Until the Darkness Has No Place

You can't hold onto it, you know. It wasn't meant for that - it will fade away if you try. I know it is beautiful, quite brilliant, but there is far more where that came from. Did you know it multiplies when you share it? In fact, it doesn't just multiply, it grows - larger and larger until it fills a home, a neighborhood, a city.

His light is not meant to be bottled up or hidden under a basket. It's meant to be set out on a hill, spread through every street, brought into every home, until the darkness has no place to be.

You'd be surprised what one tiny, flittering flame can do; it can start an entire fire. So take off that lid . . . I dare you!

Artwork: (c) Emilia Wilk
http://emiliawilk.com/all.htm

It Is Time

GLORY (it is in the air) . . . GLORY (like a mist over the earth) . . . GLORY (breathe it in) . . . GLORY (angels are declaring, can you hear it?) . . . GLORY (His presence, shattering the gates of hell!) . . . GLORY (it is time, it is a change of season) GLORY (men shall fall before it) . . .GLORY (Glory of the only One, the true God, the everlasting Father . . . and all creation bows, groaning for the sons of God to be revealed)

It is time.

Photograph: tree in sun, unknown

Til You're All Worn Out

You can let go of that old thing, you know. No more tug-of-wars . . . unless you choose it. And why in the world would you? He offers you liberty! Your choice, His power. But . . . you have to be willing to let go, move on, turn a different direction (repent, even).

Think about it. Do you really want that old thing? There are so many better things, joyful things, eternal things that He wishes to give you, now that you're His child. But you must let go of that. Or . . . you could continue fighting with it 'til you're all worn out, for years maybe.

Come on now, just let go.

Artwork: Woman Walking Dog by Edward Robert Hughes

Not a Cinder-girl

It begins with you, my girl:

If you truly understand your value, how you are treasured by your Papa God, then you will only choose a man who understands the same and who'll treasure you.

If you truly believe you are a holy vessel, one who should be honored and respected, then you will only choose a man who believes the same and who'll honor you.

If you demand to be known, first and foremost, heart and soul and depth of thoughts, then you will only choose a man who wishes to get to know you first before he ever touches you.

If you look in the mirror and truly see a princess of the royal courts of heaven, an heir to the riches of her Father's kingdom - then only a man who sees the same shall be worthy of you and you will make sure that you have no other.

You are not a cinder-girl any longer . . . no, no, you were pulled from the ashes long ago!

Artwork: Cinderella by Valentine Cameron Prinsep

Lop It Off!

Were you surprised when He cut it off? It had to be done, and He is just the one to do it for He knows exactly where to cut.

You have good roots - but one branch grew wrong. That's alright. Do not worry yourself about it. It happens to us all, quite regularly. God loves our growth. If we never grew, He would never need to prune. And He must prune if we are to continue to grow and bear more fruit.

So let Him do it, even when it's painful. Let Him lop it off! Be glad that branch grew out - whether it was bad, dead, unfruitful, or even sickly - be thankful that it grew enough for Him to cut it. Oh, happy day, when you see next season's fruit!

Photograph: tree, unknown

Washed By Water

Dear Bride of Christ,

You are being washed by water. You are being soaked in Glory. Sometimes it rains. Sometimes it's a shallow pool. But always you are in it.

And why does Father God take so much care in cleansing you? Because He loves His son. He promised Him a bride that's pure. And how the bridegroom loves His promised bride.

Another stain is gone . . . another wrinkle smoothed . . . another wound is healed. Soon you'll be ready for a wedding! And all of heaven shall attend it!

Artwork: prophetic art bride in water, unknown

Not Just Another Storm

It is about to break . . . you are almost there, almost at the end of this testing place, this trial by storm. Stand strong! Stand fast! Gird up and plant your feet solidly on that rock! This is not the time to allow thoughts to stray or lose your hope.

This is not just about you, and this is not just another storm - this is about His destined plans!!! And this storm is from the enemy of your soul who senses the time is near for you to step across into that higher place for the sake of others that need to see. 

With a longing out of your own heart, he planned to fell you. With a good desire you have hoped upon, he has tried to break your spirit. No greater storm has ever come against you. No harder thing has ever warred against your mind. It has been a sifting time - but you shall make it. Hold on . . . you are almost there . . . it is time for crossing over.

Arwork: My Deliverer (c) Jeanette Sthamaan
http://www.brushedbythespirit.com/

Gazing on the Right Thing

That is good . . . stay focused . . . look neither left nor right. Shhhh, keep very calm and still your heart. Keep your gaze upon His face.

 . . . and there it is. I see it. I see His glory on your face. There are still storm clouds black and rumbling round you, but not within you, child. Not within you any longer.

What peace is found when gazing on the right thing.

Artwork: woman praying, unknown

Breaker Is Your Name

You will dance again. You think that you may not - but He has other plans. And one day you'll forget the past, and rise above, and simply dance.

Breaker is your name, dear one. Breaker is your destiny! Dancing on the pain . . . dancing on the fear . . . crushing the enemy beneath your warring, graceful feet.

And so you'll break the others free - the prisoners who sleep. They shall be awakened by the dance!

Artwork: Raise From Gold (c) Van Renselar
http://www.van-renselar.com/

A Fiercer Route

Oh, I am ready for it! This trek has been a long appointed thing, God of All-consuming Fire.

I AM READY FOR IT! Not round the mountain this time; you have a shorter path - a fiercer route, more courage needed - but more freedom will be found.

And the enemy of my soul? . . . he . . . has . . . lost.

A season for acceleration. It is through the mountain this time. Then out to the other side . . . my destiny is calling.

Artwork: Expulsion, Moon and Firelight by Thomas Cole

From His Very Heart

They burn quite hot - a brilliant, gleaming white. And from His very heart they come.

It is time. He holds them ready - another son or daughter has been crying out for more: More fire! A heart renewed! A new love! Let it come!

And so He reaches into His heart, into that inner fire, and plucks out the holy embers. It's time to set a fire afresh in yet another heart . . . Hahahahaha! He's even laughing when He does it. I think it's one of His most favorite things to do.

Artwork: prophetic art, God's hands, unknown

A Destiny Awaits

"Father, it is broken."

"I know, dear one. Will you give it to me, bruises, pain and all?"

"But all my dreams are in it."

"Yes, it is a precious thing, I know, for I am the One who made it. I am the One who placed those dreams inside it. But I must hold it now. You must trust me with it."

"And then what?"

"Do not worry about that. Only do what I have asked. I am the only One who has the power to heal it. You cannot. Neither can any man."

"Will it take long?"

"Not long. Not long at all. This time it is different . . . Now, may I have it?" 

"Yes. Yes . . . I am ready. You may have it. I know a destiny awaits and I do not wish this sorrow to hold me back. Please take it."

"You are brave, my girl . . . very brave, indeed."

Artwork: Broken Heart (c) Daniel Rocal
http://daniel-rocal.deviantart.com/ 

The Praying Kind

I still believe there is a Boaz in my future. I still believe that there is someone sure and strong . . . even now, I still believe.

He gives all he has to Father God and he's there for her who's weaker. A heart that's true, flaws and all, he is a lovely man.

A woman needs your kind, dear man. The praying kind. The faithful kind. The kind who hears God's Spirit and protects a woman's heart.

 . . . most of all, a man of courage . . . I still believe.

Photograph: man praying, unknown

Justice Comes

I hear that voice! I hear Him shouting through the heavens. My Captain He is come. God of the Angel Armies!

"JUSTICE!" I hear the shout. "JUSTICE!" again, it roars. "Justice comes to those who wait for my deliverance. My hand is not so short it cannot save! I say, NO MORE! I have come, you hosts of hell, and I defend my child from your evil onslaught. I bring Justice with me - I am my child's ever-present help! . . . ENOUGH! . . . I drive you into darkness! It is with me you now contend for into my arms my child ran."

And then a tremor in the air - the hosts of heaven round about. A battle's here, a battle's come, a battle I no longer need to fight. How wonderful is the Captain of the Hosts of heaven. How lovely is that Lion.

Artwork: Lion with Justice by unknown

You Can Have My Isaac

There it lies. You asked me for it. You asked for me to lay it down upon that altar. A precious thing to me: A dream I've dreamt for years and years and finally had a taste of. But now? Now I must leave it lying there . . . and the ache within me nearly kills.

And I must walk away from that which was so dear, so longed for even. I cannot pick it up. Even though it felt so right and sweet. Even though it was a dream I dreamt for half my life.

You can have whatever of me that you wish. I will keep nothing from you - you can have my Isaac even.

Artwork: Worship (c) Marybeth Stafford
http://www.marybethart.com/

Sinking!

Keep my head above the water, for I cannot swim. And at this moment I cannot walk upon it either. I swear that I am sinking! Reach down here in this torrent, pull me out. Reach down here, find my hand! For in my thrashing, I cannot see your hand to grab it!

You promised me the flood would never overwhelm . . . I must believe your words. You do not lie. I must relax . . . hold out my hand . . . and simply breathe . . . slowly, in and out . . . breathe in your Spirit, focus on the rhythm till it's quiet . . . breathe again . . . just breathe . .

. . . and there you are. I see your lovely self. I see your strong and gentle hand. I am safe again. How foolish that I thought I wasn't. You said that we are chasing down the fear - well, I think I found it!

Artwork: Jesus looking throuh water, Take My Hand and Have Faith by unknown

One Spot of Darkness

I am fully willing, Lord, to hear it. Speak what is true. I have asked for truth since I was young and first began to follow. And now it is no different.

Expose my heart! Let your blinding light reveal everything that's hidden. I want it, Lord. Burn deep within and do not let one spot of darkness hide. I welcome it. It is time for me to walk a higher glory. I will not rest till that thing within is thoroughly disposed of. And if I need to wrestle it out, so be it. Let the struggle start - for I will fight until the truth is anchored deep and firm.

. . . . it is a violent zeal that takes hold, and it is time for it.

Artwork: Words Like Fire © Dolores DeVelde
http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/dolores-develde.html

It Takes Such a Heart

You need His Lion's heart, dear man, for it takes such a heart to keep your love on. It takes such a heart to embrace another, without any thought of self.

You are meant to have a love that's huge! That's wild with strength and does not get offended. And, of course, His Lion's heart would not allow you to recoil - no more shutting down and hiding. That is not for you, for His heart makes you fearless.

I hear a distant sound - a roaring in the spirit. I see a vision faintly - a heart ablaze with courage. Who is this man who has been apprehended by the Lion of the Tribe of Judah? . . . He is a man who found a Lion's heart inside him.

Artwork: Awaken Your Might (c) James Nesbit
http://www.jnesbit.com/

An Old Familiar Fear

"Are you here, God?"

"Yes, child, I am here."

"How did I find myself again in this dark wood? I thought it was not the season for it."

"It is not. It is supposed to be the season of all-things-restored, not old dark paths again."

"Then how is it I find myself here? It is a grievous place."

"You were led here, child."

"By you?"

"No, not by me . . . It was an old familiar fear that led you here, led you into loss. And you listened to its voice, dear one."

"I did listen, didn't I? I did not mean to! I tried so hard to stop my ears and push its voice away. But it overwhelmed me, and now I find myself in this dark wood again! . . . Oh, Papa God, what now?"

"I think that it is time to go after that old familiar fear, don't you?"

"Yes. With all my heart I wish to run it through and NEVER hear its voice again!"

"Exactly what I was thinking . . . do not worry; I will lead you out of here and you will not return again . . . but first, let's begin the chase!"

Artwork: standing alone in the woods, unknown

Fearless

I saw that you were brave. I saw you open up your heart to love again. And I am proud of you, my warrior child. You dared to step into that place that you most feared - that place of trusting in another. You are fearless, dear one! and you do not even know it; for all you see is that moment that the fear took over . . . but that is not what I see.

I see my warrior child brave and bold, daring to love again, daring to trust when every man she's ever known has walked away. I see my warrior child standing in the face of her own storm, facing down the wind that blows, and fighting hard to keep on standing. I see a heart that others do not see, and I know the courage that it took to care, though now she stands alone again - I am here.

Look up at me, my warrior child. I never leave . . . and the courage you now need to heal and in the future, trust again, shall come from me.

Artwork: Set Me Free by unknown

Upon the Wheel

He calls me Lovely.

He calls me "fashioned from His heart."

And yet I can see the flaws. I can see the imperfections that need another turn upon the wheel. But when He looks at me, He sees the finished work. He sees what I'll become.

So I will stay within His hand and let Him mold me as He wishes. He is an artist, after all . . . and He is faithful to keep molding, changing, gently healing from the inside out until I'm whole.

Artwork: In the Potter's Hand (c) Marybeth Stafford
http://www.marybethart.com/

On That Cliff's Edge

No fear, dear one? Not anymore? And yet, nothing has changed - you are still on that cliff's edge, just as near to falling as you were before; and still there lies a precipice below and nothing but thin air in front. So good to see you figured it out.

It took awhile, but somewhere between the shudderings and leaf-like quakings and startled-eyed glances over the rim and down . . . somewhere in the middle of it all you lifted up your head. And He who made you, made that cliff, and made your path lead to its edge, was waiting for that moment all along.

This is how rays of hope come!

Artwork: Mary's Hope © Duncan Long

http://duncanlong.com/ 

Far Bigger Still

"This big?"
"No, far bigger."
"THIS BIG?"
"Oh, no, far bigger still. Your arms could not spread wide enough to reach the largeness of the dreams He has for you."
"Really? - What if I stretched my arms to touch the mountains?"
"It still could never be wild enough or big enough or difficult enough to exhaust His ability."
"And He truly wants me to dream that big? Don't I need to fear dreaming too big?"
"Hahahahahahahaha . . . no human has ever dreamt TOO big for God! Child, dream large . . . larger still . . . larger than you ever dared. He likes it, you know."
"He does?"
"Oh, yes, He gets quite a kick out of His children who believe hugely. You could never ask or think bigger than He can do. So few even try, though."
"Then I shall be one who tries!"

Photograph: child laughing,  unknown

Sleep For Now

I am praying for you strong one, little warrior one. I am praying that you make it all the way into this wide, strange world . . . safe. I am hoping that you will learn to sing your song and follow the beat of your own drummer. I am hoping beyond hope that you will not become a stat . . . a cold statistic, one of millions, of all the little warriors who did not win their fight.

Shh, sleep for now and do not worry your sweet heart about it - for I am praying for you. Tens of thousands of us are. We will not stop our speaking, writing, praying, standing along sidewalks on cold mornings hoping to help all those mothers-dear who do not know they have a little warrior down inside them.

Photograph: Fetus in womb, unknown

They Think Themselves a Giant

They think themselves a giant. They think that you are small. They think that they will feed you to the birds - or ruin you with rockets.

They brag of your demise, believing that their sword is very large and stronger than your pebbles. They taunt and roar with much ado and drama (because the world is watching, don't you know, and Hamas must keep it watching.)

It is not the first time, dear Israel, that you faced a giant . . . and we all know how that story ended.

Artwork: David and Goliath by unknown

Worth the Drinking

I found something worth the drinking. Ha! I found a good strong tonic that does my heart good. And a funny thing is there are some in the church who do not even believe it exists - they have NEVER drunk it (so sorry for them). And some who have heard of it will not touch "the stuff".  

It has a name, though they do not like to speak of it, thus I shall whisper it here so as not to bring too much offense (new wine). Have you heard of it before?

It is completely different from the old stuff - fresh, bursting with flavor, very potent. And I find myself a bit tipsy on the joy it brings. All I can say is . . . GIVE ME MORE!

Artwork: New Wine by unknown

Strong Grip

He won't, you know. He never has. Not since the first moment that you called His name and believed. He has never let go of you - and He never will.

Oh, I can guarantee that you will; at least a few times in this journey. You will let go of him, fail Him, falter in some way; but He holds on. That is the only reason any of us ever make it to the end, for the sake of His strong grip.

You cannot be snatched from His hand. Not stolen. Not lost. Even if you were to sink down into a miry pit, Father's hand would find you there and pull you out . . . now that is true security. 

Artwork: Cast Your Cares, hand pulling you up,  unknown

This Rain Floods

It rained down again this morning. It soaked me to the core and washed away all of yesterday. And when it did I felt the lightness spring into my step again. 

Sweet, cleansing, a new beginning even - I cannot get enough of this daily downspout. "Let it rain!!" I cry up to the heavens as I dance beneath the shower. "Let your mercies rain and never stop!" 

Down it plunges from the heavens. Down it floods anew each morning till heart is tender, clean, and ready for another day. Dear Papa in the heavens . . . your mercy I shall always need.

Artwork: Dance in the Storm © Christine Council

http://www.christinecouncil.com/

Gotten Themselves into a Muddle

Oh, it's moving quickly now, plowing down the road in lightening speed. Far quicker than A&E ever intended. They bit hard and quick, thinking the bite would straighten him out, put him in line, punish him just enough to back him in a corner. But it took off, with their teeth desperately imbedded, and them not being able to free themselves. Poor A&E. Now they have gotten themselves into a muddle.

They did not know how to handle it: Another voice has dared to speak; another soul has refused to bow to the media's thought police.

And I say - WELL DONE! Well done, Phil Robertson, for speaking truth and answering those simple questions as straightforward as you did. No hemming or hawing from you. No cowering or worrying who thinks what about you . . . refreshing . . . encouraging . . . wonderful to see that there are those who do not bend with fear before that vocal crowd who have a tendency to call evil good - and who try to punish those who refuse to do the same.

Millions of us stand behind you, without a platform, without that clarion vantage that you have to speak and have it broadcast for the world to hear. Thank you, Phil Robertson. Your voice means much to us! . . . Poor A&E. Let's see how you get your teeth out of this one.

Artwork: (c) Peter Bay Alexandersen
http://www.shannonassociates.com/artist/peterbayalexandersen

God's Lovely Mess

You called upon Him - and there He is. Surprised? Did you really think that all your stuff would be too much for Him to bear or too ugly for Him to look upon? Or worse: That you were just too unlovable for Him to love?

He came because you called. And you called because you believe. Deep inside your heart it was there and you did not even know it - a tiny seed of faith that had been planted years and years ago; a knowing that God is there. And you wandered, and you chose wrong paths, and you hid the wounds. Until that day - when you called His name.

Perhaps you are a mess . . . but you are God's lovely mess now.

Artwork: Her Choice (c) Diana Moses Botkin
http://www.dianamosesbotkin.com/

A Place of Graves

The gate is wide. The gate is tall and stately . . . and intimidating. As well it should be! (say those who enter through it) For there beyond lies a most sacred place with which we pride ourselves in its clean, and orderly, and necessarily structured confines that make us feel so duly holy, so right before our God, so happy we can come here with other like-minded fellows and enjoy the reverent company.

But . . . it is a place of graves, isn't it? (They do not hear me) Excuse me! It is a place for dead people, is it not?

As I peek in I see the tombs - white-washed and very pretty. Rows and rows of them. I see the burdens on the backs of those who walk within . . . no, I do not think that I shall enter in.

Artwork: Cemetery at Dusk by Caspar Friedrich

Stronger Than Your Winds

O, Autumn, come! Come early if you can. My storm-loving sensibilities are missing you.

I am so ready for the wind to gather up the leaves again. Storms, you must promise to pummel hard and shout with those thunderous voices you are so well versed in. God’s voice has sounded like your thunder. My God is bigger, though. Bigger than you, Storms—louder than your thunder, stronger than your winds, fiercer than your lightning that you cast upon the earth.

I cannot wait for autumn’s storms—they so remind me of the God I love.

Artwork: An Autumn Wind by unknown

War with the Lamb

“She is gone?”
“Yes. Her soul is now in heaven, with us.”
“It is that demon prince that did it, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that principality that they call ‘Allah’. Always at war with the Lamb and His saints—”
“And always working through the blinded ones who follow it.”
“Yes, since the 7th century when it was raised up as a god."
"Their moon god?"
"Their moon god. Chosen from the 300 false gods that they worshiped, chosen to become their only god.”
“Well, the time is getting closer when the True One shall return. Then this counterfeit shall fall.”
“This counterfeit has already begun its fall. A kingdom divided against itself cannot stand. It is devouring itself through the violence and hatred that it breeds . . . but there is hope in the midst of it!”
“You mean more shall turn and call upon His name, the name that saves? As she did?”
“Millions more! More than can be counted. More than can be stopped.”
“That demon prince will scream—blood will flow thicker!”
“Yes . . . but that is because it knows that it is doomed.”

Artwork: St. Eulalia, detail by Waterhouse

Slithered his Way

Defend the good, Elisa Chan! Defend the right to think and speak aloud your thoughts as God has led you! For you see, the enemy is about. The enemy of He who is Truth itself has slithered his way into this country—fully invited to come. Fully invited by those who love the darkness more than light.

And in homes he has quietly taken up roost. And in government buildings he is happily nestled. And around the media he has wrapped his coils—in hopes to strangle voices such as yours, Councilwoman Chan.

Be brave!—though foul words will be spat at you. Be fearless!—though they will try to ruin you. Remember, the Beloved of the Heavens stands with you and has given you a strong and solid conscience to help guide you. They may call evil good, but God does not . . . it is that snake who does.

Artwork: Danger on the Stairs © Pierre Roy   

Out of That Dark Hold

There you are. So many prayed for you to do it. You found the key that leads you into freedom and, though liberty feels strange after being captive for so long, I promise it's a good thing.

It was lies that held you, and now—it is truth that sets you free. What joy it is to see you stepping out of that dark hold (though, granted, with timidity at first). The enemy of God, and so the enemy of you, tried so hard to keep you there, tried by every tool to keep you believing in the lies . . . and thus, keep you locked away from light and life and all that you were meant to have. No more. Hah! Christ wins again.

Artwork: The Keys by Edward Blair Leighton

Underneath

Thump-thump . . . thump-thump . . . thump-thump . . . I hear it. It sets my heart at peace. I hear it in this shadowed place. Steady. Strong. Unlike any other sound.

It breaks through fear. It restores calm. It makes the world’s noise disappear. It soothes my agitation and brings rest.

It is God’s heartbeat. And only those who have found their refuge underneath his wings have ever heard it.

Yes, truly it is unlike any other sound.

Artwork: wings, unknown

100,000 Dear Ones

It is burned into their hearts—deep and fragrant, rising up to heaven. Even threat of death cannot turn them from it. What is this thing to which they cling so strongly that death is chosen over letting go of it?

It is something Islam cannot comprehend. Muslims fear the strength of it and communists do also. Beat it out of them! They try . . . Burn their property! They do . . . but to no avail.

100,000 dear ones are killed each year by those who hate the brightness of its light. 

What is this thing that births such courage in the face of death? . . . It is the simple love that’s found in Jesus.

Artwork: St. Nicholas Saves Three Innocents from Death by Ilya Repin

A Blessed Burial

 

Under the water you go; under the water to bury that old dead self you were. And when you rise up? That old self will not rise with you - it is dead! It is buried! The world shall hardly recognize you, for you are no longer one of them. Now you are a citizen of a different country.

So down you go, a blessed burial. Down you go, buried with Christ so that you can be resurrected with Him.

What a wonderful day to be reborn!!

Artwork: Splashing by unknown



This Other Battle

Do not stop. No matter what they say, do not give in. Bow your knee to Him you know is truth no matter where the battle comes from. And if it comes from the Pentagon, itself? Do not stop!

Be brave, for you are not alone. Be strong, for we are praying for you. They say your bended knee is a national threat to our security. Ha! Keep bowing, soldiers all, keep loving, keep sharing the comfort of your Christ . . . and never stop.

And if they call it treason? Have no fear, for Jesus was called traitor, too. Only cling to truth and faith and keep speaking to all who have the ears to hear. For many shall be brought into the kingdom because of this other battle that you fight—a battle that has eternal consequence.

Photograph: soldiers praying, unknown

He says

He says that you are not alive. He says your tiny beating heart does not a person make. He says that those who wish to protect your tiny self are living in the past . . . are oppressive . . . even evil.

He declares that he is friend and ally to those who wish to end your life—in fact, he shall help them take it, as he trumpets himself the hero of those who do the taking.

Who is this orator sublime who gilds death with glittering platitudes, as he smiles and speaks of you, small growing one, as if you have no right to live, no right to stretch and grow and sing your song that God alone did give you?

Who is he that dares to raise his fist against your little life? . . . He calls himself President Obama.

Photograph: fetus at 12 weeks, unknown 

A Child Does

"Who carries the light?" I heard the rapid fire questions whispered in the night. “Who carries the light? Who carries the light?"

A child does. A child carries the light.

"A child does? How can a child carry the light? A child is small. A child is simple. And THIS light is very important! THIS light is full of glory and weight and power."

Did you not know? . . . He chose the simple to confound the wise.

Artwork: Ethan’s Lantern © Morgan Weistling
http://www.morganweistling.com/

Aiming At Its Heart

There it is! Are you aiming at its heart? Are you certain you can down it? You must be certain ere the arrow flies, before it skims across the air . . . less it misses. For if it should miss then you would have a beast to reckon with.

And not just any beast, but this beast: The one that would like nothing else but to devour you. That is why it skulks amongst the shadows as it does. That is why it trails behind with nose to ground to keep upon your heels. It loves your fear. It feeds upon it, so it must stir it up or else its belly would be empty.

But now you have it in your sights. Go on! God will give a steady hand. Now is not the time to fear!—now is the time to breathe, slow and deep, and aim true.

Artwork: The Outlaws of Sherwood © Robert Hunt
http://roberthuntstudio.com/

Words to Steal Hope

Do not be surprised by it. Do not be caught off guard if you should hear that voice. Even He Himself once heard it. Even He, the Dearest of them all, was pressed beneath the dead weight of it.

It fell upon Him sorely: cold and heavy like a rock beneath the ice. It tried to break Him. It whispered in His ear (and so will do in your’s); it whispered words to steal hope away. It jeered when He was in the garden. It mocked whilst He was on the cross. It howled with sheer delight at His final breath.

But then He rose—and vanquished that dark voice forever!! . . . remember that when you should hear it next.

Artwork: Temptation of Christ © Eric Armusik
http://www.ericarmusik.com/

Never Retired

You are not forgotten—Ever! And in His Kingdom you are never retired or put out to pasture or wheeled away to some forgotten room. Heavens No!

The power of Christ still courses strongly through your being, as it did when you were a younger, fiery brand. He wants you still to partner with Him, if you will . . . if you care to . . . if you"ll let Him. 

There are still sick to be healed and dead to be raised and discouraged ones to be lifted up by the prophetic words Holy Spirit gives you. Your latter light shall be brighter than your former . . . if you will, if you care to . . . it's not over yet.

Artwork: A Helping Hand by Carts

A Light by Which to Walk

Another change. Another move. But, “Trust in God!” I tell my soul. “Soul,” I say, “do not forget how faithful is our God!

“Though dim the night, it shall be turned to brightest light. For so God said,” and still I’m speaking to my soul, “so He said that I was not to kindle my own fire to make a light by which to walk. No, indeed!

“A fire that I should light would steal away my peace when I lie down to rest. So, soul,” still speaking sternly to my inner self that sometimes struggles when the path gets dark, “just wait till He, himself, brings light upon the path you walk.”

Artwork: Pilgrim in a Rocky Valley by Carl Gustav Carus

A Pauper No Longer

I am learning. It has been hard to learn this truth, for the world and circumstance and the enemy of our souls all work together to keep it from us. But I’ve been learning . . . yes, I have.

I have been learning a truth that has changed my life, my views, my interactions with others, and my love for my dearest Father God. What truth! What long lost revelation that has begun to free me, inspire me, and help me walk a higher walk.

And so the truth is this: . . . I am royalty. Because of Christ and his death upon the cross I have been adopted into a royal family. Hah! I am a pauper no longer. I AM ROYALTY!!!

 . . . and I am learning to behave as such.

 Artwork: Night by Edward Robert Hughes

Stirs to Wake

I breathe. I breathe in deep . . . it’s like the wind . . . it’s like a fragrance that stirs to wake.

Oh, yes, that is Him. I know Him well. I know His scent. It smells like life!

And this fresh breeze that I so love to linger in, and breathe in deep, and smile at as it blows about me, is something that I cannot live without . . . His presence.

Artwork: Desert Wind © Rob Chiu
http://www.flickr.com/photos/theronin/

Child-like Clean

Are you surprised at how it feels, dear one? Are you surprised at the lightness of it? The washed-in-fresh-water sensation of it?

Now you know the power of His blood. Now you know how well it washes clean till all the grime of sin is gone and like a child the innocence is back.

Child-like faith, child-like hope, child-like clean again! And to think that you did not believe in second chances . . . well, you were wrong.

Artwork: Evening by Maxfield Parrish

Thousands of Glorious Cheers

Three cheers for Iceland! Or rather thousands of glorious cheers.

Iceland imprisoned its bankers. Iceland put its people first. Iceland refused to save the banks and it allowed them to fail! Hooray for such a courageous folk!

And what of Iceland now? Iceland’s economy is growing fast; faster than the U.S. and Europe. The government created better banks and forgave the people much of their debt. The brave, fighting folk of the cold north are wise, with wiser leaders than we have in the United States.

Remember us, Iceland, as we begin our fight . . . for we shall remember you and your great victory and it shall help us in our own dark night. 

Photograph: handcuffed man, unknown; Iceland, unknown

Left to Fight Alone

Gather them up, sweet little souls each one. Gather them up and heaven-bound we go. Cloak is full and, still, there are more to gather in. Millions more!

There is a war against your small sweet lives; there is a war because you have an enemy who hates you.
 
Abused, abandoned, trafficked, murdered in your mothers’ bellies even—a thousand different ways you have been harmed across this wide earth, because of why? Because satan is afraid of you. Because satan hates the One who has created you. Because you might possibly become a follower of Him who is beloved above all. And if you did, the light in you would be far more powerful than the darkness in this world.

But mothers and fathers have been blinded to this war . . . so you are left to fight alone.

Artwork: Field of the Slain by De Morgan