Yeshua, my King {Romans}

The wind stirred the trees.

Her eyes opened and she looked to the right and to the left without moving her head. What had startled her awake? It was barely morning.

It was Him.

She blinked and took in a deep breath, breathing Him in. He had startled her soul and jolted her senses.

 "Yeshua. My King."

She sat up and tucked back the tendrils of hair that were floating about her face. What time was it? What day? She felt misplaced and yet deeply at home in the moment.

It was Sunday. And Yeshua was calling her.

Checking her iPhone, her blue eyes lit with surprise, as she saw that each and every notification, of which there were many, was the same breaking news, one after the next-

• Daily Wire- Multiple Sightings of Christ Reported From Numerous Sources Across the Globe.
• Newsmax- Israeli Christians Report Christ Sightings.
• OAN- Claims Of Christ Sightings In And Around DC Generate Excitement Among Christians.
• Google- Sensationalism Around Christ "Sightings" Perpetuated By Radical Conservatives.
• Emails from the churches she followed- The Day Of Christ Is Upon Us! Sightings Of Christ!
• From the few pastors she still respected- Beloved brethren, prepare your hearts to receive Him.

Yeshua is coming. He is coming!

My God. My Lord.

Heart skipping a beat, she closed her eyes and tried to listen to the wind. Getting up from her bed, she stood at the open window and listened to the tinkling of the windchimes as the sun was slowly rising. The tall grasses on the hillside swayed with the breeze, their rustling golden stalks moving in unison. The pine trees tried to gather the air with their needles as it moved through their ranks.

Hand against the window frame, she bowed her head and observed her thoughts. She prayed inwardly as she listened to the air, breathing it in as it communed with her soul-

Any movement which progressively pushes away from Your Word is of the world and not of heaven. May I never (Christ willing!) be found on the side which opposes the eternal and absolute Truth. The natural progression of the sinful world is towards chaos, confusion, disorder and destruction. As the world turns, with each passing day, the dissent into debauchery increases against Your natural order. If one finds oneself in the majority, this is not a good thing. It is a sign of heading in the wrong direction, for the Way is narrow and rarely traveled. If one finds that one's companions are in complete agreement with the progress of the world, this is a warning. For the Truth stands in opposition to the popular narrative which says heaven can be found here and now without a King.

How many others were being called at this moment, as she was? How many were there in total? Who else instinctually knew what she now knew in her depths?

She returned to her phone just as new push notification appeared-

The Governor was giving a campaign speech across from the Children's Hospital this morning hosted by a large local church.

She sighed and shook her head- a church, no less, because that is a favorite place for the darkness to hide.

She could see from the description that it was a progressive church full of proud social-justice warriors. The link took her to the top of her channel subscriptions, where it had an approximate 2 hour wait time until the service went live. 

And the Spirit told her immediately what her next step must be in this, the final hours of the final days until His immanent return.

Setting down her phone, she moved quickly and with precision.

She washed her face and swept up her long hair, pinning it loosely on the top of her head, then donned a long, light blue tunic, green yoga pants and tan sandals. She looked directly at herself in the mirror and saw in her reflection that she was prepared to walk the unpopular path. Then she headed down the stairs.

Each step down created a cadence, a heartbeat of the Spirit within her which spoke with rhythmic authority in the prayerful thoughts of her mind:

  If you walk the popular path, you are caught up in deception. If you seem to walk alone, or nearly so, be encouraged, for you are moving towards eternal treasure which can be found only in the refinement which comes at the cost of broken pride and painful humility. The Way is narrow- this is your sign to keep going, that you seem to be in a minority so small it can never win without swift deliverance from a powerful Savior.

"Yeshua, my King."

She took her grandfather's well-worn Bible where it lay on her desk, open to Romans and then deftly grabbed her keys. 

As she stepped into her car and started the engine, she paused and looked pointedly at the cross hanging from the rearview mirror, then down at the crumbling leather Bible she had placed on the passenger seat. It was the Bible her grandfather had used, and now she cherished it for every pen-mark and side-note he had added into the margins which she followed with her own pen as she read.

She looked next at the dashboard clock, which stared back at her as it silently clicked away the seconds in a rhythmic pattern which declared the work of the Lord with every tick. The day of the Lord was upon the world and judgement was near at hand.

Her grandfather had waited every day of his saved life for the calling she had received this morning. His lifelong expectations helped her to feel less alone in her lonely faith amidst a debauched culture of godless hypocrites.

"Yeshua, my King."

I choose to go with Christ. 

I choose to submit to an uphill battle with the world, both hands tied behind my back. In a sea of feckless, rebellious, licentious children of darkness, I choose to move intentionally against the culture. I choose to be misunderstood for being found at home with the undesirable and unchangeable Truth.

I choose You, the One who never changes, 

the One who will never bend to the stupidity of human demands.

The drive did not take long, and the destination was easily located because there were a number of streets blocked off to allow for a large protest demanding all sorts of radical social justice, inspired by the presence of the Governor and inflamed by the new-age ideology of the church which hosted him, aided and abetted by a score of media which was delighted in the abominations taking place among so many hypocrites of the faith. 

She found an empty lot several blocks away and pulled in, shutting off the engine. In the silence she shut her blue eyes and emoted a short and wordless prayer for protection articulated only by the sound of her breath. It was in the painful connection of prayer and intimacy that the Lord always met her, as He did now.

Then with a click of the latch she opened the door, placed her left foot on the earth and grabbed her grandfather’s Bible, cradling it in the crook of her right arm. With the finality of time gone by she stepped out, shut the car door and began to walk the road.

Breath in, breath out, He is all around me. Right foot, left foot, He is there in front of me. The clock is ticking by His command. The time to submit to the will of the Lord is now, right now.

Approaching the proud and angry crowd as she neared the church, she eyed a number of security officers who were casually remaining on the fringes, vigilant and alert should violence erupt. She saw a sea of both handmade and professional signs, each one bolder than the next, and numerous people milling about waving bright flags that were pregnant with meaning. There was a true sense of evil in the air, pervasive and potent, commanding and proud. The King was not welcome here, although His name was falsely invoked to empower these abominations of the human heart.

Holding the Bible close to her chest, she continued onwards at a steady pace, sensing the finality of her call and downloading the certainty of divine Protection in an otherwise dangerous scenario. Weaving in and about through the crowd, she was entirely ignored by the protesters other than a few casual and mildly curious glances from several bystanders. Coming up to the front of the church, she spied where a few stragglers were entering the front door and joined up behind them just as the service had begun. She edged into the furthest seat in the back, taking one of the last spots in the sanctuary.

When the singing began, she remained sitting, Bible hanging by both hands between her knees, head bowed in silence. When the crowd stood to applaud the Governor, she did not stand. But when he took to the stage, she lifted her eyes to observe his tall and proud frame, listening to his words which were confident and well-crafted. It was only after he had begun speaking, several minutes into his speech, once silence had covered the audience, then God called her out. It was the moment when the Governor declared that "I am proud to partner with faith leaders across our great state to promote equity and advance social justice and inclusion!"

"No" she said quietly, and then stood, the Bible of her grandfather securely in her grasp and eyes locked on the Governor as she began to walk towards him. The eyes of the security officers were immediately upon her, and as she progressed forward down the center aisle those eyes never left her. But the hands of those who would restrain her actions were stayed by a holy and just Father, the God who brings the dead back to life and who creates new things out of nothing. They watched her as if they were statues with eyes to see but without limbs to move or mouths to speak.

The Governor seemed not to see her at all, even as she came straight towards him, for he was enraptured by his own words and completely unaware of the change in the air which had come upon the entire room as she approached the lectern. The audience noticed her slowly but seemed confused as to who she was or what role she had in the service, and the many people pried her with curious but uncertain eyes, all afraid to say anything lest she was someone of importance.

When she was only several feet away from the pulpit, and after she had come just into view of the camera which was livestreaming the broadcast to the public, the Lord stopped time in its tracks.

On a moment of instinct, on cue from the Spirit within, she fell face to the floor, Bible open to Romans and thrown over the back of her neck as a shield, and she cried out against the floor in reverent fear and humility- 

"Yeshua, my King!"

It was then that the Governor locked eyes on her. It was then that the security personnel sprang into action, moving forward to restrain her. But at the exact moment this all happened, just as she cried out to the Lord, a great gust of wind came down from the sky and slammed the front doors of the sanctuary open with hurricane force, blowing signs and flags out of the hands of protesters, ripping bulletins out of the hands of startled churchgoers, flipping the pages of open Bibles madly, and causing such a loud noise that no screams could be heard over the rushing of air.

No person was moved from the place where they stood except for the Governor himself, as all this gale-force wind seemed to somehow concentrate upon him and lift him up and back, prostrating him flat on his back several feet away from the podium, unharmed but entirely stunned, speechless and immobile, as the security personnel had been a few moments earlier.

As the noise and wind abated, she took in a deep gasp as if coming up from deep waters for a gulp of air- for she had been holding her breath. At the same time she stood, held her grandfather's Bible against her heart like a shield, surveying the scene in front of her.

Time no longer stood still, and all eyes and attention were upon the Governor as they rushed to his side. 

The cameras kept rolling. The livestream never stopped. Though a technician moved to shut off the feed, he too was stayed by the will of the Lord.

Returning to her steady pace, she cleared the last few feet and stood in front of the pulpit facing the audience. Smiling into the camera, she addressed those who were watching- 

"Even when there is no reason for hope, we can cling to His promises! This hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because He has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love. My grandfather waited his entire adult life to see Christ return in power, and he died waiting. But he did not hope in vain! For now his own Bible, the one over which he prayed and poured over and made notations in, this Bible will be used to speak Truth into the darkness!"

And then her smile disappeared, and her eyes lowered to the pages as she opened her Bible to Romans. The Governor was only beginning to rouse and sit up, and those assisting him had not yet taken notice of her, although they would momentarily. The audience was held in rapt attention, still stunned silent by the wind that had blown their Governor off his feet.

"Behold the Word of the Lord-

'God shows his anger from heaven against all sinful, wicked people who suppress the truth by their wickedness. All people know the truth about God because he has made it obvious to them. For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities- his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God. Yes, they knew God, but they wouldn't worship him as God or even give him thanks. And they began to think up foolish ideas of what God was like. As a result, their minds became dark and confused. Claiming to be wise, they instead became utter fools. And instead of worshiping the glorious, ever-living God, they worshiped idols made to look like mere people and animals. So God abandoned them to do whatever shameful things their hearts desired. As a result, they did vile and degrading things with their bodies. They traded the truth about God for a lie. So they worshiped and served the things God created instead of the Creator himself, who is worthy of eternal praise! That is why God abandoned them to their shameful desires, turning against the natural way. As a result of this sin, they suffered within themselves the penalty they deserved. Since they thought it foolish to acknowledge God, he abandoned them to their foolish thinking and let them do things that should never be done. Their lives became full of every kind of wickedness, sin, greed, hate, envy, murder, quarreling, deception, malicious behavior, and gossip. They are backstabbers, haters of God, insolent, proud and boastful. They invent new ways of sinning. They refuse to understand, break their promises, are heartless and have no mercy. They know God's justice requires that those who do these things deserve to die, yet they do them anyway. Worse yet, they encourage others to do them, too."

She lifted her head up from the Bible and looked back into the camera.

"This is the Word of the Lord".

She shut her grandfather's Bible with a resounding thud. Her eyes swept the audience one last time and she turned to leave the stage. At precisely that moment she found herself face to face with the Governor, who had fully recovered his faculties and was staring at her. They spoke not a word to one another but with their eyes there was a wealth of communication in which deep called to deep. 

The look on his face surprised her- she expected him to be different, somehow. He looked vulnerable, like a child. Her eyes implored his with an unspoken admonition laced with Scripture- 

Look inwards and realize that without His Grace one can never escape the darkness that is consuming the whole world, because it is consuming you, too. For we are both a product of a sick and decaying culture, no matter how we try to escape it. Why do you think you can avoid God's judgment? Don't you see how wonderfully kind, tolerant, and patient God is with you? Does this mean nothing to you? Can't you see that his kindness is intended to turn you from your sin? But you are stubborn and refuse to turn from your sin.

The moment ended, she lowered her eyes in order to break his gaze.

She tucked her Bible back into her arm, turned away and began walking back towards the exit from which she came. The audience had begun to rumble with noises of surprise and shock as they discussed what had just happened, and though all eyes were boring into her with demands for answers, not a single person came near. She heard the Governor give orders to have her escorted from the building and followed closely to ensure she did not return, but this was not necessary as a great many in the congregation began spilled into the aisles several feet behind her, falling in step as she walked away to see what she would do next, blocking the way behind her as they filled in the ever-widening space between herself and the Governor.

She approached the doorway with a renewed sense of purpose come from above. Stepping into the sunlight, she appeared to the masses below. As the commotion behind her drew attention, her appearance in the giant doorframe, still wide open from the gale, drew attention from the crowd outside. The media zeroed their cameras on her as she stepped into the sunlight, hoping perhaps that she was with the Governor. She drew her hand to her forehead to block the sun as the many cameras glinted back at her.

Below her was a sea of confused and angry protesters who were scattered and scrambling about to gather their flags and signs from the sudden gust which had disrupted them. Noticing the strange sight of a simply dressed girl framed by so many people who were neither speaking to her nor coming near her, and seeing the cameras beginning to focus upon her, the protesters began to draw their attention collectively towards her with their eyes in curiosity.

Without another moment of hesitation, she stepped forward with first one foot and then another, down the church steps and right into the center of the crowd, which parted like the waters of the Red Sea. Clutching her grandfather’s Bible tighter, she held her head high and kept her eyes on the other side of the street, where she was headed with purpose- the Children’s Hospital. The people on either side of her jeered and mocked her, seeing that she was not one of them and noticing the way she held the Bible with too much certainty. The cameras followed her with hungry greed, eager to see what this live footage might gain them in views. For surely it would not end well, as it appeared to all who were watching.

She noticed as she passed through the sea of people how the faces of the protesters were a collection of angry, haunted, proud and depraved souls. One man spit on the ground close to her, and another woman turned so that the glint of a knife could be seen for just a brief moment. They were all searching for solutions to their internal suffering, and they were looking to the government to feed the eternal desires of their empty souls. The anger came from the growing realization that the government could never fill that cavernous and bottomless space within, a secret place deep inside which was reserved only for the King of creation. Their desperation to make the world into a sort of perverse heaven, and the subsequent and repeated failure of their leaders to quell their spiritual suffering, this was what drove them mad with hate. The insanity of continuing to turn to government to meet their spiritual needs was what fueled the ever-increasing levels of internal demand and outward accusations of blame.

At the other end of the sea of protesters, she reached the sidewalk of the hospital grounds. Going to her knees there on the path she bowed her head over her grandfather’s Bible and opened it to the place she had left off in the church in the book of Romans.

She first prayed aloud as she lifted her head to the sky above, hands upon the sacred pages-

“Father! The freedom we crave must be found within, for that is where You dwell in Your children. There is so much corruption inside of us. Humility feels so fragile, but it is in our places of weakness that You meet us. And this is my prayer, that our human conscience has not been deadened by the stupidity of the world in which we live. Do not let the religion of secular progressivism become a replacement for Your holy offer of eternal grace!”

The Governor was watching from the other side of the street, flanked by security. The cameras continued to roll, and the crowd pressed closer to see what might come next. 

She looked down at her grandfather's Bible and read aloud from Romans-

"They show that they know his law when they instinctively obey it. They demonstrate that God's law is written in their hearts, for their own conscience and thoughts either accuse them or tell them they are doing right. And this is the message I proclaim- that the day is coming when god, through Christ Jesus, will judge everyone's secret life."

Beginning to weep, she cried aloud, “May You be found in my secret life, Yeshua. Alongside my sins and all the corruption of my stupid generation, let Your name be written there, deep in the hidden place where the world cannot enter. Come to me, Yeshua, my King!"

And at this, she fell flat over the Scriptures, prostrate against the ground. And the wind which had come from the sky and broke open the doors of the church came once again. It blasted down onto the crowd with purpose and strength, and moved directly over the prostrate girl, up the pathway and over the steps to throw open the doors of the hospital.

It moved through every room of the entire facility, scattering papers with whirlwind force and startling hundreds of people inside. From several open windows all the way up to the top floors there could be seen documents flying out of windows like loose feathers from a startled bird. Shouting could be heard from inside. But what began as screams of fear soon turned to shouts of joy and wonder.

The girl remained prostrate as the sounds of shouting grew louder from inside- but she smiled into the pages of Romans into which her face was pressed, for she knew what came next.

A woman came running outside of the hospital, ecstatic and overwhelmed. “My child has been healed! She was in a coma, dying, and now look. Look! Oh, my God! My God!!” The child clung to her mother’s leg, frightened but completely healthy.

And that was only the beginning. Another man followed, declaring that his son had been admitted for a severe wound caused by an accident, and suddenly the bleeding had stopped and the wound had closed.

Then a flood of parents with their children came out of the building, shouting and proclaiming the healing that had overtaken their loved ones. Doctors and nurses followed quickly behind them, trying to make sense of the chaos which had overtaken their hospital, trying to keep track of their patients and create a semblance of order among them.

Not a single patient remained to be treated- not one. Every single child in the building would now be sent home with a clean bill of health.

At this turn of events the cameras were rushed to the scene at the hospital, forgetting all about the girl on the sidewalk in a flurry to capture exciting scenes of what was unfolding.

Gathering herself from the ground, she sat back on her knees, brushed off her grandfather’s Bible, and stood.

And there when she turned around, as he had been behind her on the church stage, was the Governor. He stood as if waiting for her to say something. 

This time no cameras were on them. This time it was only the witness of God that beheld their exchange of gazes, as the entire crowd and the media were entirely invested in gathering stories from the mass healing which had taken place inside the children’s hospital. Only a few security officers were observant, silent and stoic.

So she held out her grandfather’s Bible to him and said simply, “He is your God, too.” She smiled up at him. He blinked.

Without a word he reached out and accepted the Bible, hand clasping around it with an angry but also desperate hold, his eyes never leaving her face.

And as simply as she had begun her walk away from her car earlier that morning, she then turned around and began the walk back, leaving the Governor, the media and all the crowds behind. No one even paid her the slightest attention, except for the one who held her grandfather’s Bible and watched her until she entirely disappeared from sight.

And on the drive back she eyed the cross hanging from her mirror, glanced at the empty seat where her grandfather’s Bible would have lay, and imagined all the stories that would come from this day. She wondered about how this event would play a small part in ushering in the immanent return of her Lord to this world. She knew there would be more and greater acts of healing and Divine intervention in the days to come. She pictured others ushering in healing at cancer wards, emergency rooms, and political forums. She saw in her mind the way brave Christians would step into places of government and speak the words of Scripture that would break the power of sin over the minds of so many leaders. She imagined that someone would soon intervene with God's grace at the nation's Capitol in the same way she had done so today at the Governor’s address inside the church. And then another would bring a word of Truth into the White House and show the world that hope is not found in human government. Only in Christ.

Only in Yeshua.

Hope is found only in the One who appoints human leadership, who created these once whole but now broken beings who squabble for power. There is no hope in humanity. There is hope only in God. This is why we must seek him in the quiet moments when we are alone, when nobody is watching to witness our faith.

Yes, she knew that the news would spread fast- the King is on the move to fully establish His Kingdom.

Arriving home, she threw her keys on the counter, climbed the stairs, kicked off her sandals and lay flat on her back in bed. She was tired from all the emotional turmoil.

As she lay there she thought of her favorite songs, a playlist she had built to worship the Lord in private. Putting in her ear buds, she closed her eyes and meditated on the Lord.

Her mind wandered among all the Spirit-filled relics of her past as she considered all the ways the hand of the Lord had always been upon her, not just today but every day, even when she turned away from Him. For her King was faithful to the end. While the culture around her went mad and the whole world demanded ever-increasing change and progress, her God and His Word remained ever the same, steady and unchanging, solid as a great Rock in a sea of protest.

She thought of her grandfather and the legacy he had passed down to her in the pages of his Bible and the all the prayers he had prayed for her.

And after a moment, once she had relaxed, she felt a hand come to rest lightly upon her forehead, gentle and warm, loving and kind, like a Father. The windchimes outside picked up a new tune, gentle and full of beauty. The air moved as a sweet breath against her face.

She opened her eyes wide and there He was, smiling down at her. He kissed her forehead and she smiled from the deepest depths of her soul as she raised her arms towards him for His embrace. 

He had finally come to her. 

“Yeshua, my King.”

Amen.

An Appeal To Heaven: The Voice of the Hidden Heart

I raise an open palm to the heavens amidst a sea of closed and angry fists shaking with violent disdain towards the sky.

Oh Lord, humans are so fragile.

Close your eyes and imagine, just for a moment, (and this does not require faith, but only play-acting of the mind in order to involve the emotions, so that anyone can do it), imagine you are sitting at the dinner table alone with Christ. The person of Jesus Christ Himself sits directly accross from you.

He is not intimidating or judgemental. He is waiting with grace and dignity for you to speak to Him.

What do you want to say to this Man in this moment?

That is the conversation that must be had in order to move forward, no matter how imaginary it might be.

There will be anger and violent words, profane language like never before spoken aloud to the Lord, if one is honest here. Our fear of fragility always comes out in the deep voice of the hidden heart- it must all be said, this holy language of profanities, to recompense for our past silences on subjects pertaining to the state of our degenerate souls.

We are a proud people.

We need everything to be just so to suit our great pride. Otherwise our broken humanity is entirely overcome.

What do You make of our feeble nature?

You work in every lost and hidden moment to make Your own into holy children of light, the ones who appeal to their Father in heaven. 

Such an appeal to heaven can happen in those rare moments when Christ communes with your soul in the most mundane and insignificant activities that would otherwise be just another task forgotten entirely with the passing of a single hour. This is how you know that Christ is indeed within You, that He is divine, and that He is divinely hidden inside of your soul. This is that moment when the soul makes an appeal to Heaven because it longs deeply for Him, even when the mind does not comprehend Him at all.

Sometimes He remains hidden from us so that we may grow upwards towards Him with greater longing, our tendrils stretching up towards the sky and searching for Someone to cling to.

Often I feel nothing towards God and my prayers are silent. Only once, when I was vacuuming, I became suddenly aware that my soul was repenting before her King. I felt in my senses that my soul became prostrated before Him her Lord, in an involuntary but striking way that lasted only briefly without knowing precisely why. Certainly, there is a definite cause and a singular effect, but the former is not known and the latter is experienced involuntarily. I did not choose for my heart to repent in that moment, and for what I was repenting I am not entirely certain. But I am certain that it happened, and that it was a common grace, a communion within me even as it was an alien experience over which I felt that I had no control.

Once we are chosen by Him, we are never released. Not even in the long, desolate and dry paths of unforgiving and unrelenting unbelief.

What is one to do when placed under a psychological pressure that tugs at the heart in directions that would have seemed impossible to bare under ordinary circumstances? This pressing produces a new wine that is offensive to the palate because it is too new. We reject our faith because it is stupid! But stupid faith requires Grace, which is why He chooses the foolish ones of this world. The fruits of this season will not be appreciated until long after the passage of time. We appeal to heaven for that time to be now!

I sense that my hidden heart is in frantic preparation to receive her King. Such preparation is a time of chaos and flurry of the mind, as one might realize that the entire home is a terrible mess and a most Distinguished Guest is on his way. Once He arrives and she realizes it is too late to make order of the disarray that is her home, she can only receive Him at the door with face to the floor and palms pressed upon His feet, her forehead bowed to the ground in total surrender to His witness of her incompetency at being human.

We feel that this tension is too much. Is there any formula to conjure up Your presence?

Your Spirit is evasive when this question is asked, the answer always moving like the sea, always changing like the sky.

And yet. As the world shifts with every tide, You are the only Constant that never changes- for this we are in awe, and for this we are frustrated. Why must something as dry as Your Word be the antidote for our misery? We look blankly at the pages of Your Scripture and wonder in our great ignorance, "what is it?". We cannot understand the Unfathomable, and yet He sits accross from us in human flesh waiting with repose for our undiginified response.

We spend our entire lives trying to make sense of the world and our surroundings. We never can, not really. And so in the end one must fly to Christ. 

For where else can we go?

There is no other Truth to fly to! All else is empty, all else is shifting sand with no substance or form. Deep cries to deep. It cannot be any other way. The path of faith is full of peril and pain- His cross is our home, His grave is our consolation, and His eminent radiance is our highest call.

And so we are always searching, always longing. Always hungry and thirsty. Striving for something to cling to.

Christ, we cannot cling to Your Spirit with our physical hands of flesh! And this is maddness to accept.

Those who direct such desires towards You will raise an open palm to the heavens amidst a sea of closed and angry fists shaking at the cosmos. These are the many who accuse the universe of injustice, screaming demands and flinging hatred towards the One who will not bend in accordance to the base and depraved will of the hopelessly broken human condition. Such filth rages like a fire through the world, lapping up with a firey tounge every soul who chooses that wide and wayward path in deliberate defiance of the King. There are many for the way is so hard. The Unknown is so difficult to press into and requires a common Grace from outside the self, a grace that works its way within at such a slow rate that it is maddening.

And sometimes what seems like a rejection of the Person of Christ turns out to be a violent and profane conversation of a holy and indecipherable language exchanged with Him at the level of the soul, a conversation that lasts for days and weeks and months and years and only at the end produces the fruit of endurance which leads to salvation of the whole person- body, mind and soul.

We long for You, Jesus, so why do you remain so hidden?

Where is the King? Why does He not ride in and take His rightful throne on the earth? Why does He allow his creation to wander and squander, to destroy itself?

I know He is in the Scriptures which I lay before me in the light of the morning, my Grandfather's worn Bible which now has both my ink on the pages alongside his own. This Bible is a connection from past generations who prayed for me to the current generation which prays for mercy- mea culpa. Yes I know He is with me in the light of these mornings when I sit with my Grandfather's bible.

But where is my Lord in the dark of the world? When hatred and fear press in? When my great unbelief cows my faith into a corner and mocks it into humiliated submission?

I have seen a pattern in my fallen behavior of passing massive heaps and great loads of judgement upon others around me so that I am therefore rendered helpless to repent through self-reflection upon my own inner daemons. Is this intentional, or habitual? I cannot say, but I think it is the test of time, a trial which will be with me all my life.

I wonder now, why did God make His people wait for 40 days at the foot of the mountain while He spoke alone with Moses, the multitudes tired and confused and hot in the middle of a vast and vacant desert? This was on purpose, making them wait so long they experienced the full extent of the Egypt inside thier bones.

Why did He try them so, to the point of breaking? 

This is the purgation of His people, the drawing out of the poision which must be removed in a slow and steady manner, like diamonds formed from the dust over so much time under great heat and pressure.

And in our honest response, we do make idols of our impatience and worship them in our fear.

Why is He making us wait for so long in this vast and vacant desert? It is cruel. For He knows that we will fail! And then He will make us wait for 40 more years after that, wandering the hot lands of arid dust, left with only His manna and His shade to remember His mercies. This is how the voice of the hidden heart becomes strong enough to make an appeal to heaven- in the wresting with inner daemons, the inner world of darkness which must be slain and layed prostrate before His nail-pierced feet.

Sanctification can only happen in the desert. The journey is long and ardurous- do not be dismayed if you loose your faith, for it will be returned back to you seven-fold.

But oh Lord, humans are so fragile.

Close your eyes and imagine, just for a moment, you are sitting at the dinner table alone with Christ. The person of Jesus Christ Himself sits directly accross from you.

What do you want to say to Him in this spiritual practice? This is a holy moment now. He is waiting for you to speak to Him.

It is the conversation that must be had in order to move forward, for no matter how we berate Him, it can never void the unspoken appeal to heaven that rises up from our deep.

He sees our hunger rising. He knows we are waiting, and that it is really too much to bare.

There is anger and violent language in our desperate idolatry. Our fear of intimacy always comes out in the voice of the hidden heart.

And so we raise an open palm to the heavens amidst a sea of closed and angry fists shaking with violent disdain towards the sky, pieces of our soul warring together with one another in the heat of the desert as we wait for His reckoning to fall.

As I warm myself by the fire of my restless fears, the lacerations of this world upon the back of my King fall upon my ears, in synch with my ever-weakening and desperate appeal- 

Lord Jesus, Yeshua, Yahweh, Adonai. 

Rabboni!

Have mercy upon me,

a sinner.

Deliver us, Your people. Draw us to Your Name.

 

Amen.

Hope Comes Out [Sideways]

When the power suddenly goes out for an unknown length of time during a pandemic in which you are confined inside your home for an unknown length of time, one does the only sensible thing left to do without internet or outside human connection- write. And talk to God like a crazy person. And fold laundry. And wait.
And hope keeps coming out sideways, even when I cap it off.
How long will my cell phone battery last before I loose all contact with the outside world completely? How long until my hard-won groceries go bad? Crazed thoughts creep into the vaccume that once held proud, self-assured independence.
Yes, the quarantine continues, as do my complicated emotions. My Lord told me in prayer today- I have planted seeds that will be watered by the very hope that you feel is going down the drain. But hope is offensive, birthed out of pain. I have come to know the way I truly feel safer when I turn inward and hide from others. But my body betrays me when I long for companionship in this time of isolation. Anger ensues, which is the gateway to grief- but I cap it there. Yet I see now that when hope and joy are trapped by our fears, they always come out sideways. Now as I stand and bar the door to hope, pushing down against it with instinctual determination, it pushes back against me with a force that threatens to crush my willpower with a rush of admissions too great for words.

Yesterday I finally let my guard down for an hour and allowed one of my mentors to encourage me and even make me laugh. Afterwards I got such a severe headache that I had to go straight to bed- and as I lay there I told the Lord- I am programmed from the ground up to resist emotions and placate fears with a stoic heart. Here now my walls are crumbling out of pure necessity but my body does not know how to receive such grace. I think human love would break me if I received too much right now. When this is all over I fear the need I will have for human connection again- I struggle against the realization that I need to be in relationship with others. It is a lofty possibility that is best kept at bay. Because who wants to harness their own hurts going forward?

I have only been able to read two pages an hour- this does not bode well for academics. My mind races about me like it has a life all its own, and despite my best intentions I accomplish very little in terms of schoolwork. As the productivity of the world around me has reduced to nearly nothing, so has my own inner fortitude dried up like the song of a parched bird on a dry day. Here my Lord meets me in my wordless prayers- I have come this far with Him and we will not surrender our destination. Only He invites me to rest awhile in the shadow of His wings until the cessation of this desolation in which I find that hope is still coming out sideways. 

The power came on after about 45 minutes. Then it went back out. And came back on. And with each come-to-Jesus moment, I recognized my immense fragility, and I leaned upon my Lord just a little bit more than I did before.
And while 2020 keeps swinging its blows, hope keeps just coming out sideways.
 Amen.

Hoarding His Presence- Spiritual Provision in Quarantine

Emotionally unable to follow the instructions for my classwork this week, here is what poured out of me in response to the lockdown we are all experiencing-

       I have had to attend to my actual self in ways I did not know were needed- much has been revealed to me about the vices of my heart which have long been underground. Although this has been painful, it has been the grace of God because it has pointed me on the long road towards freedom. Not that I am free now- but I have sampled it and long for more. I realize now that I need Jesus to show up for me in real time and tell me truths about myself which I need to hear, but which no human being has been able to deliver in a way in which I can receive. My Lord, unlike His flawed human children, is capable of doing this in a perfect way, bit by bit, until I am slowly convinced of His Truth by the persuasive abundance of evidence He has laid out for me in my prayer projects, journaling and blogging. There has risen within me an inner clinging to Christ and a desire for fruits I have not yet tasted.

It is here in my essay that I wanted to pan out and give an overview of my spiritual transformation over the past 36 years, but because of the recent events of the “shelter in place” order for California, I am rendered incapable of continuing. I want to say I am confident and stable, secure in my faith, but my body betrays me- I am not emotionally or mentally capable of spending my time on the specific class material as it was assigned. Adapting this paper to my circumstances as best I can, I will do the only thing I am capable of today- attend to the work of the Spirit within me and submit to His prompting. Here a profound study of spiritual theology can be engaged as the Spirit leads me into my response to the oppression of social panic and fear. Here I find a tight window of observation where I can evaluate His spiritual formation within me on a smaller time scale, beginning with several events that are in direct connection to the quarantine order which is still unfolding today. As I have struggled to process and submit to the government orders, in my anxiety my Lord has drawn to my attention specific ways in which He prepared me for this coming trial. I find relief and purpose in looking at the way He has provided for me even in such a time as this and recalling the recent past which was nearly just yesterday. In this part of my essay I wish to touch on several specific events which bring me comfort in the oppression I feel heavy on my chest today as I continue to process the sudden stripping of my daily routine.

First, solitude. The biggest struggle I face in this quarantine is my lack of solitude- there is now never a time when I am alone, and this may continue on for another month or even more. As an introvert this brings significant challenges and high levels of stress. But the comfort is this- I have just come from a long season where I had more silence and solitude than ever before in my life. I was called to silence, solitude and tranquility of spirit almost daily for a number of months prior to this quarantine. It felt like a very specific calling, but I was mystified as to why. I was obedient but doubtful. It seemed I was hoarding solitude and silence with God, and the drive to do so came from outside of myself. This calling became a purgation where I was given the gentle presence of a non-anxious God. He sent me shafts of sunlight and choruses of birds in the day, the glow of the moon and melodies of owls in the night, a rocking chair for contemplation and prayer projects for purgation. This calling to a season of purgative stillness is one that stretched the capacity of my soul to now receive the season of this isolation starved of all solitude entirely. Here now I understand why my Lord was piling my memories high with a persuasive abundance of cooperative silence beside Him. While others hoarded toilet paper, I hoarded solitude with my Lord like it was a secret and valuable treasure. For this I am now deeply grateful, and thank my Lord for giving such a timely and perfect gift.

Secondly, a dream. It came several weeks ago. In it I don’t remember where I was or what I was doing, except that I was in an outside area full of many strangers. There in the crowd, I found myself locking eyes with a tall dark man across the way who was engaged in conversation with several others. In that instant, my heart was drawn to him and I literally forgot my earthly identity- as I watched him with rapt adoration, I could only recall with great effort the fleeting thought that I am a wife and mother. For me, once I discovered this man nearby, I could think only of him and never wanted him out of my sight again- all else dissolved in my consciousness except for this one thought, that I must remain near him and be seen by him for as long as possible. I desired that he know everything about me, that I stand out from the crowd to him. When I woke up I wondered who that could have been that my mind would concoct such a dramatic character that resembled no person I have ever known in real life. It occurred to me several hours later in prayer who this was- my Lord. It was He that moved me with love so deeply that I forgot all else entirely- indeed, nothing else mattered in the least except His presence. The object of knowledge in my dream, this tall dark man, so moved my will in love that my mind submitted with total assent to the love of God. This dream revealed to me the feelings that occur in a right relationship between love and faith- it gave me a goal and desire for fruits which I have only tasted but briefly. This dream exposed the potential of my heart, and I can now recall this image in a time of social fear, personal anxiety and stress when the properties of this quarantine become too oppressive.

Lastly, a resurrection. One day several weeks ago I witnessed a hummingbird smack into the window and fall twitching to the ground. It convulsed violently as I leaned over it, with tongue sticking out and eyes closed. I scooped it up with a napkin and lay it’s jerking body in the shade away from exposure to predators or heat. As I leaned over the tiny creature, the wind moved the chimes that hang from our balcony and I felt a prompting to pray. Simply as a child, I asked aloud for Jesus to heal the dying creature. Then I went inside and ate lunch, going about my day while keeping an eye on the bird. Several hours later, it had become entirely still but when I leaned over it I noticed its eyes were blinking. It was paralyzed, it seemed, but looking straight at me with awareness. I moved the napkin just a bit, and like magic it rose up into the air with the buzzing of its wings and promptly landed in a tree close by. It remained there for a long time simply looking at me. Unsure whether it was thankful or curious, I drew very near and met its gaze, contemplating in my heart the way my prayer had been answered. We stared at one another for several minutes before it flew away into the wilderness behind my home.

And here now I can conclude by saying that I have learned the voice of my Lord in ways that only He could teach me. All of this was in preparation for the trial to come. For this I am humbly thankful, and see the fruits of His transforming process in a time of need. During this quarantine so far I have drawn upon all these recent memories as ways to aid in the transformation of my heart that is occurring under the pressure of disruption and change. Specifically, today is the first Saturday of quarantine, which makes it a hard day. I finally have enough time to move out of response-mode and think honestly about the sudden stripping of my daily routine. I have settled into a new way of isolation which weighs heavy as I slow down today to stop shouldering the load of change. Today and in the days to come the enemy will be at work trying to pull me into old sin habits which numb or redirect the pain. Because of the spiritual transformation He has been working in me over the past months, I am aware that I have the option to stand strong by remaining open to the Lord. I can lean on these memories of His work and allow Him to lead me by His voice which I have actually begun to recognize in bits and pieces.

The trust comes now when I look at the ways He has already led me. As I listen to the sound of His voice in the upper room of my home, where the sunlight streams in, the breeze blows through the chimes and the birds chatter amongst themselves, I can trust that He is working. When I sit and contemplate in that chair upstairs, I really believe that He is near- that He draws near to me as I draw near to Him. In this place in my home I can find reasons not to surrender to the temptation to squelch the transformation happening inside, but to open to it. The sin habits of my heart will grapple with my human fragility and neediness, yes. But when I hear His voice I can remember to surrender to my weakness in Christ rather than my strengths in sin. He has continued to give me today my daily bread, and although quarantine is not the same as solitude, His response to my call has not changed at all. When I falter, which feels like hourly since this began, He invites me to remember His provision of comfort.

Indeed, I have been comforted by things out of my control- owls that visit in the night, hooting back and forth in the dusk, birds flitting and chattering throughout the day, a breeze which rustles the drapes and wraps around the chimes below my balcony. The sunlight which streams in onto my rocking chair and warms my toes while I write, and the clouds trail across the blue sky. The yellow blooms and the green leaves grow for miles behind my home. I can control none of these things. I cannot summon them to come or force them to remain. When the owls visit, I am grateful and call back to them without claiming them as mine. When the dying humming bird rose from my hands, I was delighted without crediting my will for making it so. When the clouds roll by, I gaze upon them with joy without demanding them to stop or perform for me. Thus, when my Lord comforts me in this difficult time, I can open to Him without demanding that my trials be taken away. I can receive without hoarding because He continues to provide. If that which I do not control can comfort me, what then should I fear? Clearly, my Lord provides because He loves. I am learning even as I doubt. Hour by hour I must trust anew, and hour by hour He surrounds me and invites me in this ever-unfolding process of hard and unwanted change. That I sometimes hate the fragility and weakness of my own faith does not daunt Him- the persistence of my Lord is gentle but firm. Just as my doubts about God do not keep Him from working new life in me, neither does my fear of tomorrow prevent the sun from rising upon a new day. His provision of transformation is not fragile, nor is it conditional- in this I find hope.

A prayer rose up in me on the night the quarantine went into effect- This prayer has been simmering and bubbling within me for over a week now.  Every time I came to the computer to begin my work, my Lord simply said “not yet”, and I sat there for several minutes drawing a blank until I surrendered and walked away. After the “shelter in place” order, it was midnight when my Lord began forming these words in my soul, and I argued with Him because it was late. Yet I also recognized that it was Him because it was given at such an inopportune and unexpected moment, quite against the desires of my flesh, which was to go to sleep. As the Spirit had His way with me in the tossing and sleepless night, my prayer finally emerged up and out onto paper. As it poured out, I surrendered to His will even as I struggled against it. Prayer truly is a battleground these past days. Comfort cannot be hoarded, only received. Truly, His work is stirring forcefully in me like an abundance of persuasion within-

Be still oh my soul and know that He comforts you. This is a deep and hidden comfort that cannot be detected by your worldly senses. Be still and trust that He comforts you, my soul, but He does so in secret. The fruit of this comfort will be a new wine, formed under the pressure of fear and crushed by the passing of time, this mental and emotional pressure to which I am now subject. The Beloved is making a new wine in me, and He is making a new way through me. May I carry this mission with honor, that I am a chosen vessel for the fruits of His crushing and pressing. Be still, oh my soul, and know that my Lord is the Provider, the refiner and the beautifier of my eternal being. The pressing will only push me deeper into Him. The crushing will only open me more deeply to His love. The world will taste this new wine and so He will be glorified through me, His beloved child. In Christ’s holy name.

Amen.

Upon Retreat - The Re-Opening of my Soul

This past weekend I spent 12 hours on retreat with the faculty at ISF. This was my written response for the prayer project that followed...

On retreat my soul began to open to love in a way it has not since I hit a wall several years ago. In response, I find myself retreating from these feelings in fear and uncertainty- 

I highly doubt my motives for such an opening to love. I believe that for the most part when my soul begins this opening up it will take into itself the wrong thing. 

What is this blooming that defies the dark 
and rides the wind?

In my experience this is true: the bottomless hunger that awakens within me will absorb the easiest thing within reach that appears to be safe and fulfilling, regardless of whether my judgement is actually correct. Based upon past experience, that which my soul draws in will be detrimental to my needs and desires. It is a self-destructive process with momentum; this hunger, when it does surface, is painful and full of endless longing, and it is compelling with a force that quickly becomes all its’ own. It hurts others, and it hurts me.

One dysfunctional aspect of this opening up is a desperate belief that I can rescue another person with my goodness- 

this desire to rescue another human is usually the catalyst which prompts this hunger to surface. 

What is this growing in the barren places?

In the past I believed that I could rescue another, and that they in turn would love me through a realization of my special gifts and unique spiritual powers. Now, beginning on this retreat, I felt, quite against my will, this gaping blooming which began to rise up in my soul once more. It has a voice of its’ own that suggests Love might be calling me again. I had the realization during retreat that it is a hungry reaching which has driven the story I tell- always a desire to rescue is motivated by a need for love, which leads to my unhealthy attachment to the other. 

And always, this attempt to rescue and attach to another has ended so poorly that the relationship was destroyed, my needs rejected, and I was left floating in the sea of unmet longing.

This time, however, this floating has met with a slowly dawning awareness based on experience that I still do need to be attached to someone. This is a spirit attachment, the kind that moves beyond the physical realm. And on retreat it struck me against my will- awareness that the reality of this need has not gone away. A general depression met with a remembrance- 

my soul is still capable of deep opening to another in love if given the right circumstances. 

I felt myself drawn to the people around me on this retreat who were sharing their heart and then listening to mine. I felt myself safe in the presence of authority figures who appeared to be spiritually stable and emotionally healthy. The hole in my soul which longs to share in intensive emotional bonding with another was stirred deeply. I spent the 12 hours of this retreat experiencing others share and also listen to me in ways that awoke the gnawing, gaping hunger for emotional and spiritual attachment that far exceeds the limited capacity of any human person.

In spiritual direction the following week, my director and I spoke of the progress and gift of this new awareness, but also the pain. To acknowledge these unmet needs inside of me is haunting and disturbing- to experience them hurts. 

I believe that I am called to attach to God, and that no other being on earth can offer me what I truly need in this area. It is not a need of my flesh, although it manifests itself in that manner because the spiritual will always spill over into the physical.

Where is God in this place? 

He dwells in the open places without filling them.

Oh how I long for my Lord to fill these empty spaces.

This blooming reveals a barrenness within.

Here my Lord abides.

Here I experience the frustration of realizing that He will not rush in to fill the gap. Rather, He seems to be sitting with me in it, experiencing it with me rather than fixing it. 

I have felt Him draw near to me in my unhealthy responses without doing a single thing to alter them.

I find this confusing and uncomfortable. My Lord seems to desire a dwelling within me in the broken and empty recesses of my unhealthy soul, but He seems to have no intention to begin repairing them at this time. I want Him to rush in and fill the hungry place that has awoken, or I want it to go dormant again. But I realize that I cannot force the hand of my Lord to act, and neither can I be fully human if I suppress my unmet needs. On retreat my soul opened up and howled like a lone wolf in a barren wilderness, panting beneath the moon in hurried search of a drink to slake her deep and desperate thirst.

This blooming has created a vaccume, a space between, full of need.

My God, my spirit is hungry and my soul is weak.

My desires are decrepit, weighed down by the pride of the flesh.

Sin concatenates around my human needs.

This is the opening of my soul upon retreat.

May the will of my Lord be done in me.

Amen.

The Preparation of My Soul {The Incubation of Hope}

In preparation for a 12 hour retreat with the larger ISF community-

I shall not be blown from my purpose 

by the strong winds of conflict, 

for I am fettered 

to a nest of Hope

by the strong branches of Love.

This is the preparation of my soul.

This is the incubation of hope.

The Lord has prepared a great level of fresh angst for me to explore during my upcoming 12 hour retreat. For the past few weeks much has surfaced in my heart and mind that needs the healing work of Christ- I am powerless to change the things which have arisen from the depths within me. Ugly things which are vices and rooted in sin. Things which I cannot pray away, although I often try.
In prayer now I am given a memory which is astoundingly poignant for what I am experiencing in this place- I recall a time when I was probably about 10 years old and my family visited a carnival that had come into town right against our backyard. 

For some reason I don’t remember, I decided to ride a sideways ferris wheel- it spun you around and around like a spinning top, doing both small circles individually while gyrating in one larger circle simultaneously. Nobody gave me sound advice to avoid this bad decision, which was bad because I am not a risk taker, am prone to carsickness and struggle with fear and anxiety. But for some evasive reason I decided to get on. The moment I was buckled in I had doubts, and the moment it started I felt the complete horror of utter helplessness in a situation that attacked my psychology. 

I remember screaming as loud as I could to stop the ride, but nobody heard me. Then my body went limp and I experienced utter helplessness akin to physical pain as I suffered the worst anxiety of my life for 3 minutes. When it was over I remember being totally traumatized, but I put a smile on my face because I did not want to upset my family with my needs and insecurities. So I trudged on through the rest of the carnival as if nothing at all had just happened that was even the slightest bit upsetting, while processing internally the absolute horror of that whirlwind of anxiety that was my own disturbing secret. I silently chastized myself about how stupid I was to get on that ride and avowed to never attempt anything that was even remotely similar, ever again. That experience was filed away as an unacceptable mistake and the trauma was buried quietly down into my deep. I learned to hide and I learned to protect myself- both of which are in opposition to love.

            In a similar way, I am on this ride right now- in fact, I am just getting off of it for the hundredth time and vowing never to get back on it again. I will hide! I will protect myself! But each time I vow to keep my feet firmly planted on solid ground, I eventually find myself climbing back in and getting strapped into a three minute ride that will leave me dazed and anxious for weeks to come. The repetition of this pattern is wearing on my soul in astonishing ways as I grow older and develop deeper awareness of my internal struggles and responses to the trials of life. I find myself screaming at God “make it stop, make it stop!!!” only to realize that nothing I do can stop the momentum of the trial I find myself barreling through. Eventually the only option is to become submissive and allow waves of anxiety and fear to consume my physical and mental being until the ride is over, then get off, put a smile on my face, and process the trauma internally and alone.

But what of my soul?

 While my psychology screams for someone to please turn off the trauma, what is going on inside my soul? In this time of prayer, I am reminded of an eagle’s nest that is not far from my house, where two bald eagles take turns sitting on their fragile eggs. There are any number of discomforts and trials that they face as they sit- wind, crows, cold, heat, fatigue, hunger, poky sticks and achy legs to name a few. But they just sit and sit and sit. The eggs incubate in the heat of their stillness, and their submissiveness is key to this mundane process of growth. When incredibly high winds threaten to destroy their nest, they just keep sitting. When the eggs have been unhatched for too long and are over a week late, they just keep sitting. Even if the eggs are sterile and never hatch at all, they will keep sitting until the dud eggs finally crumble from decay. As my daughter observed, “they never lose hope!” And this is true. Their identity is not in raising babies or building successful nests- 

their idenity is not in being a successful family member. 

If one nest is destroyed or the eggs are dead, they will simply try again. And again. And again. They do this by sitting. And waiting. They sit and wait without fear or doubt about their purpose, which is to be an eagle and to be willing to incubate whatever God wills to give them.

My Lord invites me into the stillness of contemplation.

And this repetitious pattern of sitting and waiting reflects in contrast against the vicious cycle of anxiety and helplessness of that relational carnival ride upon which I find myself periodically and unwittingly strapped. If perhaps my vacillating state of mind is in stark opposition to the constant incubation of my soul, if perhaps my idenity is not found in being a successful family member, then perhaps....perhaps my Lord is showing me that all is well. While my mind vacillates between solid ground and the propulsion of yet another round of harsh relational rebuke, my Lord invites me to sit and incubate a hope that will prepare me for His purposes-

I sit and wait through the discomfort of trials
because my identity is in Christ.

Even as the cold wind blows hard from the direction of relational warfare, my soul will not be shaken. No matter how many times my being is to be strapped to that scary three-minute ride, no matter how many weeks my psychology must suffer to recover from it, my soul continues to sit and sit and sit in solidarity and confidence on a nest of love in a tree of life. Despite the angst of my mind, my soul can be grounded in this one thing- even if I fail as a successful family member, my identity is in Christ. I am still an eagle and can fly to my calling and sit though all manner of trials as my Lord incubates His will beneath my wings. The eagle that is my soul will never be stopped from hoping, because that eagle is identified in the calling to be an eagle, no matter what may come. 

This is the reassurance I receive from my Lord in this time of prayer- I am not identified by my relational standing in a human family. I am identified only in Christ. Eagles are not eagles because they are successful members of a family- they are eagles because they are eagles, because that is what God made them to be. Whether they fly or sit, raise babies or fail to do so, they do not lose the hope of being eagles. Whatever comes, they are eagles. They can sit idly upon a nest, even one with dud eggs, and be completely at ease and please their Lord in their faithfulness to incubate whatever He has ordained to give them. They incubate hope.

My mind may vacillate, but my soul is steadfast in its anchoring to my Lord. As darkness rises, light rises to meet it, and the eagle keeps watch from its faithful perch where transformation incubates silently and hidden beneath the wings that were granted to it by Grace. This is the slow preparation of my soul for union with Christ, which is the calling for all of His children.

All is well, my soul. All is well.

This is the preparation of my soul.

This is the incubation of hope.

Steady as she goes.
Amen.