That Your Joy May Be Full

I have had the strangest conjunction of dream, vision and memory these past couple of days. I am hoping that as I write I will get a better sense of what it all means, because as disparate as these three thoughts are somehow they are inextricably tied together.
Yesterday morning I woke dreaming about seeing my daughter on her wedding day, escorted down the aisle by her brothers, one on each arm. She was beautiful, as brides are, and I marveled at my grown and handsome sons. I know they were all adults, but in my mind I saw my children as they are today. It was a poignant sight-I shouldn't wonder to have a very real sense of deja vu some years from now, and I was filled with great maternal pride. I don't recall any more of the dream, and weddings are no where on the horizon for any of us.
Fast forward to church this morning. Being reminded that a Father who would sacrifice His first & only Son brought to my recollection how I pleaded with God going into a custody trial not to ask this of me. I remember thinking of Abraham & Isaac, wondering if Sarah knew and how her mother's heart would have responded if she had been the one asked to sacrifice the son she had waited for for so long. Even as I wept and begged for my sons, still I said I would accept God's will, hoping against hope. When the verdict came down I felt my heart shatter. I will never forget the pain of that moment, the shock & disbelief.
Fifteen years later, while I still don't understand the why of that decision, I can see God working through it. I have a good relationship with my sons, I learned hard lessons about forgiveness and moving forward, I would likely not have met my daughter's father-and while that relationship ended badly, I do have this amazing little girl in my life.
With these thoughts rattling about in my head, wondering how these two ideas might fit together we entered the second worship and communion. As I stood there considering all the blessings in my life and all the new things I can sense are just ahead I saw myself, standing, loved between two men. For a moment I thought of my sons, but no. As I write this I realize they were still with their sister, another part of the same dream. Standing on my right, His arm secure around me was Jesus, always my faithful friend, lover of my soul, husband to the abandoned woman I have been. I could not see who stood on my left, but his arm was just as secure and tender. His love for me was sure and steady, his gaze was only on me.
I am still not sure what all of this might mean. Weddings are a time of coming together, of celebration and joy. I wonder if I was not seeing a time when all of the broken and separate pieces of my life are finally coming back together. I know I was happy, proud and at peace. All was well. I was surrounded on all sides by love. Perhaps there is more to it than this, perhaps I am stretching a bit, searching for meaning where there is none. I do not know. Take comfort in this, all of you who have suffered devastating loss. Lean on Jesus, trust His support and wait. In time all the pieces will come together and will be restored.

What Begins With a Trickle

In my last post I admitted struggling with my prayer life, with feeling a little like I was battling on my own & the refreshing that came of realizing my friends were still in the fray beside me. More often than I care to own up to I find myself feeling isolated, abandoned & alone-usually because I have isolated myself, pushed others away. It's a hard balance to maintain for an introvert who cherishes and guards her private time & space, keeping alone time in balance with social time, especially living alone.
In those times of feeling isolated I begin to also feel forgotten, neglected, & the old, ugly lies begin to play again in my head, becoming increasingly louder if I do not make a move to silence them, and the longer I wait the harder it becomes to make them stop & the harder it is to take the actions necessary to make them stop. And it quickly becomes a vicious circle. You know the lies...your list may be different than mine, uniquely tailored to your private hurts & fears, but mine sounds something like this:
You'll never be loved, you don't know how to love, or to be loved. You'll always be alone. Everyone is too busy to worry about you. Just think how embarrassing admitting this will be. .... And the lies get more insistent, more vicious, and more ridiculous-you're foolish, you're unattractive-on & on it goes, until I am a broken & battered mess curled up in the fetal position sobbing.

Thankfully this doesn't happen much any more. Not since I really began to understand how God sees me-a much beloved child. And I have learned to recognize the beginning of that downward spiral & call out for help. I have been blessed with amazing friends who know me well, who recognize my struggles, and who keep me grounded. We carry each other when needs be. And I know I can always run back to Father God, crawl up in my eternal Daddy's lap and let Him hold me & love me... no lie can come near me there.

This morning I was reading 2 Kings. The stories I was reading are familiar to me, so I tried to slow down a little more & focus. The prophet Elisha's servant had come to him in fear, the city was under siege, they were surrounded & in what appeared to be grave danger. The words Elisha spoke, "Do not fear, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them" leaped off the page at me. I could barely read the rest of the passage (Elisha prays, the servant's eyes are opened to see the armies of Heaven, in uncountable numbers, surrounding them) It was something I know so well I forget. Whatever battle I may be fighting, for myself, or on behalf of someone else, I have the hosts of Heaven at my back, and they are so much greater than any enemy I may ever face.

As I said in my last post I was working my way through some difficult emotions, feeling out of touch & alone. I sent out a prayer request via email, and within hours had received the first of several notes of support and encouragement, followed later in the day with evidence of answered prayer. How good is our God! As so often happens with a breakthrough what begins with a trickle soon becomes a flood, and I am learning to let myself get drenched in it, carrying the biggest bucket I can find, instead of being satisfied with enough to fill a coffee cup.

In the palm of your hand I stand

Encircled by snow capped mountain peaks

Forbidding and sheltering

Reflected back

Serene waters, fathomless depths

Cool breezes carry the perfume of snow and wildflowers,

Caresses my face as the sun kisses me

I am safe here, cradled in eternity

This moment outside time.

Walking Through

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;

I have to confess of late I have found much of my prayer life more of a struggle than I like to admit. I find time for it daily, and I ponder many things as I go about the routine tasks of my day that leave my mind free for such pursuits, and yet the thing that lays heaviest on my heart becomes heavier and my petitions regarding this issue have begun to feel like "vain repetitions"

As I have noted before, my mother, my anchor for much of my life, is battling breast cancer for a second time. I have an amazing circle of friends who have been standing with me in prayer for her healing, and I believe we will see a miracle yet. Her second round of chemo hit her hard, but in the busyness of life I had not received this update. I was stunned to learn how ill she had become, since in the last conversation I had had with my stepfather I had been told she was sleeping a lot & not eating, but otherwise was fine.

Again I rallied the "troops", gave them an update and solicited their continued prayers. And then I let me beat myself up with guilt and regret and justification for not paying more attention. My sisters have been attendant, dealing with bills and laundry, cooking & cleaning, I have not. I am no Martha, I have always been a Mary, and I have remained away from the physical front lines of this battle, fighting instead on the spiritual one. As I write this it occurs to me the core of what has plagued me. The battle is wearisome, no more of less so than the other, but my sword & shield had grown heavy, until I recalled my compatriots of prayer. One reply to my emailed request was waiting in my inbox when I returned home from work, and I could hear my friend's voice offering comfort, reminding me I was not standing alone.

As I sat this morning Bible & journal open before me, seeking the "right" words, unable to write or to speak, across the vivid and cluttered landscape of my mind came the verse, and a newer vision of what I had first seen when I began praying for Mom's recovery.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me;

when we first received Mom's diagnosis it was this verse, Psalm 23:4, that stuck in my head as I began to pray. And the word that was underscored in it was THROUGH. Through, not in to, but through. Today, as Holy Spirit reminded me of that I could see a valley between to mountains, overhead the sky was bright, as befits a summer day, but the valley was deep, and the clouds that from the mountainside were so picturesque drifted over the sun and left the valley dark and shadowed, and stole away the sun's warmth. But as I watched the clouds continued to drift and the sun emerged again. The shadows in the valley became less ominous, and at the end of the valley I could see a lovely meadow, the stream had formed a small quiet pool, the grass was lush and green, and sunlight streamed through the remaining clouds.

In this fleeting moment my hope & strength were restored. I was ready to take up the battle again.

The 23 Psalm, so often reserved for funerals, is so much more aptly a song of promise for this life, feasting and celebrating in the face of our enemies, our needs, present and future met by a caring Shepherd. We all want to live on the mountain top, but it is in the valley that we really learn and grow.

I have a wonderful postscript to this particular blog. I called and spoke to my mom this evening and she sounded much better & seemed in good spirits. It is a long road ahead, for all of us, but most of all for her. As I was talking with her I kept thinking what an amazing response to prayer- I'm not sure when her turnaround began, but I know this morning I once again took a strong stand against the lies that fear & doubt & illness whisper in our years. With tears I pleaded for divine comfort and strength to be restored. And so here I say THANK YOU. Thank you to all of you who have stood with me in prayer, and thank you to the Good Shepherd, whose "rod and staff comfort me". Thank you.

The Crowd

I did something yesterday I have wanted to do for a very long time-I finally had an opportunity to go to Drumheller to see the Passion Play (and many thanks again, Denise & Alain, for making it happen). Not only was it a wonderful day spent with amazing friends, but I was struck by many things through the course of the production, and I am sure many of them will appear in the next several posts. The whole production was moving & awe-inspiring, and I would highly recommend it to anyone. In fact we discussed arranging a group to go next year. It was just that good.
What struck me first, as we walked into the natural, open air ampitheatre, was the crowd. No, not that there was one, that I expected. our progress, once we left the parking area and caught up with the other attendees, slowed to almost a shuffle-no striding forward to find out seats. As we rounded the corner of the building housing the gift shop, concession & washrooms the seating area came into view. It was almost a full house, and I looked across the crowd seated on benches tucked into the hill and for the first time had a sense of the crowds that must have once actually followed Jesus, eager to hear and see what He might say or do. The audience was, quite literally, part of the story. It took my breath away. It was hot and dusty and the seating while not uncomfortable, was not luxurious, and still the crowd had gathered.
I'm sure many counted themselves faithful believers; but there must have been others who were merely curious, tourists, those who came to see what there was to see.
We were asked to remain seated through the performance, to be respectfully quiet, to shut off cell phones & cameras, and for 3 hours everyone did. If you have ever gone to a movie, sat in a restaurant, or even in church, you will recognize how amazing this truly was. (Although I will admit I found this to be the case at other live theatre performances as well, but in a much smaller group)
As we left, at the end of the performance the crowds' respect remained. There was no frenzied rush to the parking lot, or even to the washroom. The cast had lined up to take their well deserved bows and remained there, greeting the audience as we passed by. Cast members & spectators alike thanked each other, and many spoke a sincere "God bless you".

Like the crowds following Jesus we were all there seeking something. I think if we really want to we can see Jesus in every moment, and as I took in the gathered crowd for the first time and considered the crowds that must have once pressed in to see Him, hoped to get near enough to touch Him I lost myself in the moment, and let myself go back 2000 years. I was looking forward to the play, but a little part of me really just wanted to see Jesus. And see Him I did, but that's another post.

The Eye of the Storm

Its been some time again since I had anything postable to write about...ah the joys of stasis, that place of waiting, of rest, and perhaps rejuvenation. Daily I seek some random thought worthy of public consumption, and there have been none to be found. Maybe its the torpor of summer, maybe my everyday life is just busy enough that when there is a quiet moment I just seize it and savour it in its stillness. I can not say for sure. I am so looking forward to a few days off next month. I have nothing planned & I intend to enjoy the aimlessness of having no agenda. Maybe that is the cure for what ails my spirit these days, time to daydream, to watch the clouds, enjoy the sun on my face.

And now to the post proper....

I received the nicest compliment today. Maybe to some it would not have sounded, or felt like a compliment, but to me it was. One of the longings of my heart is to affect the world around me just by being me. I'm not particularly interested in making a huge splash, to be recognized wherever I go (not that I would turn the opportunity down). I am in awe of the good souls who have a heart for the mission field-I have no desire to trek halfway around the world to make a change. On the other hand I see hurting, broken souls all around me, people who look and live like me, who need a smile, a kind word, to be seen. Somehow I want my quiet and simple life to impact the people I encounter.
Someone at work today confirmed this for me, quite unknowingly I'm sure. She commented that my boss seems much calmer, less stressed lately. I shared this later with another very good friend and she said she was not at all surprised, because, as she put it, "You are very good at bring people back to zero".
I like to think of myself as an island of serenity in the midst of chaos. Vain maybe, but I don't often succumb to worry and fear, and if I do it is short lived. Not long after my daughter's dad & I split I had a dream about being left alone when a storm blew in. Initially I was angry at being abandoned by my friend to face the rising water, but soon felt assured that my house was on higher ground, and I was safe. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace & security. When doubt & fear & the storms of life threaten to overtake me I remember that dream and remind myself my house, my spiritual house, is on higher ground, built on the solid Rock. I am not always sure of myself, but when I bring myself back to how my Father sees me, my peace of mind & self assurance are restored, no matter what storm I face, and because I know where "zero" is, I can draw others back there too.

It may not be housing the homeless or feeding the hungry, and I am a terrible & impatient nurse & teacher, but just maybe I am making a difference, carrying peace & hope into a world filled with angst and chaos. Just maybe.

The Voice in the Storm

It's been a long, long week...nothing to speak of, good or bad, just busy with living. But by Saturday night the mean little voice in my head was singing, in the cheery tones of Cat Stevens "Another Saturday night & I ain't got nobody....how I wish I had someone to talk to, I'm in an awful way". So, yes, I was most definitely feeling sorry for myself, which is never a good state to be in.

Nonetheless by the time Sunday morning rolled in I was feeling much better-and yet the longing lingers. I find it almost ironic that I find myself feeling this way, even as I extol the advantages of single living. I wake up stretched out in the middle of the bed, no one else gets the last cup of coffee and I never have to watch a hockey game....I wonder, even as I dream of finding my so called soul-mate, if I could easily give up the freedoms I enjoy. No one asks why I need another pair of shoes or why I got home late from work, or complains about the stack of books on the night stand and dining room table. On the other hand, no on asks why I need another pair of shoes, or why I'm late, or complains about the stacks of books on the table.

All that said I went to church intending to lose my self in worship and reset the coming week to "zero", and just maybe gain some insight into where I was supposed to be. During the Communion worship I stood with my eyes closed, my aching heart longing for answers, and all I could feel was the bass in the music causing the floor beneath my feet to tremble, and I found myself remembering the thrill I used to find in listening to the rumble of thunder. For a moment I allowed myself to regret not listening for the voice of God in the recent thunder we have experienced (I live in a house long neglected because of financial constraints, so extreme weather causes more concern & alarm than the awe it once did). The bass continued its beat, and I felt it deep within as my chest wall felt the vibration and my heart began to echo it. I became physically one with the music. Feeling the the thrum of it in me brought me back to the first time I heard the voice of God. He spoke to me in a storm in a voice I felt as much as I heard, and while, at the time I awoke feeling something akin to fear recalling it now makes me feel utterly safe and sure I have a bigger calling and purpose than the place I may find myself.

I was 13 and we were camping in Waterton. In the middle of the night a storm blew in across the lake, as they do, and my friend & I, who had been sleeping in a tent outside her parents' RV woke & moved inside out of the wind and quickly returned to sleep as only teenagers can. Somewhere in the midst of all of that I had a dream. I have never been able to recall anything of the dream except for this deep, deep voice, a voice I felt with every fiber of my being as much as my ears physically heard it. The voice resonated, resonates still, somewhere quite primal in my being, defying description. The closest I have ever come since was hearing someone once blow a shofar. Regardless, I woke up shaken, heart pounding, feeling a little disoriented, with one phrase echoing in my head. "I AM".
Now, to be sure, I had at some point heard the story of Moses and the burning bush, and what God had spoken to Moses when he inquired whom he should say had sent him, but it was years later, and I no longer remember the details (was I just reading Exodus, was I in church, following references in a sermon? I don't know) but those words leapt off the page and reawakened a long forgotten memory.
It has been 30 years and I still don't know quite what I was called into. I still seek God's voice in the storm though, or try to remind myself to, when the storm threatens to overwhelm me. Today the recollection brought comfort in reminding me that while I may be on this leg of my journey alone, I am never truly alone. I AM has called out to me in the storm and my job is just to trust that all will be well.

Stasis

Stasis.

the state of equilibrium or inactivity caused by opposing equal forces.

I haven't written for almost a week, not that I haven't sat in front of my keyboard, fingers itching to write something, anything, but there has been little to say. Just now, standing at the kitchen sink doing yet another round of dishes, thinking I ought to try to write, wondering what on earth I could say, the word "stasis" popped into my head. I have to say, it pretty accurately defines where I'm at right now. Life is good, it has an easy rhythm, some days are crazy busy, others are slow and dull. I am content-I want more, to be sure, of some things (money, love, the "good stuff") less of others (whinging child, bills to pay, the annoying & stress inducing) but here I am, in the middle. Yes, things could be better. Then again they could be a whole lot worse.
It is an interesting state, stasis. I am learning the difference, in all the aspects of my life, to understand the difference between stasis and stagnation. When life gets crazy, busy, stressful, I long to be here, stable and unmoving. Having been here now for some weeks I find myself (almost) wanting to rock the proverbial boat. The road is level and straight, without challenge or obstacle. But there is a restlessness in my heart. Stagnation results less in restlessness than in resignation. I have been there, day after day putting one foot in front of the other, never looking up, or back, or even to the side, barely surviving, wanting to believe there must be more to living than this but utterly unable to see it.

As I am writing this, trying to explain what it is I am looking for I can hear this little voice in my head telling me to enjoy this place. I know, deep in my spirit, this time of rest will abruptly end and some new adventure will begin. Funny, in the past change has frightened me. The prospect of altering anything filled me with doubt and alarm. Today I am looking forward to what is around the bend. Maybe I find myself more in control of my circumstances, more sure of myself. I know I am more sure God is in control of it all and whatever happens is a part of His plan for me. I feel free to take chances, re-create myself, re-define myself, re-discover myself.
This place of inactivity may be frustrating. Waiting becomes a trial. I find myself wondering why God has fallen silent, when in fact He wants me to just be still, to rest and prepare for whatever is coming next.
How have you responded to periods of stasis in your life?

Out of the Mouths of Babes

I suppose it comes of being the child of a mother who writes, but my daughter has taken to writing as well. I write daily in a prayer journal, as I have written before in writing I can lose myself in my thought process, and when life comes to interrupt (usually in the form of needy child) I find it easier to return. In angst of an un-nurturing marriage I poured out my pain and frustration on non-judgmental pages. My Bible is littered with half-thoughts and the bare bones of poems on scraps of paper. I have taken to once again carrying a small notebook in my bag to capture whatever random thoughts manage to filter past the daily to-dos and grocery lists.
The notebook I am currently carrying is as filled with Em's drawings as with my own musings. This morning she was asking me how to spell several words in an attempt to recreate one of the Junie B. Jones stories she has been reading through grade one. I wanted to worship and as delighted as I am at her desire to embrace one of my passions, I was getting irritated at being interrupted and asked how to spell numerous words. And then I glanced down and saw she had turned the page, and on the inside back cover of my notebook she had written: "god you are good at being are fathar [sic] thanks".
Out of the mouths of babes.
This is a 6 year old whose own dad is unreliable and, as much as he might love her, selfish. He doesn't spend much time with her and is easily distracted. Her memories of him in our home are likely not pleasant. I do not mean to disparage him. He gave what he could out of what he knew of being a dad. Unlike other children of divorce she (as far as I know) harbours no desire for our family to come together again. She asks to see him, sure, but when it comes to our family what she asks of me is; "When can we get a new dad?"
What amazes me most about her simple statement to God is that I know so many adults who can not grasp the notion of God as a loving and concerned Father because their own earthly fathers were flawed-angry, absent, distant, demanding-too human, and yet this child understands. Knowing how I have struggled, post-divorce, with the well meant platitude "God will be your husband" (A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling -Psalm 68:5) I marvel at this simple acceptance and appreciation of God as a good father.
My own dad was a gentle, loving and kind man, taken from us far too soon, but having a good father who always had time for us, who obviously loved and adored us made understanding and accepting God as Father was relatively easy. Having husbands who were faithless, with unrealistic expectations of me (& I of them, I am sure) has made understanding God as an ardent lover and stalwart, faithful husband much more difficult to accept.
Perhaps I need to take on my daughter's simple faith. I have told her, when she asks about a "new" dad to ask for one in her prayers, and, in fact, often when I pray for her I ask for her to have the kind of dad she needs and deserves. And yet, though the list of what I am seeking in a husband grows more specific daily, I rarely commit this desire to prayer. I admit there are complex reasons for this-I see it as a selfish desire, I am torn between enjoying my single life and longing for companionship, somedays I go so far as to wonder if I deserve or can maintain that kind of a relationship...but I digress (again)
Maybe, for now, I'll just take a page from my daughter's book.
God, you are good at being my friend, husband, and father. Thanks.

Summer Snow

I had the oddest dream sometime in the early hours of today. Well, maybe not the oddest, considering, but still a little disconcerting. There is no preamble, and I have spent most of the day wondering what it might mean.
In the dream I woke, as I do most mornings, early, and glanced at the summer sky on my way through the kitchen, always grateful after endless gray and rainy skies to see the brilliant brush strokes of the sunrise and the promise of blue skies. It is July first in my dream too & I am looking forward to an extra day at home to catch up on housework & spend an afternoon in the summer sun, so I am stunned to see snow-big fluffy flakes of snow swirling out of a pale blue early morning summer sky. It is not cold, if fact the radio announcer is promising an ideal summer day, but the snow is clinging to the grass and trees, a surreal picture.

That is the entirety of the dream. I do recall the snow storm we had in August the year before my oldest son was born. It was heavy and wet, flattened the crops, the caragana bushes, the stalks of corn in my garden. This snow was not at all like that at all. When I woke up for "real" this morning I almost didn't want to look out the window for fear that I would see winter's untimely return. Thankfully I discovered the end of a summer sunrise in a cloudy blue sky.

I am still not sure what the dream means, but given most of the dreams I am able to both recall and relate do have some significance, I am wont to believe this one too has some deeper meaning. Snow, I know, we often equate with cleanness, or purity ("pure as the driven snow"), but I did wonder what the Bible had to say about snow.

These are the passages that stood out to me:


“ Come now, and let us reason together,” Says the LORD, “ Though your sins are like scarlet, They shall be as white as snow; Though they are red like crimson, They shall be as wool. Isaiah 1:18

“ For as the rain comes down, and the snow from heaven, And do not return there, But water the earth, And make it bring forth and bud, That it may give seed to the sower And bread to the eater,
Isaiah 55:10

His countenance was like lightning, and his clothing as white as snow.
Matthew 28:3

Even before I turned to my concordance Isaiah 1:18 crossed my thoughts. I have always liked the diamond like glitter of a fresh blanket of snow, before anyone tracks through it.
I was satisfied with the snow speaking to me of purity, of righteousness, of being made clean & new again, and yet I was curious, what else might snow represent?
I learned a blanket of snow can represent covering things (emotions) up...but it was falling snow in my dream, not a blanket. Snowstorms can represent chaos, but this was not a storm. One site talked about "being 'left out in the cold'", but this is July & it was not cold. None of these things resonated with my spirit. But I also read snow can represent gentleness and peace. Now, that fit with what I saw. Yes, I was irritated at the sight of inclement weather, but the snow was lovely to watch swirling outside my window, and I felt happy and peaceful.

I still don't know what my dream was about. I am hoping for that divine revelation that comes sometime after. I welcome your thoughts as well.