The wrestling has gone on in the darkness, in the day, in every waking moment. Wrestling with “silence” and now I have come to the place of exhaustion. Here alone and soul weary I have come to the Divine Maestro and asked for an art lesson.
“Adonai – I see only the ugly side of silence, I am desperate for You to show me a new painting, a redemptive painting of silence as others speak of it. What is the good, the soothing and glorious part of silence?”
Silence – not my choice- has become to me the same as being held underwater. I cannot use my voice or my breath underwater. It is a silent cold and terrifying place for me to be. I cannot bear to watch underwater scenes on the screen – internally I am gasping for breath.
Silence has been forced, scripture used to justify it. Sitting silent in the circle to be judged, taken aside and forced into silence, scripture used as the tape across my mouth for silence. Because my voice could only be heard through a man somehow I have learned to believe that the only way my voice can be expressed is through a man. Isn’t Jesus the One who gave woman her own voice? Isn’t He the one that took away our invisibility? Women in ancient times could not be spoken to, they had to receive any messages from a male family member. In some strange way, in modern times this has been inflicted on the woman of my denomination. Breath and spirit mean the same thing; women’s spirit has been broken and their breath /voice has been removed. They wear an invisible burqua bound around them by ropes of biblical passages.
As I wrestle with these injustices and all the snuffing out of life, of passion and of relationships I have watched and experienced, I am desperate for a change to it all. It is holding me underwater where there is no sound and no breath. In the agony of silence something new must be born.
An invitation has been issued. Come and sit with the Divine Maestro in His studio. Four words have been given: Silence - Expression,Invisibility - Femininity.
I have three tools to use for this process: a fine brush, a scalpel and oil of myrrh.
Working from the inside out He is asking me to work through this silence. He has said, “I know who she is, I made her, but I want you to see who she is, give her form. She has always had breath but as you work on her I will breath the redeeming into her.” It is myself that I have been asked to go to work on.
Silence: begin to know it as a choice and the freedom in it because of that choice.
Use the brush to get rid of the ashes, use the scalpel to delicately cut away the lies. Use the myrrh (the oil for suffering) and bathe the inside with this healing, fragrant and costly oil.
Expression: this is what must come out. Silence has been mainly male enforced. Draw the expression/voice out from deep within. Never let it be held back from myself, from women, from men.
Invisibility: silence has created an invisibility that has deeply wounded the feminine within. As the tools are used to remove invisibility it will reveal the feminine.
Femininity: unveil her, give her choice, freedom, identity. Remove the invisibility from her. The invisibility of the feminine has been from men. Use the tools to let the feminine be free and no man, or woman can hinder that freedom because it is from the Divine Maestro. Know that it isn’t men who give me my femininity – it is there deep inside and is to be revealed from the inside out. It must not be invisible so let the tools work to set it completely free.
I am here in the studio with my Divine Maestro. I need His hands to hold my trembling ones as this work begins. I need courage because He will not do the work for me – He has only said He will keep me company as I begin the process. He has promised to redeem the silence, give it expression, remove the invisibility and reveal the passionate feminine soul. I don’t really know who she is or how to give her form. But I am desperate to know her and let her live.
I don’t know how long this will take but what I do know is that it has begun. A good friend lovingly told me to keep looking at Esther. Is this time in the studio preparation time for the beauty to meet the King? Oh Adonai I need Your words of encouragement so I will not stop until I know she has been released, from the inside out.
Friday, August 27, 2004
Monday, August 23, 2004
Sitting with Silence
Silence arrived at my door, came in unannounced and sat down. This uninvited arrival sits awkwardly with me, drags me out to sit in the damp and cold of these rainy days, with no words, no communication and I wrestle with how to sit here with Silence.
It is 4:20 AM and we sit here before the day begins. Silence was there when I awoke and I turn on the lights to see if she will go away but she remains here. Is it truly silent? Not really. I hear the ticking of the clock, the hum of my laptop, and beat of my own heart, the breathing of my cat Sebastian. Right now this is no friendly companion. Silence seems to watch every move I make, judge each move and see right through my thought process.
What is the character of Silence? What is it about this presence that I am wrestling with? Do I see through the eyes of past experience with Silence and strange truths? What is the Truth about Silence?
Silence means disapproval – from God, from people.
Silence means anger – from God, from people.
Where is the good in silence? How do I sit in silence when it feels like being in a tent that leaks and the pouring rain has left no dry clothes or dry blankets to wrap myself in. I shiver in the silence. It is not a warm welcome presence with arms and legs and voice to communicate. It is just there and I silently scream inside at it’s arrival.
Silence is what the night holds before daylight arrives.
Silence is what fills the concert hall as the Maestro lifts his baton - just before the concerto begins. Silence then bows out.
Silence is what it must be like in the womb before the precarious journey begins where the little one takes its first breath of oxygen and begins the life long process of breathing in, breathing out.
Silence is when you are held tightly in strong arms and feel safe but no words are spoken.
Silence is what comes after a winter blizzard and a deep blanket of snow covers everything, and the moon lights up this eerie night.
Silence is that moment when the forest is still and the smell of the pine carpet fills your nostrils.
Silence shows up with mourning, anger, disapproval and rejection in tow but doesn’t arrive to celebrate, to accept and to heal.
Silence is a place of absence and not presence.
Stillness is a place of peace and filling, but silence isn’t.
I want to fill the empty places Silence brought but I have no energy to do so.
Silence seems to have brought another guest along – fear.
Silence seems to want me to wear insignificance and invisibility. They are the garments of disapproval and anger.
In the silence of the night I turn on the lights thinking somehow this will remove the silence. It just makes fear more visible. I never invited them in – how did they get through? Is Silence waiting to embrace me and show me her gentleness? Have I always felt she belonged in the dark and she wants to show me that she is really a guest of The Light? Has the liar shown me his view of Silence and God has sent Silence to sit with me, to be gentle with my heart and soul and to hold me with strong arms so I feel safe?
I don’t know yet. I don’t see Silence as this author wrote:
“Silence is praise to you Zion dwelling God, and also obedience. You heard the prayer in it all.” Psalm 65:1,2 The Message
It is 4:20 AM and we sit here before the day begins. Silence was there when I awoke and I turn on the lights to see if she will go away but she remains here. Is it truly silent? Not really. I hear the ticking of the clock, the hum of my laptop, and beat of my own heart, the breathing of my cat Sebastian. Right now this is no friendly companion. Silence seems to watch every move I make, judge each move and see right through my thought process.
What is the character of Silence? What is it about this presence that I am wrestling with? Do I see through the eyes of past experience with Silence and strange truths? What is the Truth about Silence?
Silence means disapproval – from God, from people.
Silence means anger – from God, from people.
Where is the good in silence? How do I sit in silence when it feels like being in a tent that leaks and the pouring rain has left no dry clothes or dry blankets to wrap myself in. I shiver in the silence. It is not a warm welcome presence with arms and legs and voice to communicate. It is just there and I silently scream inside at it’s arrival.
Silence is what the night holds before daylight arrives.
Silence is what fills the concert hall as the Maestro lifts his baton - just before the concerto begins. Silence then bows out.
Silence is what it must be like in the womb before the precarious journey begins where the little one takes its first breath of oxygen and begins the life long process of breathing in, breathing out.
Silence is when you are held tightly in strong arms and feel safe but no words are spoken.
Silence is what comes after a winter blizzard and a deep blanket of snow covers everything, and the moon lights up this eerie night.
Silence is that moment when the forest is still and the smell of the pine carpet fills your nostrils.
Silence shows up with mourning, anger, disapproval and rejection in tow but doesn’t arrive to celebrate, to accept and to heal.
Silence is a place of absence and not presence.
Stillness is a place of peace and filling, but silence isn’t.
I want to fill the empty places Silence brought but I have no energy to do so.
Silence seems to have brought another guest along – fear.
Silence seems to want me to wear insignificance and invisibility. They are the garments of disapproval and anger.
In the silence of the night I turn on the lights thinking somehow this will remove the silence. It just makes fear more visible. I never invited them in – how did they get through? Is Silence waiting to embrace me and show me her gentleness? Have I always felt she belonged in the dark and she wants to show me that she is really a guest of The Light? Has the liar shown me his view of Silence and God has sent Silence to sit with me, to be gentle with my heart and soul and to hold me with strong arms so I feel safe?
I don’t know yet. I don’t see Silence as this author wrote:
“Silence is praise to you Zion dwelling God, and also obedience. You heard the prayer in it all.” Psalm 65:1,2 The Message
Saturday, August 21, 2004
In the Night
Psalm 139
Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your Spirit?
to be out of your sight?
If I climb to the sky, you're there!
If I go underground, you're there!
If I flew on the morning's wings
to the far western horizon,
You'd find me in a minute -
you're already there waiting!
Then I said to myself, "Oh, he even sees me in the dark!
At night I'm immersed in the light!"
It's a fact: darkness isn't dark to you;
night and day, darkness and light, they're all the same to you.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Where I'll Walk
My soft old Rockport sandals are worn and falling apart but my feet are so familiar with them. Soon they will fall apart completely, but for these 3 days in Vancouver I will strap them on and know they are comfortable and will get me through the hours of walking the streets of this City. Then these feet will travel to Street Church where hotdogs and coffee are served and the Message and worship will filter out into the streets from 9 until midnight every night, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.
Walking along the street, in the heat, smelling the urine, watching the living dead weave along the street with their minds in a fog that is so dense. Can they feel their feet touch the pavement? Do they know where they came from earlier today and where their feet will take them tonight?
Old and wore running shoes were on the feet of a Texan who sat in the middle of a park, surrounded by addicts and homeless. He came to bring Good News to this part of Vancouver. He has beautiful feet: “how beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!”
My shoes are soft and comfortable and have come with me through the streets of Italy, Eastern Canada, come along as I walked to cooking school, soaked up the salt water as I stepped into the sea to head out kayaking. I look at the feet of my fellow travelers on East Hastings. Some have no shoes at all and their cracked and dry skin is coated with the filth of this avenue. Feet with shoes too small, others too large, holes in the toes or the soles of shoes that have shuffled along in the rain, the snow and now the heat of summer. Feet that walk the streets and then head home to a tent in Oppenheimer Park.
Just over 2000 years ago soft leather sandals encased the feet of those who brought Good News across the desert sands. Or those who came to watch the Rabbi teach and work miracles. The feet of Hosana walked with purpose through cities, towns, and deserts and to wells in the middle of the day to keep Divine appointments. One night at a dinner party a prostitute came and washed those feet with her tears. Tears that were held deep inside from pain and abuse. Yet there in a place where she was not supposed to enter she washed those Holy feet with tears of absolute trust. At His feet she gave Him her most difficult but precious gift – trust.
Walking keeps you so aware of the earth beneath your feet, of the sites and sounds of life around you. Which is one reason I refuse to wear anything plugged into my ears when I walk – I want to “hear” life around me, to see it, smell it, feel it and taste it.
Desperate people, going nowhere in life live on these streets. Desperate people going nowhere also live in houses in high priced properties, looking as if everything is all-together. How I know this feeling. I look at the 13 young people I am traveling with, in various stages of responsibility with their lives. One tells the same story all the time and cannot see he lives the same way, just a different street address and different clothes as those on East Hastings. His feet must respond to the call from the Almighty for a course correction. The feet of this group of young people hit the pavement at different rates. Some shuffle, some tread lightly, others have purpose in their walk. Their feet will walk many miles in life but will they know that their footprints are important? My feet tread along at their pace so I can listen to them, watch them, learn from them, share with them this experience on the streets of Vancouver. Whose feet are they following right now? What heroes do they have?
Have they looked, really looked at the footprints on this street? What have they seen in these 3 days? Will it affect where they walk in the future?
On the last day my sandal falls apart and it is held together with a band-aid for this last day of prayer walking! How ironic that a bandage holds together these familiar shoes as I watch the feet of others whose shoes are falling apart. We have something in common - our souls need protection.
These soft familiar comfortable sandals have been retired. There are many stories attached to where I have walked in them. But they gave their last miles to walking beside youth searching for where and how they will walk through life. They kept me comfortable as I stood in line with the homeless waiting for a handout, and stood on a street corner begging for money – just to get a taste of what it is like in this world so far away from mine.
I have new shoes now and am breaking them in. Where will I walk from here? Maybe it isn’t the “where” but the “how” that is really the question I am asking Jesus to show me. My new sandals have great support in them. Funny how Jesus seems to be using my feet to get to my head and my heart.
Oh Lord I want shoes of peace that bring Good News. I want to have beautiful feet. Feet that will run well and with endurance in this race of life. Feet that will stand upon the Solid Rock when I see a storm coming, or am suddenly in the middle of one. Feet that can dance or walk softly, and will know when to stop and wait. Oh Lord Jesus thank You for the old sandals that did their job well. Thank You for new sandals and the places they will go so that the feet in them can become beautiful through obedience.
Walking along the street, in the heat, smelling the urine, watching the living dead weave along the street with their minds in a fog that is so dense. Can they feel their feet touch the pavement? Do they know where they came from earlier today and where their feet will take them tonight?
Old and wore running shoes were on the feet of a Texan who sat in the middle of a park, surrounded by addicts and homeless. He came to bring Good News to this part of Vancouver. He has beautiful feet: “how beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!”
My shoes are soft and comfortable and have come with me through the streets of Italy, Eastern Canada, come along as I walked to cooking school, soaked up the salt water as I stepped into the sea to head out kayaking. I look at the feet of my fellow travelers on East Hastings. Some have no shoes at all and their cracked and dry skin is coated with the filth of this avenue. Feet with shoes too small, others too large, holes in the toes or the soles of shoes that have shuffled along in the rain, the snow and now the heat of summer. Feet that walk the streets and then head home to a tent in Oppenheimer Park.
Just over 2000 years ago soft leather sandals encased the feet of those who brought Good News across the desert sands. Or those who came to watch the Rabbi teach and work miracles. The feet of Hosana walked with purpose through cities, towns, and deserts and to wells in the middle of the day to keep Divine appointments. One night at a dinner party a prostitute came and washed those feet with her tears. Tears that were held deep inside from pain and abuse. Yet there in a place where she was not supposed to enter she washed those Holy feet with tears of absolute trust. At His feet she gave Him her most difficult but precious gift – trust.
Walking keeps you so aware of the earth beneath your feet, of the sites and sounds of life around you. Which is one reason I refuse to wear anything plugged into my ears when I walk – I want to “hear” life around me, to see it, smell it, feel it and taste it.
Desperate people, going nowhere in life live on these streets. Desperate people going nowhere also live in houses in high priced properties, looking as if everything is all-together. How I know this feeling. I look at the 13 young people I am traveling with, in various stages of responsibility with their lives. One tells the same story all the time and cannot see he lives the same way, just a different street address and different clothes as those on East Hastings. His feet must respond to the call from the Almighty for a course correction. The feet of this group of young people hit the pavement at different rates. Some shuffle, some tread lightly, others have purpose in their walk. Their feet will walk many miles in life but will they know that their footprints are important? My feet tread along at their pace so I can listen to them, watch them, learn from them, share with them this experience on the streets of Vancouver. Whose feet are they following right now? What heroes do they have?
Have they looked, really looked at the footprints on this street? What have they seen in these 3 days? Will it affect where they walk in the future?
On the last day my sandal falls apart and it is held together with a band-aid for this last day of prayer walking! How ironic that a bandage holds together these familiar shoes as I watch the feet of others whose shoes are falling apart. We have something in common - our souls need protection.
These soft familiar comfortable sandals have been retired. There are many stories attached to where I have walked in them. But they gave their last miles to walking beside youth searching for where and how they will walk through life. They kept me comfortable as I stood in line with the homeless waiting for a handout, and stood on a street corner begging for money – just to get a taste of what it is like in this world so far away from mine.
I have new shoes now and am breaking them in. Where will I walk from here? Maybe it isn’t the “where” but the “how” that is really the question I am asking Jesus to show me. My new sandals have great support in them. Funny how Jesus seems to be using my feet to get to my head and my heart.
Oh Lord I want shoes of peace that bring Good News. I want to have beautiful feet. Feet that will run well and with endurance in this race of life. Feet that will stand upon the Solid Rock when I see a storm coming, or am suddenly in the middle of one. Feet that can dance or walk softly, and will know when to stop and wait. Oh Lord Jesus thank You for the old sandals that did their job well. Thank You for new sandals and the places they will go so that the feet in them can become beautiful through obedience.
Monday, August 16, 2004
The City and The Church
Eastside Vancouver is one of the worst drug areas of North American. Per capita it is the second highest AIDS location in the world. Poverty, drug abuse, prostitution – the things this neighborhood is well known for.
It is also known as a very friendly neighborhood. Walking into it, through it and conversing with the neighborhood this certainly proved true. They were easy to converse with, willing to tell their stories and share information about where to eat (for free), where to find medical help, housing information and any other questions you might want to know they readily answered. They are a community. When walking close to an area where the drug users stand on the street to get their fixes, one woman warned us not to go there, as she held her needle and next fix in her hand.
This is a community where they are willing to help each other, and much of that help is highly destructive behaviour. It doesn’t build them up, move them forward and encourage them to be the best they were designed to be. That vision has long since been buried deep within and unearthing it is a thought they probably don’t even consider now. The girls stand on the street corners and their beauty has disappeared. They sway and dance to entice – it is all practiced and performed but there is no heart in it. Men are no longer men of purpose – their heart has disappeared.
This is a community of addicts of all sorts, prostitutes and enablers. They have their own kind of support system but they lead each other down a dangerous and destructive road. Almost everyone has sold himself or herself out. They have whored themselves for the next fix, to somehow fill the huge black hole in their soul. Feelings have been killed, numbed and by rote they know the moves but their heart isn’t home. They cannot see the beauty of who they were designed to be, and they no longer consider that there is any beauty within them. That is why it is so easy to sell themselves; they no longer see that they are anything of value. Intimacy has been sold out and they live in the empty shells of humans without it. The outsiders see the tragedy of it all but those within find it almost impossible to walk through the fire of pain necessary for healing and reclaiming life.
What is breaking me inside is that I saw a picture of the Church! I have heard of it but now I really saw it. People come in and sit down, listen to the sermon, go through the motions and the heart and the head are not connected. There is friendliness and community but sometimes it lacks heart. Performances are perfected to entice people to come along, but the heart is not in it. We have been busy with all the “right” things, all the outward appearances but we have whored ourselves. Materialism and capitalism have romanced our heart into false intimacy. All God has asked for is that we love Him with all our heart, all our souls, all our mind, all our understanding. We have offered God our body that goes through the motions but we have hidden our heart away and sold it out for the distractions that keep us from intimacy. Entertainment, social life, community standing without the heart filled with passion for Christ. Are we moving each other forward and encouraging them to be the best they were designed to be? Has the exquisite beauty of this Bride disappeared? The outsiders watch and see the hypocrisy of it all, seeing the falseness. And many of those within are not even aware that their heart has been lost. What keeps people, saints, from stepping out of numbness and into LIFE?
Oh neither is unredeemable! The individual human being and the corporate Body were designed for intimacy with the Almighty. Christ continues to seek, to court us, and call each one into intimacy. Eastside Vancouver put a telephoto lens on this subject for me. It’s all about relationship where the heart is fully engaged. So much has been written about this subject but I guess I am writing because for the first time I really saw the parallel.
My feet walked the streets of Vancouver for 3 days. I am still processing what I saw, what I felt, and what will I do with all that. God is writing it into my heart and I am trying to read that handwriting.
It is also known as a very friendly neighborhood. Walking into it, through it and conversing with the neighborhood this certainly proved true. They were easy to converse with, willing to tell their stories and share information about where to eat (for free), where to find medical help, housing information and any other questions you might want to know they readily answered. They are a community. When walking close to an area where the drug users stand on the street to get their fixes, one woman warned us not to go there, as she held her needle and next fix in her hand.
This is a community where they are willing to help each other, and much of that help is highly destructive behaviour. It doesn’t build them up, move them forward and encourage them to be the best they were designed to be. That vision has long since been buried deep within and unearthing it is a thought they probably don’t even consider now. The girls stand on the street corners and their beauty has disappeared. They sway and dance to entice – it is all practiced and performed but there is no heart in it. Men are no longer men of purpose – their heart has disappeared.
This is a community of addicts of all sorts, prostitutes and enablers. They have their own kind of support system but they lead each other down a dangerous and destructive road. Almost everyone has sold himself or herself out. They have whored themselves for the next fix, to somehow fill the huge black hole in their soul. Feelings have been killed, numbed and by rote they know the moves but their heart isn’t home. They cannot see the beauty of who they were designed to be, and they no longer consider that there is any beauty within them. That is why it is so easy to sell themselves; they no longer see that they are anything of value. Intimacy has been sold out and they live in the empty shells of humans without it. The outsiders see the tragedy of it all but those within find it almost impossible to walk through the fire of pain necessary for healing and reclaiming life.
What is breaking me inside is that I saw a picture of the Church! I have heard of it but now I really saw it. People come in and sit down, listen to the sermon, go through the motions and the heart and the head are not connected. There is friendliness and community but sometimes it lacks heart. Performances are perfected to entice people to come along, but the heart is not in it. We have been busy with all the “right” things, all the outward appearances but we have whored ourselves. Materialism and capitalism have romanced our heart into false intimacy. All God has asked for is that we love Him with all our heart, all our souls, all our mind, all our understanding. We have offered God our body that goes through the motions but we have hidden our heart away and sold it out for the distractions that keep us from intimacy. Entertainment, social life, community standing without the heart filled with passion for Christ. Are we moving each other forward and encouraging them to be the best they were designed to be? Has the exquisite beauty of this Bride disappeared? The outsiders watch and see the hypocrisy of it all, seeing the falseness. And many of those within are not even aware that their heart has been lost. What keeps people, saints, from stepping out of numbness and into LIFE?
Oh neither is unredeemable! The individual human being and the corporate Body were designed for intimacy with the Almighty. Christ continues to seek, to court us, and call each one into intimacy. Eastside Vancouver put a telephoto lens on this subject for me. It’s all about relationship where the heart is fully engaged. So much has been written about this subject but I guess I am writing because for the first time I really saw the parallel.
My feet walked the streets of Vancouver for 3 days. I am still processing what I saw, what I felt, and what will I do with all that. God is writing it into my heart and I am trying to read that handwriting.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
In All Seasons
All Seasons
"I am the one who looks after you and cares for you. I am the tree that is always green, giving my fruit to you all through the year." Hosea 14:8
The earth labours through and gives birth to each season. We battle through and then claim the victory in each season of our lives. God never changes. He is the best of every season at all times. I am pondering the best of the seasons of my life, the best of the four seasons of nature. That is God - 100% of the time. That is what I want to see of Him in this day - the best of it all. Maybe that is too much to think about but I'll ponder it.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Protective Custody
After a bible study one night my friend commented that during the prayer time she felt that we were all being held in “protective custody”. I haven’t thought of this phrase for a while yet it came to mind as I think of my trip to the inner city later this week.
This term comes up with the negative connotation related to someone being placed within the criminal justice system. But let’s switch this around. Think of protection as safety and custody as guardianship – loving guardianship. This isn’t a place of punishment but a place of growing, loving and nurturing.
Walls of the heart are a prison but protective custody is where the heart is set free. Walls of the heart are hostage takers but protective custody negotiates for freedom.
What really got me started on this thought again was thinking about my weekend ahead. I am going as one of 4 adults on a team of teens and we are heading into inner city Vancouver for 3 days of ministry on the streets. It isn’t the ministry part that put the fear in me – it is thinking about working with teens. Not because I don’t feel at ease with them but because this brings up pain inside of me. I feel the “walls of my heart” going up. Those walls cannot go up again but I analyze why my response is to put them up.
In the church I grew up in you could either be a wife and mother or a single woman who spent her spare time helping the elderly and babysitting. Missions were not part of the church so there wasn’t an option there. As I was not a wife, or a mother, my time was spent with children and teens, and elderly. All of whom I loved and appreciated, and thoroughly enjoyed being with. I have learned an enormous amount from them that I treasure. But I always knew there was more to me than ever could be expressed there.
Women must remain silent in all formal church settings and what has resulted is those women don’t have much to say about their own spiritual journey outside or inside church. I felt such passion to know more, to grow and express more yet it had to be suppressed. When it did come out I was labeled “in subject”. And so the walls of my heart began to build up. I longed to see them be unafraid to be passionate about all of life. As I longed to be.
As I write this I remember the camping trip – I took 6, 9 years olds for 3 days and it poured rain, our tents leaked, the boys picked on the girls…and we all still remember it and laugh. I remember the lunches on Sundays between morning and afternoon services. Their stories, their laughter and through it I heard their young tender hearts searching for answers in life as they sat around my dining room table. The New Years Eve party for 13 of them because they were too young for the adult one. The pillow fights between the boys and girls were hilarious. Adventures we had, places we saw and stories that were written on the inside of them, of me.
But then there are the well-meaning people (who I dearly love still) who have those “words of wisdom” that sear the soul. They seared the soul of the woman and shredded her heart. Being told that because I could not bear children I did not deserve to be loved as a woman. Being told that because of my “in subjection” God was punishing me and I must remain single. When I was about to enter nursing school I remember the man who suggested “be a nice little secretary until someone will marry you”. (I never did go to nursing school) He wanted me to be a brainless puppet like his own wife. Words. Just words? No they were arrows, flaming arrows that headed straight to the heart of the woman who retreated a little more with every arrow sent. Another brick in the wall of the heart. More cement. More bitterness that welled out of the pain of that arrow. Women must be meek and quiet at all times – that is their beauty. I wasn’t meek and quiet – that made me ugly. The walls went up and I spent less and less time with children, with teens. I must protect myself.
Various other events conspired to cataclysmically come together and I found myself destroyed so deeply inside that the only escape was to die. In the healing process I began a new career, sold up everything and moved to a small community where I began working in ministry at Linwood House, where walking to wholeness is a part of what we do. I left my church and found one in my community. That sounds simple but the reality is when you leave the church they leave you. Most (not all because I still have a few amazing contacts there) stop contact with you.
The walls of my heart were up – don’t get close to children or teens because they will shut you out. My childhood friends (in an even stricter congregation) would walk on the other side of the street if they saw me coming, hang up the phone if I called. My mother was phoned 3 days after her mother was buried – she didn’t know her own mother had died.
I had no idea that another wall of my heart was a barrier against children and teens. I love them! They fascinate me! Five beautiful children are in my life right now and only this week do I realize I have been holding up the wall. In case I get hurt. In case they reject me.
Walls of the heart don’t belong there. My heart is too alive to be held behind walls! But the Liar still tries his best to reconstruct them. Not allowed! “The thief comes to kill and destroy. My purpose is to give life in all it’s fullness” John 10:10 NLT
For the next three days I will be a leader in a team from my church, going with 15 teens to the inner city of Vancouver. It is considered the 2nd highest per capita AIDS location in the world. We see some of the women from this area at The Journey – maybe I will see some familiar faces. I pray that as I go I will be fully present in every moment with a wide-open passionate heart. I pray that I will see the needs of those on the street but more than that I will see the hearts of the teens I am with. I want to hear their stories, see them be used and be alive as we walk the streets together being Light, carrying healing salt. I want to be a good leader with myself out of the way and Jesus up front and center every moment. There will be no walls of the heart as we walk together in “Protective Custody” – freedom of the Spirit. I think I heard something crumbling! Must have been some of that out of place wall disappearing!
This term comes up with the negative connotation related to someone being placed within the criminal justice system. But let’s switch this around. Think of protection as safety and custody as guardianship – loving guardianship. This isn’t a place of punishment but a place of growing, loving and nurturing.
Walls of the heart are a prison but protective custody is where the heart is set free. Walls of the heart are hostage takers but protective custody negotiates for freedom.
What really got me started on this thought again was thinking about my weekend ahead. I am going as one of 4 adults on a team of teens and we are heading into inner city Vancouver for 3 days of ministry on the streets. It isn’t the ministry part that put the fear in me – it is thinking about working with teens. Not because I don’t feel at ease with them but because this brings up pain inside of me. I feel the “walls of my heart” going up. Those walls cannot go up again but I analyze why my response is to put them up.
In the church I grew up in you could either be a wife and mother or a single woman who spent her spare time helping the elderly and babysitting. Missions were not part of the church so there wasn’t an option there. As I was not a wife, or a mother, my time was spent with children and teens, and elderly. All of whom I loved and appreciated, and thoroughly enjoyed being with. I have learned an enormous amount from them that I treasure. But I always knew there was more to me than ever could be expressed there.
Women must remain silent in all formal church settings and what has resulted is those women don’t have much to say about their own spiritual journey outside or inside church. I felt such passion to know more, to grow and express more yet it had to be suppressed. When it did come out I was labeled “in subject”. And so the walls of my heart began to build up. I longed to see them be unafraid to be passionate about all of life. As I longed to be.
As I write this I remember the camping trip – I took 6, 9 years olds for 3 days and it poured rain, our tents leaked, the boys picked on the girls…and we all still remember it and laugh. I remember the lunches on Sundays between morning and afternoon services. Their stories, their laughter and through it I heard their young tender hearts searching for answers in life as they sat around my dining room table. The New Years Eve party for 13 of them because they were too young for the adult one. The pillow fights between the boys and girls were hilarious. Adventures we had, places we saw and stories that were written on the inside of them, of me.
But then there are the well-meaning people (who I dearly love still) who have those “words of wisdom” that sear the soul. They seared the soul of the woman and shredded her heart. Being told that because I could not bear children I did not deserve to be loved as a woman. Being told that because of my “in subjection” God was punishing me and I must remain single. When I was about to enter nursing school I remember the man who suggested “be a nice little secretary until someone will marry you”. (I never did go to nursing school) He wanted me to be a brainless puppet like his own wife. Words. Just words? No they were arrows, flaming arrows that headed straight to the heart of the woman who retreated a little more with every arrow sent. Another brick in the wall of the heart. More cement. More bitterness that welled out of the pain of that arrow. Women must be meek and quiet at all times – that is their beauty. I wasn’t meek and quiet – that made me ugly. The walls went up and I spent less and less time with children, with teens. I must protect myself.
Various other events conspired to cataclysmically come together and I found myself destroyed so deeply inside that the only escape was to die. In the healing process I began a new career, sold up everything and moved to a small community where I began working in ministry at Linwood House, where walking to wholeness is a part of what we do. I left my church and found one in my community. That sounds simple but the reality is when you leave the church they leave you. Most (not all because I still have a few amazing contacts there) stop contact with you.
The walls of my heart were up – don’t get close to children or teens because they will shut you out. My childhood friends (in an even stricter congregation) would walk on the other side of the street if they saw me coming, hang up the phone if I called. My mother was phoned 3 days after her mother was buried – she didn’t know her own mother had died.
I had no idea that another wall of my heart was a barrier against children and teens. I love them! They fascinate me! Five beautiful children are in my life right now and only this week do I realize I have been holding up the wall. In case I get hurt. In case they reject me.
Walls of the heart don’t belong there. My heart is too alive to be held behind walls! But the Liar still tries his best to reconstruct them. Not allowed! “The thief comes to kill and destroy. My purpose is to give life in all it’s fullness” John 10:10 NLT
For the next three days I will be a leader in a team from my church, going with 15 teens to the inner city of Vancouver. It is considered the 2nd highest per capita AIDS location in the world. We see some of the women from this area at The Journey – maybe I will see some familiar faces. I pray that as I go I will be fully present in every moment with a wide-open passionate heart. I pray that I will see the needs of those on the street but more than that I will see the hearts of the teens I am with. I want to hear their stories, see them be used and be alive as we walk the streets together being Light, carrying healing salt. I want to be a good leader with myself out of the way and Jesus up front and center every moment. There will be no walls of the heart as we walk together in “Protective Custody” – freedom of the Spirit. I think I heard something crumbling! Must have been some of that out of place wall disappearing!
Monday, August 09, 2004
Claiming the Ribbons
Somewhere in my boxes are old ribbons from school events. Ribbons received as a participant, not because I came in the top three of any event.
Over the last week I have been reading and hearing stories that have really touched deep places in my soul. They are all stories of life. I think of the woman who is almost the same age as me and has lived with incredible excruciating pain since she was 6 years old. In spite of this she continues to inspire those she loves and those she touches. Or the man watching his wife battle through radiation treatments. I have read your stories and seen the pain. I review my own story and see the pain, the joy, the disappointments and the hope. I know the struggle I have had, and still have, to keep them always held up to the Redeemer, and author of my story.
This past week in particular, I have been acutely aware of the redemptive “colours” in each story. What do redemptive story colours look like? Or for that matter, what are “redemptive stories”? Do I have one? Do you? A resounding YES is the answer!
Threads are very fine and difficult to see unless they are woven with others to blend and be visible. Ribbons on the other hand are easier to distinguish and can stand-alone and be seen clearly and boldly. Therefore I have begun to see redemptive ribbons of colour, not threads.
Redemptive stories mean that there is an author in the picture. There is a hero and a plot or purpose. There is ownership to our stories – we take ownership for them. Isaiah wrote “Fear not, for I have redeemed you: I have summoned you by name; you are mine.” Not only are these uniquely individual stories but they are stories of honor and abundant love - “since you are precious and honored in my sight, and because I love you.” As Anj so often says, she holds things in the Light. Putting all of my story, your story, in the Light, hands held open up to God, vulnerable and honest, then Jesus brings out the good, redeems the dark part and lets the Light pour in. The redemptive aspect, it seems to me, is when we can let God use us, our story, to move forward and to help others.
So what are the colours of these redeemed stories? What are the ribbons in my redemptive story? I can’t ask you about yours unless I am willing to let my own ribbons wave and be visible in the wind of life, the wind of God’s breathing into my soul.
The darkest time was not so many years ago when I lost my identity, lost hope and spent morning after morning deciding that today was the day to kill myself. It was all a very clear plan. Only the exact moment was not defined. The only thing that got me out of bed was to hear the sparrows sing outside my mountain-view living room window. The view was lost to me at that time because the pain was too overwhelming. To this day a sparrow will make me stop – it is an “I love you” message from God. Now when dark thoughts cross my mind the redemptive, blazingly brilliant colours of “passion for life” are what I look for. The blazing colours of the dawn and the sunset.
I have known legalistic religiosity growing up and felt the sting of the sword bite when the Word is used as a weapon. As I thought about this I can see that the redemptive part is the love story Jesus is writing into my heart. That I have not totally shut God out of my life. The colours of this story are the blues of the sky, the colours of freedom beyond what can be seen.
There has been terrible loneliness, being forgotten and overlooked, and the feelings of low self worth that legalism insidiously breeds in people, especially in women. I can see the redemptive ribbons of soft gentle colours that reveal to me how tenderly Jesus has held my heart and how he shows me this through and with others in life.
These redemptive ribbons in my life are all the colours of the rainbow because they stand for the full spectrum of human emotions you and I were created with and that you, and I have and will experience as long as we live and breath here on earth. They are not the ribbons of having come in first, second or third. These are the ribbons for participating in life and embracing it, all of it.
I saw someone this weekend that was so proud of having put all the “horrible “ in her life away, never to be looked at. Alas what I saw was someone who looks like they are in pain. By refusing to acknowledge and take ownership for her own story she cannot yet see the redemptive part of her story. This makes us tough, not tender. Vulnerability and honesty is painful and hard work but it brings the beautifully, gloriously steadfast colours of tenderness and courage. These are the ribbons that show in the dark, that come with fully participating in life.
Looking at all the ribbons in your stories, what a majestically gloriously colourful celebration of life I am looking at! Seeing, really seeing the ribbons in my story, I am smiling and thinking I should be holding up a glass of champagne to say “to life”!
Instead I hold my wreath full of all the redemptive colours in my story. Can you see them? Can you see yours?
Over the last week I have been reading and hearing stories that have really touched deep places in my soul. They are all stories of life. I think of the woman who is almost the same age as me and has lived with incredible excruciating pain since she was 6 years old. In spite of this she continues to inspire those she loves and those she touches. Or the man watching his wife battle through radiation treatments. I have read your stories and seen the pain. I review my own story and see the pain, the joy, the disappointments and the hope. I know the struggle I have had, and still have, to keep them always held up to the Redeemer, and author of my story.
This past week in particular, I have been acutely aware of the redemptive “colours” in each story. What do redemptive story colours look like? Or for that matter, what are “redemptive stories”? Do I have one? Do you? A resounding YES is the answer!
Threads are very fine and difficult to see unless they are woven with others to blend and be visible. Ribbons on the other hand are easier to distinguish and can stand-alone and be seen clearly and boldly. Therefore I have begun to see redemptive ribbons of colour, not threads.
Redemptive stories mean that there is an author in the picture. There is a hero and a plot or purpose. There is ownership to our stories – we take ownership for them. Isaiah wrote “Fear not, for I have redeemed you: I have summoned you by name; you are mine.” Not only are these uniquely individual stories but they are stories of honor and abundant love - “since you are precious and honored in my sight, and because I love you.” As Anj so often says, she holds things in the Light. Putting all of my story, your story, in the Light, hands held open up to God, vulnerable and honest, then Jesus brings out the good, redeems the dark part and lets the Light pour in. The redemptive aspect, it seems to me, is when we can let God use us, our story, to move forward and to help others.
So what are the colours of these redeemed stories? What are the ribbons in my redemptive story? I can’t ask you about yours unless I am willing to let my own ribbons wave and be visible in the wind of life, the wind of God’s breathing into my soul.
The darkest time was not so many years ago when I lost my identity, lost hope and spent morning after morning deciding that today was the day to kill myself. It was all a very clear plan. Only the exact moment was not defined. The only thing that got me out of bed was to hear the sparrows sing outside my mountain-view living room window. The view was lost to me at that time because the pain was too overwhelming. To this day a sparrow will make me stop – it is an “I love you” message from God. Now when dark thoughts cross my mind the redemptive, blazingly brilliant colours of “passion for life” are what I look for. The blazing colours of the dawn and the sunset.
I have known legalistic religiosity growing up and felt the sting of the sword bite when the Word is used as a weapon. As I thought about this I can see that the redemptive part is the love story Jesus is writing into my heart. That I have not totally shut God out of my life. The colours of this story are the blues of the sky, the colours of freedom beyond what can be seen.
There has been terrible loneliness, being forgotten and overlooked, and the feelings of low self worth that legalism insidiously breeds in people, especially in women. I can see the redemptive ribbons of soft gentle colours that reveal to me how tenderly Jesus has held my heart and how he shows me this through and with others in life.
These redemptive ribbons in my life are all the colours of the rainbow because they stand for the full spectrum of human emotions you and I were created with and that you, and I have and will experience as long as we live and breath here on earth. They are not the ribbons of having come in first, second or third. These are the ribbons for participating in life and embracing it, all of it.
I saw someone this weekend that was so proud of having put all the “horrible “ in her life away, never to be looked at. Alas what I saw was someone who looks like they are in pain. By refusing to acknowledge and take ownership for her own story she cannot yet see the redemptive part of her story. This makes us tough, not tender. Vulnerability and honesty is painful and hard work but it brings the beautifully, gloriously steadfast colours of tenderness and courage. These are the ribbons that show in the dark, that come with fully participating in life.
Looking at all the ribbons in your stories, what a majestically gloriously colourful celebration of life I am looking at! Seeing, really seeing the ribbons in my story, I am smiling and thinking I should be holding up a glass of champagne to say “to life”!
Instead I hold my wreath full of all the redemptive colours in my story. Can you see them? Can you see yours?
Friday, August 06, 2004
The Unforced Rhythms of Grace
“My yoke is easy, my burden is light”
You know those long exhausting days that end with your body aching with fatigue. You want a long hot soak in the tub to soothe them away and a place for your weary mind to be switched off. Lying in the sun by the pool or at the beach on a hot summer day has the same relaxing effect. The brain slows down, this message connects to the rest of the body and you unwind from the pressures that have built up within you. This is the reason we all long for vacation time.
Funny, I used to think weekends were meant for unwinding but all too often they are simply when you stay at the same speed and the duties are just transferred from the work setting to the home setting!
Where then is the place of freedom from anxiety, where worry is left behind and the burdens that we carry on our shoulders/heart can be left behind? Why did Jesus say many times to be free from worry and anxiety? Solomon said in his book of Proverbs how heavy the weight of worry was to carry. So many books are written on it but it remains very difficult to put into practice. Faith, trust, freedom – words that depict what this looks like for those who have a relationship with Jesus. Wounded or dysfunctional human relationships have programmed the wrong picture for us on how these words are to be lived out in reality in a Divine relationship.
I do not know the answers, yet I see the words in God’s Word and I want to know how to literally experience this in my life. I worry far too much, I am anxious and my body, my mind and my heart pay a premium price for it. A price none of us were meant to pay. How does one live in the Shalom, the peace that passes understanding, and let God do the carrying of things that are in his control in the first place? How do I do my part in the action of living out this life of faith, trust and freedom becoming light and salt, and a mirror of God’s love? How do I literally lay down the “burdens” that make my heart heavy and get in the way of my relationship with a Holy God who has so much more to show me from his heart while I am on earth?
Last week, due to working a stretch of days together, I was able to put 2 weekends back to back add a holiday Monday, allowing 5 consecutive days off work. It was a good time to do a juice fast/detox that I had been waiting to do. I was all prepared for the battles of hunger and the struggles of anxiety that have come with fasting before. What took place was something quite different. Peace; slowing down and relaxing. Laughter – why God even took me dancing on the beach! The most monumental piece of it all was that every single worry, every niggling doubt was completely removed from my mind. For the first time in my life I literally had the weight lifted from my shoulders! The bodily weight loss was but a small symbol of the weight lifted off of my heart. Literally I FELT what it means to experience what Jesus says about his burden being light. Powerfully I experienced the presence of Jesus in a new way that has me smiling about it every time I ponder it. Relaxing and enjoying the company of God – why should that be such a novel idea? Pondering it I am searching to know how to live this way more. How to live with those “unforced rhythms of grace” that The Message describes.
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me – watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew 11:26-30 The Message
This is an experience far too deep to give justice to with words. For now this is a surface way to describe something that has more to it than I can comprehend at this moment. What I do know is we were designed to live this way. It is part of the freedom cry of the Spirit within me – live as originally designed to. Live in the unforced rhythms of grace.
You know those long exhausting days that end with your body aching with fatigue. You want a long hot soak in the tub to soothe them away and a place for your weary mind to be switched off. Lying in the sun by the pool or at the beach on a hot summer day has the same relaxing effect. The brain slows down, this message connects to the rest of the body and you unwind from the pressures that have built up within you. This is the reason we all long for vacation time.
Funny, I used to think weekends were meant for unwinding but all too often they are simply when you stay at the same speed and the duties are just transferred from the work setting to the home setting!
Where then is the place of freedom from anxiety, where worry is left behind and the burdens that we carry on our shoulders/heart can be left behind? Why did Jesus say many times to be free from worry and anxiety? Solomon said in his book of Proverbs how heavy the weight of worry was to carry. So many books are written on it but it remains very difficult to put into practice. Faith, trust, freedom – words that depict what this looks like for those who have a relationship with Jesus. Wounded or dysfunctional human relationships have programmed the wrong picture for us on how these words are to be lived out in reality in a Divine relationship.
I do not know the answers, yet I see the words in God’s Word and I want to know how to literally experience this in my life. I worry far too much, I am anxious and my body, my mind and my heart pay a premium price for it. A price none of us were meant to pay. How does one live in the Shalom, the peace that passes understanding, and let God do the carrying of things that are in his control in the first place? How do I do my part in the action of living out this life of faith, trust and freedom becoming light and salt, and a mirror of God’s love? How do I literally lay down the “burdens” that make my heart heavy and get in the way of my relationship with a Holy God who has so much more to show me from his heart while I am on earth?
Last week, due to working a stretch of days together, I was able to put 2 weekends back to back add a holiday Monday, allowing 5 consecutive days off work. It was a good time to do a juice fast/detox that I had been waiting to do. I was all prepared for the battles of hunger and the struggles of anxiety that have come with fasting before. What took place was something quite different. Peace; slowing down and relaxing. Laughter – why God even took me dancing on the beach! The most monumental piece of it all was that every single worry, every niggling doubt was completely removed from my mind. For the first time in my life I literally had the weight lifted from my shoulders! The bodily weight loss was but a small symbol of the weight lifted off of my heart. Literally I FELT what it means to experience what Jesus says about his burden being light. Powerfully I experienced the presence of Jesus in a new way that has me smiling about it every time I ponder it. Relaxing and enjoying the company of God – why should that be such a novel idea? Pondering it I am searching to know how to live this way more. How to live with those “unforced rhythms of grace” that The Message describes.
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me – watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew 11:26-30 The Message
This is an experience far too deep to give justice to with words. For now this is a surface way to describe something that has more to it than I can comprehend at this moment. What I do know is we were designed to live this way. It is part of the freedom cry of the Spirit within me – live as originally designed to. Live in the unforced rhythms of grace.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
Morning by Morning
g
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided -
Great it Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!
Thank you to Michael Main for the reminder of these words as he and Amy work through some storms.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
Arrow of Truth
The middle of the day. In the hottest part of the day. A rest stop by an old field and a "random" conversation with a stranger also stopping there. Questions asked, thoughts exchanged, arrow questions that hit the truth. Truth revealed.
At the beginning of the day. On a rainy morning - this morning. In a comfortable chair and a purposeful conversation with a beloved friend. This old story is read and this piece of truth is the arrow that struck home to the heart:
"But there is a time coming - it has, in fact come - when what you're called will not matter and where you go to worship will not matter.
It's who you are and the way you live that count before God. Your worship must engage your spirit in the pursuit of truth. That's the kind of people the Father is out looking for: those who are simply and honestly themselves before him in their worship. God is sheer being itself - Spirit. Those who worship him must do it out of their very being, their spirits, their true selves, in adoration."
John 4:23,24 The Message
At the beginning of the day. On a rainy morning - this morning. In a comfortable chair and a purposeful conversation with a beloved friend. This old story is read and this piece of truth is the arrow that struck home to the heart:
"But there is a time coming - it has, in fact come - when what you're called will not matter and where you go to worship will not matter.
It's who you are and the way you live that count before God. Your worship must engage your spirit in the pursuit of truth. That's the kind of people the Father is out looking for: those who are simply and honestly themselves before him in their worship. God is sheer being itself - Spirit. Those who worship him must do it out of their very being, their spirits, their true selves, in adoration."
John 4:23,24 The Message
Basic Questions
Gideon has another post, Tuesday's, on basic questions.
So many questions we have for ourselves, for others, and for God. Questions - the only way to find Truth.
I like questions! I like the adventure of the search for their answers.
So many questions we have for ourselves, for others, and for God. Questions - the only way to find Truth.
I like questions! I like the adventure of the search for their answers.
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
Morning Meditation
Breath of Morning
Oh Lord, you are the aroma that has called me out of sleep this morning. You are my strong cup of coffee, bringing this morning into being to be held and savoured before going out of this sanctuary. My heart is open, a new page for you to begin your writing, your etchings. Fill the pages, as many as you want. I wait with open heart, ears and eyes, palms held upward to receive. In hope, with longing, with joy.
"Signore, ascolta da mattina la mia voce: Da mattina io ti spiego i miei desii, e sto aspettando" Psalm 5:3
Monday, August 02, 2004
Remove the Veil
The Whispering, the Call rides on the wind, whispers in the stillness, speaks through the swirling storms. Unceasingly it whispers. Tenderly it whispers. The heart yearns to understand; it strains to know yet feels confused because it cannot decipher the words. There is a veil wrapped around the heart, which hides the true woman living within. But until the whispered words are understood the veil cannot be seen, therefore it cannot be removed.
Senses that are alive within play a game of hide and seek, but all the hiding spots have been exhausted. In the hiding – the whisper comes again. What does it mean, what is the call?
After a long gestation period “the Whispering” is ready to reveal the meaning of the words whispered for almost a lifetime: Remove the veil. Give life to the woman beneath the veil.
Unwrap it, unwind this constricting piece of cloth! Let it fall to the ground and step away from it. Stand for a moment and let your eyes feast on the exoticness of the colours, the silkiness of the fabrics that are woven with gold and silver threads wound around the dark and pale strands. Fabrics that are meant for wild and dangerous femininity. Let your arms feel the penetrating warmth of the sun and your bare feet become accustomed to the golden rings upon your toes, as they are firmly planted on the earth. Tinkling bangles around your wrists will be a joyous sound as you dance. Hear the shout of liberty as the heart comprehends the call at last. See the world around you with new eyes, touch, taste and inhale the fragrance of life without the veil.
Now begin to move with flowing strides, with ease, grace and strength. Those hands become expressive, the eyes dance with passion for life. Through the window of the eyes is seen immense tenderness, strength of soul, generosity of heart. Those feet will be unafraid to walk in unknown pathways, and are at peace with the familiar, and keep on walking through the sand storms. The voice brings music, shares wisdom and bestows honor. She knows her mind can communicate with her heart.
She didn’t understand that the Call and the Whispering was from the One who tore the veil in two, when her name, her unique name was breathed long before she had life. Faithfully it has been seeking her freedom. She was designed to know the excellence of freedom. For far too long she has struggled with “transformation” and tried to work it out within her own tent. Now the canvas has been lifted on every side, the Light streams in. At last she understands that all along the whisper was “Remove the veil” and be set free. Free to ”live and move and exist” in the One who called her name. To live surrounded by those who have removed the veil. To walk with those who have not yet understood “the Whispering”.
“wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, he gives freedom. And all of us have had the veil removed so that we can be mirrors that brightly reflect the glory of the Lord.
Ponderings on Ezekiel 16: 4 – 14 and 2 Corinthians3: 7 -18
Senses that are alive within play a game of hide and seek, but all the hiding spots have been exhausted. In the hiding – the whisper comes again. What does it mean, what is the call?
After a long gestation period “the Whispering” is ready to reveal the meaning of the words whispered for almost a lifetime: Remove the veil. Give life to the woman beneath the veil.
Unwrap it, unwind this constricting piece of cloth! Let it fall to the ground and step away from it. Stand for a moment and let your eyes feast on the exoticness of the colours, the silkiness of the fabrics that are woven with gold and silver threads wound around the dark and pale strands. Fabrics that are meant for wild and dangerous femininity. Let your arms feel the penetrating warmth of the sun and your bare feet become accustomed to the golden rings upon your toes, as they are firmly planted on the earth. Tinkling bangles around your wrists will be a joyous sound as you dance. Hear the shout of liberty as the heart comprehends the call at last. See the world around you with new eyes, touch, taste and inhale the fragrance of life without the veil.
Now begin to move with flowing strides, with ease, grace and strength. Those hands become expressive, the eyes dance with passion for life. Through the window of the eyes is seen immense tenderness, strength of soul, generosity of heart. Those feet will be unafraid to walk in unknown pathways, and are at peace with the familiar, and keep on walking through the sand storms. The voice brings music, shares wisdom and bestows honor. She knows her mind can communicate with her heart.
She didn’t understand that the Call and the Whispering was from the One who tore the veil in two, when her name, her unique name was breathed long before she had life. Faithfully it has been seeking her freedom. She was designed to know the excellence of freedom. For far too long she has struggled with “transformation” and tried to work it out within her own tent. Now the canvas has been lifted on every side, the Light streams in. At last she understands that all along the whisper was “Remove the veil” and be set free. Free to ”live and move and exist” in the One who called her name. To live surrounded by those who have removed the veil. To walk with those who have not yet understood “the Whispering”.
“wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, he gives freedom. And all of us have had the veil removed so that we can be mirrors that brightly reflect the glory of the Lord.
Ponderings on Ezekiel 16: 4 – 14 and 2 Corinthians3: 7 -18
Sunday, August 01, 2004
May I Have This Dance?
The dance requests come at the strangest times. Requests to dance at inopportune moments. It is always the right moment I discover when I step into it.
I needed to talk – talk with God. The image that I had was Jesus seated across from me at a huge oak desk. His desk was piled high with file folders. As I sat down to ask Him questions my file was placed open upon the desk. The conversation began and when I had poured it all out I waited for Him to close the time, put the file with all the others and move on. After all isn’t that the purpose of the visit? Say what needs to be said and move on? Isn’t that how prayer time so often goes? The file remained open upon the desk, He was in no rush to move on but rather seemed intently interested in what lay beneath the questions. Just quiet, steady care that pierced my armour of self-protection. He stood and came round the desk to stand in front of me and said, “let’s dance”. Dance? How can the Physician’s office become a dance floor? How can I be asked to dance in this moment that seems so serious? Can I dance now when you know all the things I have shared? “Ah my beloved – this is the perfect time to dance. You need to be held in my arms at this moment and to feel my love for you. Come we will dance here, now in this sacred space you and I have. The Great Physician loves to dance.”
The most recent request was this last week walking by the sea. A brisk walk, exercise and then return home. Time – everything goes by time and scheduling in our world. The road on “my bit of beach” runs parallel to this rocky piece of shoreline along the Strait of Georgia. Little traffic along this beach, vehicular or pedestrian, makes it a place that beckons to avid walkers. Upon reaching the end of the road I was about to turn and head back the way I had come. But no – wait. The tide was out and had revealed a magnificent sandbar that stretched along most of the shoreline. Much too alluring to resist, it made walking across the rocky part of the beach worthwhile. I chuckled to myself as I stepped down and began to negotiate this rocky pathway. Suddenly, there it is again. The invitation to dance! How does one dance when an ungainly walk is all that I can manage? “Oh come and waltz with me, here now, across the stones.” I questioned dancing here, now? In my awkwardness and unbalanced gait it seemed too funny to be waltzing. “Test the flat stones, look for them and you will begin to move with ease.” Oh the waltz took on a faster pace and the easy rhythm of the polka came next. Across the rocks we went until the smooth sand was beneath my feet. Sandals off, bare feet squiggling in the wet sand, running to put my feet into the water and let the waves splash over my ankles, send their spray up on my thighs and hands. Glorious! Divine! Time was gone; there was no rush at all. Starfish decorated the ballroom floor, streamers of seaweed, the occasional crab who silently watched and a few jellyfish beyond observing. Seagulls, crows and oystercatchers joined the melody of the waves and the laughter of children at play. I swung my arms, sandals in my hands, kicked up my heals, pointed my toes although I didn’t manage the pirouette. The tango – I would love to dance the tango out here. His reply was “this is the time to salsa”. Leonard Sweet says, “You can’t define the salsa, only dance it”. This was a glorious dance of freedom. In Aramaic the words dance and rejoice mean the same thing. I danced, I rejoiced with wet feet and outstretched arms on the sandy dance floor.
Today I walked this sand bar again and heard: “could I have this dance for the rest of YOUR life?”
Random moments to me, chosen moments by my Beloved because He always knows the music – I don’t. He sings over me with His love.
“egli gioira di te di grande allegrezze: elgi si acquetera nel suo amore, egli festeggera di te con grida di allegrezza.” (Zephaniah 3:17)
(This Italian translation means a huge joy, a huge love, and a bold shout of joy)
I needed to talk – talk with God. The image that I had was Jesus seated across from me at a huge oak desk. His desk was piled high with file folders. As I sat down to ask Him questions my file was placed open upon the desk. The conversation began and when I had poured it all out I waited for Him to close the time, put the file with all the others and move on. After all isn’t that the purpose of the visit? Say what needs to be said and move on? Isn’t that how prayer time so often goes? The file remained open upon the desk, He was in no rush to move on but rather seemed intently interested in what lay beneath the questions. Just quiet, steady care that pierced my armour of self-protection. He stood and came round the desk to stand in front of me and said, “let’s dance”. Dance? How can the Physician’s office become a dance floor? How can I be asked to dance in this moment that seems so serious? Can I dance now when you know all the things I have shared? “Ah my beloved – this is the perfect time to dance. You need to be held in my arms at this moment and to feel my love for you. Come we will dance here, now in this sacred space you and I have. The Great Physician loves to dance.”
The most recent request was this last week walking by the sea. A brisk walk, exercise and then return home. Time – everything goes by time and scheduling in our world. The road on “my bit of beach” runs parallel to this rocky piece of shoreline along the Strait of Georgia. Little traffic along this beach, vehicular or pedestrian, makes it a place that beckons to avid walkers. Upon reaching the end of the road I was about to turn and head back the way I had come. But no – wait. The tide was out and had revealed a magnificent sandbar that stretched along most of the shoreline. Much too alluring to resist, it made walking across the rocky part of the beach worthwhile. I chuckled to myself as I stepped down and began to negotiate this rocky pathway. Suddenly, there it is again. The invitation to dance! How does one dance when an ungainly walk is all that I can manage? “Oh come and waltz with me, here now, across the stones.” I questioned dancing here, now? In my awkwardness and unbalanced gait it seemed too funny to be waltzing. “Test the flat stones, look for them and you will begin to move with ease.” Oh the waltz took on a faster pace and the easy rhythm of the polka came next. Across the rocks we went until the smooth sand was beneath my feet. Sandals off, bare feet squiggling in the wet sand, running to put my feet into the water and let the waves splash over my ankles, send their spray up on my thighs and hands. Glorious! Divine! Time was gone; there was no rush at all. Starfish decorated the ballroom floor, streamers of seaweed, the occasional crab who silently watched and a few jellyfish beyond observing. Seagulls, crows and oystercatchers joined the melody of the waves and the laughter of children at play. I swung my arms, sandals in my hands, kicked up my heals, pointed my toes although I didn’t manage the pirouette. The tango – I would love to dance the tango out here. His reply was “this is the time to salsa”. Leonard Sweet says, “You can’t define the salsa, only dance it”. This was a glorious dance of freedom. In Aramaic the words dance and rejoice mean the same thing. I danced, I rejoiced with wet feet and outstretched arms on the sandy dance floor.
Today I walked this sand bar again and heard: “could I have this dance for the rest of YOUR life?”
Random moments to me, chosen moments by my Beloved because He always knows the music – I don’t. He sings over me with His love.
“egli gioira di te di grande allegrezze: elgi si acquetera nel suo amore, egli festeggera di te con grida di allegrezza.” (Zephaniah 3:17)
(This Italian translation means a huge joy, a huge love, and a bold shout of joy)
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