Most Friday mornings you can find me sitting with several friends having coffee. We meet, drink coffee and solve the problems of the world. I (being the techie that I am) take my iPad. That way when we have questions without answers I can google them and voila! We have instant answers to our many inquiries about life. We meet early and stay late--laughing, talking, and sometimes even crying. Well. usually, that's just me, but whatever!
One morning during said coffee time, my friend chuckled as she remembered a t-shirt she had recently seen. The front of the T-shirt had this quote on it--Jesus loves you, but I'm his favorite. She said that she immediately thought of me. We all had a good laugh over that t-shirt. Of course, I was sitting there thinking--I so want that shirt! Why? Because I am his favorite.
I knew that later I would have to process what God was saying to me via our conversation concerning the t-shirt. You see, that quote began to roll around in my brain and God wasn't (no matter how hard I tried) going to let me forget about it. So, I just prayed and asked God to show me what he wanted me to know. Over the next few weeks, he did. Slowly. I'm thinking it was slow so that I'd never forget it. By the time he was done with the lesson on that little quote--well, I'd be sure, I'd know for certainty--I was his favorite.
And while praying one morning, he began to show me all the times he had gone after me. As in--the shepherd going after that one lost, wandering lamb. His favorite. I cried and thanked him for going after me. He is always faithful, even when I am not.
Thinking about the quote on that t-shirt and thinking about Jesus my shepherd, always finding me, well, it made me feel safe. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I was loved, cared for, and protected. And then I thought--if he always goes after me and finds me--why don't I trust him with my loved ones? Won't he also go after the ones I love so much and pray for daily? Aren't they his favorites too?
If you think I cried before, you should have seen me that morning. There I was sitting in my rocking chair, crying, praying, and asking God to bring these people whom I love so much--bring them back to you God, show yourself to them, please God. I was begging him. And then he spoke to my heart and said--they're my favorites too. I'm going after them--don't you worry. I'll never leave them or forsake them, I'll draw them back to me. I promise.
That was a great morning, just having the assurance that my God, my savior, would go after them just like he always does me. He'll rescue them, he'll protect them, he'll find them--because they're his favorites. And I am too. Jesus loves us, and we're his favorites!
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Monday, August 26, 2013
Soul Sister
I have been extremely blessed in my life with lots of friends, and a huge extended family. However, there is one stand out person in my life that I'd like to write about today. And she happens to be my cousin. Yes, she is one of many, however, this particular cousin is more like a sister to me, in fact, she's my soul sister. At least that's how I think of her. She's the one to have my back, to pray for me, and she listens to me--she's good at that.
We weren't close growing up though. She's a couple of years younger than I am and she hung out with my little sister. In fact, as much as I hate to admit it, I was a little (just a little) bit mean to her. OK, a lot mean. You see, she was a little tattle tail. You remember those types--mom, so and so is doing such and such. So much so, that I found myself looking for things to do so that she'd tattle on me and then I'd bat my innocent little eyes at my mother and say--who me? I didn't do that mom. She's lying. And of course, my mom would believe me. Yes, I was an ornery little booger. My poor little cousin would get so exasperated with me but it was worth it just to put that little tattle tale in her place. What a little brat I was!
Fast forward several years later, and we were married and starting our own families. We'd just had our first babies, and I found out that she was moving to the town I was living in. I wondered how that would go down--would we hang out? Would she want to go to my church? Would our little girls play together? I wanted us to be friends, we were grown-ups now, we were moms--so I tried hard to welcome her and I introduced her to some of my friends. And I invited her to church, which she declined. It's interesting now that I think back on that conversation--I knew she was going through a rough time, but I also knew that I was supposed to invite her to my church. At that time of her life, she wasn't walking with God, she was pretty much doing her own thing, and yet...I knew in my heart I just had to invite her. What I said to her was this--I'm only going to ask you once, I'm not going to bug you. When you're ready, call me, and I'll come pick you up and we'll go together. But, I'm not going to ask you again, so it's up to you. Honestly, I didn't think she'd call, not for a long time. However, 3 weeks later she did. She came to church with me that Sunday and never looked back. Yes, she's gone through many trials and tribulations just like the rest of us and she has worked out her stuff with God. And, we've always given each other space, and we've always prayed for each other.
We became best friends over the next few years. We had so much in common--we each had a daughter and then, 2 sons, we went to the same church, had many of the same friends, we went camping together, (yes, I used to camp) we raised our kids together, hung out, went to Bible studies, and on and on. And when I moved to the midwest many years later, she was one of the people that I hated moving away from the most. It tore my heart out to leave her. One good thing though is that we've still maintained our relationship. Maybe because we are blood--I don't know. Maybe because we have so much history, or maybe because that's how God wants it. We are still (if not more so) close, we still pray for each other, listen to each other, counsel each other and think of each other as soul sisters. She is probably my closest friend. And without getting too mushy here--just know this, I love her very much, in fact--I admire her. And, I'm going to tell you why. This will embarrass her, however, since I don't use names and have a boatload of cousins, she will remain somewhat (not really) anonymous.
Almost 40 years ago my cousin (and her sister) suffered a great tragedy. Their entire family was killed in a small plane crash. Their father, mother, brother and sister--gone. Just like that their world was interrupted and turned upside down. I can remember that night very clearly. My husband and I were in the car, and on the radio came a news bulletin. There had been a plane crash with 3 family members on board, all were killed. How sad I thought, a whole family--gone. When we walked into our house the phone was ringing--my sister delivered the news--it was my aunt, uncle and 2 cousins--there were actually 4 on board. They'd found their brother's body too. The funeral for those 4 family members was one of the largest I'd ever been to. They were from a small town and I think just about everybody came. My cousin was only 18 years old and her sister only 16. As I sat there watching both of my cousins say goodbye to their family, well, it just broke my heart. I believe that it was at that time, God began to put that soul sister love and that protective big sister heart--into me. Because within just a couple of short years, our deep friendship began.
You might wonder why I admire my cousin so much, well, in all these years she's never played the victim. She doesn't talk about her loss. She is strong in her faith and she loves and trusts her God. She knows that he is in control and although I am sure that she misses her parents and siblings every day, she doesn't dwell on that. Her loss has never defined her. She is a survivor. I have such great respect for her, and her relationship with God. She knows that one day she'll be reunited with her family, and she's more than willing to let go of the past and get on with God.
Last week God gave each of us a gift. He allowed us to go to Triennial together. And boy did we have fun. Not only was I there with 15 others from my church, but my soul sister was there! We were able to stand next to each other and worship God together side by side for the first time in 14 years. And it was awesome. We cried, we prayed, we talked, we worshiped, and we sang--together. Me and my cousin/best friend/soul sister. I'll never forget that week in San Diego. Soul sisters were reunited.
And I thank our awesome and mighty God for such a wonderful time.
Now, I have one more thing to say--something grandiose--something kind of crazy sounding. I have a request for prayer. My cousin and I, no wait, now that I think about I have several cousins with daughters--anyway, wouldn't it be the coolest thing ever if in 3 years, at the next Triennial, well, if we could all go again only next time with our daughters? I wonder--if I start praying now--how many would go? Cousins, and their daughters, sisters, and their daughters, the possibilities are limitless, kind of like my God. He's just so awesome like that. And now I've lots to pray about. And so does my cousin--she'll be so happy! Her bossy cousin strikes again! Soul sisters forever.
We weren't close growing up though. She's a couple of years younger than I am and she hung out with my little sister. In fact, as much as I hate to admit it, I was a little (just a little) bit mean to her. OK, a lot mean. You see, she was a little tattle tail. You remember those types--mom, so and so is doing such and such. So much so, that I found myself looking for things to do so that she'd tattle on me and then I'd bat my innocent little eyes at my mother and say--who me? I didn't do that mom. She's lying. And of course, my mom would believe me. Yes, I was an ornery little booger. My poor little cousin would get so exasperated with me but it was worth it just to put that little tattle tale in her place. What a little brat I was!
Fast forward several years later, and we were married and starting our own families. We'd just had our first babies, and I found out that she was moving to the town I was living in. I wondered how that would go down--would we hang out? Would she want to go to my church? Would our little girls play together? I wanted us to be friends, we were grown-ups now, we were moms--so I tried hard to welcome her and I introduced her to some of my friends. And I invited her to church, which she declined. It's interesting now that I think back on that conversation--I knew she was going through a rough time, but I also knew that I was supposed to invite her to my church. At that time of her life, she wasn't walking with God, she was pretty much doing her own thing, and yet...I knew in my heart I just had to invite her. What I said to her was this--I'm only going to ask you once, I'm not going to bug you. When you're ready, call me, and I'll come pick you up and we'll go together. But, I'm not going to ask you again, so it's up to you. Honestly, I didn't think she'd call, not for a long time. However, 3 weeks later she did. She came to church with me that Sunday and never looked back. Yes, she's gone through many trials and tribulations just like the rest of us and she has worked out her stuff with God. And, we've always given each other space, and we've always prayed for each other.
We became best friends over the next few years. We had so much in common--we each had a daughter and then, 2 sons, we went to the same church, had many of the same friends, we went camping together, (yes, I used to camp) we raised our kids together, hung out, went to Bible studies, and on and on. And when I moved to the midwest many years later, she was one of the people that I hated moving away from the most. It tore my heart out to leave her. One good thing though is that we've still maintained our relationship. Maybe because we are blood--I don't know. Maybe because we have so much history, or maybe because that's how God wants it. We are still (if not more so) close, we still pray for each other, listen to each other, counsel each other and think of each other as soul sisters. She is probably my closest friend. And without getting too mushy here--just know this, I love her very much, in fact--I admire her. And, I'm going to tell you why. This will embarrass her, however, since I don't use names and have a boatload of cousins, she will remain somewhat (not really) anonymous.
Almost 40 years ago my cousin (and her sister) suffered a great tragedy. Their entire family was killed in a small plane crash. Their father, mother, brother and sister--gone. Just like that their world was interrupted and turned upside down. I can remember that night very clearly. My husband and I were in the car, and on the radio came a news bulletin. There had been a plane crash with 3 family members on board, all were killed. How sad I thought, a whole family--gone. When we walked into our house the phone was ringing--my sister delivered the news--it was my aunt, uncle and 2 cousins--there were actually 4 on board. They'd found their brother's body too. The funeral for those 4 family members was one of the largest I'd ever been to. They were from a small town and I think just about everybody came. My cousin was only 18 years old and her sister only 16. As I sat there watching both of my cousins say goodbye to their family, well, it just broke my heart. I believe that it was at that time, God began to put that soul sister love and that protective big sister heart--into me. Because within just a couple of short years, our deep friendship began.
You might wonder why I admire my cousin so much, well, in all these years she's never played the victim. She doesn't talk about her loss. She is strong in her faith and she loves and trusts her God. She knows that he is in control and although I am sure that she misses her parents and siblings every day, she doesn't dwell on that. Her loss has never defined her. She is a survivor. I have such great respect for her, and her relationship with God. She knows that one day she'll be reunited with her family, and she's more than willing to let go of the past and get on with God.
Last week God gave each of us a gift. He allowed us to go to Triennial together. And boy did we have fun. Not only was I there with 15 others from my church, but my soul sister was there! We were able to stand next to each other and worship God together side by side for the first time in 14 years. And it was awesome. We cried, we prayed, we talked, we worshiped, and we sang--together. Me and my cousin/best friend/soul sister. I'll never forget that week in San Diego. Soul sisters were reunited.
And I thank our awesome and mighty God for such a wonderful time.
Now, I have one more thing to say--something grandiose--something kind of crazy sounding. I have a request for prayer. My cousin and I, no wait, now that I think about I have several cousins with daughters--anyway, wouldn't it be the coolest thing ever if in 3 years, at the next Triennial, well, if we could all go again only next time with our daughters? I wonder--if I start praying now--how many would go? Cousins, and their daughters, sisters, and their daughters, the possibilities are limitless, kind of like my God. He's just so awesome like that. And now I've lots to pray about. And so does my cousin--she'll be so happy! Her bossy cousin strikes again! Soul sisters forever.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Triennial--Part 3
At the beginning of this year, our pastor asked us to pray about God giving us a "word of the year", mine was service. I heard God speak this word very clearly to my heart. Service. I wondered what that would look like. I assumed I'd be pretty busy, with a word like service. There were several areas of ministry I was already involved in, so I felt pretty good. I was already doing service. I thought.
However, once again, on that very last worship service at Triennial, that last Sunday morning, just when I thought I was safe, God spoke one more thing into my heart. He said to me--I want you to be available. And I quickly answered--I am available--don't you remember, my word for the year is service. I thought maybe He had forgotten. No, I didn't. I knew He hadn't forgotten.
I thought this blog would be one of the easiest to write, but I think now it just might be the hardest because I found that before I could be available, I had to come clean before the Lord. I had to be honest. You see, I had tucked something so far deep down into my heart that I didn't even realize it was there. I was holding on to a hurt, a disappointment, and I needed that area of my life purged before I could be completely available, or totally surrendered to God.
Here's what I was holding onto. Anger. I was mad at God. Want to know why? Because He moved me away from my kids and grandkids. I now live 6 hours away from my 2 sons and their families and 12 hours away from my daughter and her family, and I hate it. I tried so hard to push that anger way down deep, far away from me, and I tried hard not to dwell on something that right now I can not change. I seriously thought I had done it, that I was managing quite well. After all, didn't I constantly talk about how much I love my home, my neighborhood, my church and my new little town? Well, didn't I? I asked God these things as He exposed my true self to me. He told me that try as I had, I still harbored anger. I blamed Him for ripping me away from my family. And in blaming Him, everything I did--was half-hearted. And God doesn't want half of my heart, He wants all of my heart.
So there I was, once again tears streaming down my face, asking God to forgive me and heal my heart. And He did that day. He healed my sad little broken heart--the one that misses her kids and grandkids so much sometimes--that when I am all alone, all I do is cry. I really don't know how to explain this part, but He has put an assurance deep inside of me that He has everything under control, and that if I will just trust Him and serve Him and be available to Him--with ALL my heart, He'll bless me, and take care of me and heal those sad little parts of my heart. He'll make me whole. I just needed to hand all that over to Him, and so I did. Right there in that service, I lifted up my hands to Him and said--wherever, whatever, however God, I am yours, and I surrender it all to you.
I am now available to be used by God, for His glory at any time. I am His and He is mine. And I will serve Him and love Him and honor Him with all I've got. I am still walking around my house in utter amazement over all that God accomplished in my life in those few short days in San Diego. Yes, Triennial was life changing for me. I am praying that 3 years from now 100 women from my little church are able to attend. I don't know how, but that's really not my problem, now is it? God will take care of the logistics, and my job is clear, I'm going to pray. And I'm just going to be available.
However, once again, on that very last worship service at Triennial, that last Sunday morning, just when I thought I was safe, God spoke one more thing into my heart. He said to me--I want you to be available. And I quickly answered--I am available--don't you remember, my word for the year is service. I thought maybe He had forgotten. No, I didn't. I knew He hadn't forgotten.
I thought this blog would be one of the easiest to write, but I think now it just might be the hardest because I found that before I could be available, I had to come clean before the Lord. I had to be honest. You see, I had tucked something so far deep down into my heart that I didn't even realize it was there. I was holding on to a hurt, a disappointment, and I needed that area of my life purged before I could be completely available, or totally surrendered to God.
Here's what I was holding onto. Anger. I was mad at God. Want to know why? Because He moved me away from my kids and grandkids. I now live 6 hours away from my 2 sons and their families and 12 hours away from my daughter and her family, and I hate it. I tried so hard to push that anger way down deep, far away from me, and I tried hard not to dwell on something that right now I can not change. I seriously thought I had done it, that I was managing quite well. After all, didn't I constantly talk about how much I love my home, my neighborhood, my church and my new little town? Well, didn't I? I asked God these things as He exposed my true self to me. He told me that try as I had, I still harbored anger. I blamed Him for ripping me away from my family. And in blaming Him, everything I did--was half-hearted. And God doesn't want half of my heart, He wants all of my heart.
So there I was, once again tears streaming down my face, asking God to forgive me and heal my heart. And He did that day. He healed my sad little broken heart--the one that misses her kids and grandkids so much sometimes--that when I am all alone, all I do is cry. I really don't know how to explain this part, but He has put an assurance deep inside of me that He has everything under control, and that if I will just trust Him and serve Him and be available to Him--with ALL my heart, He'll bless me, and take care of me and heal those sad little parts of my heart. He'll make me whole. I just needed to hand all that over to Him, and so I did. Right there in that service, I lifted up my hands to Him and said--wherever, whatever, however God, I am yours, and I surrender it all to you.
I am now available to be used by God, for His glory at any time. I am His and He is mine. And I will serve Him and love Him and honor Him with all I've got. I am still walking around my house in utter amazement over all that God accomplished in my life in those few short days in San Diego. Yes, Triennial was life changing for me. I am praying that 3 years from now 100 women from my little church are able to attend. I don't know how, but that's really not my problem, now is it? God will take care of the logistics, and my job is clear, I'm going to pray. And I'm just going to be available.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Triennial--Part 2
There are many many titles I could give to this blog post. One of which would be--my calling. And that is what I am going to talk about. My gift, my calling. We all have them, they are special giftings from God. Ephesians 4:11, 12 talks about these specific calls or gifts from God.
So, there I was minding my own business at Triennial, thinking I had heard from God, ready to digest and mull over what he'd said to me, when low and behold he spoke again. This time though it was through a memory, a flashback to a time over 30 years ago. It happened during the same time my husband had his come to Jesus meeting that I've shared about in my blog titled--A Calling Fulfilled.
I shared the story about how a pastor spoke into my husband's life. Well, that same pastor spoke into mine that night as well. I've just never shared it before. Ever. Oh, I've talked about what he said to me regarding how to be patient, kind and understanding with my husband as God was growing him, but I've always trailed off by saying--he said a few other things too, but--and then I'd never finish that sentence.
Well, at Triennial, on Saturday night, he reminded me of just what that pastor had said to me. He said the strangest thing--he leaned in and whispered something into my ear so that only I could hear it. And what he said sent chills down my spine, because there was no way in the whole wide world he could have known. You see, when I pray, and when I hear God's voice deep down in my heart--he calls me daughter. I know that sounds crazy, but he does. This pastor could have started out his sentence in so many other ways, but he didn't. He said, daughter. So when this pastor said--daughter, he caught my attention. And, then he said something else--something that I already knew was real and active and working in my life, but, also something that was so scary to me. He said, daughter, you are God's weeping prophet. And he sees every tear you shed. Funny thing is--I wasn't crying at the time. But, the minute he said that the tears began to flow, I couldn't have held them back if I tried.
Yes, I am a daughter of the most high God. Yes, I cry--when I talk about God, when I pray to God, when I think about God when I sing to God--I cry. I also have that whole prophet gifting thing going on. Oh yes, I do. I have as far back as I can remember. Dreams, visions, the whole nine yards. And, as I stood there during our worship service at Triennial, I realized that I had not been moving in my gift. Not really. Not in the way he wanted me to. Why? Because I didn't want anyone to think I was weird. I wanted to just be accepted. I wanted people to like me.
The Holy Spirit convicted me that night. Basically, in a nutshell, he said--I've called you. Now own it. Please don't misunderstand me--I have been hearing God's voice all along, and when appropriate, I've spoken up. I just haven't been moving out in the way God wants me to. I've sought man's approval over God's, and for that I am ashamed.
I've decided to share a couple of examples as to how God speaks to me, just for clarification. I always think it helps to have something to visualize. So here's the first story.
It was a Sunday morning and I was getting ready for church, and as I was praying/singing to the Lord, I saw a picture flash through my mind of a friend of mine. She was sitting with a razor blade laying against her wrist. Fear shot through me, and as I finished up getting ready I could not get that picture out of my head. I prayed for her all through church, and yes, she was there. I wondered--what do I do with this information that God has given me? As the service was coming to an end, our pastor asked the elders to come forward and pray for those who wanted prayer, being an elder, I went up front. And so did my friend. She got in my line. She wanted me to pray for her. As she stood in front of me, I reached out and held her hands, I stood there quietly praying for several minutes with tears rolling down my cheeks. And then I boldly prayed over her concerning what I had seen that morning while praying at home. Yes, she said, I sat there, telling God that I was done, I had had it, I was going to kill myself because no one understood the pain I was going through. We prayed up there at that altar for a long long time. God intervened, and she is doing great--all these many years later.
To me, that's what a prophetic call is all about--it confirms things already in our hearts, it gives us encouragement, and also is used as a warning. A word of wisdom, knowledge or confirmation. That's the call that God has given me. I did not ask for this gift. However, I will accept it and I will walk in it and I will share and speak out what he wants me to.
The next example might sound silly, but it really did happen just the way I'm telling you. We had just moved back to a small town that we had lived in for 8 years, so I had lots of friends already in the area. As I was praying one morning I heard God tell me to get ready and go to the mall. I know, I get the irony here! But, I did not go into any stores, I just felt lead to walk that 2 story mall, so up and down the corridors, I went. Up ahead of me I heard someone almost scream out OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD. As I looked towards the woman yelling, I realized that I knew her, so I started walking towards her. She threw herself into my arms and began to tell me the story of how she had been so desperate, so despondent, so emotionally undone. She had prayed that morning and asked God to bring someone to her that she could trust, talk to and pray with. Immediately she thought of me but knew that I had moved away years before, but she did not know that I had recently moved back into town. When she saw me, she knew that she was witnessing a miracle right before her eyes, she was so excited and thankful that God loved her so much that he told me to go to that mall, on that day, at that hour. God met us there that day, we sat right there on a bench on the second floor of a huge mall, crying, praying and praising God. Yep, it was nothing short of miraculous. But, that's the kind of God we serve.
So, that's my calling. Prophetic and prayerful, and God wants me to move out in this gift more than I do right now. He's calling me to walk a truer walk of faith. And I will. As scary as it seems to me, as stretching and uncomfortable and disruptive as it might get--I have to be obedient. And I will. I will continue to be that weeping prophet for the rest of my life because that's what God has called me to.
So, there I was minding my own business at Triennial, thinking I had heard from God, ready to digest and mull over what he'd said to me, when low and behold he spoke again. This time though it was through a memory, a flashback to a time over 30 years ago. It happened during the same time my husband had his come to Jesus meeting that I've shared about in my blog titled--A Calling Fulfilled.
I shared the story about how a pastor spoke into my husband's life. Well, that same pastor spoke into mine that night as well. I've just never shared it before. Ever. Oh, I've talked about what he said to me regarding how to be patient, kind and understanding with my husband as God was growing him, but I've always trailed off by saying--he said a few other things too, but--and then I'd never finish that sentence.
Well, at Triennial, on Saturday night, he reminded me of just what that pastor had said to me. He said the strangest thing--he leaned in and whispered something into my ear so that only I could hear it. And what he said sent chills down my spine, because there was no way in the whole wide world he could have known. You see, when I pray, and when I hear God's voice deep down in my heart--he calls me daughter. I know that sounds crazy, but he does. This pastor could have started out his sentence in so many other ways, but he didn't. He said, daughter. So when this pastor said--daughter, he caught my attention. And, then he said something else--something that I already knew was real and active and working in my life, but, also something that was so scary to me. He said, daughter, you are God's weeping prophet. And he sees every tear you shed. Funny thing is--I wasn't crying at the time. But, the minute he said that the tears began to flow, I couldn't have held them back if I tried.
Yes, I am a daughter of the most high God. Yes, I cry--when I talk about God, when I pray to God, when I think about God when I sing to God--I cry. I also have that whole prophet gifting thing going on. Oh yes, I do. I have as far back as I can remember. Dreams, visions, the whole nine yards. And, as I stood there during our worship service at Triennial, I realized that I had not been moving in my gift. Not really. Not in the way he wanted me to. Why? Because I didn't want anyone to think I was weird. I wanted to just be accepted. I wanted people to like me.
The Holy Spirit convicted me that night. Basically, in a nutshell, he said--I've called you. Now own it. Please don't misunderstand me--I have been hearing God's voice all along, and when appropriate, I've spoken up. I just haven't been moving out in the way God wants me to. I've sought man's approval over God's, and for that I am ashamed.
I've decided to share a couple of examples as to how God speaks to me, just for clarification. I always think it helps to have something to visualize. So here's the first story.
It was a Sunday morning and I was getting ready for church, and as I was praying/singing to the Lord, I saw a picture flash through my mind of a friend of mine. She was sitting with a razor blade laying against her wrist. Fear shot through me, and as I finished up getting ready I could not get that picture out of my head. I prayed for her all through church, and yes, she was there. I wondered--what do I do with this information that God has given me? As the service was coming to an end, our pastor asked the elders to come forward and pray for those who wanted prayer, being an elder, I went up front. And so did my friend. She got in my line. She wanted me to pray for her. As she stood in front of me, I reached out and held her hands, I stood there quietly praying for several minutes with tears rolling down my cheeks. And then I boldly prayed over her concerning what I had seen that morning while praying at home. Yes, she said, I sat there, telling God that I was done, I had had it, I was going to kill myself because no one understood the pain I was going through. We prayed up there at that altar for a long long time. God intervened, and she is doing great--all these many years later.
To me, that's what a prophetic call is all about--it confirms things already in our hearts, it gives us encouragement, and also is used as a warning. A word of wisdom, knowledge or confirmation. That's the call that God has given me. I did not ask for this gift. However, I will accept it and I will walk in it and I will share and speak out what he wants me to.
The next example might sound silly, but it really did happen just the way I'm telling you. We had just moved back to a small town that we had lived in for 8 years, so I had lots of friends already in the area. As I was praying one morning I heard God tell me to get ready and go to the mall. I know, I get the irony here! But, I did not go into any stores, I just felt lead to walk that 2 story mall, so up and down the corridors, I went. Up ahead of me I heard someone almost scream out OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD. As I looked towards the woman yelling, I realized that I knew her, so I started walking towards her. She threw herself into my arms and began to tell me the story of how she had been so desperate, so despondent, so emotionally undone. She had prayed that morning and asked God to bring someone to her that she could trust, talk to and pray with. Immediately she thought of me but knew that I had moved away years before, but she did not know that I had recently moved back into town. When she saw me, she knew that she was witnessing a miracle right before her eyes, she was so excited and thankful that God loved her so much that he told me to go to that mall, on that day, at that hour. God met us there that day, we sat right there on a bench on the second floor of a huge mall, crying, praying and praising God. Yep, it was nothing short of miraculous. But, that's the kind of God we serve.
So, that's my calling. Prophetic and prayerful, and God wants me to move out in this gift more than I do right now. He's calling me to walk a truer walk of faith. And I will. As scary as it seems to me, as stretching and uncomfortable and disruptive as it might get--I have to be obedient. And I will. I will continue to be that weeping prophet for the rest of my life because that's what God has called me to.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Triennial--Part 1
I've just returned from several days in San Diego at an event called Triennial. It is a women's conference with the Evangelical Covenant denomination--of which I am a member. While there--God spoke to me. He said 3 things, so I have decided to write 3 separate blogs covering in detail what I heard from God. Some or maybe even all won't make any sense to you. It does to me, however. He knew just what to say to get my attention and get my attention he did. Yes, I can say that last week God changed my life. So I will break this down into 3 parts and hopefully, I'll be able to convey in words what happened to me from start to finish. It still blows me away, so it is difficult to write about. Please know that I am crying my eyes out as I type. For God is so very real and alive.
It began something like this--I was in a bad mood. I'll call it a spiritual bad mood. Actually looking back I believe that I was under attack. I had recently crunched in the back bumper of my car backing out of a friend's driveway. I also (unrelated to the car incident) spent some time at my doctor's office, and physical therapy, and had to go on medication. Fortunately, by the time my plane left for the west coast, my car was in the shop and I was off the meds. I, however, couldn't seem to shake the mood. I was kind of blah. Other descriptive words might include--discouraged, saddened, very much a what's the use attitude. Only I didn't know it at the time. I wasn't even aware that I was going through this spiritual bad mood, let alone that I was under attack. I'm kind of dumb that way.
I arrived in San Diego ready to have some fun. That's just what I needed I thought--fun! My friend and I went shopping, went on a trolly tour, and out to dinner, we were having a great time. And yet. There remained a deep sadness in my heart. And I just couldn't shake it. I wondered--why was I here?
The conference started on a Thursday night--worship, singing, a great message by our very own pastor's wife, who is also president of our women's ministry. It was so exciting to see 850 women praising God, hands lifted, voices joined in song--it should have been awesome. Only it wasn't. I still felt blah. I tried hard to shake it, only I couldn't. And that evening while others stayed around afterward to chat, I went back to my room to pray. I kept asking God--what in the heck is wrong with me? Am I just tired? Am I just not feeling you here? What is up with that??? Nothing. I heard nothing. So, I decided to just keep on keeping on.
The next morning we headed off for another time of worship, some workshops, and another evening of worship. Nothing changed. It wasn't as though it was bad. Quite the opposite. It was great. It was just me, I wasn't feeling it. Not at all. Again that evening rather than hang out and chit chat with the others, I went back to my room and prayed. Please, God, I said--show yourself to me. Talk to me. Speak to me! I am desperate! I sat there cross-legged on my bed, tears rolling down my face, waiting. Nothing. I heard nothing. So, I started talking. I began to tell God that I was kind of mad that he had brought me all the way out here and I had spent all that money and gave up quite a bit to be here and he wasn't even showing himself to me. I was in a bad mood, my car was crunched, my head hurt, my neck hurt, and I was so tired and I complained and complained and complained until I fell asleep.
I guess he heard me because the next morning as a young Mexican woman named Bianca got up to preach--well, all of a sudden God had my attention. I could hear him saying to me--can you hear me now! Yes, I said, I can hear you. And what he said to me while she was preaching took me so by surprise that I sat there dumbfounded. It was weird--I heard every word she said and I heard God speak at the same time. That was awesome. Anyway--this is what he said to me.
STOP IT. STOP IT. STOP IT.
I played dumb at first. Stop what? Oh, I knew. I knew. I just didn't want to admit it. But, as I sat there, right in the middle of 850 women, he spoke to me and he said those 2 words. They brought me up short. Kind of like when you are training a dog on a choke chain. Swift, straight up, fast, and with authority. I knew what he was talking about. Oh yes, I did. I use the analogy of dog training for a reason. I've trained several dogs, and have always used the same technique. It remains the same, even though the personality of the dog might be different. Eventually, said puppy will respond to the training, some just take longer than others. Take the dog I now own. Teaching that dog the down command was the hardest thing I've ever done. I've always trained my dogs not only with verbal words but also hand signals. From 50 ft away, if I signal my dog, she had better hit the ground. Down means down. I thought of all that while God was speaking to me. Stop it means to stop it.
So, what did he want me to stop? Well, he wanted me to stop playing church. Only not in the way one might think. Nope, the opposite way. Some people play all holy, holy, churchy, churchy. I was doing the opposite and he wanted me to stop it. This is so hard to explain, however, I will try.
I was raised in the Assemblies Of God denomination. Pentecostal. Loud. Pray-ers. Hands raised. Lots of freedom in worship. Crying. Open adoration before God. Fiery. Bold. Unashamed. But, a few years ago, we started going to a Covenant church. We became members and depending on where we've lived, we've either gone to one or the other. AG or Cov. Right now we are at a Covenant church. It's a quiet, sweet little church, full of the most awesome people you'd ever want to meet. They have hearts of gold and would do anything for me. And because of this--for this very reason, I need to come clean before them and ask them to forgive me. I have not been real. I have not been authentic. I have been playing church. You see--I've been holding back, as to not offend them. I wanted them to like me. I wanted them to accept me. And honestly, I didn't want to come off too holy, holy. And God wants me to STOP IT.
So, as Bianca was preaching and moving out in the spirit of God, and ministering to those women, God told me that like her, I move in those same giftings. Only I was hiding. I was trying hard to be sly about being used by God. And he doesn't like that. So, I'm done being shy, I'm done hiding.
God is calling me to worship him with my whole heart. Whether it offends them or not. Whether it makes them feel uncomfortable or not. So now, instead of just slightly raising one hand while worshiping, if he says to get both those hands up there girl! I will. If he says to me--fall on your knees and worship me, right there smack dab in the middle of church--I will. I will STOP IT and I will praise him with all I've got. They might not like it, but I have to be obedient. I have to. So I will.
I am a Spirit filled, Pentecostal, Charismatic, crazy church lady. That's who I really am, and I'm not going to hide it any longer. They might be kicking me out soon, but I will praise my God with my whole heart, tears running freely down my face, hands raised high, face turned towards God--for he is mighty, and I love him and I love to pray (and here I will add--I don't just love to pray a little--I love to pray a lot), and I love to sing and worship more than anything else in this entire world. And I am no longer going to hold back while I am in church. I'm going to STOP IT.
Yes, this is part 1. Parts 2 and 3 are even crazier. Hold on to your hats. He spoke 2 more things into my heart over the next two sermons. I'll write about them soon, I promise. In the mean time pray for me. Pray that I can shed these inhibitions of mine and that I am obedient to the call on my life.
And pray for my sweet little church. I just love those people with my whole heart. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm on them like white on rice! I'm here and I'm ready to be used by God.
It began something like this--I was in a bad mood. I'll call it a spiritual bad mood. Actually looking back I believe that I was under attack. I had recently crunched in the back bumper of my car backing out of a friend's driveway. I also (unrelated to the car incident) spent some time at my doctor's office, and physical therapy, and had to go on medication. Fortunately, by the time my plane left for the west coast, my car was in the shop and I was off the meds. I, however, couldn't seem to shake the mood. I was kind of blah. Other descriptive words might include--discouraged, saddened, very much a what's the use attitude. Only I didn't know it at the time. I wasn't even aware that I was going through this spiritual bad mood, let alone that I was under attack. I'm kind of dumb that way.
I arrived in San Diego ready to have some fun. That's just what I needed I thought--fun! My friend and I went shopping, went on a trolly tour, and out to dinner, we were having a great time. And yet. There remained a deep sadness in my heart. And I just couldn't shake it. I wondered--why was I here?
The conference started on a Thursday night--worship, singing, a great message by our very own pastor's wife, who is also president of our women's ministry. It was so exciting to see 850 women praising God, hands lifted, voices joined in song--it should have been awesome. Only it wasn't. I still felt blah. I tried hard to shake it, only I couldn't. And that evening while others stayed around afterward to chat, I went back to my room to pray. I kept asking God--what in the heck is wrong with me? Am I just tired? Am I just not feeling you here? What is up with that??? Nothing. I heard nothing. So, I decided to just keep on keeping on.
The next morning we headed off for another time of worship, some workshops, and another evening of worship. Nothing changed. It wasn't as though it was bad. Quite the opposite. It was great. It was just me, I wasn't feeling it. Not at all. Again that evening rather than hang out and chit chat with the others, I went back to my room and prayed. Please, God, I said--show yourself to me. Talk to me. Speak to me! I am desperate! I sat there cross-legged on my bed, tears rolling down my face, waiting. Nothing. I heard nothing. So, I started talking. I began to tell God that I was kind of mad that he had brought me all the way out here and I had spent all that money and gave up quite a bit to be here and he wasn't even showing himself to me. I was in a bad mood, my car was crunched, my head hurt, my neck hurt, and I was so tired and I complained and complained and complained until I fell asleep.
I guess he heard me because the next morning as a young Mexican woman named Bianca got up to preach--well, all of a sudden God had my attention. I could hear him saying to me--can you hear me now! Yes, I said, I can hear you. And what he said to me while she was preaching took me so by surprise that I sat there dumbfounded. It was weird--I heard every word she said and I heard God speak at the same time. That was awesome. Anyway--this is what he said to me.
STOP IT. STOP IT. STOP IT.
I played dumb at first. Stop what? Oh, I knew. I knew. I just didn't want to admit it. But, as I sat there, right in the middle of 850 women, he spoke to me and he said those 2 words. They brought me up short. Kind of like when you are training a dog on a choke chain. Swift, straight up, fast, and with authority. I knew what he was talking about. Oh yes, I did. I use the analogy of dog training for a reason. I've trained several dogs, and have always used the same technique. It remains the same, even though the personality of the dog might be different. Eventually, said puppy will respond to the training, some just take longer than others. Take the dog I now own. Teaching that dog the down command was the hardest thing I've ever done. I've always trained my dogs not only with verbal words but also hand signals. From 50 ft away, if I signal my dog, she had better hit the ground. Down means down. I thought of all that while God was speaking to me. Stop it means to stop it.
So, what did he want me to stop? Well, he wanted me to stop playing church. Only not in the way one might think. Nope, the opposite way. Some people play all holy, holy, churchy, churchy. I was doing the opposite and he wanted me to stop it. This is so hard to explain, however, I will try.
I was raised in the Assemblies Of God denomination. Pentecostal. Loud. Pray-ers. Hands raised. Lots of freedom in worship. Crying. Open adoration before God. Fiery. Bold. Unashamed. But, a few years ago, we started going to a Covenant church. We became members and depending on where we've lived, we've either gone to one or the other. AG or Cov. Right now we are at a Covenant church. It's a quiet, sweet little church, full of the most awesome people you'd ever want to meet. They have hearts of gold and would do anything for me. And because of this--for this very reason, I need to come clean before them and ask them to forgive me. I have not been real. I have not been authentic. I have been playing church. You see--I've been holding back, as to not offend them. I wanted them to like me. I wanted them to accept me. And honestly, I didn't want to come off too holy, holy. And God wants me to STOP IT.
So, as Bianca was preaching and moving out in the spirit of God, and ministering to those women, God told me that like her, I move in those same giftings. Only I was hiding. I was trying hard to be sly about being used by God. And he doesn't like that. So, I'm done being shy, I'm done hiding.
God is calling me to worship him with my whole heart. Whether it offends them or not. Whether it makes them feel uncomfortable or not. So now, instead of just slightly raising one hand while worshiping, if he says to get both those hands up there girl! I will. If he says to me--fall on your knees and worship me, right there smack dab in the middle of church--I will. I will STOP IT and I will praise him with all I've got. They might not like it, but I have to be obedient. I have to. So I will.
I am a Spirit filled, Pentecostal, Charismatic, crazy church lady. That's who I really am, and I'm not going to hide it any longer. They might be kicking me out soon, but I will praise my God with my whole heart, tears running freely down my face, hands raised high, face turned towards God--for he is mighty, and I love him and I love to pray (and here I will add--I don't just love to pray a little--I love to pray a lot), and I love to sing and worship more than anything else in this entire world. And I am no longer going to hold back while I am in church. I'm going to STOP IT.
Yes, this is part 1. Parts 2 and 3 are even crazier. Hold on to your hats. He spoke 2 more things into my heart over the next two sermons. I'll write about them soon, I promise. In the mean time pray for me. Pray that I can shed these inhibitions of mine and that I am obedient to the call on my life.
And pray for my sweet little church. I just love those people with my whole heart. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm on them like white on rice! I'm here and I'm ready to be used by God.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Blogging Prednisone Style
I've been told that I should blog right now! While I am hopped up on medication. I think it's because I confessed via a multitude of Facebook postings about my recent trip to the doctor's office concerning my neck and hip. I originally went for another cortisone shot in the bursa sac of my left hip and while there decided to mention my neck problems. No, not my husband--a real pain in my neck. No wait, that's still not coming out right. Oh well, I ended up trying to explain to my doctor just what was going on, and he then had some x-rays taken.
It seems that one or two of the vertebrae in my neck aren't turning correctly, basically, one is stuck and also there is some deterioration. So long story short, he put me on a few weeks of physical therapy and on a decreasing dose of Prednisone. 8 days worth of crazy. That's what I'm calling it. 8 days of very odd things going on in my head, and body. For example--the first thing I noticed on day one was the fact my mind was racing a mile a minute. I couldn't contain my thoughts, they wanted to leap right out of my mouth! Another was hot sweats, and yet another was an increased appetite. And remember, I eat low carb! That first day almost did me in. I only slept for 4 hours those next two nights, I had a very clean house though and I practiced NOT talking! Also, I noticed something else, and I highly doubt that it's in any type of warning label that goes along with the meds I was on--I had an increased hyper sense of smell. Body odor smells in department stores and especially elevators. I thought a couple of times I just might loose my lunch. I also dealt with a very upset stomach, wondering at times if I needed to make a run for the restroom. I was nauseous and queasy after every dose. And to top it all off, in the evenings, my skin itched!
Yes, those first 4 days of meds were taking their toll on me. I was afraid to talk on the phone, meet friends for lunch, go on Facebook and lots of other interactive activities. I lived in fear for several days. I started to decrease the meds today, and I feel so much better. I even dozed for 10 minutes in my recliner! It's a miracle. However--I can still smell the smells. There are some retail stores that just have lost my business forever. I hit the internet for my shopping pleasure today--who knows what will show up in the mail while I'm out of town next week. It'll be like Christmas! Surprise!
So, this evening, I sit here on my laptop writing away, sharing about this crazy 8-day experience of mine. I'll be boarding a plane in a couple of days and I'm thanking God it'll be my last day of meds. Hopefully I won't be able to smell so well on that plane, hopefully, I'll actually sleep in the hotel, hopefully, I'll be able to keep my mouth shut while around others. Yes, this has been a very crazy 8 days.
So, on the dare of some friends, I'm writing this little blog. Hopped up, crazy, attention veering off in every direction, mind wandering, sleep deprived and very hungry. However, now that I'm thinking about it--my neck does feel better!
It seems that one or two of the vertebrae in my neck aren't turning correctly, basically, one is stuck and also there is some deterioration. So long story short, he put me on a few weeks of physical therapy and on a decreasing dose of Prednisone. 8 days worth of crazy. That's what I'm calling it. 8 days of very odd things going on in my head, and body. For example--the first thing I noticed on day one was the fact my mind was racing a mile a minute. I couldn't contain my thoughts, they wanted to leap right out of my mouth! Another was hot sweats, and yet another was an increased appetite. And remember, I eat low carb! That first day almost did me in. I only slept for 4 hours those next two nights, I had a very clean house though and I practiced NOT talking! Also, I noticed something else, and I highly doubt that it's in any type of warning label that goes along with the meds I was on--I had an increased hyper sense of smell. Body odor smells in department stores and especially elevators. I thought a couple of times I just might loose my lunch. I also dealt with a very upset stomach, wondering at times if I needed to make a run for the restroom. I was nauseous and queasy after every dose. And to top it all off, in the evenings, my skin itched!
Yes, those first 4 days of meds were taking their toll on me. I was afraid to talk on the phone, meet friends for lunch, go on Facebook and lots of other interactive activities. I lived in fear for several days. I started to decrease the meds today, and I feel so much better. I even dozed for 10 minutes in my recliner! It's a miracle. However--I can still smell the smells. There are some retail stores that just have lost my business forever. I hit the internet for my shopping pleasure today--who knows what will show up in the mail while I'm out of town next week. It'll be like Christmas! Surprise!
So, this evening, I sit here on my laptop writing away, sharing about this crazy 8-day experience of mine. I'll be boarding a plane in a couple of days and I'm thanking God it'll be my last day of meds. Hopefully I won't be able to smell so well on that plane, hopefully, I'll actually sleep in the hotel, hopefully, I'll be able to keep my mouth shut while around others. Yes, this has been a very crazy 8 days.
So, on the dare of some friends, I'm writing this little blog. Hopped up, crazy, attention veering off in every direction, mind wandering, sleep deprived and very hungry. However, now that I'm thinking about it--my neck does feel better!
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Yes, I'm Sure
A funny thing happened to me at a recent doctor's appointment. In fact, this wasn't the first time I have experienced this little conversation/interaction. Since I thought it very humorous, I thought that just maybe you would too.
I had to fill out some new paperwork, as they were updating their information. No problem I said and sat down to fill out some patient forms. As I handed in my paperwork our conversation began.
It went something like this--
Are you Hispanic?
No
Ummmmmmm, are you sure?
Yes, I'm sure
Sooooooooooo, you're non-Hispanic?
Correct, I am not Hispanic.
She sat there looking at me as though I were outright lying to her. Guess what I did? I laughed out loud. I would think that I, more than anyone in that room, would know my ethnic make-up. I assured her once again that I was not Latina, and that I had checked the correct box. The poor lady didn't know how to respond, so she just looked at me and said--OOOOOKKKKK.
I'm still a little stunned over this event. True, I am olive complected, I have dark brown eyes and brown hair, but there are many of us who fit that description and aren't Latina. Not that I'd mind it, but it just isn't true.
There was also another incident that happened a few years ago while I was still living in California. I went into a new hair salon for a hair cut and this is what transpired--
The hair stylist asked me a question in Spanish.
I said I don't speak Spanish.
What? Your parents didn't teach you Spanish. That's terrible!
I just laughed--I'm not Mexican.
Ohhhhhhh--I thought you were. You look Mexican. Are you sure you're not Mexican?
Yes, I'm sure.
Believe it or not, this happens to me about once per year. Sometimes more, sometimes less. I've even been asked if I was half Asian. I must just have one of those faces. I can pass for a lot of things. Which is actually kind of fun. Think about it--when I'm in Italy, any Eastern European country, Central or South America, Mexico. I'm in like Flint! I love it. My only regret is that I didn't take Spanish as a foreign language in school. No, I wasn't that smart--instead, I opted for 7 years of French!
So, just what is my ethnic background? Cherokee Indian, Scottish, English and French. I like that combination. I feel very well-rounded for traveling the world. And yes, yes, I'm sure. I don't speak Spanish.
I enjoy things that make me laugh, that make me smile, that brings me joy. And for some silly reason, this did. I'm actually looking forward to the next encounter. Yes, I'm sure.
I had to fill out some new paperwork, as they were updating their information. No problem I said and sat down to fill out some patient forms. As I handed in my paperwork our conversation began.
It went something like this--
Are you Hispanic?
No
Ummmmmmm, are you sure?
Yes, I'm sure
Sooooooooooo, you're non-Hispanic?
Correct, I am not Hispanic.
She sat there looking at me as though I were outright lying to her. Guess what I did? I laughed out loud. I would think that I, more than anyone in that room, would know my ethnic make-up. I assured her once again that I was not Latina, and that I had checked the correct box. The poor lady didn't know how to respond, so she just looked at me and said--OOOOOKKKKK.
I'm still a little stunned over this event. True, I am olive complected, I have dark brown eyes and brown hair, but there are many of us who fit that description and aren't Latina. Not that I'd mind it, but it just isn't true.
There was also another incident that happened a few years ago while I was still living in California. I went into a new hair salon for a hair cut and this is what transpired--
The hair stylist asked me a question in Spanish.
I said I don't speak Spanish.
What? Your parents didn't teach you Spanish. That's terrible!
I just laughed--I'm not Mexican.
Ohhhhhhh--I thought you were. You look Mexican. Are you sure you're not Mexican?
Yes, I'm sure.
Believe it or not, this happens to me about once per year. Sometimes more, sometimes less. I've even been asked if I was half Asian. I must just have one of those faces. I can pass for a lot of things. Which is actually kind of fun. Think about it--when I'm in Italy, any Eastern European country, Central or South America, Mexico. I'm in like Flint! I love it. My only regret is that I didn't take Spanish as a foreign language in school. No, I wasn't that smart--instead, I opted for 7 years of French!
So, just what is my ethnic background? Cherokee Indian, Scottish, English and French. I like that combination. I feel very well-rounded for traveling the world. And yes, yes, I'm sure. I don't speak Spanish.
I enjoy things that make me laugh, that make me smile, that brings me joy. And for some silly reason, this did. I'm actually looking forward to the next encounter. Yes, I'm sure.
Friday, August 2, 2013
He Is God
Something was really bothering me this morning but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I prayed. I prayed hard. And then I prayed some more. I kept asking God--what are you trying to remind me of, what are you saying to me, what are you wanting me to do? After hours of pondering, praying and considering what God was doing in my heart--I finally got some answers. And with those answers, a humility like I've never known before.
I was reminded this morning of a couple of sayings that were continually said in my home while I was growing up. I wonder now if I was taught them for a reason, or if they were just used to stop the arguing between my sister and I. What was the true intent of these quotes that were so often used in my childhood home?
One quote went something like this--If you don't have something nice to say about someone, don't say anything at all. That sounds like good advice to me. Have I heeded that advice? Hardly. When someone makes me mad, angry, upset, jealous, etc, well, I just might say something not very nice. I don't like that about myself. I wish I could be that person who could keep their mouth shut, and just not say anything at all. I could you know. I could be that person--if I wanted to. I could just plain shut up and only say good things about people. My flesh gets in the way though, and that truly bothers me. I was raised better than that.
Another quote went like this--believe half of what you see and none of what you hear. Great advice! Great! Now why, oh why, can't I abide by that wisdom? I have no excuses. I read about people--in the newspapers, on the internet, in magazines and without even knowing them, without ever having met them, I judge them. Why do I do that?
I can honestly say that it is this flaw in myself that is bothering me the most today. I was raised with these 2 sayings being used in my home while growing up on almost a daily basis and yet--I fail to fulfill them in my own life. God has laid this heavily on my heart. As I sit here in my nice little home surrounded by my nice little neighborhood, by my friends, my church, etc--I sit here judging those in places of leadership over me, people whom I have never even met! And today I have been convicted by the Holy Spirit. Judge not. That is what I am hearing from God today. Judge not.
So what do I do with this? How do I pray? What do I say to God? I have asked Him to forgive me, I have asked Him for wisdom, I have asked Him to help me speak only about the good in people, and to please help me not to judge them. I know that I live in a world where there are bad people doing bad things, where there are corruption and violence, where there is evil roaming around like a lion. How then do I keep from judging that?
And then I got my answer--judge that. Not them. It was profound for me. That simple thought. Yes, I've heard the saying--judge the sin not the sinner. But that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about something that was buried deep down in my heart. I am judging everything and everyone. And God wants it to stop. He wants me to understand something that goes way beyond anything I've ever considered before. Judge the evilness in this world. Just don't dare judge His creation--He will do that. Don't judge His people. He will do that. Don't judge those He has put in authority. He will do that. For He is God. And I am not. He is the God of the universe. He has control--completely, and forever.
I will heed this warning from my God. I will listen to His voice. I will not judge. I will let Him do the judging. For He is God. And I am not. And that to me is the best word of knowledge that I have received in a very long time.
Sela
I was reminded this morning of a couple of sayings that were continually said in my home while I was growing up. I wonder now if I was taught them for a reason, or if they were just used to stop the arguing between my sister and I. What was the true intent of these quotes that were so often used in my childhood home?
One quote went something like this--If you don't have something nice to say about someone, don't say anything at all. That sounds like good advice to me. Have I heeded that advice? Hardly. When someone makes me mad, angry, upset, jealous, etc, well, I just might say something not very nice. I don't like that about myself. I wish I could be that person who could keep their mouth shut, and just not say anything at all. I could you know. I could be that person--if I wanted to. I could just plain shut up and only say good things about people. My flesh gets in the way though, and that truly bothers me. I was raised better than that.
Another quote went like this--believe half of what you see and none of what you hear. Great advice! Great! Now why, oh why, can't I abide by that wisdom? I have no excuses. I read about people--in the newspapers, on the internet, in magazines and without even knowing them, without ever having met them, I judge them. Why do I do that?
I can honestly say that it is this flaw in myself that is bothering me the most today. I was raised with these 2 sayings being used in my home while growing up on almost a daily basis and yet--I fail to fulfill them in my own life. God has laid this heavily on my heart. As I sit here in my nice little home surrounded by my nice little neighborhood, by my friends, my church, etc--I sit here judging those in places of leadership over me, people whom I have never even met! And today I have been convicted by the Holy Spirit. Judge not. That is what I am hearing from God today. Judge not.
So what do I do with this? How do I pray? What do I say to God? I have asked Him to forgive me, I have asked Him for wisdom, I have asked Him to help me speak only about the good in people, and to please help me not to judge them. I know that I live in a world where there are bad people doing bad things, where there are corruption and violence, where there is evil roaming around like a lion. How then do I keep from judging that?
And then I got my answer--judge that. Not them. It was profound for me. That simple thought. Yes, I've heard the saying--judge the sin not the sinner. But that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about something that was buried deep down in my heart. I am judging everything and everyone. And God wants it to stop. He wants me to understand something that goes way beyond anything I've ever considered before. Judge the evilness in this world. Just don't dare judge His creation--He will do that. Don't judge His people. He will do that. Don't judge those He has put in authority. He will do that. For He is God. And I am not. He is the God of the universe. He has control--completely, and forever.
I will heed this warning from my God. I will listen to His voice. I will not judge. I will let Him do the judging. For He is God. And I am not. And that to me is the best word of knowledge that I have received in a very long time.
Sela
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