Sacred Space

I painted my living room a glorious gold.  I had plans to create a beautiful and meaningful space here.
Then I was interrupted...for oh, a year.
This May all that had been stirring beneath the pause germinated. 
What was gained in the meanwhile was well worth the wait.
I now have a sacred space, though not finished yet. 
As with me, it's sanctification is both now and not yet.
First let me introduce you to my constant companions in this room.

This is my Lady of South America.  When I was 9 my mother bought this piece from Prisca, a struggling artist in Sao Paulo, as a favor to a friend.  She is now a well-established artist in Brazil. God finds the most creative ways of putting treasures in our hands. (Not being limited by time surely has its advantages.)  She is fruitful and strong and bright against the dark skies.
   











My Lady of Asia, sheltered by such a lovely parasol, is a stone rubbing from Okanawa, Japan.  Matt was born on a military base there and over Easter his parents gave us this rubbing they acquired during his Dad's deployment.  Her eyes seem downcast, perhaps the sun is too bright, the rain too harsh.

Toward the door, you will see the ladies and girls of Swaziland.  Sawabona is the siswati greeting. 

It means I see you. 

To me, it means

I won't forget you.

You, little girl with the mary jane shoes and a message to love on her shirt.  You little African queen.  And especially you Cinderella.

It reminds me that I need to build one more house, for one more of them.

Beneath hangs my head covering.  I remember the solidarity I felt with the woman who put it on my head.  She taught my awkward hands how to tie it on with such dignity.  We all have so much to learn.

How often I am drawn to pray for them when I see their faces.

In the center of it all is La Dama das Mariposas (The Lady of the Butterflies, by Felix Mas) This painting for me is a breathtaking representation of Sanctuary.  When  I light the candle beneath her at night, she glows even warmer.  The butterflies have found safe place to heal under her covering.  She has such tenderness and intimacy with them.  They trust her.  She loves them. Her beauty is her holiness, don't you think? She sits above two six sided chairs that we got second hand.  Matt repainted them for me for Mother's Day.  Eventually I will get new cushions, but for now I don't mind the worn ones. They have a story, even if they can't tell it.  

The table was going to be thrown out by our neighbor, and I found that fit just perfectly under the painting.  

Each item on it has a story.  

I think the iris's, in all their royal plumes, might look like heaven's throne room...I mean, who says God builds with brick and mortar?  I picked mine from the backyard.  Purple of course, is my favorite color...especially with green (that's mint in there for scent). 

The cover on the table was brought back for me by a dear friend of mine who was in Afghanistan. It hides everything underneath it, (I have some precious treasures on the bottom shelf) kind of like the coverings over the women there.  When I look at the fabric, I can see the clouds in the reflection. There's always freedom in the sky. 

Below the candle sit my anointing oils.  One is a priestly oil and one is a prophetic oil.  To me, they represent communion's essence.  A priest is one who speaks to God on behalf of others.  A prophet is one who speaks to others on behalf of God.  Some measure of this essence is in each one of us in whom the Holy Spirit dwells. 

In the marble pot on the other side of the table is a broken butterfly I found on the ground when I was walking one day.  I felt like the Lord told me to keep it.  It reminds me of so many broken women, and the girl, a stranger, who approached me and said, "People's hearts are crying all over the world.  God hears their cries. 
God hears your heart crying."

It whispers, The power  to help these women is inside of you.  The well of intercession must be dipped into if you will draw living water.

The stone is from Brazil.  There are so many lessons it teaches.  Mostly it says there is much that seems dull and ordinary...until it is broken open. It is only where it has been broken that we can see the crystals.

And when the light hits the crystals...then there is glory.

Red and yellow, black and white...or in butterfly tones, teal and bronze.  They are everywhere, and constantly in need of being lifted up before the throne of grace.  How gently she cares for the least of these.

I needed a cross in the room, so Sarah said I could use the one she made.  It seems to belong in the room, as does she and the moth she found.  (It's on her finger.)

And of course my other friends are there.  The White Lady, who has been with me for 6 years.  I love her elegance, though I can't quite hear all that she whispers to me.  She reads my books though, and I think she likes them.

When I read them, I curl up under a new covering.  This one I bought on the beach of the Brazilian shore. 

From the couch I am graced with a view of the stained glass fleur de lis. It is on my wall for now.  There is so much in this design that speaks to me.  The pointed bottom feels like Simeon's words to Mary,

"A sword shall pierce your soul."

It's the trinity, it's a flower, it's the mark of a saint.

 

It's the banner of Joan of Arc, who was sentenced to death rather than renounce that the One who was speaking to her and leading her was in fact, God.  When I get a coffee table, I'll put her story on it, along with some of my other favorite picture books. Maybe a photo album or two. They all have meaning. Alice and her magical imagination.  The tree who loved the boy and gave her life for him.  Most pictures speak, though not all explain.

Somehow, when I walk into the living room, it all comes together.  I don't have to think about it all, I simply feel its presece.  It comes together in a form of prayer, but I'm not sure who is talking. Maybe that is what communion is about, and what a sacred space is for.

Welcome...

Resurrection

Psalm 116

I love the Lord because he hears and answers my prayers.
Because he bends down and listens, I will pray as long as I have breath.
Death had its hands around my throat; the terrors of the grave overtook me.
I saw only trouble and sorrow.
Then I called on the name of the Lord:
"Please, Lord, save me!"
How kind the Lord is! How good he is!
So merciful this God of ours!
The Lord protects those of childlike faith;
I was facing death and then he saved me.
Now I can rest again, for the Lord has been so good to me.
He has saved me from death,
My eyes from tears,
My feet from stumbling,
And so I walk in the Lord's presence as I live here on earth.
I believed in you, so I prayed, "I am deeply troubled, Lord."
In my anxiety I cried out to you, "These people are all liars!"
What can I offer the Lord for all he has done for me?
I will lift up a cup symbolizing his salvation;
I will praise the Lord's name for saving me.
I will keep my promises to the Lord in the presence of all his people.
The Lord's loved ones are precious to him; it grieves him when they die.
O Lord, I am your servant; yes, I am your servant, the (daughter) of your handmaid,

 and you have freed me from my bonds.

I will offer you a sacrifice of thanksgiving and call on the name of the Lord.

I will keep my promises to the Lord

in the presence of all his people,

in the house of the Lord,

in the heart of Jerusalem.

(NLT)

House of Cards

All friends near and far...
Here is the House of Cards Blog!
Pass it on!
http://newhopehouseofcards.blogspot.com/

We are building a house for Eliya.
Click HERE to read her story.

It's Spring! (Really)

OK, so it's not a big secret...I love warm weather.  And though it hasn't actually made it to WARM yet, there is one thing keeping me sane. 

Sunlight is a huge deal. Spring has brought it back at least a bit more consistently than winter did. It's a bit demented, I'm sure, but I get so desperate for it that I have been pulling Sam's bed to the patio glass door so I can absorb as much sunlight as humanly possible while I read.  It actually feels like it's saving me from winter's darkness.  It heals some sort of ache in me.  It's addictive, I can't stop...until Sam gets so upset with me I can't stand him alternately barking and nuzzling me to get me off of his bed. He's downright pushy. 

There are even the days where it's warm enough and sunny enough to play outside.
This, as all you moms with kids at home know, is like a lifeline, now that they have been cooped up for oh, FOUR MONTHS.  So Sarah and her best buddy Drew and I took full advantage.

Saturday mornings are no longer spent huddled by the heater inside the barn. 

Em gets to ride OUTSIDE!!!

It's amazing how fearless she is on a horse

especially considering she can be anxious about other things. 

She loves bossing that big animal around. 

What can I say about Grace and spring?  Well, now that the sunlight hits the big windows of her ballet studio and they haven't turned on the air conditioners...her feet smell even worse.  Seriously, it's one of the disclaimers they need to put on pointe shoe labels.  There are few things on this earth that smell worse than dancer's feet...but we love them anyway.  Here they are all washed and clean...still a little scary though. (Side note: Did I mention how strong her feet are?  It's crazy, and kind of fascinating, and terrible on shoes.)

A few warm days back, I pruned my rose bushes, admired the first few green leaves from my strawberry plants, and cleared the debris from my mint patch.  I can't wait for more warmth, but the light on my face keeps me going 'til we get there.

Quick Update

This morning I was blessed to announce to the New Hope congregation that in six weeks, through the House of Cards Project, all the money necessary to help Gogo Sheila build her house has been raised...and that we are already in the process of starting to build another House of Cards for Gogo Eliya. 

Very shortly I will have Eliya's story up on the New Hope Swaziland Blog and I will update you on all the things we are praying about developing for House of Cards. 

Also, we will keep you updated on the progress of Sheila's House as communication allows. 

Let us know if you would like to be a part of this ministry.  We do need help.  Right now, please be praying God would guide our steps for the future.

Thank you to all who have participated in this ministry.

If you would like to buy cards, or help us to sell them, e-mail me at bgrace@embarqmail.com

If you would like to send a donation directly to the project, you may send it to New Hope Church and designate it to House of Cards.

584 Colonial Club Drive Harrisburg, PA 17112
PHONE (717) 545-3400 ~ FAX (717) 545-5509
newhopeoffices@verizon.net  

Blessings, 

B

(Just a few) Words

I got angry this morning.
For a long time this morning I came up with a hundred things I wanted to say to a large part of the Christian Community.
Then narrowed it down to 10 that I thought I should say.
But I'm only going to say 1 of them.
John Piper, your statement concerning Rob Bell says more about you than Bell's whole book says about him.
I'm going to not say any more about anyone else but me, and my own journey as a writer.
But before I do that, here's a post you should read called faith and ashes.

And below, you can read a post I wrote more than two years ago about Mary.

I know these probably seem unrelated to the first few lines.  They're not.  I'll explain soon.

Excerpt from:

Blessing--The Lesson
When Gabriel paid Mary a visit and told her she was blessed...he didn't exactly tell her the whole story. Mary, yielded to God in her heart as she was, responded with, "May it be unto me as you have said." Or something like that. And that was very good. God knew when He picked her how much she was devoted to him. He knew she would say yes.

But there's this part of me that says, "Hmmmmm, I'm not really sure that was very fair." Quite frankly, I wonder how many times along the journey Mary thought the same thing.

What I'm saying is that Mary did not have an accurate understanding of what she was signing up for. And the other thing I'm saying is that God was ACUTELY aware of that. In fact, He did it on purpose. Why? Because as Jack says, "You can't handle the truth."

Ok, so I'm being a bit callous in the way this is coming out. Of course, unlike me, Mary was chosen as the Mother of God, so perhaps she didn't feel any of these things (though I doubt that.) And I don't really mean to be callous. The truth is, in some ways it was a protection.

Yes, God's not telling Mary what was up ahead was a protection for her.

Mary had to grow into her calling. Her role. Her understanding of what it meant to be the Mother of the Messiah, the Mother of the King, the Mother of the Lamb. Can you imagine if Gabriel had filled her in on the crucifixion right then and there? She's still dealing with, "How exactly do I tell Joseph and my parents and how am I going to keep from getting stoned to death?" I'd say not telling her about the whole crucifixion part was a kindness.

Still, there's this part of me that's feeling like God was a bit (dare I say it) unfair to Mary.

Like she signed a contract she wasn't allowed to read.

How many times in her life did she feel that things were going horribly wrong, like what was happening was not exactly "part of the plan?"

When her son was wandering off for days at a time and shrugging her authority? When she thought that Jesus was crazy? When Judas betrayed Jesus? Or was it only at the crucifixion when all of what she went through seemed like a complete sham?

OF COURSE it wasn't. But God didn't exactly explain that what He had said to her all along was true...it just didn't look quite like she pictured it. She was given the blessed son she was promised but it wasn't the blessing she thought it would be.

It was better.

Is that part of the grace? That God asks us to receive something wonderful, but terrible too. Something so great it is beyond our ability to imagine, but that will pierce us so deeply it will forevermore change us. Perhaps it is precisely that wound which enables us to enter into the blessedness. That somehow being blessed is not a moment but rather a birth, a process, a becoming, and an entering into all in one?

And from where I sit right now, when I look at all that has been, and all that is, and (as I am beginning to understand more and more) what will be, I'm kind of feeling like Mary must have felt when it began to dawn on her that Jesus might actually die. Or that the kind of King he would be wasn't the kind she was thinking of.

She must have had to unthread quite a bit.

And when you unthread...it's really painful. To honestly go through that kind of pain, there is a pause that must be lived through. It's living through the question of whether or not I am willing to accept the blessing as it is. The blessing that is actually offered instead of what I thought God was offering. And its painful to continue to move toward the God who has wounded me. I have to relearn trust. And this isn't a little thing because it takes some sorting through. I FEEL like I was duped by God. But I wasn't. I FEEL like God lied to me, but He didn't. I FEEL like I followed in every way I was called to, and I did. I feel like those around me let me down, and often they did. I feel like the violence and betrayals and abandonments I've gone through couldn't have been right, and they weren't. I feel like none of that could have been part of the plan, and yet it WAS. All along it was. All along God knew. And all of those things don't seem to add up to the outcome UNTIL God sheds his light and says, "Now look and see what I have for you, what I have told you of all along, how my promise is true." And you go, "OOOOOOH. Now I get it."

But why didn't You just say so in the first place?

The answer is actually fairly simple:

I needed to go through every excruciating step of this journey to be able to enter into this blessing, in its right time, in its fullness.

But can I forgive God for loving me enough to wound me so deeply? And can I offer myself up for more?

Am I willing now to receive the blessing? To let my heart be warmed from its cold grave and my arms open to receive the promise of the God who loved me so much He chose me for this?

The blessing in its full light is always better than what we thought we saw. JESUS was the Messiah for all people of all times and Mary's own redemption came through his death. Jesus was raised up to rule at the right hand of the Father and His glory made known to all. Why wouldn't we say, "YES!"

But there are those in between moments where our hearts are still bleeding from all the tearing that has taken place and we're just not sure we're up for the next leg of the journey. This is the pause I find myself in.

And God is gracious. He gives us time and grace to heal.

I wonder what it was like for Mary to see the resurrected Jesus. To feel all of that horrible despair and desperation and hopelessness melt away into pure joy.

I wonder what it was like for the realization to dawn on her that He was to rule a heavenly kingdom.

I wonder what it was like for her to realize that all too soon He was leaving again.

I sometimes wonder how her heart withstood so much blessing.

But I'm guessing that now, she's probably glad.

Hold On 'Til Dawn

The following post was written last year. I have been seeing so much oppression lately, both in my own life and in the lives of those I care about that I thought I would dig this piece up.
Blessings,
B

Photo by Bgrace

Last night I went through a battle with oppression.  It is certainly not the first time, and probably not the last.  The intensity with which it came was pretty strong,  but I didn't completely lose my bearings.  I felt like I knew how to fight. 
Sometimes when people talk about how Satan oppresses, they use a lot of generalities and categories. The thing is that when you are being oppressed Satan doesn't exactly carry a neon sign that says, "I am oppressing you, take notice." In fact, he's really good at making it feel like it's coming from YOU.
I know oppression doesn't always look the same.  The battles and tactics are different because our enemy is smart enough to point his weapons at our weaknesses.  But there are some key elements the enemy employs that I think usually help us to recognize oppression, and there are a few weapons we have that help us survive the onslaught. 
One of the things that Satan loves to do is move at me when God is taking me through a period of refinement or purification.  It's usually a point at which God is showing me areas in my life that are not what they should be.  My heart is at a vulnerable place before God, and I am very open to God showing me the impurities in my heart, and asking Him to direct me.  It's a very important time, and one Satan doesn't want me to see clearly in. 
So he loves to create confusion.  He'll kick up a dust storm around us or cause the bats to swarm. There are a few things that this accomplishes for him.  First, we lose a sense of direction.  If the source of light is the way we find North, than if he can cut off our visibility, we don't know how to find our bearings.  If we truly can't figure out which way truth is, it's more likely we will follow the direction he wants us to take. Usually that direction is not left or right, it is lost.  Satan makes us feel like everything we've ever believed about our decisions and God's direction is a lie.  He undermines us by pouring doubt into our minds.
The second thing this does is it makes us feel isolated and separated.  If we can't find our way through the dust or the bats, we come to the place where we can't feel God's presence and we can begin to think that we are so far gone no one can help us.  Because we feel isolated and we don't have our bearings, we feel a loss of control and it makes us feel afraid.  Fear can lead to panic.  It is very scary to be under a high level of oppression.   It's a place you want to get out of as quickly as you can.  We ask questions like, what did I do to get to this place?  How have I sinned? 
And you would think that those would be the right questions to ask during that time. But we need to be careful to identify who is answering our questions. 
When we are asking is precisely when we are most vulnerable for the accuser to move in.  What he bombards us with may sound like conviction or feel like clarity because it is another way of looking at things, but it is always a lie, a twist, a perversion of the truth.  And his tactics are doubt, guilt/shame, and fear.  He weakens us with those until he knows he can bring in the big guns of hopelessness and failure.
I used to think that that the best way to deal with those attacks was to fight back with truth about myself. So I would have these battles where I would deal with the attacks by rationalizing (giving reasons), or explaining (why I did or did not), or justifying (why it was right or wrong), or defending myself--my heart, my motives, my actions.  But if Satan can get us caught in that web he'll wrap us up before we know it.  Because the truth is the accuser is well aware of our imperfections.  And he's very good at pointing them out.  So in trying to save ourselves we play right into his hands (or web) and eventually he eats us for lunch. 
Instead, I've learned that I need to tell myself the truth about God.  Especially the truths Satan is trying to undermine in that moment: 
First, NOTHING can separate me from the love of God.  (Say it as many times as you need to until your spirit knows it is true.)
Second, a few years ago I read in The Book of the Poor in Spirit this truth that has helped me countless times.  The only place that we are truly safe from Satan is the ground floor of humility.  Satan always comes at us through our pride.  So when we recognize that we are truly nothing but for grace, we are standing on nothing but grace, our accuser has no ground left to attack us on. 
Third, when the attacks come in full force, sometimes there is nothing we can do but run for shelter.  We need sanctuary.  Satan is really good at making us feel like if we don't figure it all out immediately we are going to lose it.  Instead, I've learned to say, "I am under attack right now and I can't trust that I am seeing clearly.  Lord I know that your love is long suffering, that You are patient with me.  I don't have to figure this all out tonight.  Protect me until the onslaught passes."  And usually the worst of the battle seems to come for me at the end of the day, when I'm tired.  I've learned that if I can hold on 'til dawn, I can see more clearly. 
So what does that look like?
This is what it looked like for me yesterday:  I had been seeking the Lord for clarity and affirmation, and so I asked Jean to help me with Sarah for the afternoon.  I spent three hours before the Lord bearing my soul to Him.  I knew that I had been heard, but I didn't have a response.  In the quiet, fear began to creep in.  Condemnation.  Then doubt.  I began to look at all the decisions I had made in the past few weeks and every possible direction I could have taken felt just as wrong as any other.  Every path a wrong turn.  Confusion. It must all be because of the impurity of my heart. Guilt.  I need to confess.  But I'm not sure what to confess.  I'm trying to find the threads of truth so I can reorient my world in the right direction but I don't know what is true.  I can't hear God. Voices coming at me telling me I should have done this and that.  But none of it fits.  It feels like it must be all up to me to get back to God's presence.  But I don't know where to go. Separation.  Oh, I'm really lost now.  And look at all the people I'm taking with me to hell.  It's all my fault.  Failure.  And because I can't possibly figure out which way is truth, and which way is God, it's hopeless.
Do you see the progression?
The thing is that I've been through this attack enough times to know that even though it seems to be coming from me, I know that it is coming upon me. I can choose to receive the lies or not.  But how do I know the difference between conviction (from God) and oppression (from Satan)?
Conviction doesn't make us feel lost.  Conviction, though often painful, leads us toward truth and light--toward feeling found.  It brings life and hope in the midst of painful recognition.  It's a subtle difference, but an important one. 
Give yourself time and space to sort through the difference.  But Satan isn't always polite as far as timing is concerned.  He interrupts us in our busyness.  So in the midst of getting the girls dinner and dressed for bed and teeth brushed etc. I couldn't ignore the battle.
Though I am aware of all the lies swarming my spirit, I speak truth--to myself and to the spirits of darkness. I said to myself repeatedly, "Nothing can separate me from the love of Christ"--reminding myself of the truth of this scripture.

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: "For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered." No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:35-39 (NIV)
After the girls went to sleep, I walked myself through a few things that I do even if they don't seem to help at first.
I went to my place of prayer. 
I lit a candle.  (I do this as a visual representation of the Spirit of God.  This way I remind myself that He is present even if I can't sense Him.) 
Then I had communion.  Apple Cider and a cracker.  It's the closest thing I had.  I remind myself and Satan that I am saved by the sacrifice of Christ.  I whispered over and over out loud, "Jesus is my Savior, Jesus is my Savior." (I needed to be rescued.)

Sometimes this will break the oppression.  But it didn't.  So I listen for what is next.  Many times the Lord will direct us if we listen. If the idea that comes to us brings life and is in line with Scripture I go with it.  My sense was that this battle was bigger than just me. With the realization I needed help I prayed for the angels to come. Warrior angels to fight, so I prayed for Michael's angels. I needed clarity from God, direction, God's truth to speak louder than the lies so I prayed for Gabriel's angels. Messenger angels. I also sensed the Lord asking me to call my friends to prayer.  I named the people He brought to my mind and asked Him to guide them into prayer for me.  I didn't know if He would or if they would answer the call, but I knew it was a good prayer to pray.  

I was praying in front of The Butterfly Lady, and earlier I had read about cities of refuge, places God commanded the people to build for situations where people needed protection, like when they murdered someone by accident.  There they could find sanctuary from their accusers.  I recalled Psalm 27 and felt like I needed sanctuary.  There are times when I feel like I am supposed to fight the battle head on.  There are other times when I realize it is too big for me and I must seek protection and wait until help comes.  I asked for sanctuary.  It's the place where our spirit connects with God's Spirit directly and nothing else can touch it--Spirit unto spirit communion.

I began to feel drowsy and knew that sleep was coming.  But I know it is possible for Satan to oppress through dreams and so I wasn't sure if I should try to stay awake or not.  I sensed I should go upstairs to bed.  Matt had fallen asleep putting Sarah to bed, so I woke him enough to get him to our room.  I laid down next to him and waited.  I sort of felt like it was open season on my head.  I was astonished with all that was coming at my mind, and glad that I was distanced enough  from it not to receive it all, but I remember feeling like I had no skull over the top of my mind and was completely open to attack.  I laughingly thought, "I need a helmet!"  

And then it hit me, OH...I need a covering.  So with that thought came a million others which I will not take time to share, but I really had to listen then for what was next.  I asked if I should wake Matt and ask him to put his hands on my head and pray over me.  I was hesitant because I knew he was exhausted and had to leave for Pittsburgh at 4:30AM.  But I wasn't unwilling if the Lord directed.  Then the Lord brought to my mind a word He had spoken to me very clearly the March I went to Atlantic city.  He said, "I will be your covering." (Read soul stopping pause here.)

So I asked the Lord to cover my head and I literally felt like a blanket was put on top of my head and immediately all the voices were quiet.  It was like I had spiritual and mental earplugs.  

Then I closed my eyes and slept.

I woke at 3:00AM and realized the onslaught had passed.  I asked if I was supposed to get up and pray and start working on that clarity from before, but I didn't sense God was in a hurry.  

So I gave myself up back to sleep.  I woke with the sun shining through my window.  I knew I had made it through the night.  The wounds from the battle are still a little sore, but my mind is no longer under a barrage of accusations and I no longer feel the lies pressing in.  And I'm OK.

...It's time to play with Sarah.   

Larry's Theology

On the way to her ballet class this morning, Grace and I heard this song on the radio. It just struck me how perfectly this song embodies some people's view of spiritual things. And I get why--I mean, it really makes things simple. It's a monkey or an ape. It's God or it's Satan.

Or maybe there's just a whole lot more going on than we'd like to think...

The Crucified Life

 “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me."

Matthew 16:24

"Jesus has many lovers of His heavenly kingdom, but few bearers of His cross. He has many who desire consolation, but few who desire tribulation. He finds many companions of His table, but few of His abstinence. All desire to rejoice with Him, but few are willing to endure anything for Him or with Him. Many follow Jesus to the breaking of bread, but few to the drinking of the cup of His passion. Many revere His miracles, but few follow the humiliation of His cross."

Thomas A Kempis

A couple of weeks ago I was talking to a septuagenarian (older than me) friend. It had been a couple of years since I had seen him, and I ran into him at a memorial service. He's one of those men who doesn't mess around. So after giving me a great big hug he looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Are you OK?"

So I went through the usual drill about my weight.  Quite unintentionally I had lost quite a few pounds, so much that size zero’s were drooping on my hips.  It got to the point where I had to shop in the juniors department.  

"No, I don't have an eating disorder," I sighed knowing he probably wouldn’t believe me.   

"I didn't try to lose weight."

"Yes, I have been to the doctor and he says I'm perfectly healthy."

But this time there was a little whisper inside me, and I realized that for whatever reason God was asking me to crack open the vault a bit. He asked me if I was going through depression, and all the questions that go along with that.

"Do you sleep?"

“Sometimes.”

"Can you take care of your kids?"

 To which you say, as any mother does, "Yes," and then think, "Though I'm sure I could be doing better."

I took a deep breath and said, "Look, I'm not depressed, but I am walking through something really hard...so hard that it is affecting me physically.  Here's the thing...I'm pretty sure God is asking me to walk it...so you can't fix it."

He gave me the look I have gotten so many times in this journey.   It's a look full of compassion that says, "You are so gifted, so tender-hearted, so full of potential...I'm not sure what got you off-course, but we just need  to do whatever it takes to get you back on track so you can be happy and fulfilled and serve God again.  It says, “We want the old you back, the one that we all loved.”

Why are we always trying to rescue each other from the hard stuff? Jesus tells us that whoever would follow after him would have to take up a cross. How many people have tried to get me to take drugs, to see somebody who might be able to fix me, to exorcise the demons out of me, encourage me to find a new hobby...

Only a few have sat in the dark with me...and even fewer have stayed.

So he called me the following week. And he says this, "You know Becky, there is no temptation except that which is common to man. Temptation means test. So whatever you are dealing with cannot be uncommon to man. God isn't going to bring something into your life that is unique just to you."

At that moment I couldn't answer him. I mean, I kind of agreed with his theology, but I didn't know how to reconcile it with my journey. I don't know anyone who has walked what I believe God is asking me to walk.   I certainly couldn't point to chapter and verse.   I could feel the wounds in my spirit beginning to bleed with the hopeless feeling like I couldn't go forward and I couldn't go back. So I did what I have learned to do when I didn’t know how to reconcile God's Spirit within me with God's written Word.

I asked Him.

Then in the ways that I have become accustomed to seeing God work, He led me to a number of things that were helpful to me. The most important was a book called Contemplating the Cross. Through it the Spirit led me to a deep understanding of my journey in light of the gospel. My understanding did not come from chapter and verse, it came from the story of the crucifixion.

I had glimpses of understanding this before, but deep clarity began to set in. The journey that I have been walking is the path asked of every woman, every man. It is the path of the cross. Finally, I understood that my circumstances were the context for my crucifixion.

I had been well aware that my soul had been grieved to the point of death, that I had chosen to stay alive when a selfish death would have been much easier, that I had chosen the Father's will over my own pain, that I had undergone the terrible trauma of the garden, the abandonment and betrayal of man and the sense of isolation and tearing apart from all that I knew of God. I knew that I had been crushed by the Father's own hand, I knew that I had died for the sake of another, and I knew that I was waiting for resurrection. But for the first time I understood why.

 I understood the deep blessing that had been given me. And I sat in front of the cross in the chapel and I was overcome with wonder. It wasn't the wonder that you feel when you see something beautiful that makes you feel warm and tingly. It was the kind where you sit in a sort of stunned silence at a revelation so deep it quiets you to the core. I couldn't even wrap my head around it. But I knew it to be true. I knew that what I had been given was a great gift. It was the gift of the fellowship of the cross. I sat there feeling the depth of all that I had walked in my crucifixion, and the height of gratitude that God has brought me thus far, and is still bringing me through.

We've done a fairly good job in the church of talking about the redemption of the cross: Christ dying for us as our complete deliverance from the curse of sin. But I believe the church has missed teaching about the fellowship of the cross: Christ taking us up to die with Him and making us partakers of the fellowship of His death. It is because the crucified Jesus lives in us that we can live crucified to the world. (Murray)

Here is how Andrew Murray describes it,

"And so they would gradually enter more deeply into the meaning and power of their high calling to live as those who were dead to sin, the world, and self. Each in his own measure would bear the marks of the cross, with its sentence of death on the flesh, with its hating of the self-life and its entire denial of self, and with its growing conformity to the crucified Redeemer in His deep humility and entire surrender of His will to the life of God." (God's Best Secrets, Murray)

There is so much more I could say. If you have time, listen to Foreman's Learning How to Die, or watch a video of it on Youtube.

I'd love to tell you about the resurrection, but I'm not there yet. I'm in the long pause of the tomb. I'm in the emptiness. I'm in the waiting to become. Only God can raise me, though every bit of me wants to fill the emptiness before the third day.

This I know to be true, even though at times I don't feel it to be so:

Jesus is with me.

Jesus is the One who has led me to this place.

Jesus is the One who will bring resurrection.

I am crucified with Christ. I no longer live. But Christ lives within me.

A deep ache presses forth

From this sore and tender core

It scrapes the lining of my soul

A rising, voiceless cry echoes

To the one who pulls me

By the reins of my pain

To his blood-sweated cheek.

And we move through the darkness as one

Lamenting the cost of coming undone

We dance in the dirge of the slow-setting sun

Praying Father, Your will alone be done

A few notes:
The Crucified Life was originally posted on Deep Calls, in March 2008. 
I am preparing to speak before Communion at New Hope this Sunday, and this post reflects what I will be speaking about, I'd thought I'd share it with you who are far away.
I can no longer wear my junior size clothes, but Grace can.
I am no longer in the tomb, here's a link to Louvor, a poem I wrote in January 2010 as I felt myself coming out of that season in my spiritual journey. 
Blessings to you all,
B

House of Cards



Photo by Greg

When I got back from Swaziland a few months ago, everything was a bit of a blurr for me. 

I knew that God had asked me to go...but His reasons why were a bit unclear. 
I knew that I had been an integral part of the team that helped to shape and cast the vision for New Hope's ministry in Swaziland.
I knew that through the experience I began to feel like New Hope Church was home.
But over the last few months I've had this nagging sense that there was more to it. 
Sheila kept coming back to me...
New Hope church has decided to focus on the neediest part of Swazi, the area of Nsoko. I am so excited about our long term ministry there.  However, Sheila was a woman we met in the Manzini area, thus her needs did not really fall under the umbrella of the church's long term vision.  I spent some time praying through this, and the more I did, the more I got the sense that the Lord was saying to me that this one was my job. 



Wil, Sheila, and Me
Photo by Ken

Here is Sheila's story:

Our first day in Swaziland, we met up with Pastor Peter and his wife Precious to visit the home of one of the families of his church.  Marcia Borg filled me in a little on our drive there.  Sheila has AIDS.  She is mother to four children, the oldest being twelve.   She is also a Gogo—the term for Grandmothers who take on the care of their children’s children because they have died, more often than not, from AIDS as well.  Sheila cares for her 9 months old grandson.  Her husband died from AIDS, infecting her with the disease before he passed.   

Marcia had asked me to share a Scripture, so I turned to the Psalm I usually use when I pray with those who are sick.  Psalm 103: 1-3.  The words sat before my eyes.  He forgives all our sins and heals all our diseases.  All.  I read that word and I realized my faith was not big enough to read that to her.  How could I look into her eyes and into her condition and read the finality of such a statement with belief?  How could I not qualify it or reduce her expectation of it?  My faith was not big enough.   

When we arrived Sheila and the baby met us outside.  Not that our group could have squeezed into the one room anyway.  We all greeted Sheila, who was forgiving of our awkward Siswati.  Swazi’s have a somber look about them, but she did return our smiles.  Marcia knew Sheila because she is one of the Timbale women, and spoke quietly and warmly with her for a while.  Soon she motioned me closer to share Scripture. 

In preparing for my trip to Swazi, the Lord had impressed Isaiah 40-41 on me.  Isaiah 40: 1 says,

“Comfort, yes, comfort my people!” Says your God.  “Speak comfort to Jerusalem and cry out to her.” 

That was my call for this moment, to comfort Sheila.  So I turned to Isaiah 41:9-10 and read the verses over her,  looking into her eyes as I read them, as if to give her every word as a gift.   As Precious translated, she took in every one, hungry for hope. 

“You are my servant, I have chosen you and have not cast you away: Fear not for I am with you; Be not dismayed for I am your God.  I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you.  I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”

She nodded and thanked the Lord closing her eyes to receive them into her being.  “Thank you,” she kept saying as I read.   Afterwards we all joined around her and prayed, asking God to minister to the needs of her body, mind, heart, and spirit.  She was very grateful for our prayers.  Then Marcia asked her if there was something in particular that she would like us to pray for. 

Sheila's Blocks

Sheila turned our attention to a pile of cement blocks sloppily stacked on the slope in front of her house.  As a Timbale woman, Sheila volunteers her time at a Care Point cooking and caring for orphans and other children whose families cannot afford to feed them.  On the days she is not at the Care Point, she and other Timbale women meet for a time of discipleship and share a sewing machine and make purses to sell for income.  This money is theirs to use for the needs of her household as she wishes.  Over the last few months, Sheila had used her money from the bags to buy the cement blocks.  She did not yet have enough blocks for a one room home, or money to buy mortar to put them together or for a roof overhead.  She explained to us that the wind and rain come into her house through the large cracks in the wood. During the last rains they stayed outside because there was actually more water inside.  Suddenly the holes in her walls took on a deeper meaning for all of us standing there.  Sheila’s prayer request was for one of her two older boys to find work, when not in school, so that they could save enough to build the blocks into a house that would keep dry in the rains. 



Sheila's Oldest Son and Grandson in front of their house.



I asked Jumbo later how much money it would cost her to build a little one room house.  It would be about $4,000, the roof being the most expensive piece.  Sheila sells the bags she makes through the Timbale project.  She volunteers daily at the Care Point, taking care of the needy children in her area.  It would take her about 3 years to save enough money.

 "That’s a lot of wind and rain and time," I thought. 

Then to our surprise, Sheila quietly shared with the group that she has AIDS.  This is a testament to the relationships that are being developed among the Timbale women.  Swazi’s do not normally share such things.  They never cry in public, it is a shame.  But slowly they are learning to tell their stories, and to trust that they will find comfort, sympathy, and acceptance.  We gathered around her and prayed for her, brothers and sisters in Christ, with little else in common with this dear woman.  Though she did not ask for financial assistance, we couldn’t help but feel the weight of her need and silent hope that we might help her. 

Sheila's Cross

After we prayed with her, Marsha, a nurse, sat and talked with her for a bit about her health while the team engaged with the children.    Attention is hard to come by in Swaziland, especially from adults.  Women are stretched way beyond the breaking point, caring for children with little to no food, money, or protection.  Many of them sick with disease themselves. 

Marsha asked Sheila if she was taking her medication.  AIDS meds are provided free for women with HIV positive children, but they have to pay money for transportation to get their meds, money that could be used for food.  Then they must prove that they will come consistently before they are even given medication.  AIDS medication must be taken consistently, on a strict schedule, a concept foreign to this culture. 

Unless God heals her, Marcia told me, she probably has a year to live.  I slowly walked the property, taking a few pictures.  The bits of information I had received started to come together in my head.  This dear woman’s husband has recently passed away from AIDS, which he most likely contracted from another woman.  He infected her with the disease before he passed.  Sheila was taking care of her grandbaby because his Mom has passed, so that means that she has lost a daughter in the last year as well.  Sheila has maybe a year to live and she has 5 children under her care who will have no one to care for them after she passes. 

Her faith in God is strong.  Her love for Him unwavering.  Her focus lies not on her own grief, but on building a dry shelter for her children to live in when she is gone. 

Sheila and Grandson

We gathered around Sheila before we left and presented her with a gift:  a 25 lb. bag of cornmeal to make pap, their staple food for every meal, some beans, cooking oil, sugar, tea, packets of gravy to put over the corn meal.  It was enough to feed her family for a week to 10 days. 

Through Precious, Sheila said to me as I hugged her, “I often am very afraid when I lay down to sleep at night.”  “But tonight I will rest well because of your visit to us.”  “I will have joy in my heart.”

What will happen to Sheila, I wonder.  Is there anything we can do to help this woman who suffers from the loss of her husband, her daughter?

 This woman trying to care for her children and grandchild with no electricity and no running water. 

This woman who has cracks in her stick walls large enough for me to stick my arms through and a few cement blocks on her land she can’t afford to mortar together. 

This woman who volunteers her energy and strength to take care of orphans and the underprivileged on a daily basis.

This woman who is sick with AIDS.

And I wonder, if God doesn’t heal her, what will happen to her children?  If they leave their land, they lose their property rights, but if there is a good shelter for them there, they could keep their land. 

As I thought about Sheila and the children, I felt more and more sure that the Lord was telling me specifically to do something for her.  I had sensed for a while there was something special He wanted me to do with my photos, and as I was praying about it, a very clear picture came to me and I knew what I was to do.  My Aunt has been telling me for ages that I should make up photo cards and sell them...but for any number of reasons I have been hesitant to try to make money off my photos.  This time, I knew it was the right thing.  You can actually make a really beautiful photo card for about 50 cents.  If you sell it for the price of a greeting card, you can make $2.00 profit.  So if I wanted to raise $4,000, I figured out that I needed to sell 2500 cards, or 500 packs of 5 cards at $10.00 a piece.  It actually seemed really doable.  It was as easy as 50 people selling 10 packs of cards.

I decided to call it the House of Cards project.  The people of New Hope Church have been so great in helping me put these together. 

There are three series that we have prepared.  Two of the series are photos of the children. One series is of African wildlife. Each series has five different photos cards with envelopes.  

If you are interested in purchasing sets or helping us to sell sets, please send me an e-mail at bgrace@embarqmail.com.  I would love to talk more with you about this project.

Please pray that God will multiply these fishes and loaves.  It is possible this is only the first House of Cards we will build.

Thank you for taking the time to read this post and prayerfully consider how God might call you to join us in building a house for Sheila.
Here is a sample of some of the photos we are using for the cards. 

All photos by Bgrace unless noted.
Please respect copyright.

Generations of Grace



Sunset on Ice
Photo by Bgrace

 I stopped by Rev. Mary's on Monday morning to pick up a project I am working on with her and she began to tell me about Edna and her daughter. They had asked for a visit and for prayer.  Thoughts of Christine at the park flashed in my head and suddenly I felt a surge of power through me.  At times the Spirit of God comes upon me in this way, but I'm still coming to terms with the fact that what I am experiencing is real and is in fact God.  It was quite strong and I reached out almost involuntarily to touch Rev. Mary's hand while she was chatting on about these women. I had said nothing and there was nothing on my face that would have indicated what I was experiencing, but she jumped as I touched her and yelled, "Whoa!" 
"Did you feel that?"  I asked her in amazement, jerking my arms up and down as if they were soaked and I needed to shake the excess water off. 
"Yes!" she laughed heartily.
 "What was that?" I asked in consternation.
"I guess the Lord wants you to go!" she said gleefully. 
"That doesn't happen to me very often, you know." 
"Well then, we need to get you out there!" she happily countered. 
I told her a little about my experience with Christine, and how upset I was with God for "doing that to me;" that at the time I didn't even really believe in that sort of thing or know if what was happening was of God or not. 
"You don't need to be afraid," she said, "The Lord will show you what to do." 
This morning I woke up early to prepare myself for my time with Edna.  One of the ways the Lord has been growing me is in the area of praying in faith.  Andrew Murray writes beautifully about it in "With Christ in the School of Prayer."  He speaks of the Scriptures where Jesus affirms to us again and again that what we ask for in faith we will receive...in accordance with the will of God. He says that we too often use the "if it is your will God" as a crutch.  In other words, we don't take the time to actually seek His will about what we will ask for in prayer before we ask. Instead it becomes a sort of catch all we offer at the end of our prayers. We must have faith that as we seek Him, He will reveal to us how we are to pray.  Only then can we truly ask with faith that our prayers will be answered because we are praying in the name of Jesus.  We are praying the revealed will of our Lord.  A few years ago I remember facing this teaching and feeling that it was impossibly beyond me.  Richard Foster says there is a progression in the spiritual life.  Some things we learn over time, and it is not just the learning that takes time, but the becoming.  I am becoming more able to hear, and as I pray what He leads me to, I am becoming more full of faith and confident in the Lord's answers, and I am seeing the Lord answer my prayers. 
I say all of this so that you will understand why I was feeling so conflicted this morning as I began to pray about my time with Edna.  As I approached the Lord about praying for her healing, I realized there was this big block in my spirit.  I had no faith that Edna would be healed.  "Praying for her healing, especially that I would be used to bless her in this way will not do any good if I don't believe you are going to heal her, Lord." 
What was wrong with me?  I thought about it for a while and it became clearer what I was feeling.  "Lord, I'm not sure I want to pray for her healing because she is old. What if its just her time?"
Ouch.  That was ugly.  But there was no getting around it. 
"Lord, help me to hear from You that You want Edna to be healed.  Then I will be able to have faith that I am praying Your will." 
I sighed and turned to Psalm 103.  It was a Psalm that Deb Haken had often used when praying for healing and I was familiar with it.  So I decided to pray through it.

Bless the LORD, O my soul,

And all that is within me, bless His holy name.

Bless the LORD, O my soul,

And forget none of His benefits;

Who pardons all your iniquities,

Who heals all your diseases;

Who redeems your life from the pit,

Who crowns you with lovingkindness and compassion;

Who satisfies your years with good things,

So that your youth is renewed like the eagle. (NASB)

There it was, right in front of me. The word I was to give Edna and the prayer I was to pray for her. Why would you need your youth to be renewed if you weren't old?  This was a prayer I could pray in faith. 

When I met Edna this morning, she didn't need her oxygen tank as she had earlier in the week.  When Rev. Mary introduced me I asked Edna if it would be OK if I thought of her as my Grandma.  "I don't have any Grandmas who are living, and so I was wondering if I could think of you as mine for the day."  She thought that was a great idea.  I told her a little about Grandma Grace--she would have been 100 this year--and how she got on a boat all by herself and crossed the ocean to be a missionary in the Amazon jungle. Edna thought that was pretty amazing.  Rev. Mary brought Edna a Bible and asked me to read a pamphlet she had brought.  I did so in my best Grandma Grace imitation, not holding back at all.  Then I shared with Edna that when I was praying this morning, the Lord had given me a Scripture that I felt He wanted me to pray for her and share with her. (That's what some people call a "word").  I began to read Psalm 103 and Edna began to say it with me from memory.  When we got to the part about renewing her youth I told her that was what I thought was most important that I pray for her.  She nodded.  Rev. Mary asked if she wanted to sing Blessed Assurance with us and Edna's voice was surprisingly strong and steady and quite nice!  When we got to the part where we sang, "This is my story, this is my song," I about lost it.  

Rev. Mary had one more gift. I thought it was a bit strange as Edna pulled it out of the package.  It was a little white stuffed sheep.  Really?  A stuffed animal for a 95 year old woman?  That's what the Lord had led Rev. Mary to bring.  You know what? She was more excited about that stuffed animal than even my daughters would have been.  She loved on it and cuddled with it and cried with it.  It was beautiful.

Edna's daughter came over and handed me a card.   She said softly, "This is the passage of scripture that I wrote out and I keep on my Mom's table in her room."  As I began to read the tears welled up in my eyes.  It was the first few verses of Psalm 103.

The word today was for Edna, the lesson was for me. 

As I drove to pick Sarah up from preschool, the CD that I've been listening to (Josh Wilson's latest) was playing.  My favorite song on the album is an instrumental rendition of Amazing Grace.  All the emotions I've been feeling over the last few days swelled up and over and the tears ran down my cheeks.  I miss Grandma Grace.  I would have loved to hold Grandma's hand like I held Edna's warm frail hand today.

And sing to her.
And read to her.
And tell her my story.
What would she say about my journey? 
I think more than anyone else, maybe she would understand. 
Maybe she would even be proud. 
Is it possible that who I am and who I am becoming is somehow because of her? 
Maybe I am the fruit of her tree.
She didn't let her gender or her circumstances quiet the Spirit of God in her.  I could, in fact, picture myself waving to all the skeptics on the shore and sailing off to a jungle across the ocean. 
I smiled to myself.
I am Rebecca.  I am also Grace. 

 "What would she think of me?" I wondered.

And the answer came quietly and clearly to me.

Grace knows.

Grace understands.

Grace moves.

Grace never fades.

I walked Sarah to the car in the crisp wind and bright sunshine at exactly noon. 
The bells of St. Marks began to play their midday song. 
It was too perfect. 
I just shook my head...what was there to do but sing along?

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me,

I once was lost but now I'm found, was blind but now I see. 

As Grace lives through me, may I make her proud.

Originally Posted on Bgrace March 2010

How does God tell time?

Chronos and Kairos

Photo by Bgrace