The Healing Command of Repentance--it's a long one!

Repentance. I have not really thought of it as a command, but scripture speaks of it this way. God always commands things with the intention of our freedom. His commandments are good and right and healing. The wisdom of Spurgeon, in his sermon “Faith and Repentance Inseprable,” brings clarity to a familiar word. He reforms and redefines and corrects the false ideas around the critical topic of repentance. Too often our minds check out and go numb to critical and evaluative thinking. Those who have been in the “Christian” world for many years simply stop thinking. If we are not careful and proactive about study, meditations and reflection, we will stop growing. In summary, we have forgotten about the necessity of repentance, and the gift of grace it is to us.

Spurgeon explains the meaning he extracts from the Greek word for repentance used in Scripture. The Greek actually has two words for repentance, one is less intense, “changing your mind,” and one the other is more thought-provoking. This definition is very helpful to our understanding the critical nature of repentance. It means “aftercare,” which is linked to the idea of sorrow or anxiety. The unrepentant heart is an anxious heart. By definition this is a heart full, and stuffed with angst and dark splinters, slowly hardening and missing out on the healing, unlocking power of grace. Spurgeon actually speaks of repentance as, “a blessed grace of the Holy Spirit.” A Grace. Reflection surfaces the question, “How is repentance a gift of grace?” The truth is, it is wrenching to think about my offenses. However, I long to consider how this is true and seek to measure the insights and confident statements of Charles Spurgeon.

There are two closely linked means of missing out on grace. One Spurgeon mentions first is to have the subtle mentality that these sins, these depressing and shameful sins, are beyond the pardon of God. This temptation is very real. In essence Spurgeon names this approach to sin a “sin” in and of itself. I do not usually think of this as sin...but with more contemplation it makes sense: If I weigh my sins as too big and too offensive and too overwhelming, I am making the cross small and the blood of Jesus impotent. God makes a promise to take all sin and cast it as far as the east is from the west, to forgive it and erase it and even use it for my personal redemption. With an honest look at such sins, I struggle deeply to believe the punishment for my sin is paid for. These sins carry with them a burdensome weight of consequence. How, in the name of justice and common sense, can they be pardoned? This is grace. This is the gift forgotten, misunderstood, and dismissed. A costly gift we daily set aside.

Spurgeon describes this thought in a way only he can, “[Jesus] can save you; be you as black as hell he can save you; and it is a wicked falsehood, and a high insult against the majesty of divine love when you are tempted to believe that you are past the mercy of God.”


The other angle of repentance that he addresses in his sermon is also quite tempting to settle into and takes the previous point to another level. All too often we find ourselves living in the despair that results from sin which essentially hardens the heart. Here is a hopelessness that takes root and begins to twist a life into a state of isolation from God and the grace He gives. In many ways, it “feels” right to despair and to sit locked in the dark room of my consequences. It “feels” right to have deep regret and misery. But too much despair leads to a resignation, a throwing in the towel. On the other hand, true repentance brings a softening of the heart, not hardening it with fear, angst, or hopelessness. These are natural responses to offending or hurting, so they seem “right.” But Spurgeon describes it this way,

If they could once get the thought that God would forgive them, their hearts would flow in rivers of repentance; but no; they feel a kind of regret that they did wrong, but yet they go on in it all the same, feeling that there is no hope, and that they may as well continue to live as they were, and get the pleasures of sin since they cannot, as they think, have the pleasures of grace. Now that is not repentance. It is a fire that hardens, and not the Lord’s fire which melts...

This is how I live my life. Desperation and hopelessness follow like a shadow behind me and sometimes in front of me. But always near. I am attached to the regret of my sin, but I am failing to dwell in the freedom and grace of forgiveness. Repent and rejoice. These two are linked and produce true repentance in the heart. Regret feels right, and initially is healthy. But it cannot stay in that place or despondency sets in. It is all too common, and one of Satan’s goals, to keep one stuck in the destructive patterns of sin since lines have already been crossed. But here is the neglect of grace. The dismissal of the greatest gift of freedom. This is the failure to rejoice in the power of the cross. A slap in the face. A sin of the worst kind. Making the cross small, insignificant and pointless. To keep on sinning, to stop fighting, to embrace and get comfortable with dark pleasure is to cheapen grace and live in bondage. This is a crisis, a failure of belief that this gift is real and effective for change and hope.

Repentance unlocks the chains around our souls. Seems strange and backwards at first thought. Seems easier to ignore sin, pretend that it didn’t happen, or resign to its power. I always thought that would be freedom. But grace comes in strange ways and unexpectedly. Grace falls on us by the acknowledgement, confession, and sorrow over sin. Here is where we not only realize how valuable the cross is, but also what it means that Jesus takes it, and tosses it so very far away. Gone. Not stuffed down and left dark and festering. Gone. Forgotten. Freedom; a true freedom. Pretending that these offenses are not inside us, does not make them disappear. Instead they simply stay hidden, and grow in power. We turn the other way while they wrap themselves around our souls. So He commands us to repent. He commands this simply because He loves us so. Let the sins that easily weigh us down and harden our hearts be extracted from the deepest places within us. Lay them before the Healer and Forgiver, let Him take them and toss them.

Let Him anoint you with grace.

Looking through old Christmas reflections and I found this one...

Nothing compares to Jesus. Over the course of 37 years living and breathing, I can testify that this is true. And it is not a feeling. It is a state of belief and in the truest sense, a relationship that is more full than any other. It is Christmas 2008. I am in PA and sitting by myself, not sure where everyone even is…but I am thankful for the unexpected time in solitude. It is hard to come by in a house of 9 around the holidays. It has been fun and loud…so many gifts and so much food. And little time for silence.
So in some ways Jesus has felt as far away as the rest of the universe. I have some things that weigh on me and it is hard to give them to Him when I can’t find Him for the handoff. But this is the problem…we can pray and thank Him for His birth, we can claim Him to be the reason we celebrate Christmas, we can mention Him in passing and listen to music that highlights His birth…but if we don’t choose Him and sit silent before Him, we will remain here in the physical world and the physical world will be our home. My last few years have left me thinking about the idea of the Kingdom of God. It is not what is around us. It is not the tangible. It is not the loud, technological advancements. I realize with so many others like Henri Nouwen and Thomas Merton and Brennan Manning…it is silence that ushers in the Spirit in such an array of colors that it stirs my soul with supernatural traces. The noise keeps Him out. The chatter and constant movement are like a wall between us and Him. But He waits. And He promises to come to us…but His mode and method are not like that of this world.
So this morning…I thought about Jesus. I thought about how He calms me. I thought about how the only hope I have is hope in Him. I was thinking about how much He matters when I feel overwhelming fear or disappointment. I was remembering how often my life has been straightened out or refreshed only in His presence. I was thinking about how apart from Him there is NO GOOD THING. I was recalling how my perspective is so skewed and leads me in a downward spiral of thought when I am disconnected from Him. I was thinking about how even creation is not as vibrant if not through the lens of God—knowing truly it was made for me to enjoy and to point me back to His power and might. He is it. He is all there is. He is the fountain of life, the healing balm, the resurrection of the dead, the peace that passes understanding, the hope of all nations, the beginning and the end, the reality of the supernatural, the motivation of the saints, the anchor for our wandering souls, the answer to all the questions, the rock when all around us is unstable, the purpose in all pleasure, the only One who knows us fully and loves us completely.
He came so that we could be with Him, live along side of Him, talk to Him, cry with Him, cling to Him…but somehow, we live as if He never came. We don’t really talk to Him that much, we don’t listen for His voice, we don’t get quiet and wait for Him to reveal Himself, we don’t seek out our answers from Him, we keep the TV on, we keep our ipods hooked up, we stay on our cell phones, we surround ourselves with people, we talk about meaningless things, we hope in money, we seek rest in the wrong places, we eat too much, drink too much, and shop too much. We look for more every day but we rarely go to the well of LIVING water that He has always promised to be. We are starving even though we are maxed out. We hunger in such a deep place and yet we keep eating the wrong substance. We are walking dead, living with so much less than what we have access to. We have been told so many lies and we live by them as if they were true. But they kill us every day. They steal from our souls and leave us empty again and again. We have forgotten Jesus. We live like He never came. We turn our eyes and hopes toward shallow things. We live like Christmas never happened, but we celebrate it every year with such vigor, we rejoice over a King born who came to save us, but we never really talk to Him.
So here I sit. Wondering what my next year will look like. So many people in harsh pain around me, and I am in pain myself. Give me Jesus today. Give me all the He is and all that He wants to be for me. Give me a heart to bow down to Him. Give me silence to hear Him, give me a voice to speak to Him, give me Jesus.
“For the people walking in darkness have seen a great light….”
Isaiah 40: all…
1 Comfort, comfort my people,
says your God.
2 Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and proclaim to her
that her hard service has been completed,
that her sin has been paid for,
that she has received from the LORD's hand
double for all her sins.
3 A voice of one calling:
"In the desert prepare
the way for the LORD [a] ;
make straight in the wilderness
a highway for our God. [b]
4 Every valley shall be raised up,
every mountain and hill made low;
the rough ground shall become level,
the rugged places a plain.
5 And the glory of the LORD will be revealed,
and all mankind together will see it.
For the mouth of the LORD has spoken."
6 A voice says, "Cry out."
And I said, "What shall I cry?"
"All men are like grass,
and all their glory is like the flowers of the field.
7 The grass withers and the flowers fall,
because the breath of the LORD blows on them.
Surely the people are grass.
8 The grass withers and the flowers fall,
but the word of our God stands forever."
9 You who bring good tidings to Zion,
go up on a high mountain.
You who bring good tidings to Jerusalem, [c]
lift up your voice with a shout,
lift it up, do not be afraid;
say to the towns of Judah,
"Here is your God!"
10 See, the Sovereign LORD comes with power,
and his arm rules for him.
See, his reward is with him,
and his recompense accompanies him.
11 He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those that have young.
12 Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand,
or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens?
Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket,
or weighed the mountains on the scales
and the hills in a balance?
13 Who has understood the mind [d] of the LORD,
or instructed him as his counselor?
14 Whom did the LORD consult to enlighten him,
and who taught him the right way?
Who was it that taught him knowledge
or showed him the path of understanding?
15 Surely the nations are like a drop in a bucket;
they are regarded as dust on the scales;
he weighs the islands as though they were fine dust.
16 Lebanon is not sufficient for altar fires,
nor its animals enough for burnt offerings.
17 Before him all the nations are as nothing;
they are regarded by him as worthless
and less than nothing.
18 To whom, then, will you compare God?
What image will you compare him to?
19 As for an idol, a craftsman casts it,
and a goldsmith overlays it with gold
and fashions silver chains for it.
20 A man too poor to present such an offering
selects wood that will not rot.
He looks for a skilled craftsman
to set up an idol that will not topple.
21 Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
Has it not been told you from the beginning?
Have you not understood since the earth was founded?
22 He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth,
and its people are like grasshoppers.
He stretches out the heavens like a canopy,
and spreads them out like a tent to live in.
23 He brings princes to naught
and reduces the rulers of this world to nothing.
24 No sooner are they planted,
no sooner are they sown,
no sooner do they take root in the ground,
than he blows on them and they wither,
and a whirlwind sweeps them away like chaff.
25 "To whom will you compare me?
Or who is my equal?" says the Holy One.
26 Lift your eyes and look to the heavens:
Who created all these?
He who brings out the starry host one by one,
and calls them each by name.
Because of his great power and mighty strength,
not one of them is missing.
27 Why do you say, O Jacob,
and complain, O Israel,
"My way is hidden from the LORD;
my cause is disregarded by my God"?
28 Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and his understanding no one can fathom.
29 He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
30 Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
31 but those who hope in the LORD
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.

Be a Gardener...

"There is a treasure in the earth
that is a food tasty and pleasing
to the Lord.

Be a gardener.
Dig and ditch,
toil and sweat,
and turn the earth upside down
and seek the deepness
and water the plants in time.
Continue this labor
and make sweet floods to run
and noble and abundant fruits
to spring.
Take this food and drink
and carry it to God
as your true worship."

--Julian of Norwich


Since when did we think faith was about the rush...the emotional return and the satisfaction of our ego? Since when was it all about us, instead of laboring as an act of worship for Him?

Lord, save us from such shallow faith and self-absorbed, lazy Christianity. You modeled something so very different.

A real prayer from a real heart of contemplation...

I'm studying a bit on prayer. I am humbled with how little I get regarding this great mystery and I am reminded that I truly have no idea what it is to be a "praying woman." I hate that my prayer time consists of moments here and there, turning off the radio, praying while I put on make-up, or taking a shower. Now, don't get me wrong, I think the constant communion is a very significant part of being truly connected to Jesus. But what about the monks, the puritans, and people like Luther, Tozer and Spurgeon...they prayed for hours. They taught it AND they lived it. I ask for the Lord to mold and shape prayer into me...I guess after I write this, it would be best to just go do the very thing I am talking about. Here is a prayer by Thomas Merton that I love and relate so much too...enjoy.

My Lord God
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following
your will does not mean
that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that my desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope that I have that desire
in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything
apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this
you will lead me by the right road
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always
though I may seem to be lost
and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear,
for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me
to face my perils alone.
- Thomas Merton (1915-1968)

"We still need to mop up here..."

A Young Life camp sits in the center of a circle of beautiful, misty mountains. Windy Gap is not far from Asheville, NC and is the spot for our annual high school retreat. As we caravan four tour buses full of almost three hundred students, we kick off the school year with the hopes that our kids will have the right vision of what lies ahead. I don't necessarily look forward to it like I used to when I was younger, but the truth is every year I end up loving the time with the kids and relishing in spontaneous conversations with spiritually hungry teenagers. It is worth every minute.

My other responsibility every year is taking the seniors to the middle school retreat were we serve them as the work crew. I would love to try to explain the nature of this trip and why I love it more than the previous one described, but it would be hard to summarize. As I drove home and reflected, I knew I needed to write a little bit about this time as it is always so special, but this year was extra ordinary. It is telling enough if I just say, that I didn't want to leave and I wish I was headed back again this week with the same kids. That actually says a lot.

So what made it so sweet? Why in the world would I want to go back to scraping dirty plates covered in middle school grime and milk spilled on pancakes and rice splattered all over the floor and dirty napkins stuck to tables from syrup? Why would I want to lift chairs, sweep floors and empty trash cans filled with soured , old food? What would make me miss late nights, early mornings and giggly girls? How in the world can I be sitting outside on my deck with a glass of wine and a soft bed awaiting me and wish I were in a bunk bed, with 11 other girls and a hard, long day ahead of manual, tiring labor? "Why do you always have to be the one to chaperon that trip Dawn? Why don't they get someone else, you do it every year?" Good question. And every year I battle the same hesitation and it gets a little harder to be motivated to go. My back aches, I want good sleep, and I am in charge of too many girls, many of whom have no work ethic. It's like a woman saying she wants to go through labor again. Absurd. Right?

This year was like no other. Hope comes to mind. After many years of coming home feeling like it was worth it because any investment into kids who seem to have no anchor, is worth it. But this year reminded me that there are classes and individual kids that are in a good place. Respect for authority, work ethic, willingness to do whatever is asked. Being proactive in what needs to be done. Humor with no compromise. The rare question of, "What can I do now?" A random group getting along like they are all friends. Hardly any complaining. Laughter. Fun. Singing. Dancing. Taking picture after picture. Talking late at night on blankets under the stars and wishing I could bottle it up so as to never lose it.

I wonder what it was. I do know these particular kids are a unique group. I know most of them have some qualities that make them exceptional in many ways. It is also clear that the mix of kids is not typical. It was a story unfolding. It was in many ways, though they would never see this, a picture of the gospel. The evidence of Jesus. Serving is the key to joy and true satisfaction. Working together to do a hard job and to see it come to pass. Getting dirty, having sticky hands, breaking backs, long hours and no thanks...sounds like Jesus a little bit. Sounds like the life He calls us to. I know at the end of the day, this trip with the seniors is always the more rich one. The first trip to Windy Gap is to serve the kids...a speaker, good food, fun games and free time to hang out...the other one is to serve messy, immature, loud kids...sweat, early mornings and one more task, followed by one more task. It is the grunt work, the washing of dishes with steaming hot water, emptying trash cans full of nasty liquid and going to bed only to wake up with aching feet to do the next job, the next day.

Serving others. Spending yourself. It's not what our culture is telling us. I think it both fascinating and disturbing that there is a small business that actually cleans up your dog poop in the yard. People are paying for this to be done because they don't want to do it themselves. We have lost the rewarding reality of hard work, of dirty, humbling work. Smiles were on the faces of the kids in the kitchen. Laughter was coming for the ones breaking their backs and mopping the floors. The upside down Kingdom. We taste it every once in awhile. We want it all the time...

Just a convert or actually following?

We have a book we are reading this summer as a staff at the school where I work. Some years are better than others, but most of the books our Head of School chooses, I have loved and benefited from quite a bit. It I had a better memory, I'm sure my life would be applying more of the content not only in my counseling office and my classroom, but also in my life! This year we are reading a book by a brilliant man, a man with such obvious humility and wisdom that is combined with a genuine love for the Lord. The book is called The Great Omission by Dallas Willard. I don't want to expound on anything too much, but instead to just leave a few quotes for you to ponder...the premise of the book is that there is a great difference between those who are converted to Christianity and those who are disciples of Jesus. To say you believe in Him as a fact is not the same as following His life and becoming more like Him. So here are a few nuggets:

"Jesus is actually looking for people he can trust with His power. He knows that otherwise we remain largely helpless in the face of the organized and disorganized evils around us..."

"However we may understand the details, there can be no doubt, on the biblical picture of human life, that we were meant to be inhabited by God, and to live by a power beyond ourselves. Human problems cannot be solved by human means...but only constant students of Jesus will be given adequate power to fulfill their calling to be God's person for their time and their place in this world. They are the only ones who develop the character which makes it safe to have such power."


"In our culture, and among Christians as well, Jesus Christ is automatically disassociated from brilliance or intellectual capacity. Not one in a thousand will spontaneously think of Him in conjunction with words such as 'well informed,' 'brilliant,' or 'smart.'...What lies at the heart of the astonishing disregard of Jesus found in the moment-to-moment existence of multitudes of professing Christians is a simple lack of respect for Him. He is not seriously taken to be a person of great ability."

One more thought I appreciated is his firm stance on our responsibility in this transformation. In our becoming more like Jesus, we must make an effort and be a part of the relationship. To often we falsely believe that God must just drop down His power, motivation and inspiration down upon our heads...then we will be mighty Christians who leave a transforming ripple effect on the universe. Wrong. Nothing in life works this way. In this, he addresses the disciplines of the faith. In a clarifying statement he says,

"The emphasis in this dimension of spiritual transformation is upon our efforts. True, we are given much, and without grace we can do nothing, but our action is also required. 'Try your hardest,' Peter directs us (II Peter 1:5)...We should not only want to be merciful, kind, unassuming, and patient persons but also making plans to become so. We are to find out, that is, what prevents and what promotes mercifulness and kindness and patience in our souls, and we are meant to remove hindrances to them as much as possible, carefully substituting that which assists Christ-likeness."

"We will come to understand that for the most part our hurry is really based upon pride, self-importance, fear, and lack of faith, and rarely upon the production of anything of true value for anyone."

Wow. It seems we can be on the same track for years of our life and never stop and ask some of these invaluable questions. It is like we don't even know what it means to follow Jesus. No wonder the watching world is not really that drawn to us, and more importantly to Him. We are living like atheists. It's quite sad. But we have access to life-giving, life-changing power. He has promised abundant life and we settle for dull colors and a bland existence. Ask for more...Put effort into it. Eat of the richest of fare.

What does it mean to rest?

To stare at this picture brings a sense of solace, doesn't it? To actually go to a place like this and sit still as you gaze and meditate on beauty changes you on the inside. It's hard to explain. My brother has spent most summers in the Adirondack Mountains and this summer he is here at home. I heard him down by the lake last night with his friend looking for deer. He told me today over a cup of coffee, "I just need to be outside. I start to feel crazy and angry when I am not outdoors. I grew up in the woods every year and I can't live without it." I sat for a second and thought how cool that was. It was only two summers ago that I first went to Alaska and I remember having the conscious thought that being outside is being more in touch with God. I actually experienced a new level of spiritual connection when I simply threw my head back, felt the breeze, took in the clean air and set my eyes on images that are hardly able to be explained. My soul found water. My heart was at peace. I guess in a way it was because I was tasting and seeing the biggness of God. When I would cast my vision up at mountains so towering or I find myself gazing at water with a deep emerald tone, I was subsequently finding perspective. A new view and a calming wave would come over me.

So I contrast this with loud commentators on Fox News, the rush of trucks on the highway, the sound of video games, sirens, music on the radio and the overall sounds of voices talking over one another and the crazy busyness in my head. The truth is, I have to stop or I will think constant, spinning noise is ok. The T.V., like a constant voice in the background can stay on in some homes all day. We rarely drive in silence. Our phones are constantly alerting us to messages, and life stays so loud. We forget silence. We think noise going all the time is just the way life is. But look back at that picture. Imagine in your mind what it would be like to sit in front of that lake for an hour of total quiet. And pay attention the the thoughts that surface that you have tried to resist for the last five or ten years. We are afraid. And every year we have to work harder to keep them at bay. What does freedom look like? True freedom...what does it look like to actually live and not survive. What does it mean to actually thrive and not just pass time with pointless conversations and shopping? What does it actually mean to be a satisfied person? This summer figure it out. Find a spot. Sit still. Wait on the Lord and He will shower Himself down onto your weary, dry, and hurried soul.

Waiting well reveals the health of my soul...

I love Henri Nouwen. He is one of the most profound thinkers of our day and so spiritually in tune with the Spirit of God. His words can turn a moment upside down for me. I can be in despair and after reading some of his words, my entire perspective can change. My goal would be to think like Jesus, but second to that, I would like to think as Henri Nouwen thinks. If you have not read his writings, search him online or buy any one of his books and you will want more and more. Here is one excerpt from his thoughts on waiting. I struggle so much with this and it seems in some areas of my life I have been waiting for a long time...I love how he shifts my manner of thought:

Waiting is patient
But there is none of this passivity in Scripture. Those who are waiting are waiting very actively. They know that what they are waiting for is growing from the ground on which they are standing. That’s the secret. The secret of waiting is the faith that the seed has been planted, that something has begun. Active waiting means to be present fully to the moment, in the conviction that something is happening. A waiting person is a patient person. The word “patience” means the willingness to stay where we are and life the situation out to the full in the belief that something hidden there will manifest itself to us. Impatient people are always expecting the real thing to happen somewhere else and therefore want to go elsewhere. The moment is empty. But patient people dare to stay where they are. Patient living means to live actively in the present and wait there.

Jenel, Odlin, and Ben.

These boys have changed me....they live in Haiti and in my heart.

Just some photo experiments.....

A Message in the Sky....

I keep spotting Red Birds.

To me, it means something, but maybe I am reading into things. I can tend to do that, and slowly after a train of thoughts, I shape and mold a message in the sky. There is a piece of me that sincerely believes words and letters are written to me on pages in the clouds, seas and flowers. In the end, I always question if it is real or just my imagination playing Hide and Seek or Ghosts in the Graveyard, leaving me with trails of hope but no tangible find. Seems to me, His creation has always been a means of communication. He spoke the trees, spiders, dandelions, and rivers into their existence. He used prophets to relay the message of promises to come and prevailing justice. He came as the Word made flesh, and taught the crowds on hills and outside synagogues. God speaks in many ways and over centuries of time. Communication is sometimes loud and sometimes soft. But it is.

So with me, He is personal with Red Birds. The truth is, I can't tell if I spot them more regularly, or if they are directed across my path more often lately. Perched on the pavement, just catching my eye between two cars in his electric, bold color, and just for a second, a Red Bird stood still. I looked away to lock my front door, and turning around to catch another little glance at him, but he was gone...Two fluttered by on the back porch as I sat at my kitchen table reading and daydreaming...One landed on the bush in front of me as I sat talking to a friend in her car...and as I turned the corner last week, I noticed for the first time a street sign I have passed a hundred times...it's name, "Red Bird Street." These are just a few to name right now, but it is daily and whether it is living, and darting through the sky, or imprinted on a t-shirt, license plate, or semi-truck...they are appearing all over and every day.

But it's so good. I need to know He cares, listens, responds, and even moves His small creatures to speak a soft song of hope to me. My heart is tender and needy to hear His mercies as my scales are being ripped away...as I change and fall and grow, and long for more but still settle for less.

So tomorrow...The alarm will go off early and I'll get up sharp and alert...I'll listen and wait, and look. Maybe a Red Bird. Maybe something else altogether. Who knows?

A five minute, Holy encounter.

She asked if I had five minutes. I was late to school, being set back with a migraine, and I had a parent meeting at 8. It was 7:45. She wanted 5 minutes, that was all.

I had woken up with a headache that had started at 9:30 the night before. I know this kind. It begins slowly at the base of the left side of the back of my head. It creeps a little higher and thumps around leaving me in pain and even sort of blue. So this particular morning required a prescription and thirty more minutes lying in bed until it subsided. I got up and began to get ready…I found myself feeling as I have been for the last week; distressed and riding along the edge of despair. I glanced across the mirror in my bathroom with scribblings of words the remind me to pray…so I talked in a whisper as I got ready. One thought was running through my mind from a book I have been reading, “Every relational issue is an issue of worship.” Worship. What does this even mean and why do I struggle so much with it? Quietly I began to say to the Lord, “Help me know how to worship you. Give me words and expressions and a heart that turns in the direction of You.” I got into my car and drove in silence, continuing in conversation and prayer…I told Him I am sorry for last night, for sin, for the things I do not even know I do. The truth is, I do not know what is right and wrong, and though it is hard to see the specifics of sin, I want to know how to confess. This was my plea: worship and confession.

So 5 minutes was her request. I made a U-turn and pulled in next to her silver van. She invited me to sit next to her and clearly had something spilling over that she needed to tell me. In a way, she seemed driven and had this sense of urgency about her. Nervous and confused, I waited for her words to uncover the purpose of this 5 minute meeting. Her eyes connected with mine and she spoke, “I recall the last time I saw you, almost two years ago…You have been on my radar. This past week, I simply cannot get you off my mind. I know the Lord wants me to talk to you.” My emotion started to surface and with a firm grip I pushed it back down. Intently, I listened. “I have no idea what is going on in your life, or if this even makes any sense, but I cannot stop thinking about you. I have tried to track down your phone number. I need to show you something…” In the back of the van she pulled out a book thick and spiral bound. A woman has constructed a detailed and Spirit-led book on prayer. I took in every word as she described how it has altered her life and taught her to engage with God. Life has been hard for her recently and she described herself as going through a season of unveiling and brokenness. It was as if she was describing my own recent chapter… “Do you sometimes feel like you do not even know what He is going to do, like you are not even sure what the next step is and you are so thankful that the Spirit prays on your behalf because you literally do not know what to say?” I agreed. I silently agreed, but inside I was about to come undone. “You may think I am just a crazy old woman because I have no idea if what I am saying has anything to do with you.” But she went on to say that this book has taught her how to worship, and given her words when she has none. It also leads her into confession of sin. Worship and confession.

My mind slipped into a thought: “He has sent her to me. He loves me. He is not mad. He cares about me. He just sent me a personal expression of Himself. He has really sent her to me.” I couldn’t fight it. It has been one week since things turned upside down. One week was how long I had been intensely on her heart. Conviction, and at times jolting despair, has been my state this last week. Conviction, and ripping off layers of sin, has forced me to look at myself and see the darkness there. I have feared His weariness and His disgust. Yet she shattered all these tales of darkness and brought in the light.

I began to cry. And it was then that she knew her promptings were supernatural and that all the impressions were in fact true: God had led her; I did need His words and she was His personal agent delivering a purposeful and kind word from Heaven.

I looked at her through my blurry vision, “This is really weird. He has undone me this week. This is so weird.”

Looking directly at me with intention in her eyes she corrected me, “No, Dawn, it’s not weird, it’s His providence…He is pursuing you.”

My heart tightened, as I headed to my office and I wondered if I would be able to focus for my meeting. I knew I had to, but I had just been in a Holy Place and I didn’t want to leave. My mind was racing, my tears were clearing…

5 minutes was all she wanted, I wished I had an hour.

A Blessing....

I was able to participate in an Easter Vigil this year in Chicago with my brother and his family. I cannot describe this experience, it was a service that went almost 5 hours and I will say it never felt like it went too long. In a beautiful and creative manner, the service took us from Creation to the flood, to Isaac and Abraham, to the prophets speaking of the Shepherd and giving us a new heart and the coming of a Savior...it was in so many ways the most I have ever seen any people celebrate the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. The Anglican Liturgy calls for "A Holy Noise" which was to take the word "Alleluia" and reinstate it after removing it for the season of Lent. The Priest yelled out "Alleluia!" at the top of his lungs...dancing, celebrating and screaming out in loud song! Jesus is risen! He is Risen indeed, Alleluia!

So, here is a part of the liturgy that we read towards the end of the service...and If I find time I will write about the entire experience...but this humbled me and reminded me of the power of the cross that really does change us and free us....


(Extend your hands toward the cross)
Celebrant: All our problems of this life on earth...

All: We send to the Cross of Christ...

Celebrant: All the difficulties of our circumstances...

All: We send to the Cross of Christ.

Celebrant: All the devil's work from his temporal power...

All: We send to the Cross of Christ.

(Life your hands up to the Lord)

Celebrant: All our hopes for wholeness and eternal life...

All: We set on the Risen Christ.

Celebrant: Christ the Sun of Righteousness shine upon you and scatter the darkness from before your path, and the blessings of God Almighty, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, be among you and remain with you always.

All: Amen

Three Minute Fiction...NPR's challenge

NPR has a writing contest. It is a short story, 600 words and must use the words, "trick," "plant," "fly," and "button." Here is my attempt. It was good to try something like this that I am not comfortable with or used to. This is my story entitled, "One Shift at a Time."


She eavesdrops often. It passes the time and gives her stories to tell.
Mainly it makes her more depressed about the state of the world and in
particular small town culture. Conversations about tennis, Jon and Kate or Labor Day sales leave her as empty as her bank account. Helen has waited tables for 16 years and on certain days a simple fly can send her reeling. That's the nature of this job; one day
stinging with stress while another unfolds like the chapter of a beautiful
memoir.

Betsy Mae is nearly 80 years old and a regular at Lockwood Diner. Her
hair is silver and her mind is deep. Her hearing is such that simple
sounds echo as though she's stuck in a tunnel, and her old, wire-rimed
glasses are thick and warped. Without a doubt, her small button-nose is
the sweetest feature on her gentle face and her laughter is so genuine. The words she pieces together always change people. No one wants Betsy to die, move away or
find a new favorite spot.

Monday through Friday at 11:30, Betsy Mae trails in with her brown
purse and burgundy Mary Janes. Quietly, she plants hope in the fertile
soil of Helen's bedraggled soul. Famished and wanting for
more than paychecks and one-night stands, Helen listens attentively when
Betsy settles into booth 48 by the window. Daily dustings of wisdom
cover the table and though her words are fairly simple Helen is changed
one shift at a time.

Making her way to the door, Betsy stops Helen, handing her a small,
generous tip and looks Helen in the eyes. She whispers, "Dream today.
Something’s hidden in this day for you. Discover a treasure to add to
that list of blessings." She shuffles out and Helen watches her meander
down Sycamore. It's noticeably hard for Helen to take her eyes off that small frame. Betsy's words tangle into her thoughts. On most days, and from most people,
Helen would hate such a comment, this overly sentimental statement of
southern superficiality. However, from Betsy, it is like offering a
key, unlocking a secret that truly matters. Helen is stilled with new
hope.

Gratefulness seems to be a theme this week, as this is the third comment of this nature. Each time Helen hears this word she realizes again her lack of thankfulness toward the plenty in her day, in her seemingly dry corner of the world. Being tired is no excuse for being passive, dull-minded and inattentive. The truth is, noticing details
takes muscle. It is a slow tilling of the soil, persistence in watchfulness. This all-too-common dismal state of life is like falling for a trick that tells lies by saying all days are just a patchwork quilt of sour grapes and unmet desires. But Helen knows that when she sees only in shades of gray her vision has narrowed to a small slice of what is true. It is an uncomfortable place she somehow finds comfortable. So today, by choice, she reframes and unlocks; she steps outside and looks up. The sun is warm and the sound of all of everything quiets the rush of meaninglessness. Her eyes sharpen as she notices a red bird for the first time in over 25 years. She smells the coffee she serves everyday, and once she regains focus, her eyes mist over as her mind seals all of these treasures. This day is more than the $26.50 in her apron, though not bad for a Monday lunch. The reality is, Helen has served Betsy coffee and soup for 8 years, what she didn’t realize until just this moment is that Betsy has faithfully served Helen small seeds of hope that quietly bloomed today.

The prayers of the Saints....

I am so grateful, and becoming more and more grateful, for the prayers of those who have gone before us in this pilgrimage. This Easter I will be in an Episcopal church in West Chicago and my understanding from my brother is that it will present to me something I have never experienced and something I will never want to miss again. They seem to celebrate the resurrection in a way very few churches do. But what has really impressed me over the last few years are the prayers and readings from the liturgical church. I was able to find a book recommended to me called Luther's Prayers. I want to type on here one that has meant much to my soul. It is one that reminds me of God's enormous power to overcome anything and provide supernatural strength, it peaks of His forgiveness that is undeserved and deeply healing, and at the same time it normalizes me...to know that Martin Luther spoke these words, means I am not alone.

Dear Lord Jesus Christ, I feel my sins. They bite and gnaw and frighten me. Where shall I go? I look to you, Lord Jesus, and believe in you. Although my faith is weak, I cling to you and am made sure, for you have promised: who believes in me shall have eternal life. Even if my conscience is troubled and my sins frighten me and make me tremble, you have still said: "My son, be of good cheer; your sins are forgiven you. I will raise you up on the last day, and you will have eternal life." I cannot help myself by my own strength. I come to you for help. Amen

I could reread this daily. We are all in this war over sin. Thank the Lord for His resurrection that we soon celebrate again!

An Evening Prayer.

How do I approach Thee?
My hands are dirty and my heart so dark.
I have chosen what I want today.
I have thought things I should have fought with truth.
And though I have been the target of evil,
I have also seen it arise from within my own flesh.
But each day is new with your mercy;
Each morning I am given more grace.
But for now, as I face sleep and turn off the noise of the day,
I know that forgiveness has visited me again.
I know you have poured the water of purity over me.
As I sit here in the ending and the final moments of another day
Passing behind me and left now in smaller view,
I am not sure how to thank you.
I am not sure what to say.
I listen for your voice, as I know it is so soft.
Sometimes it seems silent.
But I guess it’s in silence that you speak.
I guess when it’s dark you visit weary souls.
In time I have seen you quietly change me.
Over many years you have influenced who I am.
May tomorrow be a step closer.
When I awake, fill me with more of You;
Pull from me, that which seeks to distract me
And give me sharp vision for things of Heaven
And hope in You.

A Strange Stirring....

Whales


I wish I was alone,
that day,
in that boat,
out in the Gulf of Alaska.

I wish they knew I was there
Looking,
Scanning and searching.
I wish that boat was mine and floating
softly, and
waiting
in total silence--
for them.
I wish I could hear the water
break with a blow,
and to then be calmed again by the gentle sound of the
slapping
and rippling of the waves.
And I wish for them to wander
near me,
with intention
and awareness
of me,
looking just
for me.
To remind me
to look up,
and around.
And to stop
and to smell.
And to listen
and to learn.
And to drink deeply,
and wait patiently.
And to wonder often and ask always.

I wish I was alone,
on my own boat,
In my own corner
of the vast and broad sea,
And I wish they knew me
and would remember me,
And were waiting, again,
just for me
to come,
in my boat,
out to the Gulf of Alaska.

So, so true...

Here is a little taste of Henri Nouwen...feel like he speaks so clearly to my heart.

Creating Space to Dance Together

"When we feel lonely we keep looking for a person or persons who can take our loneliness away. Our lonely hearts cry out, "Please hold me, touch me, speak to me, pay attention to me." But soon we discover that the person we expect to take our loneliness away cannot give us what we ask for. Often that person feels oppressed by our demands and runs away, leaving us in despair. As long as we approach another person from our loneliness, no mature human relationship can develop. Clinging to one another in loneliness is suffocating and eventually becomes destructive. For love to be possible we need the courage to create space between us and to trust that this space allows us to dance together."

It's a strange silence....

It’s a strange silence. It’s a more sure silence. I can hear nothing. Winter. Deep winter. Darker nights bringing a more cutting chill. But it is silent in a way that is more silent. The trees are bare, standing tall and brittle, but firm and rooted. The colors seem to blend into one neutral shade and the snow blankets everything with quiet. My boots crunch and toss the powder around as I walk. The air is clean and sharp; it fills my lungs with what feels pure and unsoiled. I stand in one spot and turn slowly about. It is a strange silence that welcomes me and keeps me here. The snowdrifts are high and soft. They wall me in and keep me stayed. Footprints tell of who has been wandering the yard late at night and how close they came to the house. There is silver silence here, mysteries kept hidden for now, locked up and left untold. Things burrowed and waiting. Lifelessness, but expectant. Dead, but slowly being restored. Winter prunes the earth. It wipes away the dross and stirs a tale below of new things not quite birthed. The stems of the trees seem hollow and fragile. The long, delicate reeds are trapped in tunnels of snow and thin ice. There is a different kind of beauty here. There is a groaning, a wanting, and life just below that lies dormant, but alive. Gary Schmidt describes it well, “Winter is a time of stillness, darkness, and death, and while we know intellectually that this season will pass into the birth of a new year and then into spring, instinctively we hunker down, peering fearfully into the twilight toward a shadow whose shape we cannot discern” (Winter 5).

We do know what is ahead. We live by seasons and build our lives around the expectations of predictable change. We anticipate one while we endure the one we presently reside in. We look forward and fail to unlock the beauty of the season at hand. We especially run from Winter, for with it comes darkness and damp cold. We stay locked in our homes and pull in closer to our own skin. We await the explosion of the sun and the outpouring of warmth and play. But Winter is our despised season, strengthening our muscles of endurance and hopefulness. We count it as a cost. We wonder when it will pass by. We stay in our beds, cover our feet, talk less, isolate more and scratch off the days on the winter months of the calendar. Winter is slow and lonely. Or is it?

We keep a fire going and gather around it. I can’t quite sit near enough. Growing up our home was big and often cold. Our main room was highlighted by an old, cast-iron, wood-burning stove. The door was kept closed and the room became a haven of warmth and memories. The wooden walls and enormous windows made for an ideal landing place during the sweeping winds of winter. There we were truly warm. Forecasts held our attention for hours at a time. The tension built between cancellations allowing a late night and much needed sleep for early school mornings. We waited, keeping the outside spotlights on, looking for the first fallings of snow. The side porch held piles of wood brought over from the barn and staked high and covered to stay dry. We lived off of that wood in such cold temperatures. We lived in that room…watching the snow fall all around us.