When religious fear cripples the heart, the life, the breath.. When religious fear suffocates what do you do?

A comment I got today hit home.

A fear of making a religious mistake, was the utterance.

I flashed back to months ago, to a year ago, to a lifetime ago.
I have lived a life time knowing fear all to well...
Those same sentiments filled my heart.
Religious fear.

You know what cured it?

Me, the yoga mat, an Episcopal Priest, some new friends, and the Spirit of the Living God.

Let's just start with what finished that last sentence.  Maybe that's where I should have begun. Where the Spirit of the Lord is there is freedom! Not fear. There is permission not restriction. There is internal change not an external adherence of religious criteria and standards. There is beauty. There is wonder. There is power. There is life. Where the Spirit of the Lord actually is, there is LIFE! Light, joy, peace, kindness, compassion... That is the Spirit of the Lord.

I've lived a life time, decades;  living with  discernment, intuition, knowings. I was taught by others  how to hone that which was within me. I teach others how to understand what is within them. I was shown how to trust that which I felt, saw, heard, knew. I show people how to trust that which is within them and beyond them.

 Beyond any of my training. Beyond any of my education. My favorite teacher has been Holy Spirit. It is the Spirit's job to lead into all truth. Not the role of a man or a woman. Not my role and not yours. To know the Spirit is to know the nature and character of spirit.  The Spirit is whole. Lacking in nothing. Kind and generous and true. Capable and beautiful. If one of Christ's last promises to humanity was that the One who would be sent back to earth had a job to do. That job was to lead into all truth. ALL. Not American, white, heterosexual, name a denomination's preferences for theology, etc...TRUTH.. BUT TRUTH
 The Spirit's job is to lead all of humanity into all truth.  WHAT AN IMMENSE and COMPLEX JOB!  Only suited for the Spirit of the Living God.  Not for me. Not for you.

So how dare we take a whole practice that is 1000s of years old and deem it unworthy, deem it demonic, deem it 100% dangerous regardless of the practitioner.  I won't go into the arrogance of that. Because the reality that keeps me grounded and full of joy and able to hold the tensions and questions that come, is that when Christ appeared on the religious scene the religious were afraid.  He was new. His message tore at their insides. His message compelled humanity to reach higher and beyond human flesh into the heart of divinity and to become higher, and more like the very one who had created them.

 His teachings threatened the status quo of centuries. His teachings brought the religious face to face with God and the religious hated it so much that they killed the very God that had come to save them. His teachings opened up access to the leper, to the woman, to the Samaritan, to the child, to the hurting, to the sick, to those that were deemed untouchable, unclean. God came down and pronounced that there was no human being unclean, unable to touch the hem of the garments of God, none unlovable, none unacceptable.

God came down to earth.  There is no place on earth God wouldn't go.  So ask the questions. Admit your afraid. Admit you don't know. Admit that there are things in the world of spirit and light and liberty and joy that we don't let ourselves touch. AND THAT IS SAD!  Out of fear we call something that is holy and beautiful demonic.  They did, we do.. it hasn't changed.  Religious human beings called the Christ demonic.  Let that set in.  Fear... Fear of change,  fear of being led wrong, lack of control.. FEAR.. fear... fear kills. Fear breaks up friendships and creates 1000s of denominations.  We like what we like and we want to have an us and a them. BUT CHRIST made humanity the US.

It took me and takes me deliberate energy to overcome religious fear.  I was paralyzed. Enter an Episcopal priest who had nothing to lose and nothing to gain from my life.  My religious community had lots to lose.  My religious community had to face that one of them was changing. One of them didn't want to have an "us," a "them." But that man, that priest.. had nothing to lose by being my friend. Nothing to gain because of who my husband was, or who we had been trained by, or any number of things.  (Just as a side note... next time any of you think to ask me what John Paul Jackson would say about yoga realize that I know! I know because I heard him myself, say what he personally felt about yoga. Don't you remember? My husband was on staff. We graduated and taught for the ISD. So of course  I know what JP would say.  Do you want my truest answer? Not polite. Not reverent of the dead. Honoring yes.. I honor that man. You have no idea, how much he changed my life.  BUT GUESS WHAT?!?! He was just a man. AND HE COULD BE WRONG! He was wrong about things. Why? Because he was a man.  No ONE man can lead ALL of humanity into ALL truth, unless that man was God. And while some treated that man like a god! HE WASN'T. We can all be wrong.

So how do we know if we are right? What do we do when fear comes crashing in? What do we do when someone says God is going into Samaria and allowing lepers and women and children to touch Him. What do we do? Do we crucify? Do we kill? Or do we realize that this God is so much bigger, so much more capable, so much more full of love!  What do we do when religious fear comes to suffocate?

Pause.
Breathe.
Remember.
Pause.
Breathe.
Remember.

Call to mind the nature and character of Spirit.

Pause
Breathe
Remember

Allow love to come in... WE all pontificate that perfect love casts out fear. Maybe we can close our mouths for a while and walk it out.... There are utterances all over the place in the culture I have been a part of, desires for the new thing, hunger for more of the Spirit,  need for an "outpouring."  I guess my question is, NO.. I know my question would be when that presence comes if it is on the yoga mat would you scream crucify? Yoga mat.. Samria?  Woman with the issue of blood.. Yogi in white? Tongues... Kundalini?

Religious fear comes and says there is danger because actually there is danger... and religious fear knows it... There is danger because there is power, light, love and liberty.  Religious fear and people recognized Christ and were threatened. Religious fear wanted the source of light and love and liberty dead, so that light and liberty and life would die.  BUT the thing I know about religious fear.. is that if we pause, breathe, remember.. maybe we can touch the hem of the garment of perfect love and cast it out.

That is me.. that is the ME part of my equation.  It was me, a yoga mat, an Episcopal priest, some new friends and the Spirit of the Living God.  It was all of that and so much more. I touched perfect love, I touched a love so true, so real, so magnificent and in its perfection I have begun to cast out fear.... So ask your questions and take your steps BUT don't crucify all over again the one who walked into Samaria...

Recovering from Trauma... Our Breath

It was a sensation unlike anything I had ever felt before.

Something was different in my body.

Even my eye balls felt it.

I couldn't find the words to describe what was happening.

I opened my mouth and said, “I feel airier.”

Lighter

Fuller

Clearer

Who would have guessed it was as simple and profound as finding my breath.

But that is what it was....

I had been practicing yoga for a little over a month. People were commenting upon my posture, my demeanor, my countenance. What I was noticing was my spine. It felt airier. I felt taller. Was I perhaps breathing, really breathing? Was I breathing for the first time in my life? I truly believed so.

And it was magical. It was delightful. I was riding breath into new places. I felt alive. Breath filled out crevices within me that hadn't seen fresh air in decades upon decades. It was amazing. It was exhilarating. It was potent. It was awakening. It was deafening. It was terrifying. It was invigorating. It was horrible. It was alive. I was alive. Breath was entering my body day after day, coursing through my frame and creating new pathways into the very depths of my mind, my soul, my spirit, my body.. ME!

When trauma shows up, breath disappears.

In the very moments that we need breath the most, we close our mouths and out of impulse don't let it in.

Shocking or horrible moment occurs, inhale rises chest, mouth closes, lips press firmly and tightly, eyes grow huge, and we stay there.

Some stay there for decades.

Never exhaling the moment that stole their breath in the first place.

Forever living in the shallow tides of prana, breath.

Prana, is the Sanskrit word for breath, life – giving force.

Hebrew origins of man have clay meet breath as the beginning of all human kind.

With in their stories of the prophets of old, the Hebrews tell of a man named Ezekiel and a valley of dry bones, again breath brings restoration and strength. The Christ would exhale upon the cross and all creation would be affected. People of the Pacific Islands hold stories to be sacred as they are told, expressing the truth that within the story the breath of the people are found.

Breath is the life force of all things, yet I was never taught to breathe.

Oh Mims, who needs to be taught to breathe?

All of us!

All of us, would be my answer.

Hildegard once wrote, “The feather flew, not because of anything in itself, but because the air bore it along. Thus am I, a feather on the breath of God.”

“A feather on the breath of God.” 

What an image! 

To live life within that scope would be quite the adventure.

 How can one get there? 

How does one get there?

It took me a while to realize that all that I was feeling had a great deal to do with the fact that I had ceased to breath from my chest, with slow and shallow gasps of air, and begun to learn to pull breath into my body from the depths within. Breath was flowing in upon the inhales and out upon the exhales. Breath was coursing up and down my frame. Breath was filling out my toes and feet, my calves and my thighs, breath was coming into my torso and filling my lungs. I was expanding. I was riding the breath into new places and new places were opening to receive it.

That was both a delightful experience and a horrible realization.

If we don't think that the very thing that empowered our creation isn't as powerful as all that, then we are fooling ourselves and have lost touch with essential qualities of true life.

Pockets that had lived in dark, dry, suffocated places were being rattled within.

Awoken.

Brutal and beautiful things were taking place within.

A defibrillator of sorts was being introduced to my chest.

Shocking what breath can do!

“Come back to life,” was the song. “Come back to life,” was the invitation.

Events happen. We move on. We try. We keep getting up. We keep telling ourselves we are breathing, although we feel absolutely suffocated.

Pause here...

Let yourself settle...

Do you feel suffocated?

Where?

What does it feel like?

What do you need from breath?

Is it to just start again?

Go deeper?

Let yourself be carried by the breath for a while?

Dearest chest breathing friend, I was one of you and there are days I visit you. Except now I recognize the difference so much quicker. There are moments clarity of thought arrive in ways I never knew. There are moments where life feels richer and more full then ever before. But all of this should come with a disclaimer. Breath is powerful. Breath is potent. Breath will change things. It is not stagnant. It is dynamic. In its arrive, its power to affect all of life, bringing forward life is immense and will call for a response. Please, whatever you do... don't forget to breathe!

In an article in Psychology TomorrowMagazine, the Dr. James Reho does an amazing job exploring faith traditions and the reality of breath. It was some of his first statements that pulled me into the entirety of the article.

He writes, “ Breathing is never really simple. Our breath bears our emotional history and is a playing field for our flirtations with both Eros and Thanatos. While our relationship with our breath is often barely conscious, the quality and form of our breathing enhances and communicates much about our emotional state. As children, we hold our breath to get what we want; breath steals and expresses our will. When we are frightened; we gasp for breath sharply with the upper chest; breath influences and expresses our anxiety level.”

He goes on to say, “At some point, as Western Cultures came more and more to take on the viewpoints of Modern philosophy and the Cartesian paradigm, such practices ceased to make sense. Then as discomfort with embodiment (Sexuality, death, particularity, etc.) came more and more to define the Western mind and spiritual paradigm, such practices became either feared or dismissed and ridiculed.”

It is a fantastic article and well worth the entire read.

For our point here... Let me say, there is much detail and complexity to the healing of trauma. Breath is a vital point of beginning. Learning deeper inhales, and deeper exhales, and moving fresh prana in and around and through your body will bring immense change.

Pause here:
Breath exercise: Three part breath focuses the attention on the present moment, calms and grounds the mind.


This  exercise is often done while seated in a comfortable, cross-legged position, but it is also nice to do while lying on the back, particularly at the beginning of your practice. When you are lying down, you can really feel the breath moving through your body as it makes contact with the floor.
1. Come to lie down on the back with the eyes closed, relaxing the face and the body.
2. Begin by observing the natural inhalation and exhalation of your breath without changing anything. If you find yourself distracted by the activity in your mind, try not to engage in the thoughts. Just notice them and then let them go, bringing your attention back to the inhales and the exhales.
3. Then begin to inhale deeply through the nose.
4. On each inhale, fill the belly up with your breath.

My spine felt airier, my head felt cleaner and clearer and I felt more alive then ever before. Traumas from the past resurfaced as the breath entered, but it is time to clean house. It is hard. But then I cling to the promises of Ezekiel... These dry bones CAN and WILL live again, empowered by breath they come back together and learn how to stand as an exceedingly great army. Because that is what we do! That is what I do! I have learned to stand. Now I am learning to stand and breathe.

How He Saves a Life

I believe Him to be kind. I know Him to be more than words could express. These moments held within their framework vestiges of a time and moment in life where pain knew no boundaries. Revisiting those places in safety as to let healing flow is His specialty. His kindness, gentleness, patience and strength amaze me. Utterly amaze me. Upon a day liken unto any other day, He would press in as to bring healing to the depths of my soul.......................

Startled I looked at Him. He had taken me to one of our favorite places. I had begun to take in the landscape; grateful for my feet being placed upon that soil, I took a deep breathe. “I thought that bringing me here was for rest.” I said sheepishly, trying to avoid looking at what I saw before Him. “I would have never thought you would bring that here.”

“You thought wrong,” was His response.

“But....” I started to choke. I couldn't catch my breathe. Tears started to stream down my face. “This feels cruel.”

“Times more often than not have pain. That's not all they will have though.”

“I don't want to do this,” I said.

“I understand.” Was His only response.

I stared at the board that lay in front of Him. I looked at the day. I took in the scenery. “How did you... why would you.. how could that even get here?” Finally the question and its words were forced forth from my mouth.

His look back to me was serious; calling me to know Him, imploring me to trust what I knew of Him and to let this moment be what He wanted it to be...

“Please, stay with me.” Hearing those four words come out of His mouth brought me back into awareness of space, time, Him. “I don't believe I can do this,” was my response. “I know you can.” And as He said those words I looked away.

I tried to ground into the space He had brought to me or me to it; I tried to allow the air to land upon my flesh and saturate my soul. I tried to breathe in that air, calling all of what I am to settle. “It is too much.” Seeing Him, our meadows, along with the rose hued air had always restored my soul quickly. Now seeing that “game,” here, was causing interior conflict I knew not how to handle.

Dear reader,

I will pause in the story, to help you understand how to picture this scene. Picture the most beautiful scene you have ever known in your entire life. Allow remembrances of the most fantastic times of peace and joy to saturate your being. Now interject into that place the most horrific element of your life's experience. How would that change that environment? Going from delight to horror in a nanosecond. These moments would be liken to that.

Mims....

“Come sit with me.” He motioned for me to sit in front of Him, allowing for the board to be between us. All I could feel was air being trapped in my throat. I could hear my heart beating in my ears. I could feel my head clouding over, as my mind grappled to contain the immensity of disparaging elements existing before my eyes. “Breathe. Sit.” Feeling robotic I moved forward. My right hand went down upon the soil, the grass; whose songs I had relished in, been nurtured by, felt strength from, received my body as I sat.

I looked into His eyes. Priest. Savior. King. Ruler. Friend. Confidant. Lover. Everything in His eyes spoke loudly than any words He could have uttered. He did not speak the words, “forgive me,” but I could have sworn He did as He opened up my hand, placing a wooden piece into my palm. I let out the sharpest of screams. The piece fell from my hand and as if in slow motion fell to the earth. “You....” And I stood up dusting myself off and walking, no storming, away. I was not looking back. This was ridiculous.

Screaming into the air, “How could you? That was only cruel. Why would you?”

“Because you need me to.” Startled, I looked towards my right side. “I have nothing to say.” To which He replied that He knew that that wasn't true. I'll never forget that smile upon His face. As the damns of self control broke wide open and a tirade exploded. When I was done, all He said; again with that smile on His face, was “I knew you had something to say.” And He smiled all the more.

“Tell me about failing.”

“I'm not going there with you.”

We walked in silence for what seemed like forever. “Tell me about failing.”

“No.”

Again step by step, quietness surrounded as peace emanated forth from His body.

“Tell me about failing.”

I don't remember crumbling to the grassy floor; knees, elbows, hands, forehead. I felt outside of my body as my hands beat at the ground. Sobs racking my body.

Then tears, not my own, fell upon my hands. Startled I looked up only to see Him, weeping with me; in His hand the piece. “I'm sorry.” The apology wasn't His to give. He wasn't apologizing for these moments; but for that one.

I could feel the cold starting at my toes creeping up my legs into my torso, once again laying hold of my heart, once again freezing my insides. He placed His hand upon my chest, heat blasted through my being, coursing down my torso.

All I could do was lean. Exhaustion saturated every cell. Time doesn't seemingly matter so much upon the grasses of that meadow. Whether it was a day or a thousand years, I laid still. Rising and falling to His chest, His breathe, His heart beat. I must have fallen asleep. I woke to the scent of food cooking upon a fire. “Fish.” I said with a smile, remembering all the stories of Him. “Of course,” He spoke back with a smile.

“Talk to me about this,” He said as He opened the palm of His hand and there was the piece.

I looked at Him. I looked at it. I held out my hand. He looked at me. I looked back at Him. With slow and direct intention keeping His eyes upon me, He placed in it my hand. Closed my hand around it and closed His hand around mine. I knew He knew the story. I knew He knew it better than I did. He wanted me to talk.

“Tell me about failing?”

I just looked at Him. Mouth glued shut.

He turned back to the fire. I watched as He picked up a plate, put a piece of fish upon it, and turned back to me. “Eat with me?” He spoke with quiet affection. I took the plate from His hands. In silence we sat, side by side. I could feel Him.

Those moments I will forever remember. In regards to His kindness, patience, generosity of Spirit. For He knows how we are made, that we are but dust, elevated only through His breathe and will; but granted such dignity that it is incomprehensible.

It became His kindness that would win out in those moments. It was His patience that would be utterly attractive. It was His gentleness that would fill me with courage and strength. I began to speak but as if from off in a daze. “No.” He placed His hand upon my knee. “Here.” He pointed to His chest. He pointed to Him, His eyes. I knew where He wanted me. I looked into His eyes, “ I can't do this.”

“Look.” He pointed to the horizon. I knew them in a moment. Two men walking with a woman in between them. I didn't know what to do; so much in me wanted to run towards them, so much in me wanted to run the other way, so much in me wanted to hide behind Him. They looked so different. So happy. So at ease. So beautiful. I sat glued. Watching. My heart pounding.

Shame began to push its way into my heart. “No.” He spoke with such wonder and authority that it

rattled me. “That is not to be yours.”

“Go greet your friends.” He said.

I placed my hand upon His shoulder and pushed myself up. The woman, who now looked like a girl, began

to run before I could and one of the men wasn't that far behind. I touched their faces, held their hands, laughed and cried. The man was the one who then held me at arm's distance, looking at me. His eyes held more in those moments then words could ever have uttered. And we knew. We both knew.

Drawing my attention to the other who was standing off to the side, I was motioned to go. I didn't make it two steps when I was being lifted into the air and swung around. Laughter and sobs mingled as I touched His face, as I ran my hands down his neck. As I touched him. Looking for all the scars. “He is the only one who remains scarred in flesh.” The man spoke.

The others joined us and the four us went for a walk. The three of them and me. Not many words exchanged. It was being in one another's presence my heart had longed for. But it was coming time. I knew it. Atmosphere changes are my specialty. I think He lets it happen so I get used to the shifts of time and space before they occur, as to not be jarred by them.

There were tender embraces, words, looks, knowings. Then they were gone.

“Tell me about failing.”

“You have lots of tricks up your sleeve, don't you.” I said, looking up at Him as I tilted my head towards the right.

“Lots.” He smiled.

Knowing me all to well, He brought me back to focus. “Tell me about failing.”

I lowered my chin.

“No.” From here, and He lifted up my chin, bringing my eyes into line with His. “Not. From here. Tell me about failing.”

And that's how the talk began. And that's how He saves a life......

Joy unspeakable finds expression...

“Mims.”

“Mims, come with me.”

I looked up and saw Him and smiled. Closed my eyes, hugged my pillow, pulled my blanket back up over me.

“You aren't dreaming. I want you to wake up. I want you to take a walk with me. I want to show you something.” As if a young child on Christmas morning, He was being so insistent. As for me I was in that in between place, though I had heard Him; though I could now see Him, my room, my bed, I was still unconvinced this was really happening. Or that it couldn't wait a few minutes while I woke up.

“Come with me.”

I looked up at Him one more time. One more time rolled over. I could feel His presence growing in the room. I smiled at the ways He moves upon humanity. Other memories of other times with Him, with all that makes up the unseen, made me smile. I lifted my body out of bed. Went to the bathroom. I could feel excitement brewing. I knew not why.

“Look out the window.” He said with the grandest of smiles.

Now it was Christmas morning for me; as my smile must have turned grand. Filling up my backyard were animals of all sorts. I noticed the creature that had once come to my laundry room delivering a message, others both of this world and of other places. And I smiled. Then it wasn't just animals. To my right were different ones who I had touched, interacted with, been protected by; again, it was my smile, my Christmas morning.

“Why?”

“Because Christmas morning does arrive and extravagance is called for upon occasion. I wanted to lift your heart and make it glad.”

“You did.”

“Can I tell you something?” He said in such a weird way.

“You actually ask permission?” Was my reply.

“More often then you think.”

That statement gave me pause. The power behind it pulled my attention to look Him in the face. There was great strength there, along with it was immense sorrow, concern, and a fragility I didn't know if I had ever seen upon Him before. Reminiscent of Him as having emptied Himself of divinity, He understood our frame, He knew our frailty. That knowledge, that experience would never leave His personhood. While now in fullness; there were still the scars, still the remembrance, still the experience upon Him. I reached for His hand. The moment became more. I know not the words to describe. I lack them. In this moment my heart was reaching towards Him, compassion for Him, compassion for the knowledge He bore. It was still. It was quiet. It was between us. Creature caring about Creator. Human caring about Divine.

The essence of the atmosphere pulsated. Again no words. I hadn't been able to keep His gaze, hold my eyes towards His face in such a long time. Now, I couldn't take my glance away. I kept seeing deeper and deeper into His holiness, into His desire. Something was changing deep within me. I was caring more and more about Him, about His ways, about what He wanted. I dared not speak. Our hearts held each other. My heart cared more for Him than I ever imagined possible, while walking into the depths of openness of His, that while I knew possible, I had never touched nor certainly ever walked within.

“Know me.” He whispered. Tears streaming down His face. It wasn't a man pleading. It was my God imploring.

In that phrase, “More often then you think,” He had said more than if He had sat me down to give me one thousand and twenty lessons. In those five words, I was held within a space, a glance, that poured His essence into me and through me and upon me.

There was no moving. There was no more words to say. There was to allow that which had transpired to go deep. Not ready to move forward unto the next moment. This one hadn't come to fullness into my depths yet. It needed time.

Again my gaze found His face. His mercy, His compassion, His knowledge, His understanding, His nature, His nurture, Him; all was found there. We were separate in these moments; each our own unique and different self, except as the moment grew, so did something more. The space between us became less. I was still me. He was still He. Yet not so much. I closed my eyes. I closed my eyes as to partake into depths of this that sight would not allow but sensation would. I needed to close my eyes, not process with my mind, allow my heart its journey.

He began to sing. “You and me......” and I smiled. My heart smiled. Again I paused. In my head I spoke to myself, 'I am not in a rush.' To which He burst out with the grandest of laughs I think I had ever heard. “What?”

“I love you.” He said while still smiling as His body still moved with the fragrance of joy, laughter, delightful pleasure. “What?” Not asking in regards to His statement of love, more in repetition to my earlier question.

“You, you make me glad.” Was His response. He spoke the words, your thought, at the same time that my awareness arrived at the realization that He needed me not to speak to know that which was my thoughts. “Ah,” I said, “That I'm not scurrying away in a pace you've been trying to convince me isn't right for me right now.” There were no words in His response, just a large smile.

Then again it was His turn to become like the child upon the morning of Christmas. The spark flew back into His eyes. If possible His joy increased a million fold. Palpable to every sense and sensation upon my flesh. “Are you careful with that?” I wasn't even aware those words were going to come out of my mouth. “What?” He playfully answered. I knew He knew even more about this conversation about to take place than I, however I played my part and continued, “Your joy.”

I continued again, “It felt like an atomic atom splitting wide open, yet you keep it so that creature and creation can touch it.”

He looked at me. “I wish I knew what you were thinking in moments like these,” I said. “Your look is deep, what you know and understand deeper still. I wish I knew what ran through your thoughts.”

“You are touching them more and more now.” Was His reply as He looked at me, holding my glance His way, being serious in the moment.

“This is part of the call to know you.”

“It is.”

So many thoughts ran through my head, so many of the lessons He had been teaching me, and I began to let them interweave together. Forming out my soul with the seeds of understanding He had been planting for a very long time.

“This time with you feels different.”

“It is.”

“We aren't in a hurry.”

“We?”

I paused. Looked back at Him. I knew what He was saying, “I. I am not in a hurry.”

“Correct.”

“I love you.” Was all I could say.

“I love you too.”

Those words were out of His mouth and the atmosphere went back to such playfulness that laughter broke out. Not from either of us, per se, but from all, from everywhere, from everything, from every molecule and every drop of air. Laughter. Pleasure. Grand delight.

He grabbed my hand and we were gone.

Whisked away.

Landing, I was startled. Feet once again back upon soil. I quickly tried to gather my barrings about me.

Again, away.

Next it was as if I was waking from a dream, but I was awake. The air sparkled. It sang if I listened carefully. I could hear it and not. You know that place in life when you think you hear something so you lean into it to see if you had and what it was? Well, this was like that? There was a song upon the air. Not coming from a distance as if it would only get closer I could hear it better. No. It was if I only settled deeper, quieter, more still. Then I would be able to hear its “all” more. There was no better word to describe it.

I was leaning against a rock. I stretched my legs out in front of me. By my toes was the sweetest of streams. The air sparkled crisp, clean, lovely. Colorful. That was what was different. It was all taking me a while. The hues. The colors. They were different. They were more. They were alive. They were with the air filling everything with that song, that music. Everything was alive beyond alive. Everything was color beyond color. Everything danced. Everything was joy. Everything was life. And still I leaned against the rock. I leaned my head back upon it as I kept my eyes open. I felt it smile. The rock.

I got up. Began to walk. Looked into the stream. Smiled. Trying to take in all that I was seeing within stream, air; all about me was fragrance. All about me was lovely. I walked down a ways. A gate without a fence was in the middle of a meadow. I went up and touched it. Smiled. I kept journeying forward. In the meadow was a tree. I could have stared at that tree for ages. It was enough. There were those around it. We smiled at one another. No words passed through our lips. They didn't need to come. Utterance felt as if it would be less than. We simply knew one another deeply.

Playfulness erupted. Ribbons, hands, dance. That song got richer and richer, higher and higher, more and more. Around and around the tree we played, danced,

Then all was laughter. Then all was quiet. In what seemed was simply the flash of a second. I was alone with the tree. It was ok. I leaned up against it. Placing my hand upon its trunk. There was no breath to be caught. Just joy to be had.

A tall being of light appeared in front of me. I had known Him before. He did not feel new. We were to walk together. What felt like only a few steps but could have been one hundred miles became our journey. No words ever exchanged. Just the walk.

I was back to the rock. Back to the stream.

I took a nap. I took a nap as the stream gurgled, as the air sang, as beauty lived.

All I can say was I woke up as something licked me. I woke up to something licking me. And all that that entailed. I knew I had been dreaming. But then I was awake. Rock, stream, and beauty all still there. But what had licked me was gone. Had I been in the dream? It felt real.

I leaned back up against the rock; to say I loved it, to say that it felt familiar, to say all I could say about it would be to try and say too much. But I did. I loved it. It felt warm as if it had absorbed a million rays of sunshine.

I closed my eyes. I opened them. I closed them one more time. I knew something was different. Something was changing. Stream, rock and sound was moving. Or was it me? I closed my eyes one more time. Living room, toys, sounds of a different nature. I smiled.

“It isn't over.”

“Hhhhmmm? I said as if I was drowsy. ” More beyond relaxed then tired. Everything in me felt at ease.

I stared at Him. I smiled. I curled up upon sofa, with blanket tilting my head towards the pillow, He interrupted, “It isn't over yet. There is something else I want you to experience. Come with me.”

“You're so playful this morning.” I said.

“My joy is complete.” He raised His hand for me to take. As I took it, I felt it and then raised my glance to His, “Thank you,” I whispered. So much more left unsaid. “You're welcome.” Such a simple response to such profound realities.

“I love you.” It came from the depths of me. It was the truest, it was the only thing I could say. “I know.” He smiled.

Then it wasn't sofa I was curled up upon, leaning against. Still Him. Different form. I laughed. “Show off.” But I leaned further in, pushed up against, felt the firmness of His side; lifted and fell as He breathed in and out. I pushed up against again as I shifted my position. I wanted to both lean against and see. It was going to take some adjustment.

He just began to talk. He talked and talked and talked for hours. He talked about all sorts of things. I just leaned against Him; looking, listening.. taking it all in. When what felt like days had passed, he paused. “Want to take a walk?” He asked. “With you?” I answered. “Always.” He turned His great head my way, “ not always.” The moment hung. He had made His point. He had made it well. It had hung and landed with the weight He had wanted it to; having made that point, however He bumped His large frame against me and ran forward, beginning a game of catch me if you can. We ran and played for again what seemed like hours.

As time appeared to shift, I felt the ending of our time coming. I shifted. “Don't do that.” He stopped. Turned His head to look at me. “It is amazing to see you talk to me like this.”

“You see me,” he went on. I was touched. He spoke about how I saw Him in all forms, in all places, in all times. How when I see Him upon the dew in the morning, it blessed Him. How I see Him in laughter, enthralled Him. How I see Him in light, color, sound, sunset, sunrise, clouds, blankets, children, people, buildings, nature, earth; it gives Him peace, rest, life. He spoke of how in every moment I don't take for granted His presence, how He taught me to hold it as a gift and let it come and go. He spoke things I knew not about myself. He spoke things I just did and do that I never think matter. And He kept speaking.

He took such a deep breathe that He rose me up, not to my feet, but with significance. I could feel He knew the times were shifting too. I could feel His ache. “That matters to me,” I said.

The Lion lowered His head, “I love these times too. They aren't just for you.”

“One day,” I said.

“One day.” He replied back with a gaze that undid me. His hunger, His desire, His yearning so very much greater than my own.

We took our time with each other, each exchanging our affections, each talking non-consequential things.

I had been awake in a dream...

“I'm afraid,” I whispered.

“You need not be.” Came the reply.

“I know not where you are going.”

“But I go and come back.”

“Yes, but you go.” The words tumbled out of my mouth as my chin pressed down against my chest, and once again I choked out within whispered words, “You go and I know not where. You go and I know not when you return.” I could feel His gaze upon me. The truth and untruth of words filling my heart with conflict He knew didn't need to be so full. Tears made pathways down my flesh falling to the ground as a river.

“Let me take you somewhere.”

Curiosity pulled me from sorrow. My head lifted. I can't say that I lifted my own head in that moment. For while the movement started within me reaching its objective of raised countenance, it was not I who did the lifting. While no finger moved chin upwards, presence was certainly stronger filling my weakened heart with affections so grand I could not resist. So head lifted, heart intrigued, entire being moved forward.

The landscape was all of a sudden without air. I felt I was choking. Grayish brown hues touched everything. My eyes stung from the death that was palpable to every sensation. Struck utterly dumb. My mind raced all over the place I knew Him. Why here? Just enough light to see mist, fog, ruins. Not enough light to know if it was dawn or dusk. Feeling as if it was neither. I stood upon ground so utterly dusty that the silt of it filled my mouth with a horrid dryness.

Was this a dream? I had been awake in a dream before, this didn't feel like that. Role of observer was to become mine however.

Was that a hum? What was that sound? So far away. Even as I pressed leaning forward, squinting eyes could not make out some potential movement still so off in the distance. Was it a mirage? Was the dusty dank atmosphere sinking into me, adjusting all that is that essence of me into a darkened confusion full of death.

A deeper fog began to roll in, I found curiosity once again. Fear wasn't taking its normal place. I was intrigued. The distant sound was getting louder. And I heard within my core, “Where is the one that my heart loves?” I smiled. I would find trust. I would remember if only so slightly that I had been asked to come here, regardless of what ever would occur, I had come upon His invitation. That was trustworthy enough for me. In touching that moment, that realization; I touched a peace that my understanding could not comprehend.

Distant hum, fog, silt; all still begot the atmosphere. I found a change. Something altered in my depth ever so slightly, once again there was movement. However the air stung, however eyes burnt, however pressed into blindness my entire being was, I had been brought here on the wings of  love's invitation. There would be purpose. Could I withstand the elements long enough to touch the hem of understanding?

Hum joined breeze shooing fog slightly away from where I stood. I was startled. Before I could hold it back a sharp horrified cry escaped from my lungs, entering my mouth, sounding off to my ears. Horrors upon horrors filled the landscape before me. Fog continued to lift. Now in the distance I beheld Him walking. I could picture myself pounding against His chest while letting off every expletive I knew. Fury and pain welled up into and through me, “This! This is where you wanted to bring me!” I screamed. “What the...” and I let the silence fall. “I trusted you. I followed you.” Crumbling under the weights baring down upon my mind, the sights that filled my eyes, the stench that filled my nostrils; I felt broken. And Him. Walking. Did the horizon ever get closer? Were there weird special effects in play that kept Him miles away yet seemingly within arms length?

Without moving I was moved. There was a mound to the right. I wasn't upon it however before I could register that reality I was standing upon its dirt. I was standing. He was kneeling. There was something in between us. The humming began again. It wasn't Him. It was Him. Not coming forth from His mouth. The sound was reverberating from His essence. As if He was a wind chime of sorts allowing fresh and new winds to create a song of vibrations in the air. A song of resurrection. A melody of life.

He bent further down. Picking up something He brought it to His mouth. Breathed. Held, what I could not see, within His hands. Brought it back up to His mouth. Planting His lips upon its white form, a kiss was imparted. Moment after moment slipped by as I watched the repetition of expressed action. Something would be picked up, brought to His mouth twice; once for breathe and once for a kiss. Then whatever He had within His grip would be laid back down upon the soil near His knees.

I knew He knew I was there but not a word was being spoken nor was my presence acknowledged. Wrapped up in the activity before Him, His focus was intense. I just watched. It was with such immense intention that each action was being done, that I was pulled into a place of observation which commanded silence, stillness. I was just to watch. Observe.

Neither fear nor confusion were present. Anger had dissipated. Again, curiosity and intrigue filled my soul.

Then He bowed before all that He had placed upon the earth and began to weep. Words and tears fell upon dirt. Another came to join us.....

Not looking at me, not speaking to me; He turned and spoke to that other. I heard ancient words. The earth began to rumble. The fog lifted. Skeletons began to arise. Muscle placed upon them. Life added back to them. Fog lifted. Silt felt to earth. Air cleansed. Wind, no.. it was breath had come and washed death away.

Now I saw. Now I knew. Now I was the one kneeling.

“Not all valleys are cemeteries. Not all battlefields remain full of blood.” He kissed the foot of one who had been a skeleton. He washed the silt off of her toes by His tears. I had been the observer. Or so I thought. I had also been the pieces that He had taken and bit by bit had washed them, kissed them, breathed life back into them. I had been observer of my own other participation. I had been both.

“You see,” He paused. Such a serious stance He took that it shook me at first. “I do make all things new. I might go. When I go you can trust it is always for your benefit. While I might seem to be standing at a horizon that never draws near, know this... I am never further away then this,” at that He leaned in, placing a kiss upon my person.

“The truths about yourself which you won't let yourself acknowledge, that lack of understanding is why you perish.” His gaze softer now as was His stance. I found myself lost, gazing deeply towards Him. “You look through me to a different age.”

“I'm sorry.” His observation  was truth, my gaze had lost its set focus upon Him and gotten lost into that neverworld that just won't leave me alone at times. "The residue of the silt," I guessed.

"Yes."

Now I did feel His finger beneath my chin, lifting.

Perfect silence fell between us both. He wasn't going anywhere. It would be step by step. It would be a journey. There was time. There was not pressure. There was presence. There was grand affection.

The deliberate actions I witnessed were what was unfolding. I had observed past, present and future all in one moment. I had been awake in a dream.

What conversation does God want to have?

What are the conversations you hear? What are the conversations you take an active part within? I've sat more recently paying attention to these things. What are the conversations I want to have? What the conversations that are good to be having? What are the conversations that just fill up the air ways?

More recently I have continued upon this journey; touching the hem of silence, of listening. More recently I sit back wondering if I ever really heard myself before, so many words spilling out of so many mouths, making me wonder what is really being said. More importantly what is really being listened to? So many voices, so many words, so much information. Not a new conversation within the twenty-first century. The lost art of listening. The lost art of paying attention, of watching, of looking. The conversation, itself, happening so often in so many different genres, making the reality of how much it is talked about a tad bit humorous. Maybe less talk, more practice?

Stillness.

Silence.

Quietness.

I hear the political conversations. Those will only increase as the year continues. The force of angry words filling the air waves. The push to hear all the words that are being spoken. I hear the social justice conversations. The thoughts about people, race, economic issues. People taking to violent measures. Some say its a charade. Others are living the reality. Every where there is a message. Every where there are sounds. Every where there is a stirring.

People feel it. It is in the hearts of women and men. It is in the air. An explosive uneasiness at times.

I sit back more now than I have in a very long time, possibly more than I ever have. Pausing, listening have become a huge part of my life. The psalmist encouragement towards, “Selah.” It has captured my heart. My attention. My focus. I know now that my being was always conditioned as a watcher, a listener. I just didn't value those qualities. Who does?

These have been a couple years of major adjustment. Shedding skins that were never mine to wear. Touching their dried up shells as they lay strewn across the landscape of my life. Moments where I thought I was so smart, or where time spent and expertise acquired gave me something seemingly important to say. Seemingly now foolishness. I will admit, as I'm still in this process, I am not then in a place to accurately describe the last couple of decades. Time and healing and stillness will help me to tell one day.

Yesterday, in my personal journal, I found myself wondering about conversations, communication; words. Yesterday I sat back, looked up into the heavens, and thought about the reality that every idle word spoken is recorded set aside one day to be judged. I take the Christian scriptures seriously in my life. I believe in it there is much life found. In a particular chapter and verse, Matthew 12:36, it is written as it is believed to be spoken by Christ. “But I tell you that every careless word that people speak, they shall give an accounting for it in that day.”

I thought about that verse. I thought about many things yesterday. I thought about many times. I have met too many people who want to say, “the new thing,” “In this season,” etc etc... the words Solomon shared with us contain statements like there is nothing new under the sun and for everything there is a time and a season. There is an allowance always made for such talk however, a lacking of accountability for our words spoken or articulated in a revelatory type manor.

I lose focus somewhat.

I was thinking about the political conversations people of Christian faith enter into, I was thinking of the social justice conversations that people of Christian faith enter into, and then I was thinking of the words that Christ spoke. Then I thought of the things Christ did and didn't do. Then I thought of idle words. Then I thought of Jesus only doing that which He saw being done by He who He loved, His Father.

So here are some of the things that circled in my mind. Ah before I go there... I would like to share that grief overtook me. Personally. Places where I thought I was getting somethings so “right.” Wondering now how “wrong” I was. Places where I hunger to know, to see, to act, to be intrinsically the way I was wired to behave and no longer contort or morph myself into some version of me that isn't true. I did those things. I made choices. I want a different way.

Back to the thoughts...

Do we think about Jesus who was transfigured upon a mountain top with a friend and a man who had been dead for a long time? Do we think about that occurrence? What it means about time and space and life in general? Do we wonder how that affects us now? Why would the transfiguration matter? Why wouldn't it? What social, economic, political implications would a supernatural happening have?

I thought about how Jesus, Himself, expressed that the poor would always be upon the earth and there are some times when acts of extravagance aren't wrong. I wondered how my social justice friends touch that scripture.

I thought about how in the times Jesus' feet walked the soil of the earth, there was the Roman government. I thought of all those that wanted Jesus to be a political force in the way that they could understand. I thought of their agendas. I thought of a bunch of my own. I thought of their behaviors. I looked at my own.

I thought of Judas who stole money from his friends, but had a heart that the Roman rule would be overturned. He had deep hunger for that reality. In his eyes, within his heart; Judas wanted Jesus to be something very specific. Judas didn't have much room for that reality not to be so. Before we throw Judas under the bus, I want to make sure in that arena I look thoroughly into my own eye and remove the pole before taking a glance at the dust in Juda's.

I thought of political conversations. I thought of social justice conversations. Then I was glad we don't have television. Then I thought of Christ. Then I thought of Him weeping over Jerusalem. Then I thought of Him feeding the people. Then I thought of Him receiving the children. Then I thought of Him receiving the gift of expensive perfume. Then I thought of His rebukes to friend and foe. Then I thought of His life, His habits, His sorrows, His joys.

Then I thought of Him weeping over the death of Lazarus, His friend. Then I thought of Him needing John as much as John needed Him. John reclined but Jesus received. I thought of Mary and Jesus. Both His mother and the woman whose life He utterly changed forever. I thought of Jesus and culture and people and Heaven and Unseen realities and seen ones.

I thought and I thought and the pictures and ideas swirled within my head.

Why?

Why so much thinking?

I want to know Him as He is and NOT as I have made Him.

These are the words I wrote in my journal:

“With the conversations that take one side of the spectrum either social justice; that the church at large or people in general don't recognize the needs of the poor, the fringe, the destitute enough. We, especially in America, certainly have more than just our mats and our one cloak. The morality side of Christian life and/or politics, conservative agenda type things, examines our lives to see if they conform enough to whatever acceptable standards of righteousness the religious elite dictate as being “righteous” relegating whole people groups into “sinnners” who are going to burn in “hell.”

So many conversations. Politically. Socially. We are comfortable with those.. We/I have picked and chosen the “Jesus,” we/I want to follow.

But I find myself wondering about Jesus of the transfiguration. What about the Jesus of the Spirit?

What about Jesus being comforted by the angel in the garden? What about angels who would comfort people now? What about Jesus cursing the fig tree, turning water into wine, creating a meal for thousands? What about the reality of Jesus saying the Meek will rule? What about Jesus saying the last will be first and the first will be last? Do we see people that way? What about in our weakness we are strong? Do any of us gladly embrace weakness to touch His strength?

I love the passions people who love Jesus hold as the passions Jesus has, and that is not a sarcastic statement at all. If social justice is a passion, let it be a passion. Jesus did love the widows, the poor, the foreigner. He also withdrew to quiet, lonely and isolated places to be alone with His God. Whatever one's passionate path leads them to love and serve humanity as one desires should be followed. Making, then, the adjustments as life moves forward. Stagnation and inactivity aren't the answers. Silence, stillness and rest aren't in my heart nor vocabulary synonymous with “stagnation,” “Inactivity.”

I came to the place where holding in tension as many things as I could, I went to touch the hem of Jesus' garment. He is and was and forever will be all that He is, and for as long as I live I will hear multitudes of conversations. It's the depths of my desires to listen for the ones that Christ listens to, it's my deepest heart hunger to look for the hearts', that exist within the bodies ,who also have a mouth that speak with authentically held values, beliefs, and passions. Then it is my ultimate hunger to be one who like the elder man, Simeon; waits, watches, believes for that which will be done. One day seeing events hoped for unfold before his very eyes; touching and holding realities deeply within until the day there was an actual baby in his arms.

Time to live....

"Hi."
"Hi."
"There is much on your heart. So early in the morning. Is this really how you want to start the day?"
I just smiled. Sat there. Looked. Tears started streaming down my face.
"I have nothing to say."
I knew He could say that He disagreed. He had before. I knew He wouldn't this morning.
"You are worried over many things. Your heart is troubled. Take a walk with me. Yes?"
"You're my therapist now?"
"Well, I am called The Counselor."
We both smiled.
Sometimes just looking at Him, sometimes just being still in His presence is enough. No words need pass between us. Presence becomes more than enough.  I closed my eyes. Took in a deep breathe. I opened my eyes, tilting my head towards the right I just stared.  Again tears fell. Without speaking a word, I knew He knew all.  Everything. So I just kept looking. Keeping eyes open, closing them ever so briefly, keeping them closed. Letting myself be. Letting myself ache. Letting myself cry.

No longer was I watching Him across the room. No longer He in the chair, I on the sofa.  Now my head was upon His shoulder, my body held... held up, for my feet were giving way.
"Will it always hurt this bad?"
"Yes, no, sometimes."
Startled, I moved my body away, (Only slightly, just enough to look up at His face.) "You want to pick one?" But I had been so startled that He had caused me to laugh a little too.  Tear stained checks pulled up in a grin. Only He can do this to me.
"Sometimes it will be worse."
"You make a crappy counselor, you know."
It was His turn to smile.
"Rest." And He put His very large hand on the back of my head, holding me into His chest. "Breathe." "Just Be."
All seemed to fade away.  In that moment, all seemed to be quiet. I'm not talking my home. I'm not saying the early morning hours in my room. I'm saying all seemed to fall into a quieted place.
I whispered, "I love you."
I felt movement in His body, "I know." He looked down towards me. I could feel His chin move across the top of my head. I could feel Him making a decision though I knew not what. Taking my hand, He spoke; "Come with me."

Then we were walking upon a different shore line, my feet sinking into the ground that is neither sand nor water.  Upon the waters edges we were walking.  Solid ground under my feet, as the waters rolled in from the tides creating a glistening walkway mirroring back our shadows upon the wet, hard sand.

Again words were so few.  Spirit was solid.  Feelings were being transmitted as if through the air. Words felt as if they didn't have to pass between us. The movement of feeling, spirit, atmosphere... Him, collided and I stopped walking.
He was gone.  I blinked. He was gone. Stunned I scanned the horizon. No, He was gone. I didn't quite know what to do.  I stood there, lost.  Frozen. Stunned. Weren't we just side by side. Where did He go?  What was I now to do?  In the absence I gently closed my eyes. In the moment I placed my feet underneath me grounding myself further into the sand beneath my feet.  In the moment I stilled myself.

"Look what you can do."
"You suck as a counselor you know."
Right side of His face turned up in a smile as eyes gleamed my way.
"What happened to never leaving."
"I didn't leave you."
"Uhm, says you."
His voice grounded in depths of kindness I had never heard prior to this moment and I had heard Him a lot.  "I never leave you."

He caused my mind to race back to the days when attending a school in Wenham, MA,  having just met Him only months before, He had pulled such a "trick."  He caused me to remember what I did in those moments. He caused me to compare those moments to this one.
"Is this that growing up thing you've been talking about."
"Yes.... and no."
"Again with the yes, no, possibly. An answer would be helpful."
"Not always."

What I had done in those days, so many years ago, was upon His presence lifting even the slightest bit I had run back to my dorm room, sobbing had thrown myself upon the floor imploring Him to come back. Afraid I had done something wrong as for His presence to lift.  It had been the first time Presence had ever done that to me.  I had known Him for Months and never, not for one moment, I hadn't held His hand, walked by His side, seen His face... And then I had been walking on this path towards the cafeteria, and He was gone.  Shock saturated my body. I turn. Ran.  Swung the door to my dorm wide open, slammed it closed and face met floor as sobs racked my body. What had I done?  The movement hadn't even been fully made.  The tears hadn't touched the carpet, Presence saturated my very being.  No words had been spoken at that time. In my infantile state, all I knew was that He was back.

"I'm no longer an infant."
"You are no longer an infant."
"I was still startled."
"You were."
"My song is always with you. My essence upon you. My breathe yours."
I closed my eyes. Trying within His presence to settle my own soul.
"Growth is hard," I said as I kept my eyes closed.  I realized too much sensory overload. I realized my eyes needed to be shut. I realized, once again, no words really needed to be spoken."
"I miss you, that's all... I just miss you, when you do that."
I knew there was so much He could say. Again, I could feel the movements within His being. I could feel Him thinking. I knew to open my eyes. I knew to look at Him.  As I made contact, as I saw His face... tears again started streaming down my face. "I miss you."
"I ache for you."
"I want this to be over."
He just listened.  "Ah," I thought.  "There's the therapist in you."
Without words having been spoken, He burst out in a laughter that shock the air and made it smile. I closed my eyes to take in its sound. Luxurious. Unmatched. Immense. Beautiful. Strengthening. Firm.
Again I closed my eyes. Drank in the air. Took in as deep a breathe as I could. And smiled.

"You are worried about many things. Your heart grieves. Let it grieve."
"Easier said then done." And I lowered my chin, I lowered my gaze, my right big toe played with the sand. I was fighting it. I was fighting the sobs.  My body racked with pain. My heart bent over in sorrow. Standing underneath His presence. Still I wouldn't let go.
"What?"
"You need to tell me."
"I actually don't." Was my reply.
"True."
"You know all things anyway, what does it matter." My voice was giving me up. My body was giving in. It was His compassion that was winning the moment. His kindness. His tenderness.
"It matters." He spoke ever so softly yet with something akin to a voice that caused an interior movement within me as if He had roared. Gentle mind you. Significant. Firm. Beyond gentle. The ripple affects were coursing through my being, having their way, making adjustments within my soul.
I took a deep breath.
"You love me." I said.
"I do."
"Then, please sit with me."

Those words were out of my mouth. No longer were we standing on the ocean's edge.  I can not tell you where we then went.  It isn't that I wouldn't. I would. I just don't know.  It was grand though. And we sat side by side.
"Tell me."
Looking down at the ground I began to speak. It felt like a thousand years passed. I was still speaking.  About this. About that. Telling Him about every step that I could in the journey. Everything I remembered from the past.  Telling Him every hope I had for the future. Every confusion I had within the present.  I talked and talked and talked and talked and talked and talked and talked and talked and talked and didn't stop talking... He never moved. He never said a word. He listened.
I never moved.  Gaze down at the ground. Body posture slightly bent over. Hands upon face.  (We were sitting in these crazy amazing chairs. On some porch. The air I could try to describe to you but I don't think I have the words.)
I wasn't done. But I took a breathe.  I could feel within Him that He knew there was more. Permission filled the air. And now so did more sobs. As I took back up the conversation.  Now sobbing through the words; on one hand, not even knowing if He could understand my lack of clear articulation and on the other knowing, A) It didn't matter and B) He knew all things.  Sobbing. Talking. Staring down at my feet. Words spilled over them as did tears.  Time both stood still and sped forward.  And still we sat.

Then, in a moment when I had once again paused; He spoke, "Do you still think I suck as a Counselor?"
Birds sang. The air danced. I looked up for the first time. Made eye contact. Smiled. And awoke.....

In that in between place, of neither here nor there... I spoke the last few words. "I love you, my Lord, always and forever. No matter how firm or fragile. I love you."  His reply came through as my eyes opened to a different space; my space, my room, my sofa.. my birds singing outside the window. My dawn breaking through the evening's share of time.  "I know. To you, my love and affection always."

Then as if on cue, I heard the rumblings of my day begin.  Two little voices filled the air, two little feet were heading to the bathroom, as one called after the other.  It would be time for getting them ready for school. It would be time to start the day. It would be time to live.

An evening with a guest I had invited and upon arrival realized that.... I then didn't want said guest to actually, really show up......

I haven't shared moments like these as I once did.  But upon this evening I have learned grace, kindness, gentleness and patience in ways I knew not before this evening....  This conversation bares down upon my being. I know it will bare much in the times to come....  Sit with Him yourself and listen to that which He will say. Be careful when and where you invite Him, for when He shows up...

 "Speak, oh Lover. We are listening!"

"I've never felt so quieted before." I said
"And that's a bad thing?" Came the question back.
"No. Just not used to it so much." I replied.


"I used to feel more confident in what I had to say."
Silence.
There was no response.
Not knowing if I should share more or if the silence was necessary; I, too, paused.
I have begun to slightly trust this more.  So while anxiety did push upon my heart and thoughts raced within my mind; I leaned into intentionally quieting my soul.
"And now." Spoken with a slight smile, a noticeable twinkle in the eye.
"And now.... " I paused, for I knew not really how to finish that answer.
"Now I feel quiet. Now I wish you would speak more. Now I touch the hem of silence and quiet and feel their force. Now I look to trust more than to speak. Now I weep at the pausing and it's power.  Now I tremble at the stillness and the knowledge that comes from it's depths.  Now I look to you. Now I know not what to say."


"I would disagree." Was the response.
To which it was my turn to pause. Allowing silence to fill the space between us, cascading over the both us of, drawing us deeper into each other.


"My heart misses what I feel it once knew." Not referring to education or instruction but to the most interior and intrinsic ideas that our hearts knew before we programmed them not to hear, see or know.
"So go back a few steps."
"It feels like more than just a few steps."


Pauses. Stillness. Quiet.

"You're waiting for me to say more this time," I said breaking the silence.
"I am."

"But I don't know what to say."
To which the silence took on a slightly different feel as distance was added.
"Wait." Everything in me shouted. Terrified that the distance would only increase.

"I'm afraid."
Immediately the atmosphere filled back.
"That which I know causes me sorrow. The places I lack understanding bare down upon my heart."
"They only bare down upon your heart because in truth, you lack not the understanding you think, you just refuse to embrace that which you most truly know. You play dumb. You play safe. You see and while you ask to see, you negate that which you see. You hear and then deafen both ear and heart. You play safe."


I began to say, "but I don't understand, or the excuse of 'I don't mean to'" except I  could only feel so deep within the untruth of that statement.
The night was young. The discussion poised to be long.


Silence again filled the time and space.
Truth be told I was weighing out my options.  Truth be told He is far more patient than I ever imagined. Far more patient that I maybe ever will be; certainly far more patient than I am now. Nurturing stillness encompassed by it's power filled the air. Surrounded by tenderness as if it was the most marvelously soft blanket filled with warmth, containing security laid deeply, heavily upon my soul. I was transfixed.


"What have I told you?"  He broke the silence. Gently soothing my very being.
Before I could respond, the answer was granted into my depths.
"You both ask the question and supply it's answer." I said back with a smile.
"I want you to know the pathways we walk." Was what was spoken back without hesitation.
"Now you are in my head." As I could feel the images that were being touched. The ideas that were being rescued.
"I am in far more than your head."
"So you know."
"Yes."
"But..."
"But, this is us.... I want you to speak."
"I'm afraid..." And I hesitated. I faltered.
I came to understand in that second that those words would only ever cause Him to move closer, the very nature within the essence of the being of Spirit; never forsakes, never leaves alone. I bristled. "What?" I said. "I can tell you I'm afraid, I can tell you I don't understand, but I can't tell you I don't know."  I could felt agitation flowing through me, coursing through my being, causing tears to sting my eyes.

"You may not."
Now we were in full eye to eye focus lock down.
Girding my heart, I could feel the shift.  While the presence didn't budge. Not one bit.  "I'll lose this 'show down.'"
"No, I will guarantee you don't."
"My language and your language in this are saying two very different things."
To which His laughter filled the essence of all that I am. "That, your response, is why... you may not say 'you don't know.' You may not want to say. But you do know. It is to that end I push."

"You want more of me than I am willing to give."
"That is not true.  You are far more willing to give to me more than you, yourself understand. You actually hold back very little. I am not afraid of your fear. I am not the one whose pace is not being met. I am Author. I am who begins and brings to completion.  You need not be afraid. Breathe."


I could feel myself shrinking back as if into a corner, while not at all cornered; I knew not how to respond.  The 'showdown,' of sorts was getting personal.  My mind wandered to Jacob. Would a physical wrestling be better than this.


"No." Before I could speak the answer was out there.
Again my  mind raced in a million directions. Searching for a response that would feel true, trying to grasp for an expression that didn't feel like it would come easily at all.
Then before I could blink an eye or think another thought; warmth was mine.  A cascading warm solid tangible honey like substance was flowing, filling me.. saturating the room.  The essence, the sensation.. it all was accompanied by an image.  Again I bristled. But as if I was a colicky child, all that happened was I was brought closer into an embrace, not pushed away. My back stiffened. His intention remained firm. He began to hum. I relaxed. I breathed.


Thoughts, pictures of days and years gone by flooded. Warmth, vibration, gentleness, kindness; it all swirled into the air with color and temperature and atmosphere changing components leaving me changed; softened.


Still quiet. Words still wouldn't come. Glancing; no, more like still glaring over the top of missing rims to glasses I don't wear, I looked towards the direction in which He sat. A caution upon my heart. I wanted this moment to be what it was even while I wanted to also diminish it, put distance between myself and it, play nonchalant, aloof.

There, was sitting, the One who loves my soul so completely, so well. Did I want to engage in a show down I couldn't win, or really actually didn't want to win? Or did I want Him to make the first move?  It wasn't going to happen this time.  While I know He runs, He leaves, He rescues... something was different. My mind raced to all the places in my life where this very occurrence was true.  I had just earlier railed at the heavens, imploring them to move, daring them to cause something to act that would change where I was, what was happening, how I felt.


It began to dawn on me that this was the response to those prayers.

That this evening and what was transpiring was in direct correlation to those prayers.

 I had invited this guest.

 I had asked for this evening.

Yet upon arrival I did not want it to carry the message it did.  I wanted to be rescued. It was the determination of all that was transpiring that I would conclude that rescuing was not what I needed.

Stand off sadly continued.  I would like to say that I melted again completely at that part. But I didn't.  As I refused, I felt more of His joy which began to irritate me more than fill me with similar emotion. 

"Isn't this stubbornness." I asked.
"No."
"Uncertainty?"
"Definitely not."
"Well?"
"Well."
I heard His heart.
"I'm not an infant."
"You're not an infant."
"You want me to grow up."
"I want you to grow up."
"It isn't that you wouldn't rescue me, run to me, comfort me, stand with me.  It isn't that you ever leave me alone."
"True. So what is it?"
"You want me to stand."
"I want you to stand. I want you to feel what that feels like. I want you to stand. I want you not to succumb. That is not you won't be weak. You will be weak. In that weakness you will feel my strength. You will falter but you will not fall. You will err but you are not to fear."

And my heart and mind raced in a very different fashion.  I thought upon words of wisdom that I know to be written in Christian scriptures. "Having done all... stand."

"Yes. No longer being an infant means you may not look for others to do for you that which you can do for yourself. Take the step. Breathe Stand."
"But..." I wanted to say a million things. But what if I can't? What if I falter? What if I fail? What if I'm not strong enough? What if I'm not smart enough? What if??????  A million "what ifs" filled my head.

Quiet. But the silence filled with attentive glances my way.  Watching me. Looking at me. Looking into me and offering a glance into what was being seen.

I swallowed hard.
"You're not going to tell me."
"No."
"You could."
"Yes."
"But you won't."
"Correct."

I didn't have to ask why.
Sitting there, looking at Him looking at me, receiving His glance and presence... I could feel myself all of a sudden walking in the palm of a very large and vast palm.
"This is where I am."
"This is where you are."
"Always?"
"Always."
"Promise?"
"Promise."

I closed my eyes for a minute. And when I opened them my guest had seen Himself away.  I sat there, now looking at the empty chair. The chair that had only seconds earlier been full with presence, light, sound, eternal beauty. Now back to being just a chair. And as that thought landed in my heart; a bright twinkling of sorts overrode it. Never and always back to being just a chair. I am that which I am; at times so much less... living less than that which I am and at times being that which I am and touching more.

"Remove the 'just.' Let it be. Be yourself as well."  Then the evening fell fully silent.  Then my heart realized I could go to sleep. Then my heart smiled, my body breathed and quiet once again reigned firm.

I haven't Judged you ... Stop Judging yourself

The people who are walking in darkness Have seen a great light, Dwellers in a land of death-shade, Light hath shone upon them. Isaiah 9:2

I'll just be honest.  In this season there has been much that has changed about my devotional habits.  One is that I haven't listened to the same music I used to in what seems like forever.  Upon the landscape of my life other notes, new chords, different lyrics were needed.  Hosier's Take Me to Church became the song that most filled my heart with comfort, with His presence, with words and notes that resonated.  I met God there time after time.  As I found this beautiful Lakota Healing Prayer from YouTube my being would find rest.

Then came this day....

I hadn't listened to what those within certain spheres would call "worship music" in months.

I have lived in Blacksburg, VA for almost two years.  I had never walked a foot on the Huckleberry Trail.  This one morning I had gotten up very early.  Having time before appointments, I decided it was time to do some exploring.

As I stepped upon the path, I felt an all too familiar nudge. Upon my heart a request was being laid.  Would I listen to a certain listing that was on my Iphone? Would I listen to the style of worship music that once filled my life?

I knew the invitation was just that.  But I know all to well that those invitations aren't made haphazardly. I trust that.  I trusted that there was something that made this important.  So I did.  On the walk/run away from town I listened to words and melodies I had not played for many months.

Then acknowledging that the time had come to make the return trek back to town, I turned around. As it would happen another request was made.  Now it was the Lakota Healing Prayer song.  Then in the consistent nature and character in which I know God to have, there was choice.  My freedom to choose whichever music I wanted.  I knew exactly which listing I wanted to play.

As I emerged off the path, walking down towards benches near these six magnificent trees, I would be stopped in my tracks.

"You have judged yourself broken.  You have been waiting for the time that you could listen to that music again and your heart to respond again.  You have judged yourself wrong. You have judged yourself.  I have not.  I have met you in places you never expected.  I've touched you with lyric and melody you would have never gravitated towards. 

What makes you think I respond more quickly to one worship style over another. What makes you think my presence flows more readily in one form over another.  Hymnal, band, silence, chant, slow or fast; none of that matter to me.  One can be just as dogmatic singing songs (notice, my child I did not say worship) with a full band and lyrics flashed upon screen as they can holding a hymnal.  It isn't methodology. It is heart.

You have judged yourself broken. I have not. 

Be at peace. "

I moved to those benches. I sat among those trees.  I leaned back. I closed my eyes. I received.

I had really only ever known one style. I really had had the belief that it mattered.  Personal preference doesn't matter. It simply is just that. Personal preference. Our likes are not automatically God's new and only movement. Whether one generation wants to hold a hymnal while an organ plays, or another wants to feel the beat of drums louding filling the airwaves, or one wants to sit in a circle of quiet, or one wants to play the flute, or one wants to chant, or one wants to... Do we get the picture?

It isn't about form or style or preference. It is about heart.

I had judged myself broken... He had not.

He really had met me time after time as Take Me to Church played into my ears. He really had touched my heart. He really had heard my ache, my cry, my need.  He really had not judged me. He really wanted me to be able to worship Him, be made whole and celebrate our love affair with each other. He really didn't care to which music I did so...

I had judged myself BUT I had also been so arrogant.  I had my preferences be God's. In those moments my heart not unlike the Grinch's grew.  My heart continues to grow as I touch permission; freedom.  Where the Spirit of the Lord is there is freedom.  I'm learning that truth in whole new ways.

I'll say this as I end. I could feel it. I could feel as I listened to Hozier's music that I was being met. That within those words were the lyrics my heart needed to find space to breathe again. I had been so critical of myself in those moments.  I had in term of Grey's Anatomy thought myself dark and twisty.  I had called good evil.  Last statement... It was so important to God that I not think that and that I not judge myself that He took my on a walk, requested something of me and my heart, and turned into a journey of a lifetime. So like Him.

 

The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it. John 1:5  (Let's be a people who when the Light shines we don't call it darkness.)