Lent: Day 4 and 5…

February 23, 2015 — 1 Comment

Day 4: Order

I’ve been saying for some time now, that I need to get rid of the clothes that are too small for the kids or that they just refuse to wear. The excess in their drawers and closets makes it nearly impossible to keep any of their rooms clean and clutter-free. So, Saturday morning, we added some order. We sorted and folded, packed and placed.

It’s good for me to be reminded that sometimes the tasks that seem insurmountable in all actuality take little to no time to accomplish. We were rewarded for not fretting the job and just tackling it head on. Now we can see the floor and actually walk into the walk-in closets. It’s actually safe to enter now.

“The fear of man lays a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is safe.”

Proverbs 29:25

Day 5: A Child

Before you gasp, throwing your hands over your mouth to contain a squeal, let me explain. I invited a child over for the afternoon to play with the kids. We are NOT expecting another baby. 🙂 This is a really rare thing, (yes, not expecting…AND inviting over other children) and I know many, many parents out there have other kids over all the time for playdates, especially on the weekends. However, Sundays for us are very full and usually very exhausting, so to add another child to the mix was a big deal for this momma…and my kids.

Jesus blessed our family through this little girl. My kids didn’t bicker or fight as much with another person in the mix. The whole group dynamic changed and it was wonderful. So, Sunday, I added a kid, and learned that my fear of the world imploding due to under-aged domination and tyranny was unfounded…well, at least with this particular group of kids. 🙂

“The Lord is on my side; I will not fear. What can man [or child] do to me?”

Psalm 118:6

“All for one, and 5 for 2…?”

February 13, 2015 — Leave a comment

Sometimes life doesn’t make sense. In a world and culture that loves rhythms and systems, order and reason, sometimes life runs against the current. Chaos abounds, and it’s enough to drive us all mad.

So what do we do when the chaos hits the fan? What do we do when the world’s run amuck and we don’t know up from down?Here’s my laptop confession: I eat chocolate and TV binge-watch.

We are not promised order, as we define it. We are not guaranteed to always understand. However, we are ensured that we don’t have to know the ins and outs of all that lay before us. That truth is a really hard pill to swallow…chocolate is much easier.

As a parent, much of my “order” is defined by good behavior, and the procedures to get there involve discipline and consequences. I am learning, however, that grace is chaos compared to behavior charts and house rules. Grace, as it rubs against the grain of our daily structure, order, and expectations, usually asks us to forgive uncomfortably. Grace requires understanding, not strict obedience nor lax leniency. It demands time and action that unquestionably directs others toward Jesus. This doesn’t always follow the steps and procedures that I have deemed responsible. Grace-filled parenting erroneously appears irresponsible and “soft.”

How do I reconcile that in my heart? If we are to live under grace, and extend grace to others, and to live in Gospel-centered community, we must train ourselves to think outside common sense, order, and definitions.

Forcing ourselves outside of common sense is quality practice. Jesus and His “upside-down” kingdom runs counter to all cultural common sense. The first shall be last. Debt is freely cancelled. Those are not lessons from Kindergarten. From early on, we are groomed to follow the line leader and to take responsibility for our actions. We are taught how to fill our sticker-chart of good deeds.

Having a plan, asking questions about the plan, and having a back-up plan feels responsible, and there are times when this is required of us. So when we are occasionally asked (or forced) to not have a plan, we can feel lazy, dull, and even immoral. To practice frivolity, at least to some degree, stretches us outside our common sense limits and our desire to control the chaos. Grace often resides beyond these personal boundaries and the limits we’ve drawn. Perhaps we should push ourselves outside these cultural guidelines so often, that functioning against the cultural current begins to feel normal–less uncomfortable.

Today the kids have their Valentine’s parties, and so we’ve been getting our “creative” on. We decided to order cards from the store, so the other night we had a photo shoot. In an effort to practice frivolity, we threw out common sense. It seemed more like Halloween than Valentine’s, and I believe we successfully thought outside of the box. (Pinterest makes it really hard to be truly unique.) We stepped beyond order and reason, and with a little bit of crazy and a whole lot of laughter, we came up with a plan–a plan of non-sense.

Ava’s favorite candy is Three Musketeers. I’m sure there is someone smarter than me who could have drawn a connection between the sword-toting trio and Valentine’s Day love, but I had nothing. We bought the candy, a fake mustache, and inverted Gideon’s pirate costume. Ava, who has an amazing ability to defy inhibitions, slapped on the facial hair and hat, and began hamming it up for the camera.

I love this girl.

This musketeer embraced the utter non-sense of it all…and we laughed.

The lack of meaning and connection became the thrust of our message.

You see, when we cling to reason and order, to practicality and systems, we miss musing in the senseless things of life, or at least the things that seem senseless to us. I mentally draft connections from one event to another, or apply meaning to a situation that just simply doesn’t exist. It’s my meager attempt to make sense of life, to organize the chaos. Meanwhile, I miss the freedom in the chaos, notably that I don’t have to figure it out. When I don’t know what to do with my kids and their behavior, I find myself holding fast to proper procedures and guidelines. In turn, I miss the beauty of extending true grace…that which is undeserved. My rules are all about what is earned and deserved. Grace doesn’t fit in that box.

The clear message of Scripture is that God has His plan and we are in it…somewhere. From the first meal in the Garden, mankind has been tempted by “knowing.”

“So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate. Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths.” Genesis 3: 6-7

….and since the first instruction in the Garden, it hasn’t been humanity’s place to know.

“And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, “You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.” Genesis 2: 16-17

I desire what isn’t for me (namely, knowing the plan and controlling the situation). Not much has changed since the Garden. Eve and I have much in common. One would think I could learn from her story. For when her eyes were opened, it didn’t go well.

I desperately want to see the big picture, the plan that lies ahead…at least how the next few weeks will pan out. I want to make sure my children respect authority and obey the rules, often at the expense of grace. But it isn’t for me to know and it isn’t for me to withhold that which is so freely given to me. And if all that I seek to see was indeed revealed to me, I can only assume that the irresistible knowledge I crave now wouldn’t satisfy in the end. I can only assume that without grace, my children would grow up to be wonderful, respectful citizens, but who sit in constant judgment and have ongoing relationship inadequacies, including relationship with their heavenly Father.

SO…I practice. While cute on a Valentine’s card, I currently struggle to experience non-sensical joy in the midst of chaos and unknowing. I’d like to say I could, because after all, that’s what a Proverbs 31 woman would do: “laugh at the days to come.” But let’s get real…when the chaos hits the fan, trusting God’s plan worry-free is a set of skills most of us lack.

So I practice the skill, even in silly photo shoots, which honestly, takes no risk. But even that little taste of embracing the self-adhesive mustache makes the crazy around me slightly more palatable. Can you imagine if I practiced this skill with grace? That takes guts! I can only imagine that the effects on myself and those around me would be astounding.

As I fumble and muddle through all this, here is my hope…it’s for you, too:

“For the sake of my servant Jacob,
and Israel my chosen,
I call you by your name,
I name you, though you do not know me.
I am the Lord, and there is no other,
besides me there is no God;
I equip you, though you do not know me,
that people may know, from the rising of the sun
and from the west, that there is none besides me;
I am the Lord, and there is no other.”

Isaiah 45: 4-6

When we are not trusting, when we do not know or acknowledge Him, He is still faithful. He still equips us–with peace and with grace. When we are in the wilderness, He continues to guide, though we whine and complain with every step. He continues to know us and our cravings to understand and make sense of the desert. He calls us by name…even when we resist to call on His. He promises to make at least one thing known to us…Him.

He will supply us with frivolous grace, and even more opportunities to shower others with the same. He will sustain us in the chaos, when we don’t see a way.

Romans 9:15-17 says,

“For he says to Moses, ‘I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.’ So then it depends not on human will or exertion, but on God, who has mercy. For the Scripture says to Pharaoh, ‘For this very purpose I have raised you up, that I might show my power in you, and that my name might be proclaimed in all the earth.'”

It is because of His faithfulness that I am compelled to respond with trust. I trust not because I can make sense of the situation, or predict the future. I can trust that when grace is given, Jesus takes care of the consequences and conviction that my guidelines and sense of justice want to establish. I will not walk forward in hope because I have a glimpse of what He is doing. I know it depends on nothing of me, no will or exertion, not even an optimistic outlook, and therefore, I am free to not have one.

(gasp…)

I press on with wishy-washy hope and just try to trust. I will start with baby steps and simply try to trust Him with the plan, and with the aftermath of His grace. (Accompanied of course by chocolate and tv drama).

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”

Proverbs 3:5-6

Here’s the final Valentine: (completely non-sensical)

“Roses are red, violets are blue. All for one…and 5 for 2?”

The story behind the story…

December 10, 2014 — Leave a comment

Next Friday is the official release of A Girl and Her Warhorse. I cannot believe this is what God had in mind many, many years ago when I headed to Starbucks with my journal and Bible. It has been an enlightening adventure in which I have learned much about myself and the world of writing. Here is a little bit of the story behind the story:

Psalm 33:16-17: “The king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength. The warhorse is a false hope for salvation, and by its great might it cannot rescue.”

While walking through a difficult season in my marriage, I found healing by reflecting on Jesus and His Word and writing in my personal journal. My husband had come to grips and full disclosure with sin struggle in his life, which left me wounded and confounded. It was through seeking healing in Jesus, that I realized my husband had been my “warhorse” and that I had been placing all trust, identity, value, and worth in him. It was through my husband’s struggle that God removed my spouse from his idolatrous throne in my heart. It was a painful process. As I later shared my thoughts and a few of my journal entries from these little sessions in the Word with both my husband and a counselor, I was encouraged to compile them as part of my own personal healing process.

I spent the next year looking back at previous entries, processing new thoughts and realizations, and seeing thematic connections. Psalm 33:17 became a theme verse for the lessons I was being taught by God during this time. “The war horse is a false hope for salvation, and by its great might it cannot rescue” (Psalm 33:17). I began to ask myself hard questions as God revealed to me that I had a warhorse. I wrote each question down, so I wouldn’t forget to keep asking them of myself. This pulling together of journal entries, Scripture, and probing questions allowed me to see more clearly my sin and my Savior.

The finished product of that compilation follows the theme of war recognizing that we are constantly under attack by the enemy and that most of our lives take place on a battlefield. Our great rescue is not found in the fast, fleeting warhorse, but rather in Jesus who is our only true hope and victor. The warhorse is different for all of us, but ultimately is anything or anyone that we put our hope in other than Jesus. It is very simply idolatry.

As I shared this rough manuscript with my counselor a year later, she encouraged me to consider also sharing it with other women who might be struggling with some of the same issues. My initial answer was a resounding “no” in my head as I politely smiled and said, “maybe,” to her face. I didn’t want share my life with others, especially the weaknesses and vulnerabilities. However, God was teaching me that each of the unique paths He has guided us down are mere foundations for sturdy cobble-stoned paths that line cities built for glorifying God. I was learning that trials in life only pound down the dust beneath our feet so that bricks of wisdom and mercy can be laid. I was slowly seeing God pave a grace-ridden street leading myself and others back to His redeeming love.

I was still scared to share. I was still nervous about my story.

I did a few edits, removing the extremely raw things we write in only our journals, because no one is ever supposed to read them, and began sharing with a few close friends here and there. Years passed as I dismissed the idea or the need to expand my circle of sharing. However, again, I was encouraged to share the manuscript with a broader audience. Again, I hesitated, but started to work through the book as a bible study with a lovely group of women from The Well in Buda, TX.

As we were going through the study together, I also began a year of editing with an editor. I learned an amazing (and much needed) amount from her. (Thank you, Lynn!) After months of Skype sessions discussing word choice and punctuation, it became time to decide how to publish. I very quickly became aware that publishing a book in the absence of fame and Twitter followers is near impossible. Self-publishing became the most plausible route. That year-long process has also been eye-opening and more work than I thought I’d signed up for.

Therefore, it is with a simultaneous exhale of relief and a nervous inhale of the unknown that A Girl and Her Warhorse will finally be released on the 19th. I momentarily remember I can trust Jesus, because after all, He’s the one who led me here kicking and screaming. He solely bares all the weight of this book…lucky for me.

Out of my confusion, God answered. Out of my hurt, He healed. Out of my feeble and shaking hands, came His grace-filled and restorative words in my journal. Out of those stacks of Moleskin journals came an honest and raw, yet structured guide to identify warhorses and restore Jesus to His rightful throne of authority in my heart. I have spent wonderful hours going through this book with other women in small group bible studies. I have seen God’s beautiful daughters struggle to let go of their warhorses and I have seen Jesus gently wooing them with His love. It has been amazing. Seeing how the Lord has used my story to draw others to a deeper knowledge and love of Him has been the motivation to finally agree to open the personal pages of my life to more women.

My desire is that we all realize the importance of our stories. We are woven into the great tapestry of His love story. All of our different pasts and paths ultimately point to Him, the great Rescuer. His unwavering pursuit of us, His sacrificial love, and His beautiful exchange of newness of life for our sin and death are only fragmented sentences in His great romance novel written for us. He has so much for us. He is penning us into the lines of His masterful writing. He is the story behind our story.

We’ve been invited…

October 2, 2014 — 2 Comments

Two days ago, I went to HEB with the little man. We were in need of diapers. After finding the best deal on a mega-pack, we headed back to the car. The sun was shining bright and we were both looking forward to the day. I had been invited to meet friends at Starbucks and catch up over coffee. Judah was excited about the prospect of sweet treats while the mommies talked. We wasted no time and loaded the diapers, returned the shopping cart to its metal corral, and began the buckling-in process.

Any parent or grandparent knows that this daily chore can indeed be a lengthy process. Straps can get twisted, bottoms have to scoot back, and a small battle of “put your goldfish in the other hand” has to ensue just to get arms through the appropriate belts. This day, however, an unforeseen turn of events was underway. Our buckling-in routine was about to be altered.

Just as I clicked the second-to-last buckle in his 5-point harness, the car door behind me closed on my legs. This left passenger door has a tendency to shut on its own, so at first, I really thought nothing of it, and simply without looking pushed against the window with my left hand. I had intentionally parked next to a vacant spot to make the bucking-in process easier, so I wasn’t concerned about swinging the door into a nearby car.

But, despite my attempt, the door didn’t budge. I quickly turned, confused as to what was happening. Through the window I saw a black car slowly pulling in to the spot next to me. Only 8 inches or so from the side of our car it crept in, pushing firmly against the car door at my back. The pressure on my calves was increasing. I thought, “What is this moron doing? Don’t they see that there is someone in here?” I twisted my upper body, lower legs pinned between the car door and the running board. While pushing on the door window with my left forearm, I pounded the tinted window of the black car with my right fist. I heard the bodies of the two cars crackle, and for a second, questioned if the sound was that of fracturing bone. It soon became evident that there was no driver to hear my determined and desperate knocking. “What in the world???….”

More confusion set in…

“Where did this back phantom car come from?”

Then panic…

“How am I going to get out of here?”

“I’m all alone…”

Scenes flashed though my thoughts: Aron Ralston, who cut off his own arm with a dull knife to escape his entrapment by a boulder, a long-ago tragedy of a high school friend who, while sitting on the hood of a parked car was hit head-on by another car, severing both legs, and a fearful glimpse of myself–life dramatically altered by the loss of limbs.

I sent out a few desperate one-handed texts to my husband and the friends I was to meet asking them to pray. I see now that my texts were altogether confusing and painted a much more frightening picture. Sorry, y’all. 🙂

I struggled to push against the child car-seat and the door that unrelentingly pressed in. Even with my best resistance, the gap between the door and the car grew smaller. I thought, “I don’t know how long I can keep pushing.”

I spotted a woman putting away her groceries in her trunk across the lot. I yelled, “Help!” through the crack in the door. She turned and looked. I screamed again and she came running. I quickly tried to explain what little I understood, “this car came out of nowhere and there is no one in there, and my legs are getting squashed, and I don’t know what to do, but I need out, and the door is still trying to shut…” I could hear the trembling and panic in my voice, which only gave affirmation to my fear. She, too, was trying to wrap her mind around what was happening. “I don’t know what to do!”, she said. She ran to the back of the car to read the license plate number. She apologized profusely for having to find a paper and pen, because she wouldn’t be able to remember the number on her own. Then she was gone to find the owner.

It felt like an eternity. I felt alone. I felt trapped.

Then I heard her voice return and that of a man. Then I spotted him, a 76-year-old hispanic man. He slid in sideways between the two vehicles and asked if I was okay. “Yes, I think so”, I said, “but that car is still pressing in on the door and my legs are pinned. I can’t move.” He slid back out and I heard him call on others to push the car in reverse. One man came, but instead of helping to move the car, opened up my SUV’s door on the opposite side and asked, “why don’t you just climb out this side?”

“I can’t…I’m stu…”

And just like that, he slammed the door shut and was gone. (WHAT?!?!?)

The benevolent army veteran returned and squeezed in again and positioned one shoulder between the door and the frame. He helped me fight the door for a few more centimeters. I heard the black car door pop and crackle as we strained. I wiggled my left leg free and stepped into the car, my right leg still pressure packed, as it was closer to the smaller angle of the hinge side of the door. We hustled and as soon as I felt the ability, I slid my leg towards the crack. My shoe fell to the ground and I pulled my leg into the car just as my rescuer backed away from door. It slammed shut in my face and I watched through the window as the grimacing man held his breath as the car continued to roll.

As soon as my door was clear of the car, I opened it and recovered my flip-flop. The ebony Mazda kept cruising until it met the cart stall across the way. At that point, the car owner and the store manager appeared. The police were on their way and I reassured everyone that I didn’t need an ambulance. The tear-filled owner explained that she put her standard transmission car in neutral and forgot to put the emergency break on. If I was talented enough to drive a standard, I am sure that I would have made the same oversight many times.

In my freedom, as people asked if I was okay or needed medical attention, the release of adrenaline and emotion came. I teared up. “I was just scared.” It was all I could muster to say.

In the days since, I’ve been processing how to write about this. As I’ve retold the details of the event to others, the comment was made that this would be good material for the blog. As I’ve pondered the experience and the feeling of being trapped, I couldn’t escape this reoccurring thought…the Holy Spirit.

He has definitely been on my radar lately, and today as I write, it’s no different. My new relationship with the Holy Spirit has given me a better understanding of how I have lived in His presence, yet inattentive to His voice. Like that black driverless car, I have been a vessel filled with all the wirings to drive the course, but have more often than not been aimlessly rolling down a decline on neutral. In my pilotless walk, I’ve been trapping others, pinning them, and bruising them along the way. Walking without an attentive ear to the Holy Spirit has cascaded me into others, without care or concern for their well-being. Without the Spirit in the driver’s seat, my own joy has been sacrificed and I have ended up in places that I don’t belong, in steel and lifeless shopping cart corrals. My own frame has been nicked and dented resulting in years of my own unnecessary damage.

I have a feeling I’m not alone.

I am learning to listen to His voice, to let Him comfort and guide. I sat on the bumper of our Sequoia as the police report was being filed and I clearly heard His urging. He told me to go and pray for the owner of the black ghost car. As I approached her sitting in the driver’s seat, head in her hands, I asked her if she was okay. She explained that she had already had a rough week with work and in her marriage. She was beginning to think it couldn’t get any worse. I said, “This may sound weird, but can I pray for you?”

“YES!”, she exclaimed. And before I could even open my mouth, we were hand in hand, me down on my throbbing knee, her seated with head bowed, and she began…She prayed for me. Sometimes listening to the Holy Spirit causes us to take a risk to love someone else in the name of Jesus, and sometimes He guides us for the sake of our own souls. I was reminded in her prayer that He never left me, even when I felt alone, trapped, and helpless. I prayed for her, her marriage, and the stressfulness of her week, that Jesus would redeem even those details.

There we found ourselves, in the HEB parking lot, having just been the aimless and wandering, the trapped and confused, receiving the love of the Father, the grace of Jesus, and the peace of the Holy Spirit. Wow. Speechless.

The cops (one of which had given me my speeding ticket earlier last month, see the post: What’s the Big Idea?? ) wrapped things up and headed on their way. The manager went back into his store. The good Samaritan got in his white pick-up and drove off. The lady and her dark dented car rode off to work. There I was, standing the the parking lot, as if none of it had happened.

At that moment Paul accompanied by a good friend and the two girls I stood up for our coffee date pulled in. I felt a little odd at first. There was no sign that anything had happened. Because they all love me, of course, they didn’t doubt me, but only showed care and concern.

But, isn’t that also like the Holy Spirit? He does these random, out of nowhere, unbelievable things, then seems to vanish into thin air as soon as others show up. I believe it’s because we have a personal God. In Acts, we see the Spirit move in big and powerful ways in front of thousands for the sake of thousands. He still does this, no doubt. However, for me right now, my lack of faith–lack of trust–exists in the Spirit’s desire for personal relationship with me, not the big fantastical stuff that brings millions to know Jesus. That actually makes sense to me. It’s very economical. But, that He would also orchestrate a phantom car and 76-year-old Super Man so that I could encounter Him and His clear voice–not for the goal of “winning one for the kingdom”, but just for shepherding my heart–is a challenging consideration.

He loves me when I don’t listen and coast without a driver. He loves me when I am trapped in fear. He loves me and continues to pursue me, even after I am His. He desires friendship with me. He gives me personal events that, while I can share them in writing, are yet experienced only by me. I am reminded again of the old hymn that I sing for Judah each night:

I am Jesus’ little lamb.

Ever glad at heart I am.

For my shepherd gently guides me,

Knows my needs and well provides me.

Loves me everyday the same.

Even calls me by my name.

His Spirit is there ready to give unending joy, gentle guidance, ample provision, and personal relationship. I came across a Facebook post promoting the movie Holy Ghost, which is a documentary I have referenced before. It speaks for itself and is eerily applicable:

We’ve been invited to have faith in Him. We’ve been invited to trust Him. We’ve been invited to be His friend. Will we accept His invitation of friendship? Will we allow Him to sit at the steering wheel? Will we risk the possibilities of what partnering with the Spirit of God might actually do? It could change people…whole cities…nations! And even more risky and terrifying–it could change us in very foundational and personal ways. Are we willing to take His hand and jump in to new territory?

Jesus said, “It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh is no help at all. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life” (John 6:63). I want to have life and have it to the full. My flesh and my attempts to gain this on my own are “no help at all.” I have got to surrender all my efforts–the controls of my car–in order to let the Spirit drive. It’s scary, but can we do it? We’ve been invited.

Chirp…

September 27, 2014 — Leave a comment

The faint chirping of birds…

If I concentrate, I can dimly dice the conversation.

The tweets cascading down from the oaks in front of me are met with distant song to my left. What are they saying?

There is a pattern to their song. Verse, chorus, verse again…a back and forth chant and response. The pitch of the two are different, one distinctly higher than the other, but the quick staccato rhythm the same. Are they talking about food, the weather, the nest?

I have been listening to birdsongs of a different flair all week. It’s been deep meaningful discussion on matters of faith, “outreach”, and Jesus. I sit here in the woods, on retreat, processing all the hymns and anthems I have just taken in, hoping to digest even half of the wisdom I encountered.

At the very core of my melodic meal, Jesus has been singing a song over me. He has been feeding His goodness and mercy straight to my hungry belly. He has been wooing me with His love. His Spirit has been reminding me of all that He said and all that He has done. His sweet tunes have been everything from savory, slow, and melodic to salty, fast, and turbulent. In every lyric is a nutrient for my heart.

The rain comes.

Pat, pat, pat, pat….

piddle, piddle,

Pat….

Fading are the birds, all but one. In the sound of the softly falling wet, I hear but one little chirp.

Chirp.

She is constant, her beat like the ticking of a grandfather clock. The rain falls gently.

The air fills with the fragrance of peaceful showers.

Chirp.

Chirp. Piddle. Piddle.

In this solitude, Jesus has a message for me. He has been pouring music of His truth and His gifts over me for months now, but here, in this peaceful place, with rain tenderly tapping 16ths on the leaves on the snare drum of His orchestration, and the bird steady on the count…

Piddle piddle piddle piddle piddle piddle piddle piddle.

Chirp.

It is here that I start to piece together the message of His month long score.

The Spirit is at work around me and in me. I feel Him moving as I sense the bugs squirming under the leaves. A small section of dry scrap on the ground jumps as a wooded lizard runs for cover. I see the Spirit wiggling under the surface of our lives. Some jump at His dance. Some respond. Some run for cover. He is mixing and stirring our pots. He’s up to something.

Chirp.

An acorn falls in front of me from the heights above.

clack…

and bounces on the wooden deck…

click, click.

More percussion in this song. I am learning to listen. To learn I must practice.

Chirp.

That unrelenting chirp that never misses a beat, it is constant and exact. Such is the message for my heart–a constant and exact word for only my soul, speaking personally to the depths of my spiritual being. Yet, I see in the songs I have shared with others this week, the songs I have listened others sing, that the message is being broadcast worldwide. The movement is wild and far-traveling. While He speaks straight to my soul, He is speaking directly to the souls of others. He is amazing. He is big.

Chirp.

Clack. Click, click.

What is this message? What is this great orchestral composition leading me to? I don’t know…yet. But I am simply enjoying the concert.

Clack. Click, click.

Chirp.

Pat, pat, pat, pat….

piddle, piddle,

Pat….

The message is to listen…to learn His voice. To practice the art of listening to Him.

The rain from the roof has gathered in the gutters and soon a faint trickle of drops turns into a spout of bubbling brook.

Drip.

Drop.

Pour.

He is here, even now, and I know this because I listen.

I fear no evil, for He is with me. His soft showers of grace turn into rivers of gratitude in my heart. Somehow this listening transforms me. My spirit lifts, and I believe it is because I am hearing His Spirit with all my senses. This is the message He has for me. This is one of the many gifts He has given me, to have at my disposal His Holy Spirit, the Helper, the Comforter, the One who reminds me of the Father’s love and of Jesus’ words. If I don’t hear, how will I know?

I am learning to be a sheep that listens, that is known, and does not wonder. “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27). He is speaking to me in daily current parables.

“This is why I speak to them in parables, because seeing they do not see, and hearing they do not hear, nor do they understand. Indeed, in their case the prophecy of Isaiah is fulfilled that says:

“‘“You will indeed hear but never understand,
and you will indeed see but never perceive.”
For this people’s heart has grown dull,
and with their ears they can barely hear,
and their eyes they have closed,
lest they should see with their eyes
and hear with their ears
and understand with their heart
and turn, and I would heal them.’
But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear. For truly, I say to you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see, and did not see it, and to hear what you hear, and did not hear it” (Matthew 13:13-17).

In His mercy, my dull heart is being illuminated. My ears are being tuned. My eyes are being opened. His mercies are new every morning.

Chirp.

I hear His mercies falling anew:

Pat, pat, pat, pat….

piddle, piddle,

Pat….

Drip, drop…

pour.

He has healing and I turn to hear it and receive it.

His Spirit is here, with me, with you. Listen. Keep your eyes peeled. Don’t over think it. Simply sit and listen and start with what you hear. My friend, I want you to know the joy that comes from knowing.

chirp.

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