Category: Blog Article

The race began before I was born, in places I had never visited. I noticed the race by divine appointment only. I’d heard a trumpet call to come near, an invitation to cheer on champions who were engaged in the running. At first I stood behind the fences observing these mighty athletes, but curiosity drew me forward. I wanted to get closer to the action. What I saw both frightened and inspired me. Each champion clearly ran with purpose and their eyes were singularly focused upon the trophy alone. I watched some stumble and fall so hard I couldn’t imagine them to ever be able to rise again. To my amazement even the most wounded champions arose to keep pushing towards the goal.

While my eyes watched these champions I could hear a whispered voice asking me to help. I didn’t know how and then I saw the bucket of water nearby. Reaching for it I grabbed some cups and stepped out from behind the fence line. One by one I filled the cups and handed them to each champion as they raced toward the finish line. The bucket never seemed to empty and the champions kept coming.

I laid the necklace out on my desk before me. A friend had given me this gift a couple years back. It was a simple round disc with the word “FAITH” stamped into its metal and had an attached mustard seed. I reviewed the meaning of faith as the world defines it with a dictionary…confidence or trust, belief that is not based on proof, belief in God. A pastor had recently put his hand upon my head and shared that the Lord was giving me the faith to move mountains. I agreed and continually I practice growing in my faith.

Closing my eyes I become a child of vision, seeing things as they could be and praying in faith for them. I speak healing of cancer and sickness, freedom from bondage, salvation of souls, unity of hearts and love beyond measure. Humming a song, I hear the words, “I see forgiveness overtaking hatred, pride & prejudice now giving way to love, I see depression replaced with joy and gladness, and satan’s lies now bowing to the truth…do it Lord, do it Lord, we are praying that Your glory may be seen.” *

* Lyrics by Travis Cotrell, Do It Lord

 

The birds float on my strength, playing on the swirls of my breath

Those who notice are amazed

I blow through the leaves, sounding out my presence

Those who notice are amazed

I stir up the waves, declaring my power

Those who notice are amazed

I breeze through the fields of bright flowers, spreading my scent of goodness

Those who notice are amazed

When I grow quiet, they are amazed who take notice

I AM the WIND of the LORD

In my mind I am free! I dance around a bonfire barefoot in the middle of a rain without restraint of inhibition. I yell and sing whatever silly syllable of heart expression is upon my tongue. I grab up handfuls of mud, squeezing them tightly in my fists, letting go of rage I sometime feel within. I tilt my head back opening my mouth wide and I am filled with the cleanest of water. I just want to drown!

Sitting at the kitchen table she blurts out, “time is short”, and again I know I hear the truth for the hour we are living in. An experience comes to mind when I was awakened abruptly out of a sound sleep by the Lord’s voice clearly saying, “time, what are you doing with your time!” My life has never looked the same since, in spite of the questions put to me. I know there is but one purpose for my time; I am to pray, share love and witness to as many as possible. It’s a full time job, changing day to day for what that looks like. Some listen, most think up excuses not to hear.

The Lord:

Psalm 39:4-5 (ESV) O Lord, make me know my end and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting I am! Behold, you have made my days a few handbreadths, and my lifetime is as nothing before you. Surely all mankind stands as a mere breath!  

The World:

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it’s sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you’re older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I’d something more to say. *

*Lyrics by Pink Floyd, Time

I can hardly wait to get away from people, to be alone with the Lord. The pain of the world screams at me like an accusation, wanting me to stumble in my belief. Entering the door of my home, I close it behind me, falling upon my knees. Once more I let the wreckage of my heart be loosed in tears and words I don’t understand.

Contending for promises, I am relentless in my hope, refusing to be silenced in the prayers I offer. I remember this sacrifice, a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart. I remember how God will not despise this offering. In time I rise once more to take in deep breaths. Restoration begins in this most private of places.

An old tale of a selfish emperor who only loved to wear his beautiful clothing comes to mind. Swindlers wanting to make some coin convince the prince the clothes they have made for him are invisible to any who are unfit to see them or they are hopelessly stupid. The emperor ends up parading naked before the crowd and only a child has the courage to share that he sees no clothes on the man, exposing the truth.

I sat quietly today learning a new variation upon this lesson. My reputation is nothing, becoming less every day. I come and go unseen by those who seek the beauty of a world I shed prayer by prayer. With each layer of my life laid down, transparency becomes more comfortable clothing. No one is swindling me trying to convince me to wear my own beautiful clothes weaved to impress others. Instead I am being stripped of anything I once wore to parade before the world. Now I am to stand naked before society wearing the invisible robes of my King. And it’s the children of Jesus alone who will see my Kingly garments.

I ran off the end of the diving board without fear, yearning to jump higher and farther with each try. Over and over again I took pleasure in jumping into the deepest waters of the pool. At the time it made me feel “mature” and I longed to be where the brave kids were. Those who didn’t need to hold onto the sides. I even tried to look “cool” while coming up for air. Now I laugh at that childlike faith I’d be okay and not drown. It means more today than ever.

An echo of an old question keeps being resurrected, “where are we meant to worship”? I can visualize that Samaritan woman laughing at us for being so dogmatic in our instructions to the sheep all these centuries later; not having understood the truth she was given first hand.

Standing in many circles, I feel the presence of the Lord when we gather to worship as one. All the questions men place within me disappear. I remember who I am when I worship in spirit and in truth.

^{(Message) John 4:23-24} “But the time is coming—it has, in fact, come—when what you’re called will not matter and where you go to worship will not matter. It’s who you are and the way you live that count before God. Your worship must engage your spirit in the pursuit of truth. That’s the kind of people the Father is out looking for: those who are simply and honestly themselves before him in their worship. God is Spirit. Those who worship him must do it out of their very being, their spirits, their true selves, in adoration.”

The brickyard was a place where earthen building materials had been collected. Each one in turn was fired, stored and sometimes sold or otherwise distributed. The requirement was conformity and the bricks were measured for their usefulness. Each brick had to fit into its place easily without any special adjustments. This was needed so the roof would be level for its fitting. The roof cover was important to get right that no leaks from the rain could come into the buildings. The bricks that didn’t meet the measurement were easily traded away to desperate builders who couldn’t afford top of the line bricks. The unsalable bricks were simply broken up, smashed and pulverized to be left in a heap until something else could be done with them.

One day a man passing by the brickyard noticed the heaped up pile not being used. He went inside the brickyard to inquire if he could take it away for them. Eager to be rid of this garbage they even helped the man cart the earthen materials to His garden plot.

Once the brick builders were done discarding the pile in his garden, the man went about assessing the earthen material. Becoming excited he began separating clay from the man-made substances. This took time and patience but he knew it would be worth the effort if he was to build a good dwelling. When he was done sorting, he gathered the clay for his potter’s wheel. Scooping up by a handful he worked day and night to make his own stones, one by one. Now and again one of the stones would spin in a wrong manner. With patience he’d take that handful, reworking it once more until it was worthy of a place in his wall.

The man worked long hours, humming and laughing aloud. The brickyard workers would often bring more garbage heaps, happy to be rid of them. Each time the man would smile and thank them fervently for their generosity. For years this exchange went on. In a corner plot portion of his garden the man had added each stone as he made them from his own hands.

The brickyard workers never took notice of what he was building and the man never felt the need to point their eyes to see it, recognizing they were focused on their own work. He just enjoyed building the home he would live within. He purposed to leave the roof open, letting the rain come whenever. He reveled in its refreshing, dancing in the downpours washing over him. Raising his hands skyward he would sing and laugh while touching each of the stones he had crafted on his potter’s wheel.