God Is Doing Something New- Genesis 37

Reader, be warned, these are the kind of dreams that clear the way for uncharted territory. They get down into the parts of you that you didn’t know were there. These are the kind of dreams that require surrender and submission to refinement. They mean emotional storms and broken hearts and great turmoil. You will need to surrender your baby dreams to the One who can mature them.

Sometimes a dream will fall into your inbox quite by accident- but really, this is Providence. And other times, dreams will follow you into your sleep quite intentionally- because God is doing something new.

Truth be told, I am no better than my ancestors- I dream threatening dreams full of foreboding joy, ones which require the shedding of past loves and the pursuit of offensive transformation. Dreams which build solid foundations right over top of the crumbled remains of failure, dreams which are sturdy enough to withstand all future storms. The sand is not rejected- it is remade, hardened into thick and solid glass by the intense blaze of refining fire.

This is the way of Kingdom victory.

It’s time for new dreams.

It’s time to choose your future.

I am leaving my two brothers behind me now, the ones I have walked with through an important time of learning. I cherish the time I spent with them in Genesis 27-33, because they taught me so much. They have been my teachers of hard lessons- forgiveness, failure, redemption and conflict. I owe so much to these broken brothers of the past, because our stories are so similar and our paths are forever connected through the refining work of the Spirit, weaving our stories together with divine expertise.

But now it’s time to let go, it’s time to move forward. I am called to embark on a new journey- it’s time to walk with Joseph.

We will choose to let God do something new- the future is unfolding now.

It begins in the pit of silence and solitude. Depression is God’s gift to the body when it’s time to slow down. No, not the clinical kind that needs medical attention and medication- that’s a different thing entirely. I mean the semi-depressed state you fall into after the adrenaline of your epic success or astronomical failure wears off. This is when the fight comes to an end and your breath slows and you have nothing left to do with your hands, so you pick up your ball and go home.

Sometimes the adrenaline can run on for months and months afterwards, and then one day the smallest unexpected bit of finality brings the great let-down which lays you low. And this is the blessing- the body does not trust the judgement of the mind, rightfully so, and it imposes rest upon it. Here in this place of couches, beds, pillows, blankets, floors, park benches, pews, empty rooms and kitchen chairs there is a whole new world of opportunity- this is the place of slowing down.

 This is the place where dreams are made.

It’s time to choose something new.

During a time like this my ancestors in Scripture sometimes run into the wilderness and sit down under broom trees, praying for the end to come and sleeping for days on end while angels minister to their desperate hunger and thirst. Others are plunged into lions dens or a dark desert well or a prision cell to wait for Providence to rewrite their story.

As for me, I do not need anything so dramatic- I simply find a spot on the carpet where the sun shines through the window and makes a large checker-square of light on the floor. I sit down on my knees, there under the light, becoming so small, and I bow my head and pull my dark green prayer shawl over myself. I am surrounded by a glowing shade of greenish light. The warmth is a nurturing embrace, welcoming me into the soft rays of peace and rest.

 The adrenaline of strife has drained away- this is the resting place. This is something new.

Angels minister to my needs as I glow there under the refining light. Sand is hardened into thick glass.

This is the place where new dreaming takes place, here in the warm embrace of the Son.

God has been interacting with me during the healing process, responding to my journey in ways that reveal He is close during my time of need. When Cain was filled with shame, so was I. When Hagar was revered for her controversial story, so was I. When Esau wept at the feet of his superiors, so did I. When Jacob injured his hip wrestling with God, so did I. And this week is no different.

As Joseph dreams, so do I.

Indeed, God has given me a dream this week which has blazed light onto the sandy foundation of my shifting expectations. This dream reminded me that my past keeps me humble, but never disqualified. Quite the opposite- I get to choose how God sees me now, as a broken victim or a redeemed and honored child of the King.

It’s a real dream, not a made-up story. It came to me quite by accident, on precisely the perfect night, because the prophetic movement of God is seldom early but never too late. I will share half of it now and half of it later, with the dream of Joseph set down right in the middle-

I was in the backseat of a car with an older female driver and passenger- they were the guardians of my future- angels perhaps? Kind but serious and wise beings with the logic of reason and the influence of decision- we were house-hunting together. We were looking for the perfect location for my new ministry. I was a teacher of the Scriptures and I needed a place to give my leadership a home. I would be teaching children, and I needed a location to make this plan a reality.

I needed a safe place to rebuild my dream.

We drove up and down the coastline of California, looking for just the right spot. Problem was, there was a violent storm. Most of the beach was thrashed by wind and waves. Every potential seaside location was too dangerous. And it had to be a shoreline location, right by the water- this was a non-negotiable for all of us.

But as we drove, silently observing the damaging effects of the storm, we came around a bend where one small strip of sand was completely protected by a long, tall jetty covered with big, old shade trees. It created a harbor, a safe haven, a place of solitude and safety. The storm had not touched this small strip of sand.

 We all looked at one another and nodded in agreement. This was it.

This was the perfect place to build a foundation- it would be protected from the storm. Here I would begin to rebuild my ministry of leadership. My dream would have a home.

But it was with foreboding joy that I thought of rebuilding my ministry upon the sand- in the past this had ruined me. So there would be much work to do in preparation, in order to lay a foundation upon this place. Sand would need to be refined and made firm, or my building would be in vain. Although it was protected by the storm, it was still exposed to the expanse of the rolling sea and the tides of change.

Yes, there was much work to be done.

And so my guardians turned the car around and they marked the little stretch of beach on a map so that we could return with the tools, support and the Help we would need to begin. And we started the long drive back down the coast, retracing our path through the storm. I pressed my face to the window and gazed out at the wind and waves- the haven of safety was small but it looked so full of hope and potential, so that I am was longer discouraged by the raging weather.

And just as we came around the bend, as the new location moved out of sight, I saw a tiny home all by itself on the other side of the jetty, on the exposed portion of the beach. It was being pounded by waves and appears to be completely endangered by the storm. It is clearly going to be destroyed very soon.

 I watched it as long as I could. I look very closely, curious. And inside the window I saw a Man writing something at the kitchen table, totally engrossed in His work and unconcerned, totally unaffected by the chaos all around the little house. I wondered at His concentration.

I recognize the baby in the highchair next to him. I have seen this baby before, in my nightmares, in my dreams, and for the tiny tribe of readers that have followed me from the beginning of my story, you will recall this infant child…

Sometimes eternal promise looks like a bad dream which is actually the generous and loving intention of the universe. A dream can help the mind bring closure to an otherwise impossible reality.

It’s time for new dreams-

I declare that this is closure.

God, I invite Your Spirit to do something new.

I have come to Genesis 37 now, to dream with my brother Joseph. And be warned, these are the kind of dreams that clear the way for uncharted territory. They require storms and broken hearts, trust and great danger. We will have to make peace with lost and damaged things- He takes it all. We will have to surrender our baby dreams to Him for safekeeping.

We rest now in the waiting because we will soon be working hard in the toil of transformation.

These dreams will leave the sleeper forever changed.

This is our story.

² This is the account of Jacob and his family. When Joseph was seventeen years old, he often tended his father’s flocks. He worked for his half-brothers, the sons of his father’s wives Bilhah and Zilpah. But Joseph reported to his father some of the bad things his brothers were doing.

Right away you see that Joseph does not fit in. Instead of joining the group, he stands off to the side and judges it. Right or wrong, (and mostly right!) this judgement does him no favors. It will earn him hostile excommunication from the people he called family. He has no filter, and he will pay.

His emotional intelligence is still so immature- my brother and I have so much to learn before we can achieve our dreams. The refinement is only beginning. The baby stages of faith are when we toddle towards danger without any idea it’s there. This is the opposite of vulnerability- it’s stupidity.

I am with you, Joseph. Me too, brother. There is so much shame in this place, because we are young and dumb and full of longing.

³ Jacob^[a] loved Joseph more than any of his other children because Joseph had been born to him in his old age. So one day Jacob had a special gift made for Joseph—a beautiful robe.^[b] 4 But his brothers hated Joseph because their father loved him more than the rest of them. They couldn’t say a kind word to him.

Have you ever found yourself completely alone in a crowd of familiar faces? This can happen when we do not fit in and we become hyper-sensitive to it for the first time- for any reason, really. In this case it can happen when something you cherish becomes offensive to people- maybe it’s a coat of many colors, maybe it’s a baby you want to save, or perhaps it’s a confession that nobody understands. It is something which symbolizes your difference from everyone else, a stigma that you cannot bring yourself to deny or discard. It is the place of vulnerability, and when we are still immature we don’t understand the danger of storms, the surrender of baby dreams, and so we build castles in the sand.

When we flaunt our coats of many dreams, it puts distance between ourselves and our community. 

Right or wrong (and mostly right) because we are emotionally immature and our judgement is inhibited by our ignorance. We are just babies with no concept of hard work, patience or restraint.

We lack the proper perspective which only the Dream-writer can give. We lack the safety of wisdom.

⁵ One night Joseph had a dream, and when he told his brothers about it, they hated him more than ever. ⁶ “Listen to this dream,” he said. ⁷ “We were out in the field, tying up bundles of grain. Suddenly my bundle stood up, and your bundles all gathered around and bowed low before mine!”

How stupid of us to think we could say such a thing out loud.

But it cannot be taken back now- and once spoken it unleashes the power of stupid words upon our head.

⁸ His brothers responded, “So you think you will be our king, do you? Do you actually think you will reign over us?” And they hated him all the more because of his dreams and the way he talked about them.

This is the ripping away of the old to make room for the new. Here we surrender our baby dreams. It is unfortunate that it will cost us so dearly, but to enter into the resting place we must have every hindrance and distraction stripped away. This is our own doing, but all lost dreams can be reborn in time.

We can do nothing else because we know so little- we are still just babies. We repeatedly try the same thing again and again, always expecting a different result. This is insanity. We are ignorant of how our behavior is exhausting and defeating to those who try to help us. We are caught up in ethereal visions that don’t translate well in our present condition or our current environment. Our castles are all upon the sand, and the storm is corroding the beach.

⁹ Soon Joseph had another dream, and again he told his brothers about it. “Listen, I have had another dream,” he said. “The sun, moon, and eleven stars bowed low before me!”

Even now, when warning signs are all around us, we do not have the eyes to see or the ears to hear. Childlike innocence is our folly- stupidity is our sin. We keep talking, speaking death to our current destiny and setting the course for an entirely new trajectory.

God is doing something new.

¹⁰ This time he told the dream to his father as well as to his brothers, but his father scolded him. “What kind of dream is that?” he asked. “Will your mother and I and your brothers actually come and bow to the ground before you?”

This is what we have been made for- to dream ridiculous and impossible dreams, to surrender our babies to Him and trust the outcome. But most people cannot understand, and we ourselves do not understand.

There is a Higher Power at work within us, doing things that don’t make sense.

¹¹ But while his brothers were jealous of Joseph, his father wondered what the dreams meant.

Once in a while we will at least find someone who can glimpse a bit of the hope and promise that is prophesied within our offensive words. We are lucky to find a friend who listens and asks curious questions, someone who senses a divine potential in our unfolding story. Our prophetic ramblings are noticed by a few, and the universe nods in recognition, acknowledging this truth from afar.

Our prophetic words will be honored in due time. Our baby will be raised up. Yet this moment of deep-seeded interest cannot last for long because the story must continue on into the hard place.

¹² Soon after this, Joseph’s brothers went to pasture their father’s flocks at Shechem. ¹³ When they had been gone for some time, Jacob said to Joseph, “Your brothers are pasturing the sheep at Shechem. Get ready, and I will send you to them.”

“I’m ready to go,” Joseph replied.

¹⁴ “Go and see how your brothers and the flocks are getting along,” Jacob said. “Then come back and bring me a report.” So Jacob sent him on his way, and Joseph traveled to Shechem from their home in the valley of Hebron.

My brother and I walk unknowingly into a nightmare of sorts, the kind that makes our dreams of victory seem so far removed from reality. We are only babies, but we will soon learn and grow.

Yet there is a Man who is writing our story, and He shows up on the scene, right before we fall headlong into disaster. He is the protector of children in stormy weather.

¹⁵ When he arrived there, a man from the area noticed him wandering around the countryside. “What are you looking for?” he asked.

Our Redeemer, of course. The composer of stories, the writer of symphonies, the dream catcher, the Father of broken children. He keeps our journey on course, because the hard place must be reached in order for our transformation to begin. He points us in the right direction.

¹⁶ “I’m looking for my brothers,” Joseph replied. “Do you know where they are pasturing their sheep?” 

¹⁷ “Yes,” the man told him. “They have moved on from here, but I heard them say, ‘Let’s go on to Dothan.’” So Joseph followed his brothers to Dothan and found them there.

As we round the last bend, we come upon a scene that looks innocent and inviting. But remember that we carry much emotional immaturity, and we cannot rely on our own perception to perceive the truth. Reality will rear its’ ugly head and bring our ignorance and stupidity crashing down on our very heads like a giant wave from the sea.

¹⁸ When Joseph’s brothers saw him coming, they recognized him in the distance. As he approached, they made plans to kill him. ¹⁹ “Here comes the dreamer!” they said. ²⁰ “Come on, let’s kill him and throw him into one of these cisterns. We can tell our father, ‘A wild animal has eaten him.’ Then we’ll see what becomes of his dreams!”

The world hates dreams- it wants to crush them. Especially the dreams that don’t fit into nicely formed communities or well established religions. Because dreams can be nasty things, unexpected and offensive. They are made of foreign stars, full of hope and light and promise. And to shed this light on the darkness of others, well it blinds their eyes and exposes their failures. In a world driven by religion and propriety, dreams are a threat. 

Dreams make people angry sometimes, especially those who have none or have lost the ones they wanted.

²¹ But when Reuben heard of their scheme, he came to Joseph’s rescue. “Let’s not kill him,” he said. ²² “Why should we shed any blood? Let’s just throw him into this empty cistern here in the wilderness. Then he’ll die without our laying a hand on him.” Reuben was secretly planning to rescue Joseph and return him to his father.

Yes, thank God for that one friend who understands and wants to be there for us. God bless that precious human being who will stand up for us in some small way. But our dreams are too big to be contained, and the push-back is too great to overcome with well-meaning intent. Nobody can talk their way out of this one. Nobody can save us from this.

We are stripped of our childhood folly and childlike innocence- this is the storm of reckoning. Our childlike dreaming is in need of rescue.

²³ So when Joseph arrived, his brothers ripped off the beautiful robe he was wearing. ²⁴ Then they grabbed him and threw him into the cistern. Now the cistern was empty; there was no water in it. ²⁵ Then, just as they were sitting down to eat, they looked up and saw a caravan of camels in the distance coming toward them. It was a group of Ishmaelite traders taking a load of gum, balm, and aromatic resin from Gilead down to Egypt.

We are stripped of everything that gets in the way of our dream becoming wise. This is the dark pit of forced rest. Any potential hindrance to our complete victory is taken from us. And we are thrown into the crucible, the place of refinement. This can be a dry well in the desert, the shade of a broom tree in the wilderness, a prision or a pew or a soft pillow on the floor in the sunlight, but it’s all the same.

It’s the resting place, where we are forced to evaluate our dreams from a place of solitude and silence, devoid of all human understanding.

And so we wait for our transformation like a caterpillar anticipating the destruction of all things within itself inside the dark, confining chrysalis.

²⁶ Judah said to his brothers, “What will we gain by killing our brother? We’d have to cover up the crime.^[c] 27 Instead of hurting him, let’s sell him to those Ishmaelite traders. After all, he is our brother—our own flesh and blood!” And his brothers agreed. ²⁸ So when the Ishmaelites, who were Midianite traders, came by, Joseph’s brothers pulled him out of the cistern and sold him to them for twenty pieces^[d] of silver. And the traders took him to Egypt.

Here we go now! The storm has begun. We don’t know it but God is doing something new. All this pain and sorrow is only the beginning of a beautiful adventure. There will be so many setbacks and detours, but they will all be necessary to make us into who we are becoming. We are carried away on the back of destiny, a slave to uncertainty but certain to succeed.

Our story is unfolding and it feels unreal, like a nightmare.

But we are not forgotten- God always leaves a remnant.

Thank God for that one friend who sees and cares.

²⁹ Some time later, Reuben returned to get Joseph out of the cistern. When he discovered that Joseph was missing, he tore his clothes in grief. ³⁰ Then he went back to his brothers and lamented, “The boy is gone! What will I do now?”

There are those we leave behind who truly appreciate our worth- these are rare friends who you should shower with gratitude whenever you can. Hold onto them. These are the people who will be Jesus to you in a harsh and critical world. These are the kind ones who step out from the depths of legalism and religion and show us how to rise above. We will see this friend again, after our transformation is complete and His plan comes to fruition and our baby dreams have matured.

But for now we say goodbye and turn our faces into the wind.

³¹ Then the brothers killed a young goat and dipped Joseph’s robe in its blood. ³² They sent the beautiful robe to their father with this message: “Look at what we found. Doesn’t this robe belong to your son?”

Growth requires grief- the dream will cost because of our foolish ignorance. Others pay the price, too, and mourn what must be lost to the violence of the sea. Our dreaming will mean the dashing of pride against the rocks. Some good people will be hurt in the storm of our emotions, because in times like this you hurt the people who are closest to you.

³³ Their father recognized it immediately. “Yes,” he said, “it is my son’s robe. A wild animal must have eaten him. Joseph has clearly been torn to pieces!” ³⁴ Then Jacob tore his clothes and dressed himself in burlap. He mourned deeply for his son for a long time. ³⁵ His family all tried to comfort him, but he refused to be comforted. “I will go to my grave^[e]mourning for my son,” he would say, and then he would weep.

Oh and the damage we have left behind, it is insurmountable. Only the blood of Christ can clean up this mess. There is much to regret, even as we walk steadily away, footprints in the sand. Through our own foolishness we have brought offense upon our head and wounded the hearts of those who loved us.  In the violence of our own storm we will lose our baby dreams to the wind.

It is certainly complicated; this impossible weaving of dreams is the union of pain and promise, hope and fear, regret and certainty, storms and peace.

Such a mess we leave behind- the damage will last for years to come.

God is doing something new.

But there is not time for mourning now, it’s time to follow Joseph up out of this pit of dark solitude and on through the desert to the place of destiny.

³⁶ Meanwhile, the Midianite traders^[f] arrived in Egypt, where they sold Joseph to Potiphar, an officer of Pharaoh, the king of Egypt. Potiphar was captain of the palace guard.

It’s time to let go, it’s time to move forward. I am called to embark on a new journey- it’s time to walk with Joseph. It’s time to choose a new future.

It’s time for new dreams.

We start by resting and making room, saving space for the Spirit to move.

And depression is God’s gift to the body when it’s time to slow down. No, not the clinical kind that needs medical attention and medication- that’s a different thing entirely. I mean the semi-depressed state you enter after the adrenaline of your epic success or astronomical failure wears off. Sometimes the adrenaline can run for months and months, and then one day the smallest unexpected bit of finality brings the let-down which lays you low. And this is the blessing- the body does not trust the judgement of the mind, so it imposes rest upon it. Here in this place of couches, beds, pillows, blankets, floors,  park benches, pews, silent sanctuaries, empty rooms and kitchen chairs there is a whole new world of opportunity- this is the place of dreams.

During a time like this my ancestors in Scripture sometimes run into the wilderness and sit down under broom trees, praying for the end to come and sleeping for days on end while angels minister to their hungry emptiness.

As for me, I find a spot on the carpet where the sun shines through the window and makes a large checker-square of light on the floor. I sit down on my knees, becoming so small, lower my head and pull my dark green prayer shawl over myself. The warmth is a nurturing embrace, welcoming me into the soft rays of peace and rest. The adrenaline of strife has drained away- this is the resting place.

Angels minister to my needs as I glow there under the light.

This is the place where new dreaming takes place, here in the warm embrace of the Son.

And indeed, God has given me a dream this week which has shaken the foundations of my expectations. This dream reminded me that my past keeps me humble, but never disqualified. I get to choose how God sees me now- as a broken victim or a redeemed and honored child of the King.

Because sometimes eternal promise looks like a bad dream which is actually the generous and loving intention of the universe.

A new dream can help the mind bring closure to an otherwise impossible reality.

I have stepped into Genesis 37 now, and I too have been given a new dream to hold onto, because God is drawing near to me during my time of healing...

We had pinpointed a safe harbor for my new classroom- I was a teacher of the Scriptures and I had found a new place to belong. A foundation upon which to build a ministry of peace and reconciliation.

And just as we come around the bind, right when the new location moved out of sight, I saw a tiny home all by itself on the other side of the jetty, on the exposed side of the beach. It was being pounded by waves and appeared to be severely endangered by the storm. I watched it as long as I could, enraptured. Because inside the window I saw a Man writing something at the kitchen table, totally engrossed in His work, unconcerned and unaffected by the chaos all around Him. I did not see the expression on His face as He was looking down, but I wondered at his concentration as He wrote. And I recognize the baby in the highchair next to him.

I have seen this baby in other dreams, ones which came to me at the beginning of my long hard road to victory. Yes, I know this baby. It used to be my dream for leadership, the calling of my heart for ministry and connection, and I thought it was lost to me in nightmares long past. It was the child of my desire for serving the church, born in another lifetime. I held this baby when I wore a coat of many colors, like my bother Joseph. I held this baby while I destined my fate, speaking words of foolishness.

Dear Joseph, our fate was foretold in our childlike ignorance.

And as my guardian angels drove me out of the storm and into new vision, I saw this baby, this child of my hopes and dreams, in the care of Another, protected from the wind and waves even as they crashed against the frail and threatened home where the Man was busy writing. The baby did not cry- this is the first time I have seen this baby without tears. For the first time my hopes and dreams do not feel dashed.

 And I myself did not cry- instead I felt certain that the Man would know when it was the right time to leave, and He would take the baby with Himself to a safer place. I watch the window disappear out of sight with a strange confidence that all would be well.

My dreams are in Safe Hands.

And I turned my thoughts to the work still ahead of me- that place of ministry which I would build with the help of my divine guardians on a piece of beach protected from the storm of swirling emotions. This was the beginning of a new kind of kingdom, one that had both hard work and high risk and great reward. A foundation full of hard-earned wisdom.

Such are the dreams of my ancestors, too, the ones who took the long hard road through the storm towards victory, entrusting the safety and care of their precious things to the One who wrote their story, holding fast to peace in the midst of the turmoil.

Reader, be warned, these are the kind of dreams that clear the way for uncharted territory. They get down into the parts of you that you didn’t know were there. And be warned, these are the kind of dreams that require surrender and submission to refinement. They require emotional storms and broken hearts and great turmoil. You will need to surrender your baby dreams to the One who can mature them.

We rest now because we will soon be working hard in the toil of transformation. These dreams will leave the sleeper forever changed. This pit of despair is the waiting place for the renewal of all things.

Sometimes a dream will fall into your inbox quite by accident- but really, this is Providence. And other times, dreams will follow you into your sleep quite intentionally- because God is doing something new, and because you are following an ancestral brother who is a dreamer of dangerous aspirations.

I myself am no better than my ancestors- I dream threatening dreams full of foreboding joy, ones which require the shedding of past loves and the pursuit of offensive transformation. Ones which build solid foundations right over the sand, sturdy enough to withstand storms. Ones which require the entrusting of our childlike hopes and desires to the Man who is unaffected by the storm.

This is the way of Kingdom victory.

This is choosing a new future.

Dear tiny tribe of readers, know that this journey I am taking through Scripture is a consolation when the adrenaline wears away. Writing my way through a heritage of broken hearts has been a gift and a grace. I am looking forward to journeying with my brother Joseph as we travel the road of transformation together. There are so many defining moments that are haunted with prophesy and glittering with promise. This is the reality of our childlike dreams.

I hope you will join me here again, my friend, as we continue to fall in line with our ancestors in Scripture in order better understand the inner workings of our own restless souls.

May all beings be peaceful and happy, knowing that He composes your story with grace and peace even in the midst of your worst storm.

God is doing something new.

Amen and Amen.

~*~

With deepest gratitude

for my tiny tribe of readers-

Rebecca

To read Pearls and Presence, click here.

To read my story, click here.

Suspended Beneath The Stars- Genesis 33

From the beginning these words have been prophetic. What is written here becomes true, and what is true has become written, because this is the Spirit within me. The Spirit is moving.

Our name is Israel.

Our story is written in the stars, which is why abundance is soon to be ours.

Our name is Israel, and so we are ashamed of the past, fearful of the future, and presently beloved and chosen by God. We are indeed the chosen ones, every one of us.

Dear Jacob, I set up camp with you, just outside the confines of Grace, a short distance away from shame.

We are somewhere in between. We are suspended in time and space, uncertain of the outcome.

We are uncertain not because of lies, because we are now too smart to believe those. Instead, we are uncertain because of hard truths- things about our past, realities about the present, possibilities for the future. We are stuck on these assumptions based on past experience: We will only belong if we make ourselves useful and follow all the rules. We will only feel loved if we feel needed.

Dear Jacob, I lie on my back in the grass next to you, gazing up at the stars in the dark of night and asking why. Why has it come to this? God why?

The truth of Grace does not factor in very nicely to this equation. It upsets our assumptions and turns them on their head. So we set up camp just beyond them, where we can observe and listen. We watch the stars for a sign.

And as we watch with wary and curious eyes, our familiarity with fear and shame is overshadowed by a nearby Truth which we observe from a safe distance. This upsetting Truth says that we belong and are valued simply because of our inherent divinity.

Our name is Israel and we are not convinced.

What does forgiveness really mean, anyways?

Unsure which truth to believe, we keep moving, always searching, never trusting. We camp outside of community because we do not trust it. Because the truth is, we only feel as good as our offer. Can we adhere to the necessary requirements? Do we abide by the legal structures of our religion? Will we conform to all the proprieties?

If success is not certain, we set up camp elsewhere, as that place from which we run will not feel safe to belong.

Our soul is like a wounded animal, hiding from healing and afraid to step out in trust.

I roam with Jacob, I avoid forgiveness, I consider alternatives. We camp between two truths, one that says our name means shame, the other which says our name means freedom. We are suspended in time beneath the stars.

In order to make sense of it all, here in the in-between, my life has become an eternal church service. This is a coping mechanism for my insecurity about my small contribution in a world driven by mass production.

I bring very little to the table, and what I bring does not change my name.

I am suspended in an eternal church service because it feels safe there. Since my journey to healing began, my entire life has converted to a Sunday morning. Day after day I worship. Day after day I doubt.

Day after day my story is written in the stars for all to see, full of abundant prophetic divinity.

Worship music, sermons, scripture, prayer. It’s constantly running in the background. Often there is a teacher in the background while I work- Garden Church, North Coast Church, Saddleback Church or Super Soul (yes, Oprah! Yes.). If it’s not a teacher, it’s a worship album- Bethel, Hillsong United, Jesus Culture, Elevation Worship- anything ethereal and full of divine longing.

Israel, are you listening? I am talking to you. This is your story, too.

I stake my claim on the outskirts of Grace and I worship, read, listen, write and pray alongside my brother Jacob. I compose a prophesy that will be vindicated by the Spirit of the universe, and the stars will illuminate the darkness and reveal the Spirit that moves powerfully within me.

We feel safe in this suspension of decision because we feel protected from scrutiny, here in this basecamp of cautious certainty.

While I fold laundry, wash dishes, make meals, write blogs, pick up toys, pack lunches and vacuum up eternal mounds of German Shepherd fur (will dogs shed in the Kingdom? Dear God!). Sunday morning is every morning in this place. It’s how I cope with hard truth. It’s how I observe Grace from a safe distance.

It’s how I process the resignations of certainty and security. My story is vindicated, but my story is unchanged. It is I who remain here, in this suspended place.

Our basecamp is located somewhere in the middle, between Grace and shame, and it’s full of curiosity and questions.

You will only belong in this world if you make yourself useful and follow all the rules. To be admitted into the inner sanctum you need to be needed. This is true in some religions. This is true in some churches.

Jacob and I have run from our homeland because the truth broke our spirits. And it will require a massive surrender of volition to trust this ridiculous and impetuous offer of Grace.

We prefer a truth we can stake our claim on: If you show the world what you contribute, your offering might make you worthy. You can bring something to the table in hopes that it will earn you the invitation into the next meeting. You might be allowed to belong if you measure up.

But you won’t, because this is not your destiny. The stars tell a different story.

Here in this basecamp of cautious observation, this is the place where we accumulate a wealth of excuses to stay away from either side. We are too wise to return to shame, but we are too smart to surrender to redemption.

And in the dark of night, as we lay on our backs looking up at the stars, listening to the distance sounds of two truths battling for our allegiance, we feel small, insignificant, and unwanted.

Our name is Israel. We are loved. We are chosen. We are afraid. What happens now? What are we fighting for?

The hard truth is, our contribution looks pathetic and everybody knows it. And so we pile up as many things between our camp and the threats on both sides- shame looms, Grace beckons.  

The more we are needed, the safer we feel. So we make ourselves as useful as we can be in this strange place, suspended in uncertainty, because where we feel needed, there we feel loved. So we try to make ourselves useful in the suspension in-between.

We lie on our backs, side by side on the cool sand, and we gaze upwards in silence, watching the universe unfold. We realize that our resilience cannot endure this suspension for eternity.

Grace beckons with the truth that my identity means I have already inherited the whole entire universe. Shame beckons with the promise that admittance can be earned.

But here on the outskirts, we have learned to feel safest in places where we contribute the most and make ourselves most useful.

It is time for the Spirit to move. Our story is unfolding now.

And so, like my brother Jacob, I face the unknown with everything I’ve got:

33 Then Jacob looked up and saw Esau coming with his 400 men. So he divided the children among Leah, Rachel, and his two servant wives.² He put the servant wives and their children at the front, Leah and her children next, and Rachel and Joseph last.

Our name is Israel and sometimes we are ashamed.

Beware the regret that threatens to poison your inheritance.

We stoop low before our debtors, as they have come to observe our debts.

³ Then Jacob went on ahead. As he approached his brother, he bowed to the ground seven times before him.

Seven times we admit our holy apology. Seven times we are so sorry.

As we inch slowly, crawling brokenly away from our basecamp under the stars, we encounter the first truth- we are met with Grace.

⁴ Then Esau ran to meet him and embraced him, threw his arms around his neck, and kissed him. And they both wept.

The arms of grace receive our tears. We are forgiven. We are forgiven. We are Israel and we are forgiven.

And for a moment time stands still and all is well. The stars shine over our radiant hearts.

We fall into the truth of Grace

and shed tears of relief.

But we are human, and our name is Israel. And forgiveness is a threat to certainty, so it is difficult to accept. We falter, here in this embrace.

⁵ Then Esau looked at the women and children and asked, “Who are these people with you?”

We have brought all our qualifications to negotiate with the impossible truth of Grace.

Because we recall the past experience which invades this embrace- belonging must be earned. How can it be any other way? It is a ticket that must be purchased, an admittance that must be approved. Forgiveness cannot be free! We don’t dare to fathom the depth of love before us.

Our experience has taught us that we cannot step foot into the inner sanctum without following the rules and conforming to the labels. We have been trained to believe that we are not allowed a seat at the table until we are clean.

We can’t imagine that this truth of Grace will endure the test of time- we only feel safe to belong if we feel certain to be needed.

So we try to earn the gift. We try to buy the blood.

“These are the children God has graciously given to me, your servant,” Jacob replied.

The truth of shame says that when we enter the space of potential acceptance, we must be sure to impress.

⁸ “And what were all the flocks and herds I met as I came?” Esau asked.

Grace asks us why we brought all this pomp and circumstance.  The truth of shame says that we must work to earn our name.

So we offer gifts instead of words, because we don’t know what to say.

The stars observe our striving.

Jacob replied, “They are a gift, my lord, to ensure your friendship.

We offer the very best of our unworthiness, because the truth is we are small and weak and the whole world knows it.

And Grace trys to tell us to keep our blessings and prepare for more. Keep that which remains and make room for abundance. Because the truth is that Grace is a secret purveyor of magical things.

⁹ “My brother, I have plenty,” Esau answered. “Keep what you have for yourself.”

But we hear the voice of shame, and freedom is not part of that equation.

We want to purchase our own forgiveness. We keep trying to produce more reasons why.

We strive to belong, we strain to feel loved.

¹⁰ But Jacob insisted, “No, if I have found favor with you, please accept this gift from me. And what a relief to see your friendly smile. It is like seeing the face of God! 

Ah yes, we have seen this Face before- in a dream. When we wrestled with God, when we were bent

on holding onto the physical because we could not grasp the spiritual.

And God had said to us then “Let go of me, because how much more I will accomplish living inside you than I would walking beside you!” He asked Jacob to let go of the Man. He asked the disciples to let go of the Savior. He asks us to let go of our basecamp of pomp and circumstance.

Yes, we have seen this Face before. This Face gave us a new name, holy and beloved.

We are learning to look up, up, up at the stars,

Jacob and I.

We search the entire shining galaxy for one reason to trust this ridiculous and impetuous Grace.

¹¹ Please take this gift I have brought you, for God has been very gracious to me. I have more than enough.” And because Jacob insisted, Esau finally accepted the gift.

Finally He consents to our fears and tells us yes, that’s OK. My child, be still. The truth is that Grace will meet us where we are at today, no matter how far away that is from the place we once called home.

And then it beckons for us to return, because our name is Israel and our abundance will exceed that of the stars in the sky. Our inheritance is the entire galaxy. Eternity is within our very being.

¹² “Well,” Esau said, “let’s be going. I will lead the way.”

But we couldn’t accept such a generous offer as that. Not today. It just wouldn’t feel merited, it wouldn’t feel safe. There is no guarantee in this holy charity.

We don’t trust forgiveness. We trust earning. We want to stay camped nearer the voice of shame because it has guided us so far and for so long.

We make our excuses. We have so many reasons why. Such a strong case in our defense.

God, but the stars see, and our story goes on for all eternity.

¹³ But Jacob replied, “You can see, my lord, that some of the children are very young, and the flocks and herds have their young, too. If they are driven too hard, even for one day, all the animals could die.

I can’t walk that way, God, it’s too hard. Please try to understand. I’m not coming with you, Lord. Not there.

We have come too far not to defend our basecamp, the one which lies somewhere between the truth of Grace and shame, the one suspended between two truths, far beneath the stars.

We make empty promises which are easy to keep because they are vague and contain so many legitimate loopholes. We have learned this from those who came before us, our broken ancestors, our imperfect leaders.

We have all the right words, but the starlight shines right through them, and everybody knows it.

¹⁴ Please, my lord, go ahead of your servant. We will follow slowly, at a pace that is comfortable for the livestock and the children. I will meet you at Seir.”

And Grace respects our indecision.

It offers to walk with us back to our basecamp and talk about it.

Grace will not abandon us in our time of brokenness.

¹⁵ “All right,” Esau said, “but at least let me assign some of my men to guide and protect you.”

Then shame steps in to warn us that we could never accept such an offer- we cannot depend on charity. We have been let down before, why start believing now?

We trust Grace to save our soul for eternity, but not to change our earthly address.

Living out under the stars between the conflicting truths about our identity, this place is comfortable and safe, untouched by either passion or risk.

We kindly thank Him but shake our head no, not today, Lord. It’s too soon. Twenty years would not be enough, we need more time, more time, more time. More time to heal. More time to grow. More time to interpret the glowing hieroglyphics in the night sky.

Jacob responded, “That’s not necessary. It’s enough that you’ve received me warmly, my lord!”

I know enough to stay away from the truth of shame, that place where I come from. But I don’t know enough yet to follow the voice of Grace back home.

We are suspended in the middle. It feels safer that way. We will camp out under the stars and dream about redemption, but we will not yet surrender to reality.

It’s all talk. For now, anyways.

¹⁶ So Esau turned around and started back to Seir that same day. 

Our name is Israel and this story is written for the entire universe to read. And our resignation is the pivotal moment of a holy alteration in our divine trajectory.

Nobody is required to walk with Grace. If we say no, well, Jesus is a gentleman and won’t impose Himself.

Like that lovely line in Polar Express, “Nobody is required to see Santa.”

We must learn to trust the truth of our name, Jacob and I. The stars in the sky reveal that even though our name is Israel and we are fearful and ashamed, our name is Israel and we are loved and accepted. We are safe to belong everywhere, because the entire universe and the expanse of the night sky all belong to Him who blessed us.

Unsure which truth to believe, we keep moving, always searching, never trusting. Stargazing on our lonely hill, suspended in uncertainty.

¹⁷ Jacob, on the other hand, traveled on to Succoth. There he built himself a house and made shelters for his livestock. That is why the place was named Succoth (which means “shelters”).

We build our shelters under the stars, a collection of doubts and fears housed in dreams of peace.

We can still hear the voices on one side which warn us to remember that we are only as good as what we offer. Labels and conformity equate belonging.

Religion wounds, reality bites, resignation heals.

We can also hear the voices on the other side which beckon us to come closer and receive. We are curious but not convinced. We watch the signs in the sky for more reasons why.

¹⁸ Later, having traveled all the way from Paddan-aram, Jacob arrived safely at the town of Shechem, in the land of Canaan. There he set up camp outside the town.

And as we dwell here in the in-between, there are some days when we think we have our name figured out.

We settle into our patterns of knowing. We tell Grace to please just meet us on the other side, thank you very much.

But this suspended place of solitude is the end of a chapter, not the end of a story.

This is the end of a chapter, not the end of a story. Look up if you don’t believe me. Lie on your back next to me in the dark of night and gaze at the lights and wait for a sign.

We are shedding something precious because we are growing up. This is good.

We will gradually move closer to Grace and further from shame, step by step, inch by inch, at the pace of a blind beggar full of stubborn doubt and weary fear, hungry for things made of stars.

Our name is Israel and we know it deep down in our bones, in the royal place inside that retains dignity and holiness despite our effort to ignore it.

¹⁹ Jacob bought the plot of land where he camped from the family of Hamor, the father of Shechem, for 100 pieces of silver.^[a] 20 And there he built an altar and named it El-Elohe-Israel.^[b]

God, the God of Israel.

Our God, the one who names us holy and righteous and redeemed.

We both have sacred altars to our God, my dear brother Jacob and I.

We both have abundance written in the night sky.

This is because we are ashamed and foolish.

This is also because we are beloved and chosen by God.

Our name is a holy, our name is hard. Our name is full of pain and prophetic stars. It is a contradictory truth suspended in the place of solitude between shame and Grace.

We fall in line with the broken ancestors of our past and the wounded prisoners of war of our present, and together we lie on our backs on the cool night sand and read the starry sky for a sign of the vision for our abundant future. We lift our eyes up, up, up to ask for all the reasons why. Why? Why?

Today is not a victory. We have walked away from a holy offer. But today was one step closer to Grace- it was a conversation that ended in a long distance relationship. We may not join in physical communion with our community, my brother and I, but we join the entire universe in gazing at the same constellations that pierce our common darkness. This is prophetic hope.

Here begins the transformation of a broken life into an eternal church service, the kind that is full of singing and listening and stargazing and curiosity from afar.

The suspension between two truths is a place of character development and heart repair. It is a place for silent star-gazing and reflection, an interpretation of the golden hieroglyphics that rise above our fears.

We build an altar in this suspended place in order to have a haven from the conflicting voices that vie for our allegiance.

And truthfully, there are some really hard truths we tell ourselves in the dark of night: I am unnecessary, small, insignificant, unwanted. I failed.

We lie on our backs and gaze at the vastness of the universe and realize that the hard truth is this: our contribution is meaningless, and both sides know it.

And so we pile up as many things between ourselves and revelation as humanly possible. The more we are needed, the more we serve, the safer we feel.

But on the other side of that line of Grace which is still a ways off, the God of Israel has a higher truth for us, one which turns the meaning of our name upside down on its head.

We are learning we cannot earn true Love. We are learning that True Love respects us when we say “no”. When is good enough going to be good enough? Not until good enough looks perfect, or so we think. The stars will wait patiently for our revelation.

It seems impossible to believe the voice that says my greatest contribution is my entire holy being, which is eternal and timeless and exists outside of the realm of religious legalism and human failure.

Our name is Israel and so we are foolish. But our name is Israel and so our inheritance is a black canvas dotted with luminescent points of an ever-shifting trajectory.

And truthfully, we don’t need to offer anything at all. Grace says “yes, beloved, I will meet you where you are right now. Come walk with me, and let’s journey together from this suspended place of uncertainty. Let me show you the stars from another point of view.”

We are allowed to take as long as we need to accept the truth that we are worthy from the inside out, not the other way around. We must remember that if we are looking for reasons that we do not belong with Him, we will always find them. Those reasons cannot surmount the higher truth of Grace.

Our name is Israel, Jacob and I, and we are in delayed transit to move forward from the suspension of solitude. This is a journey which takes many years and many detours to work out- the truth is that we are loved not because of what we do, but because of who we are.

We could serve for a lifetime and never understand. This is our moment, this is our story. With the stars as our witness. He knows. God sees. He is proud of us even in the failing.

He can do so much more within us than He can beside us- but He is willing to walk with us in the other direction and talk about it. He is willing to wait from a distance away while we gaze longingly at the stars. Take as many detours as you need. He has an entire eternity to convince us of the depth of His love.

And one day we will rise up into His love like burning lights in the sky, illuminating a persuasive abundance of truth that says we are beloved and we all belong.

May every human being be peaceful and happy, even those like Jacob and I who are suspended in places of illuminated uncertainty.

Our name is written in the stars, which is why abundance is soon to be ours.

Peace to you, Israel. God will bless us both.

Amen and amen.

~*~

With deepest gratitude

for my tiny tribe of readers-

Rebecca

To read Pearls and Presence, click here.

To read my story, click here.