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.

An alcoholic friend of Philip Yancey once said to him:

 

“When I'm late to church, people turn around and stare at me with frowns of disapproval. 

I get the clear message that I'm not as responsible as they are. 

When I'm late to AA, 

the meeting comes to a halt and everyone jumps up to hug and welcome me. 

They realize that my lateness may be a sign that I almost didn't make it. 

When I show up, it proves that my desperate need for them 

won out over my desperate need for alcohol."

Lets make sure that people know how welcome they always are, 

that our table is really big 

and that there is always a place with their name on it at our table.

 Have you heard of Rose Livingston? The woman pictured on the far right. 

I hadn't until today when my son shared how this little Christian woman, who wanted to go to the mission field, decided to stay in the U.S. and rescue females trapped in the sex trafficking. I've written some thing about her because she is beyond inspirational. Mercy, I wept, I was convicted and feel like a pagan after reading of her heroics. Much like Paul in her devotion, and, in her suffering for righteousness. 

Rose Livingston focused on girls that were nine to seventeen years of age, Livingston made it her life's work to free thousands of girls and women from sexual slavery beginning on March 4, 1903  Her modus operandi was to follow men that were sexual slavers, figure out what females were held captive, make friends with them, and encourage them to escape.                                                                                               She looked for enslaved girls in opium dens, dance halls, and bars, particularly in New York City's Chinatown and the Brooklyn Navy Yard. In 1907, there were 300 girls younger than 18 in Chinatown that were sex workers, out of a total of 800 white slaves. Six years later, she could not find any girls under age 18 there.  

In 1914, a contract was taken out on her life for $500 (equivalent to $14,610 in 2022). Once, a few years before 1934, she was hurt so badly trying to save a girl from Boston that she was in the hospital for five months and on crutches for two years. She was pushed from a roof of the red-light district in Brooklyn. By 1933, she had 22 beatings, one of which caused severe injury of her eyes. After a number of operations, her eyesight continued to fail her in the 1930s. She carried a gun with her, but was never known to have shot at anyone.

As she rescued women, she put herself in danger. About five feet tall and weighing about 90 pounds, she faced male procurers, or cadets, as she tried to rescue girls and women. She was severely beaten, shot, wounded, and thrown out windows. In 1912, she was severely beaten, resulting in permanent damage. She had severe neuritis and persistent neuralgic pain due to a fracture of the alveolar process of the upper jaw bone. On one side of her face, she lost all of the teeth of the upper jaw.

 My oldest son wrote this romantic poem to his wife of 34 years.

Think not for a minute God does not honor faithful love and service.

"I’d Never Known Sacred Fire"

"At our very first kiss…

I hesitated because I’d never known sacred fire.

I was delighted and slightly touched by an unknown dread, like I was on a path I’d never tread before.

I knew you were requiring more of me than I’d ever given.

I felt a demand to be a good man more than I’d ever been for another woman.

I felt a foretaste of what it will probably feel like coming into Zion for the first time where all one’s deepest inner associations with story, faith and meaning find a place, a moment, a people. It's like you’ve found your heart’s home, but you feel like you’ve been invited by mistake.

Now when I kiss you…

I feel lips warmed and worn by a life of love that took more than we ever knew it would cost and more than we ever believed could be experienced.

Each year I’ve kissed a slightly different woman, but the flame has never burned out, even as it has changed us both.

As the light of that sacred fire has burned, you’ve become more of a truer woman than I’ve ever known.

You welcome and honor a life lived well.

Grey has become your visible testament and glory, like the coastal seas that take the breath away and rumble and roar in a manner that leaves one uneasy, but utterly captivated.

You continue to give love to others when they do not always deserve it.

You are willing to work unseen and faithfully, and long for little other…than gratitude.

Each year crowns you with another diadem of grace and wisdom and the depth of your vision brings greater light to all who are blessed to be close enough to hear you.

You hold others up and truly reflect the Lord who is our helper in all the ways that being a helpmate reflects.

Your children call you blessed for the many gifts you’ve given them as mother.

You’ve freely given the pearls of the music of Heaven to so many and only in eternity will you hear the final masterpiece of every note you’ve sung.

When you now give a kiss…

It’s given with far greater knowledge of all it means to give and for that I am forever grateful.

I’m so grateful for the day you were born."

Eric Blauer 2024.

 

The Christian walk is one of ever expanding revelation. Or it should be... 

One of the biggest changes the Lord has taken me through has been working and volunteering in Jails, Missions and Christian drug and alcohol recovery programs. 

The impact this made on me is incalculable, the lessons immeasurable, the bonds of Christian love created, countless. In the 'halls of mercy' within these programs Christ shed His grace so powerfully that words can't begin to describe. 

The jails, missions and recovery programs are where men and women look their demons in the eyes, and with the help and guidance of caring staff, they confront those demons and learn faith, repentance and begin the journey to joy and wholeness. 

I'm not sure how to state what I feel about it, so I'll clumsily try and explain. 

Before these experiences, much of my Christian life centered around Church, Family, Bible study, Fellowship, and dabbling in Christian charities and service. All of these things are so important, they were before, and they are now, but after experiencing the involvements with those in true crisis, well, I think it can be summed up with the lyrics to Ray LaMontagne's song "Empty."  

 "Well, I looked my demons in the eyes

Lay bare my chest, said, "Do your best to destroy me"

See, I've been to hell and back so many times

I must admit you kinda bore me." 

To paraphrase that I'd say, I've watched people look their demons in the eye, lay themselves open to God's miraculous workings, and even though hell bound them for a season, I've witnessed Christ crush the jaws of evil and let the captives free, and after all I've seen, to go back to the level of Christianity I knew before.......

I must admit, it kind of bores me. 

 

A good friend was lamenting the loss of someone they knew, but never got to know well, she explains ----

"A time ago, I was standing at the casket
of someone who never loved me, and
had indeed been a thorn in my side.
And while I’ve done the wrong thing
plenty,
this time, I did it right.

I had forgiven. I had loved.
I had tried to restore and had to let it be.
This gave me a deep peace.

I’m sorry they missed me, but I have no regret. As arrogant as I may sound,
I hope you understand.
I was a glorious gift sent from God
to bless them.
And they missed me.

And because they didn’t choose to love me…
I also missed them,
and what God wanted to teach me through them.
While it was their loss, God graciously made up my gain."

I had to respond to her because it hit close to home, I said ---

Mmmm, what a thoughtful, healing post.
The complexities in human relations are deep and wide,
thrilling, and, sadly, killing.

"They missed me.
And because they didn’t choose to love me…I also missed them, and what God wanted to teach me through them."
That stuck out to me:

I'm old enough to know that everyone has gold inside,
and if we can dig deep enough their is great reward.
But some are so scarred that it takes more digging than I'm mature enough to do at this point in life.

So, like you said, "they missed me, and I missed them," what a pity.

   I was just talking with my middle son and he was recounting what happened when he left the mission on Thursday; he had a good time mentoring a couple guys there and left the mission doors in the afterglow of the Holy Spirit.

 As he was walking to his car he noticed a young man laying, face down, in an alcove. He was, as he explained to me, the most pitiful and pathetic sight he's seen since he's been going down there. He was laying flat on his face, and so much disgusting snot was coming out of his nose it almost appeared to be like some horrid creature was coming up from the sidewalk into the man;  he could hardly stand to look at him. 

If that were not bad enough, he was in kind of a kneeling position where his butt was sticking up, and his pants were completely down. His butt was covered in awful sores, and all in all, he was so repugnant, but so helpless, as he laid there continually moaning with intermittent burst of shouting. 

As Marc walked by him, he felt such a powerful pull from the Spirit that he knew he just couldn't go by without doing something, but he had no idea whatsoever what he could do. He simply couldn't touch him because he was so appalling, so he kneeled down and tried to talk to him. He had the sense that he could hear him because his moaning would stop for a second before continuing. 

Marc's heart was breaking, but he felt completely impotent, and as bystanders saw him, they all, one by one, moved on. 

So there he sat, completely overwhelmed by this pathetic individual and not a clue what he could do. 

There is an organization to call called "Clean and Safe" and they will evaluate and have resources, 

but at that moment the Holy Spirit began to gush up within him and like a mighty rushing wind, moved Marc to pray. So he said yes, although not knowing what to say, but he began praying and the Spirit fell so forcefully on him his words just gushed with love, hope and supplication. 

The man stilled, stopped his moaning and lay there quiet.            Marc finished his prayer and stood up, the man lay still as Marc left and got in his car. The presence of God was so strong he just sobbed and rejoiced all the way home.   

He was in tears recounting the story, I was in tears rejoicing, and we both were left in amazement with what God will do if we but stop and try.

I'd like to give a report that all was well with that young man, and he was restored and all turned out great, and we pray it is so, but we know that at that moment in time, prayer was needed, and prayer was given. 

 

Are you a Christian Mystic? 

Does your faith in Christ include moments and revelations that are beyond human description? Does the Holy Spirit move in you? Christian mysticism is rarely spoken of and less understood. Christ's teachings and actions urge us to enter into a union with the Father and the son, guided by His Spirit, and that union takes on many dimensions as all of Christianity testifies of. 

I've gathered a handful of soul penetrating quotes to ponder. 

"He who loves Me will be loved by My Father, and I will love him and will disclose Myself to him.” Jn. 14:21

Ghent asks: "Will future conceptions of God take on a more mystical cast?" 

Armstrong answers - "I don't think, in our kind of society, we'll be able to develop a full-blown mystical religion or concept of God because we seek, instant gratification, fast food, endless talk and noise. The silence in mysticism is alien. People want to do a few courses in mysticism, rather like the way you do French before going on holiday, and expect to emerge a mystic. Mysticism isn't like that." 

"The soul of the great mystic does not stop at ecstasy, as at the end of a journey. The ecstasy is indeed rest, if you like, but as though at a station, where the engine is still under steam, the ground movement becoming a vibration on one spot, until it is time to race forward again." 

 "We pass into mystical states from out of ordinary consciousness as from a less into a more, as from a smallness into a vastness, and at the same time as from an unrest to a rest. We feel them as reconciling, unifying states. They appeal to the yes-function more than to the no-function in us, In them the unlimited absorbs the limits and peacefully closes the account." 

  "Mystical experience... is the awareness of a Presence, the consciousness of a Beyond. The most striking effect of such experience is not new fact-knowledge, not new items of empirical information, but new moral energy, a heightened conviction, increased caloric quality, enlarged spiritual vision, an unusual radiant power of life. In short, the whole personality, in the case of the constructive mystics, appears to be raised to a new level of life."

 "Mysticism means nothing, absolutely nothing, to the one who has no experience of it."   

 The quotes, and the authors below, are those who inspire John McArthur, R.C.Sproul and John Piper, among millions of others who are familiar with the great Puritans.

If you’re a Christian make it your goal to read each of these authors,
You will grow and mature in Christ if you do.
Fuel for the soul, love to spread the kingdom.


While I live, I'll love; and while I breathe, I'll bless.
—Charles Spurgeon

The very nature of God is love. If it should be enquired what God is, it might be answered that He is an infinite and incomprehensible fountain of love.
—Jonathan Edwards

The single desire that dominated my search for delight was simply to love and to be loved.
—Augustine

To love, and be beloved, this is heaven.
—Archibald Alexander

There is no father like God for love. You cannot love your own soul so entirely as he loves you.
—Thomas Watson

The love of Christ is astonishing. It is unparalleled. It surpasses knowledge.
—James Smith

Man’s heart cannot comprehend the unfathomable depth and burning zeal of God’s love toward us.
—Martin Luther

God is love itself, and the infinite fountain and ocean of it.
—Jonathan Edwards

We must not think to bring love to God, but we must fetch love from God.
We must light our candle at his fire.
Think of his love to us, and beg the Spirit of love from him;
love is a fruit of the Spirit.
—Richard Sibbes

My God, spiritualize my affection! Give me to know what it is to have the intense and passionate love of Christ.
—Thomas Chalmers

Nothing can provoke love more than to know that one is loved.
—Thomas Aquinas

Precious Lord! continue to surprise my soul with the tokens of thy love.
—Robert Hawker

Resolved, to examine carefully, and constantly, what that one thing in me is,
which causes me in the least to doubt of the love of God;
and to direct all my forces against it.
—Jonathan Edwards (age 19)

All our doubting’s are nothing but so many questionings of his love.
—John Owen

Nay, I will read thy book, and never move
Till I have found therein thy love.
—George Herbert

Let us labor to grow more in the assurance of God's love, and all the evidences of it.
Let us dwell long in the meditation of these things.
—Richard Sibbes

 “It is not the critic who counts; 

not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, 

or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

 

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, 

whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; 

who strives valiantly; 

who errs, who comes short again and again, 

because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; 

but who does actually strive to do the deeds; 

who knows great enthusiasms, 

the great devotions; 

who spends himself in a worthy cause;

 

who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, 

and who at the worst, if he fails, 

at least fails while daring greatly, 

so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

― Theodore Roosevelt

"But the noble man 

devises noble plans;

And by noble plans he stands."

Isaiah 32:8

 What does the voice of the Lord sound like? Let's allow the Bible to teach us - 

 “Let my teaching drop as the rain,

My speech distill as the dew,

As the droplets on the fresh grass

And as the showers on the herb.” Deuteronomy 32:2

I love that verse, and we all want to speak to those we love in that way. I read a piece from a book titled Well-Springs of Truth" and he shares his thoughts on how we, as ambassadors for Christ, can illustrate it. 

 “Never is the deep, strong voice of man, 

Or the low, sweet voice of woman, 

Firmer than in the earnest but mellow tones of speech, 

Richer than the richest music, which are a delight while they are heard, 

Which linger still upon the ear in softened echoes, 

And which, when they have ceased, 

Come back to memory like the murmurs of a distant hymn.

Oh, it is very pleasant to listen to such voices, 

Accordant with lofty conceptions and sweet humanities,

The soul breathings that now swell with daring imaginations,

And then sink into the gentleness of sadness or pity. 

I have heard such voices,

Voices that were music from the soul and to it – 

The very melody of thought, 

And of thought that was the very soul of goodness.

Beautiful conceptions sang along the syllables, 

Beautiful feelings came trickling from the heart in liquid tones. 

Very pleasant are such voices, 

Pleasant on the fragrant air of a summer’s evening, 

Pleasant by the fire on a winter’s night, 

pleasant in the palace,

pleasant in the shanty, 

pleasant while they last, pleasant to remember even with sorrow,

when they are silent, 

never again attune and sweeten the common air of earth."  

 Dante getting salty about preachers in his day.

“‘Down there, when you philosophize, you fail to follow one true path, 

so does the love of show preoccupy your mind and carry you away,

 ‘and even this is tolerated here with less wrath than when holy Scripture is neglected or its doctrines are mistaught.

‘There is no thought among you of the blood it costs to sow the world with it, or how acceptable he is who humbly makes his way to it.

‘Each strives to gain attention by inventing new ideas, expounded by the preachers at some length—

but the Gospel remains silent…”

“‘Christ did not say to His first congregation: 

“Go preach idle nonsense to the world,” 

but gave to them a sound foundation. 

‘And that alone resounded from their lips, so that, in their warfare to ignite the faith, they used the Gospel as their shield and lance.

‘Now preachers ply their trade with buffoonery and jokes, their cowls inflating if they get a laugh 

and the people ask for nothing more.”

— Paradiso XXIX by Dante

 It is a blessed effect, then, of sorrow which God appoints for ourselves, 

that it makes us take note of sorrows which others are enduring. 

And if it make us look to Christ's poor with a more tender regard, with a deep and more brotherly affection than hitherto; it is, at the same time, a sign that we are growing in acquaintance and in communion with Him.

— 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐦𝐲𝐭𝐡,

   “No man is the whole of himself until he has developed this capacity to see something in life besides its prose. (Written or spoken language in its ordinary form, dull or shallow, but factual.) 

We can, to be sure, put into prose our business letters, the daily news, the round of family gossip, the quotations of the stock exchange;   the details of factual experience can be set in bare, plain prose.

But no one should suppose that this represents the full truth about anything. 

If one would know the truth about an eagle, he may consult a scientific textbook and learn the ornithological details. 

They will be correct, but they will not be adequate to describe an eagle. 

Let the poet Tennyson, for example, supply some of the lack: 

“He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands, 

Ringed with the azure world, he stands. 

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls, 

And like a thunderbolt he falls.”

That is an eagle! 

Any man’s life has been a failure when its whole story can be told in prosaic (ordinary, commonplace, unromantic, uninspired) indicative sentences. 

The deepest and finest experiences of humankind have always been expressed in poetry, bodied forth in pictures, symbolized in imagination, set to music and sung. 

All of Christmas could not be expressed without evergreen trees, holly, mistletoe, angels, carols and giving. 

The masters of history articulate what we experience but cannot say.” 

Harry Emerson Fosdick.  

 

"Saying goodbye to those we love so dearly here on earth is so very difficult, whether we lose them to death itself, a betrayal, a divorce, or a broken mind or body.

How anyone goes through these without the presence of God,

I simply do not know.

It feels like you just fall apart.

You just walk around with pieces rattling around inside you.

You feel fragmented, undone.

It takes a long time to address the journey,

and longer still, to get through the bruises

of the heart, and cuttings of the soul.

You have to embrace that you will be walking with these beautiful unrestored pieces of vintage warfares, with their stories rich and deep. 

 You will come to know the insatiable wonder

of the realities that death is part of the living, 

just as sure as dying is a rebirthing for them and you.

Your mind will play tricks on you.

Your emotions will bully you.

Your faith will need to be fierce.

You’re going to feel at best, strange in this old world, 

and devastated in the worst.

Just when you think the weeping has run its course, 

the nether springs deep in your hardest pieces will start to leak and overflow.

Best not be trying for that perfection of a life without the pieces. You’ll walk all over them and straight through them, 

circle around and do it again.

I’ve walked around in pieces for a

very long time now.

But I can tell you, I’d rather be in a million pieces at His feet, 

than be a million miles from His Presence.

My Savior knows what to do with my pieces.

He knows He can pull off one of those pieces and use it to meet the needs of another. 

I’ve seen Him take pieces and make songs,

restore families, 

build amazing homes, 

rejuvenate the untuned heart, 

place the truth in all its beauty, 

straight down in the midst of enemies.

Oh the miraculous goodness, the exquisite healing of Jesus, 

the power of pain in His hands.

Let it be.

Teach me to always come to Your Presence."

Ann Stewart Porter.

 

 

“I can tell you love it,

because that’s what my face looks like

when I love something.”

She said these words with eyes red and puffy after a good moment of crying in the prayerful embrace of a loving team member from our church.

These are sacred moments when the truth of Jesus’ words are like arms to fall into, exhausted from the weight of life’s troubles, the ache of our hearts and the reviving taste of living water. She was alive in the moment, awakened by the Spirit, open and welcoming to the presence of Christ in the basement chapel.

But this is just an encounter, hopefully a seed was planted in the words prayed, the confessions made, the turning to Jesus that happened in the rushing tide of His incoming.

But time will tell, it’s His work to bring new life within someone. We just pray, wait and watch, looking for signs of a seed breaking open and something growing. Carefully tending possibilities with small but meaningful intentions. Praying.

Giving her a Bible and next steps material to help her understand what has happened and what to do next.

Picking her up for Church.

Loving her kids.

Encouraging her in the hard work of her moment in crisis.

Holding her in thought and intention.

Such a plan seems so fragile and vulnerable, like a newborn baby in the arms of a new parent. This is how life arrives because love is wild and dangerous.

I hope that all our moments of outreach are upheld with loving faces that bear the testimony that Jesus is good and He satisfies the soul. I pray that every worker we bring with us will shine with God’s glory, the glory that comes from a relationship that is deeply nourishing and real. I pray that each hand laid in prayer, each word said in encouragement, every song sung will be a witness to “taste and see” that the Lord is good.

When I helped her get out of the van at the shelter, I could see the look on her face that knows she’s back to mom duty and that’s no easy task with three young boys. I touched her shoulder and tried to encourage her to keep pressing forward little by little.

Inside I am praying the power of God will hold her, the love of God will pour out upon her and that new life will be stronger than any distraction, deception or challenge ahead.

Please join me.

Pastor Eric, Jacob's Well Spokane Wa. 

 

By: This Blew Up My Mind

“When pregnant, the cells of the baby migrate into the mothers bloodstream and then circle back into the baby, it’s called “fetal-maternal microchimerism”.⁠

For 41 weeks, the cells circulate and merge backwards and forwards, and after the baby is born, many of these cells stay in the mother’s body, leaving a permanent imprint in the mothers tissues, bones, brain, and skin, and often stay there for decades.

Every single child a mother has afterwards will leave a similar imprint on her body, too.

Even if a pregnancy doesn't go to full term or if you have an abortion, these cells still migrate into your bloodstream.

Research has shown that if a mother's heart is injured, fetal cells will rush to the site of the injury and change into different types of cells that specialize in mending the heart.

The baby helps repair the mother, while the mother builds the baby.

How cool is that?

This is often why certain illnesses vanish while pregnant.

It’s incredible how mothers bodies protect the baby at all costs, and the baby protects & rebuilds the mother back - so that the baby can develop safely and survive.

Think about crazy cravings for a moment. What was the mother deficient in that the baby made them crave?

Studies have also shown cells from a fetus in a mothers brain 18 years after she gave birth. How amazing is that?”

If you’re a mom you know how you can intuitively feel your child even when they are not there….Well, now there is scientific proof that moms carry them for years and years even after they have given birth to them.

I find this to be so very beautiful.

 

"Had someone charge me again with "creating a God in my own image" by my insistence that God is like Jesus, a God who loves his enemies and is non-violent. A God who has the fruit of the Spirit. 

Since when is loving enemies and non-violence in humanity’s own image? (Wouldn't it be nice if everyone was just naturally a follower of Jesus.)

Retribution is in our own image. Wrath and violence is in our own image. 

A non-violent God is a God whose ways are higher than humans violent ways, and therefore a God who sets the example to call us to the same. 

If you want a God in your own image, a non-violent God is not the way to go. Humans are violent, Jesus is not. Jesus loves his enemies. Jesus has a justice that restores, not just vindictively injures and destroys. 

I am actually arguing against the god of our own image. I am arguing for a God whose ways are higher than humans.

I am arguing for a God who challenges our dark ways of dehumanization and violence, not participates in them, and whose example calls us to be peacemakers and lovers of enemies. 

A God who is like Jesus.

Jacob M. Wright. 

 

  "Dr. Frank Mayfield was touring Tewksbury Institute when, on his way out, he accidentally collided with an elderly floor maid. 

To cover the awkward moment Dr. Mayfield started asking questions.

"How long have you worked here?"

"I've worked here almost since the place opened," the maid replied.

"What can you tell me about the history of this place?" he asked.

"I don't think I can tell you anything, but I could show you something."

With that, she led him down to the basement under the oldest section of the building. 

She pointed to one of, what looked like small prison cells, their iron bars rusted with age, and said, 

"That's the cage where they used to keep Annie Sullivan."

"Who's Annie?" the doctor asked.

Annie was a young girl who was brought in here because she was incorrigible—nobody could do anything with her. 

She'd bite and scream and throw her food at people. 

The doctors and nurses couldn't even examine her or anything.

 I'd see them trying with her spitting and scratching at them.

"I was only a few years younger than her myself and I used to think, 'I sure would hate to be locked up in a cage like that.' 

I wanted to help her, but I didn't have any idea what I could do. 

I mean, if the doctors and nurses couldn't help her, what could someone like me do?

"I didn't know what else to do, so I just baked her some brownies one night after work. The next day I brought them in. 

I walked carefully to her cage and said, 'Annie, I baked these brownies just for you. I'll put them right here on the floor and you can come and get them if you want.'

"Then I got out of there just as fast as I could because I was afraid she might throw them at me. But she didn't. 

She actually took the brownies and ate them.

 After that, she was just a little bit nicer to me when I was around. 

And sometimes I'd talk to her. 

Once, I even got her laughing.

One of the nurses noticed this and told the doctor. 

They asked me if I'd help them with Annie. 

I said I would if I could. So that's how it came about that 

Every time they wanted to see Annie or examine her, 

I went into the cage first, explained and calmed her down and held her hand.

This is how they discovered that Annie was almost blind."

After they'd been working with her for about a year—and it was tough sledding with Annie—the Perkins institute for the Blind opened its doors. 

They were able to help her and she went on to study and she became a teacher herself.

Annie came back to the Tewksbury Institute to visit, and to see what she could do to help out. 

At first, the Director didn't say anything and then he thought about 

a letter he'd just received. 

A man had written to him about his daughter. 

She was absolutely unruly—

almost like an animal. 

She was blind and deaf as well as 'deranged.'

He was at his wit's end, but he didn't want to put her in an asylum. 

So he wrote the Institute to ask if they knew of anyone who would come to his house and work with his daughter.

And that is how Annie Sullivan became the lifelong companion of Helen Keller.

When Helen Keller received the Nobel Prize, she was asked who had the greatest impact on her life and she said, "Annie Sullivan."

But Annie said, 

"No Helen. The woman who had the greatest influence on both our lives was a floor maid at the Tewksbury Institute."

 

Shared to me by ~Ann Stewart Porter