Category: Blog Article

“You look like… a perfect fit,
For a girl in need… of a tourniquet.
But can you save me?
Come on and save me…
If you could save me,
From the ranks of the freaks,
Who suspect they could never love anyone”  *

“Medic, medic, we need a medic!” Another person lays bleeding out on the gurney where life is lived. Hope drains, trust erodes, faith wanes. “Where is that medic?”

We hear a still small voice within us to say, “Ask for help”

Inside ourselves we respond to say, “Hasn’t my life shown I need help? Don’t you get it? Do I really need to spell it out for anyone?”

Our prideful response blocks help and we continue to bleed out. “So this is how it happens huh? I lay here to fade away into nothingness. Dear God, I really am not ready, I don’t want to die! Help me”

The still small voice responds, “I only needed Your permission. Now let’s get started!”

* Lyrics Aimee Mann, Save Me

Sitting in the backseat I listened to my friends sharing their hearts. The good, the bad and even the ugly. Nothing inside of me was disturbed by the details. Life can be less than glamorous, even quite messy.

Closing my eyes, I think upon the truth in the moment I had shared. I had been invited closer; closer to these friends through their lives and experiences. Later as I followed them to a freeway exit I realized what a work was being done within me. I had no clue where I was as I watched their tail lights but I was in perfect peace. I trusted them, I trusted their hearts.

More is to come for the hour we share. Our Father draws us together for His purposes. He is pulling our hearts to beat together in unity. He will not be denied. I refuse to resist. I must go where He leads even in the darkest of nights.

A placebo is often used in medical testing groups. It’s the “phony” medication given to those who think they are getting the real deal. Made me think about our spiritual healing. Religion is a placebo, but relationship is the real deal.

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Mat 23:27-28  “What sorrow awaits you teachers of religious law and you Pharisees. Hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs—beautiful on the outside but filled on the inside with dead people’s bones and all sorts of impurity. Outwardly you look like righteous people, but inwardly your hearts are filled with hypocrisy and lawlessness.”

Father, will You tuck me in

Father, will You sing me a song

Father, will You make it all right

Father, will You please hold me tight

And when it grows dark

Will You turn on the light

Will You make it alright

Father, the world says I’m through

Father, I’m counting on You

To be the one who loves me through all

“Speak to me!” A cry from all humanity. We search the skies for hand written confirmations there is a God. We expect to see writing in the clouds declaring, “I AM here!”

God has always known we’d need affirmations of His presence, so He made such provision. He has written us love letters to read everyday we exist. They are written in every language we could possibly understand. With eyes open we can see them. We can read them one by one or in combination.

We can read them in words, in color, in our love for one another, in a flower, in an aroma, in a touch, in a song, in a passion, in a wonder, in math, in science, in fire, in water, in a rainbow, in the air that we breathe.

Love letters created for us to read and enjoy. Love letters to behold the magnificence of the One who is beyond comprehension for the depths of love. Even the skies declare His love letters in the sun and the stars. Love letters written in the very beats of our own hearts. Love letters written into our laughter, our smiles, even our tears. The language of love is all around us, always speaking, always answering humanity’s cries.

In the afterglow of sharing hearts for God, I sometimes find myself unable to sleep or even concentrate again on thoughts pertaining to life on earth. At times a certain guilt has tried to come upon me; A guilt that I spend too much time wanting to pray, read of, or speak of Jesus. I look at the truth though and push aside the lie that I am guilty of anything.

Col 3:2  Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth.

Sitting at a table in a downtown square, I drank my tea and listened to the conversation I was part of. My eyes were elsewhere. Every few minutes I could see a homeless one come through. They are the unseen even in such a public place. I disciplined myself to stay put, but took note of each of them.

I no longer wondered where they all came from. I’d begun to make friends while in the park. Their stories were all different but they were all the same. A brokenness of sorts was at the root of all.

Pro 15:13  A merry heart makes a cheerful countenance, But by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken.

“It’s been one of those days” he said. Without further explanation for what he meant, I just got it. I often think about what has been said long after I’ve left people and conversations. One of those days generally expresses “less than great”.

Being a lover of Jesus, I am often confronted with the curiosity of those who are looking for a religious expression of what that means. Somewhere in their background they have learned a lie about God. They either think He will prevent any problems to ever come into your life, or else they think Him a mean and judgmental figure. Many who think the latter often have some picture in their head of a grumpy old man with a really big magnifier, burning ants in the sun rays.

My friend was simply being honest. He was having less than a great day. I knew what he meant because my own situations try to make things less than great. Still I smiled and nodded wherein he did the same. Nothing further needed to be said. We were where we needed to be, in the center of truth, hope, justice and love. With another friend, we celebrated the goodness of God’s grace despite our current circumstance.

Days earlier I had been at a house where a stove flame would not properly burn without the rings needed to disperse the fire adequately. My mind kept going back to that scene over and over as I stood in this circle with fellow believers. The circle we stood in felt important, especially as we held hands; it was an unbroken ring. Again, I heard “blue fire” but I wasn’t comfortable to speak aloud about this word or any visions so I remained quiet. Prayers were being offered and I tried to concentrate for what was being spoken but my spirit was coaxing me to forget about my fears and speak.

I ask my Father often for the ability to obey without question but then I find myself arguing to do what I’m prompted to. (Just a truth being worked out in me.) Our circle did not break and my discomfort shifted quickly from my not wanting to speak to not wanting to disobey. Finally I shared with this group a word I’d already shared with others about “blue fire” and a brief explanation, as shared with me, about the blue to represent more purification in each of us in the body of Christ.

The Lord was gracious to let us all hear laughter in that moment. One of the women in our circle shared how once we had joined our hands, she had been given a vision of a blue flame that had went around our circle. More prayers were offered and we grew silent listening to the worship music playing in the background….“Who will let me be a ring of fire around them?”…sang out…we took note of this; it wasn’t coincidence.

Driving foreign roadways I was far from anything or anyone I could have called home. There were no street signs to guide me for where I was. I simply had to learn the terrain. I couldn’t even read my own license. It was written in another language different than that I had grown up with.

Restlessness often drew me to the beachfront and this night was no different. I had taken the long way homeward on the highway. Pulling into a parking lot I directed my steering wheel toward an open spot.

Crash!!! Stunned for the moment I didn’t understand what had happened. Once I got my bearings, I realized a motorcycle had tried to pass me on the wrong side in the parking lot. Scrambling out of my car I went to the downed rider only to be greeted with a barrage of what I was pretty sure to be curses. It was one of those rare moments where I didn’t need any translation for what was being communicated. Seeing him get up I felt overwhelmed with relief. His yelling was almost priceless in that moment.

Years later as I think about that man, I realize he never took off his helmet. I can’t remember anything about him except his anger. What impresses me though, is how we were both watched over that night. It was not allotted to either of us to die in that collision. Now and again I wonder if he thinks about that American girl he yelled at? More importantly I wonder if he wonders about why he walked away without a scratch?