Rain

Rain has settled in today. Seems it would like to stay for a while. It's the kind of rain that just is. Nothing looming about it, no black in sight, just the soft, steady dropping beneath gray. It's the kind of rain that invites the mind to visit thoughts which have been tucked away for a while. Knowing the danger of going there alone, I ask Him to join me in the quiet moment.

In days past an air of staleness had silently floated in and was hovering. It revealed itself in the smallest of ways- unsatisfied, restless feelings, forced patience, compromises. Enough to feel the check, but not enough to bring me to my knees. So, it seems He has chosen rain and conversation to take me there today. There is something, He tells me. Something here that has no place. Something here that must be brought into the Light today.

A vision of a long hallway lined with doors on each side wanders into my mind. Each door beautiful and unique. As we open each one together, well ordered scenes are revealed. The mark of care and effort is woven into each. We stand in front of the last door. The name on the front reveals a source of unsettled emotion. The relationship between the stale air and the unsettled emotion is revealed. I am encouraged to open the door. The scene inside is full and disorderly. I am surprised at how much is there. So much unconfessed. So much waiting to be called by it's proper name- sin. Questions flood in. How could I have been so blind? Did I feel the checks and chose to ignore them? Pride stands up and takes credit and I must admit I have known all along. Comfort comes and glorious Light shines on it all and washes over the darkness of condemnation. I hear Him remind me of His presence. I hear Him invite me to confess it all now. I feel His peace rush over me and my spirit lifts. Unsettled emotion disperses and Trust settles into the empty space.

Rain nourishes thirsty creation and He does the same for me.

He washes away my filth.

He restores me.

He nourishes my tired and worn down spirit.

Praise rises from the deepest part of me and tears flow as steady as the rain.

O Lord, You have searched me and You know me. Psalm 139:1

The words hit hard that day, sinking deep into my heart where it was recognized as the conviction it was meant to be. From that moment on I committed to always be able to testify intimately to His work in me. I never wanted to be found again in the place where I had willingly given up the generous offer. I am always looking. Always searching for the lesson, for the Word that is spoken just for me. It is always there. Every time. Without fail. My reflection of Him is so often shabby and distorted, but Spirit reminds me that the work which will yield the most glorious results will be hard and messy. Would I be willing to submit myself to His masterful hand? Would I be willing to endure the shaping and molding that would come from this yielded spirit? The heart desire surfaces again gently reminding that I must be ready to give an account. And to give an account, work is necessary.

Too much time has been wasted bathing in the lukewarm water. Forgive me Father. What is this measure of patience He has with me to mercifully wait while I weigh options and tinker with Truth? With brazen confidence I allow myself room to consider His commands and desires for me. Cries for forgiveness find their way up from the inner most parts of my heart. The prayer of surrender is birthed and I give myself up to the refining. Shabby and distorted is the reflection seen in the mirror. Cleansed and usable is the reflection seen in His eyes.

Ask me and I will tell you -every time. I will tell you how His glory and grace wash over me every moment of every day. How he is sanding away the filth and shaping the seemingly unusable into purpose. How he takes human ears and tunes them to know His voice and his precious commands.

Ask me and I will tell you.

I will give the account. My heart will confirm and my mouth will testify.

Every moment of every day.

I am given over to the Hand of my Creator.

Father hold me here.

The Call

The call came late one night. It brought the kind of news that breaks hearts. Little one known to many would be fighting a long battle for his life. Cancer had made it's claim on his young body and immediately we begin to pray. The praying turns into scripture searching which again turns to praying and then again to the Word. An endless cycle of seeking our Healer. We take our place on the front lines. Relentless pleas burst from our being. Our own little ones struggle to understand this looming death, but accept their call to take it to the throne alongside us. 

Spirit works and moves in us - in me. Always guiding, always directing, always interceding. So why am I surprised when He chooses to divert my pleading words away from this little one to someone far sicker? This one had left her youth behind many years ago. We were born of the same blood. Carved from the same DNA. Created to share the bond of sisterhood, but separated by a divide so wide only He could build the bridge across. Only His power and her submission could soften her wandering, obstinate heart. 

Spirit confirms how good it is to pray for the little one who's physical body wastes away, but how much more necessary it is to petition for this lost sister-child. She spiritually wastes away. If little one succumbs to his dying body it will only release him into the arms of his Father. She has no such Hope. Why is it so easy to line up for the unexpected, seemingly unjust battles and so hard to stay steadfast in the lingering ones? Is spiritual sickness not vastly more devastating than any physical sickness? Why am I not relentless on her behalf, on the front lines every day, pleading for her life? Conviction weighs heavy and my heart begins to crumble under it. Tears of repentance wash over me. How do I begin? I confess I don't even know where to start. He reminds that Spirit is waiting to intercede with passion and direct alignment to Perfect Will. All moving to the same pulse with the same desires. Forgive me for failing to lay her at your feet every day. She is worth that. Blot out my pain and reshape my heart. Write her name on it with your Holy hand. Give me your passion for her, Your one lost sheep. You are out looking for her. She has strayed so far. Draw her to You. Help me have a relentless, passionate love for her.

Oh prodigal child....come home. 

We are waiting.

He is waiting.

A challenge and a choice lay before me today. A gift passed on from a servant-disciple who is always obedient to the call. Both the challenge and the choice are heavy with expectation and promise of unexpected blessings. Whispered prayers slip heaven-ward...Lord, help me make the right choice. 

We spend our whole lives avoiding death, fighting the natural process we are all destined to. At the same time we spend spiritual lifetimes avoiding the death of our flesh, taking equally particular care and caution to preserve it by way of complacency and fear. 

I am left to check myself. 

Death to what? Do I really need to ask... as if I don't know? This stilled mind can compile the list if given the charge. But will I? How much easier to choose life. To move forward with ease and accolades. "What could death bring me?" lingers in my mind. Emerging from the deep thought, I am faced with the amazing, unmeasurable reality of what death has already brought me. Why then would I hesitate to put to death this consuming self in order to gain it all? In death I would walk into Almighty arms that give purpose and promise to carry. That fill all the voids. That grace me with comfort and assurance. The choice seems simple and the challenge knocks. Will I? 

One path leads to glory that delights Self and the other leads to Glory that delights the One who IS pure Delight. 

Again I find myself giving up answers and again I choose yes. 

Who dares turn down the invitation that breathes life and purpose in order to feed a hungry lie?

 May Light consume all my dark places...