Heavy Burdens

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2019but

All day long I sit quietly and listen as people pour out their emotional pain. It’s my job, my calling. But when I read that seven churches in Nigeria were burned and 200 believers killed, I feel compassion overload. It’s too much suffering. I can’t carry one more emotional burden.

I see a port hole opening into a world of dreadful pain. To protect myself, I sometimes need to shut the door to the portal, turn around, and enjoy the beauty around me. My side is bright and airy and filled with rainbows. Through the portal is death and skeletons and oppression. I can’t handle seeing all that misery.

I know the portal is a guardian protecting my heart. “No more,” he says. “Your heart needs a rest.”

Thanks, Guardian, but I have a job to do, and Christ says He’ll make a way. I cannot turn my back on my calling, yet I also recognize the need for self-care. Even God took a break from His work when He created the universe. I’m allowed a period of guilt-free rest.

As I just sit with my savior, He urges me to look through the portal again. The ugliness I see is merely an illusion, a scrim. He lifts the curtain, and I see heavenly beauty that surpasses the earth. The sick and the wounded are all bound up in the scrim–a temporary condition, brief in the light of eternity, a momentary affliction.

I see God’s plan as bigger than Satan’s fury. I see glory in heaven and rejoicing that martyrs have found their way home, and those left behind get to share in His suffering. God is victorious! And my burden feels lighter and my compassion returns.

What Does God Look Like?

Posted on by under God, Scripture

Journal 2019

And above the firmament that was over their heads was the likeness of a throne, as the appearance of a sapphire stone: and upon the likeness of the throne was the likeness as the appearance of a man above upon it. And I saw as the colour of amber, as the appearance of fire round about within it, from the appearance of his loins even upward, and from the appearance of his loins even downward, I saw as it were the appearance of fire, and it had brightness round about. (Ezekiel 1:26-27 NIV, emphasis added)

I have never heard a preacher conclude from this passage that Jehovah God has a form similar to a man. I have been taught all my life that God is a spirit and therefore has no body, but I am not convinced of this. Scholars will claim that this description in Ezekiel is simply personification or anthropomorphism, that this was just a vision, or that Ezekiel wasn’t taken to the actual throne of God.

Scripture says that man is made in the likeness of God, in His image, but preachers skirt around that by saying we are like Him because we have mind, will, and emotion. But that’s the invisible soul. An image has substance. Humans are tripart beings: body, soul, and spirit. Our spirits don’t live separate and apart from our bodies any more than God does. He is a triunity whose form radiates pure light.

Exodus 24:9 tells us that Moses, Nadab and Abihu (Moses’ 2 sons), Aaron, and 70 elders went up Mount Sinai and “saw the God of Israel.” They saw God, and they ate, and they drank. You can’t see a spirit. So, what did they see? Apparently they didn’t see God’s face, but they did report that under His feet was something like a pavement made of sapphire. When Exodus 33:11 states, “So the Lord spoke to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend,” was this just a figure of speech? I don’t think so. Obviously, God could not show Moses His glory inside the tent of meeting, but I’m guessing He appeared to Moses in a form that he could relate to.

Call me heretical, but this is how I read it. I think God has form and substance, but we cannot see Him with our human eyes. What will we see when we cross the great divide?

Side note: God foreknew that Nadab and Abihu would offer strange fire to Him, yet He invited them to the mountain. And perhaps even the 70 elders were involved with the golden calf along with Aaron after this mountaintop experience with God Almighty. How could they do this!?

An encounter with God does not negate our free will to reject Him.

Cloaked traveler overlooking a mountain valley beneath sunlit storm clouds

Praying Through a Tunnel

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2019

I learned some disturbing news last night, and I immediately tried to push it out of my mind and not dwell on it. Does this mean I am letting it go, or am I trying to suppress it? I do care, but I can’t carry the weight on my shoulders for this person.

I see my friend entering a long, dark tunnel. I want to slap police tape across the entrance and yell, “No, no, don’t do it!” Reluctantly, I agree to go into that tunnel with her.

It’s spacious but dark and sloppy wet in here. I inch along the sides, terrified I’ll fall into the center where the train tracks run. I see her ahead of me, running toward the light. She seems to be okay, but I am not. Cold, wet, and miserable, I get the sense that this place of fear is familiar. I don’t have to stay here; I can see the light as well. I have a choice to make, but I feel paralyzed. There are handholds on the wall, and I’m grateful there’s a guard rail on the tracks side so I won’t fall in. I’m not sure what I’m afraid of now—maybe bats?

The tunnel is a metaphor for when I felt miserable. Yes, I lived through it, but I guess I need to acknowledge it, not bury it. I watch my step and keep walking. Suddenly I hear the roar of rushing water crashing toward me. A flash flood. I can do nothing but hold on and float. I lose my grip and fly backward toward the entrance of the tunnel. I’m shaken up, but unharmed. Now what?

I thought the water would make the tunnel pure and spotless clean, but the most it’s done is swept out the years of mud and sludge in the bottom. The rails are rusty, and the concrete walls are rough and old and pitted. Much repair is needed. This tunnel needs to be torn down and rebuilt with slick steel sides that release grime like Teflon.

And so I watch as a large work crew enters the scene to demolish the old and erect the new. It’s not perfect, but then neither am I. We are all a work in progress.

It’s easier to get through the tunnel now, and Jesus is with me, but I still have questions. This feels like a metaphor for life with birth on one end and heaven on the one. The old tunnel is the old man and the new one a rebirth. The restrictions of time and space while here on earth can be clean or dirty. Our vessels need to be honorable and pure to be conduits of His love. Living water passing through will restore, not harm me.

On Rest

Posted on by under Emotions, Peace, Scripture

Journal 2019

Many years ago, at a former church, our brave choir director decided to lead our ragtag group in Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus. Unfortunately, some were following the sheet music instead of watching the conductor, so when he miscounted the hallelujah repeats at the end, several in the choir failed to follow his lead. Those who were watching our leader stopped on cue, withholding the last required note before the pause. What ensued was not a grand and glorious waiting of our collective breaths before the final crescendo, but a weak, disruptive, frown-producing squeak by the few who weren’t watching. I could see the pain on the director’s face as he later berated us for not keeping our eyes on him and following his lead. I don’t think he ever realized he was at fault for miscounting, but the choir was at fault for not watching him. Thus, the piece was marred and flawed. It lost its breathless anticipation before the grand and glorious conclusion.

Rest is not about doing nothing. It’s recovery. It’s anticipation. It’s the silent beat before the final hallelujah. It reminds me of the passage in Revelation 8:1 (Net). “Now when the Lamb opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour.”

Sometimes resting is harder to do than acting.

Lord, in the coming year, teach me to keep my eyes on You, my conductor. I want to follow You no matter what I see written in front of me. If You change things up, then I trust You. I want to remain in step with Your baton and make beautiful music together for the Kingdom.

Further thoughts

As I started to brainstorm the topic of rest, I came up with this list.

  • There are rest notes in music.
  • Rest is needed after an injury.
  • One must rest after a race, exertion, or a battle.
  • We’ll receive final spiritual rest in heaven.
  • Rest means a mental break after concentration and before the next activity.
  • In physics, it refers to an object being stationary relative to a particular frame of reference.
  • The Hebrew word for rest is nuach. It means “to rest, to be quiet, to cease.” (e.g. Shabbat)
  • In Greek, the word is anapausis, which means “cessation or refreshment.”

Webster defines the verb to rest as:

  1. To cease work or movement in order to relax, refresh oneself, or recover strength. Ease up, slow down, unbend, unwind, recharge.
  2. To be placed or supported so as to stay in a specified position. For example, her elbow was resting on the arm of the sofa. “A still point of peace.”

Hymn: Jesus, I am resting, resting

Sunlit bedroom with open window, garden view, armchair, towels, and white bedding
.

To Do or To Be?

Posted on by under Emotions, Peace

Journal 2019

It’s either feast or famine it seems. While I’m out of town visiting my daughter who just gave birth by C-section, I’m at a forced standstill with my to-do list. When I return home, it will be a marathon of catch-up work, racing the clock. I’m a little antsy, and I realize I’m doing my typical Enneagram One dance.

I said to my daughter, “Give me your list of things to do while I’m here.” (i.e. That’s why I came—to help you do stuff you’re not supposed to do yet—housework, laundry, driving, etc.) “I’m a doer,” I said.

And she replied, “But I’m a be-er, and the way you help me the most is by keeping me company.”

This scenario reminds me of when she was little, and I told her to clean her room. She wanted me to sit with her while she sorted, but even then, her style of cleaning looked like this: “Oh, here’s a paper that reminds me of this, and here’s the story behind it.” And half an hour later, she’d moved one more piece of paper.

So, what is this inner drive in me that wakes up with a to-do list in my head and believes I’m wasting time if I don’t accomplish my goals within a set time frame? Home from boarding school on vacation one year, I set a goal of climbing 100 different trees, and I did it! Another time I decided to do 1000 sit ups in a row. I paid for it with a raw tailbone.

My word for this year is rest, but I’m not sure how well I’ve followed through. Even here with my daughter I’m not resting by choice but by default. I can feel this antsy-ness in my chest—this pull, drive, compunction to get up and do. It’s not a bad thing; it gets things accomplished, but it’s certainly not peace.

I feel like a racehorse at the starting gate, nervous energy growing inside me. I am created to run but required to stand still. If there’s no race, then I don’t need the nervous energy to shoot me out of the gate. That leaves me to leisurely chat with the other horses.

Three days later

I feel a little lost at sea, a little disoriented. The stars are gone, and it’s cloudy, so I can’t navigate by the heavens. My mind tells me, “Just look at the compass—Jesus is True North.” But I’m spinning and tossed about, and I can’t get the rudder to work. I’m too tired to navigate. Easier to just drift for a few days before getting back into the saddle—now there’s another metaphor! I’m saddle-sore and need to stay put by the campfire and rest a while. Did I mention that I’m tired!?

Saddled racehorse standing beside numbered starting gates at dawn

Unlocking Mysteries

Posted on by under Quotes, Scripture

Journal 2019

I just finished reading Jonathan Cahn’s The Book of Mysteries, a 365-day devotional “to uncover the mysteries of God, the secrets of the ages, and the hidden keys to open the doors of a life of joy, blessing, and the fulfillment of your destiny.”

Here are some of my favorite quotes and notes from the book.

Day 1. “A closed vessel can never contain anything larger than its own size. But an open vessel has no limitations. It can contain the Infinity of God.”

Day 2. When I say, “I am …” I’m using the name of YHVH. (e.g. I am Karen; I am a teacher.)

Day 4. Ruach (Hebrew) = wind or Spirit

When you walk against the wind, you have to work harder and expend more energy. If you repent and walk in the same direction as the wind, God’s power energizes you and moves you forward. I’m reminded of the time I tried to bicycle into the wind compared to peddling with the wind behind my back.

Day 10. Snakes are cold-blooded creatures that twist and turn like deception. All evil is cold-blooded. Think of cold-blooded murder. Hatred, slander, deception and oppression are all cold-blooded.

Day 14. The wise men came to worship him. (Matthew 2: 2)

“To worship God is to kiss God” (Greek proskuneo). It’s an intimate act of joy and love, like a dog licking its master’s hand or a falling down prostrate before someone, whether before Jesus or before an idol. It is the posture that seems most prominent.

Day 15. When does the day begin? Westerners say at sunrise. The Jews follow the Genesis pattern: “And the evening and the morning were the first day.”

God’s progression is from dark to light. Man goes from light to dark, from youth to death, sun up to down. When did we switch the reckoning? Why don’t we keep the Jewish way?

Day 27. The word Hebrew means “to cross over.” I’m an adopted Hebrew, and I crossed over from death to life.

Day 29. Yom Kippur: two identical goats, chosen by lot. One set free; one sacrificed. Jesus was sacrificed. Barabbas was set free. Barabbas means “son of ABBA.”

Day 30. In Hebrew, there is no exact way of saying “I have.” Having is an illusion, for everything in this world is temporary. When you let go of possessions, problems, worries, and burdens, you are left only with one possession: God.

Day 33. Resheet (Hebrew) = first fruit  

When the Israelites entered the land of Canaan and harvested their first sheaf of grain, they were to bring it to the priest to wave before the Lord on the day after the Sabbath.

Jesus is our resheet, risen on the day after the Sabbath.

Day 35. The roads of Zion

  • The road to Emmaus
  • The road to Jericho
  • The road to Damascus

“The journey of your life will not be known by its terrain [Rocky, smooth, sandy, winding, dark] but by the place to which it brought you.” The terrain is not your focus, but the destination.

Day 56. Rahamim (Hebrew) = Mercies (plural)

God does not have mercy. He has mercies. The word sin is singular. God’s mercies (plural) are greater than our sin (singular).

“In Hebrew, to render a word that should be singular as plural is a way of signifying that the reality behind the word is so unique, so intense, so extreme, or so colossal that the word alone cannot contain it.” (Not just his death, but many deaths for us all.)

Day 63. Isaiah 53. “In his deaths” (plural)

Day 87. Don’t seek an experience, seek God. “Whatever you know of God, He’s more and beyond it. So seek today to find the more and beyond of God than you have yet known.”

Prayer for a Battle-Weary Friend

Posted on by under Inner Healing

Journal 2019

My friend is a strong, fearsome, mighty warrior who stands guard before a massive ancient metal door, the entrance to a beautiful city. She stands firm, eyes on sharp lookout for the enemy.

Arrows have continually bombarded her plate armor, and still she stands. Swords have flashed from many directions, and still she stands her ground, thrusting, parrying, and defending. I watch the tip of a sword pierce through her armor and slice her heart.

Next comes the battering ram, and with supernatural, Samson-like strength, she thrusts it to one side. But in the process, her body is bruised and weary, and her knees are beginning to sag.

A foul stench now fills the air, and the fumes begin to overpower her senses. Her body, though battered and bruised, fights to stay alert, ready to take on any danger. But her mind becomes addled as the poison seeps into her ears and nostrils. Her words, now her only remaining weapon, cry out in authority, commanding the demon hordes to back off.

My warrior friend sinks to her knees, worn down by the fight, exhausted to the point of a death wish. Her body and mind are weak. Who cares if the city gets overrun? She’s fought the good fight. Let someone else do this job.

I see her lying on the ground now, her sword and spear useless in her cramped hands. If she tries to stand, she knows she’ll just be knocked down again. What’s the use of continuing the battle?

But deep inside she knows her job is not done.

Just then, a little girl with bright blue eyes approaches the prone figure. Her innocence and purity radiate around her like a bubble of protection. “For you,” she says as she hands the warrior a bouquet of wildflowers.

The warrior’s tender heart cannot help but smile and then frown. What good are flowers in the midst of a battle? She’s puzzled. How did the little girl get here? Where did she come from? How did she escape the notice of the enemy soldiers? If the Guardian is defending this city, why is the little girl on the outside of the gates? All this time she thought her job was to defend the little girl, but instead she’d been defending herself. What does this mean?

That afternoon I prayed for my discouraged friend who had lost her way. I sensed that God had downloaded this visual so that I could read it to her. It was exactly what she needed, she said. She knew immediately what it meant, even though I did not. She said the warrior was her human spirit, and she had her focus on the battle instead of on the little girl, her inner child. And the doors? They were an illusion. It seemed to satisfy her. She called me a prophetess.

Armored warrior shielding a child with a raised wooden shield amid ruins

It’s Not My Closet

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2019

I realized today that I’m taking on someone else’s angst. This will never do. I have my own busy schedule today with complications and double bookings and close friends who are struggling. I see the Ping-Pong-in-the-closet syndrome, my rising panic on my friend’s behalf.

I open the closet door and let all the balls spill out onto the floor, hundreds of little white balls bouncing and settling into corners. I’m not sure where to begin, where to step. “Overwhelmed,” is how my friend described it. Of course, I’ve been there, done that: I freeze or go into a frenetic pace to get everything done in time. I haven’t felt this angst in a very long time.

I want to help, but it’s not my closet this time or my Ping Pong balls. My friend is a master planner and organizer. She’ll figure it out. She just needs help getting all these balls picked up and into the right boxes.

Orange and white play balls spilling from an open storage closet

So what is keeping my anxious feeling at the forefront?

I see birds flying around inside my heart castle. If I try to catch them, they fly away, leaving poop everywhere. They’ve got to go.

I open a few windows, fling some bird seed outdoors, and shine a light in that direction. One bird’s name is Panic, but there’s another one whose name is Doubt. This one is harder to capture and release. Doubting what?

Doubt splats against the glass of a closed window. I clap a cardboard box over it and hand the box to Jesus, who delivers it to an angel waiting at the door.

I feel calmer now, ready to be a steady rock for my friend.

He owns me

Posted on by under God, Quotes

Journal 2018

He owns me because he bought me. (Ken Needham, Northern Ireland)

I’ve always believed that I belong to God, but this quote changes my perspective. If I think of myself as a slave, I can become resentful, entertain pity parties, and complain of the work. And If I’m a master looking over my plantation, I expect my slaves to do as they’re told because I bought them.

However, this Master bought me from a cruel taskmaster, and in gratitude I serve Him with love out of my whole heart. He now owns me, and I get to live in the big house as one of His adopted children, and I’ll receive the same training and discipline as his sons and daughters.

When I look at the slaves in the field, I want them to know that they can come live in the big house too. But they have to know that this is even possible. All they need to do is choose. Why do they remain where they are, angry and bitter and resentful and disbelieving?

And so I choose to work in the fields with them, suffering alongside them, trying to get them to accept the Master’s offer. But they continue to believe that all masters are bad, and why should this one be any different than their last one?

He owns me, yes, but I’m also his child.

African American laborers cultivating cotton plants in rows on a plantation with overseer on horseback

On Reconciliation

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing

Journal 2018

When I received an irate email from an acquaintance, I began to formulate a rejoinder. I was clearly in the right and could prove it, but my core suddenly grew cold, my fingers tingled, and my heart began to pound in fear. What in the world was going on here? My immediate response was to vow never to cross this lady again.

I see a momma bear rearing on her hind feet with a deafening roar. Adrenalin kicks in, and I want to turn and hightail it down the path. Instead, I choose to stay. I know I stand in the power and the might of God, so why am I afraid? I have no desire to harm this bear, but she doesn’t know it. But I am in danger of her claws, and her breath has the stench of hellfire.

I know I’m supposed to play dead, but that goes against everything in me that wants to defend myself. Slowly, I lower myself to the ground and curl into a ball with my back to the bear. My breathing slows, and I begin to relax as I listen for movement. She drops to the ground on all fours, sniffs the wind, turns and goes back to the den where her babies are hidden.

I want the momma bear to know I’m not going to hurt her young, but I’m not sure I can convince her. I ask God what to do: confront, approach, or retreat?

“Better let Me handle it,” He says. “I know how to speak bear.”

Mother brown bear roaring at cave entrance with two cubs behind her

And so, though I want the mama bear to deal with her anger and intimidation and admit she’s protecting cubs, I don’t think she trusts anyone. I don’t have relationship with her. I’ll have to let the Lord speak to her, but I’m staying close to Him to observe, to be ready to move should He ask it of me.

The next day I woke up obsessing over how to answer this irate lady’s emails. I want so badly to scoop up her little wounded bear cubs and comfort them. But they don’t need me. They have their mama bear. Then what’s the issue? The desire to fix the hurt? I no longer feel a need to defend myself. I have compassion for her and her pain. I can pray for her, and I can trust God to talk bear, so what’s the issue? I want to approach her and try to reason with her, and that’s quite silly, really.

And so, I meet with Jesus in my secret garden. He pours some tea for us and offers me a plate of scones.

Like the biblical Gideon, I need some confirmation. I am not afraid anymore, but I want to be wise, not foolish. I don’t want to be blind-sided or taken advantage of. I want to walk in step with Him.

“Why can’t she discern that I’m innocent of any wrongdoing?” I ask Him. “I need to know, Lord, if You are asking me to confront her?”

“Why would you want to?” He queries.

“To clear the air. There is something between us—she’s defaming me behind my back and getting her friend to go along with her libel. She’s manipulating to get her own way . . . to protect herself.”

“I need you to stay here with Me,” Jesus says. And I watch as He sends a messenger angel on an errand. I wonder what that’s all about.

I’m shocked when I see this momma bear lady being escorted into the room. I thought this was a private place just for me and Jesus. Apparently Bear and I need to talk, and we need Jesus to mediate. She says she trusts Jesus and is intimate with Him, so why is she so wary?

“Sit down,” He says kindly. And so she does.

“What’s SHE doing here?” she asks.

“I invited her,” says Jesus.

I’m puzzled. This is my garden. Why would she question why I’m here in my own garden?

“Now, let’s talk,” He says, as He pours her a cup of tea.

“No thanks,” she says.

Really? I think. She’s refusing His hospitality?

“Suit yourself,” I want Him to say, but He just nods and sets the pot back down.

“Now, why aren’t you two getting along?” He begins.

“I don’t trust her,” we both say simultaneously.

“I see.” And He waits.

“Why?”

We both look at each other.

Why can’t she trust me … I’m trustworthy after all. But I know her why—she’s been burned, lied to, deceived, taken for a ride. I understand. I get it. But I don’t trust a wounded victim to know her own heart. And I don’t trust that Satan hasn’t planted her in my life to destroy my reputation. How do I know I’m not being deceived? I wonder. I trust Jesus. And I trust He’ll tell me the truth.

 “She is My servant,” I hear Jesus say.

And so, we begin to talk. Soon we have cleared up the misunderstanding and confusion. Her tone is pleasant as she hands me a picture of her cubs to admire.

Why did I spend so much emotional energy and time on such a non-issue? I know I’m driven to reconciliation, to making things right between me and others, and I know I got some healing out of it for which I’m grateful, but I couldn’t seem to resolve my emotions fully till I connected with her. Why is that?

I see a closed circle, a loop. It felt unresolved until I did all I could to make it right. Unreconciled feels very uncomfortable. It makes me fidgety. I suppose that’s why I’m driven to “pursue peace with all men.” And that’s okay because I do the right thing as a result. Go in peace, Karen.