Clumsy Warrior

As I was praying for the people on the west bank, (an area in Minneapolis by the Mississippi river,) I saw a picture that would change the way I view prayer. I was standing at the edge of a parking lot. This parking lot is a central location in a densely packed commercial area. Between the businesses, restaurants, and the high rise there are few places left for people on foot. I stood on the sidewalk and watched all the activity in the lot. It was chaos. Earlier that week or the week before a stray bullet had penetrated the picture window on the street-side of The Hard Times Café. It was a serious time for prayer and I was deadly serious. I stood there silently on the sidewalk, staring into the parking lot, sending all my intentional prayers in that direction. Jesus needed to intercede here. I desperately wanted a miracle. So I began to pray. As I prayed, a picture entered my mind that I wanted to pray through.
I have to say here, I am a visual person. If my brain had a sense of humor, it would totally be hilarious. I have heard that in some scientific way, your brain can become addicted to the chemicals released when you “make a funny”. I am sooo totally hooked. I am the funniest person I know. My brain is not only funny, sometimes it can be clever, and sometimes it can show me things in a clearer way than I could have achieved if I had tried to construct a thought the old fashioned way. Maybe, God dips down from heaven and gives me a picture? Usually it’s me, and it’s usually when I am just a little bored. Mike sometimes goes on a bit about his own ideas. I guess that is the casualty of marriage; you have to “share” your thoughts and ideas with each other. Mike is brilliant! Too smart for me, so sometimes my mind may drift a little. Blah, Blah, ecclesiology, Blah; and then it happens, “What do YOU think?” I was not listening, and I can’t tell a lie. That is when I answer “Um, I was totally thinking about Neptune” or “I was thinking about dinosaurs”. My brain seems to be disconnected by either space or time. And you can usually find me in the strange place between the Jurassic time and the edge of our galaxy. I am interested in Mike’s ideas, but sometimes he needs to prime the pump, as it were, sum up the idea in three sentences or less; intrigue me, tease me; get me moving in the right direction. Or put me to sleep. It better be a good three sentences. Make my brain think you have what it wants, and I will be tracking with you. As I said though, sometimes, maybe, God takes this wild stallion brain and makes it see truths in pictures so that even I can understand. *Pretty pictures*, yes.
So as I was praying, I saw a great hurricane in the parking lot. It was black with debris and roared like a train. The hurricane was low, about waist high, and I could see over the surface to the other side of the lot. That is where I saw Jesus standing, seeming to wait for my intercession. Like Moses pleading for the Israelites. I thought about the prayer I might pray to implore Him to do a miracle. I looked at Jesus’ face in my minds eye and said “If only you would enter this storm, if only you step foot on this parking lot, the violence would stop.” If people only saw Jesus in this place, they would repent. Only Jesus can restore broken people, broken cities. If only… Without any words exchanged I knew I needed to take another look at that hurricane. It had not registered until now that this hurricane was unusually low to the ground; I guess I just accepted that this was a metaphor and had not found other significance. I leaned to the side a bit like I might check out my car for any engine damage. Yeah, I am no mechanic; I know the engine is not visible from the outside, I just know to look for dripping stuff underneath the car. Like I said, I am no mechanic, so I don’t actually get on the ground either. I just lean to the side a bit. That was when I noticed that this storm was flat. Flat on the top, flat on the bottom; as if it were contained in a pane of glass. Glass that covered the parking lot, elevated to waist high. Jesus motioned for me to look up and showed me that the true storm was overhead and what I was seeing was merely a reflection of the war taking place in the spiritual realm. I saw this violence all around and thought this was where the battle lies, but the true battle is NOT against flesh and blood but against principalities and powers of darkness.

Angel in an Armchair

My husband and I bought a home in a poor urban neighborhood. I would like to say we intentionally chose this neighborhood for it’s challenges and to experience the power of God through prayer. I would like to say that, but, the reality is, we are poor. It made sense. I would like to add that although the reason we moved here was financial; we held to the hope that we would experience God in this neighborhood, because we live here.
Six years ago homeless people ate apples from our tree, we had hopes to start a bible study, we prayed for this neighborhood, we prayed for it’s leaders and we prayed for safety. Then, on a hot august night, during the busiest time on the streets, the police conducted a drug raid in a house at the end of our block, shots were fired; and rumors started. Before sundown, a riot had begun, the police retreated, and the journalists who had come out to cover the story had locked themselves in a news van, while their other vehicle was in flames. We prayed that night too.

Since then, life has gotten very busy; my husband is in seminary full time, we are both working full time; and I am auditing classes at the seminary when it fits my schedule. I am still hopeful for the neighborhood, but I don’t pray nearly as much; but to my credit, I am committed to living here, although I hardly ever see my neighbors or walk outside alone. I have lost my sense of purpose. What am I doing here?
While auditing classes at the seminary, I took a class about angels and demons. Having no idea what to expect, I am curious. One of the books in the class is about angels. Some people believe we have angels watching over us, that we each have one angel or many angels. I paused while reading this book, and took some time to pray. Living with fear, it would be nice to believe that God has sent me an angel; and so... without serious intent, I ask “show me my angel”. However, just as suddenly as my request ends, I see, in my mind’s eye, an angel. I see a tall angel, very tall, maybe 7-8 foot tall, broad shoulders; with what I can only suspect to be a gorgeous wingspan because his wings are closed. This Giant of an angel is sitting on our living room chair which is entirely to small for him, his wings are arching over the back of the chair; his size is glorious. He is truly a warrior! But, he’s sitting on our living room chair?! His elbows are resting on his knees, and his cheeks resting in his open hands. He is a warrior angel and he is completely bored. He is bored out of his mind. This surprised me, but than I knew, “Of course he’s bored, I’m just sitting here reading a book”.
Have I cooperated with God as it pertains to this neighborhood? Though faith-filled prayer is very powerful, prayer is NOT powerful if it is performed as an act of service one can do from the safe side of the walls. I was praying for our neighborhood as I was also retreating in fear. It was revealed to me then, how little I know of God’s great power and strength and the strength and power we have as His children. We ought to pray as heirs to the kingdom, not beggars for a sliver of kindness and safety. Since then, I have begun asking myself, what am I willing to wager on what I know of God’s character? What am I willing to bet? I can say that God is great, but if, AS I am saying this, I am also shrinking away in fear; than something is a lie. Either God is great and I don’t believe it enough to live boldly. Or, God is not great, and I just can’t seem to believe the lie.
Desperate to find confidence in God, I have begun to find my answers through the eyepiece of a telescope. Astronomy is something that inspires me greatly to love God; and as Teresa of Avilla says “whatever inspires you to love God, do that.” I have spent many nights at our local observatory under dark skies. It is an education in “God” to see galaxies that fill your eyepiece, a whirlpool of stars overhead, millions of ‘suns’ filling the sky; you can only be filled with great awe. I know that God holds this entire universe in balance with a word; how much more has He committed to see His intentions accomplished through my life? Just one willing person is all he requires, just one willing person in my neighborhood to see things from His perspective, and to love with His heart. Could I be that one? I think there is one angel that is hoping so.

At the Heart of Worship

Receiving numerous reprimands with a flash of the eyes, over the years I have learned to sing more quietly. I am not a strong singer and enjoyment during worship time at church had faded. It’s almost a requirement to sing well if you are a woman, to harmonize, to reach the high notes. On the rare occasion when we sing the songs with girl parts and boy parts, I have to join in with the boys. That’s the way I rock it.Worship is very important, and it should be a lifestyle, a lifestyle of worship; Do all things as unto the Lord; whether it is working or playing, singing and praising, or dancing before the Lord. Lately, I have been trying something new, to praise God while I watch television. Now, this can be a bit tricky, and the activity itself requires that a certain standard be applied to the particular programs that I watch, PBS is usually pretty good, as are some of the science and nature channels. Lately, the cuttlefish, a relative to the squid found only around Australia and Indonesia has fascinated me. As my husband and I watched the cuttlefish swim, the colors on it’s backed rippled instantaneously with the changing environment. As he swam, he adapted. Next, the filmmakers brought us to a coral bed. Anxiously awaiting the arrival of the cuttlefish, the filmmaker disturbed the sand around the coral, and in a flash; the coral broke off and swam like death was near. This piece of coral fooled us; it was the cuttlefish! It had adapted not only in color, but exact shape as well. Sadly, the last we saw of the cuttlefish, was the greatest display of its adaptability. The scientists removed the fish from its natural environment and put it in an aquarium with a black and white checkered bottom. Mike and I waited in anticipation, as the colors on the cuttlefish’s back rippled in confusion, we continued to wait for a minute or two. The colors rippled over its body, then, faintly at first, we began to see a soft white square come to the surface of its skin, then with increasing boldness, and one hooray from me, one perfect white square sat solidly on the cuttlefish’s back. How can I not praise God for his genius and creativity! Time and time again, He gives us good reason to praise him.
A few years back, in the midst of my silent singing years, which, I should add, I am now trying to get beyond; I learned of another way I could worship God. I was attending a mission school; and every morning we began with an extended worship time, more singing. We met in a classroom with only an acoustic guitar, 30 women and 5 men; it was a fear I faced every day. We would sing and sing, pray and sing, sing some more, and then it was class time. This went on for three months. At the end of the school, the class had what is called a “love feast”; which was a time to eat together, share our experiences from the school, and just enjoy the time we had with one another. This year; however, we would have a time to give an offering to God. Whatever we wanted to offer, we would place at the foot of the cross, and later, under the dark of night, our offerings would be removed and burned. It was a chance for people to write down their fears, or struggles with sin, or whatever they may want to give to God. Immediately, when I heard this, my heart jumped for joy; I had never thought of this before, but here was an opportunity for me to give God a gift of something I was really good at; I could give Him the best gift I had. I would draw Him a picture. I immediately started preparing, and I knew just the picture I wanted to draw; it was a picture that had come to represent my special time alone with Jesus. It was just Jesus and me in a forest clearing, just being there together, no words exchanged. During the course of this school, I always thought of that picture and reminded myself of His safety and trustworthiness. I worked furiously on this drawing. I knew exactly how it should look, but unfortunately, I knew exactly how it should look, and this wasn’t it. I worked it and reworked it, crumpled some pages and started again. The morning of the love feast, I looked at my special gift, and was again humiliated by the gift I was giving God that night; I might as well be singing a solo. But I consoled myself, ‘it is about the heart’; and I had poured all of mine into it. Everything went a little slower that morning; I was really disappointed, but mostly ashamed of my gift. As I was getting ready though, I heard something in my spirit, more clearly than a thought I could have, “Give me your dreams and I will make them my promises.” I physically stopped what I was doing; the clarity and the precision of this message had startled me. I was stunned by what I was learning about God in this moment, what God truly wanted of me, and what I had been keeping from him all this time. I had always kept my dreams close, never able to really share this most intimate part of me, and it was that part of me that God wanted. I am sure God appreciated my efforts at drawing, and appreciated the heart that went into it, but he wanted to have the private dreams, those things that kept me going when I was despairing; He wanted to be the reason I kept going. I sat down, this time with a pen; there would be no erasing this page. I knew exactly what should be there: those things that kept me company at night when I couldn’t sleep, the places my mind always wandered to, and the things I thought about when my mind would drift away from prayer. I wrote my dreams on a sheet of paper, placed them in the envelope and asked God to take care of them. That night at the feast, we each got to say a little something about our offering if we had brought one, I said my piece and placed the envelope between the flowers that were at the foot of the cross. After the dinner was over, and people were milling around, blowing out the candles and picking up the plates; the woman who was in charge of the “burning” walked over to me with my envelope in hand. Recognizing the importance of this evening for me, she held out the envelope for me and asked if I would like to hang onto it, to remember the day. I know I must have smiled, because my immediate thought was, of course I would like to hang onto it, it is what I have always done, I have always held these dreams very tightly, but “No,” I told her. “You can burn them.” That was freedom. To be honest, I don’t remember what I wrote down, I didn’t give them to God to receive a promise, I did it because of what I had learned: that a true heart of worship is the one that gives of itself, the things it holds most dear. It is the God we serve that cherishes those things as well.

Waiting, not Fading

After an 18- hour train ride through Poland, having had nothing to eat but the flavoring packet from a package of noodles, I was exhausted and incredibly thirsty. Due to the language barrier, we hadn’t known there was no service on the train and that no potable water was available. I woke long after my travel partners had finished eating the uncooked noodles. Only the seasoning packet was left, so, partly out of hunger, but mostly intending to illustrate the natural results of their selfishness, I ate my packet of seasoning. I realized almost immediately that this was a point not worth making; but with great zeal, I finished the flavoring packet and licked the foil clean.Arriving at the Frankfurt Airport that evening, we met up with another travel team from the same mission school that we were with. We had parted ways with them three months earlier at this same station when they had gone to Greece and we had gone to Poland. After greeting our friends, and addressing my thirst issues, I pulled out my sleeping bag, moved to the edge of the barren ticketing area, and settled in for a much needed nap. We had a night to spend in the Frankfurt airport before our flight left the following day. I slept until morning, when the warm sun shone through the glass walls and ceiling onto my face, waking me gently, the way nature tends to do. A small stretch in my sleeping bag, and my eyes began to open. In a state of confusion, I looked around and all I could see can only be described as a forest of legs, legs everywhere. And I could hear my friends snickering somewhere beyond the kneecaps. I made a quick assessment. Today was a busy day at the airport, and somehow I had been moved into the center of the check-in area. Ticketing lines were spiraling around me, bags were sliding across the floor past my ears, and I hadn’t woken, hadn’t even stirred during this mischievous displacement. I am a sound sleeper; I always have been.Two years prior to joining this international mission school, I came to a saving knowledge of Jesus. I was in college, and in the winter of my second year, I was brought to the truth of how I had been living my life. I saw that I was in a place of rebellion, and rather than getting God’s attention, which is all I had ever hoped for, I was living in opposition to Him. I made the decision at that time to live intentionally for Him, to continue in my life to make decisions that would bring me into His will and to live a life worthy of His calling. I left school and moved back home in order to be with my family and to have some time to understand what God was calling me to. The time at home with my family was very hard and I was wondering if I had made the right decision in leaving college. I was knocking on doors, hoping to attend a mission school and it wasn’t coming to pass. The time grew increasingly dark; I was despairing of work at a menial job and just waiting for “the right time”. I had told God that I wouldn’t attend the mission school until I had my family’s blessing to go. Shortly after I had left college I had requested permission from them, and received, in no uncertain terms, “NO”. I continued to attend a local church, which was a great supporter of missions, and so this ache in my heart to go grew increasingly strong; but any indication that my family’s heart was changing was not there. My life was on hold and my hope deferred for an indefinite amount of time. During these times, I feel like I am walking a fine edge. Sometimes, it only takes a small trip or a slip of the foot and I find myself in a pit. This was one of those times. It was a time when it seemed I’d spent my whole life waiting. Waiting for something to come, waiting for direction, being frustrated with saying to God, “Here I am,” and hearing Him say, “Wait.”One night is the same as another, and one day is like the one before, and then, something changes. Something happens, and it is unsolicited and something you know you need. I went to sleep one night; just simply went to sleep. I had a dream, and in this dream, a man approached me on the street and said, “Write this down.” I awoke in the morning, like I always did, but unlike most dreams, I remembered this one, vaguely. I was a blink away from either remembering or forgetting. “Write this down.” I was able to recall that much, but, write what down? Write what down!? I couldn’t remember. The more I tried, the further it escaped my recollection. Then I saw it; a slip of paper on my dresser. It must have been there the night before, but the scribbled handwriting on it had not been. I read, “Just as I have come that you may have eternal life; I have given Life, that you may Live!” Somehow, I had managed to obey from the depths of my deep sleep.These words I have carried with me. I was created to be with God in heaven, but I was also created for Life to be lived abundantly here and now. Time permits us to see things in ourselves that we may otherwise be blinded to. If it were not for this time of waiting, I may not have known how easily I give up living a significant life. How easily I give up on the things that bring Joy. Even though I must wait, this is not permission to fade away. Shortly after receiving this word of encouragement, I prayed again with my pastor’s wife; she agreed with me that I should have the blessing of my family. That night, I went home and before I had finished my question, I had received a resounding “Yes”. Completely shocked, I clarified my question. Perhaps, there was a misunderstanding? I received a second Yes. One month later, I was packing my hatchback for the long drive cross-country; after three months of mission school, our team was heading out for Poland and one of the most amazing times of our lives.I am still trying to understand what God has called me to, and I wonder if anyone ever really feels “grown up”. But as I am living and hopefully still continuing to move towards Him, I want to fill my life developing the gifts he has given, spending time doing what inspires me to love and worship Him, and to fully live the life I was created for. I don’t want to sit around and wait to live, when there is much to learn and do in the meantime

Bigfoot (To increase search engine hits)

Marietta had called me in for a chat. It could have been for any number of reasons. It could have been the time a friend and I had repeatedly lit the “special” candles, and blew them out, until the Dutch fire department showed up in response to the fire alarm we’d unintentionally set off. It could just as easily have been the time we had abused our privileges to the intercom system, whispering “question authority” through the speakers, as the European missions board met on site, over some very important issues. We were barely able to contain our laughter as we pushed the button; and in a breathy whisper, slowly issued our warning, grinding each syllable in our teeth QU-E-S-T-IO-N-AU-THOR-I-TY. We’d giggle, regain our composure, and start again. Until the leader of the European missions board came bursting into the lobby, rattling the glass as the doors slammed into the walls on either side. He was not laughing. I was SO afraid THAT night.It easily could have been one of those times, or a long list of others; but it wasn’t. It was the time I had decided to break into the A/V room with this same friend and the aid of two missionary kids. Having grown tired of watching Princess Bride at every community movie night, we had determined to watch some of our own movie selections. We watched a western and maybe a horror movie? Yeah, we definitely watched a horror movie; the one I had picked out. Somehow word had gotten back to the base director, about what I had done, and what I had brought into this place. I was truly remorseful and embarrassed for my behavior. What I had done was disrespectful to everyone in the community. I apologized.Later that morning, my school leader, Marietta, told me that we would be meeting to discuss this matter. I was filled with dread and embarrassment as I waited for her arrival. When she arrived; however, she did not say what I expected; instead she began with an observation “T.J. every time I see you make great strides toward God, you kick back; you refuse to go on, to take the next step. Why is that?” I thought back on my time at this school, and the time before that, and it was true. We talked about this at length. I discovered that what I feared was disappointment. I’ve always felt disappointed, believing that every gift from God would lead to sorrow. Seeing Him as “The Wishmaster” (not the movie we watched that night, by the way). As the story goes, whenever you wish for something, something or someone far more important will be taken from you. If you wish for a million dollars, you’ll get it - when a loved one’s life insurance policy is doled out, because that loved one is now dead. You have a million dollars, just what you wished for - kind of. Marietta asked me what I would ask for if I could have anything. She left the room so I could really give it some thought. When she returned, she asked what I wanted and we prayed. I told her, what I wanted most was to understand the cross. If I could have a glimpse of the cross, everything else would come into alignment and prioritize itself. I might have a different take on sin and have the courage to make the difficult decisions, if I only understood the cross. I also thought, if I pray for this, there is NO way it could turn out poorly, a win-win.Later that same day, Marietta and I met in the lobby to go for pizza, as she had promised earlier in the school. She had identified me and two others as the “trouble-makers”, and she said that she would take us out for dinner, because she liked spending time with “trouble-makers”. Tonight happened to be my night. The walk to the tram was awkward, it is never nice to be seen in your sin; but it always seems harder the next time you meet, after the shame sets in. We rode the tram and got off at the square, where I was promised American style pizza. The square or plaza was packed with soccer fans and all the jumbo screens had been moved outdoors to accommodate the people who were there to cheer for their teams. Making our way to the restaurant, we entered and ordered our pizza. A group of men sat down at the table next to us. One of the men leaned over and began speaking to us in Dutch with a crude and drunken smile. Marietta spoke harsh Dutch words back to him. She would not translate anything that was said because it was, in her words, “not nice”. These men continued until they lost interest and left the restaurant, having never ordered a thing. Embarrassment now heaped on the shame I had carried in with me, we cut our dinner short and decided to go back to the base and call it a night. Again we walked through the busy square; the men, impossibly more drunk than they were at our first crossing. A number of them began yelling at us, leaning into our path as we tried to pass. Marietta grabbed my hand and held it tightly; taking tiny but very quick steps, she pulled me along. I could hear her chattering prayers. Then, as if in slow motion, I heard very clearly, heavy footsteps coming up from behind; slowly at first, but gaining speed. A heavy foot landed in the center of my back. A grown man had run up from behind and kicked me?! What in the world is going on?! What did I do to deserve this?! We caught the very next tram which would take us to central station, where we waited for our transfer. Then, while we waited, several transvestite prostitutes joined us in the shelter. It was so hard standing there, trying not to look them in the eyes; trying not to give any indication that I was interested in responding to them. They sensed discomfort and made a game as they laughed and pointed at me; but I still pretended not to notice the things they were doing just inches away from me. The moment we returned to the base, exasperated Marietta ran off in one direction, saying something about prayer. I later heard that she had called a group together to pray for us, and more specifically to pray for me as what I had experienced could only be described by her as a “spiritual attack”. She went her direction, and I went mine. I found a friend and walked with her down by the canal and told her the entire story. Told her how I got busted for the movie, and how I cried like a baby when I had to apologize. I told her how I had met with Marietta, and how she told me to ask for one thing from God; and finally, how my pizza night had gone so absurdly wrong, and how mean everyone was, and how gross I felt after being teased and kicked and insulted. To my surprise, she answered with such excitement, “That is amazing! You got a glimpse of the cross!” Immediately, I knew she was right, and somehow had known as this was occurring, that God had been present with me. This was a gift, an answer to prayer! I was not at all disappointed. To this day, I consider that to be the best answer to prayer I’ve ever received. I am not saying I’ve experienced the cross, or anything close to it, but I did get a glimpse, ever so slight, of a little bit of what Jesus may have felt as he walked with his cross to the place of the skull.