He doesn’t look like me
He doesn’t talk like me
He doesn’t act like me
Who is he?
Then I hear my Father
“He’s my son”
Heart Surgery
He asks me what he can do for me a lot. It can be such a knife to my heart because I understand he loves me that much. It causes me to look within myself to ask, do I love the same? To prefer others more than myself? To want to serve them at the cost of my own desires?
The knife cuts deeply. Surgically working to remove the hardness, so new soft tissue can grow. My heart aches in deep places.
Eze 36:26 I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will take the heart of stone out of your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.
What Is Lack?
“He who gives to the poor will not lack” I read it but I want to understand it well. What is lack? I live in one of the richest countries in the world and have more than probably 80% of the poorest populations. My eyes look around me however and the comparison is what blinds my sight. If I can only see myself as I stand next to my neighbors than my vision is skewed.
I must look to my heavenly Father. He alone will clear my vision to see the truth. I lack nothing I need. I have a husband, I have friends and family who love me, I have a home, I have food, I have health, I have clothing and these are all good for what I need in the natural. It’s not the natural that matters much though.
When I look at Abba Father, I realize I have the greater things. I have love, I have hope, I have peace, I have joy and I have a desire for more of these supernatural treasures. I can help feed and clothe the poor to the best of my ability but that will only take them into another day of survival.
The best gifts to offer those who are truly poor would be love, hope, peace, joy and a hunger for more of the same. Food and clothing are but a doorway into the house of my Father. Offering them what I have to share in these supernatural treasures will point them towards eternity.
They Numbered Five
I went into the office to close down my computer. Raised voices bled in through my open window. I ignored them for a bit, but a tug of heart wouldn’t let me be. Putting on an old shirt, I went to poke my sleeping husband. It seemed reasonable to have him know where I’d be if I didn’t come to bed in a couple hours.
I met them at the curb. Five kids of random ages. Each of them seemed to come from various disappointments of life. When I entered their circle they looked at me for what I was to them, out of place. Within a few minutes, I had a download for a language I had never spoke before, but my heart did. It was their street lingo.
I learned they had rage for a girl who was dating a guy none of them liked. It was some twisted matter of honor. As I stood in their circle, they seemed to tolerate me being there, even humoring me to explain their code of honor. I listened as best I could about some intolerance for this girl who shouldn’t get to sit in the guy’s car. None of them seemed to know why beyond the reason of it being a dishonor in their own mind.
I could not have been more out of my element but still, I was standing on this curb with these “cool” ones. I stopped thinking about who I was, and concentrated on who I heard them to be. I asked them over and again about their own names. I didn’t fully understand why this was important but I obeyed my heart to keep talking to them about their names.
Within a matter of minutes something changed in them. The rage seemed to fall away and laughter came. One of the girls said, “I get what you’re saying, we are important so why should we let her bother us so much!”
From that point on the kids thanked me for coming to just hang with them and being cool about it. The hour was close to midnight and I wondered about their parents even knowing they were playing in the streets this late, but I kept the question to myself. Leaving them I went back into my home. They were precious to my heavenly Father. I thanked Him for the privilege to again pull me out of my comfort zone. I prayed for them and for their futures and thought again about their number….five….grace.
Oak Witness
The oak was tall, offering shade and privacy. I knew this tree but didn’t come this way often. Feeling drawn toward it, I began quieting myself to listen. The beauty of nature itself took my breath away once more. How could we be so blind as not to see the obvious?
Standing still I began to hear music in my spirit. Without thinking for rhyme or reason I did my best to release a song of heart. Such songs came so spontaneously I didn’t try to stifle them with my logic. When my song waned, I felt as though my chest had been punched and I choked momentarily with tears. It passed quickly and I stood once more in silence.
There was something I had to do. Moving down from the trail I put my hands on this oak. Its size gave declaration of age and hardiness to have withstood all manner of trials. A love for this witness warmed me and I felt inner peace.
I took off my backpack and made a comfortable place to lean upon my friend. His sturdiness for my back lent me strength and his location gave me solace without feeling pangs of loneliness. Looking out from beneath his huge branches of coolness and protection I could think of no place else I wanted to be. The grass around me was tall and dry from summer heat; it looked like gold to my eyes.
I took out my journal but after a few sentences I put it away again. I couldn’t capture the words anymore than I could capture the breeze that blew about me. Putting my arm down upon a root growing from the oak beside me; I took a lesson from its stature and just sat still. In my waiting, I lived in the moment, enjoying it for what it was.