The Problem with Locusts

During these cavernous months, it seemed like I was climbing out of a life-time of darkness. When the Lord shined His light of Truth in the shadowy recesses, I didn’t recognize myself! This is what stale grief and keeping parts of your soul in darkness can do. It steals part of who we are. Kind of like the locusts in the Bible. 

“So I will restore to you the years the swarming locust has eaten,

the crawling locust, consuming locust, the chewing locust… .” Joel 2:25.

The Arabs call locusts the “darkeners of the sun.” I found some interesting correlations with these buzzing darkeners:

Biblical Truth	Correlation
They occur in great number and literally obscure the sun (Exodus 10:15, Judges 6:5).	They block Truth (Son).
They make a fearful noise in flight (Joel 2:5).	They distract.
They enter dwellings and devour woodwork (Joel 2:9-10).	Consume destiny and gifts.
Water and sea destroys them. (Exodus 10:19)	Anointing breaks the yoke.

Did you know locusts cannot guide their own flight? They are literally at the mercy of the wind. So I proclaim this day that these locusts that have obscured the Light of Truth in my life are at the mercy of the Wind of the Holy Spirit.

When the locust is blown by His Wind, we are promised new grain (provision), new wine (joy), and new oil (a new anointing), and we will be satisfied (Joel 2:19). I am so grateful that God’s truth and glory brings life where there is death.

For more information on the Biblical meaning of the locust: http://www.biblemeanings.info/Words/Animal/Locust.htm

Shaken...again...

The Lord has been talking to me a lot about being shaken in the last week. It reminded me of my post from April 29, 2013. (Click here to read the original post).

This Thursday, a devotional I wrote will be published with The Upper Room, a devotional magazine. Can you guess the title? Shaken. 

Coincidence? No. Divine appointment? Definitely.

This time the shaking had nothing to do with offense, irritation, or other catastrophes; but it was an emotional shaking just the same. There are times in our lives that the Lord authors divine shaking appointments. Not to scare us or challenge our faith, but to sift through that which He cannot use and rebuild from the scattered remains left after the dust settles.

To quote myself from two years ago, “God’s version of shaking brings down works of the flesh so that only the Spirit remains. Still not convinced? Here are just some of the benefits of shaking:

·        It reveals what our foundation is made of and brings us closer to it.

·        It awakens us.

·        It removes what is dead or useless.

·        It reveals weakness and breaking points.

So yes, shaking is necessary, and yes, shaking is Holy. I’ve learned the hard way what your heart clings will be the substance of all your building materials.

Bitterness - this material is brittle and compromises the foundation; so toss that one aside for the Trash Collector. Anxiousness - this one is just as unstable, but masks itself as fear, worry, fretting, and loss of sleep. Again, it is unstable material so leave that one by the curb, too. Hopelessness - this one turns to sand in the foundation so it is useless, put it in the recycle bin to be rolled into the Faith compost pile.

Dear one, we serve a mighty God who authored the heavens and the earth. Unfortunately, this includes earthquakes. Choose to look for - and cling to - His presence and salvation amidst the shaking. If you do, you will have strong materials for restoration.

I’m awake now, and He is pruning what is dead or useless. My weaknesses are again revealed within His loving embrace. Sometimes we have to be shaken and break in areas, just to be rebuilt. Luke 3:5-6

Be encouraged... for if you are in a season of shaking, a season of rebuilding follows. 

Your Image of God – Is it an Illusion?

The God of my imagination is so small and finite.

I’ve spent too many years with the “God give me…Grant me…Bless me” relationship with my Beloved. How have I imagined HIM?

·         A task master unhappy with me if I don’t measure up.

·         The areas of darkness in me displease Him.

·         The same grace a new believer gets for their immature sanctification is not available to me.

·         The phrase “I should know better”, drums in my head following a fleshly or selfish thought for misdeed.

I imagine God drumming His fingers on throne’s armrest waiting for me to grow up.

For the last four decades, I’ve been led to believe that “feelings are not to be trusted”, or “You don’t really feel that way, do you?” as if my feelings are tainted, jaded, or just plain wrong.

After three years of therapy it is liberating to conclude that this is untrue! How glorious and liberating to be able to name and FEEL emotions!

When we deny our feelings year after year we become less and less human. I became a slave. A slave to other’s opinions, feelings, approval or disapproval because I was under the impression feelings should be placed under my feet and trampled; or better yet, just ignore them.

It is hard for me to imagine the Lord angry, happy, joyful, sorrowful, etc. I’ve always had “stern” as the emotional descriptive.

Brennan Manning summarizes the Love of God so beautifully:

“It is always true to some extent that we make our images of God. It is even truer that our image of God makes us. Eventually we become like the God we imagine. One of the most beautiful fruits of knowing the God of Jesus is a compassionate attitude towards ourselves…This is why Scripture attaches such importance to knowing God. Healing our image of God heals our image of ourselves.” Lion and Lamb: The Relentless Tenderness of Jesus.

Oh Jesus, show us who you really are…not who we made you to be.

Do You Know Your Value?

Most of us who call Christ Lord would quickly answer, “It is in what Christ did for me on the cross.” Or “I am a jewel in the Lord’s heart.”

That is what I thought of myself until a few simple words were uttered to me recently that shook my self-worth. They weren't meant to do so by the word-giver, but these simple words hit their mark in my soul and my value – in my mind – took a step down. Why?

Did I not know what Christ feels about me? My friends? Family? Of course I did. However, I still gave these innocent words power to tear down years of labor in my “worth” garden. By allowing those simple, innocent words power over me, I took my value out of Christ’s hands and put it in another’s.

But they were just words!

The Bible tells us that life and death are in the power of the tongue. Words have power to build or power to tear down. Words – once absorbed – had power to send me into an emotional vacuum for about 72 yours.

Words don’t determine our worth. Jesus does. Words don’t give us value. Jesus does.

Once I shook my emotional self by the scruff and smoothed my fir, I was able to put my value back where it belonged; right under Christ’s watchful gaze.

I have a saying posted at my desk; “He has no ambition to make you normal. The more your identity is rooted in God’s value for you, the less you are controlled and limited by what others think of you.” The Barbarian Way, Erwin McManus.

There’s the key. The Cross is not only our foundation – it is the guidepost to our value. I momentarily rooted my significance and identity in humanity’s words – not His.

Do you know what you are worth? Do you know your value to the Lover of your soul? If not, press into his heart beat and His Word because His Words bring life and value. 

A New Year Dawning

Over the holidays, I reflected on 2013 as it drew to a close like a curtained finale. It was a year of discovery, pain, awakening, heart ache, joy, chastening, growth, and learning how to rise from the ashes called “past.”

As difficult and heart-wrenching as some of the events have been, I wouldn’t trade the life-lessons for all the mundane peace on this earth. Don’t get me wrong – Peace is great! It’s an oasis. However, it does little to transform us into the image of Christ.

Pain, self-reflection, and time soaking in His presence brings pruning that leads to growth. Growth leads to wisdom. Wisdom leads to transformation. All of these lead to the Peace that passes understanding – the peace that guards our hearts and minds in Christ. It’s a roundabout way to get to His Peace; but once there, you notice spiritual muscles that weren’t present when the journey began.

What did last year change in you? Are you closer to His presence? Are your spiritual muscles stronger? Or have you stepped away from your journey willing yourself into the life you think you want?

I am grateful and thankful for all the pain of my past. ALL of it!

The molestation? Yes!

The betrayals? Yup!

The crushing end to a marriage and the fallout? Sure thing!

Heartache, loss, and walking away from the alter of sacrifice? Absolutely!

These things brought me face to face with the Creator of the universe. Tragedies showed me His love, comfort, and care and heart-wrenching situations showed me the way out from desert wandering. These opportunities provided the ashes needed for a magnificent sweet-smelling garden and the peaceable fruit of Righteousness that I would never have found without them.

When we get to know our Beloved in a deeper way, these occasions are not wasted. They are gifts. We just don’t like the wrapping.

As a curtain opens on this new year, I rise from ashes and walk out of the desert into new opportunities for growth and deeper digging at His well.

Will you walk beside me?

Does God Re-Gift?

The Blessing of Pain’s Work, Part II

Gift giving season is upon us. This is my FAVORITE time of year! My children are under the same roof, lots of fun food, movies, laughter, presents and TIME. Just to have time as a family is sacred and precious to me.

Then there are Christmas parties with fun, food, laughter, and the inevitable elephant gift game. I’m always looking through my house for an old, unopened gift that was passed on to me at another party. I was pondering such things when the Lord clearly said, “I re-gift”.

He had my attention. “You? Re-gift? What could you possibly re-gift, Lord, “ I asked.

“Your past,” He answered.

I don’t know about anyone else, but my past has some painful stuff in it and I would NOT want to open it again. Instead of visions of sugar plums dancing in my head, I had visions of me sitting at His Christmas tree with great anticipation as He hands me a beautiful silver-papered box with white tulle. I rip it open and look into His eyes with excitement as I tear open the box…only to see molestation. Shocked and confused, I grab another beautifully wrapped gift; this one has red shiny paper and a big white bow - betrayal.

This isn’t how I envision God’s gifts to me.

So I asked, “What do you mean by that Lord?”

He responded, “I give my children the gift of their past through My eyes and My perspective…if they are willing to accept it.” Ah, there it is…the caveat that we hear from our Lord so often - if they are willing to accept it. I reflected on what the Lord has brought me through. The last four years have been filled with naval staring, crying, reflection, therapy, more naval staring, and one thing I definitely have now is a new perspective.

I couldn’t tell anyone why the Lord allowed me to walk my walk, but one thing I can tell is the more I give Him burdens, hurts, pain, heartache, betrayal and my past mistakes, the more He teaches me about myself and about Him. I see parts of myself I never saw before. Gifts, hopes, dreams and wisdom gained and learned from my past - they are all there wrapped in beautiful, Holy paper - if I want to unwrap it.

So now when I unwrap my past I see it through His eyes and His perspective. In my beautifully wrapped past I see re-gifted molestation that looks a lot like a deep compassion and understanding about how one wounded person can wound another. In the re-gifted betrayal, I see redemption and deep understanding of forgiveness.  I now understand how to love a betrayer through my Savior’s heart. I see beautiful things rising out of the ashes that could not have grown without my past to fertilize and nurture it. I have compassion, understanding, and wisdom that I never had without my history reflected in His perspective.

So yes, God re-gifts. Are you willing to open it?

The Gift of Pain, Part I

To everything there is a season. A time for every purpose under heaven…Ecclesiastes 3:1

Christmas is coming. Have you noticed it arrives quicker every year? I remember as a kid the anxious anticipation of gazing at my packages under the tree and keeping my hands in my robe pockets for fear they would find their way to the ribbon before breakfast. That was a hard and fast rule in our house. Absolutely NO opening packages until we’d had breakfast.

Before I was able to figure out a gift by its shape and the way it rattled, I would tear into each one thinking “this is the gift I asked for,” or “I bet this is the toy I wanted.” Then with great disappointment, I found socks - or my personal favorite - underwear. I didn’t care that it was practical. I didn’t care that I needed it. It wasn’t what I’d wanted or hoped for.

Pain is a lot like that. It isn’t what we want. It isn’t what we’d hoped for. But it is sometimes necessary.

And it is a gift.

I had a teacher in middle school I never liked, Mr. Fowler. He was old, grumpy, he never smiled, and he wore a bow tie. Yes…a bow tie. Every day. He was my math teacher so it was a subject I already hated, so Mr. Fowler made it more…hateful. But he was a patient, long-suffering instructor. He would work with me until I understood. He wanted me to untangle a problem, understand, and learn. Mr. Fowler was a gift to a little girl that didn’t understand math.

Pain is like that. We hate it. We don’t want it. We try to run from it. But pain, like Mr. Fowler, is a perfect instructor. There are many examples in the Word of our Father using pain to instruct His children and not because He is mean or grumpy. Sometimes our own disobedience or a bad choice brings it on, or even situations we have no part in, like the death of a loved one or a job lay-off.

Whatever the circumstance, pain is an unwelcome friend and an effective instructor enclosed in a package we must unwrap sometimes. Why? 

Because it brings correction when needed, direction when sought, focus and clarity when pressed into; It gets our attention, and that is just the beginning.

Boundaries and Bridges

This has been a brutal two weeks for me. I lost the man I called dad for 25 years. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed his spiritual and fatherly influence in my life over the last four years until he was no longer here. I hadn’t spoken to him since before my divorce was final - we had both built a boundary of pain and grief around our hearts.

A month ago, that boundary was torn down by a chance FaceTime chat between my daughter, son and I. My daughter was visiting her grandparents and she put them on the screen. It was awkward at first - kind of like trying to remember how to speak a language you hadn’t spoken in a long time. Eventually words came, and it was as if bricks of time and pain didn’t exist.  I had the gift of moments’ with him to tell him I missed him, loved him, and prayed for him.

That was the last time I spoke to him. The last time I got to share my love for him. Our boundary was torn down and a bridge was built. Pain and tears was the wood and nails, but the bridge was finished and I am so grateful. He had ceased to be my father-in-law, but became my father-in-heart instead.  

During the myriad of family plans and funeral arrangements, I had another ‘gift of moments’ to talk to my former husband on the phone and express my grief and pain at our mutual loss. After four long years, we were on common ground with shared pain. The Lord birthed a sweet Agape-covenant-love with him during those conversations. There was no pain from decades of heartache. No anger, no hostility; only sweet Christ-centered, compassion, love and care for the man who’d granted me two of the greatest gifts I’d ever received - our children.

That was when I knew a perfect miracle had happened. When I could look past decades-old heartache, anger, betrayal, and pain and all I saw was love, care, compassion. There was a genuine desire to be an ambassador of healing and encouragement.

God is good.

At the same time in unrelated circumstances, I also had the opportunity to build a healthy boundary for my heart. Using pain and shed tears I had to build a boundary between myself and another – not because of betrayal, anger, or offense – but out of self-honor and self-love.

Boundaries and Bridges - both built with pain and tears. Boundaries provide safety. Bridges provide a path for reconciliation. 

Pain, tears, words, and time are worthy tools in the Master’s Hands.

What is in a Name?

Throughout the last decade and a half the Lord has littered my journey with Him with nuggets of teaching about names and why He changes them. Have you ever noticed that? One minute we are reading about Abram, then the next Abraham. Jacob was renamed Israel.

Did you ever wonder why?

I went through two major times of internal healing –the first was from sexual abuse with my dad; the second, a separation and divorce.  On each occasion the Lord told me, “I will change your name, daughter.” When I asked Him why, He reminded me that throughout my growing up years I was embarrassed to be known as my father’s daughter because of his behavior in public while intoxicated. I would cringe inside when people said,” You are Jack’s daughter.”  When I confirmed yes, I saw the look in their eye. I saw the looks behind my father’s back when he, in a drunken stupor, would be belligerent or lascivious to  friends. I quickly learned that being his daughter was something to be ashamed of.

So when my Abba told me He was changing my name, I was excited, but I didn’t understand what that meant. Then he brought me to Genesis 32 where Jacob wrestled with God and He changed his name to Israel. The Lord said…

“But he had to wrestle for it.”

Oh. Well that didn’t sound as inviting as before. Couldn’t I just get some sort of spiritual birth certificate? What about a Christening party…I liked parties.

Nope. Wrestling.

“But Lord,” I whined, “I don’t know how to wrestle!”

He showed me.

Like Jacob, I had to give up my right to fear, vengeance, hurt, and betrayal just to name a few. In other words, I had to give up my right to my past. You can’t take a new name into a new future with the past hanging on to you like an albatross.

The Israelites had it right. They understood the power behind a name. They knew that a name was an actual spiritual blessing and it meant there was power imparted through a God-given name. Some even believed that names influenced the thoughts and beliefs about themselves and that the name prophesied characteristics or roles they would play in history. ¹

I thought once I had my new name that was “it”, that I’d arrived. That was when the Great Name Giver showed me that, in order to pass through the wilderness into your promised land, you have many wrestling’s and many name changes along the way. Every time you have a major shift or transition in your life’s journey, He may take you through a season of wrestling for a new name.

I’ve grown to like wrestling. Don’t get me wrong. It’s hard. It hurts. I have likened it to peeling off skin over an exposed bone.

Kind of like shedding…only deeper.

I will change your name
You shall no longer be called
Wounded, outcast, lonely or afraid

I will change your name
Your new name shall be
Confidence, joyfulness, overcoming one
Faithfulness, friend of God
One who seeks My face

Eden’s Bridge

¹ http://www.gotquestions.org/name-change.ht

Wanderlust, or Just Wandering, Part I

And then many would be offended… Matthew 24:10

I have had many opportunities to be offended in my 51 years: husband, friends, co-workers, bosses, even my parents! Throughout all, I’ve been able to work through my offense – some easier than others – and get back on the road of life merrily on my way.

Yet, unknowing, I have spent the last eighteen years wandering in an erred spiritual desert. Eighteen long years of shuffling my spiritual, dusty feet looking for my lost destiny. Those who know me well, know I have lost many ministry dreams due to another’s decisions.

My heart bled with each loss and I had to work through the pain of my partner’s betrayals, loss of friendships, and loss of dreams. Each time I had to walk the well-traveled path of forgiveness for the offenses, then wait and pray for another dream, another opportunity to serve.

I learned and grew so much during these refining times - until “that day.” I don’t even know what day it was; but something deep died one day and it’s been dead ever since.

On the outside all looked healed, but in my spirit something – a ubiquitous dark place – took up shop unnoticed.

Offense.

Not with a friend, partner, ministry or church, not with family or a co-worker.

I was offended with Jesus.

To the broken heart of a little girl, my Savior, Healer, Father, and Protector did not pick up a sword and fight for my destiny. In this little girl’s heart, she was left bleeding and bruised on the side of the road blaming everyone involved – yet nursing the smallest seed of thought, “Where was my Jesus when I lost my dream? Where was Jesus when I lost my friends? Where was Jesus when His church ignored me because of their offense with my partner’s sin?”

He was standing next to me weeping.

Yet I couldn't feel or see it through my slow-growing, permeating cancerous cell of offense. It took Him eighteen years to open my eyes and heart to the truth. The church, ministry, ex-husband, or Jesus was not responsible for my eighteen-year desert wandering.

I was.

Obedience vs Sacrifice

I have learned much about shedding the carnal nature lately. I liken it to circumcision without numbing medication (not that I've ever been circumcised, but the vivid imagination of a writer fills in the blanks). I have had a face-to-face with my carnal side before. Some meetings were victorious, others, not so much.

Most recently I was challenged by the Holy Spirit to lay down something that I have longed for most of my adult life. I wish I could say I easily shed my wantonness and chose obedience. Victory eventually came, but a sacrifice was involved.

When Abraham trudged up Mt Moriah with his son, they went alone and Isaac carried the wood. The Bible doesn't state, but I imagine Isaac questioned his father and struggled when Abraham slowly tied his hands. He probably pleaded, fought, panicked and even compromised.

The Word also doesn't tell us what was going on in Abraham’s mind, but I can only imagine.

“Lord, do you really mean for me to do this?”

Silence.

“But Lord, I waited so long for Isaac. You promised!”

Silence.

“Lord, if you let him live, I’ll… .”

More silence.

Can you relate?

During this shedding session, I learned many things:

1.    We don’t get to choose what we have to sacrifice. God chooses.

2.    We have to go it alone. Just Him and us.

3.    The thing we must sacrifice will carry its own fuel.

4.    The sacrifice will be something we treasure.

5.    If we are NOT obedient, there will be a sacrifice.

6.    If we ARE obedient, the sacrifice might get up and live.

7.    If required to sacrifice it, there will be great blessings in the aftermath.

Obedience is better than sacrifice…but oh so much harder.

Shedding Hurts

It’s been nearly a year since my last “shedding”. I wish I could say I’ve been leaping and twirling my way through healing since my last post. Instead, I’ve woven a cocoon and wrapped myself in self-protective layers. Some have brought healing, others pain.

The funny thing about being in a cocoon is you can only feast off of what you bring into the cocoon. Instead of the makings for a beautiful butterfly, I brought the makings of a moth.

I’ve spent the last year nursing my wounds in my self-made cocoon. At least that is what I thought I was doing. I was actually feeding a monster inside me with poison. All of this poison was fueled by my sense of justice. I deserved justice for my pain, heartache, and loss of all my hopes and dreams. I searched my areas of influence looking for a judge for this trial and finding none, became my own wounded, festering judge and jury. Then I brought all his sins to trial.

How you ask?

With my tongue.

I have spewed, hurled, spit, and vomited the diatribe of my pain to all who would sit or stand still long enough to listen. To the victim of a crime, justice tastes sweet. But when the kind of justice I wanted didn’t manifest, my vindictive dialogue of my ex’s deceit and actions fed a monster inside me. It has many names, is bigger than unforgiveness and infinitely darker and deeper:

The most obvious one – bitterness. After all, you can’t spew and hurl without the proper catapult for words and pain. It just doesn’t work as well.

Next – resentment. Every victim should be allowed to have it. Dreams, hopes, plans and the like are destroyed, so resentment steps in and sets up shop.

Then - judgment. You can’t have justice without a judgment. I pronounced him guilty on all charges in every conversation. I hurled and shared every secret sin I knew of and all the ways they hurt me.

These things were wrapped up in their own cocoon – entitlement. I was entitled to my dreams, hope, and future…so with all destroyed, I was entitled to my brand of justice.

These are some of the ugliest titles I’ve ever carried with me. There are many more – self- pity, hatred, vengefulness, etc, - all worthy of their own blog entries for another time.

You would think that a seasoned “mature Christian” woman like myself would see the writing on the wall and purge these things early on; but entitlement got in the way. Just like my ex felt entitled to his secrets, I felt entitled to my pain with all its accoutrements.

Cocooned in my entitlement, I’ve clutched these pains while crying out to my Jesus to “take this and make something beautiful!”

He couldn’t.

You see, the only thing that renders the Lord impotent in creating a beautiful future is us clinging to an ugly past. It takes away His power and authority from our destiny.

So I give up my right and entitlement to spew about my ugly past, my ex, my pain; and I give up my right and entitlement to clutch all the ugly titles that come with it.

I set it at the cross..,

Wait for holy fire…

Then watch as He takes ashes and makes something beautiful.

Isaiah 61:3a, “To give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord that He may be glorified. And they shall rebuild the old ruins, they shall raise up the former desolations, and shall repair the ruined cities…”

Abba's Child

I started a new therapy with my counselor called Life Integration Therapy. Being a Christian, she does things a little differently and invites the Holy Spirit into the session to help build these broken pieces in your brain from many years of trauma.

It kinda kicks your butt.

I did ok until the adult me had to tell the infant me, just birthed and wrapped in a receiving blanket, what her life was going to be like. I totally lost it. I don’t want to tell this innocent, precious baby that her life would be filled with molestation, an alcoholic father with rages, suicide, lying, deceit, shame, divorce and many years of pain and regret.

How do you tell a child this is what their life will be like? How can you do that to any one let alone an innocent child?

It’s not fair.

I have several girlfriends, the dearest ladies in the world to me, who have had blessed lives. A good, solid upbringing with healthy fathers, good husbands filled with integrity, safe homes, ministry without shame, marriage without betrayal, the works in my book. Then I look at my life and I feel like a little girl watching her Daddy hand beautiful gifts to her sisters - new, pristine party dresses, china dolls with silk curls, warm, soft coats with fur around the collar. And I get a beat up, second-hand doll.

Don’t get me wrong. I am grateful for two AMAZING children and a lovely home and a job I love; but there is still a little girl in me with dreams and hopes, that is looking at a second-hand doll. I don’t want to tell the baby me that this is what her life will feel like.

I know God can and does make beautiful china dolls out of gauze and yarn; however the child in me is having a good old-fashioned pity party. I’ve heard the catch phrases of the decade saying we need to “heal the child within” and now I get it. Except this child is sulking in the corner with a torn up doll at her feet watching her sisters twirl in their party dresses to the delight of all who watch.

I know. I need an attitude adjustment. But this is where the child me is today. I refuse to stay here. It is too exhausting! Sulking takes work! The brow must stay furrowed (causes caverns in middle-aged skin), the lips must maintain a constant pout (although they do look like they’ve had some silicone in them this way), and the arms have to remain crossed (well that isn’t so bad, it gives you cleavage).

It’s still tiring. Maybe I need a nap.

Shards of Light

It’s been so long since my last entry; a lifetime in blog-world. It seems I have lived a lifetime in the real world too. Since Bingeing and Purging, I’ve become a divorced woman/new homeowner - both very scary things.

Within the span of a year my life has taken more dips and dives than a trick pilot. On September 1, I became a single woman after nearly 25 years of marriage. It is amazing the feeling of a 25-year-weight being lifted off one’s shoulders with a thump of a judge’s stamp. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t easy. I liken the divorce hearing to pulling out one’s intestines through the navel. Despite the ripping pain, when the aftermath subsided, there was a lightness that I’d not felt in a long time.

I didn’t realize how exhausting it is to wrestle oneself into submission in a marriage where one partner is consistently sabotaging the foundation.

The last few weeks have been like walking through a deep cavern without any visible shadow on the path of suffocating blackness. God’s Word was the only shards of light to guide me through this pervasive darkness; that and the broad shoulders of a few girlfriends known to me as DSTN and TWaD (long story) and the prayers of many friends and family. If any of you are reading this, bless you. I wouldn’t be sane without you.

I now enter the next phase of my journey to discover Abba’s Child as a “single woman.” A single woman wedded to Christ. What an honor to be His bride! I truly feel a honeymoon phase in my relationship with Him. After all, there is no other man competing with His affections, no other man to seek council from, and no other man to fulfill those quiet places within my soul.

Just my Jesus.

How sweet it is!

I still wrestle with guilt, but it subsides as I study what the Word says about divorce. I’m not talking just reading the Bible as is…I’m talking going back to the original Hebrew and Greek along with the divorce traditions of the time. What a difference it makes! So many churches and denominations wreck havoc on the abused seeking divorce to end the pain and bondage. As if heaping guilt and condemnation on the wounded will bring healing!

The night of the divorce, I sat before my Bible exhausted and unable to decide where to seek my solace in His Word. I did what I haven’t done in years. I asked the Lord to take me to a place in His Word just for me. I desperately needed to hear that He was close and knew my heart. I closed my eyes and opened my Bible to where it just happened to land.

Isaiah 14:3, “It shall come to pass in the day the Lord gives you rest from your sorrow, and from your fear, and the hard bondage in which you were made to serve…”

He knows.

He understands.

He heals.

Bingeing and Purging

I’ve seen my soon-to-be-ex cry quite a few times the last year, but never in front of a Realtor. We discussed our options for selling the house and that was the last straw in his already full back-pack of stressors. If we are LUCKY we’ll get a very small amount out of the house; hardly enough to start new lives.

So the myriad of plans, discussions, ideas, and purging started. I had no idea you could get so much “stuff” in one 1600 square foot house and garage. Frightening really. I finally had had enough of the trash collectors bilking us of our hard earned cash and decided a dumpster was a more economical idea. I had no idea you could get so much “stuff” in one dumpster.

I was wacked on the side of the head with the irony - cumulative stuff in a dumpster in the midst of a divorce. I kept waiting for the deep wracking sobs and grief that I’d heard can accompany such an undertaking. It didn’t materialize; even when we divided some of the family photos. There was just a sweet sense of “Awww…remember that?” My husband didn’t fare so well and excused himself several times. If I wasn’t sure I was done, that would have been a good indicator.

There are many reasons divorcing couples should not live under the same roof. I know most readers (if I have any) would be saying “duh” about now, but I thought we were more mature than that. More Godly, More…I don’t know…just more. I was wrong. I guess we’ve made it this long, so we should get some kind of award; but the stress of living with an angry husband became too much and those wracking sobs found their way to the surface last week. That was when the bingeing started. Mint Milano cookies do wonders when eaten under the covers.

I am trying very hard to wrestle myself into compassion and mercy for this man I’ve spent 24 years with. Despite the deceit and betrayal, I tell myself Jesus died for him too, so if He can love and accept, so should I, right? After all - the same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead lives in me so why can’t I raise my emotions from contempt and betrayal into the resurrection life of compassion and mercy.

I thought by living with him during this hellacious time, I would have this amazing testimony of how you can really “love” your enemy and forgive even if you can’t stay married.

Boy, I feel dumb.

My therapist, my friends, my co-workers thought I was crazy to stay under the same roof while trying to stay afloat financially. I think they were right. I definitely feel crazy…or just dumb.

On my next entry I’ll try to get out of my flesh and back to my search for Abba’s Child.

Compassion and Mercy Can be ashes of Sacrifice

My one constant prayer during this journey is, “Jesus, help me see Truth in all this.” That is a big prayer. I guess I didn’t say which truth, did I. In His infinite grace and faithfulness, He uncovered truth in my marriage, and to my surprise…truth in me.

I truly want to understand where my enemy weeps. Perhaps that will help me understand why the “enemy” chooses to wound.

Will that change his character?

No.

Will it change my decision?

No.

My understanding and planting seeds of compassion and mercy doesn’t change my enemy; however it does change me.

Whatever happened to compassion and mercy in the church? Oh we have plenty for the world, but what of it amongst ourselves? When does the “Pharisee” malignancy start? Perhaps it is a form of religious dementia. We forget where we came from and the pit He pulled us out of.

Most pastoral counseling I received on this journey has been “Be submitted and obedient. God blesses these.” The other very annoying counsel was, “Sometimes marriage is just a sacrifice.” I sacrificed and died to my flesh more times than I can count. Did it change my marriage? I’m not real sure. I know it changed me. I know that one day, if God wills, I remarry, I will be a much better wife and life partner because I’ve learned from this.

Marriage is a road riddled with sacrifice – kind of like a well-traveled highway. Some sacrifices are small and barely noticeable in the matrimonial pavement; like giving a kind word instead of a snide remark, or ignoring a criticism knowing your spouse is under stress. Other sacrifices are potholes so big we lose ourselves, like in an affair, financial infidelity, or abandonment.

No matter how big or small, all sacrifices have one thing in common. Something has to die. By bonfire or a knife in the heart, death is the main ingredient.

The Pharisee vs The Child

I’ve been a Pharisee more times than I care to count. I’m embarrassed to view myself this way, but I must in order to give all legalism within me its walking papers. Let’s look at the comparison of a child of God - meaning one that has that childlike joy of the Love of God - to the all-knowing, all-seeing, oh-so-perfect Pharisee.

The Pharisee - Sees the Word as a manual of instructions
The Child - Sees the Word as love letters
The Pharisee - Sees God as a bookkeeper of wrongs
The Child - Sees God as a loving parent who overlooks childlike mistakes
The Pharisee - Demands sacrifice and obedience
The Child - Delights in mercy
The Pharisee - Uses fear of displeasing God as a means of manipulation
The Child - Doesn’t understand how you can displease a loving Father
The Pharisee - Blames, accuses and uses guilt and points fingers
The Child - Points the finger into the heavens and delights at what he or she finds
The Pharisee - Has a consummate gift of noticing the speck in another’s eye
The Child – Helps the other person bath the eye until the speck is removed
The Pharisee - Believes keeping the law earns God’s love
The Child - Believes being loved by God helps motivate one to keep the law
The Pharisee – Pursues a lifestyle that minimizes mistakes
The Child - Makes mistakes and learns from them
The Pharisee – Surrenders control of their soul to rules
The Child - Surrenders control of their soul to Jesus
The Pharisee – Has a fascination with honor and power
The Child - Doesn’t care
The Pharisee – Emphasizes personal effort and achievement
The Child - Emphasizes exuberant joy at God’s love
The Pharisee – Edits feelings and makes stereotyped responses to life’s situations
The Child - Is aware of his or her feelings and loves to express them
The Pharisee - Represses emotions
The Child - Is spontaneous with emotions
The Pharisee – Loves labels
The Child - Can’t read them
The Pharisee – Dominates people and situations to increase prestige, influence, and reputation
The Child - Accepts people out of sheer delight of who they are
The Pharisee – Seeks to master God
The Child - Wants to be mastered by God
*Paraphrased from Abba’s Child By Brennan Manning.
**Just my random thoughts

For years, I’ve been dominated and mastered by Pharisees in the church. They counseled me to be submitted and obedient and God would bless me. This is true; however there are times when submission to the Lord is more important than submission to a perceived mandate (i.e. the institution of marriage is more important than the individual). I always thought these leaders knew better because they had the mantle/title of pastor or leader. They were merely a Pharisee in hiding.

I feel like I’ve been untangling a large knotted ball of twine the last few years. It is exhausting to figure out which way the knot goes and which way to pull it out - Am I in sin, am I not? Is the sin of divorce worse than the sin of lying or stealing? Will God still love and bless me as a divorced woman because I was the initiator of the horrible deed?

It is like a monumental sifting process.

I’ve forgotten how to be a child of God. I’ve been a Pharisee looking in the mirror.

Visiting Haunted Places

In the middle of this pilgrimage, I find myself in my childhood home to care for my mother after surgery. Soon the worry of her health and the logistics of appointments recede and I am sitting in my room as a different person than the woman that left to go on her honeymoon. Oh it isn’t the last time I found myself in her home; but it is the last time since I was stepping out to a new beginning.

Here I am again. Only this time instead of hope, excitement, and dreams of white picket fences, I’m scared, lonely, and wondering if I’m going to spend the rest of my life crammed into two rooms.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I am often haunted by the proverbial “What If’s” that all us humans wrestle with. What if I’d taken that job and moved? What if I’d said ‘yes’ my first love? What if I hadn’t married my husband? You know the ones. Those deep, thought-provoking questions that do nothing but haunt us like the shadows on the walls during the night when we were children. There is no real harm in them per say except the images that spring to mind and wrap us in a vice-like grip keep us from drifting to sleep…or keep us from moving forward in life.

I sat with my daughter tonight looking through old photo albums when I was her age. Ahh, now there is a part of the young woman I misplaced. Except this one had a few secret pains as well, but there was more of the little girl present back then. Now, the little girl is a shadow-thought. Kind of like the shadows on the wall of my room as a child.

It is so like the Lord to bring me here during this season. God is good and even has a sense of humor! I’ve caught glimpses of the shadow-child on the walls just before I sleep. The difference between then and now is that I’m not afraid of them. I welcome them.

I am my Beloved’s

I want to really understand this. That is the cry of my heart these days; along with healing, strength, wisdom and a plethora of other requests. But this one trumps them all. I am my Beloved’s.

I was raised with an alcoholic father who used his “liberties” as the authority figure in my life to tell me I was the sick one for setting boundaries. Then, as an adult,  my ex-husband used the spiritual liberties granted him by man’s version of submission. Oh I don’t blame my ex-husband and father. I take full ownership of my crown called co-dependency and my scepter known as enabling. They are mine…temporarily that is until I figure out how to get rid of these pesky things.

But I really, REALLY want to grasp, grapple, press in, and absorb the concept of being His Beloved. I want to understand this as the foundation of my personal worth - not the opinions of man. I am probably my own worst enemy in this mistaken identity. I love what John Eagan said in his journal “We judge ourselves unworthy servants, and that judgment becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. We deem ourselves too inconsiderable to be used by a God capable of miracles with no more than mud and spit. And thus our false humility shackles an otherwise omnipotent God.”2

I am more than mud and spit. I am in His image (I wonder if he has a dimple on his left cheek). Recently, I started defining myself to myself as one radically beloved by God and you know what? I have sensed a “falling in love” with my Jesus. I have truly felt a sense of intimacy with Him that I don’t remember feeling for a real long time.

Some in the church would believe me to be in rebellion; clearly not capable of such a close and intimate walk. That is something reserved only for the submitted and obedient (i.e. not divorced for non-Biblical reasons…whatever that means). I used to be one of those judgmental people. I am definitely reaping what I’ve sown. Ouch.

I’ve always had this sense of disappointing the Lord. Always afraid of what He really thought of me and my many hours of whiling away in an imaginary world. Then I remembered standing unobserved at the door of my children’s room watching them entertain Big Bird or Barney in some great plot or adventure. I would smile, turn, and leave them to their play, perfectly content with the fact that if they needed me or wanted to spend time with me, they would search me out. At which time, I would open my arms wide, envelope them completely, and savor the scent of blessed innocence in my beloved.


Is that how He sees me?

2Abba’s Child, Brennan Manning, NavPress, 2002.

The Imposter

I am an imposter. I freely admit it.

How embarrassing.

All these years I’ve thought I was something I was not. I hear your collective gasps. I know, I know. How can this be?

I didn’t realize it until I read the description of an imposter in the book, Abba’s Child.1

An Imposter:
• Is rooted in fear of human disapproval.
• Is afraid of abandonment, losing support, and not able to cope on their own.
• Is preoccupied with acceptance and approval.
• Needs to please others.
• Is often incapable of direct speech, hedging, waffling, and remains silent out of fear of rejection.
• Demands to be noticed and craves compliments. (I don’t care about compliments so much…just hand me a stage and a spotlight).
• Draw their identity from achievements and interpersonal relationships.
• Operates out of a fear-based center.

It explains a lot actually. Manning goes on to say, “The false self was born when as children we were not loved well or were rejected or abandoned.” My imposter was born that fateful day at poolside when demanded to unclothe.

Most of the time, my imposter covered itself/herself by means of chronic day dreaming. Now I’m really confessing my youthful sin. You see, this was my coping device. Like an alcoholic uses alcohol or a drug addict their drug, mine was getting lost in a world no one could see. No one could hurt me there. I created a wonderful place that I was in complete control.

I’m a big girl now (with a little girl still hiding in me) and I still haunt my old hidden world. Only now I try to use it for the good of the writer in me in the form of fiction. So, in a way, I took what the enemy used to keep me bound and I brought it into the light for the Lord to use for His purpose.

I guess you’d say I redeemed it.

Manning also states, “When we accept the truth of what we really are and surrender it to Jesus Christ, we are enveloped in peace, whether or not we feel ourselves to be at peace.” I covet this new world of peace. For decades I’d rebuked myself time and again for running to my trusted vice as if it was an evil sin. But now, I believe it was a gift from the Lord. I actually had a therapist tell me, after hearing my life chronicled in a painful diatribe, that my coping instrument probably kept me out of the looney bin (that is a medical term).

I must embrace this imposter as a part of myself and accept her for the place she held all these years. I think we should make friends with these imposters as they are a part of ourselves. To continually rebuke them is a form of self-hatred. Perhaps titles and imposters do have a place for a season…until we find our true self that is.

1Abba’s Child, Brennan Manning, NavPress, 2002.