Another Friday Night

There is something about the transition into the weekend. Last week it was running up to get the boy. This week sitting over supper with the men of two Baptist congregations. I prefer a transitional event to just going to the house.

Work is such a big thing right now. Every week seems so full, yet there is room to stop and move into a couple of days of rest. Well, at least relative rest. I just spent the last hour on the phone and computer. But they are put away now.

And the weekend is underway. No big plans. Really the best part of these weekends without the lad are the routines of maintaining the livability of the house. Trash run, vacuuming, laundry. There is a rhythm there that is satisfying and much better than sitting. Sitting does have it's place. So does at least a bit of yard work, especially since cooler weather is here. Another transition.

There has been such grace for the trials and challenges of the work week, Father. There has also been genuine emotion, as well, with properly placed expression. At least I think so. Father, I am so certain there is room there, in expression, in safe expression, for further restoration of my soul. There is still so much that gets in the way of full freedom to pour out the love you keep me full of. When I will let you. Thank you. You are the definition of faithful.

Stable and Fixed

Disturbing. Applying the adjective gives it power to disturb. Where nothing has the power to disturb except the Holy One. Everything which can be shaken will be shaken. Everything built by the hand of man, everything built upon the foundations of this world can be shaken and will be shaken down. So what is built upon the Rock will stand.

Hunkering down. Establishing a fresh relationship with the overwhelming stability of God, the utter immovability. It helps to get very low to do that. It helps to put hands, even head down on the ground and feel the stability of God contrasted with the trembling of the earth. Meditating on the complete trustworthiness of our Father.

Pneuma moves in a way which removes even the thought of resting anything physical on her. So how then is she dependable? She is never not there. (No offense meant to those who have trouble with attributing femininity to an aspect of God.) She is never not there. The Word of God is clear that Jesus sent the Spirit of God. No word of a departure. The Spirit has taken up residence within me. There is nowhere to go apart from the Spirit of God. When I look to God Who Is Present, now that is the Spirit of God. Here. Now. Right here. Right now.

Seated in heavenly places. That is where you have placed me. Places made heavenly not by fluffy white clouds, naked baby angels and harp music, but made heavenly, NOW, by your fulfilling your own desire to be very near. Nearer than my breath. You have payed the immeasurable price so that there are no obstacles between us. And so here you are, creating my NOW reality. Thank you. It is your will that in all things I am grateful. And so, give thanks.

Walked Out of the Wilderness

Slowly and progressively, through and out of the desert is the best. On the edge of a new place, or a place being reclaimed for the Kingdom, it is scary. That is where faith is challenged, and The Faithful One proves Himself faithful, again. And again.

It is the only place worth living in. It is the place of the Taste. Taste and see that the Lord is Good. It is the place of knowing by tasting.

Moment by moment, steps lead to forks in the road. Decision points. One direction is a broad path, the other narrow, steep, stoney. Little or no God is required for the broad way. The other way is impassable without him.

So He walks you slowly and progressively up and through the narrow way. Some, much of the route is easy enough that your pride thinks you are doing the travelling.

The rest of the path is where you come to know. Not imagine. Know. You taste and see that the Lord is good, because there are no options. Well...there is one. The broad way is always right there, just a step away, full of comfort and comfortable people. Here in the narrows, though, there is a different comfort.

Sunday nights we would be coming back from a weekend in Wisconsin with grandparents. It would be late when we got home, and I would be asleep in the back of the station wagon. I would wake up when the winter air hit my face. I would fell the rhythm of being carried into the house. And I would look up and see my Dad's facing looking down as he carried me. It stuck so strong, because it was so right. It was one of the things that defined a dad. That is the comfort of the narrows, the wilderness.

Father, thank you for your fathering. And thank you for the stony way, where your nature shines in the darkness.

Pre Sneeze

Maybe my sights are set too low. I am mightily pre-sneeze. You know. That terrible place where the sneeze is all loaded, but the release does not come.

I am anticipating. It hurts, it is so acute. There is the most astounding change coming, just on the other side of the sneeze, the release. I am aching with expectation. I think I am being goaded to believe that it is a breakthrough in my life, a stepping off into a new fulfillment of my human potential. Then I realize that it is the ache, the universal ache for the kingdom of God, for the dominion that is ours in Christ. This aching place is my place, the place from which I pray, "Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done in the earth as it is in Heaven."

I can see that in the meantime, staying faithful to my calling is changing my circumstances in the earth. God help me to resist settling for the human kingdom.

God Daddy, it is good to ache for your embrace, for the advancement of your holiness into this place. Thank you for the aching fire.

Thanksgiving

as an alternative to Foreboding.

I am so addicted to controlling the lives of the people around me. Fortunately, today I have seen signs of deliverance. Today I only wanted to change what I could, instead of wanting to and doing it. So I have left myself open to pain. There can be only one explanation. I am okay, and I am going to be okay.

So the only thing to do at this point is to give thanks for the deliverance and healing. And give thinks for bright hope for tomorrow, blessings all mine and ten thousand beside. Great is Thy Faithfulness. Great is Thy Faithfulness. Morning by morning, new Mercies I see. All I have needed Thy Hand hath provided. Great is Thy Faithfulness, Lord, unto me.

Everyone involved is okay. And is going to be okay.

Daddy, why do I crawl off of Your lap? I am so happy that you welcome me back every time.

Plenty

Plenty.

Reminds me of what Zig said about always having enough to eat when he was growing up. He said he always knew he had enough, because his folks said, "You've had enough."

Yes, there is poverty and hunger like that now. My guess, though, is that there are a lot more poorly nourished in abundance than in poverty.

The best thing about writing every day is that I get inspired every day. Meaning that the Spirit of God gives me something to write about. I get enough for the post. Sometimes there is more than enough, but mostly just plenty.

This inspiration is like manna. There was always plenty of manna. Except for the sabbath manna, there was no extra. And the sabbath manna was not extra.

Anyway, there is plenty. Knowing what satisfied feels like helps. The farmer who was going to build bigger barns had not tasted satisfaction.

Maybe now I understand why I need to write about plenty. When I say, "There is plenty." do you say, "No, there is not?" Are you experiencing plenty? Are you tasting satisfaction on a regular basis? If the answer is no, run a line down the middle of a sheet of paper and run an inventory of what you have on the left and what you lack on the right. Then tick off the things on the left that you are giving thanks for. Then tick off the things on the right that you really expect, and might even be giving thanks for in advance. Then thank God for the miracle working Blood of Jesus. Now if the exercise still leaves you lacking for satisfaction and believing you have poverty instead of plenty, then write me and we will see where we need to go from here.

There is plenty. I am learning that there is great plenty in not having to store up in anticipation of the day when God breaks His Word.

Father, thank You that You are the definition of Faithful.

Simple

Simple things? Simply fewer things? Simple relationships? Avoid new complications?

At the end of the last work week, Daddy just said, "Simple." I am watching and listening to see how that works in His Kingdom here on earth. It is so easy to do, to do by my self, which means to complicate everything. Only operating in pure grace makes way for simplicity. Nothing needs to be a busy scramble.

It could be that "simple" is just another way to say "Shhhhh." Been hearing that one too. I know this. My efforts to do more or better are always noisier and more complicated.

Father, thank you for persisting with me, especially when I don't get it the first time. Don't give up on me. Especially after the price you paid to get me back home.

Biscuits

I made scratch biscuits today. My "Ratios" book has been fantastic reading, but I found I had not made much of what Michael wrote about. Bread 5/3, Pate au chou (don't remember the ratio or how to spell it. Creme puff dough and dumpling dough. Great dumplings.),and the best pancake recipe in the world.

Since I live in biscuit territory, the land of soft white wheat, I wanted to try this recipe. And my sister had sent my son Vermont maple syrups, so we had to have something to put them on. You know. Just gotta.

I know two things for certain. 1. Best biscuits I ever put my mouth on. Sorry, Mom. (Maybe because I made them.) 2. Not the same quick bread product served here abouts. Not going to ruin me for a Bojangles' biscuit. Just not going to confuse the two very different foods.

So...Holy Wild?

God cares about food. Read His book, if you doubt. I am not going to write a food blog, but I am also not going to miss a chance to express my gratitude.

Father, thank you for biscuits, and all that they are and mean. Thank you for South Carolina winter wheat, that SHOUTS out of the ground in the spring, proclaiming the power of Your economy. Thank you for dairy, and the long relationship your children have had with dairy animals. Thank you for fresh butter and milk that make this recipe all that it is. Thank you for salt. Whole libraries can be written to extol this marvelous mineral that ties us to the earth from which we came and to which our bodies will return. For baking powder. For man and his oven. For Michael Ruhlman. For cook books, the sharing of food stories down generations.

In this case, thank You for honey and maple syrup. Get that now. How bizarre are those two sweets, and so different. How many ways You have hidden / stored away the sweetness you built our mouths to crave.

How Deep Does Satisfaction Go?

How many layers of itch are there? How many places does a soul have which crave satisfaction?

In my soul each one is connected to an unreleased hurt, an unforgiven slight stored away to fester and need attention. What does a satisfied soul look like? Can you imagine a person who does not need anything fixed? Can I imagine that for my self?

Why bother? Because there is a resting place for every one of those itchy places. It is like a challenge when Father dares me to trust Him with every tiniest little booboo. I am willing to let Him heal my soul in big splashy ways. Giving Him all of me to cleanse and restore requires surrendering every moment as it arises. I can not recognize all of the places all at one time. It is my walk, bumping into my world and its people that exposes each opportunity. So all day long I choose God or me, God or me, God or me, God or me. Who am I going to trust with this issue?

I am so grateful for the gift of Your Holy Spirit, Father. Thank you, Holy Spirit, for staying near to point out the places where I am listening to pride, who tells me "that one is too small for God. You can handle it yourself."

Religion

I get to spend an hour tomorrow with a man born in South Asia who wears a turban. I guess that means he is Sikh. Maybe not. I will find out.

Thinking about the new opportunity to learn, I got to speculating on his religion, what little I know of it, and what parts of life may be forbidden or allowed by his religion, contrasted with the religions of others born in South Asia.

Which raised the same question of me.

What is forbidden in my life of faith? Over the years the tenets of religious life have been fairly easy to define, and have resulted in the proscription of many things. But that is not my life of faith.

In my life of faith, now I know that there is only one thing which I may not do.

I may not fail to love. No options. If I am loveless, I am not of this faith.

Will there be times in which I will act without love? Yes. And in those times I will not be living in faith. Fortunately, in those times I will still be the beloved of the Lord.

And THAT is all the difference. Oh, Happy Day! Thank You, Father. You ran to me and are still holding me.

This is definitely the place.

This is the place. This Wild Place where there is always hope.

Every day, walking through the world, the things that are evidence of the effects of the presence of Love stand out. He restores my soul. It is not finished, but I can tell that it is happening.

Buttons that were hardwired are disconnected. Buttons that caused major responses now produce small results. I am so loved.

There is hope. Hope for me. That means there is hope for everyone. I am not getting this right all of the time and every time. But I am getting this right more often, and I can see moments when I needed to control life being replaced by vulnerable flows of Love. He flows in and through my life, my relationships, not just me.

Father, thank you for your faithfulness. You are true to your word.