Not So Very Strong

I am not so very strong. You who knows me best of all knows well this truth. Lord, I fall upon my knees! I fall upon them hard and confess that I am weary. Not one more step shall I attempt to take until I see you here before me. The battle can wait another day (for always there are battles) – right here is where I’ll wait until I see that lovely face and in seeing it I’m strengthened.

The armor of God I duly wear . . . but the presence of God I dearly need.

Where are the Shepherds?

There they are; the whole motley group of them. Some bleeding, some sickly, some tangled in the briar, some just about to fall from off the cliff! Who would have thought way back when that they’d end up such a ragamuffin group as this?

Where are the shepherds? That’s what I would like to know. Where are the ones responsible to feed and shelter them? They don’t mind making money from the ragged things: their meat and wool bring a tidy sum. But where are they when the wounded need patient bandaging or the stragglers need someone to brooke the wind and cold to bring them home?

I know One who will do the job, who loves the sheep, every muddy, thorn-filled one of them; I know One who would leave all behind to find just one lost lamb. Bad shepherds always get fired, you know . . . it just might be time for a new round of hiring.

No Human Comforter

The night was dark when He wept tears of blood. Angels saw Him there. Heaven looked upon Him and trembled at the sight - dearest One, who had no human comforter.

Buddha never gave his life to save another nor did the Dalai Lama. Allah and the Hindu gods never showed such love toward those counted as their enemies. But Jesus did. Jesus knelt that night and freely gave His life that the world of men might be reconciled to God.

Are there many ways to heaven? Just look at each of them and tell me – which one gave his life to save a broken world? Which one bled and hung and wept for you? Which one resurrected from the dead that we might know eternal life? If you are willing to be honest, I think you will find the answer.

The Sound of His Return

I am listening for him, listening for the sound of his return. His voice, his step outside my chamber, I eagerly await. “Come, Lord, come!” my heart cries out as breath is bated and I strain to hear the faintest sound.

I hear so many things as the time of his return approaches. I hear the groaning of the earth beneath the weight of sin that bears upon it. I hear all creation singing praises, quietly, persistently; a sound that even night has not the power to stop. Astounding are the things that can be heard when one takes the time to listen. Let the world rush by but I shall wait with lamp full lit, eyes wide awake, listening for the footfalls of him whose face I’ve waited long to see. Come, Lord, come!

A Stronger, Truer Folk

Stand tall and true you Irish folk. God gave you the gift of song, the gift of strength through trials hard that would have broken any other. Stand true you noble Irish and do not allow the EU to force you to comply to their tyrannical constitution. Cast out the elite of Brussels from your midst and do not allow your leadership to bend. Speak up for all the people and never sign the Lisbon Treaty.

Dear Ireland, for so you are to many round the world who are watching the current struggle. In these end of days a people shall come forth from you who have the sound of glory in their song, the sound of heaven that shall break the back of darkness and cause hell to flee before you. You have been made for such a time as this. The centuries of pain have been your crucible. You are a stronger, truer folk because of it and God will have your ear. The thin places of Ireland are God’s own visitation . . . yes, God will have your ear not the European Union. Be faithful to the God of your once youth!

Celtic King © 2008 Dean Morrissey

http://www.greenwichworkshop.com/studio/studio_artist.asp?artistid=222

It Must Be Killed!

Do not attempt to tame the beast. Many have tried and lost their souls because of it. Its thirst is deep and its hunger quite insatiable, so do not sidle up to it and think that you can tempt it to obey you. Feeding it will only make it larger.

You think the strength of youth will save you from its teeth and it will not rend you into pieces as it has so many other youth? You are wrong and your mistake will cost you dearly. Run it through, I say, run it through before it is too late! It must be killed! This is not a time for pity, not a time for kindnesses and gentleness.

Call the creature what it is – sin! A black and deadly thing that is buried in your soul at birth, the very nature of your own dead self that must be crucified. And Christ alone can do it. Kill the thing ere it swallows up yourself and all that’s left . . . is a dragon.

Prisoner of Hope

“Prisoner of hope,” I hear the words whispered through the grated window, “prisoner of hope, remain in your fortress chained to hope until that thing hoped for finds its right season and comes forth.”

I am such a prisoner of hope. The things long dreamed for I cannot make happen, yet to stop hoping is beyond my power also. Hope blossoms in my arms while feet are chained and movement left or right is quite impossible. Though hope deferred has sometimes struck my heart with a grievous sickness, I find myself holding on to tender hope with a stubbornness that defies all logic. Why does this hope not die, I wonder. But, no . . . it will not. And I have not the power to break the chains that hold me to it.

Shall I remain in this fortress? Of course I shall. Where else would I go but where hope keeps me?

A Realm that God Created

Who is counterfeiting whom? That is the question of the day. Is not the spirit realm a realm that God created? Some believe that satan rules it, so fearfully they shut down the things of God when they do not understand what is going on.

“Ooh, an angel spoke to him!” some gasp with fear. So what? Angels have spoken to man for as long as man has walked the earth. “Right, she said that she saw heaven!” they mock. Uneducated Christian, you must read more! God has been revealing heaven to people for thousands of years – He even has a book that shows such revelation being given. “Run, run, that resembles New Age unholy fire!” some cry as they wrestle with God’s wild way of showing up. (Shh, don’t tell God, but He’s only supposed to show up in a way that makes us comfortable or else it isn’t God.)

If Christianity holds any resemblance to New Age it is because the New Age movement has 'borrowed' from Christianity, not the other way around. Dreams, visions, ecstasies, tongues, angels, miracles, signs and wonders, all belong to Christ. And He will use any which one He pleases to communicate with His children who desire to hear from Him. Has no one taught you this? Ahh, now I understand. The fault lay with your teachers.

Wild on the Branch

That is the one I want. That is the bloom I need to have: tender, wild on the branch, pure and scented sweet. I shall reach across this fence which men have built to keep me out, for none shall keep me from my heart’s desire, the bloom whose fragrance reaches up to God. Even the sun bows to its loveliness and the snow’s sharp frost can wither not its beauty. Under deepest night it glows brighter than the noonday’s light, and some call it fair Morning Star.

That is the one that I must have, the one that I have journeyed far and long to find. Can a fence now keep me out? While the flower blooms outside the boundaries of this field then that is where my heart is ever drawn and where my eyes shall ever glance – outside where the flower lies. I shall drink its scent till lungs are filled and its fragrance covers me . . . oh, such a bloom is worth all of life!. . . such a bloom is Christ.

Toy Swords

Foolish Christians. You who fight against the things of God have taken on a bigger battle than you know. With toy swords you thrash and rant against His holy wind. Will your umbrella keep off the beating rain when it becomes a flood? For I have noticed you do not want God’s rain to touch you.

Fight against it as you may Lakeland shall yet grow (to your dismay), holy laughter shall continue to be gifted by our joyful God (to your dislike), and Father shall continue to use strange earthen vessels in whom to show His glory.

But beware, if you do not learn to swim in the river soon you may yet drown and be swept away in the rising tide for the rain is falling harder.

Artwork: Battle of the Storm by John Armstrong

A Book

It’s done. It is in my hand and where it goes from here is now in His. A book - I wrote a book and now sit back and look at what I've done with mild surprise.

You see, it is good to not give up. I could have. Even did a time or two, fell asleep a bit along the way, but listened to the stern rebuke given me by one looking at me in the mirror. “Wake up, you foolish thing! Do not let your life drift by or keep your talents buried in the ground where they do little good!”

You have it, too. Not just me. You have the gift that can create – for in God’s image you were made, even if you do not believe in Him. You can invent and dream . . . so go ahead. There is something out there waiting for you to finish. Mine was a book.

Artwork: Books © 2008 Catherine Brown

Healing on the Froth

It’s happening again - another birth pang, another wave of glory. Lakeland, Florida is being touched by God. “Revival,” it is whispered. Todd Bentley is the one God's using to bring it forth, he who wears the mantle of healers old. Blind eyes are being opened, deaf ears newly hearken, and great wonders are being told.

Break forth the waters in the wilderness! The wasteland shall rejoice and the crocus blossom greatly where once a desert was . . . while barren shall become the lives of those who speak against it. Lakeland’s fount may yet flow across our land and like the sea that overcomes its banks its flood shall wash o'er all the nations of this end time earth. And angels call, “Break forth!” as they stir the waters to rise and swirl with healing on the froth.

So The Cup is Offered

And so the cup is offered. Oprah offers it so kindly to friend and foe alike. “Come one and all to drink! I have found the truth,” she smiles. Does it taste sweet? Of course. Poisons always taste sweet that those who drink would think they swallow fair things.

But you shall not find yourself awakened as A New Earth by Eckart Tolle will claim. No, no - awakened it cannot be called. It is the drink of sleep, of death and shady things that shall creep over your mind . . . for what fills this cup is nightshade to your souls.

My fairest Christ is not in this cup. The lamb of God cannot be found in Oprah’s new discovered book. If she truly knew Him, loved Him, she could not help but raise His name above every other name. Me thinks she is a child lost. Ever on the dear woman searches for the truth but not in Him where truth alone is found. For sake of life, for sake of truth. . . please do not drink of such a cup.

Proclamatory Feet

I feel electricity course through me at His touch. Fear flees and little do I care what men think. Do I dance? Yes, with all my heart and soul till those of timid nature find the boldness to step out.

Come, all who wish to join in the dance, who wish to plunge into the river, stand beneath the rain and soak in heaven's glory. And darkness will tremble beneath your feet . . . and walls will crash beneath your feet . . . and demons will flee beneath your stomping, twirling, proclamatory feet!

Leap over those safe little fences round your field that men have built and venture into the wild unknown . . . I know you want to.

Artwork: Spiritual Renewal © 2008 Angela Branigan

An Endless Stretch

Where leads this road? I know not. But I walk on it, and this road seems an endless stretch of wandering.

I am nervous today. My mind broods, restless, anxious as the wind. I do not particularly like this path. I would rather have an ending point clearly on a map, for as it is I could be walking interminably. But this? This gives no end in sight and He is silent to my plight. “Where leadeth thou?” I have heard that cry before; those of stronger fortitude than I have cried the same.

I wish to curl up beside the bottom of a tree and lean against its strength to shield myself from wind and wanderings . . . but I shall not. I shall brooke the wind and press ever on to who knows where and who knows what awaits. And though I feel alone on this long path, I must remember I am not.

Little god-box

So that is where you keep him. I have always wondered where your little god is kept – it is in your little god-box. And now and then you let him out. Now and then you allow him to do what he desires as long as he promises to be good. If not, away with him back into the box!

But I do not know this little god of yours . . . Who is he? He is not the God I serve. My God is furiously noble, wildly powerful and glorious in all His brilliance. He could never be contained in a god-box, bible-box, or any kind of box for that matter. My God is the great and mighty One who is beyond all imagination.

Tut-tut now, close the box. Tuck him quietly away until another day when it pleases you to pull him out. After all your little god is there to keep you comfortable, isn’t he? Take comfort then that your god-box safely holds your little god.

Jewels In the Stream

God gave me a dream the other night . . .

Men were working in a quarry, digging for something of little worth. From out of the quarry there flowed a stream. As they dug, a sapphire now and then would fall into the stream amidst the loosened dirt and float by me. Yet the men had no interest in the gems and kept to their sweaty labor.

An angel came up beside me. I asked him if I may have the jewel and he smiled and replied, “You may have whatever you see.” So by the stream I quietly sat, waiting. I plucked up the blue jewels in the stream as they floated by and the longer I sat their numbers increased and the larger some of them became. I scooped them up and smiled at how easy it was.

When I awoke God told me what the dream meant . . . Blue is the color of the prophetic. As we sit quietly in God’s presence He will give us revelation and it will be as easy as scooping up what we see. The longer we spend in His presence the more understanding we will receive. And what the angel said also held the meaning that whatever we can see in our spirit in faith is ours - If you see it, you can have it.

The men were those in the church who labor hard for things that are not worth very much, for the most precious things are the truths and mysteries that God wishes to give to us we sit in His presence, things we cannot labor for.

Artwork: River Girl © 2008 Miles Williams Mathis

http://www.mileswmathis.com

Away Gloom!

Shhh! Quiet in the room please. Do you not know that God is here? God demands quiet you know, or didn’t you? He cannot bear His children to be a noisy bunch; it disturbs Him terribly.

If they laugh too loud, too hard, or far too long, He simply will not allow such brevity in His presence. Oh, no, not God the terrible, God the mighty and God the one who views humanity as little worms.

But what God is this that some swear to bow their knee to? I do not recognize my sweet Father in such a one. My papa in the heavens invites me to dance and twirl with sweet abandon in His presence. Like sunshine, like spring rain, He cheers my heart with joy that does good like a medicine. And the room is made brighter in His company.

Away gloom! Away grim, somber faces! How say you know my God when fear is what you know and joy is far removed? I would say differently.

Beware of the Wolves

Beware of the wolves. Wolves scatter sheep. Breeding fear and suspicion, they bring division, and are cunningly good at twisting things.

Beware of the wolves. Wolves hunt in packs. You’ll see them, four, five, and six together. They feel stronger in numbers and will unitedly pounce against one lone sheep.

Beware of the wolves. Wolves love to howl, mocking howls aimed at those who hold a different opinion. They do not know that love does not mock.

Beware of the wolves. Wolves kill the innocent. In their self-righteous jaws, chests puffed up with knowledge, they’ll quickly devour innocent faith.

Beware of the wolves . . . in the Christian forums.

Artwork: Bustin Through © 2008 Greg Beecham

http://www.gbeecham.com/

And Angels Watch

I heard the sound. I heard a piece of it, a glimmer of its notes. “The sound of glory,” angels whisper, “the sound of glory soon to be released on earth.”

We were meant for supernatural things for in His image we were formed. Can you not feel it? “Oh, blinded humans,” say the angels looking on who wait and watch that they may join in the song. “There's more! There’s so much more than this tired world of which you are a part. Who shall hear the song of Him whose name is beloved in the heavens above all? Who now hears that sound of glory and has the courage to sing it out?”

The end of days is here and with it comes a brighter glory than the world has ever seen. And angels watch . . . to join as one voice with those who hear the sound.

Sweet Inebriation

Such sweet inebriation cannot be found through wine. The hand of joy has touched my heart and makes me laugh. Sweet laughter, kin to your sorrowful brother grief, why are some afraid of you?

Tears are good they would say stoically, but laughter? “Oh no, not us! We would never be found laughing in such a way!” And they sternly rebuke those who’ve drank the cup of joy divine.

Let me be drunk on such love for then I’m closest to His own dear heart. To be drunk in the Spirit is a moment of sublime interaction between my spirit and His. Inebriate me more, dear Spirit, till love is overflowing me and dryness gone . . . and like a child I’ll laugh this Holy laughter for He laughs with me!

Artwork: Jesus Laughing © 2001 Ralph Kozak

http://www.jesuslaughing.com/

I Saw The Shadows

Oh, what fragrant scents rise up from this green earth, this earth so ready to explode with life! But I almost did not notice. I saw the shadows that the mountains make and nearly lost the view of that which lies beyond – the sweeter things that wait.

What hill is this that threatens to be a mountain in my way? Not even a mountain can stand against the One who guides me upon a path that I have never walked before. God turns the shadows into light and even tramples down the hills to make the way both smooth and wide.

It is a lovely day, a right day, a hobbit-in-the-garden day! . . . And to think I almost missed it.

Photograph: Vineyard © 2008 David Wall
http://www.davidwallphoto.com/index.asp

Wild One

Freedom - I hear the cry unspoken from your lips. I see the yearning for it in your eyes.

Wild one, do you not know how very much He loves the heart in you, that brave, fearless heart in you that makes you different from the rest? Does not that heart sometimes burst with cries for something more? Have you not searched this wide world for that something that you cannot name, yet search for still?

If only all had such a heart as you! Trampled down yet fighting still, not easily bending to any will of man. It is ones like you that He has called throughout the ages to make them into something new, something brighter, truer, than man has ever seen.

But your search is hopeless if in the world you look, for there you shall not find what you most need – only in the heart of Him who is wilder than you are can it be found. HE started a revolution . . . I warrant you cannot say the same . . . are you brave enough to look into His fearful loving gaze?

For Those Who Call You Stranger

You gave up your life just to be with us.

Love would give up its life for a friend; but you gave up your life for those who call you stranger, those who call you enemy, those who ignore you and call you nothing at all. What extraordinary love! Faithful is such love though abused by those of little faith. And when it alteration finds, it is a love that never alters.

Wake up! you souls of the walking dead. Wake up to love that died to give you life! Look upon him who so longs to be with you that he dared to walk the path of death. A raging, bloody battle he fought against the prince of darkness, against evil incarnate, our freedom to secure.

He fought the battle . . . and he won. Love was the victor so we could wear a crown. Extraordinary, isn’t it?

Your Ship Will Come!

The sun returns . . . and I am waiting. The seasons change . . . and I am waiting. I’ve not yet left this place but know that I soon will. I sense the time approach, yet my time and His time are slightly on a different line. Patience is difficult when other boats are casting off. I wish to not drink slowly from this cup called patience, but would rather drink the cup of haste and dash out into the world that waits.

England, are you still there?! Yes, England still awaits. Ireland, have you yet changed?! No, Ireland is keeping green for me. Oh, soul, hold on, though you tremble with the joy and trepidation of what may be. Your ship will come! The fog of future still stubbornly hides the steps ahead . . . and I must wait.

The Great Ones

Such light! Brighter than a flame it burns upon his brow. The child has been with Him, for glory rests upon his face. Could a child see more of God than what is given to adults? Yes. There are those who hear God’s voice and hear it well though youth still clothes them in its innocence.

Akiane is one, a prophetic child who has walked with God in places most cannot yet follow. She has seen the waterfalls beneath the stairs of glass that God walks on. And the children of Mozambique who talk to angels and heal the sick, the children Heidi Baker mothers, they also know His voice.

Children? – yes. Faith-filled ones not yet grown up into adulthood’s unbelief. For these end-of-days they have been saved and the wisest of us all shall be perplexed.

Little do they know of doctrine – but they know Him. They know love . . . and we do not recognize the great ones in our midst.

Blood Soaked Ground

Fight, my friends, fight on! Though you are to represent His love to this lost world of souls, it matters not – fight on! Strike the other down for His name’s sake and call yourself Defender of the Faith! Who cares if the wide world looks on or bends their ears and hears your violent squabblings. For sake of pride you thrust the other through, but at least your point was made, at least you protected the image of the faith . . . or did you?

And if you, out in the watching world, happen to pass by and see her, the church in all her glory, the one who calls herself the bride of Christ, if you pass by and see the blood soaked ground beneath her feet, know that it is not His bride you look upon. For His bride is on her knees in the dirt, seeking Him whom her heart desires. His bride is so busy loving this sad, broken world that she has no time to fight. His bride in meekness walks and would not defend herself, though religion come against her.

Her eyes would have a gentle light and her sword's edge would be reserved for him who hates the world of men - not for men themselves.

Visions In The Night

Visions in the night you’ve given me, and now that I have seen your face I am ruined for it. The night shall never be the same to me, not since I have met you there. Dearest One, who wakes me in the night for sake of love to have a chat; to speak to such a one as me, whom compared to your eternal age is just a babe.

In my blood your love runs, flowing from your Spirit into mine. I am devoured by desire for your Glory. And so I wait. Patiently? . . . not always. Pensively? . . . sometimes. With a yearning that no earthly thing can fill and with a heart that cries, “This is but a glimmer of who you are – there must be more!”

And visions in the night is where this started, where this love was poured into my soul. Your light has changed the night for me forever.

Do Not Listen To The "Hiss"

Do not listen to them. Let not their voice steal your sweet devotion. If those of a religious bent should gain your ear, then tender faith is doomed. They’ll convince you God is powerless. They’ll whisper lies into your ears, “there are no prophets, there are no miracles,” until heart is poisoned by their unbelief.

So close your ears and keep your faith! Keep your wide-eyed wonder and amazement! Keep God as huge and wild and wonderful as He truly is! Keep far away from those whose minds are filled with knowledge, yet are fools still, else your childlike faith gets gobbled up by that meaner, harsher beast called unbelief.

You will know them by their fear-soaked words and pointed fingers that often mimic the Grand Inquisitor himself. Hold close the truth that God still moves and speaks in supernatural ways, for there is only one who would try dissuading differently. Do not listen to the “hiss” that comes from out their mouths . . . it is an ancient hiss.

Wrap Myself In Gray

It is one of those days. I wish to wrap myself in gray and hide. Let no one see my soul, my inner heart, for I fear they would not see a light glowing from within. Not today . . . perhaps another day . . . but not today.

The wind is irritating as it tugs upon my veil, tries to pull it clean away from face and eyes so I am seen for what I am – a fragile creature who does not feel very strong. I think no one needs to know that bit of truth, but someone seems to think so. Someone sent the wind to pester me. Some persistent, stubborn, gentle hand has set this thing against me . . . this pestering wind!

And I find that I am not yet so weary that I yield. With all the little strength I have I clench the cloth and wrap it round me tighter and with trembling voice I speak, "You cannot see me yet! I am not ready to be undone!"

I have an inkling that this wind shall in the end prevail.

Glowing Faces in the Gloaming

Ooo, here we are again. Halloween is creeping up upon us. I love Jack O’Lanterns – those glowing faces in the gloaming, and children racing up to doors in silly costume.

And yet again the oft debated topic is flung among the forums: can we celebrate or must we turn off our lights and hide? Are we frightened of traditions that pagans once acknowledged or do we walk in Christ’s liberating power?

I for one shall not be bound by the elemental spirits of the earth. On the cross those demons were dethroned! No longer do they hold reign over the night, or over pumpkins, black cats or candy. Why let the enemy of our souls keep us chained to fear and superstition?

In all I do I bless the One who gave me the life to do it, the heart to love Him in it, and the liberty which no date upon a calendar can ever take away . . . three cheers for Jack O’Lanterns!

Artwork: Ghostly Gourds © Norman Rockwell
http://www.normanrockwell.com

The Autumn Dance

It’s here again – Autumn! The brave storm clouds are gathering together, threatening to beat rain down upon our heads. I hope the wind returns as in so many other autumns and whips the rustling leaves into that feverish swirling dance of gold.

Can you not look around and see how it all works so orderly together – clouds, storm, wind, leaves – all meant to join in the autumn dance that was choreographed just for them. This is no accident, no accumulation of a billion tiny accidents that just happen to fit together as some scientists wish to think. I must laugh at the thought – accidents? All of it?? Scientists know so very, very little and are bound by such limited vision.

A hand created this, a voice spoke it into existence . . . And now I hear that voice in the thunder!

Thin Ropes of Mercy

So there you are. Poor tired soul. Been adrift at sea for quite awhile now, haven’t you. If not for those thin ropes of mercy tethering you to that fragmented bit of salvage. . . you’d be drowned.

Now what? How does a shipwrecked life find healing anyway? Where is deliverance from the merciless wind that tears at your skin and the unkind water that grabs at you with its cruel, icy fingers. And that gray sky, that sorrowful gray sky that stretches infinitely on, that threatens to banish the sun forever from your gaze – who can call back the blue and bright above and drive away the gray forever?

I know who . . . and I know how . . . I know His name well. He is a brash lover of souls and a fearless one who is not intimidated by violent winds or cold waters that run perilously deep. He’s calling you – no, no, it’s not the wind you hear. It’s Him! Open up your eyes, dear soul, your deliverance is at hand!

Burned By Such A Flame

The days are darkening. Twilight has fallen lightly, but it is soon to pass and darkness deep and troublesome will take its place. And that is when His Glory rises best and shines the brightest – in the deep of darkness!

I feel the fire stirred within me, a thing that blazes in my eyes, a passion for the lovely One who’s faithful even when I have wearily lost my faith. It is this love that causes hardened hearts to soften as melted butter in a flame.

I do not mind being burned by such a flame, for I am softer for it, and I glow the brighter soaking in such Glory. Religion carries with it no heat of any kind – cold and dreary are its halls, and hearts wane weak and thin when nourished on its food. Christ does not live in such a place . . . and nor shall I.

I Closed My Eyes