Choosing Compassion

A few hours into the day I get a phone call that ignites an ugly fire in me.  Anger and frustration leap hungry, licking every drop of peace and joy.   My mother-in-law is "awful sick" again.  Again!  Do I have a car?

I feel myself spiraling out of control and realize prayer is needed.  With adrenaline surging, I call one who I know has a direct line to God's heart.  I complain, angrily.  They are calling the ambulance again.  It's every other week now.  And for what?  She is so stubborn!  The doctors have told her this is normal for her age.  She's eighty-some years old.  What does she expect? 

A calm one gives advice I don't want to hear.  Compassion.  That's the word she uses.  The same word that has been on my heart since reading Ann's story.  The same one that compelled me to sponsor a child. 

This word, compassion, is lost today.

And I am too angry to look for it.

I think of my husband needing to be called at work, again.  Again!  I think of ruined plans.  Of another day sitting idly in a waiting room.  Of missing my daughter's basketball game later.  Of the blog I am trying to write.

Instead of compassion I think frustration.  Inconvenience.  Imposition.  Words like stubborn and spoiled and stupid spew ugly from my lips.  (Sadly, I confess.)  In this moment, compassion is the last word I would use to describe what I feel inside.

Sadder the fact, I know God will pour grace if I ask.  He is Compassion.  He knows well what it means to co-suffer. 

But I don't ask because....I don't want to.

My mom prays instead.  She petitions the Lord in my behalf, in behalf of my husband and his parents.  I try to form some agreement in my heart with her words, now weeping.  The Spirit reminds me:

Where two or three gather in my name...

I struggle to press through to wanting His will.  Instead, feelings of justification rear.  Can't this all just go away?  I don't want to be involved.  And besides, the one who needs my support the most hasn't been such a great lover lately.  He's distant.  Preoccupied.  Silent again.

...there I am in the midst.  

Okay.  So I admit it.  I don't want what you offer, Jesus.  I don't want to love in this situation.  I don't want to be inconvenienced.  And I certainly don't want to give of myself to someone who doesn't care about me.  I am so tired of giving...

I want...  I want.

Through the day I feel my heart changing.   Peace eludes me  Joy fades fast.  Darkness creeps through the windows, steals my thoughts.  I have nothing to write.  I no longer hear God's voice. 

Instead, the accuser speaks again, still trying to disguise himself as me.  This time he directs his barrage not against my husband and family, but to my own sense of worth.  You are wasting your time.  You have no value.  You are hopeless.  He doesn't care.  He never did.

I take the bait, and hopelessness pulls at my skin.  I see the pit looming ahead--one I am familiar with.  Fear crouches there on the top step, drooling--my enemy comes to devour. 

Needing a rescue, I send out another prayer request, and visit House of God online, drink an offering from one who feeds the poor and shares stories of hope and faith.  Her words, full to the brim with heaven, seem only to condemn me.  I run.  I lay in bed with no husband beside me.  I ask for mercy and fall asleep trying to drown the sound of accusal:  I am a failure.

Early morning I read about the original 12 step program 900 years old on a friend's blog.  

I stare at the quote on page top and ponder.

“Evil can have no beginning but from pride, and no end but from humility. The truth is this: Pride must die in you, or nothing of heaven can live in you…for the one is death and the other is life.”  Spirit of Prayer, Edition of Morton, Canterbury (1893)

Just as it was with Eve in the Garden so long ago, so it is with me.  This pride--this inflated sense of self--always, always leads to a fall. 

I share with the friend how ironic it is that as he was writing his post, I was walking it out.  I remember how two days before the Lord was speaking to me--warning me--about the need to remain poor in spirit--humble.  And how I prayed and asked Holy Spirit to purify my heart, to take me to the lowest place.

He answered.  But instead of giving thanks, I turned away.  I didn't recognize His coming.  In writing this post I see a beautiful God, good and lovely and pure, full of mercy and grace.  I see Compassion not avoiding me, but inviting me to enter in.  I rejected Him, the One I so desperately love and long to know.  Why?

Pride.

Pride thinks first of self.  Pride never bows.  Pride opposes all things good, all things holy.  Pride steals and kills and destroys.  Pride opens the door to the dark and dangerous.

Pride must die in me.  This is my prayer today and every day.

Father, forgive me for dishonoring your children, my husband.  Do your work in me, however painful.  I choose to live humbly before You because You dwell in the low places, and because only in brokenness can I see your face.  I love you, Lord.  Help me love the ones you have given.  Help me see You in their faces.  Help me learn to co-suffer with You, and give as You do, pressed down, shaken together, running out all over.  In Jesus' name I ask for your mercy and grace for all of us.  Amen.

I am linking with Emily today, and sharing my Imperfect Prose.  Please join us. 


Photo Courtesy:  flickr - Chad K.

Jack and Jill and the Lion

“Are you not thirsty?” said the Lion.

“I'm dying of thirst,” said Jill.

“Then drink,” said the Lion.

“May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?” said Jill.

The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience. The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.

“Will you promise not to - do anything to me, if I do come?” said Jill.

“I make no promise,” said the Lion.

Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.

“Do you eat girls?” she said.

“I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,” said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.

"I daren't come and drink," said Jill.

"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.

"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then."

"There is no other stream," said the Lion.

- C. S. (Jack) Lewis, The Silver Chair – Chapter 2

On the last and greatest day of the festival, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink."  - John 7:37 The Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let the one who hears say, “Come!” Let the one who is thirsty come; and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life.  - Revelation 22:17 (NIV)

Photo Courtesy:  flickr - Peter Harrison

We Soar

We Soar

The white sun gathers brilliant on my panes, stretches warm over skin long bare from lonely.  Winter ache melts fast in the heat of his stare.  Stark thoughts scatter myriad, forgotten beneath blue ocean.

Drowsy depths open easy at first, awash with bright the petals.  Abrupt, Spirit draws curtains wide for burst in hallowed exposition.  Raw need hungers, thirsts.  I turn my face to sun's pavilion.  Beauty blinds in tears, banishes fear and false religion. 

I reach beyond what I know, these burnished stones strewn decussate the shores of simple faith, touch amber glass beneath His feet.  Scorched fingers linger long in the rays.  Release.  Seven torches all blaze watch flying ship sway lost and found in molten Sea.

Yeshua.  He sears me with His gaze.  He is Sun.  He is fire.  I breathe and burn, a living flame.

Joy overshadows and hope rises lofty in the fray.  Healing waters stir, flood ancient gates, crash cracks and crags buoyant.

Righteous wings reach low, gather holy.  I am His. 

And He is mine. 

As one. We soar.

“But for you, sunrise! The sun of righteousness will dawn on those who honor my name, healing radiating from its wings. You will be bursting with energy, like colts frisky and frolicking. And you'll tromp on the wicked. They'll be nothing but ashes under your feet on that Day."  God-of-the-Angel-Armies says so.  - Malachi 4:2,3 (The Message)

I am linking up with Jen from Finding Heaven for Soli Deo Gloria. Come join us!


Photo Courtesy: flikr -Kiwi-Wings

The Glory of a Songbird

" My heart is like a singing bird."

- Christine Rossetti

She was 3 years old when her mother, Wendi, was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.  Three years later this little girl stood by as her best friend--the one who gave her birth--bravely crossed the finish line of an incredible journey of faith.  She said good-bye and watched her mom join the beautiful God who gave her a song to sing--this life that brought glory to the King.

Wendi left behind a holy legacy: of love for God and the people around her, an angelic voice and gift for composing and recording acapella, a beloved family--cherished husband and daughter Rhema--who Wendi says was her greatest gift-- named with a Greek word meaning, "word" or "utterance."

Rhema learned to sing with her mother at an early age.  But in this CBN interview, Rhema's father, Teton, shares how he used to tell people his little girl was tone-deaf.  On a road-trip to Nashville to honor Wendi, Teton taught Rhema the words to Amazing Grace (to listen, watch the video below--you may want to pause the play-list at page bottom first,) and something Amazing happened.

He imagines Wendi petitioning God to pass the gift to her child, who now follows in her mother's footsteps and love of music.  Rhema describes in this interview how she sometimes hears her mother singing with her. 

This little songbird sings for the glory of God.   

Rhema Marvanne singing Amazing Grace

To learn more about Wendi's and Rhema's stories, and/or to read/watch the CBN interview, just click the highlighted links throughout this page.   

I hope you are blessed by the Hope that shines bright from this family, from the God-glory birthed in darkness and grief.

There is a sense of righteous justice that rises from their story.  The enemy comes to steal a life that sings, attempts to silence the Song.  But God, in His mercy, passes it on to a child--another manger babe who loves and gives and serves.

Healing happens in ways we can never expect or imagine.  Today, I send the healing light and love of Christ your way.  May we all have open hearts to receive Him, and share His song with those covered in darkness.   Yes, Emmanuel still comes to save us.

“Arise, shine, for your light has come,    and the glory of the LORD rises upon you.  See, darkness covers the earth    and thick darkness is over the peoples, but the LORD rises upon you    and his glory appears over you. Nations will come to your light,    and kings to the brightness of your dawn." ~ Isaiah 60:1-3 (NIV)

Photo Courtesy:  flickr - Pete Birkinshaw

Believe

I pray.  I listen.  I close my eyes and see seven letters finger-painted gold across mind's window:  Believe. 

Believe your dreams.  Believe my words to you.  Believe what you've seen.  Saints strewn on heaven-clouds, giddily expectant like Magi kings and Shepherd flock and Holy Mother ready to give birth, all a-watch-and-wait, and angel armies flaming fire, helping fellow sojourners find their way by faith.  Believe the harvest comes.

Believe I will not be silent, though I can best be heard in sleepy still of early morning when sky stretches wide with fiery red, and songbirds join a Capella to wake the earth, and raindrops soaking wet the green; and in the inky dark of night, when hope dims and fear jabs sharp, and pain and strife threaten to steal your peace of mind, and yet you praise Me, sing love that chases clouds away.

Believe Justice rolls on ancient stones.  River Rock, all drenched in holy, crams Earth's sphere with Word-made-flesh again and again.  Treasures revealed.  Mysteries concealed unlocked and set in motion.  Generations complete.  Kairos and chronos in sync.  All lost now found.  My kingdom comes.

Believe you were chosen for this season.  Rise up on wings like eagles.  Run and don't be weary.  Reach high and grab hold that which can't be seen by common eyes, and pull God-plans into reality. The fig has blossomed.  My dove looks on.  Seven-fold Spirit descends with strength and joy.  I have baptized you with my love.

Believe I am up to something big and wild, extravagant.  My promises made manifest.  My resting place washed luminous.  Sacred Lamb, Exultant King, Firstborn of many brothers, He walks the earth again--One Seed yields many seeds--like Father the sons.  Beauty rises from ashes.  See Glory-shine upon my children.

It is time.  Spirit-Wind and Remnant Bride say Come!

"  It is not hard for the Lord to turn night into day. He that sends the clouds can as easily clear the skies. Let us be of good cheer. It is better farther on.  Let us sing Hallelujah by anticipation."

- Charles H. Spurgeon

I am sharing this word for 2011 with Bonnie @ Faith Barista Jam.  Come share with us?


Photo Courtesy:  flickr - Mykl Roventine

Praise Brings the Release

Beautiful Dreamer.  Come sing your song of love to me.

Numbers flash fluorescent from the night stand.  3:10.  I toss and turn, look again.  3:14.  My body is aching and cold.  Every turn is pain.  I don't feel like singing. 

I form words in my head.  You know I love you, Lord.

Thoughts turn to a friend who can't sleep.  And another who lost everything but her family and faith in a fire.  A sister coming to get me in 3 hours so she can have yet another procedure...and still no baby.  Time is running out.  I pray silent.

He whispers again, relentless.  Beautiful Dreamer.  Yes, that's you.  Come sing to me.

Without words I reply.  Lord, I need healing.  So many need healing.  What can I give You? 

Come splash your love on me, and I will send it back on a moon-beam for all to see. 

Beautiful words--did I say that to You, or You to me?

The clock flashes 4:10.  My body hurts.  I think I should be the one going for a procedure.  I want to love Him, but I don't know how.  I whisper words only He can hear, words I can't understand myself.  They come from the deepest parts.  Lord, speak.  I need to hear your song of love for me.  I...we...need mercy.

Believe, Daughter.  I am here.  Can you trust me when I don't do exactly as you think I should? Can you praise Me in your need?

I am tempted to gaze inward, to look for some reason--something that I did or didn't do--that prevents Him from answering my prayer, from sending the healing we so desperately need.

It's not about you. 

I know, but...

But...I am working all things for your good.  For every one of my children--because I love.  I am here when you feel my presence, and when you don't.  I am teaching you to trust, to love in the midst of the pain.  When you can do this, you will know that there isn't anything that I haven't already done for you.

You will know you are Mine. 

You will know Me.

Just believe.  And sing.  I want to hear your voice--sweet.

And Daughter, remember, praise brings the release.

Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her! ~ Luke 1:45 (NIV)

Photo Courtesy:  flickr - Feliciano Guimarães

The Dove's Eye

The night was black in the little town where I grew up.  People flocked to the local store, now locked tight, windows barred dark.  With nowhere to buy food, the panic-stricken wandered about the streets chaotic, unsure of where to go or what to do.  I felt trapped in the surge, claustrophobic, unable to move.

Towering above the crush of dazed and fearful faces I caught sight of my husband.  He was escaping the crowd, leaving me behind.  A sense of abandonment fell heavy, freezing my tears with the cold.  I tried desperately to get to him--shouted his name.  But he couldn't see or hear me for the tumult.

Devastated, I broke free of the rush and found a quiet place to rest leaning against the white-washed wall of the old Post Office.  I watched and waited, hoping to catch another glimpse, hoping he would remember and come back.

He did, just when I was about to give up.  But again, he appeared not to see or hear me, and instead, got into a shiny red truck and sped off up the hill toward main street.  I followed behind on foot, somehow keeping up.

As I walked with eyes glued to his back, his head and shoulders shining through the rear window, a song rose from within, gentle at first, but then in power and strength.  It was as if all of heaven was singing in the heart of me.  Joyful words flooded my senses until I could no longer hold them. 

The song escaped my lips with exuberance, propelling me forward, lifting me up and out of the fog.  The more I sang, the taller and stronger and bolder I grew.  The words were alive!

There is great, great, Great
Victory in the dove's eye.
There is great, great, Great
Victory in the Lord.

There is great, great Grace.
There is victory in the dove's eye.
There is great, great Grace.
There is victory in the Lord.

Oddly, the sides of my husband's red truck expanded to the left and right, taking up full the width of the road.   Neighbors began to come out of their houses and cheer us on.  I felt exhilarated, as if we were heroes being celebrated in a parade.  And I realized there were people following.

Suddenly, my eyes were opened to things I hadn't seen.  I noticed hard-rock wall on either side of me.  My husband was cutting a way through the mountain that had loomed ahead all those years.  The relentless opposition and oppression, the hopelessness and depression--all of it was leaving as he plowed.  And the sky burned brighter by the second. 

I continued to sing with heavenly voices, rejoicing in his accomplishment.  And I realized I was entering into a place in the Spirit that I had been longing for all my life.  Not only did I have dove's (single) eyes for my husband, I was in The Dove's eye.  It was a feeling I can't put into words. I knew I was born to live in this place of divine favor and victory.

When I woke, I could hardly speak, I was so alive with joy and power.  Then everything began to fade.  When I tried to sing the words of the song I was disappointed because they were no longer the same as in the dream. 

What I didn't realize is that somewhere deep a vein of faith--that of the Lord's-- had been imparted in my spirit.  I would need this for the days ahead.  In dreams, my husband is often symbolic of Jesus.  In this dream Jesus had come to show me He was making a way where there had seemed to be no way--not by might, nor by power, but by His Spirit. 

As I look back over 2010 it is clear that I needed joy and strength like never before.  It was a hard year!  A year of pruning, of losing my job and so much more.  (I wrote about it here.)  There were many times I wanted to give up.  But God! 

He poured grace in dreams, and gave strategies and strength for the days when I didn't want to go on.  He showed me how I simply needed to be like the dove--to fix my gaze and wait on Him, put my trust in Him and watch His victory come as I sang heaven's song.

I am still singing His song, and giving thanks to Him for bringing me through.

You did it: you changed wild lament into whirling dance; You ripped off my black mourning band and decked me with wildflowers.  I'm about to burst with song; I can't keep quiet about you.  God, my God,  I can't thank you enough.            ~ Psalm 30:11-12, The Message

Please, don't discount your dreams.  They are your own symbolic language for interpreting what can't always be seen or heard or understood with your natural senses.  Pray and ask Holy Spirit to guide you.  I have been journaling and praying over mine for years.  It is amazing what you can learn from dreams!

In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams. ~ Acts 2:17, NIV

On this day of grace I thank Jesus for...

176.  His victory
177.  His love
178.  His favor
179.  His power
180.  His joy


I am a little late, but I am joining Ann Voskamp and the community of gratitude-givers in appreciating God's graces.  Click on the button below to read other grace lists....

I am also posting @ Peter Pollock's One Word Blog Carnival where today's word is reflection,  and linking up with Jen from Finding Heaven for Soli Deo Gloria. Come join us!

 Click to read more about my Journey of Gratitude.

Photo Courtesy:  flickr - Dawn Huczek