on our own. When all God needs is a willing womb, a place of safety, nourishment, and love. “Oh, but nothing will get done,” you say. “If I don’t do it, Christmas won’t happen.”
This comment from Daily Dig is nagging me, or rather Spirito Santo is whispering to me over and over in this Season about what is being birthed in it, the redeeming threads that are being woven in that process and how all this takes place in the sanctuary and nurturing of sacred space. I speak of redeeming threads often because so many tattered threads are being placed in a tapestry of the soul and the questions of “why” are being answered.

“There is nothing You are unable to tackle” Matthew 17:20

Sacred Space gave me the challenge this week of what God could make of me if I abandon myself into His hand, so I can be formed by grace. The question is am I willing to ask for grace, and to trust myself totally into Abba’s love? It is the request to exchange my self-sufficiency (be childlike) and abandon myself to Yeshua who is, with grace, showing me how to trust intimacy. Yeshua came as a baby and babies are easy to love. But He came to show us how to fall in love with life. Only as I let go and realize I need His partnership, and trust that there is nothing Abba will not do in this courtship, am I able to celebrate authentically and deeply from my heart and soul. I do not have to bring about my own redemption – it has all been done. Just trust the life giving process.

Joining the Chorus

Silence is like a two-sided coin; one is soothing solace that heals and comforts, while the other side is where one feels invisible, silenced, and the pain goes deep.

Abba wants to talk with His children and loves to have those children converse. Running conversations that sometimes have no end of questions, sometimes it is the conversation that has no end and it unravels as life unfolds.

Growing up silence was a punishment and there is still a wrestling to work through the shifting and change in this thinking. Speaking out as a woman was not easy in a denomination where women are silenced.

I sit listening to Brahms’s concertos tonight and enjoying the “Inn of Still Water” as I call my home (The soul is healed beside that still water). Little lights around the window, votive candles casting dancing shadows on the brass above the fireplace and Sebastian the cat sleeps on the back of the big chair. It is not lost to me that in this Season Abba is teaching me more of celebration. Perhaps for the first time I am embracing this Christmas to celebrate the birth of Yeshua, the Giver of Life and the One who speaks to my soul calling me to speak and celebrate having a voice.

This Christmas is about celebrating and using my voice in music. There are two services to go to on Christmas Eve and both will have plenty of music to join in with. At an open house event this week there will be plenty of music – and one can join in with that. What has struck me as very amusing though is that in redeeming the silence, and the pain of that silence, God has once again showed His sense of humour! Not only to sing in the Messiah and sing with full voice but it includes singing a whole chorus of the most expressive word for praise – Hallelujah! Moving the heart from the agony of silence to the praise of Hallelujah is one of the most glorious celebratory cries this voice can articulate.

This Season is about birthing, about redeeming, about voice and about the celebration that comes from the pain to bring all those about. Yeshua knows it because He lived it. Yeshua walks it with us through the yesterday, today and into tomorrow. Hallelujah.

Fragile - Handle with Care

In Daddy's Hands 

Delicate, fragile hands gently surrounded by the strong sure hands of her Daddy - Amy’s hands. Amy would have been 4 years old today but in her fight for survival she didn’t quite make it to her first birthday. Something about her hands always intrigued me; her long delicate fingers that sometimes lay flat and peaceful and at other times curled into fists that expressed the pain she could not share with the outside world. Amy was one of the most beautiful babies I have ever seen, but her eyes did not see the outside world. Amy’s skin was so soft and she knew touch and responded to it. She was unable to hear and yet her very existence was her profound voice to those around her. Unable to do anything for herself, she was held through her short life by hands that poured incredible love into her. Her very existence each day returned that love into those who held her. Amy was my niece.

As I look at this photo of her hand being tenderly caressed by her Daddy (my youngest brother), I see a new picture of Abba’s grip on His children when the wounds of life have left them very fragile. He does not grab our hand, tugging and pulling us along after Him in that place. I think He offers us His hand and welcomes us to take it and follow after Him, walking through life seeking that sure grip of truth and reality through the seasons of life. But there are times when each child is extremely fragile, overwhelmed by the agonizing pain. Looking at Amy’s hand being delicately caressed I wonder if this is how Abba touches us in our fragility. The most delicate caress upon a precious valuable fragile child. Does He whisper fragile, handle with care? Is this the place in life where Abba simply positions His palms under us, tenderly brushes our bruises with His fingertips, and in the most sensitive way is there to breathe upon us?

If today is one where you feel fragile, maybe this is how Abba will have His hands on you.

Owning Our Gifts

Every human being is born with some sort of gift, an inclination or an instinct that can become a full-blown mastery. We may not see our gift for what it is. Having seen it we may choose not to accept the gift and its consequences for our lives. Or, having claimed our gift, we may not be willing to do the hard work necessary to nurture it. But none of these evasions can alter the fact that the gift is ours. Each of us is a master at something, and part of becoming fully alive is to discover and develop our birthright competence.

Parker Palmer writes this and it has me once again pondering the whole idea of what we are given by God and the false pride, or lie, that says we shouldn't be bold with it.

What are the gifts that are my "birthright competence"? What are the gifts that I am afraid to hold out and use and enjoy being a master at? There are gifts that I fully know and am enjoying the fully alive breath they breathe into my life. For this I am grateful and thankful. For what is yet to be uncovered, discovered and nurtured I am grateful. And I am grateful that as I seek the energy for the hard work necessary for the nurturing, that there is no limit to the supply I can tap into with the Almighty.

Career Choices

We sat around the table drinking tea, enjoying the voice of Fairuz, a Lebanese singer, sharing pieces of the journey and how we handle them. We talked about careers – what we have done, what we have been and what defined us then, and how it differs now. The interesting thing is that each of us had a connection to nursing, yet none of us directly work in a hospital environment at present. Four different women with very different lives, yet the thread of nursing in each of our lives.

I was sharing with them how 10 years ago I applied to nursing school but didn’t get in. I wanted to be a mid-wife. In sacred space this morning I held that in the Light and let Him show me more. I had gone to night school for 3 years before applying yet it didn’t get me into the program. Part of night school was an English course and by “mistake” I took creative writing instead of the required course. There I learned what a passion I had for writing and it began to flow.

Each of the women at the table has various degrees, and I have a certificate from a school of culinary arts. I do not have my Red Seal – the chef’s “degree” and I have no desire to get it either.

With my Christmas lights on and the glow of the fire and Sebastian the cat at my feet in front of the fire, I know that I have been called to be a mid-wife. Almost daily I am with or speaking to women who are laboring to give birth to freedom, to hope. Their labor through the healing process is long and painful. In many ways these last few years I have been in labor and it was a stillbirth. Hope, then despair, and the dark days of wondering why, or how, or when…waiting and waiting. Yet what has also been birthed is freedom. I hold it in my hands, I touch it and listen to it, hold it close and am learning to walk with it and wear it, to know it is my own.

When food is on the table it is a time to share, to enjoy, to laugh and to go deep. Often what has been labored with in another room is born and its first cry, its voice is heard in sharing around the table.

What is our chosen career? What is our designed career? Many are in the active waiting place for that to be unfolded. They are in labor. We wait with them, walk the floors with them as they wait.

Food may be my art gallery but it is also part of my midwifery calling. I never saw the connection until I sat in sacred space this morning. Amazing what you find in the morning glow! And amazing to celebrate what has been birthed through the pain.

My audience

An audience 
Well I have been trying to practice for the next rehearsal of the Messiah and Sebastian the cat just sits and stares. He hasn't exactly communicated his approval as I try to reach those notes that my vocal cords haven't seen for a while but on the other hand he hasn't howled in pain! An audience of one - even it is a feline, isn't so bad after all. God has a good sense of humour.

Receiving and Giving A Blessing

Touch, in a world that seems to want distance, is something that every human still longs for: healthy, appropriate, authentic touch. Reading the following article on Blessing, by Henri J W Nouwen
has me wondering if we also long to hear the heart beat that comes from being held close, and having much more communicated.
This is a rich and powerful story that has me longing to be blessed, to know more deeply what Jesus meant when He said “blessed are they who…”

To give someone a blessing is the most significant affirmation we can offer. It is more than a word of praise or appreciation; it is more than pointing out someone’s talents or good deeds; it is more than putting someone in the light. To give a blessing is to affirm, to say “yes” to a person’s Belovedness. And more than that: to give a blessing creates the reality of which it speaks.
Not long ago, in my own community, I had a very personal experience of the power of a real blessing. Shortly before I started a prayer service in one of our houses, Janet, a handicapped member of our community, said to me: “Henri, can you give me a blessing?” I responded in a somewhat automatic way by tracing with my thumb the sign of the cross on her forehead. Instead of being grateful, however, she protested vehemently, “No, that doesn’t work. I want a real blessing!” I suddenly became aware of the ritualistic quality of my response to her request and said, “Oh, I am sorry… let me give you a real blessing when we are all together for the prayer service.” She nodded with a smile, and I realized that something special was required of me. After the service, when about thirty people were sitting in a circle on the floor, I said, “Janet has asked me for a special blessing. She feels that she needs that now.” As I was saying this, I didn’t know what Janet really wanted. But Janet didn’t leave me in doubt for very long. As soon as I had said, “Janet has asked me for a special blessing,” she stood up and walked toward me. I was wearing a long white robe with ample sleeves covering my hands as well as my arms. Spontaneously, Janet put her arms around me and put her head against my chest. Without thinking, I covered her with my sleeves so that she almost vanished in the folds of my robe. As we held each other, I said, “Janet I want you to know that you are God’s Beloved Daughter. You are precious in God’s eyes. Your beautiful smile, your kindness to the people in your house and all the good things you do show us what a beautiful human being you are. I know you feel a little low these days and that there is some sadness in your heart, but I want you to remember who you are: a very special person, deeply loved by God and all the people who are here with you.”
As I said these words, Janet raised her head and looked at me; and her broad smile showed that she had really heard and received the blessing.
The most touching moment, however, came when one of the assistants, a twenty-four-year-old student, raised his hand and said, “And what about me?” “Sure,” I said. “Come.” He came, and, as we stood before each other, I put my arms around him and said, “John, it is so good that you are here. You are God’s Beloved Son. Your presence is a joy for all of us. When things are hard and life is burdensome, always remember that you are loved with an everlasting love.” As I spoke these words, he looked at me with tears in his eyes and then he said, “Thank you, thank you very much
From Life of The Beloved: Spiritual Living in a Secular World


A blessing is so much more than a hug. A blessing is when you know your heart was heard and in that safe place you heard their heart beat. It isn’t about the words, but it is all about the heart that speaks to you.

Abba, as Your Beloved Daughter I come to be enfolded in Your arms and receive blessing, to hear your heart beat and absorb Your love, have Your Spirit breathed on me, into me even more fully. Fill me with You so it will flow out of my heart and I can be Your arms to bless, affirm and hold another in the Light. Amen.

Accepting Scraps

She was desperate, pleading, begging. She was ignored, told she was driving people crazy. She came back to the one who had ignored her in the first place, went down on her hands and knees, totally humiliating herself, begging. When she was again mocked, she replied that beggar dogs get scraps from the table. She was willing to accept anything – even the scraps.
He gave in and said “what you want is what you get”.
Matthew 15:21-31 The Message.

This is a very confusing story, and most unlike the One who usually gave dignity and worth to the women who came to Him. Here He almost mocked and belittled her. Why? What is this all about?

She was desperate and would do anything to get her hearts desire – for her daughter to be well. Could it be that Jesus strange behaviour was in fact a mirror to allow those around Him to see what they were doing? Could it be He was showing us what we do to others that we don’t want around us? Yet when she totally humiliated herself and begged for scraps, Jesus gave in saying “Oh women, your faith is something else” and He gave her her hearts desire – her daughter was made well.

This woman had a strength and tenacity that I want. She was willing to be totally humiliated and seen as crazy but she knew the one place, the One person who could change her world. That is where she went and where she stayed until He did change her world.

All too often it has been my lack of self worth that has had me in a place where I have accepted scraps. They didn’t make me whole, didn’t nurture or heal my soul. I went begging for them in places that were not safe, seeking friendship, seeking wholeness and seeking to heal the wounds deep inside. In the silence, in sacred space He is tenderly revealing the truth and in grace and love showing my heart that scraps were never His intention for me. They were never God’s intention for anyone. In the place of humiliation and vulnerability with Abba, He is walking with me to learn to trust His choices.

I still don’t understand why Jesus treated this woman this way and why He relented when she begged for scraps. He doesn’t want any of us to accept scraps, or to beg for leftovers to get what we need in our lives, to get our hearts desire. All I know is that spending time with my Abba, staying there as He changes my world, is the only place I can be right now to be safe and know it isn’t scraps He is sharing it is the best of His world.

How exquisite your love, O God!
How eager we are to run under your wings,
To eat our fill at the banquet you spread
As you fill our tankards with Eden spring water.
You’re a fountain of cascading light,
And you open our eyes to light.
Psalm 36: 7-9

Keep company with God, get in on the best.
Open up before God, keep nothing back;
He’ll do whatever needs to be done:
He’ll validate your life in the clear light of day
And stamp you with approval at high noon.
Psalm 37:4-6

Barefoot Freedom

As I continue this journey into knowing truth, the kind that has freedom written all over it, I am constantly surprised at the way the messages are delivered to my heart!

Yesterday as I celebrated my birthday the whisper of freedom was everywhere I looked. A double rainbow in full technicolour was painted in the foreground with majestic mountain peaks in the background. Wild and free, calling me more deeply into being alive in it.

Birthday hugs that came with unconditional love and amazing grace and patience that spoke to me of the hearts that have laboured with me through the birthing pains into freedom.

Sitting with two friends at Intime (In-tee-may), I heard more stories of women who have somehow bought into the illusion that they must keep their heart in bondage. They have not yet heard, or somehow have become deaf to the call of freedom that their heart and souls were designed to live in.

Does freedom come overnight, like a prisoner being released from the prison they have sat in? The technicality of freedom maybe have come but life, in truth, and in freedom, is a step by step process, that many of us are learning to walk in.

Walking in freedom. The more I go deep sea diving into the truth of freedom, freedom in my femininity, freedom for my heart and soul, the more I see myself barefoot. This picture of barefoot freedom continues to be developed. It is not an instant Polaroid photo, but rather the slowly developing picture puzzle of it. It is starting from my soul upwards. Right now I am standing in the water of life, the sea of life. The waves lap up over my bare feet. It isn’t always nice soft sun-warmed sand I feel – sometimes it is the uneven rocks in these waters and I am learning to get my balance as my feet get used to the discomfort of the rocks. The thing about barefoot freedom is the letting go of the old ways of dulling or blocking the pain. There is nothing between my soul and the reality of life with the good, bad and the ugly. This truth freedom is about trusting my Divine Maestro enough to know that standing, here, now, I can really FEEL life as it ebbs and flows around me as I walk fully immersed in it.

Women of Africa walk barefoot, clothed in glorious colours, graciously, fluidly swaying as they walk, the soul of their foot in touch with the rawness of the earth and life. Women of India dance barefoot, graciously, fluidly, with every movement of their body being in tune with the vibrations of the inner melody that they sway to. Their feet in particular move with precision and purpose and with intricate beauty. They too are clothed in gloriously rich vibrant natural fabric garments that display their femininity in a mysterious way. Their feet are sure and strong as they are placed upon the ground, whether it is the daily business of life or the dance of life. Indeed, they are intricately intertwined. I have not yet fully defined it but I know that there is an unrestricted quality to walking barefoot in life that I want to learn from these women.

I have just come back from “my bit of beach” where I have watched the sun go down. My two companions and I sipped hot tea as we sat wrapped in our warm blankets on this cold November evening. The cold air and the muted voice of the sea were delightfully invigorating and soothing at the same time. The simplicity and reality of this very moment was another glimpse of barefoot freedom that allowed my soul to contentedly sway to the serenade of the sea breathing upon the shore.

There is more I want to learn about barefoot freedom and I am sure my Divine Maestro is ready to continue developing the picture.

Noise Pollution

You know those times when you are walking down the street and you are assailed by such a cacophony of sound that you cannot differentiate between them?

When I was studying at the Pacific Institute of Culinary Arts I lived in downtown Vancouver, close to Granville Island. It is a beautiful spot but it is located under the Granville Street Bridge where traffic never ceases. I remember heading home on one particular evening where the traffic noise was horrendous and seemed drown out every other sound of beauty. But as I walked along I became aware of the music of thousands of birds that were resting under the bridge. While they rested they sang and that song rose above the noise pollution of the traffic. Sweet indeed.

I have been reading the passage in Matthew 15 on What Pollutes Your Life, and not being able to figure it out. Then yesterday I read a piece in Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen. He writes, You will discover a cry welling up from the depths of the human heart that has remained unheard because there was no one to listen. Parker Palmer wrote It often takes years for our hearts to speak, and when they do we often cannot hear them, having been deafened by the system… He was also quoting the Woodcarver poem when he wrote, At every possible level…(he would) forget the externals so that he could remember his inner truth.

Jesus said“These people make a big show of saying the right thing, but their heart isn’t in it. They act like they’re worshipping me, but they don’t mean it. They just use me as a cover for teaching whatever suits their fancy.”

Noise pollution. It’s the rhetoric and the show that doesn’t say much at all – it just becomes noise pollution. All the noise that is the traffic of life in the heart drowns out the true voice of our heart. How many of us have lived silently screaming on the inside but unable to voice any of it? How many of us have yearned for the heart to speak and be heard but no one seems to be listening?

This morning my usual early morning waking hour was pushed forward – I feel it arrived prematurely but there is a restlessness inside me. I am seeking stillness yet it isn’t coming; or rather I am not sitting in it. My heart is restless; it seeks a place to speak its truth yet it is pacing around. I wrestled about writing these thoughts until I was still but perhaps I can put them out because I realize I am wrestling with noise pollution. I am wrestling with the traffic of my own thoughts. What I need is those wide-open spaces of sacred space where there are unlimited horizons, where no emotion is off limits and no noise pollution can get in the way of their raw honesty. It is a lovely wide-open field – sacred space that is free from noise pollution. And as the Palmer says it is a place to re-member: reunite that hidden wholeness that is so easily torn apart within.

Facing Challenges

This weekend was a surprise 70th birthday party for my father and all his children arrived to spend a couple of days with him. It was a two-ferry ride journey for me which allowed plenty of time to people watch and to read. Last night, on the return journey, I enjoyed ingesting more of Parker Palmer’s wisdom from his book The Active Life.

There is a great poem called The Woodcarver from The Way of Chuang Tzu. I won’t quote that here but suffice it to say it is a piece that requires many many readings in order to begin to digest the truth of it. But here are a few quotes that I will share with you, and they deal with conquering fear that holds us back.

The story of the woodcarver is instructive, not because he is fearless (which would make him very unlike most of us), but because he did not let his fears paralyze him. Instead, he walked into and through those fears that he could not get out of, and found freedom to act on the other side.
The process by which the woodcarver found his freedom is…a process of contemplation by which we penetrate the illusion of enslavement and claim our own inner liberty.
Chuang Tzu …opens up the metaphorical meaning of fasting by paralleling it with forgetting. The real fasting is his active refusal to ingest, to internalize, the poisoned bates that can kill the spirit of right action.
At every possible level the woodcarver worked to forget the externals so that he could remember his inner truth.
The word remember literally means to re-member, to reunite the hidden wholeness in us and in our world that is so easily torn apart by powers within and around us. The woodcarver refuses to allow himself and his action to be dismembered by the forces of fragmentation.

I have read it over several times and go back again. There are so truths here that I know are important to me here and now.

Life Giving Words

Over the last week I have entered into many conversations and words were an essential part of those communications. I am listening to a cello sonata by Brahms and the deep haunting sounds emitted speak of life. A beautiful saffron gold cord that has been woven into this day has been that of life giving words. Words that made the heart leap, the vision more focused and the companionship of the Divine more tangible.

Many life giving words have been spoken to the women I was surround by in the last week. I cannot communicate to you the words they received as that is their story to tell. Their words spoke life to me.

Much of my life I have struggled with the Mary and Martha issue. Mary was the good one, Martha the inappropriate one. Mary was the one held up for honor while Martha was excused as having no depth or substance because she was not serene and Christ-like. Mary was allowed to sit and Martha was banished to the kitchen so she wouldn’t speak out of turn. I have been Martha all my life; getting the work in the kitchen but not the fun of the party in the other room. I have wrestled with it for years because the kitchen became a place of isolation from the big things that happened with the others sitting down. Over the last while the wrestling has changed to acceptance as I feel the companionship of the Divine in my art studio – the kitchen. This last weekend I had a wonderful time with our kitchen team creating, preparing, and then seeing the passion of my heart come through and be diffused into the room as they shared, laughed, cried and let life be gloriously evident. I never thought about the Martha thing at all until the most glorious life giving words were held out to me. This is your worship, your creations are your worship they said. As I stood, letting these words sink in, their truth caused a paradigm shift within. It was not Martha at work in the kitchen, but rather it was Mary. For me there is a reverence about food - art that reaches deep within me to create, share and let each detail speak to the recipient as I honor God’s gift to me. It is my worship I place at Jesus feet and accept these life-giving words.

Today I walked “my bit of beach” with a precious friend who spoke honest truthful words. She can read my heart so well and she spoke words that honored difficult choices with the generous love her heart is so full of. They were life-giving words.

I stopped at Intime to inquire about a lost article that may have been there since last week. This name is pronounced In-Tee-May, which means Intimate. This is my favorite place to go and as I sat there and enjoyed the sunshine and food made with loving care, the pages of my journal were being filled up. In a time of sharing with the owners they told me of how they desire the sacredness of sitting down to eat to be felt by those who linger in their intimate café. Oh my heart danced at this common thread between us. When I shared with her that this was her worship to the Creator the tears came trickling out and she said, Yes, yes you get it. We together shared life-giving words.

When Jesus saw His disciples grumbling about life He said to them The words I have spoken to you are spirit, they are life.

Holy Spirit I open my heart to words of life. As they are written all over the walls of my heart and the thought passages of my brain may they soak in deep. Let me see them how ever and through who ever You choose to speak them. Continue to teach me how my femininity and life giving words go together. Continue to show me how to worship in ways that are carried to me on the wind of Your Spirit. Let me be a carrier of words that breathe life to others.

Stepping Into The Healing Path

On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" When he saw them, he said to them, "Go and show yourselves to the priests." And as they went, they were made clean. Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus asked, "Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner? "Then he said to him, "Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.
Luke 17:11-19


I read through this today in Sacred Space and lingered on it, asking for the Spirit to soothe me with it as it worked through me. What did it mean? What did it say to me?

So many of those I partner with in work, in friendship, in community are about healing, finding the redemptive pieces, being made whole and stepping into that healing life and taking the best pathway.

What is the difference in being made clean and faith that makes you well? Jesus offered healing to them all but only one came back to connect with Him. Only one of them seems to have wanted to find the true freedom that comes with meeting the Healer. What was the soul difference in the healing of the one who Jesus talked with? Was it about getting up, moving on and then finding a power that redeemed him in all layers of his life? Perhaps it is about embracing, really taking ownership for the journey, and by that kind of faith we then can dance instead of limping. I think that this is one who became a storyteller. This is the one who stepped into the healing river of life and found true freedom, telling his story, not as a victim, but as one who met Jesus and could believe there was a redemptive thread to life. Hmmm, one more person that became a storyteller. One more person that could step out of the prison of where they had been and dance in freedom of who they were.

The Lord says, I will guide you along the best pathway for you life. I will advise you and watch over you. Psalm 32:8

God made my life complete when I placed all the pieces before him. When I got my act together, he gave me a fresh start.
God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes.
Psalm 18: 20, 24

In my own journey Jesus has said Get up and go on your way, your faith has made you well. As I go along seeking the best pathway He continues to peel back the layers of stuff so that I am not just clean, but that I am well – dancing on the best pathway.

Distilling

All sorts of thoughts and ideas were crowding through the brain pathways in the rush to become spoken words and shared thoughts. I was eager to tell, to speak, to vocalize the thoughts and find connecting points with this other person.

She smiled as I spoke, and said, Let it soothe you.

The words reached into my consciousness but I rambled on with the flow of thoughts, rather like a torrential stream after a deluge of rain.

She took my hands in hers and said, Let it soothe you.

Still I rambled on and then she took my face in her strong hands, moved closer into my space, looked deeply into my eyes and strongly, passionately said, Let it soothe you.

I opened my mouth to speak and she raised her eyebrows, still held my face in her hands and repeated, Let it soothe you.

Stopping mid-stride in a race causes one to loose balance, to tilt forward and then backward. I stopped, tilted and absorbed the words. I have been pondering “let it soothe you” for days, standing still to understand what this means.

It’s all about distillation. Irish Whiskey (as I’m Irish I am partial to this particular beverage on occasion) is distilled three times and during this process it breaths attaining the desired aroma, flavouring and colour. If some were to be skimmed off too early the richness would be sacrificed and lost.

Too soon – too soon the words are spoken. Before they have had time to take the desired process from my head to my heard where not only will they make deeper connections within but they will have time breath, to take on the aroma, flavour and colour that is required. As I own them, am patient with them, they will soothe my anxious heart; they will draw me to the place of being still and knowing God. In the distilling the intellect and the heart are fully connected and open to the learning of the truth the ideas hold.

Too often our own neediness causes us to rush forward. My neediness has me quickly voice my thoughts because for so long my voice was invalidated. My voice is not to be used simply to let rambling thoughts enter into the atmosphere but in my anxiety they have. They may be truths being discovered but for them to be owned they must stay in the complete distilling process and thereby soothe me. Truth may disturb but it is also to soothe. Water may soothe the thirst by entering the mouth and then moving deeper into the body. Truth will calm, it will ease the pain, and it will settle within – it will distill in the depths of the soul its own Light.

I sit quietly tonight waiting to understand and to let myself be soothed with the stillness.

Tears and Sacred Space

Sacred space and tears:
They do not have to be justified
They do not need to be explained
There is no need to hold them back
They have their own kind of perfume to the soul
They come from our soul, our wounds and yet they are part of our worship as they fall over Jesus feet
Jesus doesn’t judge them
Jesus never counts the number of times they have been shed over the same issue
Tears come out of my brokenness, my open heart in the sacred space where I find His presence, His light, His breath, His grace, His love
They may be unexplained, unknown, but there is no fear in them as I release them in sacred space
Tears are a part of the freedom of a naked heart
Are tears where the intellect and the heart can speak together to the Divine?

I don’t understand why I feel such a sense of freedom in the experiencing of this truth – that sacred space is a safe place for tears. I just know this understanding breaths freedom for me.

The Valley of Baca was a place of weeping, a place of copious tears. The people who walked through it had set their heart on pilgrimage. A pilgrimage is where one travels to a sacred place. Does this earthly pilgrimage to a sacred place also hold the truth that the journey towards it is indeed sacred space? “Blessed are those …who have set their hearts on pilgrimage”. The Valley of Tears is heart-mapping territory that holds discovery, surprises, and rugged terrain. It also is God traveled – we are not alone. This is why tears as so safe in sacred space – we are not alone when they fall, and every one is noticed and holds significance. They are created by, captured and stored by my Divine Guide – my Maestro of Life. Perhaps as He retrieves them in sacred space He will allow them to be used as He continues to teach me how to use their colours on the soul painting of my life – water colour paintings.

And how blessed all those in whom you live,
whose lives become roads you travel;
They wind through lonesome valleys, come upon brooks,
Discover cool springs and pools brimming with rain!
God-traveled, these roads curve up the mountain, and
At the last turn – Zion! God in full view!
Psalm 84:5-7 The Message

Lies to the Soul

People who love listening to lies – that is what I was reading this morning in Ezekiel 13. This is a strong, blasting message about, and to, people who love to listen to lies. It hit me right between the eyes – last week I listened to the lies and felt anger, bitterness, pity, hopelessness. I wallowed in them.

They say ‘God says…when God hasn’t so much as breathed in their direction’. I say everything is fine when inside the hurt burns and I believe the lies from the Liar to my soul. I slap on white wash and make it look like a good coating when it is only covering lies that become destroying mould to the soul.

This morning as I sit quietly by the fire, listening to the rain and seeking sacred space, I seek truth about those destroying feelings of anger, bitterness, pity and hopelessness. I see them for what they are – feelings connected to the lies that I listened to over the last few days. Vicious lies to my soul that I listened to and hugged close - yet again. They were not God breathed at all. He says I’ll let the hurricane of my wrath loose…You’ll realize I am God.

I want the gentle rain of love, not a hurricane of wrath. I want the truth of peace, not the lies of restlessness and bitterness. I ask Jesus to romance my soul into His love more deeply. Jesus tells me I’ve moved heaven and earth, shaken its foundation at Calvary to make you Mine. I’ve called you by name to make you Mine. I’ve written your name on the palm of my hands to show you you are Mine. Today I need to remind you that my wrath is on the teller of the lies that make you doubt these truths. You are Mine and nothing, nor anyone, “absolutely nothing can get between us”.

The Liar tries to re-open old wounds. The truth from the Lover of my soul is the healing ointment to them. I thank God for the friends, who love me, that spoke truth into the lies and held up the mirror of His heart for me to see the truth. I step into the day with expectation of romance from my Beloved who says you are Mine”.

Discovering Delight

Wonder, amazement, the beauty of this one moment, this very moment you are in.
Thinking of that, inhaling it and savouring it, I thought this quote said it perfectly:

Every experience of genuine pleasure is fully tasted, not with the connoisseur's boredom born of sampling a dozen wines to know what's best, but instead with the delight that makes this glass the most enjoyable".
Emilie Griffin, Clinging: The Experience of Prayer

Tell Me A Story

Something I adore – being read to. I close my eyes and listen and am carried away by what I hear.

Story time at the library was an event very important to my sister-in-law. Her kids loved it, they are still addicted to books, and she had quiet time across the room on her own. They sat cross-legged on the floor, elbows on their knees and chin in their hands, eyes wide open, enthralled by what was unfolding word by word, page by page. Sinking into their minds were events, truths, facts, and details that will affect their thinking and in effect their lives. They love real life stories at bedtime with their Dad.

What is so important about our own story? In telling my story I find my voice, I begin to see more clearly what the story has been about and it makes my heart more open. Like a tapestry, the telling of story unfolds the tapestry to reveal the beauty of it. It isn’t the perfection of the tapestry, it is the story that is revealed by the telling or unfolding, with the good, bad and the ugly. The story involves the whole person. These are truth stories.

I have been reading Matthew 13 over in this last week. The disciples asked Jesus why He was telling stories. He explains that it gives insight, Kingdom insight. It has to do with readiness in the heart, and understanding that can flow freely because the heart is ready. Jesus says That’s why I tell stories: to create readiness, to nudge the people toward receptive insight. Then Jesus tells the harvest story, and another story, and another, and another. All Jesus did that day was tell stories – a long storytelling afternoon. His storytelling fulfilled the prophecy: I will open my mouth and tell stories; I will bring out into the open things hidden since the world’s first day.

The sharing of your story, and mine, brings things out into the open and, like cleaning out a wound, it is a cleansing that fosters healing. Our stories are Kingdom stories about battles and victories, pain and healing, planting and harvesting, finding thistles in the wheat, of learning, of conquering, of surrendering and letting go, of falling back then standing up and moving forward. Your story gives courage to others, to me. I love the beauty of Eugene Peterson’s words – creating readiness and nudging us toward receptive insight.

Recently I have observed people sit down and share their stories, and seen the power of God at work. I have felt the power and seen the freedom gained. Many stories are shared in the blog world and I see readiness created and people being given insight and understanding flowing freely. That is just what Jesus wants. Somewhere in today is story time.

Invitation to Tea

The Tea Party 

We were rushing to get to the ferry on time, and still be able to stop by and visit a friend on the way. There was only 30 minutes available so it would be a quick exchange of hellos and then be on our way. Pulling into the driveway I left the car parked at an odd angle not worrying about it because we would soon be heading out. Rush, rush, rush, busy, busy, not really listening with my heart, instead I was concentrating on the time factor. Ringing the doorbell I could hear the children dashing down the stairs to come and greet us. We stepped inside and headed up the stairs…

The children’s table was set with teacups and saucers, fresh scones had been baked, the tea was brewing and orange juice was ready. We had come to chit chat and instead sank into the wonder of stopping, stepping aside, sitting together on the floor ,3 adults and 5 children, and having a tea party. It wasn’t that the time was extended but it invited me to be fully present and savour every one of those 30 minutes. When friends come to visit you must have a tea party my friend said. Tea parties mean wearing a hat, feather boas and knowing that this is reality, not pretend! I had stepped out of my put together world and invited out the bohemian who lives inside to enjoy the serendipity that only God can present. Sitting on the floor, at the same level as the children in their yellow, and pink plastic chairs we all giggled in between drinking our “tea”. Oh I loved the beauty of feeling so free, letting the child within dance, be amazed at the wide-eyed wonder in each one, to forget the rush and be fully present. I didn’t know I had been invited to this party until I arrived. I am always amazed at the knowledge these children of tender years have accumulated inside, at the delight I feel when they reach out to touch and in turn let me embrace them. Freedom from expectations is gone, freedom to be alive, with abandon. No wonder we are reminded by Jesus to be like little children – there is a freedom we need to be reminded of.

Two quotes come to mind as I see this picture again. Words that tug and pull at the longing to be so alive, to inhale everything I can about living with abandon and then to really live that way.

The tragedy of life is not the fact of death, but in what dies inside while we live
Norman Cousins

Isn’t it better to feel young somewhere than to feel old everywhere
Mrs. Fischer in Enchanted April

Living from the center of a heart that’s free the song -This is The Life

Oh yes I had been wasting time with my sister-in-law and little niece for a week and our tea party let me linger just a little longer at wasting time with people I love!

Parker Palmer on Solitude

This quote from The Active Life, by Parker Palmer, gives such strength, power and confidence to solitude.

Solitude is not simply physical isolation. It is easy to be alone and yet continue to be in the crowd, to be governed by collective values; and it is possible to be physically in the midst of a crowd and yet be in solitude. To be in solitude means to be in possession of my heart, my identity, my integrity. It means to refuse to let my life and my meanings be dictated by other people or by an impersonal culture. To be in solitude is to claim my birthright of aliveness on its own terms, terms that respect the life around me but do not demean my own. The solitary is someone who, to paraphrase Merton, is able to give her heart away because it is her possession to give - a possession not possible when we are caught in the silent conspiracy of collective illusions.

The Refining

Our lives are in his hands, and he keeps our feet from stumbling.
You have tested us, O God; you have purified us like silver melted in a crucible.
Psalm 66: 9,10

There are days when my Divine Maestro brings this student into His silversmith studio. Each workroom is a place of learning, and every step of learning also requires some “unlearning”. The hands are firm and steady in the white-hot heat of the flame as the refining of the soul silver takes place. The flames hit the tender, still healing wounds in the heart and soul, which feel pain more than the hardened calloused areas. All of me must face the cleaning, refining, purifying process to become strong in the beauty and value that this soul silver is to reflect. He breathes upon the work to impart the necessary alloy for strength – God’s Spirit, the breath of soul life. Silver is valued for its malleability and resistance to corrosive effects of the elements. My soul silver needs to be more malleable through His infused grace and able to resist the corrosive effects the Liar unceasingly seems to send my way.

When the pain of this refining process seem unbearable, and I want to rail against my Maestro, He reminds me that when He holds me in the flames it is His hands that take the fire first. His hands cover the tender wounded soul in the knowing that the silver is there as much as where the calluses have formed.

Melting, surrendered, humbled, trusting my Maestro, I breath in for strength, breath out to let go a little bit more and become more tractable. His hands are the heat-resisting crucible in this refining process and they are the hands that continue to fill the chalice of my soul with extra – ordinary life!

Remove impurities from the silver and the silversmith can craft a fine chalice
Proverbs 25:4

The Bird Cage

There is a birdcage that attracts attention in my living room. People will often ask if I plan to put a bird in it.

No I do not.

Why does a birdcage hang there if it isn’t going to ever hold a bird?

It is a fairly large wooden cage, not elaborate, but that is the point of it. Inside it is an envelope that has remained unopened for 4 years. Will it ever be opened again? I don’t really know.

Coming out of a dark period of my life a counselor said to me that to make an altar marking points on the journey is important. I pondered that for a while wondering what symbol would reflect the darkness, the bondage, the hopelessness, the dying of the inner music and then the slow gentle reviving. Sparrows had played a life giving role in singing me back to life, literally. This birdcage became the altar, or marking of a change. The door of the cage is never closed. Birds were meant to fly, to sing, to be free, to feel the wind and move into it. They were never created to be caged and kept away as ornamental. Neither are you or I. We are designed to feel the wind of life, to push through in, and wrestle in the adventure of it. We are designed to know the whisper of The Spirit of God and to step into that wind and go where it takes us.

The letter in the cage is life giving Words from my Abba.

When I moved a couple of years ago from the prairies to the coast, the birdcage was once again hung in the corner. Curled up in my “prayer chair” one morning I looked at the birdcage and spoke to Abba about parts of the journey it represented. He whispered that the birdcage was to have an additional meaning. Writing about it I understand that the expanded symbolism of my altar of marking the journey was the redemptive part of it. It had symbolized the bondage, the voicelessness and the insignificance that my soul had felt for a long time. Now that place of emptiness was to symbolize a place of refuge. Abba explained that this cage also represented His heart, and His arms. The door was always open and I could run to it, into the safety of it at any time. It was not a prison, it was to represent the safe place He offers me, the refuge. I choose to go there when I need the safety of His arms, but I am free to fly whenever I wish, to sing any song written inside and let the wind of His Spirit be the arms that lead me into life's dance.

Somehow, with infinite tenderness, an exchange took place. The darkness was exchanged for the healing Light of God’s presence. It was an exchange of an internal dying for the dance of Life. It represents my mik-dawsh (Hebrew for consecrated place or thing).

Thank you Bobbie for your birdcage today, that reminded me of my own, for the reminder of sanctuary. And Elizabeth, thank you for your reminder of sacred space. Daily time in our own mik-dawsh has me saying again to Abba - “draw me into the intimacy with You. Into-me-see Abba so I can love you more oh Lover of my soul”.

Epicurean Odyssey #2 - Brokenness

This morning at work I was preparing brunch for a group of 12 women. While I worked they were sharing of their stories, shedding tears, sharing their brokenness and in it finding healing from Jesus. Part way through the morning they shared communion together. The words “This is My body broken for you” were whispered to me in the kitchen. Perhaps the group of women in another room heard them too.

There was an immediate connection in my thoughts between the broken body of Jesus, offered for our freedom, and food addictions. Let me explain my thoughts so this doesn’t sound totally absurd. Part of this connection started with the article Bobbie wrote in remembrance of Me here.

Jesus took a loaf of bread and asked God’s blessing on it. Then he broke it in pieces and gave it to the disciples, saying, “Take it and eat it, for this is my body."
· Jesus body was “broken” in death, to give us life
· Through Jesus brokenness comes our wholeness
· Jesus broken body is symbolized in the bread in communion, and when we accept His brokenness for us, beginning a relationship with Jesus is the beginning of our journey to healing, wholeness and freedom.
· Our accepting of His brokenness is where we begin to fill the empty spaces in our lives.

In our brokenness we have internal empty spaces that long to be filled. Unable to find a safe place to share our brokenness, to be real about it, we pretend to be whole only enlarging the dark cavern of the soul. In this pretending the internal fragmentation continues and often the medication of choice is food. There are many ways to try and assuage this hunger and thirst of the soul; some of them considered socially unacceptable while others such a food are acceptable. In the Church food is very acceptable! Using destructive things to fill our hunger, satiate our thirst leaves a deeper hunger that continues to disguise our true brokenness. It is like “natural flavoring” in food. (Food was given to us for nutrition, for healing and for enjoyment. Food can also be destructive. Again I go to the authentic and unreal areas of food. Monosodium glutamate has no nutritional value whatsoever and it has highly addictive ingredients in it, being described as the nicotine of food and addictive. The label natural flavouring is in fact an MSG product. The Sapore Masquerade is another subject that Epicurean Odyssey will address in future.)

In the Beatitudes it says “God blesses those who are hungry and thirsty for justice, for they will receive it in full” Matt 5:6 NLT. What do we receive in full? For one thing I believe He gives us His presence in the empty spaces, removing the dark and replacing it with light. His presence that tells us He knows every injustice we have suffered. Hunger and thirst, like pain, make us vulnerable, and leave us broken. The soul longs for love, significance, meaning of life and the ability to participate deeply and passionately in it. Jesus offers life, abundant life to us but if I can’t see Him, touch Him, feel Him – is He tangible.
Food involves all the senses and so does Jesus offer of abundant life. When God seems to be intangible to fill the spaces, we reach for something tangible. Very often that is food, the easy to reach food that has little or no health value to it. In my own personal journey as I am becoming broken and vulnerable with God I am beginning to experience love, His love, with all my senses. This is what I am learning right now, where I am in my journey – experiencing God – as Abba, as my Beloved, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, with all my senses! It is an amazing adventure of discovery.
Jesus body, symbolized in the broken bread of communion, offers us freedom. It releases us to experience food as good, healthy, tasty, artistic, beautiful, and something to be experienced in community with others. His brokenness invites us to acknowledge our own brokenness. In the acknowledging and humility Jesus comes with His offer of freedom, of living water, and bread of life for our internal vacant spaces. In that place of openness and vulnerability comes the freedom to walk with an honest open heart. This is the love that sets us free.

Jesus today I open myself to You, allow You even more access to the empty places inside of me. Let me hunger and thirst for what is life, not masking anything, but being open and honest with You. Prepare safe places for us to come with our brokenness, letting go of any façade. Bring humbleness and brokenness in Your Church so we accept Your brokenness as the food of life, and as our example to live by. Create safe places in Your Church so this Body on earth becomes that safe place and sanctuary and house of healing You have called it to be. Thank You Jesus for the reminder today of LIFE. Amen.

these caught my eye

We write to taste our life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.
Anais Nin


Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.
Cyril Connolly

The Concert

Every four years an International Piano Competition is held in Calgary. Hopeful pianist arrive from around the world, and, like Olympic athletes, their mind, body and spirits are intensely focused on winning the $50,000 cash prize as well as the chance to tour and play with the top Maestros in their concert hall.

We made our way through the “glitter” in the foyer and quietly found our seats. It was as if this concert hall was sacred space and we dare not disturb it by speaking. Each of us had a deep love of Classical Music. Our little trio found the front, right, third row seats and settled in. Tonight was the final evening of the competition and the two pianists were an Italian playing Chopin’s Piano Concerto #2 (one of my favorite concertos) and a Russian playing the emotionally and physically challenging “Rach Three”, his countryman Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto #3.

One by one the orchestra arrived. I watched the lead oboe player arrive at his seat – he was a business contact of mine when I was in the financial services industry. The violin section began to fill up, the woodwinds, the brass, the percussion and the balance of the string section; base and cellos. Gleaming shoes, pressed tuxedos, white shirts, black skirts, instruments that had been polished – each was settling into place. He came in from the right, cello on hand, and found his seat right in my line of vision. Stocky with gray hair that looked as if his fingers had recently been run through it in nervousness, his tuxedo was getting threadbare and his spreading girth meant the jacket no longer met across his middle. His facial expression was one of great intensity. Scuffed shoes, with soft soles, had seen better days but looked far too comfortable to discard. His cello no longer had a highly polished surface but rather had nicks and scratches that made one think it had been on a long voyage and was wishing this would be the last mile. His hands were rough, yet strong and sinewy and made me wonder if he was Eastern European. Hard work, hard times, cold winters and a generally harsh life was what crossed my mind. A life of want, not of plenty, a life of rules and regulations, not freedom. As separate entities, the cello and the man seemed to suffer from life’s voyage, but looking at the instrument held in his left hand it was patently clear that this gentle grip was one of love. His left hand gently held the neck of the scarred and battered instrument, like the gentle but intimate touch of a love that has weathered the storms and runs deep.

The tuning of the instruments created a cacophony of sound until…the Concert Master strode across the stage and the room fell silent. It was time for the dueling pianists to begin. First the Italian and then the Russian.

Every piano note of the Maestoso, Larghetto and Allegro vivace filled the senses, but the cellist had my unwavering attention, my gaze steadfastly upon this duo. Chopin’s masterpiece surrounded me with its energy as the majestic melody, the blend of every instrument complimented the notes that were emitted. I was lost, lost in the scene played out before me. The majesty of the music and the scene of a musician and his instrument intimately entwined. The cellist caressed his instrument, held so close to his chest, and their passion together exuded their love of music. The body of wood and the body of human flesh were works of art. Their music blended with the entire orchestra yet it was this lone musician who played with such abandon that drew me into these Concertos. I felt the music deep within. The angst and madness of Rachmaninoff echoed from the gleaming black Bossendorfer concert grand piano cavity. The agony of Mother Russia in conflict, starvation, and madness, yearning for freedom thundered through the hall. Yet liberation was theirs – freedom found in the release of the music of the soul, written by another, created by yet another Maestro, about a freedom that no hardship can suffocate. Music that allows the soul to soar above its imprisonment.

When the last note echoed through the hall I finally closed my eyes savouring this incredible feast of the senses. The cheering for the Russian winner roared on and on. My cheering was for one disheveled cellist that drew me into his world for one short but glorious evening.

Scarred and battered, this cello was passionately loved and tenderly caressed to bring the rich soul strains from the body of one cello at the hands of one musician.

Scarred and battered humanity, you and I, are tenderly caressed and passionately loved by the Master Musician. The Divine Maestro takes us in His hands, touches the marks left by the journey in life. He sees only the potential for great and glorious music in a score already written. He knows that true music is soul deep and it calls for every string of the heart and mind to be played upon with firm and loving hands. Leaning into His hands the scars have no bearing on the sweetness and passion of the music we are capable of being, nor can they hinder the range of notes that are written for our own unique concerto. He refuses to abandon us as His instruments. He cannot, He will not, because we are necessary for the Maestro’s concert of a lifetime – the concert of the ages. The concert to last for more than a lifetime.

Music in the Heart

Open the eyes of my heart Lord, I want to see You

How is my heart opened? How do I see Him?

Standing in worship, asking the questions, and receiving this picture:

Let Me hold your heart in my hands. I will spread it open, unfold it, seeing all that is within. Then I will wrap it together, holding it close. I will breathe into every valve of your heart. It will become like My panpipe where I will breathe into you, My own breath, My own tune. Let me put the music in your heart, with every note in My heart and Your heart will then know the notes to sing. This will be your heart of worship for Me. This is your open heart, with eyes to see Me.

Lord God Almighty, play the panpipes of our hearts today, so this world can hear the music from You. Let us know Your breath deep inside as we inhale You and exhale the music of life.

Tender Care

Matthew 6:26 
Look at the birds...and you are far more valuable to him than they are.

Reading about prayer and praying are as different as reading a romance novel and kissing.
Nicole Johnson

from When the Heart Waits

Sue Monk Kidd writes:
I'm discovering that a spiritual journey is a lot like a poem. You don't merely recite a poem or analyze it intellectually. You dance it, sing it, cry it, feel it on your skin and in your bones. You move with it and feel its caress. It falls on you like a teardrop or wraps around you like a smile. It lives in the heart and the body as well as the spirit and the head.

I Still Keep Moving

I sit with my hands holding a cup of coffee to keep them warm. I am not really cold, yet inside I feel cold and the unceasing rain outside seems to seep into my soul and make me shiver. Fernando Ortega sings a ballad but something inside me refuses to be soothed. There is anguish and a wrestling that persists. There is a joy and overflowing that runs through it. The two are inextricably joined but there are times when I wish I could hold them apart, like the pulling apart of a curtain, and see beyond them, into a place where I can understand and have answers to all my questions. It is like playing hide and seek with God with this being a moment I want Him to sit with me in the place of being found.

This week has been roller coaster for my heart. I never know when the twists and turns will come, but they do and throw me completely off kilter. I still keep moving towards Him.

A woman who was a strong steady influence in my life has died at age 94. I have not seen her for 3 years since I moved to the West Coast. Going to her funeral would be a way to honor my relationship with her and yet I think that writing a letter to her family would allow me honor what she was to me. Going to her funeral would mean putting myself into a circle that will refuse to eat with me, shake hands with me or hug me because I have chosen to leave it. I weep for the stupidity of religiosity that cannot reflect the love and character of Christ who calls us to be Christians – like Him. I weep for the hypocrisy that I see in the church. I sometimes wonder how I can still want to go to church. Then I remember women like this 94 years old who walked through pain and agony and still could celebrate life. She showed me His heart many times. I still keep moving towards Him.

I read a blog where someone was celebrating their years of waiting for children and then finally it happened and she became a mother. All she ever wanted was to be a wife and mother and … after waiting it happened. She got all she dreamed of.
It’s nice and I should be joyful for her, and I am. But inside I weep a little more. I have dreams too, dreams that I have waited a long long time for, am still waiting for and they are dreams that have not a thread of hope anywhere in the canvas of my life – at least that I can see. A piece of that dream turned out to be an illusion, but for a moment I held it and it felt exquisite. Then someone, who knows me well, tells me that it wasn’t anything at all. My feelings are invalid? My dreams are invalid? So what makes yours something and mine nothing? What do we do to each other in these moments? How do I honor you and you honor me in the moments of joy and the moments of sorrow? My dreams are like grains of sand that forever slip through my fingers. I held them for a moment and felt them brush across my life, but they are gone now. When I hold this pain I wonder why I dare to dream. Yet I still do. I still keep moving towards Him.

I read Freedom on Sacred Space today ponder the bitter sweetness of the words.
Everything has the potential to draw forth from me a fuller love and life. Yet my desires are often fixed, caught, on illusions of fulfillment. I ask that God, through my freedom, may orchestrate my desires in a vibrant loving melody rich in harmony.

Parker Palmer talks about -illusion being the point where illusions are broken and truth is revealed. I don’t like to read that but I know it is truth –illusions are not reality, they are not the place of truth and freedom. Only by pushing beyond the illusion can my heart live in that melody.

Today is like a haunting lament in a minor key. It truly has its own unique harmony and I am picking up those notes. The weeping today is part of the harmony in a minor key. I play the piano by ear. Today this life melody is from the string section of my heart. I not sure I’ve got it, but I still keep moving. He keeps calling me towards Him.

And speaking of moving, I have a Moroccan dinner to prepare for guests that will sit round my dinner table tonight. I will be listening to see when the melody changes from a minor to a major key. God is invited and I know He will sit at the table with us. He is here, so I still keep moving.

Epicurean Odyssey #1

When I was a little girl I would pull up a chair beside my Grandmother and have my own piece of dough to make a little loaf of bread. At her side I learned to cook and in her Hamilton kitchen my odyssey with food began. My memories of experimenting with food began when I was 12, when I needed to take responsibility for a large portion of household chores, as the oldest child and only girl in a family of 6 children. I grew up in a church circle where hospitality is taught and practiced (although mainly with those within the circle). The kitchen has been a place of extreme isolation yet a place of delicious comfort. It has been, and is, my art studio. My art room/the kitchen has been a place to express my voice in a world of being silenced. My soul comes alive when I can share my art with others. The kitchen is an incredible art studio.

It is an odyssey because it is a long continuing voyage, the winds and weaves through changes. Food has connections to spiritual, to physical, to emotional and to mental pieces of us. It draws people together or can send them into isolation. It is incredibly sensuous. My journey has taken me to cooking school, it is been the key to a new career in ministry. I have been exploring the whole area of the vegan eating style, which has brought an incredible new awareness of texture and taste and slowly savouring each mouthful of food. How do various foods affect our health? Food can fill empty spaces and become an addiction, yet the church remains largely silent on this addiction. Eating with people has been a way to control others behaviour by withholding or extending invitations to “break bread together” at the meal table. Why? What are the physiological effects of these behaviours? What did Jesus say about food and sharing of it with others? It is an essential piece of our socializing. Why, from my observations, are people with great passion for life adventurous eaters but those with less passion are very picky?

This subject is something I have wanted to write on for a long time. As I explore it I learn more and see the broadness of the subject. So many questions I ask and answers I want to know. It is a fascinating exploratory voyage to me. But I will also say right up front that I don’t want to offend anyone by what I observe and have discovered but there is the chance that I might. In advance I say I will try to season my words with love and grace but…sometimes I just love to throw some cayenne in there!

There is the blending of herbs and spices. What we blend and what we do not and how culture adds another twist to that. Like a twist of lemon that adds colour, flavour and zip! Salty, sour, savory, bitter and sweet are components to great flavours. We have hidden additives in our foods that are harmful and addictive. Textures that you feel with your hands and explore them in your mouth. Various temperatures affect the food and how it tastes. I have been exploring the raw food area and it is amazing to discern the difference. Our eyes, ears, nose, mouth and hands each give messages to our brain.

So from now on you are going to be hearing more of my thoughts on this subject as I explore and ruminate on it. Perhaps at times I will include my own recipes for you to try out.

Till next time with more on the Epicurean Odyssey.

Reduced Visibility

It was a glorious autumn day at 5PM when I stepped out the door of work yesterday. Still, clear, bright autumn colours and the fragrance of the season. Not five minutes down the roadway I was enveloped in fog. Where did this come from I wondered? I drove through intermittent patches all the way home. It was clear at my house but I could hear the ferry foghorn in the distance and knew it was not down at the dock. Before long it was fogged in here as well. Yet just now as I closed the blinds to snuggle into home for the evening the sky was dark but clear once again.

Fog can happen in any season, anywhere in the world. It is often referred to as “clouds at ground level” and is usually associated with fair, calm weather. The main reason it forms is the air is so saturated with moisture that the clouds literally fall to ground level. Fog is responsible for over $1million in damage annually in the United States.

Foggy patches in life creep up so subtly, arriving with little or no warning. One minute you are sailing along in the sunny spaces of life and suddenly fog envelops you, mind, heart and soul. Everything goes on high alert in the frantic search for the familiar, for places or things or persons who will help us gain our balance again, gain our sight and perspective once more. Our internal compass swings wildly about when we enter this “fog” patch. Instead of standing still and searching for the Voice of the One who sits above this fog we are in, and sees clearly, we tend to run blindly about, bumping into things we cannot see. In these times I stumble blindly along, uncertain of where I am going, wondering why I am here, or there. Missing my points of reference, I am unable to think clearly enough to grasp them in the fog. I usually try everything I can and as a last resort call out to Abba for direction. Sometimes He must just sit there chuckling while I run about like an idiot! The fog times in my life have left damage in their wake. I think I just get lazy in the fair calm weather and let go of being alert and alive to all around me. My compass conversation times with Abba get left on the back burner- my true North point of reference. As real as this fog is, so also the reality of the clear Light filled periods where direction is restored.

Fog will inevitably be a part of the weather patterns in our seasons of life. It has a beginning and an end. What is it for? Looking at Romans 5:1-5, I know the weather patterns are required to develop that “passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next.”

Thank You Abba for the fog patches on life’s road that slow me down. Thank You for Your voice that penetrates the fog, Your voice this is the compass, Your presence that is the familiar. I release control to You, and ask You to do the driving through those “clouds at ground level”. Again I ask for bold belief to be a risk taker for You. No matter what the weather conditions in my soul, that I will pursue You with all my heart, all my mind, all my strength, and all my soul.

Jesus Saviour pilot me, over life’s tempestuous sea…

Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all

A Prayer For Transformation

I Pursue You, Jesus, so that I may be caught by you.
I press in so that I may know your heart.
I stay close so that I may be like you.
Loving Lord, grant me:
purity of heart,
humility of soul
integrity of life,
charity for all.
Amen.

Richard Foster

Don't Need This Coat

The seasons are changing and so I look at my wardrobe and see what has to be discarded and what I will keep. A trip to the second hand store is on my list for the week – to drop articles off and to see what “new” things I can find. There are some old coats I have had in the closet for a long time and I don’t know whether to hang onto them “in case” I will still wear them, or to pass them along to someone else.

Yesterday as I was driving along the road by the sea I passed the spot where a “God Moment” had taken place, and an old coat was discarded.

Several years ago I was about to leave for my second mission trip to Bulgaria. A good friend emailed me and said she had a strange request for me – take off the coat I didn’t need to wear. She explained that she had no idea what this meant but that as she prayed for my journey this was what she heard. A coat I didn’t need? What was this all about? Asking God to give me a picture was the only way I could know what this was about. The week before we left I was doing the routine trip to the Post Office. The Post Office, a General Store and a few others shops are all that exist in the town. The question to God was like a broken record in my head – what is this coat that I am supposed to take off? Turning off the country road, with a clear view of the sea the answer came – “take off your coat of self-protection”. And so the conversation began:
“My coat of self protection? Abba I have to wear it to protect my heart from all the pain and the rejection, being passed over and the insignificance I feel.”
“No my beloved one, you do not need to wear this coat. It is time to take it off.”
In my mind I saw myself removing this jacket and letting it drop to the ground. The realization that I was naked underneath the jacket of self-protection had me wanting to cover myself up again.
“Ah my beloved. You feel naked without that don’t you. You think I am ashamed of your nakedness? Oh no – I love to see you as you are, nothing hidden. I am not ashamed of who you are, nor am I ashamed of how I made you. Let yourself be open to My love, to my gaze and allow me to protect your heart. Remember I delight in you.”

This morning as I write this I am wondering why God reminded me of our conversation yesterday? What did I need to hear from Him about this discarded old coat? My heart has grieved some losses again recently and I am trying to keep my heart open and not shut it away. Gently, with a large dose of grace and love, Abba reminded me to keep my heart naked, open to His gaze, and know it is protected by Him. Anj’s piece here is another gentle reminder that an open heart is “how we can truly know love without boundaries”.

I am reminded of my request to God after waiting with, and watching, a dear friend die.

Depth of character
Strength of soul
Serenity of spirit
Tenderness of heart

Qualities that can only come with an open heart. It's a journey indeed.

Breastplate prayer of St Patrick

Christ to protect me to-day
against poison, against burning, against drowning, against wounding,
so that there may come abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ is on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ where I lie, Christ where I sit, Christ where I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

Become What You Believe

Some recent conversations have revolved around being what we believe, not telling it but being it. Also around the fact that by building relationships with others I then have permission to talk of what I believe, having first “been” what I believe.

Meditating on Matthew 9 in Eugene Peterson’s wonderful text of The Message there have been some bold words to ponder:

- Jesus is impressed by bold belief. It gets His attention. This blends courage and passion.
- This bold passion involved relationship (paraplegic) and touch (hemorrhaging woman) that brought freedom. Bold belief and courage got Jesus attention
- Jesus said “become what you believe”. Becoming means it is process that is always in the present. It means living, actively living. It is intensely personal because it is what “I” believe. Not the words, but the actions that will take me into relationship with others and not isolation.
- Jesus said “I’m after mercy, not religion. I’m here to invite outsiders, not coddle insiders”. This was in response to the Pharisees criticizing his eating with the “riff-raff”. The Pharisees wanted rules and not relationship. Jesus words here are so powerful but His words came after His actions. He was being mercy, He was being in relationship.

Oh Abba, I want that bold belief that blends courage and passion. Abba I want to become, be in constant process of layers of isolation of my heart being removed so that I am in intimate relationship with You. Let this transfer to authentic relationship with community. Abba, may the ruach of Your Spirit be my breath so my words flow from You being in me.

God Moments

Yesterday some women were sharing their “God Moments”. Each one had amazing moments when they knew the powerful presence of God.

He puts His image in every human being and therefore it only makes sense that no one is excluded from having those experiences of feeling and knowing God, where you get a glimpse of who He is, and know the power of some One beyond yourself. Do they have to reveal Truth? Maybe just knowing it is God is the deepest truth of all.

What are those moments in your lifetime? What did you see? What did you feel? As I write those questions I wonder if it is arrogant of me to even ask them. God moments are impossible to neatly package and present. They are wild and holy and are indelibly fingerprinted on your soul. My eyes will never fully see or understand your God moments just as your eyes and heart can never know all the nuances in mine. They are preciously individual.

It was one of those pristine winter days in Alberta. The temperature was hovering around –20 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, only the unbroken blue and the silence that comes with the absence of wind and traffic. Lake Louise rolls out for a mile from the Chateau, the Rockies rise up on either side of her and at the end of her sits a glacier. Every so often the groaning and cracking of the glaciers’ slow movements forward echo like gunshots across the lake.

The snow crunched beneath my cross-country ski boots as I walked from the parking lot to the lake. Skis over my shoulder, poles in hand, my upper torso kept warm with layers of handknit sweaters that would breath with my body heat. It was cold, my feet and hands quickly became numb so pushing off quickly was essential.
A blanket of fresh snow glistened, fresh, untouched, unmarked, inviting me to be the first to tread across it. Once my skis were on, sunglasses protecting my eyes, I headed out, alone, onto the lake. The depth of the lake covered by another deep layer of snow and ice. God’s love is layers deeper than I can see. The mountains are like the arms of the Almighty stretched wide inviting me to cross the expanse. I found intimacy in the expanse of this one dot in the Universe. Like a doxology rising inside I am whispering “Praise the Lord, O my soul; all that is within me, praise his holy name”. This was my trail to blaze, my path to forge as I headed out and built a steady rhythm. Breath in, cold air, exhale warm air – ice forms on headband. Flexing my feet and hands as I bend and then rise and the blood warms my extremities.

It is impossible to worry when cross-country skiing. I am totally present in that place, focusing on a steady rhythm while being aware of the whiskey jacks singing in the pines, of the deer that quietly step out of the tress, and enjoying the symphony that plays in my heart and head. Then Abba spoke: “this lake is like a valley – it leads to the base of the mountain. Pushing through the valley, forging paths in the unknown and uncharted places leads to the climb of the mountain and then you stand on the mountain top. Push through the valley because a mountain top experience lies ahead. Soak in the mountain top euphoria to gather courage for the next valley. And I will be with you every step of the way.”

God’s love, though is ever and always, eternally present to all who fear him.
Psalm 103:17 Msg

God, my God, how great you are! Beautifully, gloriously robed, dressed up in sunshine, and all heaven stretched out for your tent.
Psalm 104:1-2 Msg

El Shaddai - The All Sufficient One

As an abundance of sun streams in the window, waking me up today, all I can hear being whispered to me is “El Shaddai – the all sufficient One. I am your El Shaddai”.

It is one of God’s names – El Shaddai.

El Shaddai. Bobbie spoke of more than enough, and Anj has spoken of it too. Neritia found it here.

El Shaddai, the God of more than enough
Abba who is whispering that He has enough strength for the storms.
Maestro who has more than enough patience for the lessons in His art studio where He reveals beauty by brushing away ashes and untying cords of bondage.
El Shaddai has more than enough Light to come into the dark places of the heart, tenderly bathe them in Light and restore life.
There is more than enough love to take the dead or dying heart spaces, redeem them and let the passion flow for the abundant, more than enough, life He promised.

El Shaddai, my God of more than enough: to redeem yesterday, to laugh today and to hold my hands trembling hands open for tomorrow. Oh El Shaddai I love you.

Front Porch Chat Time

Autumn arrived today and it felt more like winter. Nights arrive earlier and mornings arrive at a later hour. Sitting outside is over for a while now.

The front porch is still a safe and quiet place for sitting, for seeking my Abba and waiting for the time to tell Him things I need to speak of. Today, in my mind, I have been sitting with Him on the front porch. In my lap I hold a box of “things” we need to talk about. He puts His arm around me and holds me close. Quietly, gently, with compassion and grace He tells me I can speak of it when I am ready. He reminds me that He already knows these stories but when I speak of it with Him I will see His heart in them. I need to see His heart in them because right now I cannot.

I think of a friend I spent an evening with this week whose heart is carrying deep pain as she holds observed struggles up to Abba. I have read Rene’s book and it opens up “things” I hold in my lap. Others have written stories, others have shed tears and all of them have opened up “things” I must talk with Abba about as we sit here for our “front porch” visit. But Rene’s book has opened up a lot for me and I need to talk to Him about things I cannot understand, that still hurt. One incident in particular seems to have resurfaced.

About 10 years ago I went to Australia. Some friends had been deeply wounded by a church division and although I “belonged” to the side where legalism had wounded them, I clearly heard the Spirit tell me to go, with oil and wine to pour into the wounds. I loved them, and I just wanted to be with them in this painful time. My journey took me to Sydney for a few days and then on to Melbourne where I would be meeting up with my wounded friend who lived near by. I had by passed my church in the first stop for various reason, one of them being I felt unsafe as a woman in the presence of the one man in the gathering. In a town near to Melbourne I met him at another church meeting and he was furious that I had refused to visit the “one true representation” of the church in the city! Believe me when I say it didn’t represent Jesus at all! Nevertheless in the middle of a crowd of people (all known to me) he loudly expressed his displeasure and questioned that I heard from God at all. He was quite certain a woman could never be called to be a “priest”. I bit my lip, held in the tears and physically trembled. That evening I was called to meet with three “brothers” who drove up to the hotel where I was staying and suggested that I go to the room of one of them for a discussion. I flatly refused to enter any room with them and therefore our meeting took place in a car in a dark hotel parking lot. For two hours I was grilled as I why I thought I, a woman, could think I could go against their judgment of shunning my friend. How could I think I had any spiritual authority to meet these wicked people? (Their ‘wicked’ act had been to stand up for the way Jesus would have handled the situation) When asked for my “scriptural basis” for going I felt God had called me. They scoffed at this and one replied, “Oh you THOUGHT it was God?” I was asked to repent of my wickedness or be refused communion in the morning. Being refused communion would mean that I would need to leave Australia and be shunned there and at home. As this was the worst thing – being denied communion – I relented. I had no one stand with me, no one who came to my defense, no one who dared to put their arm around me and stop the trembling. I allowed myself to be bullied into changing my plans. I never did see my friend, whom I had been asked by Abba to go and be with, and I wounded her deeply. We have since spoken of it and she knew all of it – and loves me unconditionally, she shows me Jesus in all of her communications. But I sit with it tonight and want to revisit it with Him so I can let Him place His hand upon my heart and help me understand why Rene’s book, Stumbling Toward Faith reopened this one up again. Why I feel so sick when I remember it?