When you think you know it all

Humility a creature unbecoming
Silence the movement of unbearable weight
These are my crosses

Love a becoming I'm not accustom
Sacrifice the words I know in head, not heart
These are my losses

Anger a custom I've adopted too well
Reaction the time grows shorter each & every time
These are my sins

If you knew me
Would you love me still?
If this demon-dragon showed itself,
Would You stick around?

Please teach me what is right.
I forgot it a long time ago.

Meek a phrase I am seeking
Thirst the taste of righteousness I've been given
These are my callings

Mercy a sought out name I long to know
Peacemaking the way of Christ, making the way of us
These are my joys

Insults a lack of knowing, unafraid
Obedience: waiting, following, the act of being
These are my gifts

Forgive this foolish pride
Assumptions of knowledge
Forgive acting before I am being
Running before I learned to stand

You know me
Yet You do not walk away
Your Spirit ever present
Simply my absence causing the drift

Please Lord help me,
Humility I seek
Slow to speak
Slow to anger
Respect
Deference
Love
Joy
Patience

I need You
For this shallow frame knows all
I need You
This soul knows not its own name

I am in desperate need of Your vastness, Your Holy wholly otherness is my salvation.
Adsorbing all I am into the expanse of You, undiluted
I will seek Your face and be changed by the touch of Your cloak
Thank You, meet me here in the weakness of me.

All Good Things Must Come to an End - A cup of tea reflection

The cinnamon left a tart feeling on my taste-buds, the black tea rich in flavor subdued by the soft soy milk frothy and full, and just a hint of sweet - a cup of tea like none other. 

For a few moments in time it was the most delicious creation....

Then the cup was empty.

Foamed soy milk rings were left around the cup, and the tea bag lay soggy in it's bottom. As I grasped the cup, tipping it as far as it would go without splashing my face - longing for the last drops of the delicious tea, my moment of liquid heaven was over.

It felt like it barely began.

I guess I often see life through these tea fashioned rings. Romantic, exotic, sweet but terribly too short.

I should be honest, I'm currently being deconstructed and am reaching for anything that makes sense - any little Lincoln Log I can grab to build something out of the nothing I am falling in.

I don't know why I dread so much the deconstruction, it's not like the building is falling on its own. Rather each piece, each construct of my life is being taken apart intricately and specifically by the illustrious, and good Creator. The hands pulling at my seems are not harsh or cruel - but are loving and holy hands, ones that carry holes in their palms as they have deconstructed the cruel world before and brought life never before imagined.

So why wouldn't these hands bring new life again?
Why be so afraid of the unknown, when it's in the exact place of absence & lack of knowing that Truth bursts forth and moves mountains?

I guess it's about trust.

In one of our many conversations about faith and identity, my husband was reflecting that while my wounds don't define me I've had instances of wounds that have shaped how I see things - God, myself, the world, purpose etc. As a recent professor reflected - we are living in our interpretations of our experiences not necessarily the experiences themselves. That is the beauty of what another professor friend called "God redeeming our memories" - He isn't changing the events themselves, but He is changing our interpretation of them.

But to allow a Holy God to shape us, requires abandonment, full and entire emptying - for this wicked frame cannot hold Him. Every part of my humanity must be made clean, pure, and right before the Almighty.

So Lord, make me renewed.

This Martha.
This part-time Mary.

The industrious one.
The administrator.

Eldest child.
First fruit sacrifice.

Authority challenged.
Wishful feminist.

Secret worshipper.
Loud talker.

The longings.
The dreams.

Pastor.
Missionary.
Mother.
Speaker.
Teacher.
Boss.
Wife.
Friend.

World changer.
Game player.


Take these definitions of me - the titles I wear proudly or in secret, and show me who You say that I am. Conform my memories of those defining moments to the truth of Your Spirit. Lead me into all righteousness. Laying down my expectations but giving into Your will - for all of forever.

I can't say anymore - this is who I am.
For who I am was left at the altar. Who I was given as a burnt offering of obedience.
Rather let me explore the depths of Love, the trenches of hope in the seas of the Unending Known God.
Help me not limit myself, but trust in Your breadth of love to sustain me.

I can't but that's okay. All I know is changing, and I can't control a thing. The waters are calling, help me dive deep. Let me wrestle You Lord, I will not leave You until I have a new name. One given by You not by man's desires or expectations - but a name given expressing who I truly am in You.

As in the words of C.S. Lewis
"There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind..."
Even the best cup of tea, in its most exotic and rich of flavor must end - but tomorrow brings an unexpected opportunity to discover its wonder again.

The things I didn't want to write

This Easter was perfect.

Growing up in a conservative Evangelical Charismatic non-denominational home, my father out of the Episcopal tradition, and my mom from the cultish World Wide Church of God - well let's just say all religious holidays had extensive discussions of their place in our family. My grandmother was a rich, retired Californian Episcopalian, so you can bet we went to the Country Club every year, wore matching dresses and was among the masses of grandchildren being bragged about among the residents. Church had little place in our Easter tradition. We had done the Good Friday or Saturday services - but they lacked the Resurrection and Sunday morning was dedicated to Egg Hunts and Luncheons so after a while my dad felt that only having the death of Christ wasn't beneficial. After my grandmother passed away I have no memories of Easter, the day of our Lord's Resurrection held little importance to me. Then when my husband and I got married we spent most of these times with my in-laws. They pastor a good Mid-West Christian Church, which means little liturgy, low emotion, and lots of specials. A good, calm Sunday service with breakfast fellowship beforehand (oh the bacon!) and a ham lunch afterwards.

This year was different, we weren't going to Illinois we had to choose our own tradition.
God spoke to my husband as we went to see the Disney Nature documentary Bears - yes God speaks to my husband often in Disney movies (Frozen was a life changer, no joke). Anyway Phil felt the unction of the Spirit to let me chose our Easter plans. He didn't want to, because he knew what that intended.

A sunrise service.
Going to our normal church family.
A picnic, with my family.
Following the whims of me.

Honestly I can't blame the man, both he and my daughter hadn't seen the light of a 6am hour in a long time. But they were troupers and got up with me to go the Charismatic Anglican service at the Lee University Chapel at 7am. I wanted our daughter to experience the liturgy of the Church of England, but with livelihood of the Spirit's ways -Emmanuel Fellowship offered both. We read aloud Scripture, responded to Fr. Baker, and sang beautiful songs - then as we were to partake of the Eucharist the sun began to fully rise. As the light streamed through the stained glass we stood in line awaiting the Body and the Blood. As Fr. Baker looked at me, asking if my five year old daughter took of the Lord's Table, my heart leapt as he prayed a special blessing over when I said yes. He touched her forehead, and she took the wafer. Then the next brother dipped it into the wine and put it in my daughter's mouth. I still remember to this day my first taste of communion wine, its odd flavor ruminating on my tongue as the wafer faded from my mouth. As we walked back to our pew, I sat and cried - the Lord knew my desires. My husband sitting next to me also wept for the impact of the Eucharist.

It wasn't Adelaide's first communion, and we are blessed to be in a congregation that weekly joins in the Lord's Supper but there was something there, in the blessings, in the waiting, in the emerging sun - the rejoicing of Christ is Risen that moved us both so deeply. Our darling Addie loved the songs, and sat so still even during the long readings and the homily. She watched as the Father crossed his chest, bowed to the Word and carried the cross out the door. She was joining in an ancient tradition, that I had been sprinkled into, a place that God had originally called me and I was now able to share with her.

The rest of the day was good as well. It was without drama (if you know us Blisses this is a huge feat) and was wonderfully relaxing. We were able to invite those who had no one else for our Easter picnic, and God showed us His heart for children during our service time at our normal congregation. God cared about my desires on Easter - even as the day was all about His Son's sacrifice, He still met me.

This sounds like a good, a great thing really. But as I woke up this morning there was a dead weight in my chest, a silent rock moving the blood through my veins as a living necessity rather than from passion or desire. I had a great day, enjoying the presence of my family - just us three. But as Phil poked at me, like he often does, he noticed I was not all right. I was resigned to a future I felt God wanted, but I never asked Him. I was being responsible making the pragmatic decisions for my family, sacrificing my hopes and dreams - but no one asked me to. I was a lonely martyr for a cause no one needed.

It's funny how we can make a decision by ourselves, run with it alone, and then wonder why it backfired? I think of Judas. I imagine him a pragmatic character, yes Matthew was the tax collector, but with a hothead like Peter, someone had to be the administrator, someone had to keep them on the right track. The beloved disciple was a bit self-absorbed, and the brothers fought or fished. But Judas - he had a clear head, and was following the Lord. When he saw the future king get off track, distracted by Samaritan women, or silly children - well he could ignore that if only to get him to the right path of overthrowing the Romans. But once Jesus started talking about dying, being the sacrificial Lamb, and them eating His Body - Judas knew things were too off target and action had to be taken. Whether he sold out Jesus to get out of this vagabond group of doomed misfits, or as a tactic to get Jesus to act according to his own plan - we will never know. But Judas did what was pragmatic, he made a decision and went with it - better than the floundering fool of a Peter or the sleeping chosen ones.

Man, how much I sound like that Judas. Doing what's right, at least by what's on paper; making sure we get to point z by properly following points b through y. Deciding what was best for the whole, without ever consulting another, going out, taking a risk in the name of the "plan" just to find out that that "plan" never existed. There was much more at work than a simple revolution - the Son of God and of man was about to change the entire game, not just shake a few Romans. But how could Judas know? He was just a man, but so were the rest of the disciples and while none of them handled the arrest of Jesus well none of them handed Him over either. Judas acted alone, doing what he thought was right by his own ideas.

Yeah, we have a lot in common. As soon as the plan seems to be failing I'm sitting back analyzing my next move. I'd be that Levite who'd die as they touched the Ark to keep it from falling - I assume my ways are the highest ways. I forget I can only see what is in my direct sight - and there is so much more at play than that. I can sacrifice my call for a future no one planned, lay my life down for a job that wasn't necessary, or lose my family as I assume roles never designed for me. Hearing the echoing words of my pastor I think I need to do something drastic to die to me and live for Christ - to follow Him wholeheartedly.

My husband said it starts in simply and sincerely praying - God please show me Your will and help me follow it. Lent is over, the waiting for the Resurrection has ended but still we await.
We wait for His Ascension, the relationship the disciples had with their Lord before has died and Jesus seems almost allusive but still so loving. Until the Ascension they will learn from Him, but it won't be the intimate times they had had once before. But there is coming a day, when the wind will blow and the flame arise as the Spirit will fall upon the people in ways much more intimate than God could've been before. The Spirit that will never leave them, nor forsake them, the Trinity residing upon their very beings. This is where I will wait as well. Knowing Jesus and I will never be the same, but that's okay - I sucked at playing god. But I will be marked to follow Him and it will cost me everything, and yet I will never be alone. Unlike Judas I will not have to fear my worthless coins as I lay in utter ruin of my plans being a lie - I can rest in the Spirit's voice changing me, directing me, and speaking to me. I am not alone, making pragmatic decisions as a selfish martyr - rather I am a bondservant of Christ, a coheir of the Son and He won't let me go.

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Listening to Jon Bryant's "What Takes You"
Hear it at http://jonbryant.bandcamp.com/album/what-takes-you
Inspired by Cheryl Bridges Johns' Sermon "Red Cord of Redemption"
Hear it at http://www.buzzsprout.com/7977/166808

Remembering Dust

I hear Your voice whisper

"I am not forgotten"

Do not forget the dust you were formed from

But it was not the dust alone, but My breathe that gave life

My breath is still in your lungs.

My image still carried in you.

Every step you take, I am there.

Every move in the chaos, I am present.

Not at a distance, but intimately there, aware.

So run into Me.

Look up and see My face

As I walk by grab My cloak

For I am not afraid of you.

Your depths don’t overwhelm me

Your neediness is not a burden

No need to shelter your words

For I know them already

Your very most being is understood by Me.

Don’t be afraid.

Don’t put on the mask

Abandon yourself completely to Me

For I do not grow weary

I am not tired of your voice

For I revel in all you are

For you are My beloved.

I never grow tired of you

I never want to take a break

I never leave you alone

I never tune you out

I hold fast to you all the days of your life

In the stillness I am here.

In the waves I hold you.

For you are Mine.

Touch My cloak

Run into Me

Grab My hand

Don’t look away for I am here

Forgetting the Dust

There isn't much need for eloquence this morning. The rain has done that already.

I woke up early to spend time with God, but found myself incredibly unfamiliar with Him. Sitting on the couch trying to figure out how to exit myself and enter into His Holiness - I was uncomfortable and uncertain. When you don't know what to do, do what you've done before I guess. I grabbed a book that encouraged me throughout the last year, Defiant Daughters: Christian Women of Conscience. Its a compilation of stories from the famous Joan of Arc, to lesser known saints or activists - women whose faith compelled them to action. Today I went to the women of dedication and St. Teresa of Avila.

It is not necessary for me to go through her story, though it is lovely, intriguing and challenging. But rather I felt the need to say I relate. In some small way her story echoed a longing in mine. As a child she longed to be a martyr (as did I), as an adult she chose to follow the way of Christ but got comfortable by the luxurious of this world (as I have), and then she grew in her longings for God and His visions, words and peace challenged her to move (as I hope to be).

I am at a place I don't know where to go next. The fear to disappoint and fail is high. I know it's silly but failure sounds similar to death but perhaps more permanent. I have so much transition around me I feel unable to enter its season -rather I feel to be a necessary rock for the storms around me. I can't make Jericho fall, I had my armor ready and the Lord said lay it down, grab your horn but walk in silence with Me.

I may be on day one around Jericho, or day six - I do not know, but I am walking in silence around these fortified walls. Knowing that inside is all I've been promised, much of what I long for but I cannot cease it, nor shall I make it mine - it is the Lord's. I will wait in active silence. Until the day of triumph arrives and I shout for His name sake.

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Psalms 16

Protect me, God, for I take refuge in You.
2 I said to Yahweh, “You are my Lord;
I have nothing good besides You.”
3 As for the holy people who are in the land,
they are the noble ones.
All my delight is in them.
4 The sorrows of those who take another god
for themselves will multiply;
I will not pour out their drink offerings of blood,
and I will not speak their names with my lips.

5 Lord, You are my portion
and my cup of blessing;
You hold my future.
6 The boundary lines have fallen for me
in pleasant places;
indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.

7 I will praise the Lord who counsels me—
even at night my conscience instructs me.
8 I keep the Lord in mind always.
Because He is at my right hand,
I will not be shaken.

9 Therefore my heart is glad
and my spirit rejoices;
my body also rests securely.
10 For You will not abandon me to Sheol;
You will not allow Your Faithful One to see decay.
11 You reveal the path of life to me;
in Your presence is abundant joy;
in Your right hand are eternal pleasures.

In Search for a Holy God: Redeeming Spirit, Mind, and Body

I have a confession. 

I struggle to confess. 

I lack strength to say when I've been wrong. I think sin left my vocabulary many years ago. When I no longer struggled with lust, I figured the rest of my past was just that - in the past. I was a new creation, abundantly living in the King. But sin lurked at the door, I invited it into my living room, and it took up residence but this time sin had a new name - please meet "This is who I am". 

I have another confession.

I have doubted God is big enough. The hole in my heart is large, the desires of my soul so deep I could drown in their waters - and I fear God isn't big enough to fit. If you are a child of the Christian 90's or 2000's you probably heard "God Shaped Hole" by Plumb. But what if that hole is so large and vast that even God Himself is not big enough to fill it? And to be honest, being in church, seminary and community has furthered this belief - that God isn't big enough to fill this void, because He made it too large for Himself. Yes God is the only way we are whole, yet the Body is the place we find fulfillment.

_________________________________________________

On a recent car ride home from visiting one of my many sisters in college, the conversation got heated between my husband and me. He was poking at a wound, and me being the lion I am - I roared to consume rather than realize my need to confess the pain and accept the help from the other to be healed. 

Like most of our conversations it was about God, faith and family. As many other millennials have recently confessed, I was wounded by this faith I had walked into. It seems almost every day I read some blog or note about my generation leaving the church, of walking away from this institution. I understand, it's a hot button issue - we want to love but the politics and "God's side" of issues have been a death grip around our culture. Rather than sprouting forth love, by witnessing the Trinity's perichoresis we've pointed the world to a God of death and judgment, where we are the judges and God a mere puppet of our wisdom. 

While I have my own battle wounds over the last two decades of church going, and my story of trying to leave Her - I am here in the Church, pursuing God's calling to be a pastor. But I am not as wounded my church as I thought I was, and I can forgive Her transgressions - for she is a flawed vessel. See the conversation my husband and I had brought up the deep issue.

I have been hurt by God.

_________________________________________________________

It's a cliché I'm sure. But the fact remains, the pains in my heart revolves around my Creator - or so it seems. 

__________________________________________________________

I believe the prophetic word should be like the breath that formed all of creation. It is not by my own breath, mind, or words but when the Spirit falls and prophetic utterance takes place the possibilities are endless. This Ruach ha-Kadosh formed the seas, the skies, breathing life into these very bones. When this same Holy Spirit speaks through us, these broken vessels, fragile beings, She brings forth the same power and authority, love and creativity on the day of Creation. I believe it in the very depths of my core. That the touch of God causes healing, and it's not a healing where poof and it's magically fixed, but a touch that goes into the very DNA of the person, causing the cells to be corrected in a miraculous and holistic manner. I know this may sound superfluous - but the Holy Spirit heals us in bodily ways, often messy human hands, and the touch of God changes the very fiber of our being. I can't say this strong enough. I can't express it full enough. These words fail to express the need for a bodily touch of the Spirit, and the fact that the Spirit does respond in these ways. 

The Son became human, taking on the fullness of man and of God to make space for us, and the Spirit rested on Him inviting us to partake in this Holy Communion. We are not making space in these cobwebbed hearts of ours, but rather the Creator of the universe, the Holy One is inviting us to join in them. We get to witness the love of the Trinity, fully and beautifully - and we are never the same. When the Spirit draws us into the Trinitarian community we are marked, ruined for the ordinary and our taste is for the divine. But the Spirit does not draw us spirits only - being a mere decapitated soul. NO! The Spirit invites our body - the all of our humanity to be redeemed, to be marked by this dance and to witness to the world their beauty. 

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As we drove home I wept. For I feared God was not like I dreamt. That the God whom I formed my every thought around, whom I met in the nights of pain, and in the days of ecstatic joy was not the real God. I feared in my confession I would find Elohim to be a fraud, and I would be the fool that believed. I feared if I confessed that I truly believed that God worked I would be disappointed. See bodily change takes risk. To believe God can change my heart, well that's easy to measure - I may get an emotional high today, and next week it'll be gone but for a season God moved. The body is not so easily manipulated. I cannot fake my wholeness.

-------

I was 13. Going on my first mission trip. My youth group and I were going to Alaska. The night before we were to fly up there we were practicing one of our dramas. I was a party girl (the polar opposite of my adolescent self) and was holding a beer bottle, and at one point would fall on the ground in sight of the holy. Well something went wrong, and when I fell my wrist hit the bottle and pain surged through my body. Trying to be strong, I attempted to not make it a big deal. I didn't want them to see my weakness (which has so many thing wrong with it, but that's for another time) so I cried outside, alone till I could come back inside. After practice I went home, and my wrist swelled overnight, so my mom took me to the doctor before I was to get on the plane. I had fractured my wrist - you know one of those hairline fractures that would've been less painful and easier to heal if had fully broken. The doctor gave me a brace and I headed to Alaska. After arriving in Anchorage, we met up with several hundred youth at a church service in preparation for our mission’s week. In the service I felt the Spirit say my wrist was healed. I took off my brace in faith that the Spirit had spoken, and proceeded to act out my healing. After the service when one of the adults saw, they told me to put back on the brace. Me, in my cowardice, and deep desire to be accepted, simply put on the brace without ever telling them why I had taken it off. A seemingly small instance, but the next 10 years my wrist would still pop under certain weight, and for the first five years I couldn't carry anything heavy without intense pain. It was my marker, my sign that the institution didn't recognize me, and that I didn't have enough faith for healing to happen. In response I rejected a God who wouldn't touch my body, and lost so much faith in the process.

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Living in a Pentecostal context, people would often ask for prayers of healing. Yet when others would ask for healing prayers, I wouldn't touch the person - for fear my touch would be the 'faith zapper' making void all the other prayers. I knew I didn't have enough faith and feared I would be the preventing hand. Being a follower of Jesus I knew I should ask for my own healing, though anytime I asked for healing the double mindedness was so consuming I hated myself. In order to handle this bodily rejection, God became the God of my mind, an intellectual playmate of sorts. In the nights where the darkness would creep, the name of Jesus cast out fear and caused peace. Through counseling the Spirit rested on me, and I would sing His praises again. But the God that carried my Body... I wasn't so sure. It was during these immediate years after the mission trip experience that my eyes had a weird healing experience. Having been born with a very bad lazy eye, I had surgery at three and wore bifocals from that point on. Then one day between the ages of 12-15 my glasses broke, and I could see. I could really truly see without them. I was healed! But as the months and years went by, my eyes grew tired. And I could not see as clearly. Soon the headaches would set in, and I needed glasses again. This time not bifocals, but still glasses had to be worn. Once again I didn't have enough faith, God couldn't fully heal me. I would become a product of a half-healing.

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In a faith that often saw mental illness as demons, and physical handicaps often the result of sin or the enemy - I had no theology for lingering 'otherness'. Then my brother-in-law was diagnosed with Asperger’s, my little sister as well would be found on the spectrum. My husband struggled with depression, and I went through dark post-partum after the birth of our daughter. Both of my childhood best friends lost their mother's to breast cancer - though both had claimed healing in Jesus. Our bodies were being affected, they were fallen and I needed a God who cared. He was not absent, but His timing seemed so very slow. Yet His response turned everything upside down; through my two best friends, Hannah and Jenna. 

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Jenna is a mom of two, a lively soul who reminds me of the joys of God. She has blood pressure problems, and a number of allergies that prevent her from "normal" living. Her body isn't strong, and work is taxing - but God has made a way for her to revel in her children and in His nature. She is one of the most intelligent people I've ever met, though she lacks a degree. Yet one night at a prayer meeting God called me to pray for her healing as she asked the congregation to do so. I went and touched Jenna on the top of her head down to then down to her toes, and wept. The next week she testified to being healed of that specific allergy.

Hannah has cerebral palsy. Her heart is strong, and she has faced death so many times - yet she perseveres. God spoke a promise of healing, and every day we seek His face for this holistic healing. She has to wear noise canceling headphones because sound hurts so much. Her body aches in ways I can't imagine. Yet she cares so deeply for the other, her empathy is like that of our Eternal Intercessor. She has committed her steps to the Lord, though her feet may drag and her spirit may feel broken - she hasn't given up. In a church service God called me to anoint her feet, as the oil dripped and my tears ran; I'm still believing for her healing. 

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I have been marked. Hannah's very presence has changed me, the structure of my heart has been affected. From her I love in ways I didn't know was possible. Jenna has torn down so many walls, allowing me to believe in friends again. Her vibrate spirituality has challenged me to believe in a playful God again.

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See I believe in a Holy God, one who is not disinterested in our bodies, but rejoices in them. I believe in a Holy Spirit who changes us, causing right all that has been wrong. When we see a broken mind - the Spirit can make it right! It may be in the whisper of days, months and years – but oh for the glorious moments of fire that causes immediate and complete change! I believe that the prophetic is alive today, and we are invited to participate in the Spirit’s work of illuminating the broken to God’s love.

I believe because my mind can’t be greater than God’s. My imagination cannot be more beautiful than the Creator’s. My love for the other is a shadowed reflection compared to the Son’s. My desire for transformation is a small drop in the Spirit’s brooding over all creation.

I don’t feel it. Often I feel the exact opposite. I'm left wondering why God is dead. I wonder why Hannah’s body is still broken, why Jenna isn’t whole, why J's mind is still conflicted, why F doesn’t see, why our church is so full of broken people….. But perhaps it is in this desert, that the new creation is being made. That in the drought, the seemingly absent Spirit is holding us here, drawing us deeper than we ever knew, to a place of intimacy that we wouldn’t see otherwise. I wish it felt good, I wish I believed in my emotions. Honestly I doubt, there are spaces of fear so strong I want to run away from this place. But I have been marked – I have seen the backside of the Lord and I believe He will show His face. I am choosing to stay – not because I feel like it, but because all I am affirms His truth and I will have faith in this tension of already and not yet to abide. Oh Holy Spirit rest on us, draw us into this holy communion.