What are we so afraid of getting wrong that we don't get it right?

I usually ignore them. I usually pay them no heed and keep on my merry way. So I was caught off guard by what arose in me and then even knowing my own propensity for not backing down from a comment, I was somewhat shocked that I went ahead with it.............

But I think enough of my buttons got pushed.

Not just with the ridiculous Facebook post, because I earnestly do believe that there really are somethings that the majority of all Christians can see for being beyond marginalized. Like calling the monster drinks the drink of the 666 or whatever it did. We can see the fringe groups, like the Westboro Baptist people for what they are and not be confused about whether or not they really represent the heart of the Lord as it was lived in Christ.

But what about the subtle or not so subtle issues that arise.... It is easy for the majority of us to see the extremist ways of the Westboro Baptist church but what about the current day issues that would parallel the woman caught in adultery or the issue of when Jesus was asked about whether to pay taxes to Caesar or not. What about those current day issues, that break apart the body of Christ and render us useless, fractured and impotent? Who today would the religious regard the Samaritan to be? Who do we stay away from as to not become “unclean” by reason of association?

Except it is lunacy.... Can we not/ can I not see the Pharisaical bones in my body that bleach out the would be compassion of the Lord?

I can tell I've been slipping again. When the statements liken to, “but of course that would happen,” or “totally not surprised,” arise in my heart in regards to a leader, a church, my own behavior or attitudes or the horrific, ambitious propensity of some to reach for the proverbial ring of power and lead and dominant and grasp for position.. cause bitterness, cynicism, anger and hatred to arise in my own heart... Then that is the problem.. I become the problem.... I negate the power of love and service and allow my heart to touch hardness and death.

It has been a long day. It has actually been a string of very long days and compassion and easy going aren't my strong suits. People are mostly surprised by the first of those confessions. I can come across as very compassionate. Except there is this place in me where compassion for the process people are in becomes thin.

Seeing and knowing isn't all it is cracked up to be and to see and to know and still have the heart of the Lord, now that is the journey. That is the journey. To see and know and to see and know as He sees and knows... to see and know in hope and love and kindness and compassion... For He knows how we are but made.... To love our would be enemy and/or the fool who lives churchianity and plays the part but dies a daily death of performance and servitude to the enemy of the faith instead of the Lord. Only the religious repulsed our Lord and even them He called from the cross expressing towards the Father that they be forgiven for they know not what they do.

I wanted to rant as I came to this blog post.. I wanted to call out the ridiculous nature on both sides of the fence of the paradigm of Christian thought... Today I got a clearer vision then ever of what Jesus walking among the lamp stands of today would say to the churches... The aspects He would applaud and herald and then the places where He would say, “I have this against you.”

Upon these days I attempt to walk.... I ask Him for those types of evaluations of my own self. What would you say are the areas I reflect you? What are the areas where I lack, sin, fall utterly short? I must lay myself before Him. I must examine the many planks that exist within my own eyes. I must stand before Him and recognize the propensity for saying, “thank you God that I am not liken unto that person,”(realizing I am that person.) as I must stand before Him and with trembling and awe express my recognition of myself as in need of His majestic grace.

What does it look like to walk in His divine nature? What does it look like to have love and wisdom and peace and understanding and power? What would it mean to understand that the Spirit of the Lord is upon us to preach good news and hold out hope to the blind, the dying, the destitute?

What are we so afraid of getting wrong that we don't get it right? Where are we holding stones instead of promise? Where are we being shown up by the goodness of the proverbial Samaritan because we are too busy to stop? Too busy with our religious activity to actually serve the Lord of that religious activity?

I can't live a mediocre Christian life. I can't just live a moral and upright Christian walk. I can't live a flesh filled charismatic expression. I can't tell myself or anyone what I want it to look like.. I know far more of what I don't want it to look like any longer than I have any clear vision of what I do want it to look like.. Except that isn't fully true. I am tired of the ways of man in regards to the expressions of what is thought about God... I want God. I know that when Jesus spoke that Spirit of the Lord was upon Him that it wasn't in word only...

I will wait upon Him before I will touch the horses and chariots of the pharaohs of this age... It is hard and uncertain. But there is way too much lack of understanding and plain stupidity done in the name of the Lord that causes people to perish, that has caused me to perish and I am on a different journey now... One I know is called to be full of peace and joy and the expression of the reality of the Kingdom of God... Where it will lead me I do not know.. But I hope it will lead me away from false expressions into the glorious light and power of the Kingdom....

I want to have ears that can hear and eyes that can see and a heart that can comprehend.... Love will be the greatest adventure of them all... And I know the answer to “Lord who is our neighbor?” Now I just must live it forward.....   

God is not mocked.... A seer laments...........

Maybe it is that I have been in the most wrong of places that stumbling upon a speaker who has no gile within their hearts so startled me....  But it was beautiful to behold.. A very brief moment that has filled out my heart with hope despite other happenings of a day.......  It was simple in its origin but liken unto a most refreshing drink of the coolest of waters upon a very hot and dry day... So sad that such a thing is so very rare....

Sometimes I wonder what it would be to just see a person and not see a person...  To hear what a person says as if it is the only words being spoken and not hear the words coming forth from their hearts... In my retreat today, I sought out the Lord and wept.  Not for change of giftings nor to be other then that which I am.... But to be more like Him.  And to find sanctuary within His immense shadow and glorious heart...

I turned to one of my most favorite fictional characters and just read and reread his words... Emeth is his name and what CS Lewis writes of him is brilliant within the work of The Last Battle....

“So I went over much grass and many flowers and among all kinds of wholesome and delectable trees till lo! in a narrow place between two rocks there came to meet me a great Lion. The speed of him was like the ostrich, and his size as an elephant’s; his hair was like pure gold and the brightness of his eyes like gold that is liquid in the furnace. He was more terrible than the Flaming Mountain of Lagour, and in beauty he surpassed all that is in the world even as the rose in bloom surpasses the dust of the desert.Then I fell at his feet and thought, Surely this is the hour of death, for the Lion (who is worthy of all honour) will know that I have served Tash all my days and not him. Nevertheless, it is better to see the Lion and die than to be Tisroc of the world and live and not to have seen him. But the Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, Son, thou art welcome. But I said, Alas Lord, I am no son of thine but the servant of Tash. He answered, Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me. Then by reasons of my great desire for wisdom and understanding, I overcame my fear and questioned the Glorious One and said, Lord, is it then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one? The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him. For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath’s sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost thou understand, Child? I said, Lord, though knowest how much I understand. But I said also (for the truth constrained me), Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days. Beloved, said the Glorious One, unless they desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what the truly seek.

“Then he breathed upon me and took away the trembling from my limbs and caused me to stand upon my feet. And after that, he said not much, but that we should meet again, and I must go further up and further in. Then he turned him about in a storm and flurry of gold and was gone suddenly.

“And since then, O Kings and Ladies, I have been wandering to find him and my happiness is so great that it even weakens me like a wound. And this is the marvel of marvels, that he called me Beloved, me who am but as a dog-”   

The comfort that came to me today as I pondered the games we all play.. is the reality that God is not mocked and He who fashioned and formed us SOOO utterly knows our hearts....  He so utterly knows our motivations, our heart hungers, our manipulations, the plays in our play books.. He stands within all of that knowledge and understanding that we are but dust and extracts forth the precious from within us and shows up the stupidity of our games and their trite and horrific ways......

In resting in Him today I found grace... In leaning upon Him I found wisdom... In closing my eyes and drinking of His waters I was refreshed and made anew....

Oh how silly we truly are.. we think so much of ourselves and our efforts and our accomplishments... and He who names the stars hungers for us to discover that we are but children playing in the mud... When what we are called towards is a most fantastic and beautiful love that shows all things up ...

May I cease with all striving and all game playing

Sadly I wonder how much of our works that we do in the name of "Aslan," would be more credited to "Tash.."

All I can do is trust that he will breath upon me and remove the dross and achieve within me His image, His likeness, His purposes... That I would love Him and love those He calls to cross my path...

Today for moments I wanted to not see and today for moments I wanted to not hear... Yet in those moments and in the seeing and in hearing, a choice is birthed and instead of seeing and acknowledging that which is seen and hearing and knowing that which was heard, I lay it all open to Him who transforms us all....  So He asks us to see and He asks us to hear, AND NO it is not glamorous.. it is sorrowful and hard but beautiful and transforming as well....

For we all are but dust and but Him that is all we would ever be...  It is He that has elevated us to our stature and but seeing and hearing how can we fully call ourselves and others forward to reflect more of Him and so very much less of us....

Oh God... Your goodness rivets my soul, Your patience startles my flesh... Your kindness is my undoing... transform me into Your image that I may walk more as You would have me... My eyes and my ears are Yours....  Make my heart more Yours as well......

An Imaginative Narration..............................

There is a definition of fictional writing... It goes something like this:  "the class of literature comprising works of imaginative narration."  Imaginative narration.....  I like that.  The beginning of the piece below is inspired by an off handed comment of a friend....  It is somewhat liken unto an "imaginative narration..."  

 One warning... If you at all think that your emotions could be triggered by reading about spiritual darkness please take caution in reading the beginning of a story below....

There is a force, that creeps and searches for power, it carries with it horrific and twisted understanding and ability to pervert the cosmos for one's own benefit.

The problem is it comes at a cost...

The greater problem is that some are willing to pay it....

Creative destruction at the hands of death shaded, unseen creatures; who whisper their nightmarish instructions into the hearts of men. They don't care that the men take the credit for the deeds for they get the credit for the deception. They come up with structures of torture and cruel lists of deeds that are done upon the innocent, as to try and rob the energy of that very being...

Confinement coupled with darkness, coupled with deprivation, coupled with cruelty bring the young to their knees before they could ever truly learn how to walk...

But once upon a time there was one; who in the dankest of air and darkest of places would dream of light and rose colored places, where the atmosphere had particles that danced and sparkled. In moments where she would detach from her mind and her body, her soul would reach up and with the edges of her essence she would touch them and within that contact be sustained..

The thing about what costs humanity is willing to pay for advancement, the thing about levels of determination and power is that in the multiplicity of levels the real question that must be asked is who is the most determined and what is the highest price.

There are boundaries that have been established. The cosmos knows it order. It knows to whom it bows. While men might fanatically attempt to pervert it, they live forever frustrated at the inability to fully harness the powers of leviathan. Sadly they are ultimately thwarted in their attempts. For those living in the lands of death shade are forever guaranteed willingly or not that they will see a greater light. To those men, to those who have felt the power of their frustrations, it is to the light that they all must go... It is that power that none can ever fully deny.

The quest for power and knowledge have left in their wake many a broken heart... But this is not such a story. Not a story of a broken heart but a story of heart that would not be broken...................................

…............................................................................

He stood in the doorway looking over her frame, it appeared frail but put her in the structures and she lost everything that seemed weak. Confinement upon confinement intrigued Julian. The rites of passage that would cause others to cower before him only served to embolden her. Once recovered she would stand ridiculously defiant attempting to burn into him with her glaring eyes, not pleading but demanding he acknowledge that which he was doing. Forget succumbing this creature would not be bent. He thought through the list. Shook his head and walked away.

The air was dank, clammy, wet... wet with darkness. It slipped off of Julian like a comical routine of one falling over a banana peel but there was nothing comical about Julian.

He had some understanding of what was happening within her and so he watched and watched. He wasn't like them. Not the elders. Not the older ones. Sure he had been around them enough, had heard enough of their encoded like conversations, that he was picking up on things here or there except depth of understanding was not Julian's strong suit, cruelty was.

So he continued putting her through the routines but learning from her as well. Watching her. Waiting. Late at night he would walk down the caverns alone, leaving all the others behind and he would sit in a chair that he had placed right outside her crate.

His eyes adjusted to the lack of light easily but he would bring a flash light as to shine it upon her at will. Disturbing her sleep and disrupting any left over senses of security or safety even in the crate and he would sit, stand, pace...

He ruled over her with a grip that was tightening and tightening and tightening and yet to no affect. Except upon him. His fury was growing. He would take it out on her and think he had her and stare at her and think she was right on the edge only for her to emerge as if out of no where stubborn as ever.

Not unbreakable. No one was unbreakable. Not at his hands. Others had been killed at less what was persevering this child was beyond him. Again Julian's mind would race across the list, across the structures, across the day in and day out routines and rituals that he knew how to ever so skillfully exact upon those most unfortunate creatures put into his hands.

The day had already been long. The list of structures and confinement and structures had left even him wanting to get some rest yet he knew they would be coming soon and the expectation was he would be further along with her.

The older ones had seen in her something he didn't and that gnawed at him and twisted his insides. If all in the confines cowered before Julian, Julian cowered before the older ones. Even while he fought away the shadows of fear, the knowledge of what they understood about the darkest of arts terrified him.

He hated the idea that he was their puppet, that anyone could so maneuver their way into his psyche bothered him, disgusted him and he tried to steel his thoughts and his mind as one of the older ones had once tried to show him.

Enraged by his own arising fear he stormed down the corridor only to find her awake! Awake! He wanted to scream. Fury was gaining control and that was another thing he had been taught to maneuver through, he was trying to master and not be mastered by the emotion. But he was exhausted and this thing.. this child.. this horrific imp like scrawny shit was awake as if she knew he was coming and was waiting on him.

Her look penetrated places deep within him that unnerved him almost as much as the older ones unnerved him yet there was something different in that gaze and he longed for the day when he could erase it. He had created specific events and moments to try to accomplish his purposes of erasure and yet still that gaze held strong.

Looking up at him, and with a voice that sounded as if it should be on a playground laughing and taking in life not pushed into a crate that was lodged within man made dungeons she spoke, “what's wrong Julian? You know they are coming. I can feel them. He isn't going to be happy with you. I will walk right up to him and stand before him and not cower and that is something even you can't do Julian, is it? Are you afraid, Julian? Are you? Are you afraid?”

Her voice grew quiet and sweet and she looked like the little girl she was, and he was even more unnerved and rage burned in his gut and he wanted to pick up that crate and throw it against the concrete walls and rip her apart limb from limb, “Julian, I might die... I understand.. But guess what Julian? Guess what? You'll die before me Julian, you know it .. somewhere deep inside you, you know it. Guess what? Guess what Julian? I know it too.”

That was it! That was it!

He couldn't break her but she had broken him.

He would be dammed, if he was going to die then she would be dead too. What did it matter. His fear over the older ones coming and what was going to happen to him was loosened upon him and he picked up her crate throwing it against the wall, curses unleashed from his mouth , he went to get the keys. He was going to rip her limb from limb and she was going to be a pile of flesh and blood and bones and even if he did join her when they got there he would have had the fulfillment of destroying this horrific nightmare of a child.

The keys in his hands his steps became all the more full of purpose as he lunged at the crate, blood was dripping from her head already. Was she unconscious? Again fear grabbed a hold of his stomach was he really going to do this? Had he done it already? Was she gone? Ecstatic glee coursed through his being at the thought but even he knew that that was just covering up the horror that reality would bring upon him if she was dead.

Broken.. utterly broken and ready for them were the orders. Not dead. On any account absolutely not dead. She hadn't changed one bit since they had left at least not that he could see and now if she was dead, he knew he would be next except (and he vomited at the thought) he knew that nothing could prepare him for the horror that he would experience at the hands of the older ones.

Again he screamed and kicked the crate with all his might. Fear. Fear was getting the best of him. Oh what or who was he kidding. Fear had gotten the best of him and now he was just trying to contain some semblance of self order.

He steadied his shaking hand as he righted the crate and heard her groan, deep relief penetrated him. Alive. She was alive. Even if barely she was alive. That was what was asked, right? Alive. Broken. Alive and broken. Maybe this last moment had finally taught her the lesson he had been cramming into her for the last month. Maybe all was going to be better than he thought. This would certainly give him some credit in the older one's eyes.

Again he steadied his hand and now that the crate was right side up he unlocked and opened the door. He pulled her out and held her up to her feet. Her limbs began to move on their own and he let her lean on him for a moment as she tried to shake off the evenings extra events.

Before he could think through what he was going to do next blaring light was pouring in upon them both and she shrunk back at the unexpected display of brightness. She pulled her head to the side and tried to shield her eyes from the altered state of the room that daylight had brought. It had been what seemed like a month since she had last seen the light of day and now that did hurt.

Trying to regain composure especially around Julian she tried to shake her head except the affects of being tossed as though she was a bean bag had indeed landed hard upon her body and all seemed to be swinging and spinning. The outside door that even Julian didn't have the key for was opened which meant only one thing, they had arrived. It had been a month and the season if she remembered right was the timing of the equinox.

The outlines of others now filled the doorway, providing a human barrier standing against the light, their shadows streamed out before them across the concrete floor. She pushed Julian aside. Her arm that he could snap like a twig pushed him aside. Before he could manage control of the situation she was out of his reach. She was supposed to be crated not walking about and the familiar stabbings of fear raged into his heart.

Barefoot and barely dressed, stringy dirty hair clinging to her face and her body as lanky as they come she stepped pace after pace doing what even Julian dared not to.. walking straight up to the older ones she looked up searching faces... looking for something. Having found what she was looking for she spoke up, “Hello Father.”

Picture Perfect: Guest Posting from Michelle Brown

Picture Perfect

I have started a prayer journey also known as a retreat. It’s 34 weeks and each week focuses on specific themes as one journeys towards the inner voice of love and the unique way God has made me and speaks to me.

This week is week 4. I have been on it for much longer than seven days.

It’s focus is about the discord or rather disorder within my life.

Out of place instruments.

It’s a call to stand with the Spirit of Truth and Comfort and brave the ragged and war torn areas of my heart.

The areas that aren’t very pretty.

In fact, if I’m honest, if I’m open and transparent, these places are very much POW camps. 

A valley of dry bones.

Only this valley has been kept very tightly shut from most eyes.

This ravaged earth within has many painted perfect signs and posts along the path that warn any intruding eyes to KEEP OUT!

All the blinds have been shut, the doors locked and lights turned off.

These areas are within my frame.

My frame is not hidden from Your eyes.

My frame fashioned from outside of 

time.

My frame pulled from glory and light eternal.

These places within have been like a death grip around my throat.

I can see the enemy’s boney hand with snarled nails wrapped around the heart of this valley.

This place.

This space within.

If you were to ask me if I was free and fully alive, I would most emphatically say yes.

But…

I have this valley of dry bones.

This valley of broken promises, judgments from those who were positioned to walk with me and guide me, not point the finger.

This valley was meant to be a garden.

This space of my own judgments and opinions on what my family should look like, act like and become.

Vines and thistles and briers that have choked out fragrances meant to attract those perishing with a scent only found in heaven. 

A scent only found in the original garden of time.

This week is a week of being honest with myself.

Why is it OK to lock life out from this place meant to breed and generate new life?

This place has only remained as long as I have allowed.

This place of disorder. 

This place He wants to come into and set the record straight.

I will never be like her.

I will never forsake or abandon those I have birthed.

I will never bring embarrassment to the ones I am meant to teach love and honor. 

This place is created with the very intent of a Gardener’s hand to tend.

This place will play music again, a symphony that draws the wandered, the broken, those who know that they haven’t seen the end of their stories.

A place where eyes are welcomed to gaze at the beauty of the Gardener’s work.

This place was created so that the image of the only begotten Son would be seen picture perfect.

Not by might,
Not by power,

By His Spirit.
By my yielding.

By my surrender and the crushing of lies.

By the planting and tending of truth.

By allowing the community around to walk upon its paths and meet with Him through this dusty frame.