The Vegan Thing

Pike Place Market, Seattle
Photo by Bgrace

OK, so here's a brief explanation to all of you who are curious, and to those who aren't...feel free to skip out.  I am a vegan now...most of the time.  I tell my friends that I am a vegan except when I'm mad at God and then I have cheeseburgers.  I haven't been mad for at least 6 weeks.  Actually, it's more like this: 
I basically try to eat only what comes from a seed.  And my reasons are purely spiritual.  Not that being a vegan is more spiritual than not.  It is simply for me, a sort of full time fast.  Most people don't fast most days, and some people fast every once in a while.  I fast most days, and every once in a while I don't.  The once in a while I don't fast is because I feel like the Lord and my body are saying, you need an extra dose of protein.  (Which since I run four miles a day...also God's idea and my new favorite pastime...is a reality.) So I try and eat only what my body needs and then return to the fast.  That generally happens about one meal a month. 
I don't think it is unspiritual for me to tell you about my fast because I am not walking around in sackcloth and ashes about it.  I used to, but I am very much at peace with it now and actually enjoy it.  I rarely, if ever, have cravings and my body has never been happier.  Though when the Lord first told me this was up His sleeve, I must tell you my response was something akin to despair. 
That was six years ago.  I've been learning off and on ever since, and in June, when I started running, I finally knew it was time to stop dabbling. 
SOOOOOOO.....just in case any of you wonder what I can eat...I'll give you some great ideas.
For breakfast there are actually quite a few things on my list.  Of course there are always fruits and smoothies etc. Cereal and oatmeal with fresh fruit and nuts...just check to make sure there is not dairy.  I also love bagels and soy cream cheese.  Rice cakes or bread with peanut/almond butter and jelly is also wonderful.  If I am in the mood for something salty, grilled asparagus is nice and so are herbed potatoes wrapped in a flour tortilla with salsa.  I prefer coconut milk but almond is good and soy creamer works great in coffee.  REALLY nice treat is the chai tea soy latte you can get either at your coffee shop or in the organic section of your grocery store.  I knew I was going to make it over the long haul when I found a lemon blueberry muffin recipe that is actually good.  (Even Matt liked it.)
In summer all things are so much easier and more delicious, but here are my top favs from the farm market.  An Asian slaw (spicy lime/ginger dressing) with noodles with peanut sauce is fantastic and great to take to a cookout if it might be the only thing you can eat.  Good Seasons Italian Dressing with Balsamic Vinegar is delicious on all sorts of salads but my favorite is spinach with dried cherries/cranberries, pecans/almonds and thinly sliced red onion. Vidalia dressing (Costco) and Greek dressing are usually vegan too.  I think at least once a day this summer I have had a fresh tomato sandwich.  Juicy ripe slices with spinach and Veganaise (it really is better than real mayo)  on whole wheat sourdough (check for dairy/eggs if bought premade) is near heaven.  Homemade asparagus soup is a close second (I freeze it) or tomato soup made with water or soymilk is good too. 
Snacks are really important to have on hand.  Hummus, guacamole, and a variety of salsas are great with tortilla or pita chips.  (I have a great corn/black bean salsa recipe.)  I also keep frozen vegetable spring rolls on hand. And if you REALLY need a fix--McDonald's french fries baby.  The good news is your better chocolates (dark) are mostly vegan. Make your own gorp...cashews, chocolate chips, and dark cherries is my favorite combination. Of course...fruit and veggies too. 
For dinner, I usually do something with a potato, rice, or noodle.  Couldn't live with out Giant's Simply Enjoy Diablo sauce which can satisfy me when nothing else seems inviting. Sweet Potatoes with Brown Sugar and Vegan butter is really yummy with sauteed beet greens.  My favorite meal which I have at least once a week is grilled veggies over rice with or without beans.  You can always have veggie/tofu stir fry, black bean burgers, etc. 
Dessert--dip fruit in chocolate or do fruit crisps.  OR JUST HAVE SWEET WINE!  :-)
Try it.  You'll be surprised how good it can be.

Eye Level

Photo by Bgrace

"But then, no artist is normal; if he were, he wouldn't be an artist.  Normal men don't create works of art.  They eat, sleep, hold down routine jobs and die.  You are hypersensitive to life and nature; that's why you are able to interpret for the rest of us."
Irving Stone, Lust for Life

"You do not become a poet, a poet becomes you."
Sailing Between the Stars, Steven James

"...and there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother."
Prov. 18:24

Morning Run

Photo by Bgrace

A chorus of chirping leans into my sleep and dissipates my dreams.  I am glad for their cacophonous departure.


Washing the bitterness of morning from my breath I ignore Sam's pleading eyes. He's too easily derailed by the scent of squirrels, too soon drawn away by the smile of a passerby.

Pre-dawn chill raises bumps across my shoulders and down my arms.  I lift my foot above my waist onto the deck railing and push my chin forward over my knee, pressing into the tension set into my muscles overnight.  My body is already remolding itself, though only a fortnight has passed since I've begun.

Almost five miles of path beckon me out.  My course will remain constant, though I have been tempted to travel a different way.  The seduction of the train station cannot be denied. It would be so easy...under the tunnel, up the stairs, a forbidden leap across the tracks, turning my back to the law.  But boundaries have their benefits, and in the constants there are ever-changing variables.  

I wonder how long I will stay in this enclosed infinity, this mock figure eight with no gate to escape its hold.  Today I'll run it faster and deeper into the road.

Resisting the urge to rush through stretching, I give the limbs that will carry me their due.  If I care for them they will be more apt to return the favor.  

I turn the music on.  The sounds are driven, sometimes defiant, mostly loud enough to drown the labor of my breathing.  If my legs were to hear they might forget their courage, they could lose hope.

Initial steps are awkward. I feel for my pace. The large moon is lazy and still hovers to my left.  Night is broken by the daylight though I can’t see its face yet.

My chest rebels against the first mile, but I persist until my heart falls in line.  I tag my first branch, a spruced pine. 


Squirrels dart across the lawn.  Security stares down drivers going too fast on the road.  It’s the second mile.  I’m in the zone. I lengthen my stride and wonder about my time.  I don’t keep a watch.  I push instead against my mind.

I pass by the evergreen elders. Age has bestowed little weight on their branches.  They don’t seem to notice their flimsiness, their frailty, their fate.  I approach the fountain but Mary is dry and I notice the parching of my mouth that much more. 

The door to the church stands out like a red lettered chest and I wonder who made her an adulteress.  The bells are all silent, they do not toll, for wedding or funeral or any other whore.  Her sanctuary will not give me rest.  I keep moving. 

Under the overpass where a white door waits.  It’s locked up for now behind the gate.  I tag my second branch.  I think it’s an oak.  I’m going strong now.  I’m halfway home. 

The next mile is a gradual decline.  I walked it slow so many times. Memories like muses pass me by.  The pond where I saved my fish from a snake and the magnolias bloom where the mourning dove waits. 

Cardinals make their daily pass across my path warning me how quickly time flies.  Bunnies hop and scamper away giving me their white tailed backs.

Blue birds are always last.  They’re rare in this region but they always seem to find me.  I remember the first time I followed one, past a rattlesnake up to the height of blessing.  The vision returns often but always beyond my reach.  What I wouldn’t do for sparkling red shoes. My focus closes in on what doesn’t move. 


It’s the tree to my right, hidden in plain sight.  White blossoms exploding with passion pink centers.  So openly intimate she makes me blush.  I hear the voice in my head saying this tree you shall not touch.    I want to curse, I want to swear.  Why must I be made aware?  Would I have desired what You had not put there?

All is quiet, so hush hush.  You are unsorry, I am nonplussed. 


I startle a gaggle of geese all the way back to Canada.  I feel no remorse.  I am at the bottom of the figure eight. As I round it, I face the steepest and longest incline.  It’s the fourth mile. 

I am at my best.  Balls to pavement, my heels never touch the ground.  I can feel the strength in my calves though my chest aches at the strain.  I’ve always been good at hills.  I guess it’s the challenge.  Dander up, my will locks in.  I’ve got this one cold.  Ten minutes to go.

This climb is my prayer chamber.  I step forward and upward into each question, each claim.  At the pinnacle, I cry out for mercy from the pain. 


Then when I think it will never be over, I’m running down hill and ready for more. My Dad says on the decline all you have to do is put one foot in front of the other.  
My feet are moving but my heart is still 
At the top of hill.

Until it rains.

The heavens are anointing me, pouring out joy.  I laugh and raise my hands in reckless hallelujah.  Drops wash off sweat and stain, releasing tears and strains…I’m cooling down.  I think I can go one more.

It’s a gradual incline, the fifth mile.  My path cuts through the formal gardens.  The roses climb higher on the stone, losing their petals as they grow. I pass by my tree, long ago freed. The diggers came out and uprooted the one that covered me.  I avoid the puddles the shower left in its wake.  I will not slip. I’m moving on. 

A cluster of women cross my path.  They are always walking, always chattering, always asking what I'm trying to prove. I wish I knew.


There is no defense, just the long stretch of submission.  I feel it in my knees. They ache to bend to the ground in defeat.  What is the point?  I’m slowing now, it’s not making sense.


Then I see it.  The paint on the pavement, glistening like sunlight on the snow.  I look up and dawn is breaking through the clouds. I’m almost home.


I pass by a short cut.  For a few seconds everything in me wants to take it, to make it mine.  If I did, it would kill the wonder. The mystery would die. My eyes would be blinded by all that I see in front of me.  I must keep my eyes closed on the long road and my soul open to hope that there is blessing in the distance.  That it won’t always be far away beyond my reach and someday I will dance in the arms of all I see. 

Temptation passes and I am stronger for it.  My pace quickens, my legs lengthen their stride.  Even my breath is steady.  I’m chasing cars and the dog can’t reach my heel.  I’m speaking out my song and bringing on the burning with my will.  I won’t slow down until I tag the final tree. The high five at the end is just around the bend.  


I'm sprinting now, I'm closing in, I'm stretching out, I'm finally home.   

I can’t wait for tomorrow.     

White Flag

Photo by Bgrace

In the embrace of the strongest arms

The deepest tenderness is bestowed.

All might to harm withholds itself
As gentleness unfolds.

Now pure love pours out upon the fears 

Of a fragile soul

There. I surrender.

Then I am made whole.

Blue Light

Photo by Bgrace

At the end of the winter of 2010 I was browsing the coat section at Macy's and came upon this gorgeous black winter dress coat. It was ridiculously reduced. I actually needed a dress coat and knew it would be perfect for winter 2011. I loved the coat, but what I liked best about it was the lining. It was this rich cobalt blue satin that swirled when it reflected light.
I took it home, packed it away for the summer and kind of forgot about it.
But in December I remembered it and brought it out, clipped the tags and snuggled up in it. I couldn't get away from the sense that the cobalt blue carried a significance...but I didn't know exactly what. I've been drawn to the color through the winter and spring.
Yesterday, I got a little glimpse.
I was with Sarah at the Dentist office yesterday. She had to have some pretty intense work done. They were finishing a filling and using what looked like a little hairdryer with a light on the end. Sarah managed to speak around the instruments in her mouth and with some interest said, "It's blue!"
Sure enough, it was a cobalt blue.
"Do you know why it's blue?" Dr. White asked.
At that moment I had this weird sense that God was going to help me to understand something. Dr. White explained to Sarah that they used blue light because white light was too intense. Too hot. Blue light was gentler. It would do the job with just the right amount of heat.
There are so many moments where I'm looking for white light, when what I need is something gentler, less intense. I may not be ready to understand everything ahead of me. I'm thankful for the warmth and beauty of blue light days.
Help me to trust that you know how much heat I can handle.

Run With Horses

Photo by Bgrace

Dad, you might want to make sure you are sitting down before you read this post. 

I went running today. 

(Go ahead, pick your jaw up off the floor.)

So, it's a little bit of everything...and of course it's all unusual because it's me...but today I finally decided to just do it (swoosh).

I know--you are are thrilled, overjoyed, overcome with pride.  I am (three hours later) bright pink, jelly legged, and begging Sam's forgiveness for not taking him.  

See, in January--when I was lying in Lancaster General Hospital waiting for the ER Doc to explain to me why 30 minutes before I had been experiencing pain like labour on acid, and then with no explanation I was lying there feeling just fine trying to talk them out of sticking needles in my arms--the Lord told me to start running.

Really?  You want to talk to me about this now?  Smack in the middle of kidney stone trauma?

Suffice it to say, I didn't believe Him.  Well, it's more accurate to say that I didn't believe my ability to perceive Him correctly at that point. And even if I did acknowledge it somewhere in the recesses of my mind I still didn't quite arrive at the God means what He says level of reception. (That's been a little bit of a problem for me.)

A couple weeks ago, I took Grace to the Nike outlet to get her sneakers. I saw this perfect pair of running shoes for me.  Grey with purple.  They were just staring at me from the box singing how much is that doggy in the window.  I went to Kenneth Cole and got a $10.00 purple purse instead...I figured I'd get much more use out of that. 

Five months later I finally yield.  I've been walking for a while...and I want to run.  I just hate how it feels.  But I know it's the next thing.  Fasting was teaching me so much for a while...but it is time for a new lesson, a new teacher. Running is such a mental wilderness for me.

I was thinking about you this morning.  I was thinking that if you were here, we could do this together.  And then I was thinking about how many years I've missed out on that.  I wasn't feeling sorry for myself.  I know God has had a purpose in all of it, but it was still a sort of ache.  We have a lot of time left though, I believe that.  Maybe by next year I will be able to keep up with you.  OH, and I'll be in great shape for Mount Katahdin, the sequel. 

But there is more to why God is asking me to run.  I know that, but it is not all clear yet.  I am willing as long as He runs with me. 

"So, Rebecca, if you're worn out in this footrace with men, what makes you think you can race with horses?" (Jeremiah 12, sort of)

Today, He gave me a sign.
No, really.

I was down by the second pond at Masonic, I round the bend, and there, right in the middle of the path is a huge turtle.  Nice! I'm practically dying and God is mocking me!  I nearly tripped I was laughing so hard. 

"I'll run the course you lay out for me if you'll just show me how."
Psalm 119:32

Hillside View

Gramado, Brazil

A wooded area slopes off to the side

I can feel the age of the trees

They're aware of me,

But don't seem to mind

Their quiet loosely enclosed

Allowing the ins and outs of bluebirds and time


Squirrels skitter and jump from oak to birch

Cheering the sense of reverence

Lightening it's heart with an offbeat dance,

Like children in too-formal church.


I inhale the serenity as my eyes reluctantly close against the sun

I'm aware of the apple orchard growing around my back

The fruit would fill only half my hand if I were to grasp it now

But patches blushing red hint at the sweetness to come



A haze veils the hillside before me

Cows settle under the trees, huddling in the shade

As if they had forgotten their sunscreen

Their tails fanning pests away


I love this hill

It reminds me of my father

But he wouldn't be sitting still on this bench like me

He would be running or riding or reiterating his point.

He thinks best when he moves--when he labours to breathe

I feel him close

Spotting squirrels and picking apples

Memories and anticipation bring him home

And as I watch the road he loves to travel

I find myself deeply grateful

Though sometimes we wrestle, we often disagree

He loves me enough to fight for me


That is ample comfort for today

Sacred shade for the heat of the day

Originally Posted 2010

Ophelia



Christa Barnell "deerdancer"

 She was floating still on the surface of the lake, a bright yellow splash on the dark waters.
I didn't know whether she was dead or alive.  I struggled to pull my kayak up beside her and was able to lift her onto my lap with my oar.  The weight of water on her fragile limbs spread her flat and cold against my leg.
Dave had told Carol and I that the water was possibly at hypothermic temperatures.  In other words, he explained, about 30 seconds after being in the water our bodies would go into hypothermic shock.  We were being extra careful not to tip. I wasn't sure how she ended up in the water, but I guessed that once she felt the cold, it overcame her.
 My heart was overwhelmed with tenderness for her and I knew I had been given a special gift.  Part of me wanted to keep her forever...but another part of me just wished she could lift her wings and fly.
Carol was up ahead and I made my way over to her, careful not to crush my passenger.  "I've been given a gift," I said to her.  She looked at me suspiciously, not sure if I was joking or not.  I think she was afraid I was going to toss a dead snake at her or something.
"I'm serious,"  I said, "It's a good thing."
As I paddled over beside her she peered into my kayak and saw what was on my leg.  "Ohhh, she's beautiful," she said.  "Is she alive?"
"I don't know yet," I said.  "She's not moving." "I'm going to call her Ophelia."
"Ophelia?" she looked at me quizzically.
"Yes, Shakespeare...Hamlet."
"Ooooh."
Soon I felt a gentle pricking on my leg, and Ophelia's wings flapped upward.  "She's alive!" I shouted.
After a while, Ophelia tried once to lift off, but she stuttered and landed right back in the water.  I fished her out again and placed her back on my bare leg.  This time she stayed.  She kayaked the lake with me for over and hour.  When we got back to the boat docking area, I wasn't sure what to do with her.  I let her climb into my hat, but she climbed right up my arm.  For some reason she seemed to like my skin.  She rode back to camp with us, wings moving now and then, but she didn't try to take off. 
When we got back to the cabin, I took her into my room.  She climbed onto the window sill and didn't move until morning.  When I got up, I took her out into the living room in my hand and she stayed there for a good couple of hours.  We bonded.  I was becoming as attached to Ophelia as she was to my hand. 
There was no question...I had to bring her home to live with me.  I tried feeding her humming bird nectar, but she wasn't interested.  I was beginning to worry she would starve.  On Sunday morning, before we left, I gave her one last chance to fly away.  I explained that I would take care of her if she wanted to come with me, but this was her last chance to stay in Potter County. 
Ophelia wouldn't budge...not even with a little encouragement.  She rode back to Harrisburg on my shoulder and then moved to the window and watched the river for the last leg of the trip.  We pulled into Carol's driveway, and with fear in my heart I opened the door of truck.  Ophelia caught the gust of the breeze and her wings took a powerful plunge and she was off. 
I felt the wind of loss and joy all in the same breath my lungs sucked in.  She was free and she was gone in one swoop.  She rose and rose all the way over a 25 foot tree and never looked back.
"I'll miss you Ophelia," I said.  "I hope you like your new home."
I turned to unload the truck.  Carol looked at me, feeling my mixed emotions.
"Let me know if you see her," I said.  "Take care of her for me."
Ahhh, but there is Another who watches over her. 
How could I doubt it, since for a while, He sent her me?

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.