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.

Artwork: Spring by John William Waterhouse

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, the fire that began at Toronto shall yet spread (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. “Revival,” it is whispered. 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. A revival 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.

Artwork: Storm Spirits by Evelyn De Morgan

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.

Artwork: Circe Offering the Cup to Bulysses by John William Waterhouse

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.

Artwork: Who Has Seen the Wind

Jewels In the Stream

God gave me a dream the other night . . .

Men were working in a quarry, digging through sand. 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 in the sand.

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.

Artwork: After Evening Prayers by Xavier Mellery

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.

Artwork: Cloister or the World (detail) by Arthur Hacker

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 it's a hopeless search if it's 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 youself 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?

Photograph: Punk Girl

http://artificial-light.net/2007/10/18/punk-girl/

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?

Artwork: Compassion by William Bouguereau

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.

Artwork: Destiny (detail) by John William Waterhouse

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.

Artwork: St. Joseph the Carpenter by Georges de La Tour

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, who 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.

Artwork: The Spirit of the Summit by Frederic Leighton

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.

Artwork: Portrait of Marie-Louise by Emile Munier

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.

Artwork: Boreas by John William Waterhouse

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
https://www.artsy.net/artist/norman-rockwell

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!

Photograph: swirling leaves, unknown

I Closed My Eyes

I closed my eyes on the journey for just a moment – or so it felt! Where flew the time and for how long were my eyes closed in sleep? I meant to rest, to refresh myself and rise again to journey; but months have passed and my limbs have barely moved.

This will never do! The day is new and bright and shiny like a copper penny. It’s time to rise . . . rise and finish the task, pursue the journey’s end. This is not the time to sleep or to fall into forgetfulness. If there is none to bring encouragement, then self encourage thyself.

The path is yet before you . . . go on . . . pick it up . . . start again where you left off!

Artwork: Asleep in the Woods by Arthur Hughes

Soaked Clean Through

I shall soak it up until I’m filled with it - Your presence, dear One - tender, fiery, till I am soaked clean through and that glory divine glows from me as it does You.

Here I am, a vessel of dust, and yet, Christ, You choose to dwell in me. What wonder is this! What astounding love that chooses to love broken ones like me; and not just love, but transform into something incredible and new.

Transfixed I stand, as Glory falls upon me and soaks me through.

Artwork: Divine Light by Arild Rosenkrantz

A Relic?

Has church become a relic? Is it a tired building ready to collapse? Do cold gray skies still shadow it with the iron cast of religion? That is changing. God is building something new in a people that know Him well and love Him intimately.

The system, regulations, and dress codes have to go . . . and Jesus is dismantling it all. Yes, He is. It is He who raised up Brennan Manning, and the book Velvet Elvis He inspired. Jesus has been laboring to save His followers from the burdens and deceptions of religion.

I know, for I am one He saved. When I began to shed my pharisaical garments, I met with opposition. Those who were still bound accused me of rebellion. Why? Because I would no longer bow to the spirit of religion. I would not obey the regulations forcing conformity upon me - their clothing, their worship style - the list went on and on.

The religious spirt is thousands of years old and liberty it does not like. It hates it when it cannot control a person. But when Christ has set you free - you are free indeed! I learned the lesson well and to Him alone I'll bow.

Artwork: Monastery Graveyard in the Snow by Friedrich

Mother-dear Has Lost Her Way

There he is. Safe - he thinks. Inside that warm place, learning his song, his song that he alone is meant to sing. The One who made him, loves him more than any other, hears his song. It rises up to Him with ebb and flow of breath.

But tomorrow is a different day. Tomorrow is the scheduled date when she who was meant to be protector of this little life will bring it to a silent end. The song that he was meant to sing will not be heard by us who dwell in the lighted world.

Mother-dear has lost her way. She ends this little life not knowing of the song. Unaware that creation is missing a voice that it was meant to hear. But there he is today learning his song. Safe - he thinks.

Photograph: fetus in womb, unknown

Door To The Unknown

It awaits you on the other side. As easy as pushing open a door, so it is that easy to step into. But you must walk through the door. You must brave it, dear soul. Your destiny lies on the other side - are you afraid to find it? Are you frightened of the unknown? Do you wish to calculate your chances of success before you dare? That will never do. If you think too much you will think yourself right out of it!

Perhaps a wide, strange land lies on the other side; a place that will demand your courage; a place that will require every bit of faith you own - and then some. That is a good thing. That is exactly where you need to be. And all that is holding you back is that little door, that door to the unknown. The “unknown” is a very good thing.

Artwork: Psyche Opening the Door by John William Waterhouse

Over the Waters

England, I am coming! Most certainly the way is being made. Him who is beloved decided it is time, so now I must prepare. I do not know how, that has not yet been given to me; but I know that it is time for change - now I must step out in faith.

So I have rid myself of all the things I own . . . yes, sold them all away . . . and I shall live with friends until the door that I’m to walk through opens up. Already there are shiftings and introductions being made for places I might stay. How amazing! I know no one there in England, but God, through His divine intervention, shall open up a place for me. God is good and I need not fear what lies ahead. I only need to wait and watch and be amazed at what shall happen in the year to come.

I look out over the waters and say, "England, I am coming!" It is time to live the dream.

Artwork: Muse at Sunrise by Alphonse Osbert

Brave the Wind

Climb in and let it take you where it may. Climb in - don’t be afraid. You know a child wouldn’t be afraid. A child would brave the wind and thrill at the prospect of being carried who knows where. Be a child again . . . be brave!

It could take you past the rock; it could pull you round the cape; or it could lead you far into the deep and blue beyond. What are you waiting for?

God guides the wind, as He controls the ebb and flow of tide and moon and makes the waves to carry you where He pleases. The wind of change is strong today - such a fine day for an adventure, don’t you think?

Artwork: Child's Future by Arthur Rackham

Fair-a-day

Fair-a-day, Fair-a-day, is this a fair weather day? I see the choice is mine. My magnifying glass is in my hand; but what shall I turn it to? Shall I tilt it down upon the roots beneath my feet, make them ever larger, till they appear like giant snakes from which I cannot get untangled? Shall I direct it round me till my eye is full of the duties that abound and the stuff of earth that tries to cling and cloy?

Or better, I believe, I should swing this glass above me and gaze upon the heavens where He abides, make Him ever larger, ever mightier, ever dearer in my eye, till soul is filled with the hugeness of Himself and I, though small, am certain that He holds me. That would make for a better day, a fair day, a day which I would like to walk through . . . so there is my answer.

Photograph: Magnifying glass and world, unknown

A Breaking Sound!

Restoration! A trumpet sounds it from the heavens. Restoration is coming down to meet you, and all the years the locust ate, the worm destroyed, shall be restored. What joy to watch those who have long awaited God’s changing wind finally see it come.

This is the year, the season, when desires long held shall be fulfilled. I heard it announced from heaven - but not in a whisper, not in a still small voice - not this time. I heard it in a trumpet blast! A raucous trumpet blast . . . a thundering sound, a breaking sound, a crashing through the walls sound!

And you know who trembled when they heard it. You know whose little pinched faces paled with fear at the mighty blast . . . the darkness is in turmoil.

Let the restoration begin!

Artwork: St. Jerome (detail) by Ribera

The Blind Ones

Will we not ever learn that God is far beyond what our paltry knowledge can grasp? Can we constrain the wind? Can the ocean be tied up neat and tidy in a box? God touches people in ways we cannot always understand. But some have a problem with that. There is a great league of Christians who are frightened of the supernatural; thus in their fear they deny the power of God.

Oh, they have faith. Yes, indeed. Great is their faith in Satan’s ability to deceive and lead astray, greater even than their faith in Christ's ability to keep them in the truth. And because their trust in Satan’s power outweighs their trust in God's, they're fearful of the supernatural deeds the Holy Spirit is doing in the church today; and so they disown those brethren who would dare to speak of visions, dreams, and prophecy.

What a sad lot that refuse the very riches that Christ holds out to us . . . are they not really the blind ones?

Artwork: Return of Tobias by Le Sueur

Gnarled Roots

This is my life - at the moment. A tangled and difficult path. We are not always placed upon an easy way. Gnarled roots make the going slow. I do not wish to be here, but here I am.

I have oft been patient and I have occasionally not. I have worshipped my Savior in the midst of raging winds and on otherwise quiet, sunny days I have complained. I have lain down and closed my eyes sometimes for far too long when it was easier than walking. Joy has met me in frequent bursts whilst peace has sometimes been allusive.

But I know a loving God. I know I am not forgotten by Him. My voice is heard! . . . and there lies the greatest comfort. To be remembered is a wonderful thing.

Artwork: On the Banks of the River Bedelder © Annie Ovenden
http://annieovenden.com/

A Thousand Tons of Water

I was angry, angry at God just yesterday. It had been building up, but I pressed it down and tried to act like a good little girl; it didn’t work; it never does. In a stormy meltdown of tears and angry questions it broke loose from me. I held it in thinking I could not be honest with Him, but He urged me on. He told me He wants nothing less than honesty. In fact, only an honest person can ever find healing, salvation, or release from that which chains him.

So out it came—my pain at being left in a wilderness for far too long, my anger at His seeming lack of concern for it, and my confusion at how unjust God can seem to be. Out it poured like a thousand tons of water plummeting off a cliff . . . and then came peace.

When all was done He told me that He loved me, and I realized afresh that I could trust Him . . . I could be real even with the ugly things. He's big enough to handle it.

Artwork: Medusa or the Angry Wave by Levy-Dhurmer

Gods In Their Own Right

Wiccans worship nature. To the elemental spirits of the universe they bow, the lower demons inhabiting the realm of earth. But the Creator they ignore. They lust for the power to become gods in their own right.

Wiccans practice witchcraft . . . and they call it good. They cast their spells . . . and think that they are powerful. They study ancient Druid rights . . . and call it their enlightment. While darkness cloaks their minds and deeper still it grows with every passing day.

The craft has always been among us. Every culture has its demon worship from Druids to the voodoo doctors of today. If only they would lift their eyes and look up higher they would see the One whose Glory outshines a thousand suns, and never again could they worship the meager moon, the lowly trees, or the ridiculous demons who flee at the name of Christ.

Artwork: Sacred Wood by Arnold Bocklin

Now Comes The Time

And now comes the time for women. Yes, God created men and women to co-rule this earth. The fall of man perverted rulership and so caused men to rule over women. It was never meant to be. Both were created equal in His image. And now finally we see God bringing us full circle, back to what He originally intended. It took 2000 years since Christ to get us here, but we are here.

Arise women, gentle souls, mighty warriors, anointed for such a time as this. Neither male or female are found in Christ - all are free, all are redeemed and given the power to have co-dominion over the earth again. Rise up you women leaders, evangelists and teachers, and take your rightful place beside your brothers in this day.

Walk in liberty in the gifting that He’s given you. And if they throw you out? If they attempt to stone you with their words, do not dismay . . . they did the same to Christ. You are in good company!

Artwork: Anna of the Celts © 2008 Dean Morrissey
http://www.greenwichworkshop.com/studio/studio_artist.asp?artistid=222

Dream-giver

Dream away, dear one, for dreams are the language that He loves to use. And He will tell you what they mean if you seek. The Holy Spirit reveals to us hidden things we do not know. In your sleep He speaks. God: Dream-giver and Dream-guider. 25% of the bible is stories based around dreams. It’s nothing new to Him.

Is it so strange that a supernatural God would choose to speak to us in signs and symbols? Our brains are busy all day long. Busy, tired, distracted in the day; but in the night hours, quiet. What a perfect time to speak. What a perfect time to reach down to us fragmented individuals and whisper in our ears. A tender Papa touching us on the cheek as we lay deep in nighttime reverie. Listen to what He says. Write it down; ask Him of its meaning. Christ is the one who gave the dream, He will most certainly answer.

Artwork: Dreams in Gold © 2008 Morgan Weistling
http://www.morganweistling.com

Like A Bird to the Wing

And so you think He is domesticated, do you? You think that because the formal church has reined in His followers, hampered, quieted, and weighed them down with every imaginable rule, that somehow He is domesticated? Impossible! Wild and beautiful is Christ and none can hold Him. He will offend even Christians who embrace their rules more than they embrace Him.

And He has been breaking His followers out of this man-made prison for several years now. When He comes for you, go . . . like a bird to the wing. He will help you. The wild man from Nazareth will lead you into astounding places. Grab hold of his hand and go. The religious have fallen in love with their decaying structure. But you must fall in love with Him.

Artwork: Garden Rendezvous © 2008 James Christensen
http://www.greenwichworkshop.com/christensen

South Dakota, Listen!

3000 years ago they did the same as us. South Dakota, listen! It has fallen in your hands to rise above the common practice. Will you be more “civilized” than those 3000 years ago? Will you vote in these elections to save the lives of children yet unknown?

3000 years ago ancient tribes worshipped Molech, a pagan god, and upon his altar did they sacrifice their children. This demon god demanded pregnant women be laid upon the table and their unborn children ripped from out their bellies for his appeasement.

And here we are 3000 years later doing exactly as did they. Yet we live in the age of science; we have left behind barbaric practices—haven't we? Yet upon the very same table are our mothers laying, and into their wombs we reach and rip out their precious unborn ones . . . how different are we? The only difference is we medicate our mothers so they cannot feel the cruel sacrifice . . . and, of course, we do not say we worship Molech—we call it “a woman’s choice”.

Not much has changed in 3000 years.

Photograph: Fetus, unknown

Trousers Pulled Up Too Tight

Autumn is in the air and quite alive! I love its cold smell and how its breath crunches up the leaves. Autumn is welcome here. It feels like laughter, that’s what hurly-burly days are like. Like laughter bouncing through the air, knocking the prim and properness out of the elegant trees, til they are shaking with laughter themselves.

I know some who could use a little of that. Stuffy, proper “christians” who have their trousers pulled up too tight. There’s no room to laugh! Not a good, strong belly laugh, that is. They need the prim and properness shaken out of them. They need to loosen up their belts a bit and take a few deep gulps of the wine that God has offered—it’s called His Spirit! He’d bust them open in a minute and clean out all the serious sighs and self-righteous groans and religious hoity-toity-ness that has stiffened up their collars . . . Blow, wind, blow!

Artwork: Autumn by Lucien Levy-Dhurmer

Stamped Upon Our Soul

Conscience is a gift from God. Carefully did He plan it out before imprinting on us such a thing. In love He gave it, a memory of God’s image stamped upon our soul. Father God knew we’d need the help to choose the right.

But will we listen to this small voice? We sin-prone souls tend to lay the blame on others when we choose wrong, and so say they make us to feel guilt. But perhaps there is another cause for shame and guilt? Does conscience oft times speak too loudly of the truth God planted in it? Do we silence that knowing voice and ignore its insistent remonstrations until it all but dies and falls silent in the grave? But it does not die without a fight. Conscience can be a terrible thing when not heeded to. A deadlier foe man has never known. Strong men have lost their sanity from ignoring it. Some have committed suicide to escape its voice.

God did not make it easy for us to ignore His moral laws . . . conscience makes us pay the price.

Artwork: Memory by Elihu Vedder

The Absence of God

It is my choice. I push it not on anyone. I refuse to force feed, manipulate, or pressure any to believe. His gentleness never forces any to receive him. Jesus is the kindest person I have ever met, and if you wish to not believe in Him, you are free to do so.

Christ does not send people to hell, they choose it—freely, of their own accord. Because they desire to live their entire earthly lives without Him, then He gives them what they want. He gives them eternal life without Him. It’s what they’ve insisted on all along, how could He not give them what they have insisted on?

Hell is simply the absence of God. God is love, so hell will harbor no trace of it. Every soul will swim in a festering pool of hate. God is forgiveness, so that will not be found in hell, either. Only anger, regret and bitterness will be companions to the souls who can no longer forgive. God is mercy, so only meanness shall beat upon the souls in hell each day. God is joy, but of course without Him there shall be only weeping and the deepest sorrows to weigh souls down. God is life and beauty so hell is a waste place of death, without trees and growing things, for He’s the one who gives that life.

You see, everything that can be called “good” upon this earth is only here because God still dwells on earth among men. Any kind or loving acts that men do are only done because the Spirit of God still roams this earth and men are under its influence. Jesus is the foundation of this earth and all goodness depends upon Him.

And you are free to believe and follow Him . . . or not. He is Just and gentle and will allow you to do the choosing.

Artwork: Inferno Canto by Gustave Dore

The Song is Rising

At this moment the song is rising. Across this earth different tongues lift up their voice to Him. A remnant knows Him, loves Him, and their knees they bow in loving worship. It is not to nature that they bow; it is not to the spirits of the earth they sing; it is to Him alone. From many nations they arise: First Nation, Native American, African, Chinese; in their native tongues they lift their humble praise.

Christianity is not a white-man’s faith, and yet in the past some Christians have thought it so. They stripped the precious peoples of their costumes, language, and identity in their attempt to Christianize them. I am saddened and ashamed of such a thing. Jesus would never have done it, for He calls us as we are.

But now is different. Now they rise from every corner, true to their selves and unique cultures and they worship Him. Sing on, dear ones! Only you have your sound and we are in need of it. Sing on in the hidden rooms in China, sing on in the mountains of Canada, sing on in the bush of Africa. We are in need of you to play the song.

Artwork: Prayer © 2008 Don Crowley
http://www.doncrowley.com

A Sword By My Side

I do not want just dialogue. Experience alone is not enough. I want the truth imbedded in my soul, the truth that is absolute and unwavering.

Endless debates and conversations that refuse to answer direct questions cannot feed hungry souls. But truth does.

I want Jesus. I want His word, simple and strong, like a sword by my side. There is rest in the hush of evening, there is rest when His truth lays beside me, and in His presence there is peace.

Artwork: The Valkyrie's Vigil by Edward Robert Hughes

Out Into the Invisible

Dearest Father, for so you are to me, a father like no earthly one. A God who’s bigger than the universe, whose love is deeper than the ocean’s depth, whose knowledge reaches to the stars in the heavens. My soul overflows with you. You!

It is a comforting thing to know a God immortal, eternal, when we live in a world of such transience. You are rooted down and anchored strong and nothing shakes you. And I know you! How blessed I am to be able to say such a thing. I know the living God, the One who uses the earth as His footstool. He is my friend, my dear Beloved. I wish everyone could boast on such a thing. Intimately I have heard your voice and desperately I pursue your Presence.

I am a God chaser. My spirit strains to see out into the invisible where you are. Surround me more with you, for I'll not be content unless you do.

Artwork: Yseult by Frank Dicksee

A Curse Word on the Tongues of Men

I will speak the truth. I’ll not be afraid to continue speaking of the only name that men can call upon—Jesus. The only name that heals, that saves, that wraps round our hearts and holds us tightly as a loving father does his child.

The world cares not to hear that name. They never have. They close their ears and harden hearts to his gentle call. That lovely, powerful name brings fear. That name beloved in the heavens, that angels love to speak, is a curse word on the tongues of men.

There is a reason that particular name was chosen for such a degrading thing. There is a reason they feel a need to close their ears and run from it. Because He is the truth and they cannot get away from it. Their conscience does not allow them this, for it nags them that He is real . . . He is God . . . there is more to life than what we see . . . Oh, yes, they cannot get away from it. No matter how far they run.

Artwork: Hetty Sorrell by John Collier

A Phenomenal Imaginer

What a truly wonderful thing imagination is. God was kind to give us such a gift, a gift like His. He imagined the world into being. He imagined the colors of the flowers and the height of the trees. What a phenomenal imaginer is God. From His thoughts sprang the concept of water and earth and seeds that grow from them. And in His kindness He allowed us to share in this gift of imagination, so that we could imagine works of art and technical wonders, cures for diseases and inspired symphonies.

But man has digressed from the path of creativity. He now creates ugliness not beauty. And it is foul, perverse things that he often sets his imagination upon. Imagination was never meant for such use. Beauty was supposed to be born from man’s mind. Grace-filled, lovely and useful things were meant to come from his imagination. For that is how we were created. Oh, woe to us who have fallen! We are a sad race that has forgotten the wondrous beauty for which we were made.

Artwork: Toillette de Nature by Pinckney Marcius-Simons

Slogging Through the Mire

Sin is real. We are born with it rooted in our soul. We carry it through our lives and, without Christ, we die with it dragging us down into the depths. Our lives are colored by it, tempered by it, destroyed by it, falsely exalted by it, and in every shape and form deceived by it.

Our very natures create a fresh, new wave of sin each and every day. What ridiculous beings we are to slop around through the thick of sin and insist that we are good, clean, decent people who deserve to go to heaven because of our seeming “goodness”; all the while we ignore the mud dripping from our guilty faces.

But God looks down and sees through the mud. He sees what we can become through the cleansing of His own Son’s blood. He sees what we were meant to be and longs for us to see the same. Wipe the dirt from your eyes and see the truth of it! If only we would get tired of slogging through the mire. There is hope yet.

Artwork: The Pool by Walter Crane

A Dirty Dealing Way

He’s very smart, you know. But not in a good way. In a cunning, sly, and underhanded way. In a dirty dealing way.

He steals the innocence of children and fills their little heads with witchcraft. He twists the purity of love and morphs it into something unrecognizable by God, where the hearts of wounded ones are deceived into homosexual acts that degrade their own humanity.

Oh, Satan’s very smart indeed. His black heart loves to wound the Father, and what better way to do it than destroy the children God created for Himself.

And he does his job supremely well.

Artwork: Lucifer by Von Stuck

Wide-eyed Wonder

Even angels stand amazed. Overpowering and daunting is the beauty of His glory—terrifying most would say. This God of love, of mercies deep, makes men’s hearts tremble. You could not stand before Him if you tried. Your knees would buckle beneath and down you would fall in a humbled heap.

With wide-eyed wonder angels are constantly amazed; for even they do not know all there is to know of God. Each time He turns they see a different facet of His wondrous self and they are filled with awe.

Look! The heavens are stirring. The prophets are speaking through the earth and showing us the things that only angels see. Look! . . . it is a thrilling time, a hard time, a glorious time to be alive.

Artwork: Sense of Sight by Annie Louisa Swynnerton