Reflection {the change in direction}

“You are brave and strong.  You are My pride and Joy.  You radiate with My love.  Remember, you are not who you think you are.  You are who I created.  I know you. You are every bit the perfect one … Continue reading

{prayers} Of Intercession

With the children tucked into bed and the tea steeped and steaming, the house quiet and the heat filtering through vents, I peak out the window.  Frost is already visible, glinting silver on blades of dying grass and bare twigs in naked trees.

The moon is low and and full, as if the light it carries is a heavy weight tonight.

Below the fog is lifting up from the wetlands and the evergreens on the foothills across the fields appear black and dense, with the flickering train light dancing airily through the bends over the river’s bridge, into the open for a moment, then back into dense black.

These moments, alone in my room after hours of being surrounded by people, these moments are the most precious and the most daunting.  In the quiet I see the faces of those I’ve smiled at, loved on and been loved by, spoken to… I see their eyes… and I see so much more.

I see the weight of life, the struggling words within.

I see joy, I see futures and hope.

So much.

I hear words.  Words that they shared, these beautiful people.  Words accounting for things I’ve seen, and words hiding the things behind their eyes… words of secret pleading.  Words of truth and words of masked uncertainty.  Insecurity and expectation blend together as, in the silence, these words refill my ears.

Then the Lord invites me in.

It’s a place that inhabits my room, and opens up from within my mind; a peeling back of a veil and a stepping through in thought that I can feel in the air I sit in and draw breath from.  Into this place I carry all these wonderful people, their eyes and their words.  Everything that I have seen, I bring here.

Face to face and side by side, His arm around me, His presence pressing lightly down, surrounding me.  I know the sound of His voice so clearly and it brings a soothing calm.  I used to come here dressed in armor, ready to do battle in His name.  What silly girl I was!  Like going to bed with shoes on, is how I would enter this secret, intimate place.

Now, we sit in the quiet together.  He already knows everything that I come to Him with.  He knows each and every name, has seen each and every eye and heard each and every word.  It was at His invitation that I was able to see; and together we speak the necessary words back, the healing words, the cleansing words.  Words of comfort, of hope and of acceptance that each one needs.  At times He invites me to pick up pen and paper and write a note that He speaks to one or another.  At times I read His Word instead, and occasionally speak it out loud, back to Him.  And sometimes we simply weep together, for there are some things that no words can heal.

I feel His heart beat, He is that close, and I know His smile, the astounding love in His eyes that breaks with the gut wrenching pain of some whom we have seen and heard.  I have seen His jealousy, and know His patience well.  His compassion is endless, His kindness so immense.

Every moment we are together changes me.

Every moment spent in His presence within this secret space fills me with something I cannot explain. I carry it back with me.  Peace.  Grace.  Understanding?  Thanksgiving.  Humility.  Adoration…

And before drifting off to sleep I often hear, “Thank you, Child,” and I feel the gentle embrace of His presence enfolding me within His love.

“I tell you, you can pray for anything, and if you believe that you’ve received it, it will be yours.”      Mark 11:24


“Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal among you, which comes upon you for your testing, as though some strange thing were happening to you” 1 Peter 4:12

Words, deeds, misunderstanding, hurt feelings. Baggage adding up, spilling over.

Filters and lenses fogged through, emotions intense. Pressure steaming.  Exploding all over.

People living with People: Rubbing raw, stabbing deep, wearing thin.  Aching.  Lonely.  Fearfully raging.  Clashing and colliding and throbbing and slashing and hiding and blaming and hating and longing… in need.

….which comes upon you for your testing….

I remember words once spoken to me; “She needs a dart board and you are her leader.  Seems like God is asking you to break the fall for her, to be the one who catches her hurt and absorbes the mess.  Seems like maybe He’s asking you to be His skin and bones for a little while. Seems like a painfully high honor, if you ask me.  Seems like that’s what we do when we say yes to being like Him.”  

And when standing in the breaking of someone’s fall, my own heart breaks.  Shatters.  I wonder if He really wants me to say yes to being like Him.  When absorbing someone else’s mess requires painful stretching to accomodate the enormity of a life lived outside my capacity, when the swelling tears pieces of me and my resolve to be like Him cracks… In my aching my human, un-god-like, is showing.

“…Make sure that none of you suffers as a murderer, or thief, or evildoer, or a troublesome meddler…”              ~1 Peter 4:15

When my human heart bites back in the searing pain of tearing and I no longer suffer stretching for the sake of Christ, but suffer under the weight of my new wounds opening old.  When I am no longer breaking someones fall, but falling right along with them, I wonder, how did I get here? When did I turn away from the Healer and become the hurting? When I am an evildoer, and troublesome and have no where to look but at my own failing pride, my own crying for comfort and relief, rather than for God’s glory. When I loose sight. Forget why I am here.  When does He come rescue us both?

“Therefore, those also who suffer according to the will of God shall entrust their souls to a faithful Creator in doing what is right.” ~ 1 Peter 4:19

In the midst of falling and failing in human error and stringent pride, one thing I do know: His hands stretching wide.  It is enough to remind me to land on my knees, my face to the floor.  One thing that falling does is break open the brittle shell that said, enough stretching this time!  And me, now broken, heart beating bare, each hand His covers He lifts up with care.   It is His arms that stretch mine out full. It is His strength holding them there.  In this, I am renewed.  In His embrace I gain my girth.  Together, my skin and bones and His presence, we return to absorbing hurt from the hurting. And when I lean into Him as we break their fall, I can see it.  This is how I am becoming like Him.

“Therefore, since Christ has suffered in the flesh, arm yourselves also with the same purpose, because he who has suffered in the flesh has ceased from sin” ~1 Peter 4:1