Archive for ‘Women’s Voices’

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February 21, 2013

Tell Me The Story That Will Heal My Soul

wheat

I have been teaching an in depth course on the spiritual interpretation of the Song of Solomon for the past few months which has kept me happily immersed in the beautiful language of love, but as this season is winding down I am taking a Spring Sabbatical to flesh out the new inner workings of The Spirit stirring in my heart.  This beautiful message of the Indwelling Life of Christ.  I have found myself vacillating from anger ( why didn’t anyone teach this to me sooner) to a beautiful sense of the eyes of God upon my frame and his wonderful timing of things in my life.

As I find this message coming out in the strangest of places and conversations, I know it is time to put pen to pad and chronicle this journey…and so we begin with story.  Beautiful wonderful story.  Thank you to Major Ian Thomas who has passed on to be with the Lord for listening that day in your college dorm room, and receiving this message for the Body of Christ.  Thank you to my mentors and friends who have journeyed with me and ahead of me declaring the “truth” and nothing less than the truth.

In a recent article from Clarissa Pinkola Estes she makes the following statement about culture and narcissism that I find relevant and worth pondering:

“Narcissism is not falling in love with oneself; it is falling for ‘the false self”… the one which has no real heart, a cardboard self that can only mimic tenderness and toughness, but has no winged soul.

Thus a culture diagnosed with narcissism is not in love with itself, as suggested by the reductive epithet, ‘me-ism.’ A narcissistic culture is in love with a false self, one that is not real, one that is perceived to have no real issues, no reliable gifts, no real harms and thereby, no real solutions.

But, there is ever hope. Prognosis for an ill culture? It depends… mostly on cultura cura, how smaller healthier cultures within the ill culture will expand outward to heal the larger society.
One of the first ways to destroy a culture and a people, is to destroy their stories. One of the first ways a culture that has become ill can be restored is by adding back the stories that are sustaining to its people.

I have heard this challenge in my spirit.  To scribe the story that will heal the soul, and free the spirit and point the heart to the resurrected reality of the Living Christ and Savior who died, rose, ascended and is coming again.  Our Christian culture has lost the story in the midst of the madness of crafting our own life, planning our destinies, patenting our image, and demanding adherence to disciplines that are dead outside of the reality of the spirit of God at work in our mortality.

So I ask you, have you ever heard a grain of wheat talking to itself?

To be continued….

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June 18, 2012

Gardening Transition

As I was resting from the seemingly endless mound of boxes, bags and more boxes that needed sorted, put away, given away or delegated to the burn pile, I came across this article on the psychological effects of moving on a family.  Moving is frequently cited as one of the most stressful life events, after the death of a loved one, divorce or illness. According to Galen Tinder, senior consultant with relocation agency Ricklin-Echikson Associates, Inc., “selling a house, securing housing in the new location, packing and transporting family goods and the
endless tasks of ‘settling in,’” are all hard work, but perhaps the most stressful part of moving is the acceptance of permanent change.  “Nearly every aspect of common family life changes: daily routines, schools, community associations, friendships, even the physical landscape,” says Tinder. This disruption in everyday life can manifest itself in a range of reactions. “Shock, anger, anxiety, sadness, fear, confusion and disorientation” are a few of the common emotions felt by new movers, says William Bridges, Ph.D., an acclaimed expert
on transitional management and author of several books on the topic.  Add to these feelings the chaos of unpacking boxes-

In her book, Making the Big Move: How to Transform Relocation into a Creative Life Transition (New Harbinger Publications, 1999), Cathy Goodwin, Ph.D., explains how moving is a significant life transition that forces people to reconsider their identities. “Most people recognize that marriage, divorce, graduation and childbirth are significant life transitions … marked by ceremonies and rituals, such as weddings, funerals and graduations. Moving can be an equally significant life transition, but there are no ceremonies to mark its passage.”

“No ceremonies to mark its passage” h-m-m-, considering how I am believing my return home to be THE LAST TIME I WILL EVER DO THIS…pardon the all caps, I have come up with my own version of a transition ceremony that celebrates my efforts of the past twenty years to bring life to each place I have lived.  I will plant various shrubs, flowers, trees etc. to commemorate the  places I have lived, and the people who have been so much a part of my life.    As I have pondered the different landscapes  I have raised my children through, beautiful, scented memories come flooding back to me:  Yellow roses, pine trees, deep purple lilacs, red clover, weeping willows, shaking aspens, Italian prunes, strawberries, french tarragon, lavender and spearmint. The joy of gardening these places of transition has given me a delightful  expectation that was once only dread, and weariness.

God commanded memorials and markers to be erected in the transitory life of the Israelites.  Commemorations of the pain and hope of transition.  From one life, to another.  Each time they passed by they were to speak of them to their children’s children’s children…I hope I can do the same, as I fill my generations arms and hearts with the scent of beauty from chaos, hope from loss, and a sense of home for their wanderings.

 

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June 10, 2012

Putting The Pieces Back…

Returning to the old homestead, and putting the place in order after a renter of 11 years almost destroyed the intent and reason of the ranch has given me a new perspective of the cyclical nature of God, and our part in restoring the land, and partnering with the original intent of cultivating the garden to the non garden parts of earth.  I am weary, and ache with the amount of work that needs to be done, but there is a story evolving around every corner. As I pick up random objects, trash, and pieces of a life, I find the hint of what was, and the vision of what is to come. I am straining to listen to the heart of the Father for this season in my life.  The phrase:  “Those who have ears to hear, let them hear” has taken on a new meaning.  This poem by Mary Oliver speaks to me during this time of transition. I thought I would share the “story” with you.

Breakage

By Mary Oliver

I go down to the edge of the sea.
How everything shines in the morning light!
The cusp of the whelk,
the broken cupboard of the clam,
the opened, blue mussels,
moon snails, pale pink and barnacle scarred—
and nothing at all whole or shut, but tattered, split,
dropped by the gulls onto the gray rocks and all the moisture gone.
It’s like a schoolhouse
of little words,
thousands of words.
First you figure out what each one means by itself,
the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop
       full of moonlight.
Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.

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May 3, 2012

My Restless Heart

“Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord,
and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee.” ―St. Augustine

I have been pondering this reality for months.  We are made for our God. Not for any other endeavor but to worship the one who crafted us with his hands, his words, his breathe.  An object of His fascination and desire, we will stay in this state of discontent until our internal longings are satisfied with the beauty of His face. We have been torn from the purpose and meaning of our existence, and He is daily bringing us to a place of gazing, to discover our image.  To remind us of our reflection.  Often we catch a glimpse of our true selves in the kind face of strangers extending love to strangers, benevolent pauses as we consider one another in the hallways of life.  We hear our native tongue when healing syllables of life flow from lips that choose to bleed rather than hurl curses at the offender.  We are reminded for a moment that we belong “other” than this dysfunction of existence we tear our way through on any given day.  We belong to a kingdom ruled by a King of Righteousness who shall reign forever, and ever.  So, we comfort one another s restless hearts, as we gently lift chins to the horizon, and remind ourselves….we were made to gaze on beauty.

 

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May 1, 2012

Mud On The Eyes

 

Mud On The Eyes

Job 29:15  ” I was eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame”

Mar 8:23  And taking the blind man by the hand, He brought him out of the village; and after spitting on his eyes, and laying His hands upon him, He asked him, “Do you see anything?”

Several things about this story strike me.  First, the blind man was not asking for help, not like in the case of blind Bartemaeus who cried out loudly after Jesus.  It says his friends brought him. Then, Christ led him out of the city, not his friends, Christ.  The Lamb of God, the Light of the World, took this blind man by the hand and led him….

No one from the town witnessed this…is it that they had had so many miracles worked in their midst, they weren’t curious enough to follow them out of town to see what might happen?  Whatever their lack of witness became a judgment against them.  The Lord told him not to go back into that village and share the miracle. What have we missed because of our lack of wonder?   We are called to rejoice when God moves over our brothers and sister in ways that brings sight, health, love , peace etc. lest we find ourselves without our own visitation.

What was it like to be led by God in the flesh from blindness to sight?

John Stott in his book ” Basic Christianity” makes the statement that fear is the greatest enemy of truth.  Because fear paralyzes our search.  This is true. I know in my own life I have been afraid to  “look” at certain things for what I might see in myself, in the subject, in others.  Yet we are called to search, and when we do we will find.  God’s biggest complaint with mankind is that they didn’t seek after Him.  I am on a hunt for “the lie” at the base of my own apple tree.  I want to dispel the paralysis that has kept me from seeking the depths of the mystery.  I am ready to be undone.  To be unsettled by the inconvenience of a true Christian conviction.  Spit upon the mud, and let me see…have mercy on me Son of David.

Rev. 3:18  “anoint your eyes with eye salve that you might see.”

I too, want to feel the hand of the Master lead me from darkness into His glorious light.  I don’t want to be paralyzed by fear of seeing I would rather be blinded by the light.  The last point is the value of Godly friendship.  Friendship led this blind man to his encounter.  But notice, they couldn’t lead him into the light, only God could do that.  They just put his hand in The Master’s then got to rejoice at the miracle.  Like the parable of the friend needing the bread at midnight Luke 11.  We don’t have the bread, but we know someone who does, and we go to him and ask, and He provides.

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April 27, 2012

What Happens To Me When I Live?

The world is consumed with death.What happens to the body when we die, where do we go? What affects our placement in the after-life….but, I must ask , as Christians shouldn’t we be asking the “other” question?  What happens to me when I live?  Truly live.  Radically live.  Live the reality of the indwelling nature of Christ fully alive on the inside. What then?  What changes. What has to have new language because the old can not express this living of life?

I am going to be meandering here a bit I think.

What do you think?  What happens to us when we live?

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April 24, 2012

At The Sound Of Her Name-

We are surrounded by myriads of voices each demanding our immediate attention. Some within, most without. Some with sound, others consist of data, image, and fonts of various sizes and shapes all competing to communicate their version of truth with each tap of the finger upon the keypad. We are a culture that is proving more dysfunctional and anti-relational in the midst of the greatest advance in networking and social media structures designed to help us converse and “stay connected”.  We are multitasking ourselves into sickness as though there were seven of us instead of one.

Mary of Magdala knew about voices.  Raging accusations against light, goodness, holiness, health. She had seven ghoulish quarrels battling for dominance at any given moment of the day.  Each of them despising her frame, scorning her worth, terrorizing her soul with the reality-she let them in.  Seven, until the day she encountered the power of silence with just one word from The Christ.

Mat 8:16  And when even was come, they brought unto him many possessed with demons: and he cast out the spirits with a word, and healed all that were sick:

She went from the cacophony of blasphemy to the holy hush of new birth.   I wonder who had the vision to see her whole?  Who brought her to him?  Or, did she run like the demoniac from the Gatarrenes who at the very hope of the name of Jesus upon his shore,  fought the legion of darkness to fall at the feet of Christ?

Luk 8:1-2  And it came to pass soon afterwards, that he went about through cities and villages, preaching and bringing the good tidings of the kingdom of God, and with him the twelve, and certain women who had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary that was called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out-

Seven. Gone. Silence. What did it feel like to hear the sound of her own voice again? To be whole in her intentions, motives, conversations? What was it like for the Creator of the Universe to say her name?

Mary!

Is it any wonder we find her here in Luke, attending to the needs of her Savior?  In the company of the one who opened her prison, and shone his light into darkness and declared:  “Let her be…”  Is it any wonder that angelic presences straight from the throne room of God could not persuade her from her mission of finding Him at the tomb, this one who was her world of peace, was missing.  Nothing but Him would satisfy no matter how glorious.  She had come to dedicate her life to mourning, to perhaps pray away the fear that without the presence of his name the voices would return. In her agony  she couldn’t see, she looked toward her savior and saw a  gardener- In a sense He was.  The Second Adam come to the garden of mankind’s heart, to tend and to till.  He came first to this garden.

Joh 20:16  Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and said unto him in Hebrew, Rabboni;

Her name, upon his lips.  That familiar sound of the Master setting her free. The one true voice in a myriad of noise.  Her name spoken with resurrected life.  It was he, and that is all that mattered.

Lord say my name.  Silence is the beginning of sound. Speak your truth through me, that resurrected life would be my portion.

Sharing this with Seedlings In Stone

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April 21, 2012

Change-A Vision of Love

-”you can’t really know something until you’ve seen it transformed by change. You must see it in all the angles of light and shadow provided for by time. You must see it in wind and in rain, under a blanket of snow, in the gentle light of spring, in the hazy heat of late summer, in the crisp cool of an autumn day. You must witness it in twilight and at sunrise, in thunderstorms and under the light of the moon and stars. Only then do you get a glimpse of the spirit lurking underneath. Only then do you begin to understand it.”-Andy Goldsworthy, artist as quoted by Danielle on her blog The Teacup Chronicles.

This quote has captivated my musing for several days now.  What a great observation of life.  I must ask the question if I  love with change in view?  Do I have the vision to see someone in a winter season, full of spring blossoms, and laden in the summer sun with fruit abundant?  Do I steady my heart gaze through long winter days of drought and dreary moments knowing that love conquers death?  Have I seen myself this way?  Do I believe in the faithfulness of my Maker, to shepherd me to new seasons?

Jer 29:11  For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.

Our Lord has an expectation of future and hope for his Beloved.  As his friends we must ask ourselves if  we  “see” those in our care?  Do we watch expectantly for the first blooms combing the branches of the heart with gentle hands waiting for the promise of spring, or are we quick with the pruning shears lopping off relationships we are sure are dead only to mourn the blossoming branch laying on the ground withering, and separated from our life? I desire to have this kind of vision that sees woody, leafless branches in the grey of winter and can smell the fragrance of fruit.

Oh Lord.  Help me to keep my pruning hook in the shed.  You are the Master Gardener, you decide the shape of my life, mine is to receive, and give the life you have given me.  Open my eyes Lord. I want to see you at work in the Earth of my feet, the Earth of my hands,  and the Earth of my heart.

 

Shared with Seedlings in Stone.

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April 17, 2012

A Jesus Heart

“Scorn has broken my heart”- Psalm 69:20

This Psalm that speaks to us prophetically of Christ, tells us that our Lord ultimately died of a broken heart.  Is it not a place of comfort to know that for many of us who have felt the abusive pummel of hard words, and scornful spite, that we have a Savior that can speak to the suffering of man’s reproach, and God’s silence?  Where we have sustained wounds, he allowed them to destroy his gracious heart.  Thorough research has been done by medical practitioners into what actually happened to Jesus physically on the cross and they tell us, his heart literally broke as evidenced by the water and the blood when his side was pierced.  Torn like a sacrificial dove, this tabernacle of compassion, opened that we might come in.  What did it sound like for the Creator’s crimson heart of mercy to be rend?  The Word tells us the earth heaved and shook violently, rocks split in two, the heavy woven curtain of the Temple that separated men from the Mercy Seat was ripped top to bottom.  There was a great noise.  Not a silent weeping, or a quiet sigh.  How the lintels of human attempt to contain the heart of God must have shook and rolled as the flood waters of grace rushed at man.  Centuries of separation destroyed in a day for the love of the Father, and the love of the Son. Do we know how high? How wide? How great is the Father’s love for us who believe?

Eph 2:4-7  but God, being rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us,  even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ (by grace have ye been saved), and raised us up with him, and made us to sit with him in the heavenly places, in Christ Jesus: that in the ages to come he might show the exceeding riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus:

Do you hear the anthem of the Jesus Heart?  Rich, great, alive, grace, heavenly places, exceeding riches, kindness.  It beats  a communion song of lavish love towards us, for ages yet to come.  Not a one time event, a cursory peck on the cheek, but a daily declaration of worth, value, and desire.  Have we come in?  He was rent that we might come in.  We sing the song:  Come into my heart Lord Jesus, we talk about our heart his home, and making room in my heart  for Thee Lord, yet I wonder if we are missing something grand and powerful.  If we haven’t perhaps turned the gospel into a bit of a Me-World self help manual.  Have we entered His heart?  Have we accepted his pierced hand extended and crossed the threshold of his sacrificial love, and sat with him on the seat of Mercy, a heavenly place?  In that place of awe found our own heart transformed?

I find myself asking this morning to come into His heart.  To know the kindness of his embrace, and the warmth of love for those outside.  I can not love, unless I am in His heart.   I will lash back when I am lashed, I will strike when struck unless I am hidden in the tabernacle of the most high.  The Emmanuel of Mercy is my refuge and my hiding place, whom shall I fear?  Of whom shall I be afraid when love rules through me-A Jesus Heart extended.

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April 8, 2012

Spirit Seed

I have just finished the book The Faithful Gardener by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, I highly recommend this read.  The powerful way she weaves story and prose and life places you in her remembering moments, and you begin to look for that which will never die, in your own life.

I am caught by a phrase at the end of her book where she has told of Uncle burning the field, and waiting for the faithful seed to come by wind, and bird and bumbling creature, to build a forest again.  They watch the field burn as they stand waiting for their war torn lives,  to be built again:

What is this faithful process of spirit and seed that touches empty ground and makes it rich again? Its greater workings I cannot claim to understand.  But I know this:  Whatever we set our days to might be the least of what we do, if we do not also understand that something is waiting for us to make ground for it, something that lingers near us, something that loves, something that waits for the right ground to be made so it can make its full presence known.

I am feeling the wind of this phrase in the quiet moments of my days.  Change is coming. I am not in control of the seeds dropped, I am only earth. I open and receive what the Ruach deposits.  I open and receive the rain the Father sends, I can do nothing more, nothing less.  I have allowed the Master Gardener to plow and burn the field of my heart, to make room for love to grow, now I wait and receive, that I might give to the seed he deposits.

Father, teach me to wait, that I might give.

Shared with Seedlings In Stone.

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