Thank you to the women at Ishshah’s Story for inviting me to contribute to their team. I am honoured to be a part of a beautiful group of time-tested Jesus followers.
This week’s blog: Dyin’ With an Astronaut: When There is More to the Story
Tag: healing
Like a Night Watchman Waiting
A song I haven’t heard for a long time was playing in my dreams last night. I’ve learned to pay attention to songs that wake me in the night.
My Soul Waits, by Bill Batstone, is based on Psalm 130.
I call to you from out of the deep, “Oh Lord, most high!”
Aware of my sin and the distance I keep from the light, Oh Lord.
But there is forgiveness with Thee,
and in wonder I fall on my knees.
My soul waits for the Lord in the hope of his promise,
in the hope of his promise deliverance will come.
My soul waits for the Lord through the night ’til the morning,
like a night watchman waiting for the coming of the dawn.
Look to the Lord all you people in need, for he is kind.
He will break the chains of your soul’s slavery for all time.
There is forgiveness with Thee and in wonder I fall on my knees.
My souls waits for the Lord in the hope of his promise…
like a night watchman waiting for the coming of the dawn,
like a night watchman waiting for the coming of the dawn.
My grandfather was a night watchman. For twenty five years he worked while the rest of us slept. I didn’t realize, until he developed dementia and relived in his own house those lonely dark nights of climbing miles and miles of stairs, how much he longed for daylight. He was man of small stature armed only with a huge flashlight. More than once he encountered thieves who came in the night to take what was not theirs. More than once he scared them off with his light and the authority his uniform communicated. A couple of times he called the alarm when his life was in danger. At least once his huge flashlight became a physical weapon of defense.
I didn’t realize until the day he retired and took off his uniform and boots for the last time how much he longed for the dawn. He left a big X on each calendar day leading up to the promise of a pension. Guarding the factory while others slept, and sleeping while others played left him out of sync with the rest of the world. It took a toll, but he was faithful to his employers all those years.
After his retirement Grandpa never missed a sunrise. He rose early to wait for it. He soaked in the light of the day working in his garden as much as possible.
Spiritual watchmen pray during the night watches. Sometimes they are aware of dangers that others know nothing about as the Lord calls them to intercede. Even in the darkness they learn to walk in the light of God’s love. They are prayer warriors and use their authority as beloved sons and daughters of God to turn back meddlesome threats. They do not fight with the weapons of the world but with divine weapons designed to bring light and pull down strongholds of deception. Sometimes they sound the alarm and call for backup when greater threats appear. It can be a lonely solitary calling, but they are the first ones to see the dawn coming.
And the dawn is coming.
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Days of Preparation
The horse is prepared for the day of battle,
but the victory belongs to the Lord.
(Proverbs 21:31 NLT)
This morning Facebook reminded me of an old post I wrote when my granddaughter was about three years old. I enjoyed her ability to give directions around her city when I was babysitting for a few days.
“Go past the tower (tall building) and wait for the green light. Then turn and go past Costco and there it is – Walmart!”
This amused me, so when we needed groceries after her swimming lessons I asked for directions to Superstore.
“Nana, have you been to Superstore before?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Then look into your memory and you can find the way there all by yourself.”
Today I face another battle where the odds are seemingly against me. I’m doing much better at avoiding panic this time, but I needed this prompt to remind me to look into my memory and acknowledge the times when we did all we could – and it was not enough. But God took what ever preparations we made and did something greater than we ever could have imagined.
Resting in the Lord is not about passively flopping on the ground and awaiting rescue. We pick up our five smooth stones, gather as many empty vessels as we can, prepare a sacrifice on an altar, stand before Pharaoh’s armies with nothing but a stick, march around a city seven times, pick up our beds, walk all the way to Damascus to pray for a guy who wants to kill us. We make preparations, we prepare the horse for the day of battle (again), but we know that the victory belongs to the Lord.
That’s resting in the Lord too.
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Snowy Field
“The situations you are in are not more powerful than God. They are not stronger than Him. There is light. There is truth. There is wisdom. There is revelation. There is hope. There is joy. There is peace in believing.”
~Graham Cooke
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Perplexing Grace
“Grace is the most perplexing, powerful force in the universe, and, I believe, the only hope for our twisted, violent planet.”
― Philip Yancey
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We Don’t Hass to be Afraid
Don’t be afraid, I am with you;
don’t give way, for I am your God.
I strengthen you and I help you;
I uphold you with the right hand
of my justice. (Isaiah 41:10)
Don’t be afraid,
for I have redeemed you.
I have called you by your name,
you are mine. (Isaiah 43:1)
When he was only two years old and his daddy appeared to be dying in the hospital our little grandson looked into his Mommy’s eyes and said, “We don’t hass to be afraid. We don’t hass to be afraid, Momma, ’cause Jesus is wiss us!”
Sometimes when I look at all the things in my character that need fixing I feel overwhelmed. The word I feel the Lord has given me for this year is “instill.” I want the concepts I have learned about the goodness of God and how much he loves me to be instilled in my heart so my first reaction is trust. I get there eventually but my “knee-jerk reactions” need revision before I open my mouth. When I wonder how long it will take I remember the reaction of a child barely old enough to talk.
Sometimes this journey is not as much about overcoming obstacles as returning to the faith of a child. Restoration is recovering the pure undivided heart of a little one who knows what it is to trust.
Yesterday my grandson’s Daddy taught him how to skate. He learned to balance and glide and turn on the ice rink Daddy built for his children in the backyard. There was much joy!
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Tell the Story
The stories of God’s provision in our parents’ and grandparents’ lives are a precious inheritance. In the same way our stories not only build faith for our own journey, as we recall them, they also build a foundation of faith for our children and for their children and for future generations.
My grandchildren ask for stories about their parents, about their grandparents and especially about themselves as babies. I tell them stories when we walk in the woods, when we travel together, when we get ready for bed. They especially want to hear the stories about miracles, about escapes from danger, about noble deeds and about the way God brought everything together to give them life and this precious moment right here, right now.
Do you have a story to tell of God stepping in to your own history?
Has he rescued you, healed you, or freed you from addictions?
Has He spoken to you through a song or an angel or left a gem on your bed?
Has a promise in the Bible caught your attention like a beacon in the dark?
Have you heard his voice in the shower or in the truck or had a dream that came true?
Have you experienced a co-incidence that is too much of a co-incidence to be a co-incidence?
Have you found your soul mate or a loyal friend or the child you were meant to adopt?
Have you walked a hard road and found that God’s grace did keep you and did get you through the valley?
Stories about God are not just for children but for anyone with ears to hear.
Would you tell me about it? I would love to hear.
I’ve told a lot of my stories here, how my paternal grandfather saw Jesus in the barn, how my maternal grandparents were late and missed their boat – the Titanic, how I found my lost keys deep in the forest, how God lifted depression, how I heard Him speak through a bicycle shop advertisement and a dancing prairie chicken, how God did a miracle in our son-in-law’s body and in a lot of other people’s hearts after he was given a 0% chance of surviving flesh-eating disease…
Now it’s your turn. What’s your God story? Just write in the comment box on the bottom. (You may need to click on “leave a comment” under the title first.)
Tell your story.
Listen, dear friends, to God’s truth,
bend your ears to what I tell you.
I’m chewing on the morsel of a proverb;
I’ll let you in on the sweet old truths,
Stories we heard from our fathers,
counsel we learned at our mother’s knee.
We’re not keeping this to ourselves,
we’re passing it along to the next generation—
God’s fame and fortune,
the marvelous things he has done.
He planted a witness in Jacob,
set his Word firmly in Israel,
Then commanded our parents
to teach it to their children
So the next generation would know,
and all the generations to come—
Know the truth and tell the stories
so their children can trust in God.
(Psalm 78 The Message)
A story worth telling: https://charispsallo.wordpress.com/2014/12/13/i-want-my-daddy/
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Healing Rain
Healing rain is coming down
It’s coming nearer to this old town.
Rich and poor, weak and strong
It’s bringing mercy, it won’t be long…
Lift your heads, let us return
To the mercy seat where time began.
And in your eyes I see the pain.
Come soak this dry heart with healing rain.
And only you, the Son of Man
Can take a leper and let him stand.
So lift your hands, they can be held
By someone greater, the Great I Am.
Healing rain, it comes with fire
So let it fall and take us higher.
Healing rain, I’m not afraid
To be washed in Heaven’s rain.
To be washed in Heaven’s rain.
(By Michael Smith, Michael Whitaker, Matt Smith, Martin James.)
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Bashless
I was tempted to go on a rant about a certain religious hypocrite who builds his own power base by preying on vulnerable people’s spiritual longings. I fussed and fumed for a while and decided to re-post this instead. I need the reminder. Consider this an open letter to myself — but contrary to the entire concept of open letters, the person to whom it is addressed has actually read it.
I hope to keep this blog a bash-free zone, not that it comes easily to me. Change will require effort. I have been known to wield an acid pen and in the past have taken far too much delight in humour that comes at the expense of another’s dignity. Sorry ‘bout that.
I just read this: Now if you feel inclined to set yourself up as a judge of those who sin, let me assure you, whoever you are, that you are in no position to do so. For at whatever point you condemn others you automatically condemn yourself, since you, the judge, commit the same sins. God’s judgment, we know, is utterly impartial in its action against such evil-doers. What makes you think that you who so readily judge the sins of others, can consider yourself beyond the judgment of God? Are you, perhaps, misinterpreting God’s generosity and patient…
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Gutted
It all started with the bathroom ceiling. We couldn’t figure out how to fix it.
In this part of the world the basement is more than a foundation. It is a well-used part of the house. We had a bedroom, partially finished bathroom/laundry room, storage/utility room, craft room, and family room with a big stone fireplace down there. Since it’s not the part of the house that students and guests usually see, it has received the least attention as far as repairs and maintenance go. But we fixed the leak last summer and had an unexpected provision of income this year so we decided it was time to tackle the basement.
I just wanted a proper bathroom with a ceiling, and maybe a shower. It would be nice if the ugly dark water-stained wallboard in the bedroom and hallway could be replaced with Sheetrock while we were at it.
We have a super carpenter (he happens to be our son and already did a splendid job on the kitchen and roof). He asked us to empty three rooms and a storage area of all the stuff hidden away in there. My daughter and daughter-in-law and close friend helped sort, toss and recycle.
I found things I didn’t remember we had. It was like seeing my life pass before my eyes. It’s tough to say goodbye to objects from times of my life that are no more.
-Boxes of music books and teaching aids.
-Crafts the kids made or gifts students gave me.
-Sports equipment that makes me shrug and walk away.
-Craft and sewing projects that would be merely quasi-useful or unappreciated if I ever did manage to finish them.
-Perfectly good collections of stuff that could be quite useful if I had the inclination to actually fix or re-purpose them.
-Camping equipment that will probably not come out of the bins because my husband still hates camping – and it definitely fails the five year guideline (“If you haven’t used it in two years, it goes, Mom.” We bargained it up to five years because I hope to get back on my cross-country skis someday.)
-Things that reveal how much I live in fear of having to scrounge to survive in the future.
-Books I think someone besides me should read. (I just haven’t met them yet.)
-Movies you couldn’t pay me to watch again.
-Cleaning supplies that were not as magical as promised. Apparently they required application and effort.
-Baby items, in case one of the kids changes his or her mind.
-Research for the novel I never finished.
Mourning was involved.
We bagged and boxed and the guys took it all down to the thrift shop or the dump. Then the gutting began. With the walls, and toilet, sink and old washer and dryer gone and with the musty flooring peeled back and scraped off and everything we kept piled ceiling high in the family room it looked very different. The carpenter kept telling us about more uncovered discoveries that needed to be fixed, moved or replaced.
The basement is a mess. It’s been gutted. Down to the concrete. Torn apart. Jack-hammered in parts. Stinky, because pipes had to be moved. Dusty, because who cleans pipes and vents? Mouse poopy, because apparently we entertained a family at some point in history.
“This is not up to code,” the carpenter said. A lot.
“This was maybe okay thirty years ago, but not now. Look, you’ve got a frost bubble in that line to the outside faucet. We’ll need to take the mudroom wall out too.” He tore it down and took it away.
“You’re going to have to change some of your plans,” he sighed. He must have seen the look on my face. “Give me some time and I’ll come up with something. For one thing, I’ll give you more windows and better lighting and much more efficient use of space.”
So here we are in the basement, torn up, tossed out, piled up, stripped down and with limited electric power. I realized this mess in our basement, which also spills into the rest of the house in the form of black finger prints, concrete dust, and muddy footprints, (and as our neighbour complained yesterday, shows up in the yard in the form of neglected grass-trimming) is kind of symbolic of what has been happening in my life in the past year or two. I wanted a repair that would make improvements in function and appearance.
“Restore me, Lord,” I prayed.
God decided to gut me. He changed my plans. He pointed out areas that look fine on the surface but will not work in the long run.
He is not doing a restoration of the facade. He is working on the foundation. He is giving me more light. He is urging me to let go of old thoughts and desires and habits and replacing them with his version of something new (that I haven’t seen yet.) He is not merely repairing or restoring. He is renovating. Re-newing. Re-forming. When I think I know where He is going with this He points out how changing one area affects everything else in my life. More walls have to come down. New supports and headers have to go up. The job keeps growing.
I wanted a new clean comfortable “throne room”; He wants to build a palace fit for a King.
Sometimes I appear to be a mess. I am throwing out old assumptions. I am letting go of familiar ways of doing things. I have disappeared into the place of stored memories and come out smelling like poo pipes as I try to learn new ways of dealing with stuff that needs to be flushed. I don’t know how to do this. The mess spills over into other areas and sometimes I’m hot and tired and grubby and emotional and I take it out on innocent bystanders who are perfectly content with their tidy routines. Sorry about that.
I keep running into people who seem to be going through this same process of re-thinking and re-forming. It’s like seeing microcosms of a larger reformation popping up everywhere. What are you doing, Lord?
These folks are getting push-back though. Changes in thinking and operating affect balance in our relationships because it’s difficult to change without provoking defensiveness in others. The mess clean-up makes irritates other people, like a six-foot strip of untrimmed lawn annoys a neighbour, when they are just trying to maintain standards in the neighbourhood and are not in the mood for upheaval.
It’s painful and isolating, this gutting process. But I know the Master Builder. I’ve seen his work.
I trust Him.
Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. (Psalm 51:10)
Charis: Subject to Change 