I have this relationship with the sky. When I wake up first thing, I grab a cup of coffee, step outside, glance up into its face and ask, “Well, what would you like to do today?” And whether the answer is filled with clarity, clouds, storms, or stillness, I make it a point to add, “This day belongs to you, Lord.” It has become a habit, this daily dedication. No matter what, come what may; in good times, bad times (you know I’ve had my share 🎶), there is no other name under heaven than Yeshua.
I’m a seer yet can’t seem to see what’s directly ahead of me right now (the irony). Other than a few significant dreams—about ships and clocks, specific people and cultures—I have no idea what God is doing. Yet, for some reason, I can glimpse up at the expansive sky and find reassurance, a reminder that HE’S got this day, and every day is in his hands. Instead of analyzing or fretting, I can rest in his presence, trust in faith, albeit blind faith sometimes.
As I was out visiting my horse, pondering the meaningful metaphors of the sky, I looked upward when my favorite Mr. Heron made a sudden appearance, changed direction and flew right over my head. I watched the stoic air-traveler meld into the horizon. I then drew a big breath—because I think I’d stopped breathing for a second there—and exhaled with pleasure. Then last night when I greeted the full moon, I acknowledged and appreciated its reflection of the cross.
Yeah, the sky inspires me. It is ever-present yet full of surprises. Just like my God who created the lovely, larger-than-me-and-my-issues, hope-filled sky. This day belongs to him.
Imagine you’re in a long, dark tunnel and the only sound you hear are the arrows of the enemy whizzing past your head. You search for light at the end that you have trouble distinguishing and stumble while groping for some semblance of deliverance—because surely there has got to be a ceasefire to this relentless onslaught. But what if the light isn’t at the end of the tunnel? Instead, you are the light—the only light some will ever see. If Yeshua/Jesus is in you and you are in Yeshua and clothed with the mantle of the Ruach HaKodesh/Holy Spirit, then you are not only protected, but you have the radiance to illuminate the darkness no matter how offensive the corridor appears.
I have a lot of snake-handling dreams. And no, I don’t condone real-life snake-handling—unless you enjoy that kind of hobby. My dreams are symbolic, and they almost always represent healing and/or deliverance. The other night I dreamed of a long dark tunnel full of swift-flying arrows; there was also a large menacing rattlesnake seeking to do damage and immobilize. Just before its fangs struck me, I stomped on its head, holding it in place. While it hissed and tried to bite my foot, I grabbed it at the base of its head, lifted its thrashing body and flung it back where it came. I admit, I was panting from the turmoil in wrestling this strong and venomous serpent, but the snake fearfully disappeared (as did the arrows) in a snap like a yelping coyote pup. There are other elements to this dream, including people, and I owe a lot of light-expanding insight to my sister/bff here, but the gist of the message was straight out of Luke 10:19: “I have given you power to tread serpents and scorpions underfoot, and to trample on all the power of the Enemy; and in no case shall anything do you harm.”
Did you know that even in the darkest hour and the vilest place, you have the power to shift the atmosphere by your presence if you have the Lord in you? Faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains. It can calm storms.
No matter how life looks, how crazy and chaotic the days are; if despair overwhelms you, just remember that we win. And God’s divine alignments, timetables, and promises WILL COME. But we also have to take care by not getting so shaken up that we give up. Rise up, rise up, rise up! Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice! Nurture, nurture, nurture. Even if you’re battle weary, clap your hands to dispel the clouds of discouragement. Shout or whisper (whichever your style) a favorite verse, sing an uplifting song, and yeah… go ahead and do a “shake-off” dance even if someone’s watching; I mean, at this point, who cares, right? What have you got to lose other than the dregs of the enemy’s jump-scares?
“The seed of faith is planted in the inner man to care for, nurture, and grow where the enemy cannot touch it except to upset the outer man to the degree that we might be shaken and abort it prematurely.”—Heidi Hayes
Don’t let it happen; don’t give up. Trample the devil and his underlings underfoot where they belong. Recapture the sense of what’s ahead… nothing but guarantee, gain, and goodness… and a wide-open horizon of boundless possibilities.
We can settle in a place of peace, regardless of what’s going on around us. It might be our nature to desire delineations, even if we dive deep in the Spirit. We might want to see above the surface, or how far to the floor. We might yearn for a glimpse of what’s around or ahead of us. We think we need explanations. Lines and restrictions can give a sense of security… or control. But what if God is asking us to abide in the depths of his fathomless grace? To just linger in his presence, in stillness, even if it’s dark and we can’t see as far as our own hands in front of us? To truly, wholly, trust in him, his mercy--just trust. A hurricane can rip over the surface and destroy everything in its path; impacting everything as we know it; perhaps ridding the familiar or comfortable. But in trusting him, in letting go and allowing him to sweep through our circumstances, our lives, our hearts; we can all the while abide in the depth of his peace, in calm. We can remain in an immovable space, a divine place; one of intimacy and confidence in the God of Glory who speaks to the storms. Instead of the storms threatening to destroy us, we watch them as they shift and scream away at his whisper. All that’s left is what was there all along. Peace, calm, assurance. To trust at a place in the present, where neither height nor depth nor anything can separate us from his love (Romans 8:39). May you abide in his immeasurable peace.
I’ve heard this expression more frequently lately. It’s come from different sources and marked out a bit differently, but the message is the solid same: God didn’t call you to be good, he called you to be faithful. He didn’t call you to be successful, he called you to be obedient.
I’m not a proponent of pursuing fame or fortune. If it happens while you go about your business, super. You can do more for others if you’ve been gifted with much… Responsibility and all. But what if you’re only to do well with what you’ve been given, even if it’s ever little? That’s not to say we don’t strive to do well. But what if “to do well” means simply: with integrity, dedication, motivation, and honor?
There was a time when it was more important for me to be known and successful, to please and entertain mainstream. Now, I don’t care so much. Because in the eyes of the world (amid fruitless comparisons), I am neither good nor successful; often overlooked; and criticism can outweigh encouragement. In the eyes of the Lord, though, I am faithful and obedient. Guess whose eyes matter most?
Seek holiness and purpose, not prestige.
Sure, labor to do whatever you do to the best of your ability and within your means. But be who you are, pursuing God and not man.
“People who don’t know you can’t define you.”—Perry Noble, Second Chance Church
Regret. It’s a part of human nature since the fall of man, and I daresay we are born with having to deal with it. I have regrets. A few are doozies that keep me up some nights. They fall under the categories of immaturity, impetuousness, impatience, denial, poor choices—maybe ones that changed the trajectory of my life—and I’ll admit, foolishness. When I didn’t think or wait on the Lord, or heed the advice of others, but moved forward on my own volition. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Savage!
As an introverted writer, I have to say I’ve rather enjoyed this shelter-in-place era as little has changed in my day-to-day—other than closure of the Cherokee National Forest wherein lies tastes of freedom I particularly enjoy. But as a deep thinker, I’ve found this season especially challenging wherein thoughts can be dangerous. In other words, if the virus doesn’t kill you, or pro/anti-mask-wearers smack you depending on which “side” you’re on, regret just might. Unless you strive for a renewal every morning by God’s Word—our blueprint for life, a barebones necessity, our spiritual water, food, and shelter.
Writing is purpose-filled for me, messages contained within paper or digital pages intended for others. There is sometimes my own therapy in the progression, though. Which leads me to my current WIP (work-in-progress). After receiving emails asking if I’m going to write a sequel to Remnant, with the reemergence of Atizael, the answer is a solid yes. And I’ve started that; however, often the current of creativity demands a drop and refocus.
I’ve switched gears. Working feverishly to finish a book on regret and the transgressions and haunts of our past. It’s in the format of a dark fantasy romance, but the spiritual significance is there, and it’s what I—for some reason—need to spend my time on right now. The current working title at this point is Dark King’s Human Bride. And in being honest, unless my beta readers tell me, “Hey, Chicky, this is a bit much,” it’s coming out a touch graphic. I have a longstanding issue with much of Christian fiction being candy-coated anyway (perhaps more on this in another blog). Human nature is human nature, and evil is evil. Regret in all forms is regret in every form. It is what it is, and I have to be true to the nature of this beast.
But not without good intention! I find a quote by writer Anne Lamott perfect for the launch of this literary ride: “Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up.”
This savage has set off. More later.