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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Tags: christ, Christian, devotion, dieing to self, religion, resurrection, spirituality, story, suffering, wheat

November 10, 2012

If I Sleep Too Long-An Ancient Cry

O lovely and loving God‚
if I sleep too long and am not aware of your many blessings‚
wake me.
Sing me an exuberant song of joy.
It is a song without sound or notes;
it is a song of love beyond all words.
Is a song of faith that no one can describe.
I hear it in my soul when you wake me
to become aware of your presence.
amen
(Mechthild van Magdeburg – 13^th Century)

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Tags: Christian, Christianity, heart, Mechthilde Madeburg, passion, poem, Woman

October 5, 2012

Corinthians Remix

A Musing From Corinthians…

If I can speak the eloquence of the ages

In tongues of angelic sound

But cannot hear the forlorn cry of the lonely heart

Desperate for a Word balm of kindness-

I am the worst noise of empty clash and gong

Tin, ear -ringing, cold, ego -pride fluster- in brass.

If I can see the pathways of the depths of man

And hold the balance to the weight of every thought and intent

With calculating accuracy reduce actions to a set of predictable

Formulaic rhythms and reasons-

Bringing mountains to molehills-

But I cannot see hunger in front of me,

Withholding all crumbs from my table of insight,

As precious morsels from an enlightened existence-

I alone am the most pitiable, weak, and impoverished of souls.

If I leave the world of men

To live upon the heights of ascent,

Deliver myself a sacrifice for the causes of greatest good

But do not live with my heart pierced by the wounds

Of the afflictions of those of earth-

And bear their life in my open, upraised hands-

To hold in love,

To receive in love,

To give in love….

My own soul fire is but a dim flickering wick

that profits the world-

Nothing.

© Christina Dammerman 2012

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Tags: Christian, Christianity, christina, devotion, encouragement, female, hope, inspiration, love, religion, Woman

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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Tags: Christian, Christianity, devotion, hearing, homestead, hope, life, mary oliver, rennovation, restoration, transition, words

April 29, 2012

What do you see?

We each have something we can give to those around us, that bring life, and hope and encouragement. We can each participate in the “fast” ( Isaiah 58) the Lord has called us to , in helping to lift up the feeble hearts, and hands, and lives of those in need, even if we seem to be the ones who need the help the most! An encouraging story I have picked up along the way to encourage your vision-

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.

One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs.

His bed was next to the room’s only window

The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.

The men talked for hours on end.

They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation..

Every afternoon, when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake.

Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats.. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite details, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine this picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by.

Although the other man could not hear the band – he could see it in his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days, weeks and months passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep.

She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside.
He strained to slowly turn to look out the window besides the bed.

It faced a blank wall.

The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.

The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.

She said, ‘Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.’

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Tags: Christian, devotion, encouragement, friendship, hope, inspiration

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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Tags: calvary, Christian, Christianity, deliverance, demon, devotion, encouragment, female, inspiration, love, mary, name, religion, voice, Woman

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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Tags: Christian, Christianity, devotion, earth, encouragment, hope, inspiration, love, relationships, religion, trust, vision, Woman

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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Tags: calvary, Christian, Christianity, devotion, encouragment, female, friendship, heart, hope, inspiration, love, mercy, mistreatment, religion, reproach, scorn

April 10, 2012

New Seed

New seed is faithful. It roots deepest in the places that are most empty -C.P. Estes

Gen 8:22 “While the earth remains, Seedtime and harvest, Cold and heat, Winter and summer, And day and night Shall not cease.”

The Lord made a promise. He smelled the sweet aroma of Noah’s worship, and promised his earth seasons. She would not lay dormant, shapeless, or void again. The passing of Winter and the coming of Spring reminds us of the faithfulness of our God. As he gives the earth we step on change, so he gives us, his earth change. We are the red earth of his hands, his workmanship and we hold his breath. The ancient breath, and the new breath given us in Christ. We have a promise of seasons in places that have been the most void of life. Our response is to open the gate. To not bar our heart from the shame of the desolation, but to open the gate and allow the Master Gardener to enter with his seed bag in hand, and gaze across the desolate landscape and throw with all the creative power of His being. Ours is to receive. To not judge the seed thrown, or its placement. Ours is to yield to the rooting, and trust the Father for Heaven’s Rain.

Lord come into my garden. Take delight in me.

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Tags: Christian, Christianity, devotion, estes, garden, hope, religion, song of solomon, spring

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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Tags: Christian, Christianity, clarissa estes, daughter, devotion, encouragment, female, feminist, friendship, gardener, hope, love, religion, seed, spirit, Woman

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Tell Me The Story That Will Heal My Soul

“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.

If I Sleep Too Long-An Ancient Cry