Then

http://www.thewaymarks.wordpress.com/

So...

"I know your deeds, your hard work and your perseverance. I know that you cannot tolerate wicked men, that you have tested those who claim to be apostles but are not, and have found them false. You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary.

Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love. Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first..."
- Revelation 2:2-5 (NIV)

I cannot sleep. The leading of the Lord has led me to this moment. Punk Monk Musings is a wrap.

I do not like what I have become. I have become caught up with self and have left my One True Love in the dust.

This Punk Monk must shed this skin through a lifestyle that seeks after humility, intentional solitude, and abiding. In the past I have made the claim of being called to the life of a contemplative. It is time to take that call seriously and to stop playing ego games.

Leaving this blog behind is more than symbolic. It is a relinquishment of attitudes, negative emotions, the idolatry of self.

This does not mean that I will leave blogging behind. In the days ahead I will be building a new site dedicated to the glory of the Lord as I go about the business of turning back along the path that I have traveled. I have 'lost' Him, and I want Him back.

For those who desire to continue the journey with me, I will provide a link for you. One way or the other, we are together in this, this journey toward the Holy, toward our Abba Father.

Have I run you off with my wild spell,

my season of ugly?

I stink.

It comes with the territory.

Have mercy on me...

Lean In...

I would slay the beast
who attempts to destroy
through preoccupation with self.
He dares to tempt me with
I am my own worst enemy.
You are the one.
In Jesus Name,
I cast you out once more...

One and the Same Thing

"What really interests me is whether God had any choice in the creation of the world."
- Albert Einstein

No. That's what love does, making what must be. He could not help Himself or deny the very nature of His being. You cannot love without having something to love, to save, to die for...

Thirst

It's a dangerous thing, this being alone. We are a thing to behold when we are together, bound in and by the Spirit, with love as our rear guard. Ya know?

Pity Party

I drank too much wine, ate too many chocolates.

Alone.

Again.

Psalm 57 (ESV)

Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me,
for in you my soul takes refuge;
in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge,
till the storms of destruction pass by.
I cry out to God Most High,
to God who fulfills his purpose for me.
He will send from heaven and save me;
he will put to shame him who tramples on me.
God will send out his steadfast love and his faithfulness!
My soul is in the midst of lions;
I lie down amid fiery beasts-
the children of man, whose teeth are spears and arrows,
whose tongues are sharp swords.
Be exalted, o God, above the heavens!
Let your glory be over all the earth!
They set a net for my steps;
my soul was bowed down.
They dug a pit in my way,
but they have fallen into it themselves.
My heart is steadfast, O God,
my heart is steadfast!
I will sing and make melody!
Awake, my glory!
Awake, O harp and lyre!
I will awake the dawn!
I will give thanks to you, O Lord, among the peoples,
I will sing praises to you among the nations.
For your steadfast love is great to the heavens,
your faithfulness to the clouds.
Be exalted, O God, above the heavens!
Let your glory be over all the earth!

Tomorrow I pick up the guitar again. 'Bout time.

Communion

These past weeks I have been battling my way back to Him, fighting tooth and nail.

I heard Him as Pedro offered the elements, the drone of his voice piercing eyes-closed darkness...the body of Christ, which was broken for you, once, twice, a hundred times.

He was there, He was there, with us, with me.

I can see Him. I'm coming.

The Days of Radical Hospitality

I've been asked to compile the most powerful experiences that I have had at the Sacred Space, a daunting task. Where do I begin?

Can it be found in the tears of a distraught young missionary or in the murder-bent street prophet seeking the way of escape? The strung out addict's need of lemonade and Kleenex, a hand held, sharing hopes and dreams for a future and a hope? Watching Dave's transformation and then having him slip through the fingers of this life? Giving my lunch to a diabetic paranoid schizophrenic to prevent coma? Michael...Michael. I thought you were going to take my life that day...and then God stopped you with the Gospel, His words of love to you. I watched the demon leave your eyes, at least for a moment.

Where do I begin?

I miss the days of radical hospitality. I am not called to the antiseptic. Once you've tasted the blood of the Cross, there's no going back. I was bred for war.

Christmas 2009

I gave it away, all of it, in the spirit of Christmas humbug,
not being able to stand what this day had become
and in the giving, God gave it back one hundred fold,
through the love of his people for me,
for ME, I say in incredulousness
and my dad, the flesh and blood one, the atheist who sits
at the feet of Joyce Meyers,
expressed his joy for me for the very first time,
in my finding of this life,
this people. He peruses the daily for its name
in print, the place where his little girl dwells...

The Prayer Shawl

I will be wrapped
in her love while I pray,
or when I am cold,
or deceived by loneliness,
irrational with fear, doubt, or worry...
There is an alchemy where the cells
of her hands are intertwined with
each strand of wool.
She is with me,
a visitation of grace,
you, who are worth the price
of all those left behind,
for God knew you were coming,
Joy.

Home

I realized in a meeting last night I am still waiting to be escorted to the door, and that this is not going to happen.

God tells me that this is my forever place. I can let my roots go deep.

It is the place of for better or worse, gray hair, the walking stick, having my eyes closed gently and with love.

I'm so happy I could spit.

Green Eyed Monster

I've been one of those from time to time. Though not limited to the fairer sex, we are prone to being caught in its clutches regarding our relationships with one another. As a result, I have sworn off best friends. Let me explain. To declare another to be a best friend is to push relationships with others to a place of diminishment. While I do have relationships where I dare to go deeper, my feelings towards all does not differ. I will not love another less. I've been on the other side and do not desire to return the favor.

There are those who strive for my affections, usurping a place that only Abba should possess. I will not be an idol. I am your friend. And I love you. No more, no less, just the same. With all that I've got.

One Flesh

The Sacred Space is filled with worshipers this day. A young man kneels at the foot of the cross, the wingspan of his arms upraised while the name of the Savior crosses his lips. Angel-strains raise to the rafters, their instrument radiating that mountain-top glow that only Moses once knew as she bids her fairwell. She leaves behind the sloughing of her being in my hand and she may not realize it but she has taken a part of me away with her as well.

All this follows on the wings of Song of Solomon yearnings shared by an uncommon sisterhood behind close doors, their sorority as safe as a womb's warmth.

As I sit and meditate next to a young woman whose companionship I shared during a coffee mop up, I realize I had forgotten what it was to experience that sense of mission which goes hand in hand with hosting the encounter between God and man...radical hospitality, what it means to be Punk Monk.

Full Circle

It's just You and me again,

and that's alright.

Healing

Something happens to the traumatized mind...it is never quite the same again. I never thought it would take this long to heal and the process continues. I could not help but meditate on Elijah, who, despite his victory over the prophets of Baal, was never the same after the encounter. He ran from further conflict, the flight of his life. And not too far afterwards, despite the angelic provision, his lifework was handed over to another waiting in the wings, unbeknownst to him, waiting in the wings...

Today I praised with eyes welled with tears, for gratitude, that my time is not yet done. I almost ran a fortnight ago, but chose instead to follow. My mantle remains draped upon my own shoulders, the divine repast having done its work as preparation is made for one waiting in the wings.

Poustinia 2

As I have pondered my role at 24-7 over the past weeks, Abba has been kind to reveal to me the alteration of my ministry. Renovatians come seeking me, knowing I am there. Some come for prayer, others for companionship, counsel, or for a safe place to shed tears. My heart thrills in their presence. Hours slip by as minutes in the times we share together. They are loved as I am.

At the same time, the Sacred Space is no longer my poustinia. I come with every intent to lose myself in God which is thwarted time and again. Where is the place where God and I alone can dwell?

I know that God is always with me and is nothing more than a mind-shift away. But it is in what the ancient Celts call the thin-places that bridge the physical gap between God and man that I seek for, the place of pilgrimage where nothing dares to come in between myself and my Beloved.

At one time it was in the summits of the Blue Ridge where I met with Him on a regular basis. A body that is becoming increasingly uncooperative with age makes this difficult, not to mention the constraints of time and resources. My beautiful home harbors distractions that constantly pull me away from the contemplative life.

Perhaps the Sacred Space is where I must return, but under cover of anonymity, odd hours, ensconced behind curtain or door with no responsibility luring me away. One thing I have learned over these past months: for me the contemplative lifestyle is not an option. Destruction lies in wait as I leave the place of First Love.

"Deserts, silence, solitude.

For a soul that realizes the tremendous need of all three, opportunities present themselves in the midst of the congested trappings of all the world's immense cities. But how, really, can one achieve such solitude?

By standing still!

Stand still, and allow the strange, deadly, restlessness of our tragic age to fall away like the worn-out, dusty cloak that it is - a cloak that was once considered beautiful. The restlessness was considered the magic carpet to tomorrow, but now in reality we see it for what it is: a running away from oneself, a turning from that journey inward that all men must undertake to meet God dwelling within the depths of their souls.

Stand still, and look deep into the motivations of life.

Stand still, and lifting your heart and hands to God pray that the mighty wind of His Holy Spirit may clear all the cobwebs of fears, selfishness, greed, narrow-heartedness away from the soul: that His tongues of flame may descend to give courage to begin again."

- Celtic Daily Prayer

Deliver Me...

Lord, deliver me from

self-righteous people.

Deliver me from people

who think they know you

better than anyone else.

Who think that only they

can understand your ways.

Who think that only they

can interpret your word.

Who wail and gnash their teeth

over the sins of the world,

but fail to see their own.

Who urge others to meekness

and humility,

but fail to follow

their own advice.

Who expound at length

on charity

but fail to practice it.

Who preach mercy and

compassion,

but fail to show it.

Who insist that they alone

hold the key

that unlocks the door

to your kingdom.

Who insist that they alone

have found the sure path

by which to follow you.

Lord, deliver me from myself.

I, too, am one of these.

- Sue Garmon

My Own Worst Enemy

Abba has been leading me through a season of self-examination and purging from all things unnecessary. The flesh has been battling tooth and nail in order to retain possession. Some things have come easy: the inability to participate in entertainment that is not only unnecessary but displeasing to the One who dwells within me. But there is something that continues to stare back at me in the mirror which causes me to loath myself. At the same time, the Presence seems as distant as the faintest of stars flickering in the night sky billions of light years away...

How does the old saying go, hate the sin and not the sinner? Brother Manning reminded me in my reading last night that the unwillingness to forgive myself is just as much sin as anything else.

Crux 4

Self-righteousness
Self-absorbtion
Self-hatred

Dry Spell

In the God desert...

What's Your Intent?

Some toes were stepped on...sorry, there was no intent to offend.

I once practiced a brand of Christianity that stomped on everyone else's said version. Now that I am Pentecostal, I have drawn fire from those who possess those left behind prejudices, intent on being right instead of ushering in Thy Kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven. I now know what it feels like to be on the other side. It's a durned shame that there is bigotry within the Church of Jesus Christ that grieves the Father's heart and tramples on Sacred Text such as John 17.

I started this blog as a part of a recovery process, to help sort through my relationship with God as well as the course of my life and ministry. Its audience was made up of God, me, and a few close friends. If you are a regular reader, you have come to know me as a person of authenticity. That will never change. It is who I am. I am not here to jump through any one's hoops but God's.

For those who have become a part of my journey, you make my heart glad. Thank you for listening, for being there. For those who have not received what I have had to say with a right spirit, you are free to leave. I wish you well on your own journey of discovery. I hope you wish me well in mine. We are all here to learn. The revealed Word of God is the standard that I live by as best I can. I will not participate in conversation that does not come from a heart of love. This Punk Monk is not a clanging cymbal. Look it up.

Cure

Headed back to the Sacred Space tomorrow to delve into contemplation of my Lover as His Presence eludes me during Yuletide as it has these last several years.

As I said to my husband on our Christmas tree mountain trip, I am saddened by how the culture has dared to rob us of our remembrance of the Incarnation. As the Church, we must reject the gross materialism of our culture by refusing to celebrate in a way that has nothing to do with Jesus.

The only way to remove my joylessness, my inner humbug, was to give away all that would come to me under my tree. The cloud has lifted.

"Joy to the world,
the Lord is come..."

Crux 3

Lack of solitude where only God can be found...

Sons of Blood

Two sons of light,
Abba's back-to-back gift,
recipients of their seeking
those things that only
a mother's heart
can bestow,
prayers of blood,
nightmare embraces,
for those who would be
warriors...

Crux 2

Selfishness
Substitutes
Service

The Crux of the Matter

I've finally been able to put my finger on it as I read the Psalms in my time with the Lord this night...my frustrations, the dissatisfaction.

I miss the poor and my ministry to them. Praying for them. Pouring out the Word of the Lord for them. Blessing them in the day-to-day. My responsibilities at the Sacred Space have taken a shift in another direction which has left me feeling hollow somehow. The interactions I once enjoyed are few and far between. Abba has not called me away but instead intends my work for the less than the least of these to shift to the lives that lie behind the Justice Project. Pouring out sweat for Pat was life-altering. I don't know exactly what this will look like down the road...something about taking others with me into the trenches.

Interesting aside: the root of the word 'crux'...yeah, it's all about the Cross.

Holy Backlash!

As we silently prayed with eyes closed during our church's grand debut at Eastland Mall, the silence was broken by the shutter release of the camera in the hands of the newspaper photographer in front of us. "Oh no!", I said to myself. Those who know me for any length of time know of my photo-phobia. Sure enough, my husband and I were emblazoned across the pages of the daily paper the next day. The cat was out of the bag...Mike and Karen have gone PENTECOSTAL!

This week my Mom let me know in no uncertain terms that she disapproves. I reminded her how I am respectful of her own brand of heretical Christianity. She needs to do the same. (I did it nicely, Pastor. I remembered to honor my father and mother.)

Yesterday our dyed-in-the-wool Baptist next door neighbor told Mike he saw us in the paper. "When did you go Pentecostal? " was the question. Not anything about the good work being done to usher in God's Kingdom on our own little scrap of earth. Just that elephant in the room thing.

It made me take a long hard look at myself in the past when I was my own brand of Pharisee, looking down my nasty nose in condemnation at what I didn't understand. And God, in His way, over the past year has taken me aside and said unto me in so many words, by the way, let me introduce you to the third Person of the Trinity...He's alive and working in and through the Church that would have him.

Instead of getting our underwear all in a bunch, we need to be meditating on what Jesus has to say to us through John 17. A whole lot more would be going on if we would only get over ourselves.

And yes, I unabashedly speak in tongues.

I Would Be Gideon

The foot soldier must become an officer. I will miss those foxhole days. It is time to set the strategy and lead the charge, brandishing trumpet and torch. Holy Spirit, go before me...

I can't do everything, but I can do anything through Christ who strengthens me.

Waiting

Is it lack of courage or the check of the Holy Spirit?

I can't do everything. As a son in the Lord counseled me, follow Jesus and only Jesus. Not anyone else.

Speak, Lord...

Uncharted Territory

As I mentioned in a previous posting regarding my life in ministry, I have always been hands-on. I love nothing more than to be in the thick of doing life with a group of women, teaching God's word, watching lives go through Holy Spirit metamorphosis.

While I am presently doing those things near and dear with my community life group, I have been called into areas of greater responsibility that will impact the future of our church which has left my knees-a-knockin'. I don't see myself as a committee-poobah. I have always thought that I was brought into this world to be a teacher of the Word, a discipler of women. I ache for the lack of opportunity to glean from the depths of Scripture that its truths might be communicated to those placed within my charge, resulting in lives that experience new found intimacy with God through Jesus Christ His Son and which are set apart for the furtherance of the Kingdom.

This morning upon waking I turned on the television and came upon a program as I perused the channels. Nothing much better to do when you are sick in bed and you can barely lift your head off the pillow. The speaker was teaching on obedience to God in ways that don't make sense ala Abraham being asked to sacrifice the son of promise. What to my eye does not make sense requires the stepping out in faith to what God asks of me during this new season of life, something that doesn't look like anything I have ever done before. As Mike and I shared about this today, we both came to the realization that we are walking a similar path. His home makeover responsibilities this past weekend took him into uncharted territory as well, a place of discomfort but which utilized his skills and experiences from the past. He would have much preferred being on his hands and knees, accomplishing each task given to him instead of being a pivot point.

So I ask, Abba, what is it that you want me to do? I have not sought any path these past months, but instead have waited for You to carry me along by the breath of Your Spirit. Am I on the intended course, for if I am, I await the supply of Your grace, Your wisdom, Your strength, Your faith, Your courage in the performance of the chosen tasks in the days to come. And don't let ANYTHING take me from You, my First Love, not ever again. Remove that which would dare come in between You and I.

Abba, I'm scared. Forgive my lack of faith which has frozen me into paralysis.

Go to Joshua 1, I hear, and believe.

Hello, you.

Flesh on Mercy

The Renovatus/24-7 Justice Project Crew put flesh on mercy as we performed the down-and-dirty, nitty-gritty home renovation for Sister Pat this weekend in the Reid Park neighborhood of West Charlotte. We're talking the hood now. Our 63 year old friend lost her prize son to a bullet under a street light some years ago.

I've never seen anything like it. I've never done anything like this before. In the past I let a weakened body keep me from my heart's desire. As I learn more and more about myself, I have come to realize that I am a dirty hands-on girl, preferring trench warfare over the desk job, acknowledging though that both are necessary. God didn't give me the life-experience to just have it roll around in my head, though getting it out is like pulling teeth at times. But I digress...

Two hours before reveal time all was in total chaos. One of the kitchen workman said to me, "Karen, it's going too slow." As my partners and I feverishly worked on our assignment we were unaware what God was doing throughout the site. We labored beyond the point of exhaustion, bleary-eyed and nauseated. Pat's arrival home signaled our having to be done.

I gasped at candle-lit wonder as we made our way to the other end of the house to join with our fellow teammates. As she walked over the threshold of her front door, Pat entered into a whole new world. Her cries of shock and surprise, her weak in the knees response gave glory to God, making all our efforts beyond worth it. For the remainder of the days that have been granted unto me, I will never forget this. Gratefulness best describes being allowed to participate in this grand experiment called the Church, being the expression of the love of God on this earth.

Sometimes I wish I could have a little piece of the hero...just a little piece.

48 Hours of Love Friggin' Crazy

If this back that has never been one fit for even the simplest of tasks behaves itself, I will be headed to Reid Park tomorrow afternoon for hands-on love. I did not think there was a place for me in this season's home make-over project, but it seems that my decorating services have been requested. Gonna make Pat something beautiful...yeah, I think I can do that.

More to follow...

Wisdom comes at a price...

The Wise as Serpents, Gentle as Dove's Call

A wolf in sheep's clothing fleeces the flock once more, momma bear anger settling into my bone-weary psyche.

Another one to forgive, and then move on. Not so easy.

I don't like these street smarts that I have acquired through my tour of duty at 24-7. I know they are a necessity and a part of the call but my love walk has been affected.

Help me, Jesus, to see them through your eyes of mercy. Renew my heart for the unloveliest of the unlovely.

Fatherhood

The third Person of the Trinity communicated a phrase as the collective stopper was removed from so much pain bottled up, masked behind lying faces breathing I'm ok, and you?

"A spirit of grief..."

A middle-aged woman wept behind me with the choking sobs of a child. I could stand no longer, overwhelmed by my own grieving for the absent love of my earthly father. Our collective cry rattled the gates of heaven.

A line of godly men held Abba's broken in their arms, weeping tears for paternal failure on their behalf as well as their own, speaking words of validation and healing.

We are a broken race, as the enemy of our souls seeks the destruction of the beloved prize of God's creation.

Despite the deception, we have not been abandoned. A young Man of thirty three years in the prime of life opened his arms wide that he might catch us in his bloody embrace.

"Surely he took our infirmities
and carried our sorrow,
yet we considered him stricken by God,
smitten by him, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,
and by his wounds we are healed..."
- Isaiah 53: 4-5

"The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion-
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair..."
- Isaiah 61:1-3

"Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd."
- Matthew 9:35-36

He leads us to the Waiting One, whose Fatherhood is not suspect despite deceptive words to the contrary. We must trust him enough to fling ourselves into the waiting arms of his sons and daughters through whom he loves with flesh and blood.

O, how we must love one another. He seeks our cure through our own.

A Day in the Life

I am at the urban monastery.

I just had to shush a couple of teenagers whom I may have to escort to the door, their misuse of the Surrender Station grating on my nerves. Not on my watch.

I've already had to tell a homeless couple that they could not bring their dog inside. Gave me a hard time and a story about their being here with him lots of times. Not.

A young man came in trying to sell me a fog machine, just so he could get some food and cigarettes...crack more than likely. Wonder which church he stole it from.

A regular who should know better asked if the church will help him pay his phone bill. The gatekeeper recommends finding work.

She loves you, more than you know, says the Lord...I haven't been this happy in a long time. Take that, father of lies.

Orange spice tea on the brown sofa, reading about Abraham's magnificent obsession. I want that.

Blaise Pascal's close encounter, inspiration for some body art. FIRE!

Bruce Hornsby, magnificent!

His throne, a cross and a crown made of thorns...be praised!

Angel-speak.

It feels good, right to be here. Would not be so without the prayers of my boss man. He found my daddy's ax. Coming to love him more and more with each passing day, each encounter. I have much to learn from his God-lover's heart, his constancy.

Dwell in the midst of us...wipe all the tears from our faces...you can have your way...

Abba met me here today...that's just the way it is.
I am Punk Monk, still.

Daddy's Hatchet 2

FOUND! Thank you, Jason!

I Grieve

God, I miss her. I don't know why she's distanced herself from me...a part of me is missing.

Hild's Prayer...and Mine

My soul's desire is to study the Scriptures
and to learn the ways of God.
My soul's desire is to be freed from
all fear and sadness, and to share Christ's risen life.
My soul's desire is to imitate my King,
and to sing His purposes always.
My soul's desire is to enter the gates of heaven
and to gaze upon the light that shines forever.

Dear Lord, You alone know
what my soul truly desires,
and You alone
can satisfy those desires.

I have prepared a place for you,
says the Lord, a place that is for you,
and only you, to fill.
Approach My table,
asking first that you might serve.
Look even for the lowest tasks.
Then, the work of service done,
you may look for your own place at table.
But do not seek the most important seat
which may be reserved for someone else.
In the place of My appointing will be your joy.

Lord, show me the right seat;
find me the fitting task;
give me the willing heart.
May I be equal to Your hope of me.
If I am weak,
I ask that You send only what I can bear.
If I am strong,
may I shrink from no testing
that shall yield increase of strength
or win security for my spirit.

I trust in Thee, O Lord.
I say, 'Thou art my God.
My times are in Thy hand,
my times are in Thy hand.'

- Celtic Daily Prayer

"Hild (614-80 A.D.) founded the great double monastery at Whitby, and there she was sought out for her wise counsel by ordinary folk and rulers alike."

Self's Death Knell

This punk monk is not at her post today. The Tempter of our souls has me in a headlock, attempting to dissuade me from following the path God has chosen. He dangles the carrot of a safe and simple life. Emotions are at fever pitch, ascending to new heights of anticipation and loveliness followed by rapid descents into a bottomless chasm. One minute I am Jacob wrestling, the next, Joseph in a dungeon. It is taking its toll. Today is a day for doing battle by wielding those resources that Abba has put at our disposal. Last night in His graciousness, timely messages from his heart were communicated to me circa 1:00AM through Holy Writ as well as pen strokes from saints of old.

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him, endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary, and lose heart.
In your struggle against sin, you have not resisted to the point of shedding your blood. And you have forgotten, that word of encouragement that addresses you as sons:

"My son, do not make light of the Lord's discipline,
and do not lose heart when he rebukes you,
because the Lord disciplines those he loves,
and he punishes everyone he accepts as a son."

Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons. For what son is not disciplined by his father? If you are not disciplined (and everyone undergoes discipline), then you are illegitimate children and not true sons. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us, and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of our spirits and live! Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, that we might share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.
Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. Make level paths for your feet, so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed."
- Hebrews 12:1-13 (NIV)

"You are never safe in this life, my son; as long as you live, you will always need spiritual weapons. It is among your enemies that you spend your days; the attack may come from any quarter. If you fail to use the shield of patience on every side, it will not be long before you get wounded. Besides that, if you neglect to set your heart unwaveringly upon me, with the stark desire of enduring all for my sake, you will not be able bear the brunt of the assault and will fail to win the palm of victory I award to my blessed ones. You must therefore make your way like a man through all that besets you and strike hard at all that stands in your way; the man who wins through is rewarded with the Bread of Heaven, while the craven is left in the depths of misery.
If you try to find rest in this world, how will you ever reach that rest which is life everlasting? It is not long hours of rest you must be prepared for here, but for long hours of patient endurance. True peace must be sought not on earth, but in heaven; not in men, not in other forms of creation, but in God alone. For the love of God you ought to endure with gladness all that befalls you: toil and sorrow, temptations, afflictions, anxiety, want, weakness, injury and slander, rebuke, humiliation, shame, correction and scorn. All these things are aids to holiness; they test the man who has newly entered the service of Christ, and go to the making of his heavenly crown. For toil soon done I will give a reward that lasts for ever; for fleeting shame, glory without end.
Do you imagine you will always have spiritual comfort whenever you want it? That was never the way with my Saints; what they had was a world of trouble, trials innumerable, utter desolation. Yet, for all that, they held out patiently in all that befell them, trusting in God and not in themselves; they knew that they did not count these present sufferings as the measure of that glory which is to be revealed(Rm. 8:18), the prize they hoped to win. Are you asking to have here and now something that many people have only just managed to obtain after much toil and many a tear? Wait patiently for the Lord to help you; be brave, and let your heart take comfort(Ps.27:14). Do not lose courage, do not retreat; be steadfast in hazarding yourself, body and soul, for the glory of God. The reward I shall give you will surpass all measure, and in all your troubles I shall be at your side."
- Thomas `a Kempis

The Church has become soft as we worship at the alter of Me.

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Beginnings

'I am small and despised.'

'Yes, but have I not said, Do not despise the

day of small things!"?'

- Amy Carmichael

While at my post during our first worship service at Eastland Mall yesterday, I was approached by a young girl who asked if she could go to be with the children while her mother watched from the top of the staircase. As I led the way to the storefront around the corner, I realized that my failed attempt at conversation was due to a language barrier. Her Spanish was too quick for my high school basics. After we dropped off her daughter, I walked her to her workplace right across the hall from our entrance. She plied me with questions which I could not answer. One word was recognizable. No, we are not a Catholic church, but we are followers of the Lord Jesus Christ and that we would love to have her visit with us.

She represents our future as a church, what the floodgates are presently holding back. Gotta get those Spanish services fast tracked. They're waiting. The Kingdom of God is waiting. Jesus is waiting.

If the enemy can't get you through subtle measures, he will try the full frontal assault.

Skylar's life almost ended today. Fire ants.

Just got the word from the vet. He's going to make it and come home today!


Thank you for your prayers.

Invitation

If you are a dreamer, come in,

If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,

A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...

If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire

For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.

Come in!

Come in!

- Shel Silverstein

Daddy's Hatchet

In the grand scheme of things, this is something of little import, but just the same, it holds great meaning for me as I am a sentimental sort. On my book shelf sits a broken piece of glass, a two inch screw painted teal, a small hunk of concrete, vestiges of the Sacred Space that serve as reminders of the place where God and man meet.

As a child, I preferred the tree-tops that touched the skies in my mind's eye to dolls and playing house. My mother would run after me with exasperation in a feeble attempt to woo me to femininity, her weapons a mascara wand, tweezers, and razor.

Daddy's hatchet better suited my hand. With it saplings fell, becoming creations of refuge from that real world which battered and bruised both body and soul.

Someone has removed it from its place in the Sacred Space. Whenever I would see it as I made the Surrender Station ready for the next person's Holy encounter, it would make my heart glad that this symbol of my childhood should be resting here. I am saddened to think that a simple theft is so much more, for a piece of me went with it out the door one dark night when someone dared to rob a prayer room.

Abba, use my Daddy's hatchet to set a robber free of those strangling tendrils that have a choke-hold on their heart. Then I won't be so sad.

Just One of the Fold

I've gotta get over this pastor-shyness...

I was wounded by one two churches ago. It was a betrayal of epic proportions that sent me on my downward slide. You entrust your life, your heart, your soul to the shepherd whom God has given you, only to find that they had not embraced their calling in a way that was honoring to God nor nurturing to His people.

I don't want to feel awkward, I really don't. I want to experience things the way they were meant to be.

Baa...

Michael

Well, I guess I'm ready...

Amidst the celebration of Christian celebrity, Michael sits in the overstuffed brown chair meant for two, alone and shaking with withdrawal from addiction as well as paranoid schizophrenia. He has been fed at his request for just a little morsel to fill him, taking the form of a reheated Egg McMuffin and hash browns washed down with coffee, lots of coffee.

At the end of the shift I glance over at him periodically; his head is in his hands. A home-cooked meal's preparation for my partner awaits fifteen miles from here upon completion of that dog-eat-dog southward bound commute on Independence Blvd. where people turn into animals beset on savagery as they make their own way home. I try to ignore the prompting of the Paraclete.

"Sister, are you busy?"

I seat myself before him on the ottoman.

"How long did Job suffer? Do you think it was a long time?"

We go into discussion broad and deep regarding what Holy Scripture has to say about suffering. Michael knows his Bible. Somewhere, sometime long ago someone taught him well; his Mama? Grandmother? Sunday school? Nevertheless his talk runs from one thing to the next, outdoing me at every turn. He bears news of the Prophet who has descended into madness on the streets. His ramblings begin to spiral downward and I slip in my request to pray for him...

White hands grasped by black ones.
Ebony eyes that bore into mine.
Abba's declaration that his life is precious,
planned before the foundation of the world.
Now flee the darkness.
Come into the light.
It's your choice.
Tears fall, one by one as his eyes
continue to look into mine,
trying to discern if the words could possibly be true.

As I get into Blue, he requests a ride which I cannot grant for safety's sake. His illness, his demons, have potential to transform what we have just experienced into violent madness once we have left behind the hallowed space of 24-7.

Countless lost sheep roam our streets living lives of desolation with no where to turn. There are no easy answers. It takes much more than offering a meal, a prayer, a roof. It takes an army living under the banner of Thy Kingdom come where too few are willing to enlist.

I have talked to Abba about taking my ministry to the streets, armed with sandwiches, a listening ear, arms, hands, words, hope, love. Talk of Father Damien of the Lepers that has been in the news as of late has haunted me.

"Not now. Your call is to those whom I am bringing to you one by one."
"But Lord, who will go?"
"None of your business."

Rembrandt's Return of the Prodigal Son - Part 2

"The true center of Rembrandt's painting is the hands of the father. On them all the light is concentrated; on them the eyes of the bystanders are focused; in them mercy becomes flesh; upon them forgiveness, reconciliation, and healing come together, and through them, not only the tired son, but also the worn out father find their rest. From the moment I first saw the poster on Simone's office door, I felt drawn to those hands. I did not fully understand why. But gradually over the years I have come to know those hands. They have held me from the hour of my conception, they welcomed me at my birth, held me close to my mother's breast, fed me, and kept me warm. They have protected me in times of danger and consoled me in times of grief. They have waved me good-bye and always welcomed me back. Those hands are God's hands. They are also the hands of my parents, teachers, friends, healers, and all those whom God has given me to remind me how safely I am held."
- Henri Nouwen, from The Return of the Prodigal Son

Rembrandt's Return of the Prodigal Son - Part 1

"It seems that the hands that touch the back of the returning son are the instruments of the father's inner eye. The near-blind father sees far and wide. His seeing is an eternal seeing, a seeing that reaches out to all humanity. It is a seeing that understands the lostness of women and men of all times and places, that knows with immense compassion the suffering of those who have chosen to leave home, that cried oceans of tears as they got caught in anguish and agony. The heart of the father burns with an immense desire to bring his children home.

Oh, how much would he have liked to talk to them, to warn them against the many dangers they were facing, and to convince them that at home can be found everything that they search for elsewhere. How much would he have liked to pull them back with his fatherly authority and hold them close to himself so that they would not get hurt.

But his love is too great to do any of that. It cannot force, constrain, push, or pull. It offers the freedom to reject that love or to love in return. It is precisely the immensity of the divine love that is the source of the divine suffering. God, creator of heaven and earth, has chosen to be, first and foremost, a Father.

As Father, he wants his children to be free, free to love. That freedom includes the possibility of their leaving home, going to a "distant country," and losing everything. The Father's heart knows all the pain that will come from that choice, but his love makes him powerless to prevent it. As Father, he desires that those who stay at home enjoy his presence and experience his affection. But here again, he wants only to offer a love that can be freely received. He suffers beyond telling when his children honor him only with lip service, while their hearts are far from him. He knows their "deceitful tongues" and "disloyal hearts," but he cannot make them love him without losing his true fatherhood.

As Father, the only authority he claims for himself is the authority of compassion. That authority comes from letting the sins of his children pierce his heart. There is no lust, greed, anger, resentment, jealousy, or vengeance in his lost children that has not caused immense grief to his heart. The grief is so deep because the heart is so pure. From the deep inner place where love embraces all human grief, the Father reaches out to his children. The touch of the hands, radiating inner light, seeks only to heal.

Here is the God I want to believe in: a Father who, from the beginning of creation, has stretched out his arms in merciful blessing, never forcing himself on anyone, but always waiting; never letting his arms drop down in despair, but always hoping that his children will return so that he can speak words of love to them and let his tired arms rest on their shoulders. His only desire is to bless..."

- Henri Nouwen, from The Return of the Prodigal Son

You must read this book. It is perhaps the most beautiful book I have ever read. Seriously.

Friendship 101

A good friend just recently asked me what KR likes to do for fun.

I don't know how to answer that.

I have lived in relative isolation for so long that I do not know how to have fun with a friend.

That's gotta change.

My pastimes are spent doing things alone. There has been no one there to share things with. I gave up after being hurt one time too many. Now I'm sticking my big toe in to test the waters.

Be patient with me, friends. I'm taking baby steps.

From the Recovery Notebook 8

Step 1 towards forgiving your offenders: Pray for them.

You cannot hate the one for whom you are praying for very long.

"The same God that loves me loves him."

-Tow Truck's Mom

From the Recovery Notebook 7

Expectations: Human ones will always fail you.

"I expect that you will let me down..."

From the Recovery Notebook 6

Things that have gotten me into trouble:

Unforgiveness which degenerated into bitterness.
Having gotten caught up in the situations and circumstances of the here and now.
Preoccupation with self instead of with God.

Unbelief.

Holding on to these things for dear life resulted in a "I don't want to" spirit, which led to my becoming stuck in the sin nature.

The result?
A nervous breakdown.
No believer can deliberately live this way without there being ramifications.
Oh no.
For we have an adversary who waits in the wings for such moments,
that he might take us out.

It Follows Me Everywhere

Last night as my husband romanced me out on the deck of the biker bar overlooking the John's River Gorge awash in sunset cobalt, purples and pinks, we met the reincarnation of Billy Mays, which was how he introduced himself in a drunken haze...


More to follow. After all, this is vacation...

God said...

I must forgive them.

If I am going to step into what God is calling me to, it is unthinkable for me to not do so. To see them through Christ's eyes of grace, not through my unmerciful ones. After all, he died for them...yeah?

During the brief sabbatical that we are taking in the mountains for the rest of this week, I will be going about this difficult business.

Pray for me.

The Healing Touch

His name is Tarlton. The variety of leprosy he suffers from is HIV. He graced the Sacred Space 10:00AM sharp this morning for the first time. He told me of his illness, his journey, his turn-around, his ministry to fellow sufferers. He thanked us for the Space. He shook my hand. We hugged. Blessing upon blessing. Somehow he made me whole in the touch, in the holy gestures that society forbids out of fear.

Abba made me laugh when I turned to my daily gospel reading during my quiet time this afternoon:

"A man with leporsy came to him and begged him on his knees, "If you are willing, you can make me clean."
Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man."
Mark 1:40-41

From the Recovery Notebook 5

The road to wellness would begin with the story of Mary and Martha found in Luke 10:38-42, from which a new theology needed to be developed in order to be set free. All those years I had mistakenly thought of myself as a Mary. Despite my grace-oriented background, I was locked in a Martha-style legalism, seeking to prove my worth through a works oriented lifestyle. Yes, the letter of the Law does kill.

I was to study this story, making it my own as I meditated and wrote about it in stream of consciousness fashion every day. This would reveal the answer to the question, "How do I change?"

Sometimes I feel left behind in the dust. What's with that?

My Boys

From the Recovery Notebook 4

"How long is it going to take until I get well?" Me

"Until you give up having it your way. That's how long it takes." Tow Truck

From the Recovery Notebook 3

"Do you trust Me?"

He never stops asking.

From the Recovery Notebook 2

"My people have committed two sins:
They have forsaken me,
the spring of living water,
and have dug their own cisterns,
broken cisterns that cannot hold water."
Jeremiah 2:13

Is it any wonder, despite our being the people of God, that we are dying of thirst?

For D

"Is this not the fasting I have chosen:
To loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter-
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your flesh and blood?"
Isaiah 58:6-7

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'
"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me'"
Matthew 25:37-40

"We pray for all Christians
entrusted with responsibility,
that they may be blessed with true friends,
and that they may faithfully witness
to the power of God and the love of Christ.

We pray for ourselves:
for the gift of friendship,
and of faithfulness,
and that we would be freed from selfishness.

We will journey with the kind-hearted Savior.
If we have fed the hungry from our own table
God will feed us with all good gifts."
- Celtic Daily Prayer

She falls under the world's classification of unlovely. Jesus begs to differ. She is one of the least of these. We should feel privileged in being chosen with taking her into our care. She is one of those angels that Abba tests our hearts with...

From the Recovery Notebook

He has been given the nickname Tow Truck because he is in the business of pulling people out of the ditch so to speak. He is a very wise and godly counselor. He lives to be a part of leading people into a healing relationship with Jesus Christ. He saved my neck.

A friend's crisis led me to pull out the notebook I kept while under Tow Truck's care. As I read through the pages, I realized that what I found there no longer hurt me. There was a notation that said I must pass on what I would learn to those whom God would lead me to in the midst of their own personal crisis. From time to time I will be sharing those snippets that God used in the process of my own recovery.

The thing you're going through is otherwise known as "The Crisis of Sanctification." It's all about God and what he is doing. He shows you what you are without him. Despite what it feels and looks like on the surface, he is in the picture. His purpose for the crisis is to lead his people into holiness.

Disciple-Making

I found myself thrown from where I sat onto the floor before a sin-laden cross, my feet quickly stripped of their sandals as I knelt on holy ground. The Spirit expressed whatever was within me, something that has driven me to tears each time I have occupied the Sacred Space during this ten day intensive of prayer.

It is the ugly underbelly of the beautiful cityscape that occupies the center of the room. The homeless man who stands at North Caldwell each day with his sign, looking only for drug money. Dave's unclaimed body lying in the city morgue. The con who dares to ply his trade at houses of worship. The woman who begged me for money this afternoon in the Walmart parking lot. Pastors who do more damage to the flock than the devil. The new slave traders who sell addiction behind the Arboretum. Illegal aliens indentured through blackmail by South Charlotte fatcats.

I sit for awhile in the Surrender Station, calmed by Rob Bell's wisdom and the flickering candlelight, staring at the God-graffiti above my head. My friend rings the bell announcing her own personal encounter with the Holy. Her burden has become mine. As I drive away, my soul is overwhelmed with peace, knowing the part that Abba would have me play in this life-by-life rescue. Alot of ground has been covered and reclaimed on this long desert journey. The place where I am is surreal, as if I've stepped out of some bad dream. I am thankful for that which has brought me here despite the pain that comes with great loss, for in exchange He has gained a disciple.

Two Lambs

At my request, she reads Psalm 23 aloud to us, having to force her Bible open as if hands held it shut in resistance. Her voice quavers but nonetheless cuts the silence. It is beautiful. I would weep aloud if I didn't hold back on what I was feeling at that moment. Tales of woe and darkness are shared as I take her home, her life a miracle, a testimony to the saving power of the Savior expressed through a very different breed of Christian community. I help her out of Big Blue, negotiating a curb, a darkened walkway to her cheerfully lit front door. Despite cozy and secure surroundings, demonic oppression continually hounds her. Her mind is not a safe place...

Her enchanting laughter gives away her location as I round the corner in the Sacred Space last night. She has been busy crafting her insights from the revelation given to her regarding the fierceness of the love of God that pursues men and women whom He cannot bare to live without, forgetting at least for a little while the personal hell in which she lives...

* * * * * * *

I often wonder what Caleb felt as he walked with his nation that forty year journey through the wilderness wrought by their own hand of unbelief, his head held high, eyes undimmed, staff in hand, fueled by his faith in God and the love for his people. God did not reward his unwavering faith by whisking him away to that which was promised, but instead used him to help lead the way.

* * * * * * *

I once heard a message (ala Chuck Swindoll) that said a person had no right to pastor a church who did not possess the desire to shepherd his/her flock from a place of love and care. That teaching started a sequence of events which resulted in our leaving a church that followed the corporate model, where people were reduced to notches on a pastor's gunbelt and only what they were useful for.

* * * * * * *

Two lambs, flesh and blood with beating hearts, are why I carry staff and sling.

24-7, 1:00 AM

Abba broke my heart for our city in the middle of the night. Our church's move to Eastland is a divine-wrought strategy of the Most High in reaching a corner of blight that has all but been abandoned, forgotten. Who knows how many souls that have been hiding behind doors locked tight against gang infiltration and nightly helicopter fly-bys seeking their quarry (Is this not how they hunt wolves? Our city breeds it's own brand of wildlife.) crave the inhalation into their lungs of free air, living water for those dying from thirst, that can only be found in the liberation won by One who knew what is was to be hunted down like vermin and who was eradicated for the good of us all. Thankfully that was just the beginning of the story that we continue to slash our way through to this day, not for ourselves, but for those hiding in the corners from a beast that would take them with him if he had his way. He has had free reign too long in east Charlotte.

I painted the night not with pigment, but with red tears. Walking the room like some caged animal, I cryed out for those who have been waiting too long, for obstacles to be smashed, barriers to be torn down. Our doors will open, and they will stream in, where we will take them into the embrace of the One who seeks them individually and by droves.

An army has been mustered but is still in basic training. The call to duty will come fast. Are they ready to meet this many tentacled beast head on? I'm afraid not, for they have been over-sheltered from life's realities and bred for self-centeredness by well-meaning but misguided parents. But God, in world-war fashion, will get them up to speed quickly, arming them with slings and a few smooth stones.

Hero Worship

"...though the enemy may fight,

My Jesus has done all things right..."

Mama Bear

As I reared up on my haunches, roaring from a mouth agape with bone-crunching teeth, talons at the ready for battle against that which would harm my progeny, I bit my own cubs...

If I am going to wear the moniker, I must do it with precision and care.

Sly Dog

I am realizing that the devil

has thrown me

a couple of curves this week.

Tricky bastard.

But Love will conquer all.

I'm counting on it.

Abba, do your stuff.

My Need

As I seek Him it will come...

Anticipation

My first go-round in the prayer room for our ten day encounter with the Holy did not go as planned as this Punk Monk performed S.O.S. work for my overly-exhausted compadre during my time-slot. I am happy to say that I have received the boon of a second shot next week. I will be counting the days.

Yesterday I celebrated Shabbat in the shadow of a cloud-enshrouded Grandfather mountain, Bible in hand, cool breezes rustling its pages, the silence and majesty drawing me into the Presence of the Almighty. As sweet and memorable as the time was in the wilderness of the Blue Ridge, there is nothing like the guided deliberateness of a prayer week when I will join together with the body called Renovatus in seeking His will and His face as we prepare ourselves for destiny.

Mountain of Shabbat

A Journey Begins

Battle Stations!

Sweat, and lots of it, has been expended as we have been preparing for ten days of non-stop prayer at Charlotte 24-7 that began today during the wee hours of the morning. Reworked on-ramps, scrubbing, dusting, artwork, laughter, nausea, and plain old-fashioned smelliness have all been a part of my past 48 hours, together with unsheathing my sword on behalf of a 'daughter' finding herself overwhelmed by the enemy in the midst of her personal battles. Last night's sleep was fitful; Abba had me praying for those locked alone in the prayer room, together with launching arrow prayers heavenward on behalf of my war-torn friend.

Today finds me tired, yet satisfied and filled with Joy. Bred for war, the engagement brings me to a heady place of exhilaration. Abba has amazing things up his sleeve that we will bear witness to in the days and weeks to come.

This will be a day of Sabbath rest as I enjoy the week off from staffing. My own personal encounter with the Sacred will be at midnight tonight. Tales and photographs will follow as I record the process of effacement between the divine and mortal.

I Need a Joseph

This morning, just before awakening, I had a dream the likes of which I have never experienced before. I have had some strange ones from time to time that make Mike roar with laughter, but this? My gut tells me that its message is one of great import.

John 13:12-17

Thank you for the privilege of unlocking the door.
Thank you for the privilege of turning on lights.
Thank you for the privilege of making coffee.
Thank you for the privilege of lighting candles.
Thank you for the privilege of straightening the mess.
Thank you for the privilege of wiping down tables.
Thank you for the privilege of toilet scrubbing.
Thank you for the privilege of replacing light bulbs.
Thank you for the privilege of vacuuming crumbs.
Thank you for the privilege of putting out the trash.
Thank you for the privilege of being there for those who come for prayer.
Thank you for the privilege of loving those whom others find unlovely.
Thank you for the privilege of washing feet...

It Just Doesn't Fly

In light of what's been going on in the news: What do you do with Romans 1?

It reminds me of a visit that Mike and I had taken to Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's beautiful mountaintop home. Within a display case holding his personal effects was a Bible, with passages that he didn't care for carefully cut out.

He was left with nothing but feathery wisps of parchment and holes. Prophetic for our times to say the least.

May God have mercy on his Church whose flickering lights are going out one by one...

Unplug

Abba spoke loud and clear through Pastor Jonathan's timely message on rest in the wilderness. As of late I've been complaining to God about the lack of quality time with him due to the busyness. I fear the lure of losing my First Love. That is a place I hope to never return to. Sitting at the feet of Jesus every day has been critical to my mental health. My emotions have been on a downward spiral as well as experiencing frequent head aches. I don't want to know my blood pressure reading...

Unplug. Therein lies the solution.

"You have more than enough time for me if you just unplug. So why complain? It is within your power to change things."

Facebook has become an insidious addiction that robs me of well-being as I look for affirmation in the postings. My soul is being sucked dry as I seek what I will never find there. Enough of that. It's being relegated to its rightly place as a necessary-evil communication/ministry tool. I am exchanging the artificial for hands-on, flesh and blood relationships.

I've seen how video game addictions, television, and on-line social websites are being used as tools in the hands of the adversary for distracting the Church from what is was meant to be.

Jesus didn't die on the cross so that you can sit in front of your favorite form of electronic entertainment. We all have some repenting to do...

I don't understand how anybody could be afraid of me, except the devil...

Grief Sightings

In my minds eye, I saw him this past Monday standing outside the prayer room smiling at me as he lit up a smoke.

Seeing his wide-eyed look of surprise as I open the door to start the day, followed by his gravelly laugh.

Complaining how the humidity is making his mane frizz while seated on the white sofa.

The fast approaching autumn will be hard as I will no longer be needing to make a pot of coffee for him just about every hour.

And all the while his earthly remains are still waiting at the city morgue. Where is his daughter?

Tears. I still cannot believe it...

"Our undomesticated God calls us into the wild..."

- Jonathan Martin

The Answer

"If you, Lord, should mark iniquities,
Who could stand? Who could stand?"
- Psalm 130:3

Graceless

My anger is white hot. I don't take kindly to seeing people I love being hurt and taken advantage of. The Church of Jesus Christ is to be a place of refuge and safety, and yes, I know, a place of grace and mercy as well. But, once again, the serpent has invaded the garden...

How do I care about the well-being of such a one? Right now, I confess, I don't. How unlike my Savior! How do I turn off the warrior spirit within me that seeks to make this evil flee? But the children, oh God, the children; have mercy on them. They suffer my victimization that breeds scars of permanence.

I don't want him at my house. He will be here tonight, spinning, spinning, spinning his web of deceit.

God help us, protect us, guide us, control us, fill us...

One life at a time,

I'm living my dream...

Deliver Us From Evil

"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."
- John 16:33

"Every curse becomes a blessing
to the people of God's choosing.
He who spoke it shall perform it.
He shall bring on us the blessing,
though the enemy may fight.
My Jesus has done all things right.

In the dry and desert places
Jesus is our soul's oasis.
He will give us of his plenty,
fill the vessels once so empty,
pour His waters on the ground,
living waters gushing round.

See the land so black and barren;
God will make a watered garden:
fruitfulness where once
was parchedness,
light to break into the darkness,
upper springs and nether springs
in the field that Father's given.

Satan tries, but does not block it,
powers of hell could never stop it.
Darkness flees as light is given.
God establishes His heaven
in our hearts, and in this place
shows the radiance of His face."
- Celtic Daily Prayer

"Beware the evil one who prowls the earth seeking to undo what God has done in the passion and death of Jesus Christ! As I write these words and you read them,the incomparable love of Jesus is a maelstrom flashing like lightning across our lives."

- Brennan Manning

I Told Him

One of our prayer room regulars started to share something negative about Dave's last days. I didn't want to hear any of it so I quickly shut him down. Told him how I am choosing to remember him, sitting on the white sofa, reading the Scriptures all day long, filled with new life and animation. I expressed how certain I am of his salvation and that he has had his Jesus moment, getting to see his Savior face to face. My sadness lifted as I spoke of the changed man that I had come to know and love. I will not have his memory robbed of the dignity that he is so deserving of. I told him, yeah, I told him good.

Dave's Baptism

Dave's Place

It will always be his; I will always see him there. I cried for him during worship today. I miss him already.

Dave

Word came this afternoon during a visit to see my grandson in Columbia.

Dave is dead.

The last time I saw my friend was about 2 weeks ago when I had just arrived at the prayer room to teach my Bible study. He greeted me with that smile as he lit up a smoke, asking what I was doing there on my off hours. "That's good stuff!" he told me. I did not know at that time that he was homeless again. It would be the last time I would ever see him on this earth.

I want to remember him for his quiet presence that was with me while I staffed the prayer room, helping to make coffee, providing a sense of strength and security within the confines of the monastery, knowing that I could trust him with my life if I ever needed him in that way. I can't bear to think of his end, how he was found. I cried for the duration of my trip back to Charlotte.

I am simultaneously mourning his loss and rejoicing at that twinkling of an eye moment when he met his Savior.

Dave is alive and well. Can't wait to see him again.

Matt O'Neil: The Passing of Dave Hall this past week.

Seasons of Scalawags

I am beginning this posting with a disclaimer: I am a scalawag, a cad. I have dared to judge someone, and it has sickened me. Even if they are deserving of said judgment, I have no right to it. I am called to serve them despite their spiritual and moral state.

Tales of Francis of Assisi are brought to mind who sought out those who took advantage of him and his followers. It was only as he heaped blessing upon them in full knowledge of who they were and what they had done, that God was able to work in hearts and turn around lives.

From time to time a scalawag or two make their way to 24-7. A woman is brought to mind who tried several tacks in soliciting trust from me: the poor pitiful me ruse that used a beaten up Barbie purse needing repair with scotch tape, or feigning interest in reading and learning the Scriptures. Panhandlers seek that which will finance their next fix. Even now, my eyes are fixed like a hawk on a woman who seems to be scoping us out...

They come and go, some for a day, others for a few weeks, but the turn over is consistent as they seek out better climes...

Just recently my husband and I provided some financial help to someone whom we received caution about a short time later. A scalawag? I confess I made a rush to judgment on receipt of the warning. As a result I have suffered from the desire to discard them as so much refuse when all the while I am asked to go the extra mile despite their behavior towards us all. The love of Christ does not promote self-preservation, a societal behavior that I must unlearn, for we must go the extra mile for those who are most unlovely.

So what do I do? I am repenting in dust and ashes.

"If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners do that. And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, expecting to be repaid in full. But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then you reward will be great, and you will be called sons of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful."
- Luke 6:32-36

"When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."
- Luke 14:12-14

Unfinished Business

Neil is sitting in the same place where I had found him over a year ago when I first started staffing the Sacred at 24-7. The couch is different, but the body seated upon it is unchanged except for a scruffy beard and hobbit-like locks crowning his head while last year he had been clean-shaven. Same haunted look in his eyes. I've seen him from time to time when he stops in, sometimes alone, others with the boys from 18th street.

The Spirit prompts me to go to him. Seems he got into a fist fight with someone in a bar last night whom he just got tired of listening to. He doesn't remember too much of what happened. A friend tells him that he started it.

He has returned to his drug of choice which dulls him to the twin beasts of depression and anxiety. He's given up alcohol in the past, but now he just doesn't see the use in it; it won't make a difference, after all he is going to hell anyway...

I see my opportunity to ask him if he's ever made a commitment to Jesus. He answers in the affirmative. I reassure him of his salvation and introduce him to Abba who is waiting with opened arms for his prodigal to come home. His conception of God is skewed as it is for so many who see him as the harsh judge just waiting in the wings to stick it to us. He declines my offer of prayer which he'll be getting anyway.

As our conversation nears its end, he becomes the harbinger of bad news: no one has seen Dave. They're afraid he's back on the streets. No...no...no...

Flagrant Falsehood

Rather then go to bed, I have seen the need to immediately delete one of my Great Read selections due to its questionable content. Though this pastor/author makes some good points about the condition of the American church, some of his remarks are flat out unbiblical. Several times throughout the course of the book, reference is made to God finding human beings disgusting...

I beg to differ.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son..." John 3:16
"For while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." Romans 5:8

And to think that this man pastors a megachurch. I shudder over his careless exegesis.

So...I have chosen to throw out the baby with the bath water.

The Big Compelling of God

"The great thing to remember is that we go up to Jerusalem to fulfill God's purpose, not our own...We are not taken up into conscious agreement with God's purpose, we are taken up into God's purpose without any consciousness at all. We have no conception of what God is aiming at, and as we go on it gets more and more vague. God's aim looks like missing the mark because we are too short-sighted to see what He is aiming at...

As long as you think there is something in you, He cannot choose you because you have ends of your own to serve; but if you have let Him bring you to the end of your self-sufficiency then He can choose you to go with Him to Jerusalem, and that will mean the fulfillment of purposes which He does not discuss with you."
- Oswald Chambers

As I have released my plans and ambitions with the opening of hands, I find myself swept up into the work of God as never before. I don't have to figure things out or fret over what the future may hold. Abba is taking me there with no effort on my part at all. Imagine that, God being God...and I fly.

Watershed Day

It started out like any other Monday, the alarm jolting me out of bed, arthritic ankle hobbling to the bathroom, getting the dog out, taking my anti-depressant with a tall glass of OJ on ice. After preparing my body to face the outside world, I pack my attache and head out to 24-7. I scoff down breakfast after my usual stop at McDonald's and head down Monroe, cutting over to Independence Blvd. at Glendora. The skyline is enveloped in humidity; it's going to be a hot day. The ride up is uneventful and typical, Sunday drivers riding the passing lane with the lead-foots weaving in and out in frustration. That would be me. 15th street is deserted and strewn with somebody's careless refuse. I unlock the door to the building and make my way into the tomb-like Sacred Space, switching on lights, cranking up the stereo, unbarricading the front door, lighting candles, undoing the evidence of AA's untidy invasion, making coffee, wiping down tabletops and rest room...

At 10:30, our women's Bible study session yields timely, God-breathed words regarding the resurrection of God-given creativity that so many in Christendom have been robbed of. Tears come as I realize that I have come full circle...

Noon marks the start of our Scripture meditation session, led today by one of our church's elders, a gentle giant of a man whose slight brogue leads us into the passage that Abba has led him to this morning, 1 Peter 4:10.

We are instructed to read the verse in thankfulness for the ways in which God HAS gifted us and to discern what he may be telling us in our individual lives. We go off to our favorite study spaces in the prayer room. As I take my usual place, Frank sits down next to me before he leaves for the day. Punk Monk duties will not wait. We shake hands and get caught up with the latest goings on in his life and ministry on the streets. For a minute we just look into each others' eyes and smile big, real big, a rough and tumble forty-something African-American man and a middle-age homemaker from the 'burbs united under the common bond of making a difference in the lives of those in need of rescuing. His smile is infectious...enchanting. God shines from his eyes. It brings to mind the day that we first met, when we spent time together praying at the corner cross, Abba giving him the gift of commendation, a charge, and promise.

On the heels of his departure, a young first-timer by the name of Seth sits down and peppers me with questions. He has found his special place to be with God after doing a search on the internet for a prayer room in our city. It was worth his trip across town. After his release of me I return to our Scripture passage and realize how fitting it is that I am living it out right at this moment, the concurrent learning and doing hitting home hard.

I spend an extra hour with J. after everyone else has left for the remainder of their day, to be the sounding-board that she needs in her time for courage. I feel inadequate to the task, yet at the same time so grateful.

Pastor Jason comes to relieve me late in the afternoon. I cannot help but gush to him about the God-moments of my day. He laughs at my euphoria. Our discussion and growing relationship brings me great satisfaction as this new found friend encourages me with his words, of how God has entrusted to me the lives of a small group of wounded women, something that only he could put together. We can only marvel at what he is doing. I am humbled and amazed at his words, chill bumps breaking out all over my body.

Reluctantly I take my leave and make my way home. I don't want this day to end. Yet it must in order that tomorrow may come...

Running Interference

The Prophet ran into the prayer room yesterday in total despair, anger, and frustration. He's not doing so well and has taken a few steps backwards. He is back on the streets, living under the bridge. His tale of woe begins with how he's been trying so hard to be a force of good in the 'hood', running off the drug dealers and users. He reveals ("I tell you the truth, I cannot lie...") that he is after the man who has stolen all of the things that he has accumulated from the free store next door and who has smeared his reputation by making him out to be a liar. He confesses to me that instead of killing the man, he chose to come here, and that God must have kept him from finding his prey. As he broke down in a mess of tears it became apparent that the smear on his good name meant more to him than the stuff. As I pray for him, he calms down some, the tell-tale signs of rage leaving his body. As he leaves, he thanks me, and asks for me to give his good wishes to the Abbess. Abba, keep him from the unthinkable.

Just when I think my punk monk days are over, my call is reconfirmed.

Abba!

How quickly one's world comes tumbling down. Discouragement comes by my own hand in cooperation with the wiles of the enemy.

I sit through Thirst, our 24-7 Bible study for women, with a non-stop monologue of lies being funneled through my head. Concentration on truth being proclaimed requires every bit of strength that I can muster. My attention is turned to a sister undergoing similar torment; activity in the unseen realm is escalating. We Holy Spirit agents rally around her, standing in the gap that she might receive new strength that is not her own. My teacher comes to me after we are through asking if I'm ok. I give out the polite lie. I'm tired of being needy.

I host the Sacred for the remainder of the afternoon, making little time for God. My own preparations for our Thursday evening study finally yields what I am searching for as we will be exploring the fatherhood of God in our session together. Is it no wonder that I am under an onslaught? The enemy would not have us set free into the love of Abba Father. He has been luring me through old patterns set down since earliest childhood. He strikes new blows with old identity issues: You are not loved. You are not worthy. You are nothing...

My spirit continues its descent. Ten minutes before my shift ends I realize that I cannot leave. I must go to Abba with deliberateness. He hears my doleful lament and wipes my tears with his Name, when all along I wanted a more tangible source of comfort, a substitute for the ultimate Parent. It was not to be.

Today I set aside time to just be and not think. I meet with Abba out on the porch in the cool of early morning. Chinese food for lunch. A visit to King's. A talk with Jim. I plant the flowers that I have taken home from there. Macaroni and cheese comfort for dinner to be followed by a cool shower. I stay away from facebook which feeds the disease of feeling forgotten.

I will meet with Abba by candlelight this evening, Bible open, in the hope that he will pour into me the words that await appropriation by a small group of messy but lovely female ragamuffins that he has chosen to bring together at this place and time for just this purpose.

I would be his vessel. Love them through me.

Signs And Wonders

Buck in velvet
bears the promise
of the fall...

My Drug Of Choice

Provision

I am under fierce attack, the enemy hitting me below the belt in areas of my greatest weakness.

This evening the Spirit moves me to go to a Renovatus podcast from a year ago, long before I joined this body which has since become my home. My sole intent is to learn more about this movement of the Spirit in my life that at one time I did not believe in and which has now become my reality (Ha ha, Abba!). As I listen to Pastor Jonathan speak, I remember that it was at this time that I was preparing the Sacred Space for the week of prayer that the church was getting ready to engage in. As Pastor Lisa closes the service by praying for the congregation, I realize that she is praying for me, for the days to come, when God would move his hand by bringing me here. For Joy would come, then Rhaegen, Melody, Blake, and many others whose names I don't yet know.

My discouragement is taken away as I am given this gift of hindsight, of God's sovereign plan for my life that has been there all the time and in the making.

I'm leaning in, my sword unsheathed, as I have been instructed to do.

A Punk Monk Is Born

Yesterday I led a new staffer through the ropes of hosting the Sacred, her journey towards wellness following hard on the heels of my own. The parallels amaze me, God's working, his timing in bringing us together at this life juncture. What things he has in store for her! Her life will be a testimony to the glory of his Name...

Punk Monk Weary

A homeless Renee delivers the news of Clayton's murder last night. He attacked a friend for his money who then defended himself with a knife. "That's the kind of crazy thing he does when he drinks too much," she tells me. "That makes two lives wasted. One dead, the other destined for prison." He had just started visiting the Sacred Space and loved it so. "His momma. How's she gonna take it? She loves her boy so much." He is not just some nameless statistic that we might watch from a dispassionate distance on the 11:00 news, but a son, a brother, a friend, one who sought out a redemption from that which would lead to his self-destruction. Meanwhile, a haunted entertainer's life has ended who is regaled as a hero in the midst of his own dysfunction. Whether one lives under the bridge down the road or in a self-made fairy land, death has prematurely claimed them both, one life no more valuable than the other, both loved and grieved for by the One who made them.

Rebecca requests prayer, distraught over razor sharp words from a frightened mother suffering from dementia.

Too many visitors need to be shushed today, treating 24-7 like a tourist destination or their own private office. I tire of the disrespect for that which is holy.

Holed up in Surrender with my own tearful burden of shipwrecked lives and communities, I feel it lighten as One comes along side, taking the yoke upon himself. We are shoulder to shoulder in the midst of this thing. His Name takes me to the place of ecstasy where earthly utterances will not do. The encounter leaves me joyful but spent.

A friend suggests a silent retreat to the North Carolina mountains with the Sisters of Mercy, where both body and soul will be fed. I think I'll take her up on it.

Paralysis and depression, fear's byproducts.

A generation in epidemic proportions, especially among men, is being held hostage through the work of the adversary, keeping us from all we are intended to be in an attempt to shut down the life and work of the Church.

We go to our graves with the disappointment of our unfulfillment, the what-if's whispered as we take our dying breaths.

What is the solution to our common dilemma?

"Perfect love drives out fear."
1 John 4:18

Therein lies the secret to our liberation, where issues of self-hatred and worth go to die.

Read Brennan Manning.

Providence

God has given him to Mike and her to me, the work done around a fire pit and on the patio at Starbucks. The back story is ugly...twisted. Her brave front came down as it needed to with anger and tears. She thinks he's oblivious, that he doesn't care about the pain that he has caused her. Within the safety of firelight, the darkness is pierced as his confession comes...he knows, he knows, he knows and he weeps at who he is and what he has done.

But God has been and is in the midst of the carnage.

11:00 PM we sit in silence at the kitchen table with huge bowls of ice cream, simultaneously overwhelmed and grateful for being chosen to enter the fray for these wounded souls desperate for what only Jesus can bring.

Yes, we have been bred for war, trained to be liberators of those imprisoned behind walls of pain, self-hatred, fear, unbelief...We will take no prisoners, refusing retreat or surrender, drawing our weapons of revolution against the powers of darkness until all in our charge are set free unto the abundant life that God has for them. In the mighty Name of Jesus, we will stand... and we will win.

Celebrating Community

I am no longer alone...

I miss you so bad sometimes I can taste it.

Yet, in the missing, I know you are there...

Where Rubber Meets The Road...

The yard is full of testosterone and woodsmoke. An unplanned invasion of wives have come along for the ride and are sitting with me on the patio at Starbucks, killing time so that God-moments and life change might be experienced by our other halves.

I ask the Spirit to check my attitude. God has chosen to work in a way that I had not planned on. My fruit of the Spirit cart has tipped over with its contents spilled on the ground, bruised and soiled.

Pastor Jonathan's message shouts out loud and clear. Be the hands and feet of Jesus this week and the one after that as well.

I wrestle in between snatches of sleep as Surrender seeks to seduce me, well-armed with every logical argument running rampant within my spinning brain.

My reward for the effort is an off the charts headache.

Long Time Coming

We stayed up well past 2 AM talking about the way God is working in the lives of those he has hand-picked for us to minister to as well as our own. The amazement keeps sleep at bay. We are spectators to the moving of the Holy Spirit's hand as well as participants.

He shares how a few short weeks ago he would have had none of this. What happened? The Irresistible has made His move.

And as I told George, I have stepped out of the wilderness, my foot is in the Jordan, and I am crossing over...

When You Least Expect It...

For a near three hours yesterday, God 'locked the door' to 24-7. Had an unscheduled divine appointment with George who breathed mysteries and beauty into my soul as well as the third time prophetic word...my future has been confirmed. Just call me Pipeline.

God Thing 2

She was the only one who showed up for my new Bible study up at 24-7 this morning.

God is throwing us together. She has been a huge reason as to why I am where I am at this moment in time. Holy Spirit knew it.

We get through those first awkward trivialities after which she cries, and cries, and cries. The stopper has been let out of a bottle that is near bursting.

She is no longer alone in this thing. I will do battle for her come what may. The adversary can't have his way with her anymore. She belongs to Abba and I am her miracle.

Numbers

"In the United States, numbers impress us. We gauge the success of an event by how many people attend or come forward. We measure churches by how many members they boast. We are wowed by big crowds.

Jesus questioned the authenticity of this kind of record keeping. According to the account in Luke chapter 8, when a crowd started following Him, Jesus began speaking in parables - "so that" those who weren't genuinely listening wouldn't get it.

When crowds gather today, speakers are extraconscious of communicating in a way that is accessible to everyone. Speakers don't use Jesus' tactic to eliminate people who are not sincere seekers.

The fact is, He just wasn't interested in those who fake it."
- from Crazy Love, by Francis Chan

Something to think about.

The Big Payoff

Today was not my usual day for hosting the Sacred at 24-7 what with my having just returned home the night before from a rescue mission in South Carolina helping out with my colicky grandson. The call went out for filling in for someone else's shift so I thought I would return yesterday's favor.

I was thankful for a mostly quiet day, enjoying the dark cool afloat in the midst of a pre-summer scorcher, recovering from the exhaustion that comes with the unanswerable, emotion-filled effort that goes into infant care.

Chapter One of Francis Chan's Crazy Love drove me to worship in the Surrender Station. I met God. Talked with Him in a language not my own. I laid on my side afterwards overcome with the expression of love inexpressible. There was a time when I taught against this experience, coming from a place of preconceived arrogance. A dogma know-it-all, putting the Unfathomable in a convenient box what with the lack of experience and understanding that breeds ignorance, Sacred Text misinterpreted to suit one's personal flavor of the faith. Those days are thankfully behind me as I experience the One shrouded in beauty and unsearchable mystery...

Prayer answered.

Sanity Secret

"You will keep in perfect peace,

him whose mind is stayed on Thee..."

Isaiah 26:3

Once Upon A Time...

...there was a small group of a dozen women whom I mentored and taught for what seems like a gazillion years ago. I had never experienced anything like them before or since, possibly a once in a lifetime experience where God blows you totally out of the water with what he accomplishes.

I had done the usual advertising such as taping notices on the back of bathroom stall doors, prayed, prepared, and waited, not knowing what to expect. They filed in one by one, tentative and timid on that first day, not knowing what to expect themselves. They were young not only in age but in the faith and they had this one thing in common: a yearning for the things of God, Himself, His Word, wanting to learn and live out this thing called the Christian life.

They went out and purchased Bibles. Wow. They took those hand-prepared lessons home and did them. They would come in with stories of changed marriages, hope restored, healing from grief. They were faithful to attending and to each other. We travelled through weighty Ephesians, joyful Philippians and the heartbreak of 2 Timothy, for unbeknownst to them, I would be leaving them behind before too long as Mike and I were catapulted from the church.

I have grieved for the losing of them these past years. Devastated. Heart-broken. Yesterday, as our church service ended, a pair of eyes locked with mine. She was visiting to hear our guest speaker. She shared news of some of the others and how nothing had ever taken the place of what we had together. She has thought of me often and hoped I was settled and happy. I told her I was and that I was getting ready to do again what I had once done so many times before. She brightened. What are you teaching? Will it be in the daytime? She went off with her waiting family and is now friends with me on facebook.

A chance encounter or a God thing? I've heard it said that with God there are no coincidences.

Wouldn't it be nice to have a 'they lived happily ever after' ending to the story? I may not have a choice, but I don't want to wait for heaven for that grand reunion where we take back what satan has stolen from us.

Interruptions

"While visiting the University of Notre Dame, where I had been a teacher for a few years, I met an older experienced professor who had spent most of his life there. And while we strolled over the beautiful campus, he said with a certain melancholy in his voice, "You know,...my whole life I have been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I discovered that my interruptions were my work.""
- Henri Nouwen

Casualty Of War

So it's been made plain that the child is not my responsibility.

On her first attempt, I escorted her peaceably from the building.

Attempt number two was a manipulation of the store owner next door to get her in. I explained the situation which was followed by screaming from the child because she didn't get her way.

I am very saddened for this child of injustice who doesn't understand, living in the shadow of evil...

There's a war going on that crayons, juice boxes, and Charlotte's Web can't fix.

God Thing

She is new to 24-7 where I met her last week for the first time, as she is to the church. I ran into her after services yesterday. She was looking for someone to walk with her to the picnic. She makes exclamation as my husband joins us. They had worked on the Justice Project together. At the picnic I overhear her conversing with our Community Life Group Pastor about her wanting a group. My antennae are raised and it's as if the air is full of electricity. She will be mine!

Troubled Minds

I asked Charles if I could pray for him after listening to his long tirade against a pastor who has thrown him out of his church. He turned me down at first, catching me off guard. Before too long he takes me up on my offer after which I feel compelled to take him to the cross in the corner. A timely word is given for what has happened and for the days to come. He is tired of the wilderness and seeing 'men of God' prosper by fleecing the flock, turning the pastorate into a vehicle for self-promotion.

I don't know all of Charles' story. He comes to the prayer room on Mondays and storms the throne of grace from the Surrender station with loud groanings that speak for his soul. His heart for the Gospel is strong but adulterated with his own version of Scripture which is tainted by whatever is beleaguering him at any given moment. He is being hounded...

Bria is another story. My shifts at the Sacred Space have been hounded by her presence since I came back from grandma leave. Though I have had my suspicions, today it became clear beyond a shadow of a doubt that she has been sent to create distraction through her own need for attention by whatever means it will take. I love children. I am particularly good with them. I have great respect for the small no matter the age so the steps I have had to take in an attempt to control this recalcitrant seven year old have been heart wrenching as well as frustrating. I am all for "letting the little children come unto me" but her disturbances have become increasingly disruptive, resulting in her being told that she cannot visit 24-7 anymore. This has proven to be meaningless to her. On her return this afternoon, I was incredulous as I escorted her out. She then spent the rest of the afternoon banging on the outside of the metal walls of the building expressing her displeasure. I found out from the merchants next door that she has no association with them and that she lives in the neighborhood, a mother sending her out on the crime ridden streets to play...

What does an urban monastic do about this? Where do my responsibilities lie? It's become obvious that what I've been doing is not going to work and we have a long hot summer ahead of us while school is not in session.

As I tried reasoning with her once more today I got a glimpse of what I'm up against as I looked into her eyes. Only Jesus can deliver her from what lies within.

* * * * * * *

This blog post was just interrupted by her latest attempt at disruption. I call her over and sit her down.

"Do you have anyone to play with in the neighborhood?"
"No."

"Are you lonely?"
"Yes."
"I don't want to send you away."
"Can I color?"
"Not today. I have to go home now."

Time for some Holy Spirit strategy. Yes, I do believe in practicing justice and mercy, and leave it to Abba to make me the solution to my own problem.

Musings From Man Land

My other half has officially become a mentor to the new Christian that has been hanging onto him since Gary's death back in January. This troubled twenty-something has been described as father hungry, what with his own having checked out on him emotionally. Seems Abba has handpicked Mike for the job. There are those of you familiar with the long and toilsome journey who know what a miracle this is.

We talked about this some as we christened our new fire pit in the backyard yesterday evening, another God thing, as Mike prepares to embark on this next chapter of his life where he will take a group of men down the road of healing and accountability as they smoke their Cuba's finest around the fire on Sunday evenings.

After awhile we sit in silence, having gone to that primal place in our brains that is stilled by crashing waves and dancing flames as the sun goes down, surrounded by a cloud of drifting fireflies, a hummingbird complaining about our intrusion, the swift hatchlings screaming with delight in our chimney as their mother and father descend with their last meal of the day, sparks ascending as cardinals and thrashers make their way to bed. The deer walk past in the woods below, gazing upon us in curiosity.

I cannot help but think about the days to come, the amazing things that Abba is going to do in this place. This is a moment holy as any other, well suited for consecration with the oil of anointing, representative of the One who hovers over sweet smelling wood smoke that makes its way heavenward.

Passion Revisited

"When we write from the center...when we write about what matters to us most, words will take us places we don't want to go. You begin to see that you will have to say things you don't want to say, that may even be dangerous to say, but are absolutely necessary."
- Kathleen Norris

The Prophets of old were not very popular, viewed by most of their contemporaries as pain-in-the-neck eccentrics despite their being hand-picked by God to proclaim His very unpopular Word. Though their words were unheeded and brought them dire consequence, they proclaimed them anyway, come what may. I was reflecting on this yesterday afternoon as I made my way back home from the Sacred Space. I had startled myself with a flash from the past 'thus sayeth the Lord' outburst regarding a recurrent issue that I have serious concerns about that deal with areas of compromise within the modern day church where fame, notoriety, numbers, all scales of worldly success and value have crept into the megachurch model that has become so popular in our time. The Holy Spirit has been traded in for slick marketing techniques as if God needed our help in the declaration of the Gospel these past two thousand years. An incident is brought to mind from several years back regarding this very thing coming from the pulpit of my church of nineteen years, that the Cross and the Scriptures were not sufficient in reaching the lost in our day and time, that God needed our help...I sat there incredulous and the word escaped my lips: heresy.

Since then I have twice witnessed good-intentioned church leadership trading in Holy Spirit beginnings for the philosophy of our time which turns communion services into business meetings and worship services into rock concerts with lead pastors as stars of the show, puffed up and strutting like peacocks. Men who know the Scriptures. Who should know better. Who fail to recognize the deception. The Church needs to be on its knees.

"Consider your own call, brothers and sisters: not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are, so that no one might boast in the Presence of God. He is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification and redemption, in order that, as it is written, "Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord." When I came to you, brothers and sisters, I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you in lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified. And I came to you in weakness and in fear and in much trembling. My speech and my proclamation were not with plausible words of wisdom, but with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God."
1 Corinthians 1:26-2:5 (NRSV)

I was fiery today, and I liked it...

Look Out Logan...

Here I come!
Friday can't get here too soon!

Scars

What are the only man-made things in heaven?
The wounds in the hands, feet and side of Jesus.

If we have never sought, we seek Thee now;
Thine eyes burn through the dark, our only stars;
we must have sight of thorn pricks on Thy brow;
we must have Thee, O Jesus of the scars.
- Edward Shillito

"Jesus' hands and feet were not just anyone's hands and feet, but the signs of His real bodily presence.They were the hands and feet of Jesus marked with the wounds of His crucifixion. It is of great spiritual importance that Jesus made Himself known to His disciples by showing them His wounded body. The resurrection had not taken his wounds away but, rather, they had become part of his glory. They had become glorified wounds.

Jesus is the Lord who came to save us by dying for us on the Cross. The wounds in Jesus' glorified body remind us of the way in which we are saved. But they also remind us that our own wounds are much more than roadblocks on our way to God. They show us our own unique way to follow the suffering Christ, and they are destined to become glorified in our resurrected life. Just as Jesus was identified by His wounds, so are we."
- Henri Nouwen

"God never promised easy."

Ruth Bell Graham

Sometimes I just want to crawl under a rock and stay there...

Discipline

This week I have been going about the business of restructuring an existence that has been less than organized or disciplined. When my life went into free fall after leaving SCC, the need for structure went on the backburner since outside the everyday there was no life so to speak. Not an email, not a phone call for months on end. No where to go. No one to talk to. A new church that seemingly had little or no place for me. Foreign territory for the woman who spent eighteen years in Bible Study Fellowship living a life where every i was dotted and t crossed.

Coming on staff at 24-7 was God's gift of returning me to a life outside the fortress that my home had become. Upon answering His call, I was provided with not only an environment in which to serve, to learn, to be trained and humbled by, but a place to get up, get out, and go to. A place where friendship has been rediscovered, God's voice heard, the beginnings of soul-healing through Spirit-filled prayer that has knocked my socks off, a place of much needed solitude outside the occasional God-encounters that have been experienced there. But once outside the monastery, life has been possessed by what can only be described as an aimlessness, an unexplained drifting from one thing to the next that seems to hold me captive within its embrace.

As I prepare to get back into Body-life, I have taken those first baby-steps of faith by simply getting up early, letting the shower shock me into wakefulness followed by a quick, nutrition packed breakfast. Then it's upstairs to my prayer closet in order to spend concentrated time with Him to be followed by the task at hand. This is no small feat for where I have been.

I'm beginning to remember...a sense of purpose and usefulness stirring within, a desire to get things done, feeling satisfaction with the simple one foot in front of the other choices being made as I set myself to the task, with God's help, of reengagement.

I Miss Him

...badly!

Grace from the beginning.

Grace to the end.

Grace for the up and down.

Grace to bring you here.

Grace to get you where you must go.

Remember & receive His promise &

provision of grace for the journey.

- from the Communion Station at Charlotte 24-7

Soul Affliction

Read some things I had written once upon a time on the prayer room wall. Made me realize the affliction that I've been suffering from. How can one who flew so high with God allow herself to tumble from the skies once more as I have progressively withdrawn myself from His Presence?

"Give me your lantern and compass,
give me a map,
so I can find my way to the sacred mountain,
to the place of your presence..."
- Psalm 43:3 (MSG)

"Behold, I Am Doing A New Thing."

Okay, so the one whom I've been missing had to go...to die. The refining fire has done its painful but necessary work. The longing is for the safety of what I have known in the past. I have been double-dog dared to throw myself headlong off the precipice into free fall that I might be borne on those eagle's wings that I have read so much about and which I now must experience in order to fly free where no man nor devil from hell may touch me ever again. Only then will I soar.

And childlike I cry, "Catch me, Daddy. Catch. Here I come."

"You shall know the truth,

and the truth shall make you odd."

Flannery O'Connor

Home

Falling into her embrace and "welcome home" sinks deep into my soul, her face, her smile, a sight for sore eyes that have longed for this moment. Rapid fire girlfriend fare bounces around the room as we empty Big Blue of supplies, trying to get caught up on too much that has gone on since we last beheld each other. I am loved and I love.

After a three week hiatus spent recovering from illness and helping to tend my new grandson, this Punk Monk is back at her post in the Space Space that is Charlotte 24-7. My return here is nothing less than surreal after having been ensconced within the security of my son and daughter-in-law's apartment where life seemed to come to a standstill as we reveled and struggled with the definition of our new lives as parents and grandmother (What do I want to be called? Grandma, marme, meme, perhaps something more exotic...).

Everything has been restocked and is back in its place with my hair soaked and dripping from the effort. I await my own quiet time with Abba as I settle back into the contemplative life that I have been missing and needing so badly. It's time for the refreshment and refueling that must take place before I undertake the tasks that lie ahead in the days to come.

Yesterday at services I shot a note for assistance to the prayer warriors of Renovatus for what I have been lacking for quite some time now: passion, this from a woman once known for a zeal that from time to time would get her into trouble from running ahead of God in excitement and the impatience it would generate. I miss her and want her back, needing a fresh anointing that only concentrated time in prayer will bring for there is much work to be done as I pour out my life on behalf of those in need of me. As I look upon them each week and through their facebook postings I yearn for them, to take them under wing, to love, to nurture, to raise them up for what they were created for. Do I sense a little passion as I write? Yes, I do believe there is a glimmer, a smoldering coal which needs the Spirit's breath to fan it into flame once more.

God has been mostly silent to my request for vision except for one point which He repeats over and over: love them, as I have loved you. That's as good a place to start as any.

Soul Craving

"O God, you are my God, I seek you,

my soul thirsts for you;

my flesh faints for you,

as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.

So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary,

beholding your power and glory.

Because your steadfast love is better than life,

my lips will praise you.

So I will bless you as long as I live;

I will lift up my hands and call on your name.

My soul is satisfied as with a rich feast,

and my mouth praises you with joyful lips

when I think of you on my bed,

and meditate on you in the watches of the night;

for you have been my help,

and in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy.

My soul clings to you;

your right hand upholds me..."

- Psalm 63:1-8 (NRSV)

The spiritual fast food that I have been living on just doesn't cut it anymore.

Justice Wrestlings

As I traveled south on the interstate two weeks ago to be with my son and daughter-in-law to assist in their adjustment to life with a newborn, I could not help but think how all that I needed to live was packed up with me in Big Blue. A duffel filled with a few tee shirts, a pair of jeans, shorts, one pair of sandals as well as enough underwear for the duration. Toiletries. A pillow, quilt, and towel. The dog's crate, bowls and food. The laptop. My attache containing my Bible, prayer book, journal and reading fare. Can't forget the camera and a spare pack of diapers. It's amazing what our culture dictates as necessary to our living when so many are reduced to spending lives huddled under bridges and card-board boxes. Shame on those of us who generate finger-pointing excuses that make it easier to look the other way...

I ponder the need for a home like mine. Very comfortable. In the 'burbs. Roomy. Not a mansion by any means but more than what two people need. What do I do about it? My reading on the life of Francis has cut me to the quick. How seriously do I take the call to Justice? Not very. How willing am I to join the Son of Man who unlike the foxes had no place to lie his head? Mother Teresa once told Shaine Claiborne that not all are called to a life of intentional poverty. But what if we were? I'm afraid the ranks would thin considerably and I'm not very sure if I would be counted in their number.

A very troubled young man whom I first befriended at the prayer room is living in deplorable conditions and has become ill as a result of them. All that he owns is carried in the pack on his back. He has been ostracized, driven out, misunderstood. I feel a connection with him that few others share. Every time I stare into his blue eyes, a fist clenches tightly on my heart. I make every excuse as to why I am not responsible for his well-being. Do I truly believe what I preach? Tow Truck once told me in our counseling sessions together that I must not feel responsible for the whole world. As much as I agree with him on that point, it does not excuse what I can do in my own little corner. An unbiblical philosophy has crept into the Church regarding boundaries which doesn't wash with loving thy neighbor and taking up one's cross. We are to live and die for others. If we are not willing to do so, who are we really following?

May God have mercy on me, that I might be the means of extending His mercy to others.

Waymarks

May 6 marked the one year anniversary of my coming on staff at 24-7. Its celebration was spent flat on my back as my body fought against an onslaught of bacterial infection.

My husband and I were wed 29 years ago on May 18, 1980, not so coincidentally the same day Mount Saint Helen exploded with cataclysmic force, a foretelling of the months and years to come. Thankfully the mountain and marital eruptions now lie dormant. The commemoration of our special day was spent changing diapers, doing laundry, calming fears and uncertainties, feeding bellies, kissing skin so soft and looking into eyes of midnight that gaze back into mine with such intensity that it takes my breath away...

The significance of the milestones spent so unconventionally have not escaped me for it is not the event that matters but the life lived. I will go back to the normality of things in a few days, restocking the prayer room on Monday when I return to the monastery, cleaning the bathroom, checking out the changes, making coffee, seeing old friends and making new. Mike will greet me with overdue kisses and embraces, piles of dirty laundry and a hankering after some home cooked fare. Lots of catch-up work to be tackled while a little child will continue his new days on this earth without grandma in the house. Yeah, I'm teary-eyed already. These days have been a once in a lifetime treasure that I will hang on to for as long as I have breath in this body. Waymarks of remembrance have been made in the little things, the everyday, of which we too often take for granted as we go about our days tilting windmills.

One Week

Walmart
cold watermelon
standing in the rain for the ice cream truck
shrimp tempura
rustlings and gruntings
diaper change smiles
kisses
skin soft as doves wings
midnight blue eyes staring into mine
Walmart
Lost season finale
Scattergories
the gift of more cowbell...I gotta have me more cowbell baby
Gilmore Girls
losing my pillow to Skylar
2:00AM Isa in my head
Mike's phone calls
facebook messages
Walmart
great grandparents meet their bundled legacy
breakfast lunch dinner
breakfast lunch dinner
breakfast lunch dinner
more Walmart
naps
guesswork
homesick
Mike-sick
Lisa-sick
'Vatus sick (thank God for podcasts)
24-7 sick...

yet how do I leave them behind
without bleeding out?

Currents

From within this post-partum nest my thoughts fly 90 miles northward to those who spend their lives under the bridges, scraping together what pennies they have to feed their bellies and their enslaving addictions, conning those whose luck has not yet run out and for whom the precipice looms just one paycheck away. I am living in an artificial environment where all is calm, all is bright, at least for this moment.

I have struggled with the call these past weeks what with God's very loud silence dominating my soul's landscape. Who am I? Wife...mother...daughter...friend...now grandmother...punk monk...Abba's child. All of the above and then some of which I await the unfolding.

I float as if the thermals lift my wings heavenward, awaiting where Spirit-winds will take me. I am free, no longer enslaved to place, time, circumstance, or any preconceived notion. Being among the world, above the world, beyond the world, is a good place to be.

In the meantime, I long for monastery days, where I may again luxuriate in concentrated Abba time where those from under the bridge will shake my hand and will hear their names on my lips.

Post-Partum Blues

Middle of the night tears.

Choices made from a place of pridefulness have led from a Joseph-like pit to prison experience.

The Prodigal is eating the pigs' pods. Not going down well.

How long until the wake-up call?

In the meantime, a mother ponders where-oh-where did she go wrong...

Welcome, Logan

Welcome, Logan,
child of love.
God is here to bless you.
And blessed are you,
beyond telling,
to be born to parents
who love you
and love each other,
servants of the
great King Jesus.

Grow gently, Logan,
in love of God.
We bless you,
and pray
Christ be near you,
now and each hour
of your life.

- Celtic Daily Prayer

There Are No Words...

"To live a spiritual life we must first find

the courage to enter the desert of our loneliness and to change it by gentle and persistent efforts into a garden of solitude."

- Henri Nouwen

The Cloister Of Illness

I have been so sick over the past week that it has been difficult moving from couch to chair. It's an amazing feat for me to have gotten upstairs to sit at the computer. Unfortunately, too much interference from electronics downstairs keeps the laptop from working properly. The effort is worth it; I am going stir crazy. The fever has been consistently running from between 100-101+ with no signs of quitting. I suspect strep and will be headed to the doctor tomorrow. Help me, Abba, to come up with a quick and easy way to bless my man on his birthday while I am out.

I was sorely disappointed in not being able to attend services today but at the same time was so heartened by the sign of Mike's desire to go without me. My spirits were lifted as he brought home best wishes from loved ones. He was thrilled by the message which he plans on downloading for some of the guys at the fire who struggle with addiction. I missed the 'swearing in' of new members but will partake as soon as I can.

Today's feeble attempt at activity finds me flopping back on the old couch where I have spent the past few nights, trying to protect Mike from whatever pestilence has struck. As I lay day after day on the flat of my back, the tempter has sought to take advantage of a time such as this, attempting to get me to revisit those old haunts of discouragement: no one cares...you're all alone...your life is a waste, and so on. My imagination takes me to a 24-7 without me. Would it make a difference? What good is the work that I do there? I think back to something that I shared with a friend on the phone the other night, how God has not called us individually to save the world but instead holds us responsible for the block where he has placed us.

The Spirit's revelation lovingly chastises as He speaks of special times and places that can either be taken advantage of or wasted. The Cloister of Illness has a call all its own. The incense of prayer wafts heavenward from beneath the folds of the quilt wrapped around me without which the visible work of the Kingdom cannot be accomplished.