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