"The Greek historian Nicephorus, reports that Salome, the dancing daughter of Herodias, passing over a frozen lake, the ice broke, and she fell up to the neck in water, and her head was parted from her body by the violence of the fragments, shaken by the water and its own fall, and so perished; God having fitted a judgment to the analogy and representment of her sin."  

 Casting out demons

Sometimes you can't.....

“…also some women who had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out.” - Luke 8:2

“And proclaim as you go, saying, ‘The kingdom of heaven is at hand.’ Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, drive out demons.” -Matt 10:7-8

The ministry of driving demons out is a complex issue to wrap our minds around today. 

How does one read these passages in one hand and hold the realities of mental health, disease, abuse, addiction and trauma in the other?

Some Christian circles deny the presence of demons in postmodern life, others see them in everything. 

Science has thankfully dispelled much ignorance, superstition and exposed the error of worldviews that trust in magic and sorcery. 

Yet, the gospels reveal clear teaching from Jesus that there is a reality of evil that is at work in the souls and bodies of humans too. 

How do we navigate such complex and personal stories and experiences that doesn’t ignore scripture but doesn’t mishandle or incorrectly diagnose people’s ailments, sufferings and ongoing battles?

Some are satisfied with very simplistic answers that quickly define situations with a black or white response. I’ve never been comfortable with the self-assurance of either extreme. 

Jesus' stories reveal moments that reflect the reality of people’s lives that I witness. Immediate manifestations of evil, lifelong testimony of troubles, horrors and tragedies that have roots in demonic influences. Ministry moments that end without deliverance, healing or satisfying conclusions. Particular facts that involve the numbers of demons involved. Admonitions that certain “kinds” require more spiritual action and the element of time. In some situations Jesus rebukes unbelief and others he doesn’t mention faith at all. 

Sometimes even Jesus kept praying for people until the healing fully arrived: 

“He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, “Do you see anything?” He looked up and said, “I see people; they look like trees walking around.” Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly.” -Mark 8:23-25

When I’m working with people I allow all these examples to undergird my expectations and conclusions. I rest in the directives and limits of the unfolding restoration of lives. I rejoice in immediate breakthroughs and long mendings. I trust in power, truth, medicine, doctors, good food, exercise, sleep, fresh air, and ongoing relationships to be part of people’s rescue and recovery.

I allow room for my own inability, lack of spiritual insight, faithfulness or maturity. 

“And when they came to the disciples, they saw a great crowd around them, and scribes arguing with them. And he asked them, “What are you arguing about with them?” And someone from the crowd answered him, “Teacher, I brought my son to you, for he has a spirit that makes him mute. And whenever it seizes him, it throws him down, and he foams and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid. So I asked your disciples to cast it out, and they were not able.”” -Mark 9:14,16-18

I recognize that the trauma and drama of people’s lives have histories and deep roots that only Jesus fully knows. I also rest in His ability to put the puzzle pieces together in His timing and in His way. We are never the last word in anyone’s story. 

“And they brought the boy to him. And when the spirit saw him, immediately it convulsed the boy, and he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth. And Jesus asked his father, “How long has this been happening to him?” And he said, “From childhood. And it has often cast him into fire and into water, to destroy him. But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.” And Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.” Immediately the father of the child cried out and said, “I believe; help my unbelief!” And when Jesus saw that a crowd came running together, he rebuked the unclean spirit, saying to it, “You mute and deaf spirit, I command you, come out of him and never enter him again.” And after crying out and convulsing him terribly, it came out, and the boy was like a corpse, so that most of them said, “He is dead.” But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he arose. And when he had entered the house, his disciples asked him privately, “Why could we not cast it out?” And he said to them, “This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer.”” -Mark 9:20-29

Did Mary have every devil leave at one moment? I think so, since it was Jesus doing the word and work. But I’ve also seen people evict devils from the rooms of their house as they discover them. 

Are there “possessed Christian’s”? I can’t come to that conclusion from the evidence of Scripture, but I can see matters of truth and time at work in some scripture references. That leads me to believe that recovery is complex and I don’t have all the facts in every situation. 

A claimed by Christ soul is a freed soul, we are given the keys of the kingdom to liberate captives, even when we are those captives. These keys are the truth of God’s word and ways. The Holy Spirit is active in leading people into the full and abundant life Jesus has purchased for them. Some slaves seem to not know they have been liberated and equipped with the keys to their prisons. Some have never encountered the truth that can set them free. Some don’t want to “get well” and linger in the same habitations of their bondage unwilling to obey or respond to the commands of Christ. 

I choose to see the sons and daughters and the parents around me as precious and perilous souls in need of the truth and power of Jesus. I choose to continue to seek a greater understanding of the keys Jesus has put into my own hands. I seek to drive out anything that reeks of devils and deception. Compassion and gentleness is my posture with the suffering and faith and conviction with the dark powers at work in people's lives. 

In the end I trust that Jesus knows how to rescue, redeem, release and restore every Mary I meet. Because His love is greater than anything that separates us from the love of God in Christ. 

Roman’s 8:38-39 “And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow, not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below, indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Pastor Eric. 

 

”Her hands are busy spinning thread, 

her fingers twisting fiber.“

-Proverbs 31:19

"She sat there quietly knitting in the church row, a practice that looked like prayer taking form. She was making a blanket and it was ocean blue. A perfect covering for a woman living in a crisis shelter where the comfort of the Holy Spirit embraces worried and wearied hearts, minds and bodies.  

Her story threaded into words as needles and yarn rhythmically connected her inner world to the outer one. She said knitting helped her do something with the thoughts and feelings she didn’t know how to process. It put them somewhere. She smiled as she spoke, part oracle, part survivor clinging to her yarn like a life preserver

As she confessed, emotion began to well up like a deep swell in the waves that sea watchers know in the Pacific Northwest. The ocean crescendos are nature affirming our depths, our dark deeps with forces of swirl and push that turn expanses of water into breaking and crashing displays of sound and sight. It’s the weeping of waters that draw people into healing trances or cathartic resonance on sandy shores. 

She wove and wept.

That blue sea on her lap was becoming Neptune’s Trident. She was knitting her deliverance, weaving her wounds into a gift for someone. Her pain found a purpose, even if it was a desperate craft born out of a woman afraid of drowning. 

Holy power silently rescuing and restoring life easily overlooked as simple craft that was actually magic and miracle happening right there in the sanctuary.

I witnessed a Proverbs thirty one woman knitting and this is her praise at the gates." 

Eric Blauer, Artist: Marcela Bolívar

 All of my sons, as well as myself, work in urban Missions. 

This is "ground zero." 

Here is a peak inside that world that my oldest son, Pastor Eric wrote today. 

"Mary Magdalene had seven devils, knowing this gives me hope.

“After this, Jesus traveled about from one town and village to another, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom of God. The Twelve were with him, and also some women who had been cured of evil spirits and diseases: Mary (called Magdalene) from whom seven demons had come out;” -Luke‬ ‭8‬:‭1‬-‭2‬ ‭

Many people have a fascination with ghost stories. They enjoy being scared, terrified, spooked and unnerved. Some like horror movies, anything full of the frightening, gruesome and macabre. 

This genre is complicated to understand. Taking pleasure in seeing someone descend to the darkest depths of human or inhuman experience and escape is cathartic in some redemptive way. Hells and horrors are part of the human experience. The human mind and heart have mythologized the ruin, rescue and restoration of human existence in art, story, theater, film and dance since humans started retelling life. 

Violence, tragedy, trauma and abuse are often the backdrop to some of the most profound testimonies of God’s saving work. The gospel story itself includes one of the most viscous and disturbing events of evil and it’s strangely termed the passion of our Lord. A crucifixion as the culmination of a brutal and barbarous series of tortures is profoundly disturbing as the center of a message called “The Good News”. 

When you work with people, especially those at the margins, death and devils make sense. The reality of wicked injury or self-perpetuating malevolence isn’t a hard truth to sell, something good conquering it, is. 

“My mother introduced me to porn.”

“I was raped.”

“I was sexually assaulted.”

“I tried to cut my throat.”

“I overdosed.”

“My parent was beheaded by a family member.”

“My brother was murdered by a gang, they cut off his arms, legs and head and sent them to my parents in a bag.”

These are people’s stories that I’ve heard. They are happenings that one has to find some place to put within oneself. What do you do with someone’s sufferings like these? It’s horrific to process. Many times I’m stunned and knocked off kilter in my heart and mind when such confessions are spoken. 

Humanity is truly tasting the powers of the age to come. People are full of devils and for many exorcism isn’t just a movie title, a supernatural thriller or titillating religious tale, it’s a life or death rescue mission. 

Mary Magdalene had a dark story too. I’m grateful for the knowledge that someone closest to Jesus had been possessed by Hell and horror. 

That is good news and the demonized need to hear it, maybe you need to know it. Jesus saves, delivers and heals. He is greater than whatever possesses you.

Jesus is the God-King who drives out devils."

 "Today on the streets of Downtown OKC,

I passed a man simply asking for change as he held out an empty shoe polish canister.

I had none, so I passed him and went on my way.

On my return trip to the office, I found him and this woman sitting together.

She did not give him change,

she did not drop off a hot meal.....

she sat down, cut her chicken wrap in half,

and shared it with him.

She did not leave, she sat and talked

and asked genuine questions that many of us would ask while out to lunch with a friend.

She did not treat him like a person to help, but a person to love.....

so whoever you are lady, you get it."

Credit: Darrin N Tory Hand

 

 "There are some of God's dear servants who walk in great maturity and they have a degree of clarity and divine knowledge 

more than we can discourse of, 

and it is even more certain than the demonstrations of geometry, 

they are brighter than the sun, 

and unfailing as the light of heaven.

But I shall say no more of this at this time, 

for this is to be felt, and not talked of; 

and they that never touched it with their finger, 

may secretly perhaps laugh at it in their heart, 

and be never the wiser. 

There is in the things of God, 

to them which practice them, 

a deliciousness that makes us love them, 

and that love admits us into God's cabinet, 

and strangely clarifies the understanding by the purification of the heart.

 

"In the mature Christian there is a higher degree of mediation, 

so exalted, 

it is a prayer of quietness and silence, 

and a mediation extraordinary, 

a discourse without distractions, 

a vision and intuition of divine excellencies, 

and a resolution of all our faculties into sweetness’s, affections, and staring’s upon the divine beauty; 

and is carried on to ecstasies, 

raptures, 

suspensions, 

elevations, 

abstractions 

and apprehensions beatifical.

They that experience these heights call them the secrets of the kingdom; 

but they are such which no one can describe; 

such which God hath not revealed in the publication of the gospel; 

such for the acquiring of which there are no means prescribed.

And a warning, let no man be hasty to eat of the fruits of paradise before his time 

or he runs the danger of losing all right sense of religion and prudence."

Jeremy Taylor 1600s.

This is my favorite poem about how to comfort someone with a great loss. This letter was written to James Whitcomb Riley’s best friend, who comfort him as he grieved for the loss of his wife Martha, who he called “Marthy”.

 

TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAN

For forty year and better you have been a friend to me,

Through days of sore afflictions and dire adversity,

You always had a kind word of counsel to impart,

Which was like a healing' liniment to the sorrow of my heart.

When I buried my first woman, William Leachman, it was you

Had the only consolation that I could listen to—

For I knew you had gone through it and had rallied from the blow,

And when you said I'd do the same, I knew you ought to know.

But that time I'll long remember; how I wandered here and there—

Through the setting'-room and kitchen, and out in the open air—

And the snowflakes whirlin', whirlin', and the fields a frozen glare,

And the neighbors' sleds and wagons congregating' everywhere.

I turned my eyes towards heaven, but the sun was hid away;

I turned my eyes towards earth again, but all was cold and gray;

And the clock, like ice a-cracking', clicked the icy hours in two—

And my eye’s had never thawed out if it hadn't been for you!

We set there by the smoke-house—me and you out there alone—

Me a-thinking'—you a-talking' in a soothing' undertone—

You a-talking'—me a-thinking' of the summers long ago,

And writing "Marthy—Marthy" with my finger in the snow!

William Leachman, I can see you just as plain as I could then;

And your hand is on my shoulder, and you rouse me up again,

And I see the tears a-dripping' from your own eyes, as you say:

"Be reconciled and bear it—we but linger for a day!"

The ways were devious, William Leachman, that me and you have passed;

But as I found you true at first, I find you true at last;

And, now the time's a-coming, close to our journey’s end,

I want to throw wide open all my soul to you, my friend.

With the strength of all my being', and the heat of heart and brain,

And every living' drop of blood in artery and vane,

I love you and respect you, and I venerate your name,

For the name of William Leachman and True Manhood's just the same! 

  

  This is a heady piece, Martineau's vocabulary is beyond enormous! I think, in short, he is saying that the moralist sees habit as the grand hope, we learn to build good habits but it makes religion less relational, which to the deeply religious is the despair of our faith.  

  "Nothing perhaps so clearly exhibits the true contrast between 'morality' and 'religion' as the different relations they sustain to the   'law of habit'.

Habit is the grand hope of good morals, but it is the despair of deep religion. 

If the moralist, in urging his system of right action, can but give us motive enough to begin with, his hardest point is gained; the great fly-wheel of the will once set in motion, the second revolution will be promoted by the first, so gain will build momentum, and the original impulse may suffer decline without much consequence.                        His maximum of force is needed only at the initial instant; and he is content, when the inertia of rest is overcome, to substitute the inertia of motion. 

But this, the last triumph of morals, is the total discomfiture of true  religion; which abhors the sleepy rhythm of a rotatory nature; which protests against changing the seat of duty from the center of soul, to the muscles of the body. 

The devoutest moments of each person's life are those in which they first create the rule which thenceforth they obey; and passes straight from the deep passion into high action; and bridges over the awful chasm between the world of sacred thought only, and divine vision. 

 True religion has no other office than to be ever pressing towards divine vision: it checks the spiritual encroachments of habit; compelling it to abide in the 'outer courts' and busy streets of action, and guarding from its invasion into the inner temple of the mind; to keep the eye intent  and the soul awake.  

 

  

Garden of Wonders

 "One of the wonders of Santa Ana is a hidden garden. It's a garden in which the science of botany is developed to veritable zeniths, for here thrives countless varieties of flower and plant life of intense interest to everybody. If motoring past the residence at 1317 Spurgeon Street, a stranger would not have the least idea of the existence of such a wonderland thereabout. Yet, there it is, just around the corner of that residence. 

Blauer's Nursery and Cacti Garden, one of the busiest spots in all Orange county under the able management of Fred C. Blauer. 

In strolling through one section of the place, one gets all the illusions of being on a far-away desert inasmuch as all kinds of cactus specimens abound. Then a visit to another corner is for all the world like being in the tropics while adjacent nooks are remindful of flower filled decks back in the old Missouri or Indiana home in the merry month of June.

Everywhere in this hidden garden Nature is at its glorious best and it's an ideal place to go to renew one's faith in the munificence of a Higher Power."

 These words are from a newspaper article describing my Grandfather's nursery and it can't begin to exaggerate the beauty and impression it left on me. The love I have for gardening is foremost inspired by the boyhood play and work in this wonderland. I suppose the property was about two acres. As a boy I wandered though wisteria covered arbors, blossoming gardenia, hibiscus and rose. The scent of which lingers still. 

 I'm not sure when it was built, but my memory is of aged buildings with squeaky slat doors, worn from years of use. I explored with childhood curiosity every nook and cranny, old potting sheds, the tropical smell and humidity of the large glass house used to start cuttings, and it still rushes to memory whenever I find myself in the rain-forests of Oregon or in a local nursery selecting a flower seen in the old family business. Dark backrooms with a bare bulb, or no light at all but what comes in through the slats. Tool sheds filled with what would be antique treasures today. I'm sure my love for the old and worn is shaped by these boyhood memories.

 My work ethic was born from the labor under Dad's watchful eye as I watered the stock or filled countless gallon cans with earth. Like the old blacksmith, my father's hands and arms were muscled by his labor there. Giving up a career as a pilot trainer to come to his Father's and in maintaining the family business, I'm sure he loved the work, but always looked back. 

I look back too, would that I had stepped in and continued the work.... 

 

 

"So it is with those Spirit led prayers, 

which sound all broken up 

with discordant sighs and inarticulate expressions. 

Some are even heaving of the bosom, 

sobbing of the heart, 

and anguish of spirit. 

Our gracious Father reads them as a man reads a book, 

and they are written in a character which he fully understands."

 We preach Jesus

“For the protection of the innocent, 

for the safeguarding of the weak,

 

for the warning of the tempted 

and the alarm of the wicked,

 

the truth must be told, 

the truth that sets you free.”

 

Ernest a. Bell. 

 One of the most respected Puritan author is Richard Sibbs, I've been reading him online and in a chapter about devoting our work, how ever mundane, to God, he made a comment that I've never heard before, it's regarding his understanding of the scripture about the "woman being saved through child bearing."

 “Whatever you do, do your work heartily, as for the Lord and not for people, knowing that it is from the Lord that you will receive the reward of the inheritance. It is the Lord Christ whom you serve. 

So even the poorest servant in his drudgery, serves God if he does it as in the presence of God. 

The poor woman, in bearing and bringing up children, shall be saved; that is, her salvation is not in any way hindered thereby, but rather furthered. 

So that it is graced that elevates earthly works and makes them heavenly.” 

The point that struck me, is that bearing and bringing up children is truly doing “mission work,” she is not a bit hindered by the unending tasks that come with child rearing, but rather, her salvation is furthered. 

 I love this interpretation! "shall be saved; that is, her salvation is not in any way hindered thereby, but rather furthered."

The Mother's work is equal to any Christian ministry.

 

Living with a Broken Heart

Remember what the Tin Man said in the “Wizard of Oz” after he finally got a heart….

“Now I know I've got a heart because it’s breaking.”

If someone you love died, your heart is probably broken. So how do you live with a broken heart? The answer isn’t how you fix it or move beyond it. The skill is learning to live with your grief as an ongoing way of being in the world. It’s the way you honor that which you love.

What I’m proposing is that, with enough healing, living with heartbreak can become natural, and very normal.

From my personal and professional experience, I can tell you that as you embark on your healing journey, you’ll start crying a whole lot more. Not just to clear pain, but for the simplest of everyday reasons, and out of nowhere. You’ll cry when you see a bird, a can of paint, an apple, or even the shape of a cloud.

Random things will make you cry.

The heart is designed to grieve, it wants to grieve…..it has to grieve!

Especially when it’s broken.

This is the price you pay for love. The loss of the life you thought you had,

the life you once knew and held so dear.

Loss of a dream you believed was true.

But you can also find and feel grief in opening your heart. Opening it to love and to new possibilities. Opening it to what the future holds.

Isn’t that what life is all about? Endings and beginnings, closings and openings?

The heart was designed to navigate you through this forever winding adventure called life. But you have to be willing to feel…..and to live with a broken heart.

Here’s the thing…..you can learn to live with your broken heart by befriending your grief.

You can discover the love that still exists around you…..and share that love with others who are also living with a broken heart.

Gary Sturgis - “Surviving Grief”

 

 

"Betrayal is a truly awful thing.

I’ve faced it more than once and

I’m sure you can say the same.

It will leave you broken like few things can.

It will leave a gaping wound,

that will change you.

Sometimes, the grief of being betrayed

will cast a shadow over every relationship

You have had, or will have.

You often lose the benefits of that easy trust, that sweet security, that fine faithfulness.

I once talked to a woman in her eighties.

She had survived her husband’s adultery.

But she was quick to say that no matter how much she fought the emotions, and had forgiven him, and they stayed together, it was still always in the back of your mind. Always.

At least for her.

Others have told me they took that betrayal and pinned it to a hundred other people

after, who probably didn’t deserve it.

These are people who have become

victims of betrayal.

Before we judge it harshly, know it’s so

is easy to do. Truly.

And…the more intimate the relationship,

the deeper the wounding.

Still….it’s not nearly as profitable as

healing and growing and letting go,

so that you can let others in.

Most of our feelings about betrayal are

things we have thought about for too

long and too hard.

We can not choose our feelings or what someone else did to us, but we can choose what feelings we keep, coddle, and what we do to others. How we grow through betrayal

makes us a victim or a victor, who does

not let feeling dominate.

Many find themselves immersed in the obsession of pain in betrayal.

Maybe because it’s more than one thing.

As a young man pointed out to me, after his father left the family, It’s not just lying, it’s stealing, it’s cheating, it’s the fear, the shame, unfaithfulness, degradation, the pain of the

unforgivable. It’s hurts!

Maybe because it’s usually done to us by someone we love, respect, honor and truly wanted in our lives.

So, the mixed emotions cloud every

beautiful shining one, that seems to try

and get through.

But as long as we choose to be a victim,

we cannot live joyfully as a victor.

We will keep betraying our own selves the joy of becoming more than our betrayal.

And we are so much more!

Keeping betrayal alive and doing its

damage in our lives, does not victory bring.

Instead it brings more destruction.

Today, while you likely can not go to the person who betrayed you and set it all

back into the way you think it ought to be,

you can go to God.

You can let Him carry your pain.

You can train yourself to live beyond betrayal.

Betrayal defaults to hate.

The heart was not designed to hold

hatred and unforgiveness.

It will affect your whole health

if you cling to it for too long.

When you can’t change it, you can change how you use it in your life.

Determine to let that betrayal become a lesson, but not a life long sentence.

Let it be a discernment for trusting, but

not a wall to keep out goodness.

You are too precious to stay locked

in your own victimization.

Train yourself to walk free, to help another prisoner of pain, to grasp the beautiful

healing that can be yours.

Maybe today is the day to restore

your heart’s hope.

Only you .....choose to be a victim."

~AnnStewartPorter

 Recovery help 

 Post-acute withdrawal syndrome (PAWS) 

refers to a set of symptoms that occur after the acute phase of withdrawal from drugs or alcohol. 

Unlike acute withdrawal symptoms, which typically last for a short period after stopping substance use, 

PAWS can persist for weeks, months, or even years. 

These symptoms can include 

mood swings, 

anxiety, 

depression, 

cognitive difficulties, 

and cravings, 

and they can fluctuate in intensity over time. 

PAWS can pose significant challenges for individuals in recovery, but with appropriate support and treatment, they can gradually diminish as the brain and body adjust to sobriety.

 While talking with one of the men in the UGM recovery program, I heard a woman loudly shouting threats and cries on the street. 

We meet on the second floor each week where I mentor him, and there is a large bay window where we can look out over the streets. 

I'm sure I've heard this same woman crying out before, but it's not an unusual thing, but this day the Holy Spirit began to rise up in compassion for this woman. 

I interrupted our discussion and suggested we pray for the woman. 

We decided to get up and see if we could identify her, but the shouts echo off the buildings so we surveyed the streets, lined with people awaiting a meal and couldn't see who was shouting. As I looked on the mass of hurting people my thoughts shifted from her to others. 

At last we looked on the other side and saw the woman who so loudly poured out her life's complaints. She was busy about her shopping basket which contained all her life's belongings. 

So now I began to pray but the "moment" of emotion had passed for me, but I prayed none the same. 

When I finished, it appeared that the Holy Spirit had fallen on the fella I was with and he poured out a heartfelt prayer for this forlorn woman.  

When he concluded, he just stood there and remarked how he had Holy Spirit goosebumps all over him! I too felt the Presence as he prayed. 

It was but a "moment," a seemingly small obedience to Christ's command that "men ought always to pray."

When I left I thought I might see her, but she had moved on; but one of the brothers in the program was standing outside between some people and I greeted him, chatted for a minute, and then I greeted a young woman, 22ish, on his left, a pathetic little thing, tall, very thin with scabs on her face, little beauty on the outside, but remnants of youthfulness in her voice. I looked her straight in the eyes and felt such a love for her, looking back, I missed an opportunity to pray for her. Why didn't I?

I was in a rush to beat traffic, so I turned to quickly greet another tall, handsome young man with a hard gaze, and also many scabs, and he put out his hand and looked me straight in the face. I simply said, 'God bless you brother.' To which he responded, "God bless you too." Somehow I felt like he really meant it, and I thanked him and walked through the crowd to my car.

 

 

 "My wife and I had the privilege to attend the After Valentine’s Day Luncheon at Anna Ogden Hall where ladies who are in the Union Gospel Mission Life Recovery Program live. 

I was honored to speak. I chose to reflect on the empty promises that this world promises in human love that only Jesus can ultimately fulfill. The human heart was meant to be loved first and foremost by God. 

I shared this poem that captures the reality of so many relationships. 

We Do Not Speak of Love 

By Harold Norse

‭‭we do not speak of love

 but all are pushed & pulled

 by it

 taking all forms & shapes

 twisted pounded burnt

 by it

 like the sculptor’s clay our faces

 punched & pinched

 made long or ripped apart 

 by it

 eyes pained or deep or lost

 lines cut in cheeks & forehead

 from it

 we do not speak of love

 our faces scream

 of it

 haunting bars &

 running wild in the streets

 for it

 we do not speak of love

 but spike warm veins pop pills

 burst brain with alcohol

 for it

 gods & demons wrestle for the heart

 of it

 I can’t survive the lack of it."

I then let the words of the prophet Ezekiel reveal God’s heart and purposes for each of us. 

God sees us in our discarded, abandoned and orphaned vulnerability. He comes to us and gives us the word of life. He washes us in blood and baptismal waters from all our sins. He becomes our protector and provider. He cleans us up and draws us into covenantal love and relationship. He anoints us and clothes us. Our lives then become beautified by His sanctifying work. Our lives become testaments to His glory, adorned by precious and beautiful things. In Christ we become Queens and Kings, living witnesses of His saving, restoring grace, love and mercy. 

Ezekiel‬ ‭16‬:‭4‬-‭13‬ 

“On the day you were born your umbilical cord was not cut, you weren’t bathed and cleaned up, you weren’t rubbed with salt, you weren’t wrapped in a baby blanket. 

No one cared for you. No one did one thing to care for you tenderly in these ways. You were thrown out into a vacant lot and left there, dirty and unwashed—a newborn nobody wanted. 

“And then I came by. I saw you all miserable and bloody. Yes, I said to you, lying there helpless and filthy, “Live! Grow up like a plant in the field!” 

And you did. You grew up. You grew tall and matured as a woman…But you were…vulnerable, fragile and exposed. 

“I came by again and saw you, saw that you were ready for love and a lover. I took care of you, dressed you and protected you. I promised you my love and entered the covenant of marriage with you. 

I, God, the Master, gave my word. You became mine. I gave you a good bath, washing off all that old blood, and anointed you with aromatic oils. I dressed you in a colorful gown and put leather sandals on your feet. 

I gave you linen blouses and a fashionable wardrobe of expensive clothing. I adorned you with jewelry: I placed bracelets on your wrists, fitted you out with a necklace, emerald rings, sapphire earrings, and a diamond crown. 

You were provided with everything precious and beautiful: with exquisite clothes and elegant food, garnished with honey and oil. 

You were absolutely stunning. You were a queen! You became world-famous, a legendary beauty brought to perfection by my adornments. Decree of God, the Master.“

Pastor Eric. 

 

"Ella Fitzgerald was not allowed to perform in Hollywood's most popular nightclub, The Mocambo, because of her race & body size.

 Marilyn Monroe, who was a big fan, called the owner and explained that if he booked Ella, she would be there every night, which guaranteed huge press coverage. 

He booked Ella and Marilyn was there, front table, every single night as promised. 

Ella said, "After that, I never had to play a small jazz club again. She was an unusual woman, a little ahead of her time, and she didn’t even know it.”

 "The heart may languish, and the eye may weep,

For those whom heaven has called from life and care;
Yet there's an earthly pang than these more deep,
Which sharpens sorrow, and which brings despair,

Which wrings the heart, and lays the bosom bare.
Yet 'tis not death, each living man must die,
Death culls the sweetest flow'r, the form most fair,
The one deep cloud which darkens every sky

Is changed affection's cold averted eye."

    

"He that still may see your cheeks,

Where all rareness still reposes; 

Is a fool if e'er he seeks

   Other lilies, other roses." 

 

One night I was scrolling through 

Facebook, and read a post about a 

disabled child being strapped in their 

seat……and forgotten for 3 hours. 

It's not like I don't see stories like this 

often enough, but this one brought 

back a clear memory of our Rachel. 

We had put her in a good school. 

We had liked all the teachers. 

They assured us we could drop in 

on them anytime, as was our custom. 

This was key for us. 

One day, we did just that. 

Rachel was in her 'grasshopper' which 

is a hard plastic therapy equipment. 

She looked very uncomfortable. 

We looked closer and she was 

whimpering quietly. A rare thing by this age, because we had learned how to 

meet her needs before the cry. 

Her Dad asked how long she had been in this chair. Not one teacher knew! 

There were red spots on her legs and places rubbed raw from being there 

far too long. This baby girl had enough 

pain in her life, so we were impatient with those we had entrusted to make sure she didn’t receive more pain. 

Her Daddy picked her up, 

and we loved on her a minute. 

We packed up all of her things and left, 

telling them we would be back, if 

they were able to get better teachers. 

She never went back. 

But that memory came to me in a 

rush as I read the other story. 

I began to cry, thinking of the times 

Rachel could not communicate. 

How often was something missed? 

People cannot understand the issues 

you encounter with special needs children. 

Most don’t particularly care. 

We can hardly take care of our own issues. 

I understood that. 

We had some great teachers, 

some not so good and a few bad ones. 

Often, the experts are rigid and intimidating, not in love with the outcasts of society and cultures geared to just the well children. 

We had to become her advocate in everything. I just cried thinking of what 

she might have had to endure, 

that I didn't know.Then I wept for all the ones who come our way so broken. 

These times are called grief attacks. 

Grief attacks are those times you think your grief is safe inside, 

but there it will be, out in front of God 

and everybody in a benign moment. 

I remember standing in the garden 

statues of a big store. 

There was a statue of Jesus with a boy 

on one side and a girl on the other. 

All I saw was my children in heaven. 

I burst into tears. 

People probably wondered why I was so passionate about garden statues. 

But I was transported to heaven right 

then and there. 

It was a grief attack. 

Don't let these scare you. 

They will come and go. 

You will see, hear, smell, touch, do something and the memories will flood 

all over you. You’ll be wringing wet. 

It won't matter where you are or who is watching. Or what triggered it. 

It will happen and when it does, 

you can choose to explain or to be quiet. 

I don’t mind telling people I have 

children in heaven, and sometimes, 

both my husband and I still grieve that. 

We always will. 

Death is part of life. 

I feel that if it happens to them, 

they will know it's okay to grieve, 

no matter how long it's been. 

It doesn't mean we haven't processed 

our grief and moved forward. 

It just means we will never forget the 

eternal blessing of their lives. 

I could never forget Ethan, Rachel, 

Abigail or Matthew. They weren’t born 

just to be forgotten. 

They live today, just not in my presence. 

And there's nothing wrong with that. 

This is normal protocol about something 

that never is quite given to normal. 

Grieve well. 

It's part of who you are. 

When you grieve well, you give others the strength to grieve too, and together, we rise up stronger in our dark nights 

and walk into the new horizon by faith. 

~Ann Stewart Porter

 

"Suicide and drug overdoses are far too prevalent among our young adults and teens. 

I had a recent conversation with someone who doesn't understand addiction. 

What most don't realize is the drugs are keeping them alive, 

until they aren't. 

Every highly addicted person I've met is suicidal. 

They simply don't have tools, guidance and love needed to combat it." 

A friend of mine who works in recovery shared that, 

and I concur, 

although I haven't asked each person struggling with addiction that specific question, it comes up over and over. 

The leading cause of death among those 15 to 49 years of age is drug overdose as of 2015, 

never before has it been even close to that. 

And suicide is the 3rd highest cause of death in that group.

 

Fallen from the ledge

  The almost visible Veil of tears one enters when walking the downtown streets of 3rd and Burnside.  

One senses the subtle change, into an other-worldly habitation, 

an entrance into the surreal, where the shrieks and cries of human souls echo off the inner-city walls.

The sidewalk surges with sorrow and loss, and human misery is evident in every face. 

Tragedy doesn’t discriminate, 

the young share space with the middle aged and the hoary head.

Each step I take draws me closer to the Savior’s heart, and I sense His presence there like no other place I tread.

The sights and peals of distress penetrate my soul like no sermon ever has.

In this sea of suffering what can one man do? But Jesus bids me go to this “voice of woe” and trust Him to guide my way. 

Each time, 

  every time, 

when my contribution is but “two mites,” 

He descends and wraps me in the warmth of kingdom love, and rewards me with His mystical rapture.

 

I read this today and agreed with so much of it I thought I'd post it. 

 "l like people who begin by blurting out something overly personal. 

I like people who aren’t afraid to walk around with a stain on their shirt. 

I like people who give compliments to strangers in the grocery store and make friends when they’re washing their hands in the bathroom. 

I like people who get passionate about ideas and excited about others’ success stories. 

I like people who live a little outside of the box, who march to the beat of their own drum, and who make it a mission to help those around them.

 I like people who own their failures, and apologize easily. 

I like people who know who they are deep down inside, 

and let that person shine like crazy. 

I like people who tell the truth. 

I like people who can joke often and don’t take themselves too seriously. 

I like people who love life so much they don’t make room for drama or petty behavior, only more love. 

I like people who like people. 

I like people who like books, and stupid tv shows, 

and who throw simple parties with pizza and paper plates.

 I like people who stop by just to say hello, and bring your favorite Sonic drink with them. 

I like people who have their own opinions, 

but aren’t threatened by you having your own opinion as well.

 I like people who ask for help. 

I like people who show up. 

I like people who don’t feel the need to show off. 

I like people who don’t pick up before you come over, and people who don’t pick fights where fights don’t belong.

 I like people who say “bring whoever you want.” 

I like people who build bigger tables, and greet every single person with a warm hello, as if they have been best friends for years.

 I like people whose eyes get bright when they talk about their passions, 

and people whose voice gets louder when they sing their favorite song. 

I like people who build businesses and who build up everyone around them. 

I like people who aren’t perfect.

I like people who aren’t cool. 

I like people who aren’t trying to keep up with everyone else. 

I like people who aren’t trying to be someone they were never made to be. 

I like people who are so real it hurts and it makes other people uncomfortable. 

I love all people, but man, there’s a special place in my heart for the messy ones." 

Love, 

Amy Weatherly

  “Don’t talk to me about it being harder or less fun to read. We are not here to toy with trivialities but to wrestle with the weightiness of the oversight of souls.”

-Ray Van Neste, PhD, University of Aberdeen, dean and professor of biblical studies in the School of Theology and Missions at Union University

 Loving God with all our minds is good and important work in the life of faith and witness. A studious and generous love for knowledge in order to be better equipped in scripture and reason is critical in an age of trivialities, distractions, deceptions, and disinformation. We have to be diligent and discerning in a highly curated and algorithmic based world of information and education on the internet.

The internet is primarily an individual based learning system devoid of an important component of Jesus-based, biblical discipleship: learning in community and connection to meaningful relationships of different ages, experiences and cultural or racial differences.

Extreme isolation and overly-independent learning is one of the primary challenges and dangers of the intellectual life today. We need to be exposed to healthy and wide conversations, encounter broad and different views and perspectives and be having conversations that expand beyond a self-built echo chamber. If we do not have much of this we can develop malformations of the life of the mind and build prideful conclusions that are rarely challenged or defended.

The Church, the believing community is a God ordained, safe but challenging place to do this good but difficult work together.