It was a rough night. Tears. Thoughts. Prayers.
I almost deleted the previous post but the Giant stopped me (that's my DH.)
It's queer to seek refuge in a blog. Yet it's cathartic. Weird.
I keep thinking that someone out there gets it, understands exactly what I feel right this moment. Even though only two people read my blog!
I hope someone in a similar situation who needs to know they are not alone reads it someday. Maybe its one of you two, maybe not.
I woke up today thinking about simplicity. I think God put that in my head. Last night the kids and I watched a movie about St. Therese of Lisieux and her "little way." She was a carmelite nun at the age of fifteen who dies from tuberculosis. She and all of her sisters became nuns. Theirs was a simple faith and their life's calling was simple - serve.
So today I embark on a path of simplicity. In the midst of all this cityness that I so despise, we will make it our goal to find simplicity in everything and to live simpler lives; employing a simple, childlike faith. This is motivating and calming me in the whirlwind of recovery, which may take some time.
I know myself and I see days coming that are full of excitement about moving, and then days of despair when I recall what we didn't do. As I often do, I will get wrapped up in making and creating, trying to "do" away the time I might spend longing for what I can't have.
I'm not practical, and I praise God for it. I'm the kind who builds castles in the air and dreams far bigger than I have a right to. I've been told on more than one occasion that I'm a snob or that I have no right to think I deserve such things when so many are in hopeless places with hopeless lives.
All I know is this; I can do far more for the hopeless when I feel I am following God's plan for me. He made me to be a big dreamer, a big doer, and to think that no mountain is too high to climb. Who am I to question Him? He is the great Creator and His imagination and design in making me was not flawed, he knew me while I was yet in my mothers womb.
A few weeks ago I had a vision while sitting in church listening to a guest speaker. I used to have visions often when I was younger. This one caught me off guard because I haven't had one in so long. It was simple. I was thinking about all of my frailties that keep me from doing things and I was wishing I could do more. I looked up and there was Jesus in Heaven; bright, shining, standing tall and glorious in white robes. His arms were outstretched and He was laughing.
He was laughing.
It was a big thunderous laugh and yet He hardly moved. His face lifted as He laughed, His chin elevated from the joy of it.
In that moment I realized He was laughing because I was there, ready to receive anything He was willing to give me in that moment. He wanted me to ask for so much! He wanted to heal every infirmity in my body, He wanted to show me that He's there and His gifts are free to those who believe and trust in Him. "Ask!" He was saying, "ASK!"
I felt the Holy Spirit wash over me and cleanse me. My hands, which hurt daily from cysts and arthritis suddenly felt strong and pain free, my knees ( a long time cause of suffering and pain) on which I knelt there with the throngs of others felt nothing but the soft pillow under them rather than the prickles of nerve damage and stiffness of arthritis.
I began to smile. It was all I could do to keep from laughing myself. He laughed, I smiled. The moment lasted so long - truly it was five minutes or more.
I spoke of it a little to my husband, but these things are hard for others to understand. The healing was not the kind to last beyond His time for me to have it, or maybe my faith is too weak to fully receive it. But I feel remnants of it here and there. And I still see Him in my head and I know He is so full of joy in the idea of us coming to Him with our troubles that it brings Him to a place of laughter when we say a feeble "yes" if even for a moment.
When we sing "Come to the Water" we have no idea what that means. There He is, wanting to heal us, wanting to help us to change the world in grand ways with simple acts of love and there we are, gazing out over the Grand Canyon wondering how to get across. He comes to us and shows us the bridge while we foolishly cling to the ledge crying out like spoiled children. The table is before us, a feast unimaginable.
In my smallness I will remember to eat from His table, and then the loss of my dream here on earth may give way to something far bigger, and I may find myself transformed in ways even I have never dreamed.
I almost deleted the previous post but the Giant stopped me (that's my DH.)
It's queer to seek refuge in a blog. Yet it's cathartic. Weird.
I keep thinking that someone out there gets it, understands exactly what I feel right this moment. Even though only two people read my blog!
I hope someone in a similar situation who needs to know they are not alone reads it someday. Maybe its one of you two, maybe not.
I woke up today thinking about simplicity. I think God put that in my head. Last night the kids and I watched a movie about St. Therese of Lisieux and her "little way." She was a carmelite nun at the age of fifteen who dies from tuberculosis. She and all of her sisters became nuns. Theirs was a simple faith and their life's calling was simple - serve.
So today I embark on a path of simplicity. In the midst of all this cityness that I so despise, we will make it our goal to find simplicity in everything and to live simpler lives; employing a simple, childlike faith. This is motivating and calming me in the whirlwind of recovery, which may take some time.
I know myself and I see days coming that are full of excitement about moving, and then days of despair when I recall what we didn't do. As I often do, I will get wrapped up in making and creating, trying to "do" away the time I might spend longing for what I can't have.
I'm not practical, and I praise God for it. I'm the kind who builds castles in the air and dreams far bigger than I have a right to. I've been told on more than one occasion that I'm a snob or that I have no right to think I deserve such things when so many are in hopeless places with hopeless lives.
All I know is this; I can do far more for the hopeless when I feel I am following God's plan for me. He made me to be a big dreamer, a big doer, and to think that no mountain is too high to climb. Who am I to question Him? He is the great Creator and His imagination and design in making me was not flawed, he knew me while I was yet in my mothers womb.
A few weeks ago I had a vision while sitting in church listening to a guest speaker. I used to have visions often when I was younger. This one caught me off guard because I haven't had one in so long. It was simple. I was thinking about all of my frailties that keep me from doing things and I was wishing I could do more. I looked up and there was Jesus in Heaven; bright, shining, standing tall and glorious in white robes. His arms were outstretched and He was laughing.
He was laughing.
It was a big thunderous laugh and yet He hardly moved. His face lifted as He laughed, His chin elevated from the joy of it.
In that moment I realized He was laughing because I was there, ready to receive anything He was willing to give me in that moment. He wanted me to ask for so much! He wanted to heal every infirmity in my body, He wanted to show me that He's there and His gifts are free to those who believe and trust in Him. "Ask!" He was saying, "ASK!"
I felt the Holy Spirit wash over me and cleanse me. My hands, which hurt daily from cysts and arthritis suddenly felt strong and pain free, my knees ( a long time cause of suffering and pain) on which I knelt there with the throngs of others felt nothing but the soft pillow under them rather than the prickles of nerve damage and stiffness of arthritis.
I began to smile. It was all I could do to keep from laughing myself. He laughed, I smiled. The moment lasted so long - truly it was five minutes or more.
I spoke of it a little to my husband, but these things are hard for others to understand. The healing was not the kind to last beyond His time for me to have it, or maybe my faith is too weak to fully receive it. But I feel remnants of it here and there. And I still see Him in my head and I know He is so full of joy in the idea of us coming to Him with our troubles that it brings Him to a place of laughter when we say a feeble "yes" if even for a moment.
When we sing "Come to the Water" we have no idea what that means. There He is, wanting to heal us, wanting to help us to change the world in grand ways with simple acts of love and there we are, gazing out over the Grand Canyon wondering how to get across. He comes to us and shows us the bridge while we foolishly cling to the ledge crying out like spoiled children. The table is before us, a feast unimaginable.
In my smallness I will remember to eat from His table, and then the loss of my dream here on earth may give way to something far bigger, and I may find myself transformed in ways even I have never dreamed.
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