I sat in the balcony, feeling released from that anxiousness that generally plagues me, looking for the I-Spy hunt that God has been leading me on as of late. So much fun!

The message this morning: reflecting on Ephesians. I had an inkling in my mind.  I had put a book in my bag before running out the door for service: it seemed to need to come along.  The title: “The Spirit of Wisdom and Revelation” by Watchman Nee.

“The God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give unto you a spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of him” (Ephesians 1.17).

“Paul prayed in his day for the saints in Ephesus that they might see the exceeding greatness of the power which God had already given them. Now if we today do not see that the power in us and the power in Christ is on and the same power, we too must pray for seeing. If the power manifested in us is less than the power that was manifested in Christ, we should acknowledge that there are still many things which we have not seen. Let us humbly confess and pray to God to make us see. Yet whether we see or not, the fact remains that the power which God works in those who believe is according to the working of the strength of His might which He wrought in Christ.  Hallelujah! This the spiritual fact. Let us ask God to open our eyes that we may truly perceive and understand. We will not ask His to pour upon us more power from outside; no, we will only ask Him to cause us to discover and to see m ore that is in us already. And when God opens our eyes to see, we shall praise Him more and more for what we have been given” (23).

This I prayed, for my self and my worship family as we shared some of our reflections, struggles, challenges, and encouragements from spending time in (and out) of Ephesians.

“Paul prayed ‘that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ … may give unto you a spirit of wisdom and revelation.’ Without the Holy Spirit, what profit is there in clearness of teaching? It is the Holy Spirit who opens our eyes and causes us to see. When He truly opens our eyes we will immediately be able to say: ‘Thank God, the work is done.’ We are not to expect the Lord to give us greater power: we are simply to perceive how great is the power which He has already given us. The spirit of wisdom will  make us understand and the spirit of revelation will make us see; wisdom will make things clear and revelation will bring them to us” (33).

All this I prayed while I casually waved my son’s palm frond in a passive aggressive way in attempting to show some passion. And I smiled as my children proclaimed their hosannas all the way to the car, with construction paper leaves and a paper windsock. Just like in Bible times.

Wisdom and revelation: be here. We anticipate you with fear and trembling. Hosanna in the highest!

Ps.  The topic of the sermon I listened to on Tuesday night when I felt like God took me on an audio Hide & Seek game (my own personal bazinga!): wisdom and revelation, freedom and joy! Nevertheless!

So Gertrud arrived at my house, and I skimmed ahead to the section on Holy Week and Easter to get a sense if there was anything I might incorporate into our upcoming celebration. Gertrud is very holistic in her life, because instead of simply listing off craft projects and foods that could be enjoyed, she talks about an event and weaves in psychological, community, and personal implications.

Gertrud starts off talking about the procession of Palm Sunday with ideas of making bread dough chicks, gathering branches, displaying banners, and then so slyly delves into a discussion on feeling and passion in the corporate gathering. “The powerful liturgy of these holy days must tap also our deepest and most human place, the feelings of the human heart.” (157)  I remember loving to tear through the sanctuary as a kid: to be as loud as I wanted to be, especially without any adults to tell me to “quiet down, now” (as I do to my kids in the social hall – sigh). Part of that was the rambunctiousness that comes with being a kid, but I also think it’s something more.

Then Gertrud hit me, lovingly:

Indeed, in many cases it takes some educating and coaxing of priests and leaders of public worship not to stand at such a distance from the passions of what makes us human. That education and leadership, in turn, directed to the community assembled, can release a richness and a power, which can only be called a religious experience. Yes, we risk putting ourselves out. But to hold back or deny out of fear is to deny people a form to contain their human expression; it is to rob people of a religious life. (157)

Pow.

In one of his talks Graham Cooke talked about the relationship between worship leaders and the “rest” of the gathering. He said something to the effect that we’re called not to judge how worship is going or meeting our needs, but rather to intercede for the worship leaders that they may create an atmosphere of deeper breakthrough of the Holy Spirit.

My natural inclination is to sit back and point out things that I perceive are wrong or lacking, and then feel justified in disengaging. What if that negative revelation has a place, but rather calling for deeper engagement? What if that message is for me so I know how better to intercede for our worship facilitators? What would it look like to lift up rather than tear down? And what if lifted up, the facilitators can better “release a richness and a power, which can only be called a religious experience”?

One of my dearest friends facilitates worship both on Sunday morning and at our bible study on Thursdays. This past Thursday the songs she chose reflected the themes and fingerprints of God that we’ve talked about lately at our Tuesday night “crafty” gatherings. I don’t know that she did it intentionally or subconsciously, but I did grin as each song was displayed on the projector. I pray for her, respect that she’s been gifted for this task, believe she is equipped, want to acknowledge her blessings and intercede in her places of lack. I see richness and power released into our Thursday morning experience: hosanna!

I’ve been convinced I don’t carry the same posture on Sunday mornings, and this post is an attempt at repentance.

I am sorry for the times I have judged or been critical – that was not, nor ever will be, my place.

I believe God is the God of “insteads”:  Isaiah proclaims God wants to give beauty instead of ashes, abundance instead of deprivation. Instead of judging, I want to respect and honor those who have been chosen to facilitate our worship times. Instead of having a spirit of introspection, I want to have a spirit of communal adoration. I want to honor my leaders’ giftings, respect their leadings, and “coax” them into a deeper engagement and passion through a pouring out of prayer. I want to see us in the light of “instead”.

Then perhaps I, and we, will enter in more deeply to what God is already doing:

“11 And the Lord will guide you continually
and satisfy your desire in scorched places
and make your bones strong;
and you shall be like a watered garden,
like a spring of water,
whose waters do not fail.
12 And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
the restorer of streets to dwell in.

13 “If you turn back your foot from the Sabbath,
from doing your pleasure on my holy day,
and call the Sabbath a delight
and the holy day of the Lord honorable;
if you honor it, not going your own ways,
or seeking your own pleasure, or talking idly;
14 then you shall take delight in the Lord,
and I will make you ride on the heights of the earth;
I will feed you with the heritage of Jacob your father,
for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.” – Isaiah 58

All glory laud and honor, to you Redeemer King! Hosanna, hosanna to the Son of David!

Meanwhile, my other son was stuck in the men’s bathroom stall.  A friend’s son found him; with loving concern the whole family brought him in his distress to us and stayed to make sure he was okay.

One running things in the balcony; the other stuck in the basement bathroom.  But both helped out by our extended family.

Today the eldest was back in the sound booth and the middle child was sitting with one of his best bud’s family.  Jason and I enjoyed a moment of rest. I worked to enter into worship, trying not to get stuck on the mention of the “Quaker handraising” (described as a small extension of the hands to the side, totally non-expressive. Doesn’t quite seem in line with a denomination that got its name from describing their bodily manifestations of the Spirit). I thought about how nice it would be after worship, having received an invitation to a friend’s house for a Real Sunday Dinner (with grandparents and Wii entertainment for the tykes – delightful!).

Downstairs I ran into one of the Weighty Friends in my life.  Her face lit up when our eyes connected.  We waxed poetic about people we admire in our lives and joked about how it’s good that we don’t sit together, lest we stir up “real” trouble.

Similar to the experience I earlier described with my boys, I was enjoying life in the balcony, while another was stuck in a metaphorical crapper.

It can be hard to get through service with young kids, especially when the dismissal to children’s church occurs later than usual.  Instead of experiencing the help of a friend “opening the stall door” to get through, a snarky comment about controlling kids or not having them in the sanctuary pretty much slammed that door shut.

This is not the first time it’s happened to someone I know.

What do I do with something like that? What do *WE* do with that? What does it look like to give grace (“oh, maybe they were having a hard day”) or to call into loving correction (“this is not how we treat each other”)? My fear is I will hear more excuses (“yep, that happens in churches”) rather than being heard (“that’s hard. and not okay. what does this mean, and what must we do?”).

Ultimately it’s not my choice: it didn’t happen to me. Directly. But it happened to someone in my family.

After trying on a myriad of reactions, I take the lead from today’s message on prayer: pray without ceasing, in *all* things. In the heights/balcony and the depths/basement men’s bathroom, You’re there redeeming, O Lord. You pour Your righteous love on us all – the old, the young; the movers, the sitters; the finger-extenders, the quakers.

A song that echos through my days, and ultimately I hope to be my evident in my life:

We are His portion and He is our prize.
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes,
If grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking.
And Heaven meets earth like an unforseen kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest,
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets,
When I think about, the way…

That He loves us, oh how He loves us. – John Mark McMillan

• For years my watchband was sewn together with dental floss because “it’s three times stronger than regular string!”
• I can eat breakfast at least three times a day.
• I like my coffee extra-hot (which is pretty darn hot for an americano that’s made with 200 degree water).
• This morning as I was loading six bottles of V-Fusion (known as “Granddaddy’s juice” in our abode) onto the conveyor belt at Grocery Outlet because it was only $1.79 (yes, Pappy, it’s true: total stock-up price), I realized, “I’m stocking up.  On juice.  And I’m super-excited.  I’m so my DAD!”

My dad reads a lot.  I read a lot.  Lately he’s been sending me his books so I can resell them at our local coffee/bookstore (also known as our home away from home: the boys’ nightly prayers always have a Chapters trip request for the following day).  I filter through Dad’s reads, pulling out what I find interesting *and* might read: as a mother of three small tykes, that’s a surprisingly narrow category.

The latest book I’ve discovered and have been soaking up is Andrew Murray’s “Living the New Life”.  This is also known as “The New Life” for some reason.  It’s written for “the young Christian”, a sort of manual of basic spiritual formation.  Each chapter is concise, starting with scripture, a small teaching with plenty of scriptural footnotes, questions for individual or group discussion, and a prayer.  In fact, it’s all here!  In the words of my father, “How cool is that?!!” [insert arms going out to the side, palms up].

Today I sat a bit with “The Life of Feeling”.  On the Myers-Briggs indicator, I’m a high-level F (Feeling); as high as I am an F, my father is a T (Thinking).  That has made for some interesting father/daughter dynamics as well as perceptions of Papa God.  Wikipedia, source of all information is true, sums up:

Thinking and feeling are the decision-making (judging) functions. The thinking and feeling functions are both used to make rational decisions, based on the data received from their information-gathering functions (sensing or intuition). Those who prefer thinking tend to decide things from a more detached standpoint, measuring the decision by what seems reasonable, logical, causal, consistent and matching a given set of rules. Those who prefer feeling tend to come to decisions by associating or empathizing with the situation, looking at it ‘from the inside’ and weighing the situation to achieve, on balance, the greatest harmony, consensus and fit, considering the needs of the people involved.

As noted already, people who prefer thinking do not necessarily, in the everyday sense, “think better” than their feeling counterparts; the opposite preference is considered an equally rational way of coming to decisions (and, in any case, the MBTI assessment is a measure of preference, not ability). Similarly, those who prefer feeling do not necessarily have “better” emotional reactions than their thinking counterparts.

I know these are different uses of the word “feeling”, but I find it interesting to think of how they could easily get muddled, and likewise get me muddled.

We do not find the word “feeling” in Scripture. What we call “feeling” the Scripture calls “seeing.” And it tells us without ceasing that not seeing yet still believing–believing in opposition to what we see–gives salvation.”(Abraham), not being weak in faith, considered not his own body” (Romans 4:19). Faith simply adheres to what God says. Those who see, yet have no faith, will not partake of the glory of God. Those who have faith in God, but do not see, will witness His glory.2 The man who seeks for feeling and mourns about it will not find it. The man who does not care for feeling will have it overflowing. “He that findeth his life shall lose it, and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it” (Matthew 10:39). Faith in the Word later on becomes sealed with true feeling by the Holy Spirit.3 (ref)

This seems to be my heart’s cry at the moment: for me and my worship gathering – “Feeling always seeks something in itself. Faith keeps itself occupied with what Jesus is.” What if my day-to-day activities were solely occupied with what Jesus is? What if my worship, individual and gathered, was solely occupied with what Jesus is?

Another dad-ism:  “It’s easier to find a job when you have a job.” Maybe it’s easier to find faith when I have faith, becoming aware of areas where I am occupied with what Jesus is.

I think the point is to retire my preference for decision-making and lean into that Great Mystery despite feelings or logic; this requires faith that I can’t produce but can accept if I’ll just take a step.

I attended a conference two weekends ago.  A friend caught me on Facebook in the early morning hours:  she had been praying and interceding, I had been syncing podcasts before making a slew of cheese eggs (because boy howdy, my kids can eat cheese eggs).  She told me about this conference:  The Sound of Heaven.  I knew about it but thought I was going to be out of town at my folks.  I mentioned it to my mama casually and quickly received an email from my dad saying he’d love to go with me, my mama would watch the kids, and Jason could do whatever he’d like:  win for all!

I was scared to go, honestly.  It’s a worship gathering that seems to shine Truth and Love, with a strong abiding in the prophetic, and I was a little scared that I might get scorched … or that I might not.  As we drove to the evening conference, a double rainbow blazed overhead.  No, it didn’t end on the building, but it was the most vivid rainbow I’ve seen in a long time.  Perhaps it’s brilliance was amplified in comparison to the dull grayness I’ve existed in for the past many months.

I remembered the flannel-graph story of Noah that I learned as a child and sensed a voice reminding me:  “The rainbow is a promise:  I promised never to destroy the Earth again.  And I promise not to destroy you.”  I realized I had a fear that God was going to wipe me out:  a lie.  This moment would be the first of the tears that flowed all weekend, and into the next week, and that are still present when I abide in certain moments.

During one worship session the speaker talked about God raining down and wells springing up.  Having grown up in the church, I figured I’d have a mental image of rain falling from the roof of my meeting for worship flowing out into the streets.  Instead, typical of God, it was the complete opposite.  I saw wells springing up in my neighborhood park, flooding the houses, kids playing, adults being drawn out of their closed homes to see what was going on.  I saw wells springing up in neighborhoods all over Newberg.

And I saw in particular geysers in the neighborhoods around Newberg Friends, gushing, flowing over into the streets, parks, parking lots, and into the church building.  Beginning in the social hall/kids Sunday School rooms the water rushed in, flowing upwards to the sanctuary, up past the balcony, blasting off the roof, shooting powerfully into the air and raining back down on the flooded streets.

My hope is kindled.

My family attended a worship gathering on Sunday night.  The theme of the night centered around dreaming about the future for this gathering.  One person commented that he dreamed about the gathering looking more like the people in the neighborhood:  that our physical neighbors would be drawn to participate.  I didn’t feel comfortable sharing my image because we don’t normally worship with this group:  it felt intrusive.

This picture feels like it was meant for the larger Gathering.  So I share it here (if anyone is reading this little blog still).

I’m not sure what it means:  I don’t need to know.  I get to abide, watch God work, and participate where He calls.  I want to spread the call of Love and Hope and Joy that God blesses us to live in.  Outside of the box.  Magnified in community.  Showering down love.

“Come like a flood and saturate me now:  You’re all I want.”

I often wonder if any of it sinks in. My oldest is a creature of routine and following-by-example. When he was younger, I thought he was creatively broken: I’d give him legos, and he’d look at me blankly. It was only once my father sat down with him and a lego kit with instructions did we realize he.follows.instructions. Gasp. So with his prayers, he says the same thing often: prayers for healing of owies, thanks for a good day and playing on the playground, and and requests for “more screen time tomorrow”. Ah, the heaviness of being six.

My middle child likes to hear himself talk – he so rarely gets an open forum. He often directs the pre-prayer discussion. “Mama, you ask who have a good day. Me or Judah go first? Okay, you ask who had hard time. Me or Judah?” And often his responses don’t correlate to anything I’ve asked. Last night he thanked God for getting to go to school and play on the playground: it’s been a week since he’s been at school. I ask for praises: for his owies. I ask for prayer requests: he talks about the kids his brother plays with on the bus.

At the end of our corporate prayer time each of the boys prays their own prayer. Judah repeats word-for-word what he stated before. Abel keeps the prayer going – never a moment of silence. “Thank you for this day and thank you for school and thank you for this day and thank you for recess and thank you for this day and for my owies go away and thank you for this day and thank you I get to go to school and thank you for this day ….”

All I want, of course, is thankyouforthisdayamen. Loveyoumama, sweetdreams, goodnight, GOTOSLEEP. But as I sighed, leaning against the wall, waiting for the thanks to end, I realized: I don’t want the thanks to end. Annoying and inspiring all at the same time: to draw out the day giving thanks over … and over … and over. Of course I have my own thanks for the day – coming to a close – while I sit on the couch, next to my husband, watching tv on the computer, knitting or reading a magazine. Like I do almost every night. To each his own, I guess.

Really, life feels more simple these days. Daily routines, check-off lists for chores, homework, bills, well-child checkups. Planning a meal, shopping for a meal, cooking a meal, eating a meal, convincing others they want to eat the meal, wiping up the meal, cleaning up the meal. And beginning it all over again in about three hours.

One of the questions from our weekly homework looked at anointing and serving: when God gives us a Word about something God calls us to, our journey begins by serving rather than leading in that area. A homework question asked something about what area did we feel called to that we might begin serving in. For me initially: Writer? Pray-er? Baker? But this week I reversed it and wondered who am I serving and how might that speak into who I’m called to be in the future: my kids. I realized I serve them most of the day, and I actually want to be more like them: joyful, carefree, innocent, curious, full of hugs, and seemingly full of endless energy (as evidenced by putting my son into quiet time for the fourth time in 20 minutes).

I have a piece of paper next to my bed with a quote from the previous week’s homework: “God, I want to commit to starting every day by asking for you to remind me of your presence with me.” The author didn’t start off with “I want” – that’s more Perfectionist Me knowing I can’t perfectly commit; but I want to commit, and that’s gotta be something, right? I overheard my kids’ playing in my room last week. Abel: “Play with dis piece of paper!” Judah, “No, Abel, put that back! Mama needs that: it makes her feel better.” How do they know? Wanting to want seems to be a good first step.

“Yes, son.”

“Mama, did you know?”

“Know what?”

“My lettuce!”

“Yes?”

“It’s *growing*!!”

I never thought my heart would skip a beat to hear such words.  In the past I could care less about growing things, and in fact, only had luck at keeping a sucker-fish alive.  But since my role has morphed into a Manager of Consumption, I find myself more concerned about food – where it comes from, how it’s grown, what the cost of that food is – to eat and to grow.  My creative side enjoys tending to the harvest:  what sorts of berries should we stock up on to make smoothies or cobblers with this year?  What color of peppers should we grow?

I told a friend of my son’s excitement.  He shared his own story about getting his kids excited about weeding.  “I asked them (in an excited voice) ‘Do you guys want some strawberries?!!’  They went tearing outside to our strawberry bed, but there were no berries:  just plants and weeds.  I told them that they needed to get rid of the weeds if they wanted those berries to show up, so they started working away!”

He noted that if people share a “hatred” of gardening, it seems to be in regards to one thing:  “My parents always made me weed.”  But when people (kids) could have ownership over then entire process, from picking the types of produce to grow, to prepping and planting, to seeing them sprout and encouraging new growth, to weeding and eventually harvesting and eating, they enjoyed it so much more.

This friend was our teacher in Sunday School for the month of May.  He shared on the idea:  “What is Truth?” or rather “How is Truth?” and “What does Truth taste like?”, exploring whether or not our concept/experience of truth is anemic (restricted to ideas) or more robust (people, places, feelings, a person – Christ, etc.).  We ended talking about soil in comparison to our spiritual lives:  the quality, the types.  If our soil (like Truth) is anemic, our lives/fruit reflect that.

I thought about our previous conversation of weeding, how when it’s removed from the full experience and focused on as the sole task, people believe they hate gardening.  What’s a thing we hear complained a lot about in regards to Christianity?  Sin management.  Without the church helping to give a full picture/ownership over the process, it’s just weeding, but sins instead of invasive greenery.  I hope to live in a space where I hear people exclaiming “Guess what?  My lettuce/patience/endurance/love is growing!” and to have my heart skip a beat in joy.

I couldn’t quite figure out why her declaration bothered me so.  Is it that I didn’t anticipate her feeling that strongly?  We usually see so eye to eye.  Or perhaps it’s that in times past I would’ve been right there with her believing that this new expression was needed and absolute and of course not understood by the ‘stodgy institutionalized’, but in present day I wonder what she’s hollerin’ about:  how can the way we worship be more important than who we worship with?  My youthful fear:  have I slowly melded comfortably in with that that I railed against?

Today I read a post about the current attack/think-to-complain-about in the emerging/institutional church circles.  Jason asked what I had heard about Brian McLaren’s new book:  “Nothing.  I don’t really read emerging church blogs anymore:  they’re just kinda blah.”

The emerging church and mothering sites are what drew me initially into the blogosphere:  daily I would check for new Quakes or young adults crying out for more authentic living and worship (and new funny ‘here’s the many colors of poo of my child today’ stories:  when you’re sleep-deprived, they’re a hoot).   As blogging’s become more normalized, posts feels very mechanical, formulaic.  The topics are rehashed, and unless serious digging takes place, the grand sense is evangelical white males talking about oppression:  something’s a bit off in that scenario.

While listening to a podcast about the need for Free in today’s crafting business world, a comment stuck with me:  “The only thing you have to offer is your self.”  He said there are a million people putting beads on wire or crafting pictures, but only you can sell your experience and your self.  There’s a fine line, though, between offering your experience and personality and stories and views or becoming a commodity to be consumed, and a lot of the blogosphere feels like the later as of late.

I’m not done blogging.  I’m not done seeking for authenticity.  Is the lack I see enough to drive me away, to say that it’s a ‘make it or break it’ experience?  I hope not, either online or in my corporate community.  In an age where people seem to believe only extremes are heard over the roaring buzz of constant information consumption, I’m thinking the quieting hum that soothes my baby girl to sleep is the way to go.

[Plus, the extremes remind me way too much of my toddler, and sometimes it's hard not to break out into giggles.  "WORSHIP THIS WAY OR I'M LEAVING!" versus  "MY SOCKS ARE TOO TIIIIIIIGHT!"  "You picked out your socks."  "TOO TIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!" ]

It used to be such a big deal:  school papers turned in, payday, a time to start over.  I would give thought to what I wanted to do, how I wanted things to be different:  making resolutions to eat differently, dress differently, balance my checkbook, be a responsible member of society, read classical literature, better myself as a person.  Now, my brain has too many other things occupying the idealistic space where I could imagine lofty goals and dreams.  Current dreams – to someday sleep through the night, to eat a meal without having to get up fifteen different times, to have the eternal mental grocery shopping list retired, to have no more sticker bits in my carpet (it’s worse than my childhood dog’s hair, and he was a Husky/Malamute).

I talked about listening to the Bible every day, which I might not have done every day, but I did listen to every podcast (sometimes a bit more distracted than others).  Scripture has certainly become an important part of my life; however, I’m feeling antsy when thinking of listening to the podcast again this year, which generally is a God-poke-in-my-side to do something differently.  I’d love to hear how others incorporate it into their lives.

I also had a word for the year which was “present”.  That I presently forgot about until 3/4s of the way through the year.  Fortunately I remembered right as I added another member to the family, and the only thing I could really do in life was be present because having three tykes ages 5 and under means a productive days is people out of pajamas with teeth brushed at least once and sticker bits somewhat contained before bed.  This year I’m sensing the words “forgiveness” and “truth” will be woven throughout my daily walk – not necessarily the words I would prefer (“rest” and “endless energy” and “roomba” sound a lot more attractive).  It will be interesting to see where the wanderings of the year end up.