Just an Ordinary Babe?

Was he just an ordinary babe who happened to change the history of the world? How is it that a tender little thing born in a scrubby manger two thousand years ago still stirs up so much angst today? Have you ever thought that perhaps he was more than just an ordinary babe?

God’s Holy Spirit hovered over him even then as he cooed and crawled and cried when his mother set him down. This little one was destined to rule the world, but not in the way that men thought. He brought no army with him but he cast down empires by the light that emanated from him.

What a merry Christmas it is this year to remember the child swaddled up in rags who changed the world. Truly, what a merry Christ-mas!

Artwork: Already He Knew God as His Father by Frederick Goodall

Once-orphaned One

I am an orphan no longer. I know my Father now. I know the One who made me and the reason for which I was made. There is so much more than this dusty world which we inhabit; there is so much more than eye can see and mind can fathom, but it is there.

I longed for one to hold me and now He does, so tightly that none can snatch me from his hand. I hungered for a bit of bread and was invited to a banquet with tables full of feast. I huddled in the cold till someone covered me with a love that warmed my being with an unearthly warmth. It is a love that none can comprehend excepting that once-orphaned one who finally found a home in Him.

I have a home! Those are words that all men wish to speak.

Artwork: Abandoned by Luigi Nono

Let Everybody Watch

Presidents will come and go but they cannot change the grand scheme of things that God has planned. For God is in control not men. Men may think they are but the angels laugh at such a thought! Tiny, temporal humans made from dust, like molecules before the sun, think that they direct events? What a silly thought.

No, all things are moving forward just as planned by Him whom I call lovely. Darkness shall increase, but the glory of the One who died and resurrected shall shine brighter than the sun – and we who are the molecules that stand before this sun? We can each choose to bow our knee to Him or not. So let the play continue on this stage we call "the world" and let everybody watch. God shall have the last applause.

Artwork: An Audience in Athens During Agamemnon by Aeschylus

Are We Animals or Are We Humans?

Do you remember Silo and Roy, the supposedly gay penguins in the zoo? Well, Silo has left Roy and is now mating with a female penguin named Scrappy. Didn’t Silo know that he was supposed to be gay and that a children’s book was written about him and Roy? Didn’t he know that he was a model for human behavior and that homosexuals were touting him as the perfect example of what’s natural and normal, what’s morally and ethically desirable for humans?

Infanticide is widespread in the animal kingdom. From bears to lions, there are many who kill their little ones. If we are to think as the gay community thinks, then we should believe that killing our toddlers is an ethical and quite natural thing to do – for the animals do it, do they not?

Animals don’t care for their elderly; in fact many of them kill the old and sickly of the group. Ahh, now that is where we find ourselves alike! Humans also euthanize their old and sickly. But is this phenomenon because animals have risen to our height or because we have lowered ourselves to that of animals and decided human life is not a sacred thing?

Are we animals, or are we humans with a soul, a conscience, and an intellect? Seeing how some look toward the animal kingdom for their moral values and their identity leaves one to wonder.

Photograph: King Penguins

Mercy On Our Babes

It is a good scene. It is right and sits well in the heart to see it. A man and woman make a family as it has always been – a man and woman become one flesh quite naturally within the sanctity of marriage. God is amazing in how He created family, how He created man and woman to love each other and beget their little ones!

California has the chance to vote for truth or to reject it. What will it be? Will Prop 8 be passed? When an innocent babe looks up will she gaze upon her mother and father or will she see two broken women or two broken men who, in their rebellion and in the darkness of their understanding, have exchanged the natural relation for an unnatural one? Do we want our little ones to be subjected to such strange, dark fruit as this? God have mercy on our babes who need the gentle touch of mother and the strong protection of father both.

God created marriage to be between a man and a woman and since the dawn of man it has been so – are men truly so wise that they know better than God? I think not.

Artwork: The Family by John Dickson Batten

Inalienable Right

Our Declaration of Independence states: “We have been endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights . . . the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” Yet some would disqualify that statement. Not only do they reject the idea of a “Creator”, they reject the belief of the “inalienable right to life”. Gladly they embrace liberty and the pursuit of happiness, but the right to life they vehemently oppose. They believe that if one human’s life puts a difficulty upon another human’s life then that person who supposedly brings the burden should not be allowed to live. So playing both judge and jury they condemn that human to death.

Every day thousands upon thousands are violently robbed of their inalienable right to life by those who believe that it is their right to do so. And strangely enough they who do it are called the “gentler sex”.

My dictionary defines it as murder when one person takes the inalienable right to life away from another. What does your dictionary say?

Photograph: pregnant tummy, unknown

She Waits Beside the Water

Dia is a dream now. In another place she dwells, fully alive yet gone from my sight, gone from her seven blonde, bright-eyed children. I picture her smiling in a garden somewhere. She is a ghostly girl in my memories, a slender vapor barely there and a quiet, bluish, hush shadows over all. Not sad. Not anymore. But a soft shade that makes my thoughts fall deep and quiet.

I miss my dearest friend and wish that heaven hadn’t called her home – and it has only been three years. But there she is, smiling in a garden. And I know her garden has a waterfall for she always wanted one. She waits beside the water for the ones she loves and she waits for but a moment for time has no place in heaven. Shall I ever find another kindred friend? Perhaps not; but one day I shall walk up to a waterfall and find her again.

Artwork: Girl with Calla Lily by Albert Braut

Drops of Purest Glory

Something is happening in the heavens. Something is happening in that realm that is invisible. The heavens are opening. I see the color of the sky even now begin to change. It is glory that I see, His glory, fierce and fiery spreading out across the skies. There is a rumbling and awakening of the deep things of God - and some can hear it. It calls unto the deep places in our souls.

Open heaven, God, and bring that glory down that will rip into our hardened hearts and awaken us to God. It is spreading across this nation even now, drops of it falling from the sky, drops of purest glory. Open heaven, God, and let it rain. We need the soaking.

. . . . it has begun.

Artwork: Storm Over Tenaya © 2000 Stephen Lyman

http://www.greenwichworkshop.com/studio/studio_artist.asp?artistid=39

Wars

We live in a strange time, a dark and hurried time when wars and rumors of wars cross this earth. In many places the sound of battle wakens little ones and fills the night time skies. Men have never done it well: this thing called “peace”. Our nature does not allow for such a thing. Without a greater power in our souls to slay the pride within, peace is quite impossible and the earth shall never know it.

Yet the darkest war of all is yet to come. God loves this nation and will intervene to help. George Washington was visited by an angel who showed him a vision of the things to come. Here is a link to George Washington's prophecy. It was published in the military's newpaper. It describes the prophecy as he described it to his comrade at the time.

http://www.civil-liberties.com/pages/prophesy.html

Artwork: The Lightning by Alexandre Antigna

The God of Calvinists

The God of Calvinists is very angry. But I suppose I would be too if I despised the race of men as much as he (according to Calvinists that is). The God of Calvinists would sooner strike a sinner with a lightning bolt than show him love (especially if the unlucky chap was created just for hell). The God of Calvinists did not gift men with a free-will. We are puppets in a puppet master’s hand and if we dare to speak that “f” word (then heretics we most certainly will be). The God of Calvinists does not listen to the heart-felt prayers for loved ones that we offer up with tears. If he created them for doom then all the prayers in all the world will do no good (tsk-tsk. And you foolishly believed that he'd be moved by love. Whatever were you thinking?).

I thank God that I am not a Calvinist!

Artwork: The Wizard © 1985 Virgil Elliott

http://www.virgilelliott.com/

Mozambique is Hearing It

God has taught your hands to war, dear Georgian Banov. God has surely taught your fingers how to fight. Only your weapon is not a sword but something more destructive to that insidious enemy of man - worship, Georgian, worship with all your heart! When prophetic song breaks forth, it brings healing in our midst.

The devil and his hordes of hell cannot stand before the worship of our Christ. Laugh loud and play for all you’re worth! That great cloud of witnesses is watching and the angels are joining in your song. You have the sound of glory on your strings. And Mozambique is hearing it. And the Gypsies in Romania are hearing it. And all heaven is hearing it. Play on, dear son, play on!

Photograph: Georgian Banov in Mozambique with Heidi and Rolland Baker © 2008 Iris Ministries

http://www.irismin.org/

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 will duly wear . . . but the presence of God I dearly need.

Artwork: Joan of Arc by John Everett Millais

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.

Artwork: Our English Coasts by William Holman Hunt

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 or Muhammad. 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? It is an easy answer.

Artwork: Christ at Gethsemane by Carl Heinrich

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 your very self . . . and all that’s left . . . is a dragon.

Artwork: Jason Charming the Dragon by Salvatore Rosa

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?

Artwork: Hope by Edward Burne-Jones

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/