God Can!

From Zechariah 12 (God Talking)

3-5-15

Behold, I will make Jerusalem a cup of trembling unto all the people round about, when they shall be in the siege both against Judah and against Jerusalem (12:2).

And in that day I will make Jerusalem a burdensome stone for all people; all that burden themselves with it shall be cut in pieces, though all the people of the earth be gathered together against it (12:3).

In that day I will make the governors of Judah like an hearth of fire among the wood and like a torch of fire in a sheaf; and they shall devour all the people round about, on the right hand and on the left; and Jerusalem shall be inhabited again in her own place, even in Jerusalem (12:6).

And it shall come to pass in that day that I will seek to destroy all the nations that come against Jerusalem (12:9).

This photograph is from a Facebook page called Live Life in Color.

Eureka!

A lightbulb went ON this morning, when someone asked, "What is truth?" As I went out walking with my DOG, and I believe heard an answer:

Truth is what it is:

He

Three

Me

We

He

There many higher powers and principalities in the unseen realms -- only One who is Most High. That Highest Power is who He says He is, whether we think so or not. Both male and female. But Jesus calls Him "Father" -- therefore, so do I.

Three

God in three persons is made clear through Jesus and the whole of the Word Writ. Father, Son and Holy Spirit -- Three in One -- truth is what it is. Again I say, truth is what it is, whether I think so or not.

Me

We are each an air hose -- a personal connection to the Most High God. I call it my Direct Connect. Christ opened this air hose for person who ever walked the earth when He conquered sin and its wages. His death and resurrection and ascension are a Triune Gift. It is a gift that is completely available, but it is not automatic.

We

Those with live in Christ are blood relatives, divinely connected to one another. We need to gather, encouraging and edifying one another through the Word Writ under the Headship of The Word. Assembled in HIm, we can be held, and we can behold. He wants us to be real with Him, with ourselves, and with each other.

Today's Prayer

May You, oh Father, open many eyes to see! Reveal Your Son as Savior and as LORD of our lives by the Holy Spirit, whom You have imparted to us by grace.  We are grateful and glad to receive this Truth, and to know that we know You are the Truth, the Way, and the Life.

This photograph is by Liz Burnell.

Human Being

I took a quiz recently on Facebook to see what flower I would be if I were a flower. Its results concluded that I would be a rose:

You are an eternal romantic and a firm believer in the power of love, which makes you a thoughtful and caring friend. You may have a few thorns, but there's lots of beauty in you. You are grounded and balanced -- you're able to manage the serious issues in your life with fun. You have a noble and sophisticated bearing and a healthy senses of humor. You have the best of both worlds!

But really?  I'm a Sonflower! And as such, I truly do have the best of both worlds.

Both photographs (above) are by Liz Burnell.

Downloads from God

12-3-12

LOOK, LOOK, LOOK!

Look what the Book of Daniel tells us, perhaps for such a time as this:

He shall cause deceit to prosper under his rule, and he shall exalt himself in his heart. He shall destroy many in their prosperity… but he shall be broken without human means.

           - Daniel 8:25

This painting is called Glimpse. 

        It is the work of

      Claudia Wood Rahm.

God Sendings

OY THE RELIEF!

I now know why my son has so often called me Metaphor Mama. Below is a short excerpt from the Old Testament, 2 Samuel, Chapter 12 in which  David (the king) is weeping and fasting, begging God to spare the life his infant child. But when the child dies, David is surprisingly okay. He simply stands up, gives thanks to God for the clear verdict, and goes about his life.

That’s the way I feel. The “child” we have held for so long in America  was called Limited Government. That “child” has (quite clearly) died. I believe that God is sovereign and, like David, that nothing happens without His permission:

2 Samuel 12:13-23

So David said to Nathan, I have sinned against the Lord.” And Nathan said to David, “The Lord also has put away your sin; you shall not die. However, because by this deed you have given great occasion to the enemies of the Lord to blaspheme, the child also who is born to you shall surely die.” Then Nathan departed to his house. And the Lord struck the child that Uriah’s wife bore to David, and it became ill.

David therefore pleased with God for the child, and David fasted and went in and lay all night on the ground.

So the elders of his house arose and went to him, to raise him up from the ground. But he would not, nor did he eat food with them.

Then, on the seventh day, it came to pass that the child died. And the servants of David were afraid to tell him that the child was dead. For they said, “Indeed, while the child was alive, we spoke to him, and he would not heed our voice. How can we tell him that the child is dead? He may do some harm!”

When David saw that his servants were whispering, David perceived that the child was dead. Therefore David said to his servants, “Is the child dead?” And they said, “He is dead.”

So David arose from the ground, washed and anointed himself, and changed his clothes, and he went into the house of the Lord and worshipped. Then he went to his own house, and when he requested, they set food before him, and he ate.

The section ends with servants in disbelief that David seemed perfectly okay with the death of the child. To which David replied, “While the child was alive, I fasted and wept… but now he is dead, why should I fast?” And he went to Bathsheba and lay with her, and that was when Solomon was conceived.

To me, the name of this year’s presidential election is The Fall of 2012. Believe it or not, I feel greatly relieved. Apparently God allowed the death of Limited Government in America, which is the only place it ever existed (to my knowledge) on the earth. The election results make it very clear (to me) that Limited Government is never coming back. And I find this surprisingly freeing. I am grateful -- like David was -- loudly thanking God for giving us such a decisive outcome. Limited Government is dead, and we can just let it BE!

Oy the relief!

God Sendings

BLIND CONTOURS

Above is an example of “Blind Contour” drawing, this one done by excellent artist Whitney Wood-Rahm Weldon. If you go to her website, you can see more of her work, including her wonderful paintings and works on wood. You can find her Blind Contours under her Sketchbook menu if you select “Sketches and Stuff.” Here is her website address:

http://www.whitneyworksartstudio.com/index2.php#/rgallery2/1/

There is a reason I am bringing this up for discussion. In Blind Contour drawing, the artist is blocked from seeing either the paper or their own hand. Now you, reader of my blog, know me well enough by now to suspect that I see this as a metaphor.

To me, it is the way life is -- a hallway down which we walk until, suddenly and sometimes without warning, the lights go off and we find ourselves in the pitch dark. We know there is a light switch someplace -- but where? We fumble around, feeling our way down the aisle of trouble and trial. I know from first-hand experience that it can be hell in the hallway.

This morning when I was reading Ezekiel 22:21, I believe God spoke to me and said, “My mercies are in the midst.” That was when I remembered Blind Contour drawing and the above giraffe. Artists describe the process as feeling uncomfortable because you cannot see what you are drawing. “It is hard to stick with it,” says one. But invariably, there is a recognizable result despite all odds of that happening when you don’t even know where you are. It’s about process, not product, apparently.

Maybe that’s what God is trying to tell us about life, especially about life when it gets dark in the hallway. “Go anyway. All will be well. My mercies are in the midst.”

God Sendings

PAVEMENT

Pardon me while I pour out (no pun intended) what I got in my quiet time -- another word picture. Sorry -- I can’t help it -- this just seems to be how God speaks to me!

Child, I AM able to transform the heart of even the most wayward and lost LAMBS. Have mercy in your heart, Daughter, for these LAMBS. Hear them bleating. Help Me by encouraging silence all around, praying for them, not stepping into My path so they become fixed on you instead of Me.

Hear – then do. First things first, and the first is hearing. Knowing. Then and only then the doing. Empowered by My Holy Spirit, the doing. Only then.

You are part of Christ! Part of His Body! You actually serve as a PORE whose earthly work is to POUR prayers to heaven and through Christ.

Wow Lord, what an amazing picture. One living stone – me, us, all believers – radiating something of value! Pavement, golden pavement, it is we who pour it out, inviting the entrance of Almighty God into all the situations and circumstances we encounter. As a PORE in the Body of Christ, I am to be like a cement mixer, POURing out prayers, focusing on pavement production, for You, Lord Christ, ought to have gold beneath You when You enter in.

The photo is not me, but it captures how I feel about the word picture above -- and it might as well be me because it's exactly how I look when I walk with Roobie at the beach!

God Sendings

HELIOTROPISM

Last week’s blog on PURPLE led me into a whole insight about HELIOTROPISM, which you probably know all about because of your Green Fingers. To me, that "compelling" of the flower bulb to seek the heat, to break through the earth into the Light, is a metaphor of human yearning. Roobie has asked me to replace her regularly scheduled Pet Theories column because I am so excited about this concept, and she says her Pet Theories can wait until next week. So here it is.

First, think of a bulb. Let’s make it a tulip bulb just for the sake of argument. Some nice person plants it in the ground and gives it water, and the little bulb (unless it’s a dud) does the rest, actually sensing the sun and seeking it, eventually pushing through the earth to bloom in the open air, which is what it was purposed to do. That amazing process is what scientists call heliotropism.

Like Carl Jung, I think there's such a thing as human heliotropism, though some who seek get lured into fake light (manmade tanning salons or “grow lights” that can only get you so far). Many never seek at all, just smothering their niggling seeker beepers with ever more dirt or digging deeper into it.

Those who break through the earth and manage to persevere past all the artificial lighting systems emerge into the Light and receive Life with a capital "L." God says, "I give you blessings and cursings, death and life... choose life." Thanks be to God, I was compelled toward the Light and pushed through the hard ground and past the offers of lesser beams and into the full Sonlight, where I have found my purpose is to bloom in the Son.

Sonflowers!

God Sendings

PURPLE

What is going on with PURPLE? It started when Oswald Chambers compared forgiveness to the fragrance emitted by a violet when it is crushed under someone’s foot. Well, violets are purple. So this fragrance of forgiveness is the color of royalty -- purple, which would be God.

Then I went to a someone’s house to pick up some papers, and his wife invited me in to see her back patio, because, she said, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, purple violets had been springing up everywhere -- even in between the flagstones. I told her about the fragrance thing and the purple thing and she told me that her mother recently died. We talked about whether they might have been sent from heaven.

Last but not least, I went into the office, and guess what? Each staff member’s files were going to be color-coded from then on. And guess what color was handed to me? PURPLE!

God Sendings

I was looking at a postcard-sized picture of Jesus with His arms wide open, beckoning to me (and anyone else!). I had been asking Him about the jailer in Acts – the promise that he and his household would be saved. At the time, my beloved husband was “pro-God” but lukewarm about Jesus and definitely anti-Bible. I was praying for his salvation and knew he had been set apart because the unbelieving husband is sanctified by his wife. Sanctified? Set apart?

Then this postcard. Suddenly I saw what Jesus wanted me to understand: His Body, covered with jewels. And the jewels were believers. Us! We are living stones! Precious jewels in an unimaginable array of varieties and colors! I drew a few in for my own sake… you can see my dots on His sleeve.

I suddenly understood that, when we accept Christ, we are placed into settings as though we were diamonds put into golden settings. Like my engagement ring. And I understood that, whenever I worship Him with my whole heart, I become radiant. So do all the other gems that are set into His Body like precious gems. In this way, His Body is glorified in the throne room of heaven.

It’s literal! The Body of Christ is literal! Imagine Him, sitting at the right hand of the Father, literally encrusted with jewels. Those jewels are us. Saints. Individual believers. In addition, there are empty settings. These are the places reserved for those who are set apart, sanctified to become believers. Their settings await them in His Body.

Thus did the Lord provide me with guidance about the true Body of Christ and how His Body is glorified even now, by us who are IN CHRIST, who, in turn, is seated at the right hand of the Father in the throne room of heaven! Does anybody else find this absolutely mind-blowing?

God Sendings

An old friend of mine who grew up in Chicago remembers that it was a goat who led the sheep into the slaughterhouse. My reply was to say, "I guess it matters who we follow."

I know what I meant. Do you? I'd be interested in hearing what you think about this Matthew 25 idea...

P.S. To comment, click on the word comment, not on the icon that looks like an envelope, okay guys?!?

God Sendings

Engagement Ring

I was looking at a postcard-sized picture of Jesus with His arms wide open, beckoning to me (and anyone else!). I had been asking Him about the jailer in Acts – the promise that he and his household would be saved. At the time, my beloved husband was “pro-God” but lukewarm about Jesus and definitely anti-Bible. I was praying for his salvation and knew he had been set apart because the unbelieving husband is sanctified by his wife. Sanctified? Set apart?

Then this postcard. Suddenly I saw what Jesus wanted me to understand: His Body, covered with jewels. And the jewels were believers. Us! We are living stones! Precious jewels in an unimaginable array of varieties and colors! I drew a few in for my own sake… you can see my dots on His sleeve.

I suddenly understood that, when we accept Christ, we are placed into settings as though we were diamonds put into golden settings. Like my engagement ring. And I understood that, whenever I worship Him with my whole heart, I become radiant. So do all the other gems that are set into His Body like precious gems. In this way, His Body is glorified in the throne room of heaven.

It’s literal! The Body of Christ is literal! Imagine Him, sitting at the right hand of the Father, literally encrusted with jewels. Those jewels are us. Saints. Individual believers. In addition, there are empty settings. These are the places reserved for those who are set apart, sanctified to become believers. Their settings await them in His Body.

Thus did the Lord provide me with guidance about the true Body of Christ and how His Body is glorified even now, by us who are IN CHRIST, who, in turn, is seated at the right hand of the Father in the throne room of heaven!

God Sendings

Bubbles

Word: Surrender to My Power.

Next: Told someone I was praying for her, imagining them going forth as though I were blowing bubbles.

Next: Joanne told me that, “Salvation is easy and the rest is an adventure.” Lynn calls to say, “It’s a RIDE.”

Next: Saw an image of dark black, toxic smoke, but knew that I was safe in the bubble -- and so is everyone else.

Next: Went on a raft ride at Busch Gardens, which showed me that I am able to ride like that – not rigid with fear, but smiling my head off.

Next: Back to the bubbles. The incredible lightness of being! I saw myself sparkling and glistening like a bubble because I’m encircled by His love – His blood. He’s the bubble!

Next: I am encircled by Him, forgiven for everything I’ve ever done or ever will do! I’m to be carried by the Wind of His Spirit like a bubble -- not tossed about or adrift -- but carried, wherever He may desire to go.

This is how God explained to me what He meant when He said:

Surrender to My Power.

God Sendings

The Tub

This "God Sending" was received twelve years ago, and since twelve is a number that represents completion (or so I'm told), it seems timely to share it now. The image above is a wood carving by my friend Claudia Wood Rahm, who created a series she calls Angelic Folk, of which this is one. I think it's a perfect fit with what I was revealed to me. What think you? Here goes:

I’m soaking in a hot bathtub upon the “orders” of my eight-year-old son, Ned, who had insisted a bath would make me feel better. It had been scary for him lately, coming home to a dark house, only to find me lying flat on my back with a virus that had turned my whole world whirly. It had been scary for me too, and also for my husband, who seemed now to realize what it was I did all day (because, for the past few days, I hadn’t).

In college, we used to laugh about having the whirlybeds after drinking and partying all night long. This was exactly like the whirlybeds, minus the party. I remember back to my childhood, when we used to stop at Ginger’s after school where, quite often, we would find her mother sleeping, sprawled out on the living room couch. It never occurred to us that she was passed out, indelibly drunk. Had it been any different for Ned since this debilitation took hold of me?

It’s amazing how little you can do when the whole room is spinning, even with your eyes shut tight. The steaming bubble bath in which I lie is scented -- a pasture of white speaking softly: prickle! speckle! snap! I submerge into the foamy layer, then underneath where all sounds are mute. Melting, now limp as a heap of cooked noodles sliding into service, I realized I am exhausted. This is Raggedy Ann we have here -- way past bone tired. I’m talking no bones. No bones at all.

I’m exhausted, having spent the past two days vomiting sadness -- a sadness I didn’t even know I had -- sadness that had tied me in knots most of my life, sadness from seeing a problem, speaking it, and watching it be completely ignored. “Maybe if I repeat myself,” I would think to myself, but nada. So I would try adding a bit more drama.... but nada. So I would add some vehemence. some urgency -- still nada. Then I’d try saying it another way... use an illustration... say it louder. But nada.

The next day I was worthless, feeling as though my head was full of rocks. I was dizzy -- too much getting up and down -- until, finally, I just had to admit I was exhausted and put myself to bed. It was all right, because it’s Martin Luther King Day, so Ned could play with friends outside. Off he goes -- coming back, going out again -- returning, finally, to find me still sprawled out, unmoving.

“I think you need a hot bath, Mommy,” says Ned’s little voice. “I don’t think so, Ned,” I reply. “I don’t think I can get there, I’m so dizzy.” But Ned insists and draws me a bath -- even adding bath bubbles -- which is how I came to be resting in this tub. And I am glad I did. It’s all hush and beauty and peace.

And then I see it: an arch of white above me. Is it a dream? A vision? It is wispy, like a cloud, but nevertheless palpably real. Billowy! A vapor of white! An archway formed above me in the tub. I am inside a feathered cathedral. And unable to deny what I am seeing.

Yet, at the same time, I am unable to believe this could really be. “Wow,” I whisper in a whoosh that comes out of my mouth, “It sure is quiet in here. It is SILENT. It is SAFE.” I listen closely, holding my breath so everything becomes double-hushed. And dimly, I hear it: sounds of celebration. They are having a party in heaven.

The Hound of Heaven

God is looking. He is listening. He waits for our whimper. He runs immediately when we do to retrieve us from the dangerous ledge. And He retrieves us. And it is sweet. And then He rests and waits for the next whimper.

Those of us He has retrieved are now Fishers of Men, listening for whimpers as we travel, looking for people who are out on the precipice just like we were once. We go two-by-two: me with my dog, you with yours, sometimes us together, looking for the lost, listening for the whimpers.

Some of the ones we find are simply asleep, or they truly cannot see, or they are trapped. Others have caught the scent – just not all of it. Others act very brave, even stoic, but inside they tremble; it’s just bravado.

Through us, God is looking. Through us, He listens, waiting for the whimpers. Through us, He is retrieving ones who are whimpering in danger and in fear. And we run to retrieve them, bringing hope and words of what Christ can do and has done.

And it is sweet. And then we rest. And wait for the next whimper.

Galloping Along the Shoreline

When we first moved to Old Saybrook, I dreamt I was on a beach with two greyhounds that belonged to my brand-new next-door neighbor. It was low tide, and the sand flats extended from Branford all the way to the Saybrook Jetty. In my dream, the larger greyhound gave me permission to climb onto his back,and we ran at full gallop all the way up the shoreline. A privilege!

This beautiful painting is called Outer Light -- Moonshine and is the work of artist Sheila-Graham-Smith from tangerinerpress.com.

Years later, I had another dream, except this time I was awake. . It happened during an unusual form of “graduation” from a pastoring course led by Martin van Horn. I had told Martin I thought it was an odd idea, his proposal that the six of us should gather some Saturday at midnight for an unlimited time of prayer and praise. This was graduation?

I thought it was odd. Especially since it meant that I (the one-and-only woman in the group) was now required to drive in the middle of the night to an empty sanctuary where I would convene for worship with five men. To what purpose, my husband most reasonably asked. My response was that I did not know, and that I was concerned about appearances. But the Holy Spirit said “Go!” so I went.

We arrived about midnight -- Martin, our leader, carrying a drum from some exotic land, Damon with assorted CDs, Dave cranking up the sound system, the other Dave running a little late, Tom already on his knees. Me and five men. It was about one in the morning – I think – by the time we got started.

We were shy at first – Martin thumping on his drum to the rhythms of the music. We started gingerly, privately lifting up our individual praise and prayers. As we continued, we got more energy – not less – until eventually we were jumping and singing and clapping and shouting in truly abandoned worship that just kept going and going. Somewhere along into the wee hours of the morning, the Spirit simply fell upon us. Suddenly we were on our faces, six worshippers weeping. It was gentle and lovely and sweet sweet sweet. Gradually it just tamped down, like horses slowing after a long romp out in the back pastures full of afternoon sun.

I think it was 7 a.m. by the time I got home. I took a nap and a shower and was back for morning worship at 10 a.m., which was when I discovered that Martin’s idea had not been so odd after all. Because the Lord poured into the congregation that morning, bringing forth songs that were random but beautifully blended, exuberant and gentle at the same time, fragrant to His nostrils apparently, as He just kept pouring them back into us and we flowing them back to Him. Our spirit songs flowed and flowed and flowed until finally they began to ebb and finally roll back out in to the sea of His mercy and grace. We all went home mightily blessed, perhaps most especially our little cadre. We saw it as fruit, and Martin’s odd idea as simple obedience. We knew we should do it again, and so, eventually, we did. I think it was the third “all-nighter” when I had the dream.

Again it was very late on a Saturday night, but we had been worshipping for hours, so it was probably three or four o’clock in the morning when this dream appeared. I was just standing there, worshipping, when I heard hoof beats -- the sound of horses, restless horses, horses ready to ride.

Not only that, I was on one. There were thousands of us mounted on gorgeous thoroughbreds in what appeared to be an endless procession. The riders did not look like people but like those summer lanterns people make by putting candles under paper bags. At the front, was One on a bright white stallion. I knew it was Jesus, and that I had read about this before.

But this time, I was in it. Anticipation was high – we were ready to ride. You could hear it in the hoof beats. The horses were ready to ride, ready to ride. And so was I!

Gradually, ever so gradually, but steadily, things stepped up, trotting to a gentle canter, then to full canter, then to gallop. We were flying along a big body of salt water – faster and faster – even my hair was blowing in the wind. As we rode, we were reaching down to pull people up -- anyone who wanted to come. They were as light as feathers! And when I would plunk someone onto the broad shoulders of my magnificent horse, there was plenty of room for more. I rode and reached and pulled and put, rode and reached and rode. Some people would not come up. Those just stood there, flat-footed and blinking their eyes. Those we left, standing there in the wet sand, blinking, as we galloped over the flats along the shore.

It was easy! Exhilarating! We galloped for many miles – somehow I knew we had started in Branford toward the juncture of the Connecticut River. Finally we were approaching the river’s mouth and the horses began to tamp down to a gentle trot. Slower. Padding down until we were done.

Overwhelmed by gratitude for my mount, I decided to express it by reaching over its lovely mane to offer a big, upside-down hug the way jockeys do. When I did this, I discovered, to my amazement, that I’d been riding all this time on the back of my dog!

P.S. All this never would have happened, but for Martin’s odd idea.

God Sendings

The Edge of Sleep

In my dream, the Princess was dead, but “they” were keeping her alive and, somehow, getting away with concealing her inability to function by propping her up. Over and over again, they had her making appearances that way – propped up and dragged out for pure show. Down the hall, someone was vacuuming cockroaches out of a hair-styling salon.

Then there’s an aspect of me in the dream – me, of all people, ending up being chosen to have a date with the Prince. For some reason, I am being flown in (like an insect – a fly on the wall?) to have this date, but everything starts conspiring to make me miss out on this choice opportunity. Some friends arrive unexpectedly, and they are bearing gifts such as food and enticing tickets, so I am late in getting dressed. Meanwhile, the evil friends of the Princess manage to prop her up, so she goes on the date instead.

The feeling of the dream is that there’s a ruse going on, a ruse that is mean and sinister. The ruse itself was evil and cruel in the dream – not so much the “they” who were carrying it out. but the ruse itself. I believe the dream was saying there is no substitute for the real thing. My sense was that anyone can be invited to meet the Prince, but it’s awfully easy to be detained instead.

God Sendings

The Edge of Fear

I had a dream recently. Barry and I are on our boat, but we are "rafted" with another boat, tied side by side. The wind picks up and, being rafted, our boat starts swinging wildly -- dangerously -- spinning around in circles. We know what to do, and we agree: remove the rudder. So we do. Next scene: Roobie (our dog) is swimming toward us, but then I see something awful. She is sinking as she swims (she is submerged -- under the water -- she has no air)! Her strokes are steady and strong, but her eyes show that she knows she is in trouble. She is terrified, yet noble in persevering. She keeps paddling, sliding lower below the surface, but paddling still. It’s as if she knows her only hope is that I will realize what is happening and will reach her in time to save her life.

I suddenly discern what is happening to her and, somehow (I don’t know how) I reach her and, with unnatural strength, am able to pull her into the boat. Safely aboard, we discover the problem: the rudder we had thrown overboard had become entangled with her tail and was pulling her down. We get her extricated from the heavy rudder, and she goes into the cabin, down below. She is OK. We are OK.

Now that our lovely, sweet, brave, excellent dog is safely aboard, my husband and I know we need to re-attach the rudder. So we do. But we are no longer attached to another boat, so our vessel will be safe now, even if we swing. There was more in the dream, but that's all I can really remember. The remainder of it had something to do with Clare sending or lending boats and assistance from shore, but nothing was much help.

I think in the dream I am the dog. The message seems clear: Whitney, child, look at Me like Roobie looked at you in the dream. No matter what is pulling you down, fix your eyes on Me like Roobie did – and keep paddling! Picture how she paddled: steady, faithful, full of hope. It is a picture of how I want you to be even when you are frightened in the natural: enduring in faith, eyes on Me. I am to keep on paddling, my eyes on Him, my source, my hope.

P.S. This painting is by my pal, Claudia Wood Rahm, who entitled it Praise in the Storm. You can see more of her work on her Facebook page under the photos section.

God Sendings

I’ve been having fun with metaphors that reveal (at least to me) truths I cannot otherwise comprehend. To date, these “God Sendings” have fallen into categories. I already recently posted a series about Lilies -- now I am posting the first of three about Edges.

The Edge of Anger

The phone rang on a Saturday afternoon. “Emergency prayer request,” blasted through the line from Canada. “A coyote attacked our dog, and we’re not sure he’s going to make it.” My knees sank. “I’m on the floor,” I said, because I was. For some reason, the plight a dog can break my heart quicker than just about anything. I don’t know why, but I know that I have a heart for dogs. This one, far away on a farm in Canada, I’ve never met, but I love him, powerful and beautiful hound, made to run. I would think he would run every day way up there in the country, but my friends who moved their family to this farm do not feel the same way. I guess Bailey is a hunting hound, so he lives outside. In a pen.

This does not jive with my beloved friend, mother of many, whose maternal and nurturing skills are excellent. For some reason, these instincts are not applicable to Bailey. A farm animal to her I guess, like the horse and the chickens and the sheep. A tool for hunting, I guess they think. But I don’t, and it breaks my heart. Every time I think of these friends, this beloved loving family, these friends of mine, every single time I cry. I cry for Bailey, made to gallop through the countryside, whose coat is thin, too thin to be kept outside in Canada, whose heart is to love and be loved.

Here in Connecticut I have a neighbor who also keeps her little Scottie dogs outside. Unfortunately, coyotes have returned to this area as well, coyotes who roam the marshes, living off whatever they can find including, at last count, five neighborhood cats. People, I’m told, have brains. But they let their cats out and keep their little Scotties in the backyard every night. And then a lady in Florida, forced to evacuate her Florida home, put her dog in the basement, which flooded. The coyotes roam.

Then suddenly, the Emergency Prayer Request. Bailey has been attacked, six children are screaming in horror, blood is gushing everywhere. The dad of the family, plus the eldest child, drive as fast as they can to the emergency clinic more than an hour away. I go to the floor and pray.

I cannot bear this. For some reason, this kind of pain is excruciating to me. Now comes an update: they may have to amputate Bailey’s right hind leg. I pray pray pray, noticing a tinge of frustration toward my beloved friends. Thank You, Jesus, Bailey is miraculously spared. Miraculously is an understatement. The news comes that Bailey is back home, that he is mending well, and that he still has all four legs.

“Praise God,” I write to my friends. ”Thank You, Jesus, for letting Bailey live. Oh how I pray for you and your family against the memories of the attack – and that Bailey is now safe from harm. Could it be you are entertaining an angel?” What I really wanted to say was, “Is he in the backyard? If so, we’ll take him.”

Lord told me not to ask, but to pray because prayer is sufficient. God was showing me that helping Bailey would not end my sorrow. There were millions of dogs suffering out there. What was I going to do – adopt every last one? Fervent prayers of a righteous person availeth much.

It hurts to envision Bailey back outside in the pen freezing cold and terrified to be returned to the place he was attacked -- cold, vulnerable, unable to run. Truly my heart ached to watch helplessly in my mind. The sorrow of my heart made my heart and body curl. At times I truly thought it was more than I could bear. And then God said,

“That’s how I feel about people.”

A Particularly Luscious Lily

In the months after our son was born, I would split my time between napping, quietly nursing, and bundling him in the carriage for long walks in the autumn wind. I came to refer to these times as prayer walks, because all the whole time, I could hear God whispering into my ear. A friend had given me a "study Bible" with footnotes, so I could finally begin to understand the puzzling pieces of scripture that had halted all my prior attempts to seek Him. In Twelve-Step meetings, I was hearing about letting go, about how God can’t put anything into hands that are clenched shut. Things were becoming a little less abstract, but they remained elusive – or so I thought.

Then there came a particularly memorable walk pushing the baby in his carriage toward the afternoon sun. I had spent almost all of the two miles muttering at God, complaining that He makes it so complicated for us to see Him and believe that He is real. Suddenly, I stopped and stared. A ray of sunlight had literally beamed itself onto something, and it drew my eye toward it. Before me, in the sunbeam, was a lily whose color was a deep persimmon red. Its color had a luscious, iridescent sheen that made me want to eat it.

God had shone a ray of light directly onto that luscious lily to show me He wasn’t complicated at all. Not a bit. Light off/Light on. Illumination. "My God!” I said out loud. "I get it!"