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Poem – Storm in my heart

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There’s a
storm in my heart
for the first time
since he was little.

It’s different every day for supper
now that we are the same.

He’s got a call.
Others went on to the shelter
but not him.
No sir.
No how.

He hears the voice too.
I would have saved him that tug
that pull.
I would have saved him
the sleepless nights.

When they were stubborn
he had to work harder.
His time is not his own.
Not now.
Not anymore.

We are the same,
he and I

and I’m sad.

I hoped he’d be deaf to the voice,
that voice
that won’t take no for an answer.

That voice will lead him
blind and stumbling
through deserts and desolation.

But that voice will also
never let him fall
never let him fail
never get him lost
in the sea or on the shore.

It is a hard life,
this life of the listener.

I’d hoped he would be spared.

But quietly
I’m glad
to have a fellow traveler.

(About a third of this was inspired by the predictive text feature on my Kindle. It isn’t enough for me to make it a “predictive text poem” but enough that I think it is worth noting.)

Three a.m., or, Codependent with God.

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I woke at three a.m. on Thursday morning. I was completely awake. I had to go to the bathroom, but I didn’t have any of that middle of the night fog. I wondered if it was God waking me up.

I’m still suspicious of this. My previous minister made it clear what she thought of these middle of the night experiences. This is of course the same person who explained the story of Samuel being awoken by God in a Sunday school class. (It is in the first book of Samuel, chapter 3 if you are interested). So apparently in her mind, God only talked to people back in Biblical days. She was a bad role model for how to follow God.

I’m still getting over that, and learning I have to figure this path out for myself. It isn’t easy.

I felt around for the call. Was it a call, or not? Usually a call has a bit of an insistence to it, but not always. It is nice to think that God isn’t like a hungry insistent baby all the time. Maybe God just wants a cuddle. I think God sometimes just wants for us to spend time with each other.

Sometimes there is some urgency to a call – something needs to be done right away. I understand those calls. I don’t like them, but I understand them. I can recognize them.

I could get up and write. I always have more to write. I have a huge backlog of mostly finished pieces and three memo books of “seeds” to get me started if none of those appeal to me at the time.

But it was three a.m. I’d gotten in bed at 11, and it was probably midnight before I actually went to sleep. I don’t like being around myself when I’ve not had enough sleep.

Then I heard it. God reminded me that God made me, and knows how much sleep I need. So it wouldn’t be a problem. So it was a call.

And then we had a little wrestling match. Thankfully when I wrestle with God it isn’t anything like what Jacob went through. It never is all night, there never is an angel there, and nobody cheats. Plus, no new name to deal with. (Genesis 32:24-31)

This time I was reminded of the line in Isaiah, where he points out that the pot can’t tell the Potter what to do. (Isaiah 29:16)

But I countered with the story that Abraham talked God out of wiping a city off the map without giving the inhabitants a chance to redeem themselves. (Genesis 18:16-33)

I felt a “click” of sorts. It is like I rounded a corner in my relationship with God.

I am willing to be a partner with God. I’m just not willing to be God’s lapdog.

This is totally opposed to everything I’ve read from everyone who writes anything about spirituality. They write about self sacrifice and selflessness. I’m talking about self care.

Sure, God has my back. I’ve seen it often enough, when I’ve answered the call and everything has worked out. There was a time when a friend needed to talk and we stayed up so late I didn’t have time to study for the test that was scheduled the next morning. It turned out that the teacher postponed the test. Then I had a lot of expenses recently, and not much extra money coming in from my beaded jewelry sales. Yet somehow we have more money now than we did before the car repair and the chiropractor visits. So I know that God is always making up for whatever God asks me to go through.

But I still didn’t want to feel like I have to jump when God snaps a finger at me.

But then I do. Or do I?

I want to be obedient to God.

I don’t want to fall out of favor. This connection with God is important to me, and I don’t want to lose it.

But then I feel like I’m in a codependent relationship with God, or like God is the angry, abusive husband and I’m the harried housewife. Yes, God, I’ll do whatever you say. Oops, God got mad – it must have been my fault. If only I was better, God wouldn’t act like that.

Starting to sound familiar?

I don’t want that kind of relationship with God. The only way not to have that kind of relationship is to establish boundaries.

If God is love, then I have to believe that God wants only the best for me, and isn’t going to push me around. I have to believe that God wants me to stand up for myself. I have to believe that God is cheering me on for saying no, even to God.

Codependency and Christianity are intertwined. They don’t have to be. That is a human invention. It isn’t the way Jesus wants us to relate to God. Jesus is about us having a direct relationship with God, and not one based on fear. Respect, certainly, but not fear. The Hebrew word “yare’ ” is often translated as “fear” but it also means respect, admiration, reverence, or to stand in awe, according to The NAS Old Testament Hebrew Lexicon.

God wants willing participants in the plan to make the world better, not cowering creatures. God wants us to stand tall, not throw ourselves down face first in fear. Sure, we have to respect God. We aren’t in charge. We didn’t create ourselves. Hubris is a dangerous thing. But we are better servants when we are strong than when we are weak. We are better when we are willing than when we are afraid.

I think this is what that call was about. It wasn’t about doing anything. It was about becoming something.

Audience

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Who is my audience? Who reads this? Who “gets” what I write? And does it affect what and how I write?
I am my first audience. I write to understand things. Writing helps me to clear my head. Writing is how I define myself – it is how I understand what I’m thinking, and it is a descriptive. I write in order to be me. But I don’t write about the same things all the time. I write poetry, “progressive” Christian commentary, what it is like to be an adult survivor of an abusive family, Bible study, and political pieces about modern culture and what it is like to be female. That is a pretty broad range, and there aren’t that many people that will like each thing. I write about whatever comes to my mind that I want to understand. I also write about things that I think are helpful to others, things that may give them a signpost in an often confusing world.
I feel that sometimes I have something really important to say. Sometimes I feel like I want to shout from the rooftops – hey – look at this, here’s a connection that has just come to me and it will make so many lives easier! I sometimes don’t feel like they are my words. I feel like I’ve found a treasure rather than created one. Writing is like that sometimes. It isn’t always a process of creation but discovery. Sometimes these discoveries are pretty amazing.
My audience is small. It is highly unlikely that the right person will get this information. My audience is varied – all over the world. I look at the profiles of every person who “follows” my blog. I give thanks for each person who has decided that what I have written is worthwhile enough to want to read it on a regular basis. I keep a list of every person that I personally have sold a book to for the same reason.
I don’t feel that what I write is “mine”. I feel that I am a receptacle. I feel that I am a channel. I feel that God uses me (and everyone else) to reveal things. Sometimes I’m not very good with conveying the information. That is why I write every day. I want to get better. Writing is just like any other exercise. You have to do it a lot to get good at it. What is the point of having information if you can’t convey it to others in a way they can understand it?
But I think that is part of faith and trust. I think that if God wants this information to get to others, God will make it happen. I think writing a blog is a great idea. You can write a book, but then you are dependent on a publisher accepting it and then printing it and then distributing it. You have to rely on people being able to get to a bookstore and being able to afford it, or having a library nearby. With a blog, whatever you produce is right there, available, no waiting, to anyone with an Internet connection.
Admittedly, that isn’t everyone. Not everyone has electricity. Not everyone has the infrastructure to have high-speed Internet. Not every government is OK with the free exchange of ideas. Just looking at the map of who has read my blog reminds me of this.
But I think that part of all of this is that I just have to do my part. I have to show up, and receive what I can, and offer it forth in the best way I can, and let it go. Just like casting bread upon the water I have to trust that it will get to where it needs to go.
Would it help if I had more followers? Would that encourage me, or hinder me? Would I get bolder, or more hesitant? Would it help if more people “liked” my posts? Would that mean I’d write more things like that, or less? Would it help if I posted some of my posts on larger sites? Would that change my audience, and then change how and what I wrote?
I think it is best to just write, a not worry about it. I don’t make any money on writing a blog, and in a way I think that keeps me honest. Nobody can “buy” my words. I don’t have to change what I write to suit anybody. While it would be nice to get a little money from this, I feel that isn’t fair in a way. I feel that I get the information for free, so I should give it out for free. But then, there is the time I take to write it – isn’t that worth something? But that too, was given to me by God.
Not everything I write is divinely inspired. Some of it just is rambling and wondering out loud. Perhaps it sounds strange to say that I feel that God inspires some of what I write. But to me it sounds humble – it is giving credit where credit is due. To take the credit for a connection that came to me out of the blue is to lie, in my opinion. I’m sure that some people will think it is vain to say that God inspires me (and others – I’m not alone) but to me it is the exact opposite.
I write all the time. I write every morning. I write while I’m walking at lunch. I write while I’m waiting in doctor’s offices. I write while I’m going somewhere if I’m the passenger. (Long road trips are great). I write if I’m on retreat. I write at work when it is a quiet time and I’m caught up. I keep a notepad with me all the time for ideas.
I pray to be a worthy receptacle, and that God is able to help people through me. I pray that I can help encourage others through my words, and to open doors for them to shed light on confusing ideas. I pray that I can let them know that they aren’t alone in their struggles, and to keep on working on it and through it.

Peacemaker and the Process.

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I said at one point about a year ago that my goal in life was to be a peacemaker. I’m not doing a very good job of it. Either I need to reapply myself to my goal, or I need to be honest with myself about what my goal really is.

When I said that was my goal I was in the deacon discernment program in the Episcopal Church. It was tedious. It was a lot longer and harder than I thought it would be. I thought that if a person said that they wanted to be helpful to people, they’d be given some training and some oversight and a task right away. Folks would get help in a helpful way, soon. Nope. Their plan was wait three years and think about it. Meanwhile, I’m stumbling along, clueless. Meanwhile, people are still coming to me with their problems and I still don’t really know what to do.

Part of the Process of discerning if you are called by God to be a deacon in that church, and it really is a Process with a capital P, is a series of assignments. You get an assignment once a month. You need a whole month to work on it. The last one that I was given before the Process was put on “pause” (read, thanks for playing, but you can stop now, you aren’t what we are looking for) was about my goals for life. It was to teach me that everything that I’ve already done in my life was training for what I’m going to do. I felt a bit cheated. If I already have all the training and experience, then what do I need this Process for? If I can figure out for myself what I’m being called to then why do I have to go to these meetings every month and bare my soul to these near strangers?

I’m a little bitter, still, about the whole experience. I try not to write about it much because it just opens fresh wounds that I’m trying to heal. But I’m learning that it is important to examine the source of pain in order to heal. This is a new part of my practice. I’m still learning how.

I said that I wanted to be a peacemaker. I said that I’d love to travel around the world and get people who have disagreed for years to actually listen to each other for a change and see things from each other’s perspectives. I thought that peace in the Middle East would be a big coup.

But then I thought I’d need to learn all those languages, because you always lose something in translation. And I thought that they certainly wouldn’t listen to a young American woman. That is three strikes right there.

Is that the yetzer hara speaking again? Is that the voice of the “evil inclination” that is trying to prevent me from doing what I’m called to do? Or is it the voice of reason that points out that is really not my calling?

Who am I kidding? Peacemaker?

I don’t even talk to my brother or my aunt. I don’t go to my previous church in part because of a huge falling out with the priest. And I’m spending Thanksgiving at home with just my husband because of a falling out with his family. My circles just keep getting smaller.

I don’t have a great track record with making peace.

My usual modus operandi is to avoid the problem. If you don’t talk about it, it will go away, right? Don’t talk about the elephant in the room. We herded elephants in my family home. Just thinking about that madness makes my stomach start to cramp up again. Who doesn’t want to avoid pain? Running away seems very healthy. Until it isn’t, and you realize that you’ve run away your whole life and there isn’t anywhere to run away to anymore.

I feel like I was cheating a bit when I said that I wanted to be a peacemaker. It sounds good. It is close to what I want, what I feel called to. I don’t really want what I’m being called to – but then I want nothing else. The idea of not doing what I’ve been put on this Earth for makes me sad. Nothing is more tragic than seeing someone waste her life thinking she has another day, another month, another year to start living it. I don’t want to be that person.

But then I don’t have a word for what I’m called to. That was why I consented to be part of the Process. I figured it would separate the wheat from the chaff. I figured out it would separate the signal from the noise and let me know what I was hearing. I figured if several of us listened together we’d hear better.

Turns out instead of boiling off the stuff that I don’t need, like skimming off the scum from chicken soup that you are reducing to juicy goodness, it just boiled everything over and spilled it on the floor. I didn’t know I had so much in me. I didn’t know that I can’t be contained to one denomination’s rules and rubrics. I didn’t know that one expression of faith wasn’t going to be enough for me. I didn’t know that this process would widen things up instead of narrowing them down.

I know God works through everything. I know that everything I go through is from a loving God who wants the best and is working with and through me to bring forth what is best. I also know it doesn’t feel very fun while it is happening.

Perhaps peacemaker is part of it. Perhaps I need to know what peace isn’t in order to understand what peace is. Recovering addicts make really good counselors. They’ve been there. They know. Perhaps I’ll know what my calling is when I get there. Perhaps God is treating me like I’m a secret agent. Not even I know my mission because that is for the best that way. Perhaps I just need to live my way into it and take one moment at a time, with trust.

“Post Secret” God

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Remember those “Post Secret” books? You’d read them, and feel like you weren’t alone. That somebody else was having that very same experience as you.

I remember feeling very alone as an adolescent. I remember hearing lyrics in songs by the Police and Styx that gave me hope that perhaps I wasn’t as far out there as I felt. Perhaps there were other people who had an “other” sense of knowing, who were “weird” but in a good way. When I moved to Virginia for a summer, I lived with a lady who also had that sense, and she talked to me about it. It was refreshing to hear that this sense wasn’t odd or weird, but shared.

It is like having an extra sense of color – say it is color that is somewhere between pink and orange. There is a stone called “padparashca” that names that color. But say you haven’t heard of that stone. You can see and identify that color, but nobody else sees it as different. They call it pink, or salmon, or orange, but you know it is not any of those, but it is more than those.

I have that with God. I’ve always known of God. I’ve always felt God. And I’ve heard from God since I was 12.

The problem is that in our society, we don’t talk about God like this. Lilly Tomlin said “If you are talking to God, you are praying. If God is talking to you, you are crazy.” This may not be the exact quote, but you get the idea. Is God the elephant in the room?

However, we are told in our religious institutions to pray to God. We read about people who talked directly with God. Yet if we say we hear from God today, we are shunned and silenced. Perhaps this isn’t the way in all denominations, but it sure was in mine.

Hearing from God is a normal part, is a desired part, of being a human. It is our birthright. Sadly, we’ve forgotten how to make this connection.

I’ve always felt different. I keep having these experiences. I’ve already begun writing them down and sharing them here. I first started writing this post a year ago. I was trying to warm up to the idea of sharing what I now have in my “Strange but true” section.

My embarrassment might be your awakening. And that is fine with me. I don’t share what I share to build myself up. I share it because it may help others who feel like I do. I share it because I know there are other people who hear from God but have been silenced or intimidated.

I prayed at Cursillo to not cry at the final event. I had been crying happy, overwhelmed tears a lot that weekend. I didn’t want to embarrass myself or my group in the final event. But then part of praying is that you have to be willing to accept God’s answer. I said if I can’t stop crying, let it be that my tears help others. Sometimes folks need to see someone else cry to let them know it is ok to cry. They want to – but it is socially unacceptable. You cry – and it is a release for them. It as if it gives them permission to cry, to let it out. That is healing.

So I’m giving you permission to speak your truth. I’m letting myself be open so that you can be open. Let us strengthen each other with our stories, in the same way we help each other with our tears.

Saying Birkat Hagomel in the middle of the night.

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Last night was a little weird. I “heard” the words “Birkat Hagomel” repeatedly. I’ve been studying Jewish blessings and prayers, and I didn’t remember if that was the name of a prayer or some of the words in it. I wasn’t sure why those words were coming to me in the middle of the night. The words kept coming, and I got the impression that I needed to get up and say whatever prayer is associated with them. But the “voice” sounded different from what I’m used to, so I ignored it for a while. It has been a while since God has woken me up in the middle of the night. I’m out of practice.

It is really important for me to not be crazy with God. I’m bipolar. And I hear from God. Yup. I’ve tried to suppress this for a long time, but it isn’t going away. I’ve tested what I’ve “heard” and found that it always is true, so that is a good sign that what I’m hearing from is from God and not the voice of craziness. But it still scares me every time, because I know what going over the edge feels like.

It isn’t really a voice – I don’t hear words. It is as if they come into my head. So that is why I put parenthesis around “hear” and “voice” sometimes.

Last night I ignored the “voice”, thinking I’ll look up those words in the morning. I sat up for a bit, thinking about what I should do, and couldn’t find any paper in the dark to write down the words. I decided if it was important enough I’d remember it in the morning. I don’t want to get OCD about God. It is weird enough hearing from God in the middle of the night. It is weird enough hearing from God and having a mental health diagnosis. It has taken me years to reconcile those two truths.

I lay down, and it only got worse. I felt physically very bad. I had a sense of gloom. There was an ominous nature to it. I felt overwhelmed, trapped even. Was I having a heart attack? What is going on? I prayed some more. I decided to get up and figure things out. Sometimes my best clue as to what to do is whatever I feel compelled to do. It may sound strange, but I’ll pray and God will set my feet on the right path. I just have to wait until it is time.

I got up and went into my craft room. I got down my candle and lit it. I put down a pillow so I could kneel. I had the book I’ve been using to learn about Orthodox Judaism with me. It is “How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household” by Blu Greenberg. It has the prayers in Hebrew, then transliterated into the letters in English so I can sound it out, and then the translation in English. This is one more step than the siddur (prayerbook) that I have. It assumes I can sound out the Hebrew letters. I’m not there yet.

One reason I finally got up was that in the middle of all this I remembered that the “Birkat Hagomel” is a pretty serious prayer. It isn’t the words in a prayer, it is the name of a prayer. In the words of Blu Greenberg, it “is recited after having narrowly escaped danger, recovering from serious illness, or coming through safely after a long trip.” Remembering what prayer it was increased my feeling that I needed to get up and say it.

I didn’t know what I was being thankful for. I still don’t, really. But I knew I had to get up and say this prayer.

I had a feeling that I could just flip to it in the book and I’d find it. I thought that would be “testing” God, so I decided to look it up in the index. You know – if it really is a call from God, I’ll find it straight off. When I found what page it was on, I turned to it and smiled. I have two bookmarks in this book. One is where I’m reading. One just happens to be on the page for this prayer. God is always in charge.

The translation of the prayer is “Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who grants favors to the undeserving, Who has granted me all kindness.” I’ve also seen it translated as “Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who metes out goodness to the undeserving and Who has dealt kindly with me.”

Before it on the page is the Shehecheyanu, which is “Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe, Who has granted us life and sustained us and brought us to this moment.” That seemed useful too, so I said it first.

I said the Birkat Hagomel three times, slowly, sounding out the transliteration. On the third time I tried to remember the transliteration while looking at the Hebrew letters. Also on the third time, my husband got up. I’m very self conscious about praying like this in front of anybody. It looks a little intense. It is a little intense. I don’t want to worry him. He came in just as I was finishing up and asked if everything was OK. I said it was, because I felt better. I no longer felt the crushing sense of dread that I felt before I decided to get up.

We went back into our bedroom and I thought about it for a little bit. I decided to tell him what was going on. We talked about it for a little, and I decided/felt that I needed to get up and go into the living room to sleep/pray. I’ve done this before. It isn’t that comfortable to sleep in the living room, so I can lie down and pray for a long time. Then when I’m done with praying, I’ll go to sleep.

My husband mentioned that he had been having a dream a little earlier that he felt he couldn’t wake from. He was trying to move or make noise to wake me up so that I could wake him up. This is what he does if he is having a nightmare. The interesting part is that he wasn’t having a nightmare. He just knew that he had to wake me up. This gives me the feeling that it was really important for me to get up.

I went to the living room and lay down on the futon to pray and then sleep. I didn’t know what I was going to pray about, but I just prayed. I felt the same way I feel when there is a big dangerous storm coming, and it is important to pray really hard. I don’t know what the storm is – all I knew is that I had that same feeling. Sometimes the “wind” that I hear isn’t the wind, but the winds of the Spirit.

I was reminded of the expectant feeling that the Israelites had when they were in Egypt, about to be delivered from slavery. They celebrated the first Passover in readiness, prepared to get up and run at a moment’s notice. Their preparations made it so that the Angel of Death passed over them and spared their first born. How many of us are willing to do something as crazy sounding as what they did? Paint a cross of blood over the door? Eat your meal while holding a weapon? That sounds kind of wild. But that is what God calls us to sometimes.

I felt that there is a big change happening. I felt that it was important to pray through it, like how a midwife helps a mother give birth by being there and supporting her. I’m not making the change happen. I’m watching it. I’m supporting it. I’m being conscious through it. I don’t know what the result is, but I know it is important.

It turns out that the Birkat Hagomel is also the prayer recited in the synagogue by the husband after his wife has successfully delivered a child.

I remembered a story of how a guy was compelled to get up and drive over to a friend’s house in the middle of the night. He felt he had to sit in his car and pray for his friend, but not go knock on the door. He kept thinking how odd this was, but he did it anyway. He drove home after his prayer was over. The next day he found out from his friend that he had had a terrible night and felt that he was like Jacob, wrestling with the Angel. In the middle of that time of trial, he started to feel better and stronger, and was able to finally go back to sleep. That was during the time that his friend, unbeknownst to him, was outside in his driveway praying for him.

It is this kind of story that encourages me to keep following this feeling. And it is the reason I’m sharing my story with you. I don’t know the resolution to this story yet. I don’t know if I ever will. I don’t know what God needed me to pray for. But I know that it is important to heed that call.

May you be blessed through this time of change, and may you be found awake, with your lamps ready. (Matthew 25:1-13)

Stepping stones of faith.

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I have steps going up my back yard. They lead to a small sitting area, just big enough for two people to sit side by side. Usually I am there alone. Usually I’m there to talk to God. It is like a treehouse, but without the tree. There is a lot of spiritual symbolism going on with this path and this place.

Here’s the view from the top, just after the stepping stones were dug in.
step stones

The top of my back yard is forty feet above street level. The street itself is higher up than the majority of this area. This means I can see downtown Nashville from my back yard. This means that I get to see beautiful sunsets, as my house faces west. Sometimes you have to get up above it all to see things better.

sunset

We put the patio area in many years ago, and it has settled a bit. Weeds grow between the stones, and bugs scuttle around. It has been there long enough that it looks like it came with the house. The stones are made of concrete, but they have an Escher-esque puzzle like design so they look random when they fit together.

I go up there when I am having a bad day. Sometimes I need to escape. It is far enough that it works. Sometimes I’m so angry that I’m better off being away from people for a bit. It is a safe place for my own personal time out. I’m reminded of the star stones in the “Wrinkle in Time” series by Madeline L’Engle. The Murry family would go there when they needed to be alone.

I realized at one point that I was going up there only when I was angry. That didn’t seem fair to God. I need to remember to make time to go up there when I’m happy too. Sure, I can talk to God anywhere. But this is nice. It is a little retreat.

This summer I decided to have the stepping stones put in. They were put in by a Buddhist. There’s some symbolism in that. I supplement my Christianity with Buddhism. His helper was this amazingly interesting man with thick dreadlocks and a philosophy that involves literally shaking out all your problems. If you are having a hard time, jump out and down and yell to get it out, he says. I’m willing to give it a try.

I had the stones put in because my husband didn’t like the idea of me walking barefoot in the yard. It was too much bother to put on shoes. I have fond memories of playing barefoot in my yard when I was a child. There are more moles and yellowjackets now, it seems, so he has a point. My husband is concerned for my physical and spiritual safety. He is often concerned that I’m going out too far. He’s one for staying in the boat. I’m one for walking out to Jesus on the water. He’s afraid I’m going to sink. I respect his concern, but timidity never got me anywhere. So, in went the stones.

Just having the stones leading up to the sitting area, the star stones, has been a philosophical journey. Somehow I didn’t realize that the grass was going to grow up around the stones. I didn’t think about how I was going to have to maintain them.

Isn’t this just like our spiritual life? We get started on it, and then we start to realize that it takes a lot of work to keep it going. It isn’t about buying a new Bible or a study guide. It is about sitting down and actually doing the work. Our lives of faith get rusty and dusty when we don’t work on them.

I get overwhelmed by how much work is involved sometimes. Then I remember. One stone at a time. Don’t look at the rest of them. Just do what I can. Even spending ten minutes working on them is better than nothing. Ten minutes every day for a week and it is done.

This is just like prayer. If we break it up into little things, we get there. If we don’t work on it, we are stuck at the bottom of the hill.

Praying in color 10-30-13

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praying in color 10-30-13

I asked God, How do I know I’m on the right path? He said – as long as you are seeking me, you are on the right path.

Sometimes I’d like it if the pictures come out awesome. But it isn’t about the pictures. The drawing is a vehicle. It is a way of distracting my mind so I can get to the heart of God. It is kind of like when I take large pills. Sometimes I have a hard time swallowing them, and I’ll wiggle my hand off to the side. I do that to distract myself, so I can think about that instead of the fact that I think I’m going to choke.

Drawing distracts me, so I don’t really think about what I normally think about. It gives my hands something to do. If “idle hands are the devil’s workshop”, keeping them busy means that God can get in and work, right?

There is something about drawing that just lets me know that this time isn’t like any other time, and it is time to open myself up. I set an intention and see what happens. Meanwhile, I draw whatever shapes and colors come to me to draw.

Sometimes it is about just showing up. I present myself and I try. I think God is there all the time, but I’m not always ready to receive. I find I have to make a space for God. It isn’t really a space for God, but a space for me to be available to God.

Consecrate

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I’m trying something new. I’m trying to set aside every day as a time for God. I don’t mean that I’m trying to set aside a time for God every day. I mean that I’m trying to make the whole day a day for God.

This means that I’m trying to see everything and everyone as a messenger from God. I’m trying to welcome everything and everyone as divinely sent.

This isn’t easy. I forget a lot. And not everything and everyone is that great to meet. Some experiences are downright scary. Some are really boring.

But I’m still doing it. Every day, when I remember, I’m putting a line around the day. I’m standing inside that place, waiting for God. It is like cleaning your house, waiting for a guest to come.

I invite you to this practice. Set aside in your head every morning that today is a sacred day. Set aside the idea that this day is God’s day, and this day is special. It is like going on a retreat every day of your life. This way, everything has a special luster. Everything is a message. Everything has more meaning.

It makes you more alert, more interested. It means that you don’t take anything for granted. It means that you are waiting, lamp lit, for the Bridegroom to come.

Matthew 25:1-13.
(Jesus says) “At that time the kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. 2 Five of them were foolish and five were wise. 3 The foolish ones took their lamps but did not take any oil with them. 4 The wise ones, however, took oil in jars along with their lamps. 5 The bridegroom was a long time in coming, and they all became drowsy and fell asleep. 6 “At midnight the cry rang out: ‘Here’s the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!’ 7 “Then all the virgins woke up and trimmed their lamps. 8 The foolish ones said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil; our lamps are going out.’ 9 “‘No,’ they replied, ‘there may not be enough for both us and you. Instead, go to those who sell oil and buy some for yourselves.’ 10 “But while they were on their way to buy the oil, the bridegroom arrived. The virgins who were ready went in with him to the wedding banquet. And the door was shut. 11 “Later the others also came. ‘Lord, Lord,’ they said, ‘open the door for us!’ 12 “But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I don’t know you.’ 13 “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.

Cursillo- the fourth day

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Cursillo is like a combination of your birthday and Christmas and Easter and New Year’s and your wedding day, all crammed together in a weekend. And I don’t just mean the excitement of all that. I mean the symbolism and meaning of all that.

A lot of what makes Cursillo work is the surprise factor. However, you could be told everything that is going to happen and it still wouldn’t change the effect. It is the difference between reading a guide book on Paris and going to Paris. Experiencing something is far more powerful. I’m going to tell you something about it, but I can’t tell you everything, partly because it is different for everybody and with every team that is hosting it.

Cursillo is an intensely spiritual weekend. The Catholic Church has them, and the Episcopal Church licensed the concept from them. The Methodist church has a program called “The Walk to Emmaus”. They are all the same concept. The point is that by the end you will have had an encounter with the Holy Spirit.

I feel that this experience is mandatory for all adult Christians. If you take your faith journey seriously, go. It isn’t church camp for adults. It is a life-changing experience.

Going to Cursillo is like being upgraded from a 110 volt outlet to a 220. It is like being upgraded from a garden hose to a fire hose.

It is a modern day Pentecost. That was the time after Jesus had arisen from the dead and then ascended into Heaven. There was a long period in between where the disciples weren’t sure what was going to happen. Then the disciples were suddenly filled with the Holy Spirit and they gained the power to heal, speak in other languages, and minister to others in the same way that Jesus did.

Cursillo replicates that experience. It is an intentional calling-down of the Holy Spirit.

It is a bit overwhelming, especially coming from a non-evangelical church. I suspect Pentecostals and Church of Christ people are wondering what I’m talking about. They have this kind of experience much more often. In some churches, it has to be created, it isn’t a natural event. It really doesn’t matter how it happens, just that it happens.

I’ve written about some of what happened to me before. It is one of the posts in the “Strange but true” section.

Being filled with the Holy Spirit is a time of intense energy. There isn’t a lot of time for sleep. There is so much to do and learn. We are like little children who have just learned how to read. When we get it, that is all we want to do. When we get filled with the Spirit, we want to keep that connection going. Sometimes sleep isn’t really possible.

Coming back to the real world after such an experience can be very hard. It is called “the fourth day”. Sadly, they don’t give any advice on how to negotiate the world of work and family once you’ve been transformed. I’m going to try here.

Do everything slowly and carefully. Do everything with a sense of thankfulness and gratitude. You are like a new child at this point. You are relearning how to just “be”.

Like walking on water or handling snakes, it is a true test of faith. You are going to want to go back to your old ways of doing things, but your old ways were before you got filled with the Spirit. Breathe through this new experience. The Spirit will teach you what to do.

I found it helpful to make breathing intentionally a part of my practice. On the in breath, pray “Lord help me.” On the out breath, pray “Thank you
Lord” (or change Lord to Jesus).

Eat lightly. Consider going vegetarian. Meat is hard to digest during times of change and stress. Eat only half the amount of food that you normally would eat. Chew it slowly and thoroughly, giving thanks with each bite.

Avoid all spicy foods.

Avoid all stimulants, like sugar and caffeine. You are “high” enough. They will just tip you over the edge.

Try to stick with your normal routine – if you exercise, do that. Don’t make any sudden changes.

Things will look different. Expect that colors will be brighter. Things may have an extra layer of meaning to them. This is normal. The Spirit is revealing information to you that you have missed before.

Hymns and Scripture readings will have more meaning.

Don’t try to write everything down. Enjoy it. Soak it up. You will be overwhelmed with meaning at this time. Things will connect and make sense that you’ve never noticed before. This is normal.

It won’t stay at this level of energy forever. You can survive it. It is kind of like learning to surf – the wave isn’t going to be up for that long. But the best part – if you fall, you won’t drown. You are safe.

If you are woken up in the middle of the night, consider just following your intuition. The Spirit will lead you. You don’t have to lie there, wondering and fretting about lack of sleep. You’ll have as much rest as you need.

When I’m awoken, I get up and I go into my craft room. I’ll sit on the recliner, with a small blanket over my legs. I will turn on a small light so I’m not fully awake, and I’ll sit and see what the Spirit wants to reveal to me. Sometimes it means I need to write it out to discover it. Sometimes it means I need to read Scripture. Sometimes it means I need to draw. Whatever the means – there is something that needs to be uncovered, and I have some work to do. I’ve come to look forward to these middle-of-the-night conversations with God. They don’t happen a lot anymore, and I’ve gone from worrying about them (at first) to missing them. When they happen again it is like getting a visit from an old friend.

Welcome to this new life, this life of Spirit. It is kind of like learning how to read. Once you have been told about reading, and turned on to how to do it, that is all you want to do. Sadly, the “real” world isn’t into Spirit study all the time, so you have to integrate the two. I wish you luck in your path, as you learn your own special way to serve God in this world. Know that the Spirit is always with you for you to call on for help and advice.