I think often about the occupation I desire to have in the Millennial Kingdom - or even beyond. These thoughts, and ponderings, actually rule most of that which transpires behind my eyes. This, in itself, is a new discovery on my part, but this, in itself, is quite fulfilling and satisfying. For every longing that this life offers no means for me to reach its end, has much potential in the age to come to be fully met (and so much more). The limits this side of eternity offers me, such as decay, age, income, time, place, and enemies of the soul, will forever be removed in that which I look to. On that side, the dreams of my heart can truly be fulfilled, and not only for personal satisfaction (which in itself, I believe, is not as bad as we so confidently claim) but for the satisfaction and pleasure of the King who will reign (which is the personal satisfaction all along). I can do my little work, literally, unto the Lord. Not as if that isn't true today, in space and time, but the fulfillment of this action isn't known, and if so, only by the eyes of faith. But then, I can paint and create and write and dance and sing and laugh and then, in the midst of my doing, and being, and longing to be seen, longing to be loved, I can glance, or even more, STARE, into the eyes of the One I am doing it, ultimately, for. My being me and doing what I do will provoke such pleasure upon He who created me in my own creating - and I will gaze upon the pleased eyes that blaze on like fire. These eyes which will burn with response of gratification and enjoyment of ME (and all that entails).
I will help him. Yes, He will let me. Just as the little girl asks to partake in the elaborate affairs and works of her father. I will be seen by Him. Yes, He will see me. Just as the little girl dresses up in her mother's fancy clothes and prances up to her Father wishing for a reaction of delight at her childish attempt to be noticed and to be beautiful, He in that day will put down the newspaper and look upon me, the child which he has named as royalty, and ENJOY me. He will love me because I am me. And what I offer up to him, be it paper mache' pottery or heart-felt poetry or musical composition, will be taken, and taken as His heart is moved.
And yes, this is today, this is the now, but then... then... the limits will be forever removed and I will see the Father and His delight. And I will know the Son and I will be known and there will be no question of my significance or ability to offer up something of value. Something of worth. For I will fully offer myself, day after day after day - reaching into eternity, and He will take me - and I will be what He wants, day after day after day - going on forever.
I think upon this, as there is much I long to do. Much I think I could do rather well. Much I would enjoy to do. Though the doing it for me is not very fulfilling, and even so, doing it for a man (be it husband or child or friend) lacks some satisfaction that I am called to. There is a little seed of greatness within, I feel it moving and budding, and it's future bloom is not for anything mortal, but for the immortal - and even more, Immortality Himself. I will and do, often please man with who I am (though not often enough to subdue the ache within to be Loved and Heard and Seen and Known and Enjoyed), but there is more I am going after... Bigger than now. Bigger than here and today. I am made to please the King of Kings, the Faithful Witness, the Firstborn of the Dead, the Judge of the Earth. Of this I am confident. And not only am I MADE to please Him, but I CAN. It's in me. I am fascinating to Him, as absurd as the reality is, it is, in fact, a reality.
And so I think, so often, upon things beyond being a good wife, or an intriguing spouse, or a delightful mother, or a beautiful woman, or an intriguing artist, or a mysterious creator... for that is all quite pale in comparison. I dream about one day ruling with the great Ruler. I consider the possibilities of decorating the inside of some office within the mountain from where He will rule. Really. I do. I dream of participating in making music that will draw all men into His presence and usher Him into great gatherings of the multitudes. I meditate on sketching on writing books about His beauty and knowledge as I sit and peer on it directly - books that will be forever read and studied and searched out. I long to be a part of His kingdom. To offer that which I have to offer. And it being what He wants. It being the song He wished to be played in that very moment over His heart. And it pleasing Him. It aiding Him in someway. It bringing Him pleasure.
And so, yes, I start now. I start now. And His invitation in this moment is to deny much... to die. But in my death I will find the life I've always longed to live and the community I've always peered into through the eyes of faith. Those will be the days. Yes, yes, and we will all be ONE. Hallelujah.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
john seventeen.
There is something about sitting in a circle man to my left
woman to my right,
chairs, couches, flooooor, legs crossed
leaned back & eyes closed.
feel the leather bible upon your exposed knee as
you tuck the skirt underneath
and pull out the INK pin to write
the feelings, words, longing that dances across the
back of your eyelids
as
someone, one of some, pulls out the wooden and the strings
to strike the chords of
want want want within each little one, little child,
unborn kings and queens - still resting in the wombs of
the prophecies yet fulfilled
and some sing, harmony, good bad...
whispers... tongues of angels weave in and
out of this little body, church, family, little baby trinity
being one, as they are one...
or so we step into
even for a mere moment, a whisper of the unheard but still quite there
shout of Where This is Going
as the acoustics resound
a wild tempest rages on within and behind and inside
each muscle and skin
for
these are the moments when the tongues of fire
reach the doorrrrrr
but say, "my time has not yet come."
and we love, and long for love, and are love.
as LOVE steps into the room Himself, unmasked,
untamed, and very good
good
good
good to us.
but onlllllly to remind us of the Desire
as the music trails off like the light of a firefly
on a June evening,
and it's time for bed, or reality, or normalcy, or
8am... when really
we, the you's and i's just wishes
to keep it
stay
reach further
cry harder
touch IT and stay THERE perhaps
to continue in this great game of corporate, yet
quite alone hide and Seek.
letting our hands reach further into the Great Jar
of Mystery and
pull back
HE
WHO
HAS
PROMISED
TO
RETURN.
woman to my right,
chairs, couches, flooooor, legs crossed
leaned back & eyes closed.
feel the leather bible upon your exposed knee as
you tuck the skirt underneath
and pull out the INK pin to write
the feelings, words, longing that dances across the
back of your eyelids
as
someone, one of some, pulls out the wooden and the strings
to strike the chords of
want want want within each little one, little child,
unborn kings and queens - still resting in the wombs of
the prophecies yet fulfilled
and some sing, harmony, good bad...
whispers... tongues of angels weave in and
out of this little body, church, family, little baby trinity
being one, as they are one...
or so we step into
even for a mere moment, a whisper of the unheard but still quite there
shout of Where This is Going
as the acoustics resound
a wild tempest rages on within and behind and inside
each muscle and skin
for
these are the moments when the tongues of fire
reach the doorrrrrr
but say, "my time has not yet come."
and we love, and long for love, and are love.
as LOVE steps into the room Himself, unmasked,
untamed, and very good
good
good
good to us.
but onlllllly to remind us of the Desire
as the music trails off like the light of a firefly
on a June evening,
and it's time for bed, or reality, or normalcy, or
8am... when really
we, the you's and i's just wishes
to keep it
stay
reach further
cry harder
touch IT and stay THERE perhaps
to continue in this great game of corporate, yet
quite alone hide and Seek.
letting our hands reach further into the Great Jar
of Mystery and
pull back
HE
WHO
HAS
PROMISED
TO
RETURN.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
times of some. sometimes.
sometimes we start to pity our circumstances.
sometimes we desire things to be easy.
sometimes we want what we want now now now
sometimes we think we deserve this or that.
sometimes.
sometimes we feel so deeply we aren't sure how to step.
sometimes crying tears taste good upon the tongue.
sometimes anger arises and we wish to raise our fists.
sometimes all we seem to step on is thorns, thorns, thorns.
sometimes.
sometimes the winter seems so long, and the spring seems so unreal.
sometimes we wonder what the Lord is really saying.
sometimes pain is very, very real. very real.
sometimes prison cells are quite confining.
sometimes.
sometimes the nights are dark and black and dark.
sometimes there are wounds from our Beloved.
sometimes we wonder how much more we can take.
sometimes we think how much further can we go.
sometimes.
sometimes we see shame, and discipline, and shame.
sometimes hope and longing and hope flood our hearts to overflowing.
sometimes things never seem to change.
sometimes failure is an inescapable cloud.
sometimes.
however.
sometimes there is more than meets the eye.
sometimes we must suffer to gain glory.
sometimes the delay is the mercy of God.
sometimes we remember we are Chosen.
sometimes.
sometimes we believe what He has spoken.
sometimes we receive what He has become for us.
sometimes we love deeper in the ache of misunderstanding.
sometimes we agree His grace is sufficient.
sometimes.
sometimes Love is all there is.
sometimes Love is all we have.
sometimes Love carries us on.
sometimes Love is what IS.
sometimes.
sometimes Love.
sometimes.
sometimes.
sometimes we desire things to be easy.
sometimes we want what we want now now now
sometimes we think we deserve this or that.
sometimes.
sometimes we feel so deeply we aren't sure how to step.
sometimes crying tears taste good upon the tongue.
sometimes anger arises and we wish to raise our fists.
sometimes all we seem to step on is thorns, thorns, thorns.
sometimes.
sometimes the winter seems so long, and the spring seems so unreal.
sometimes we wonder what the Lord is really saying.
sometimes pain is very, very real. very real.
sometimes prison cells are quite confining.
sometimes.
sometimes the nights are dark and black and dark.
sometimes there are wounds from our Beloved.
sometimes we wonder how much more we can take.
sometimes we think how much further can we go.
sometimes.
sometimes we see shame, and discipline, and shame.
sometimes hope and longing and hope flood our hearts to overflowing.
sometimes things never seem to change.
sometimes failure is an inescapable cloud.
sometimes.
however.
sometimes there is more than meets the eye.
sometimes we must suffer to gain glory.
sometimes the delay is the mercy of God.
sometimes we remember we are Chosen.
sometimes.
sometimes we believe what He has spoken.
sometimes we receive what He has become for us.
sometimes we love deeper in the ache of misunderstanding.
sometimes we agree His grace is sufficient.
sometimes.
sometimes Love is all there is.
sometimes Love is all we have.
sometimes Love carries us on.
sometimes Love is what IS.
sometimes.
sometimes Love.
sometimes.
sometimes.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
i am.
i am...
a little child awakening from slumber. eight hours, three hours, ten. all curled up in cotton - lying upon the mattress which is lying upon the floor. soaked in sun rays kissing upon skin. knowing not what today holds. a blank letter in a viBRANT envelope. imagining and playing along. this is that. this is there.
i am...
a dancer who dances, mostly alone, through carpeted hallways and kitchen tiles. silent rooms like a silent film, scratch it back, back, back in time. or ribbons and bows of harmony to melodies that tied themselves around my heart, around my feet, to stir up love. sway to the right to the rhythm and bend to the left to the beat.
i am...
a lover. loving. longing to be loved. to taste love or feel it rustle the leaves of my heart. to eat love up like one would swallow the sweetest of candies down into the belly. than breathe out the scent of sugary goodness upon it's partaker. fragrant eating fragrance being its own delight, being your delight, delighting in you delighting in me.
i am...
a writer who houses words within a carcass. a tent of a being that's made of skin and bones where words and sentence and description dwell. the a's and b's are indians chanting in their teepees, burning a fire. but this smoke that arises is pale, pathetic narration's of the hurricane within. rushin' round and round.
i am...
a musician, if only in dreams, for melodies are heard and tinkering of keys within a record player that is playing my vinyl. but there is no megaphone to let the tunes free - singing, singing, singing chained down. the rhapsodies of heaven. the lyrics of prophecies. the braided do, ray, me's of another world.
i am...
an artist of sorts. making that which is like a pressed flower between the pages of the book. hidden from anyone, folded between story and word. it is poor & starving. starving & poor. it is letting this little string of the tapestry hide for another day when it has the hands and dollars and dimes to weave it back together.
i am...
a dreamer. a seer. a participant and viewer of a great, and even grander, theater. watch the heavy, velvet curtain be pulled back upon angel's wings. in the day. in the night. seeing things from other places. other worlds. other times. waiting. wanting. waiting to let them fly free from the cage of the rough pages of the diaries of unknown into the blistered hands of the hungry and upon the parched tongue.
i am...
21 in a world that is but 1-80, yet bought by a God who extends past the numeric line of time. an Infinite where beginning resides and ending finds its home. that which beats within is made up of the same blood type titled eternity - where the zeros never stop nor does the ticking and circling of the hands of the clock.
i am...
a woman. a woman. a woman. a responder. a creator. a connecter. a mother. wanting to feel the contrast. wanting to hold the tomorrow's in the womb of her today and breathe life and beauty onto the coming fields of darkness, little puffs of air from lungs that create lilies hidden in thorns. adorned with buttons of an inner-sanctuary and lace of gentle waves crashhhing upon the rocky shore.
i am...
a nomad, whose unemployed, yet fully alive. letting life live, living life. a wanderer in an unknown land, riding in the carriage of refusal - denying this is home, resisting the roots wanting to go down, down deep into the crumblin' earth, commanding a heart to look towards the time when that Desirous One takes the scroll and makes all things new.
i am...
what i am that i am.
controversial thoughts on music.
first thought:
There is this strange, and seemingly foreign, desire within me lately to listen to secular music. Music about love and fun and dancing and wonders and mystery. I can recall a dozen of moments where I heard a clip ringing from a speaker in some public place, and longing, literally, erupted out of my heart. Even now as I sit in the chair at Barnes and Noble right next to the speaker, Keith Urban, or some soothe-sayer, country-star, music man serenades the readers, I am longing to stick him into my computer, play him from my headphones straight into my ears, and awaken something in my heart that is very much asleep. Or, perhaps, to address a longing within my heart that the Lord is currently refraining from meeting. His divine delay, certainly governed by His good fathering and graciousness towards me, has lead me to desire feeding my cravings with smoke and mirrors... or even a sparkling and dazzling pill, which will be swallowed down and rot away my insides. How is it that we can so easily, as humans, revert to old patterns and old means that we know kill us and never lead to the desired end?
I think I want to feel. I think I want to be taken away in emotion. I think I want to remember. I think something. And yet I think that music full of lies and half-truths is the best train track to carry this locomotive to fascination and love and wonder. Am I blind to the pathway of voluntary weakness that leads to everlasting life? Have I forgotten the trails that have been successful in ushering me into that which my heart longs for? Am I one who is crying out, 'I will remember Your love," and proclaiming through the dark night of testing, "My lover is a the chief among ten thousand'?
How weak is my love. Help me Jesus.
-----
second thought:
I am not sure if I have recorded these thought processes, but regardless, this is what I think. These were derived from a couple of circumstances and observations gathered in the past week. The first I think upon is my current situation as I sit at Barnes and Noble, beneath the speaker, as Keith Urban serenades me about love while I am subconsciously told I am missing out on something great and fun and glorious. It's the voice of the serpent in the garden of Eden towards Eve, "He is leaving you out... He is taking away something good... Taste and you will no longer miss out."
My second observation is of the power of media and music to indoctrinate and curse the listener, watcher, unaware soul. After watching the "Truth about Hip-Hop" video - I am so grieved and sobered about the POWER music and picture carry towards the human heart and the soul.
Thirdly, I have observed through my reading that huge book about the Holocaust, the absolute atrocity of a media in the hands of a perverse and corrupt leader. Hitler's wickedness, which is only a fraction of what is soon about to hit planet earth, hypnotized the Nazis, or should I say, helped surface wickedness already residing in their hearts, through the means of media, propaganda, and well-presented speeches and information. He pumped it through intercoms and radios, painted it all over the country, rewrote the children's books, the educational systems, and the records of history. Hitler overtook that which his country-men took in.
And finally, I think upon the reality of the approaching days. Lawlessness will abound. A man endowed with the full power and authority of Satan is about to arise. And tribulation, like the world has never seen, is coming straight at us like a train barreling forward towards humanity that is standing upon the tracks blinded to the season we live in.
Now combine these four thoughts. We begin with the seemingly innocent country music blaring through the speakers and it's effects on a blood-washed heart. We see the greater degrees of this as the power of wickedness is unleashed through music and media, it's display, though only a fraction, in Hitler's rule and reign in Germany during the Holocaust, an obvious forerunner for the son of perdition himself. Then, we ponder the coming days and the coming escalations and the line hidden in the New Testament declaring, "the hearts of many will grow cold" and "even the elect will fall away."
With this understanding, how can one, so fully aware, train himself to live among a satanic-filled, media-permeated culture with an upright heart? How can we be an Enoch amidst a generation that caused God Himself to strive with man and lead to it's judgment and cleansing? How can we begin to play the game of picking and choosing that which is horrible and only slightly horrible? How can we trust our own ability to sift through lyrics, and images, and spiritual principalities clinging to all forms of media that are anti-God? How can we dabble in this playground now, and believe that we will be able to back away in the day it turns OVERT and OUTRIGHT in it's display of evil and desire to corrupt and deceive the human heart? How can we believe that as media advances to such a level of desirability and fascination, as it will be fully drenched with the power of witchcraft and Satan's full trickery of deceit and lure, that we will be able to pull away if we have not previously trained ourself to walk against (fully against) the current now?
Oh that we would be zealous in our holiness before You and in the preservation of our heart in an anti-God, unrighteous world!!!
There is this strange, and seemingly foreign, desire within me lately to listen to secular music. Music about love and fun and dancing and wonders and mystery. I can recall a dozen of moments where I heard a clip ringing from a speaker in some public place, and longing, literally, erupted out of my heart. Even now as I sit in the chair at Barnes and Noble right next to the speaker, Keith Urban, or some soothe-sayer, country-star, music man serenades the readers, I am longing to stick him into my computer, play him from my headphones straight into my ears, and awaken something in my heart that is very much asleep. Or, perhaps, to address a longing within my heart that the Lord is currently refraining from meeting. His divine delay, certainly governed by His good fathering and graciousness towards me, has lead me to desire feeding my cravings with smoke and mirrors... or even a sparkling and dazzling pill, which will be swallowed down and rot away my insides. How is it that we can so easily, as humans, revert to old patterns and old means that we know kill us and never lead to the desired end?
I think I want to feel. I think I want to be taken away in emotion. I think I want to remember. I think something. And yet I think that music full of lies and half-truths is the best train track to carry this locomotive to fascination and love and wonder. Am I blind to the pathway of voluntary weakness that leads to everlasting life? Have I forgotten the trails that have been successful in ushering me into that which my heart longs for? Am I one who is crying out, 'I will remember Your love," and proclaiming through the dark night of testing, "My lover is a the chief among ten thousand'?
How weak is my love. Help me Jesus.
-----
second thought:
I am not sure if I have recorded these thought processes, but regardless, this is what I think. These were derived from a couple of circumstances and observations gathered in the past week. The first I think upon is my current situation as I sit at Barnes and Noble, beneath the speaker, as Keith Urban serenades me about love while I am subconsciously told I am missing out on something great and fun and glorious. It's the voice of the serpent in the garden of Eden towards Eve, "He is leaving you out... He is taking away something good... Taste and you will no longer miss out."
My second observation is of the power of media and music to indoctrinate and curse the listener, watcher, unaware soul. After watching the "Truth about Hip-Hop" video - I am so grieved and sobered about the POWER music and picture carry towards the human heart and the soul.
Thirdly, I have observed through my reading that huge book about the Holocaust, the absolute atrocity of a media in the hands of a perverse and corrupt leader. Hitler's wickedness, which is only a fraction of what is soon about to hit planet earth, hypnotized the Nazis, or should I say, helped surface wickedness already residing in their hearts, through the means of media, propaganda, and well-presented speeches and information. He pumped it through intercoms and radios, painted it all over the country, rewrote the children's books, the educational systems, and the records of history. Hitler overtook that which his country-men took in.
And finally, I think upon the reality of the approaching days. Lawlessness will abound. A man endowed with the full power and authority of Satan is about to arise. And tribulation, like the world has never seen, is coming straight at us like a train barreling forward towards humanity that is standing upon the tracks blinded to the season we live in.
Now combine these four thoughts. We begin with the seemingly innocent country music blaring through the speakers and it's effects on a blood-washed heart. We see the greater degrees of this as the power of wickedness is unleashed through music and media, it's display, though only a fraction, in Hitler's rule and reign in Germany during the Holocaust, an obvious forerunner for the son of perdition himself. Then, we ponder the coming days and the coming escalations and the line hidden in the New Testament declaring, "the hearts of many will grow cold" and "even the elect will fall away."
With this understanding, how can one, so fully aware, train himself to live among a satanic-filled, media-permeated culture with an upright heart? How can we be an Enoch amidst a generation that caused God Himself to strive with man and lead to it's judgment and cleansing? How can we begin to play the game of picking and choosing that which is horrible and only slightly horrible? How can we trust our own ability to sift through lyrics, and images, and spiritual principalities clinging to all forms of media that are anti-God? How can we dabble in this playground now, and believe that we will be able to back away in the day it turns OVERT and OUTRIGHT in it's display of evil and desire to corrupt and deceive the human heart? How can we believe that as media advances to such a level of desirability and fascination, as it will be fully drenched with the power of witchcraft and Satan's full trickery of deceit and lure, that we will be able to pull away if we have not previously trained ourself to walk against (fully against) the current now?
Oh that we would be zealous in our holiness before You and in the preservation of our heart in an anti-God, unrighteous world!!!
Sunday, January 20, 2008
do i stll have fears? yes, yes i'm afraid i do.
DISCLAIMER: ANYONE WANTING TO MOVE TO KANSAS CITY/IHOP FOR 1.5 MONTHS OR MORE, PLEASE MOVE IN WITH JENNY AND I INTO OUR HOME. RENT WOULD BE ABOUT $300.
--------------------
ellen kooi.
life feels weird lately.
like wearing a coat that is too small to button,
but the sleeves are too long to be
practical.
seriously.
something isn't fitting right.
but i suppose it could just be the mirror
i am glancing into.
or my fears.
my shame.
my lack of trust.
[yes yes. i need an inner-reform. i need Him to wash my feet.
i need Him to whisper to my heart
so prone to wander. so prone to forget.]
my faith seems to be smaller than the smallest mustard seed lately.
circumstances flooding up the walls,
to the left and to the right,
and the water marks of yesterday
are screaming at me.
"LOOK LOOK LOOK LOOK LOOK!"
i think one reason could be,
and is because i fell into this silly, little rhythm.
here to there
feel this and then that
this time, this place, this person.
and suddenly everything was
sh-sh-shaken uppppppppppppp.
it's good.
shaking is good.
it's beautiful.
shaking is good & beautiful.
shaking lead to the promise land.
i want the promise land.
but knowing is comfortable
and not knowing is uncomfortable
such is life.
but He is chief among ten thousand.
and His face is beautiful.
and His leadership extends beyond perfection.
oh, I love this Man.
i moved out and into a little house with ms. jenny hull.
it's pretty old, and has a funky smell (which we are addressing, i assure you).
but i feel like i'm living the single girl's dream.
house
a best friend
cheap furniture
painting with words on them hung on the wall
books flooding the rooms
music filling the halls
Jesus amidst the independent life that is rushing to an end.
[sometime. someday.]
you know?
we moved in yesterday. and besides the conference, yesterday was my busiest day
since i moved here.
prayed at life stand in the morning (life tape + intercession + abortion clinic)
and transferred ALL of jenny's stuff, and ALL of my stuff to the new house
in approximately 3.7 hours.
after that we watched a beautiful set of twins for a couple hours.
and i came home and fell right to sleep
on my ghetto-shift mattress on the floor.
life is glorious.
life is odd.
while dozing off I knew the Holy Spirit was telling me to pray over my room,
so I did so, quite pathetically, in my little bed, dozing off. should have known that wasn't really effective.
later that night i had some STRAIGHT UP DEMONIC dreams.
first nightmare, in that degree, I've had since a child.
A voice in my dream resounded, TIFFANY!
And I woke straight up with my heart beating a million beats per second.
dreaming is usually my biggest entryway into the spirit realm
and so i knew
some sick stuff was thinking it had found its habitation in this little house.
i would have NONE of that.
so i woke up jenny and we plead the blood of Jesus, the precious blood
that speaks a better word, over every door post, wall, floor, ceiling, and
prophesied light and life and the Presence of God into
our new little home.
[we are learning to warfare. we are learning confidence.
we are refusing to be subject to fear. we are seated with Christ
above every spirit or principality. we are His beloved.]
after this we played music to fill the house
and fell sound asleep.
He has declared:
this is the "House of Promise."
i am starting a new journal soon.
things are shifting.
things are changing.
and i hope i'm ready for it.
i want to reach
depths
i have yet to touch.
i want to love well.
i want to acquire meekness.
i want the fruits of the spirit to be my meal.
and i want to be the
FRAGRANCE OF CHRIST.
& so stepping up
stepping in
stepping away and walking up these
mountains of Yours
is such a frightening feat
but upon You i lean my little frame
trusting
trusting
trusting we are going somewhere
yes, yes we are heading towards Home.
be with Me. be near. Bear upon Your shoulders
the weight of this heart. I am Yours.
--------------------
ellen kooi.
life feels weird lately.
like wearing a coat that is too small to button,
but the sleeves are too long to be
practical.
seriously.
something isn't fitting right.
but i suppose it could just be the mirror
i am glancing into.
or my fears.
my shame.
my lack of trust.
[yes yes. i need an inner-reform. i need Him to wash my feet.
i need Him to whisper to my heart
so prone to wander. so prone to forget.]
my faith seems to be smaller than the smallest mustard seed lately.
circumstances flooding up the walls,
to the left and to the right,
and the water marks of yesterday
are screaming at me.
"LOOK LOOK LOOK LOOK LOOK!"
i think one reason could be,
and is because i fell into this silly, little rhythm.
here to there
feel this and then that
this time, this place, this person.
and suddenly everything was
sh-sh-shaken uppppppppppppp.
it's good.
shaking is good.
it's beautiful.
shaking is good & beautiful.
shaking lead to the promise land.
i want the promise land.
but knowing is comfortable
and not knowing is uncomfortable
such is life.
but He is chief among ten thousand.
and His face is beautiful.
and His leadership extends beyond perfection.
oh, I love this Man.
i moved out and into a little house with ms. jenny hull.
it's pretty old, and has a funky smell (which we are addressing, i assure you).
but i feel like i'm living the single girl's dream.
house
a best friend
cheap furniture
painting with words on them hung on the wall
books flooding the rooms
music filling the halls
Jesus amidst the independent life that is rushing to an end.
[sometime. someday.]
you know?
we moved in yesterday. and besides the conference, yesterday was my busiest day
since i moved here.
prayed at life stand in the morning (life tape + intercession + abortion clinic)
and transferred ALL of jenny's stuff, and ALL of my stuff to the new house
in approximately 3.7 hours.
after that we watched a beautiful set of twins for a couple hours.
and i came home and fell right to sleep
on my ghetto-shift mattress on the floor.
life is glorious.
life is odd.
while dozing off I knew the Holy Spirit was telling me to pray over my room,
so I did so, quite pathetically, in my little bed, dozing off. should have known that wasn't really effective.
later that night i had some STRAIGHT UP DEMONIC dreams.
first nightmare, in that degree, I've had since a child.
A voice in my dream resounded, TIFFANY!
And I woke straight up with my heart beating a million beats per second.
dreaming is usually my biggest entryway into the spirit realm
and so i knew
some sick stuff was thinking it had found its habitation in this little house.
i would have NONE of that.
so i woke up jenny and we plead the blood of Jesus, the precious blood
that speaks a better word, over every door post, wall, floor, ceiling, and
prophesied light and life and the Presence of God into
our new little home.
[we are learning to warfare. we are learning confidence.
we are refusing to be subject to fear. we are seated with Christ
above every spirit or principality. we are His beloved.]
after this we played music to fill the house
and fell sound asleep.
He has declared:
this is the "House of Promise."
i am starting a new journal soon.
things are shifting.
things are changing.
and i hope i'm ready for it.
i want to reach
depths
i have yet to touch.
i want to love well.
i want to acquire meekness.
i want the fruits of the spirit to be my meal.
and i want to be the
FRAGRANCE OF CHRIST.
& so stepping up
stepping in
stepping away and walking up these
mountains of Yours
is such a frightening feat
but upon You i lean my little frame
trusting
trusting
trusting we are going somewhere
yes, yes we are heading towards Home.
be with Me. be near. Bear upon Your shoulders
the weight of this heart. I am Yours.
Friday, January 18, 2008
5 am escapade.
i think i shall write on here as often as i choose.
there are many reasons i have chosen this.
1.) no one reads this, and so i am quite liberated in what i say
2.) i still feel like i am saying something, and i still feel like someone is listening
3.) my occupation is to pursue the knowledge of God, and therefore, i sit next to my computer 10+ hours a day, and random thoughts fly through my head, why shouldn't i record them?
4.) yes, i hear you, i could just write them in a journal or type them into my own little word document... BUT. i think faster than my hand writes, AND i feel once i press "publish post" these thoughts are no longer with me, but a distant reality in the hands of someone else.
that is enough disclaimer.
i shouldn't have to explain why i may post multiple times a day.
no one really cares.
and
i'm a writer
this is what writers do
and by the way, i use to never call myself a writer
writers were people like emily dickenson and donald miller
and i was tiffany untch. no where close to either or.
And also, i had never dreamed to be a writer at all. i don't think you can dream to be what you are.
that would be like saying, "oh, hello, i dream to be a reader."
how silly.
I AM A READER.
readers are named readers simply because they read.
writers are named writers simply because they write.
i read, i write. i also eat, and i don't find that fascinating whatsoever.
because you eat. you read. and i'm quite sure you write too.
and also. i always became overly perturbed when people would say,
"i am not an artist!"
here tiffany, draw this for me, or do that,
i am not an artist.
i am not an artist.
oh DEAR.
are you a human?
do you have a hand?
can you grab a pencil?
wala! you are an artist.
anything is art. art is you coming outside of yourself and onto paper.
or all its other means.
art is your life recorded.
writing is even art.
we are all artists.
and writers.
and readers.
and eaters of food.
this is the human race.
made in God's image.
anyways, that was not the point of my opening my laptop to type.
the point was this story i am about to tell.
i awoke this morning around 5 am from a rather startling dream.
this is usually a daily occurence, and i always have to fight the urge to be lazy -
and fall back asleep, failing to record the dream (which the Lord is not too pleased about)
or blind myself with my laptop and type it up.
i made a good decision this morning.
and afterwards, i thought it would be a lovely idea to get ready
and drive to barnes and noble.
there i would buy a coffee of some sort and sit and read
"knowledge of the holy" by tozer
and illuminate my spirit.
my heart has been in an odd place the past couple of days...
which is common, at times, and never too suprising.
i thought going and doing would be a lovely idea. lovely indeed.
so i get ready to go, and i realize my keys are missing!
this was a terrible occurence, being i never lose my keys anymore
and i don't even know what a loser of keys begins to do or where one would begin to look?
they are always in either two spots:
or three:
my dresser
my purse
my coat pocket.
and all 3 of these places were void of keys - leaving me quite confused.
i then scurried around the living room, kitchen, dining room and looked in
usual places i had visited with no luck.
now. i must tell you in the midst of all this i had 1 billion and 3 items of clothing upon my floor
and 14 books within my purse.
attached to my personality type is my perfectionist/controller side that will at times have a spotless room,
and at others my right brain/holistic thinking side that at times does not care.
when i slide into the latter i always awake telling myself,
"tiffany, if this doesn't change, you will make a horrible wife."
i know that is a wretched thing to think over yourself, but i think it none the less.
i then make vows to hang up every shirt and skirt and dress before i drift away into slumber -
leaving me a breaker of vows every night.
none the less... with the missing keys and the chaotic room -
a miracle was about to take place.
i began to, in my rush rush way - adopted from my mother -
clean my room one by one with great fervency and expediency.
all i wanted was a coffee and barnes and noble and my keys.
after this event i realized that this was probably some hilarious scheme of the Lords
to get me to clean my room.
He is a good Father... and he knows me too well.
having my room clean, and my keys still m.i.a.,
i decided i ought to do some laundry, being that could be another event
needing to precede the appearing of my keys.
after this was through, hoping the keys were in some pocket or another,
i was still without them and without a hint as to where they could be.
my next thought was to re-organize my entire purse...
then
all my papers and files,
my books,
my closet
and i gathered up reject items for goodwill.
when i then ran out of domestic things to do
i flung myself upon my nicely made bed and began to get frustrated.
my keys had died and disintegrated, no longer in existence and i refused to
live my entire life in my room.
i then began frantically ran around the house looking in the most obscure places...
places i hadn't even visited the prior evening.
i flung open the shower curtain, peering into the bathtub,
i looked in random places in the garage,
i opened the fridge and peered into the vegetable drawer,
i pulled apart every couch,
i checked the silverware drawer,
the inside of my shoes,
and
there
was
nothing.
with failure and defeat singing in my ear, i began to wonder how i was
going to get to service tonight and what i would do all day inside my room...
i then pulled out my computer from it's computer case within my
massively large purse
and
LO AND BEHOLD
beneath it was my keys!!!!!!
this is what it takes for me to do menial tasks.
God have mercy on my future home.
these are the times.
sometimes i get this ache in my stomach.
or an ache in my heart.
aches all around, that lift up my arms
to reach out
to touch something
other than
porcelain cases of
yesterday's shame.
i heard a man once,
wanted to travel the world
see its mystery and charm
feel its rushing rivers flow
under his hands
but then he tasted the
Transcendent
and
traded
all
that
in.
for a simple life of
voluntary lack.
for the Transcendent One is chief among ten thousand.
and so the ache is the blood
rushing through these veins
pumping life and hope and truth
that
this will all be worth it.
because sometimes i question.
and i wonder.
and i question.
and i think to myself,
"aye, why not throw this to the wind?
and embrace my little arms around the fanciful,
sparkling,
twinkling rib cage of the man called
'a vapor'
and dance with him til he is taken away..."
but it's a silly game.
to pour your love into a piece of grass.
here today
gone tomorrow.
i'd rather dance with the Invisible
who
takes
away
my
Shame.
[and again i say Rejoice.]
Thursday, January 17, 2008
looking back. looking forward.
i've always been a reader.
mother use to tell me i would sit in the hallway
for hours, with a pile of books next to me,
as high as my little blonde head,
devouring them one by one -
as if it was normal for a child
to be so fancied with paper and words.
in kindergarten my teacher allowed me to
read the large english text books of the upperclassman
during nap time.
i remember looking forward to this glorious event after lunch
every single day.
my classmates would scurry to their cubbies for their blankets
while i scurried to the bookshelf to find my new adventure.
i would station myself next to the window
and read by the afternoon sunlight
streaming through the windows, while dust floated through the air,
and the teacher shut
off the lights while all the other children dozed into dreaming.
i've always chosen reading over sleeping.
i'd lay in bed at nights, for hours, turning page after page:
there would be novels about mysterious lands,
and adventurous children,
and days long, long ago.
mother would peek her head in every 30 minutes or so to tell me
it was time for bed, being it that school was the next morning
but she rarely had the heart to tear me away.
finally she began to allow me to read until i pleased,
and i'd finish books in a night...
filling my little brain
and feeding my hungry heart - as i longed for adventure,
and i thirsted for greatness.
i believe i was (as most are) born with that little voice within that cries out for...
something bigger than myself.
escapades further than i'd known.
life outside my little room and my little body and my little boundaries
which normalcy so often forms for us.
i clearly remember the first time i read through the bible.
i can remember the book so clearly,
with it's thick white cover - and the cartoon drawn characters
so brightly colored and wide eyed.
it was a children's bible - highlighting the main stories of scripture.
adam & eve
abraham & isaac
jacob & esau
joseph & his brothers
moses & the israelites
jesus in the manger
paul shipwrecked
and finally revelation.
being intrigued by last weeks sunday school
i picked it up off my short little bookshelf
and crawled to the end of the bed
lying on my belly with my feet kicking up in the air
i even remember the lighting of the room,
with it's seemingly high ceilings,
glowing white walls,
and fan spinning and twirling above me.
i read it from front to back, and even had some
feelings of "holiness" which were probably my
first encounters with sickening self-righteousness
i'm not sure how old I was.
1st grade?
2nd grade?
the book of revelation was my all-time favorite
i reread it's large text many times over -
with all it's colors and numbers and trumpets and seals...
i was fascinated and wondered why it had never been
spoken about in church, being it was more
intriguing to me than offering teachings,
the hymns we sung, or any other science fiction/fantasy novel
i had come across.
there was something about it that drew me into it's mystery.
i also can recall my second encounter with it,
in the same room, around the same time of night, upon the same little bed
with it's floral sheets and white and golden bed posts...
this time, however, it was a new little bible.
my mother had passed it down to me a couple months before
as a very ceremonious mother/daughter event.
my family wasn't big on tradition -
we weren't organized enough for that,
but i distinctly remember this being a rather precious event.
the bible was old. my mother had received it when she was 12,
her mother's dedication was beautifully scripted behind the front cover
which was encased with red leather, full of creases
and loosing it's binding as time wore on.
it was the living translation
written like a little book - yet sticking pretty true to interpretation.
it had ancient looking maps in the back, creased page corners,
and photos taken in the 60's of Jerusalem and the red sea.
i found myself stumbling upon that final chapter again
as i sat upon my bed reading through it's words
i read it and reread it, many times over.
i wasn't sure how to take it. symbolism? reality?
and all i could think of was the terrifying words:
THE MARK OF THE BEAST
it caused me to tremble within...
for who was this terrifying beast?
and how would he try to mark us?
branding with hot irons?
tattoos to our foreheads?
i even began to recall a conversation I had overheard about new inventions coming out of implanting microchips into the arms of all citizens
this, they said with such scandal, would be for anyone who wished to by or sell...
a precursor, they said, of
THE MARK OF THE BEAST
I thought about this beast, and this terrifying antichrist
who i imagined would have fangs and eyeballs that glowed
i read about the dragon and the horns
and i grew frustrated with my lack of understanding.
when i didn't understand,
i got frustrated
in all things really.
my puffed up, prideful little heart liked to grasp everything
immediately, and hated to submit to questioning on my part
or teaching on another's.
i had become a school contained.
my own education system.
that is why i read during science
and drew pictures during history.
i would wait until the evening to teach myself.
i don't think i ever learned how to learn.
anyways - back to little girl upon the bed reading apocalyptic literature.
i left revelation that night, and decided not to return to it for awhile.
it seemed a tad too frightening
and so very irrelevant to my little life
of american eagle graphic tees
and trips to the teen center
and craft making with alex.
plus, no one talked about it anyway,
so obviously they were terrified of it too.
it's funny... now i find myself in a place
that spends almost every saturday night focused
upon that book and its' enigmas
they dive into that which is entitled, truly, the REVELATION of Jesus
and in it's terrifying beatuy, I've found an entryway
into the heart of the Father
and the passion of His Son.
perfect love has driven out fear.
and there were other books that I was drawn to:
one such were novels written about martyrs - the young, the old,
the men, the women.
i found martyrdom and persecution fascinating.
it probably all comes back to what C.S. Lewis means when
he talks about our longing for eternity.
for adventure authored by the Lord
our deep yearning for that which will come with the Millennial Kingdom
our desire for greatness
and fascination
and beauty
and so these things, hidden within the heart of a small little girl
with big blue eyes that so often found themselves hidden within books
day after day,
plagued me and left me wanting.
old victorian martyrs
and those found in the days of the great roman empire
moved my heart the most
i just pictured myself in a corseted dress
with my brownish blonde locks tied up in a fancy way
facing the rugged, wicked roman soldiers
with such grace and elegance
dignity shining upon my face
as i proclaimed my love for Jesus
which brought the sword to my throat.
i always longed to be a martyr,
for reasons i could never quite identify,
besides the aforementioned which doesn't seem to be enough
to cause a child to pine for her own murder.
by the time i reached high school,
i firmly decided upon two things.
1.) the Lord told me I was going to be a martyr
2.) that must mean I am called to be a missionary to the middle-east.
I came upon that revelation while sitting in a small house in
a village in Thailand.
I was smooshed up against a wall with my other 15 teammates,
while my friend joshua played away on the guitar
and the zealous teenagers cried out for the power of God.
I can see it so clearly, my little blue journal upon my knees
as I closed my eyes and decided this is what had to be done.
if i was to be a martyr, what other path was there?
the life of a missionary seemed to be the only way.
american christianity was too passive
and therefore i was driven into believing i was called to the dangerous
parts of the world...
the dark corners persecution was found.
not because i longed to die for Jesus (though I did)
but because i believed that that was what the Lord told me to do
and i was willing to do anything...
to graduate high school and "change the world"
to live a full life for God...
you know the typical feelings every young, enthusiastic Christian gets after reading "through gates of splendor" or going to a commissioning service at Teen Mania
now i look upon that time with a smile and a little laughter
at my young zeal and extreme naivety.
i see things so different now.
the book of revelation.
martyrdom.
love in the One coming upon the white horse,
who will soon
split the clouds.
i am sitting here at barnes in noble,
in a usual green striped chair with folk music blaring above my head
and an old man with loafers to my right.
earlier i had picked up a book by "Voice of the Martyrs"
and read about a handful of the thousands of brave souls, who are be tortured, imprisoned, or killed for their faith
heroes scattered all throughout history.
i read about perpetua - the beautiful wife and mother - who
raised her hands and sang to her Beloved as the sword pierced her throat
and Siao-Mei, a 5 year old from China, who willingly took on imprisonment with her mother in the name of Jesus
and Walter Milne, a 52 year old man, who joyfully burned at the stake and brought thousands into the kingdom by his bravery and love
I sit here, trying to cry quietly, as not to disturb those browsing through books
and reading newsweek.
I cry because Jesus is real, and eternity is real, and
the coming Judge, He who is going to make
ALL THE WRONG THINGS RIGHT,
is absolutely, undoubtedly, REAL.
and it is no loss, it is no sacrifice, it is no cost, to take upon affliction
and suffering and death for His name
out of love.
all for love.
because He loves.
I sit here and cry because this will no longer be a reality for
missionaries in un-reached tribes and middle-east nations
but the Church at large
as evil increases and the lust of the Harlot of Bablyon arises
to drink the spilled blood of thousands whom
didn't shrink back nor let their love grow cold.
soon, very soon, my friends, our proclamation shall be,
"We overcame the enemy,
by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of our testimony;
not loving our lives so much as to
SHRINK BACK FROM DEATH."
Soon, very soon, my beloved, we shall complete
the book of martyrs, and write it's final chapter.
Soon, very soon, the book of revelation will come alive
before our very eyes...
and we shall be tortured and killed because we will not take the mark
and
He shall come to vindicate His bride
and usher in the Year of the Lord we have
so longed for within our hearts.
Very soon.
Very soon.
[yes, the whisperings within the heart of my childhood will be answered, and we will be caught up within a drama so much greater than ourselves.]
Amen
(so be it.)
mother use to tell me i would sit in the hallway
for hours, with a pile of books next to me,
as high as my little blonde head,
devouring them one by one -
as if it was normal for a child
to be so fancied with paper and words.
in kindergarten my teacher allowed me to
read the large english text books of the upperclassman
during nap time.
i remember looking forward to this glorious event after lunch
every single day.
my classmates would scurry to their cubbies for their blankets
while i scurried to the bookshelf to find my new adventure.
i would station myself next to the window
and read by the afternoon sunlight
streaming through the windows, while dust floated through the air,
and the teacher shut
off the lights while all the other children dozed into dreaming.
i've always chosen reading over sleeping.
i'd lay in bed at nights, for hours, turning page after page:
there would be novels about mysterious lands,
and adventurous children,
and days long, long ago.
mother would peek her head in every 30 minutes or so to tell me
it was time for bed, being it that school was the next morning
but she rarely had the heart to tear me away.
finally she began to allow me to read until i pleased,
and i'd finish books in a night...
filling my little brain
and feeding my hungry heart - as i longed for adventure,
and i thirsted for greatness.
i believe i was (as most are) born with that little voice within that cries out for...
something bigger than myself.
escapades further than i'd known.
life outside my little room and my little body and my little boundaries
which normalcy so often forms for us.
i clearly remember the first time i read through the bible.
i can remember the book so clearly,
with it's thick white cover - and the cartoon drawn characters
so brightly colored and wide eyed.
it was a children's bible - highlighting the main stories of scripture.
adam & eve
abraham & isaac
jacob & esau
joseph & his brothers
moses & the israelites
jesus in the manger
paul shipwrecked
and finally revelation.
being intrigued by last weeks sunday school
i picked it up off my short little bookshelf
and crawled to the end of the bed
lying on my belly with my feet kicking up in the air
i even remember the lighting of the room,
with it's seemingly high ceilings,
glowing white walls,
and fan spinning and twirling above me.
i read it from front to back, and even had some
feelings of "holiness" which were probably my
first encounters with sickening self-righteousness
i'm not sure how old I was.
1st grade?
2nd grade?
the book of revelation was my all-time favorite
i reread it's large text many times over -
with all it's colors and numbers and trumpets and seals...
i was fascinated and wondered why it had never been
spoken about in church, being it was more
intriguing to me than offering teachings,
the hymns we sung, or any other science fiction/fantasy novel
i had come across.
there was something about it that drew me into it's mystery.
i also can recall my second encounter with it,
in the same room, around the same time of night, upon the same little bed
with it's floral sheets and white and golden bed posts...
this time, however, it was a new little bible.
my mother had passed it down to me a couple months before
as a very ceremonious mother/daughter event.
my family wasn't big on tradition -
we weren't organized enough for that,
but i distinctly remember this being a rather precious event.
the bible was old. my mother had received it when she was 12,
her mother's dedication was beautifully scripted behind the front cover
which was encased with red leather, full of creases
and loosing it's binding as time wore on.
it was the living translation
written like a little book - yet sticking pretty true to interpretation.
it had ancient looking maps in the back, creased page corners,
and photos taken in the 60's of Jerusalem and the red sea.
i found myself stumbling upon that final chapter again
as i sat upon my bed reading through it's words
i read it and reread it, many times over.
i wasn't sure how to take it. symbolism? reality?
and all i could think of was the terrifying words:
THE MARK OF THE BEAST
it caused me to tremble within...
for who was this terrifying beast?
and how would he try to mark us?
branding with hot irons?
tattoos to our foreheads?
i even began to recall a conversation I had overheard about new inventions coming out of implanting microchips into the arms of all citizens
this, they said with such scandal, would be for anyone who wished to by or sell...
a precursor, they said, of
THE MARK OF THE BEAST
I thought about this beast, and this terrifying antichrist
who i imagined would have fangs and eyeballs that glowed
i read about the dragon and the horns
and i grew frustrated with my lack of understanding.
when i didn't understand,
i got frustrated
in all things really.
my puffed up, prideful little heart liked to grasp everything
immediately, and hated to submit to questioning on my part
or teaching on another's.
i had become a school contained.
my own education system.
that is why i read during science
and drew pictures during history.
i would wait until the evening to teach myself.
i don't think i ever learned how to learn.
anyways - back to little girl upon the bed reading apocalyptic literature.
i left revelation that night, and decided not to return to it for awhile.
it seemed a tad too frightening
and so very irrelevant to my little life
of american eagle graphic tees
and trips to the teen center
and craft making with alex.
plus, no one talked about it anyway,
so obviously they were terrified of it too.
it's funny... now i find myself in a place
that spends almost every saturday night focused
upon that book and its' enigmas
they dive into that which is entitled, truly, the REVELATION of Jesus
and in it's terrifying beatuy, I've found an entryway
into the heart of the Father
and the passion of His Son.
perfect love has driven out fear.
and there were other books that I was drawn to:
one such were novels written about martyrs - the young, the old,
the men, the women.
i found martyrdom and persecution fascinating.
it probably all comes back to what C.S. Lewis means when
he talks about our longing for eternity.
for adventure authored by the Lord
our deep yearning for that which will come with the Millennial Kingdom
our desire for greatness
and fascination
and beauty
and so these things, hidden within the heart of a small little girl
with big blue eyes that so often found themselves hidden within books
day after day,
plagued me and left me wanting.
old victorian martyrs
and those found in the days of the great roman empire
moved my heart the most
i just pictured myself in a corseted dress
with my brownish blonde locks tied up in a fancy way
facing the rugged, wicked roman soldiers
with such grace and elegance
dignity shining upon my face
as i proclaimed my love for Jesus
which brought the sword to my throat.
i always longed to be a martyr,
for reasons i could never quite identify,
besides the aforementioned which doesn't seem to be enough
to cause a child to pine for her own murder.
by the time i reached high school,
i firmly decided upon two things.
1.) the Lord told me I was going to be a martyr
2.) that must mean I am called to be a missionary to the middle-east.
I came upon that revelation while sitting in a small house in
a village in Thailand.
I was smooshed up against a wall with my other 15 teammates,
while my friend joshua played away on the guitar
and the zealous teenagers cried out for the power of God.
I can see it so clearly, my little blue journal upon my knees
as I closed my eyes and decided this is what had to be done.
if i was to be a martyr, what other path was there?
the life of a missionary seemed to be the only way.
american christianity was too passive
and therefore i was driven into believing i was called to the dangerous
parts of the world...
the dark corners persecution was found.
not because i longed to die for Jesus (though I did)
but because i believed that that was what the Lord told me to do
and i was willing to do anything...
to graduate high school and "change the world"
to live a full life for God...
you know the typical feelings every young, enthusiastic Christian gets after reading "through gates of splendor" or going to a commissioning service at Teen Mania
now i look upon that time with a smile and a little laughter
at my young zeal and extreme naivety.
i see things so different now.
the book of revelation.
martyrdom.
love in the One coming upon the white horse,
who will soon
split the clouds.
i am sitting here at barnes in noble,
in a usual green striped chair with folk music blaring above my head
and an old man with loafers to my right.
earlier i had picked up a book by "Voice of the Martyrs"
and read about a handful of the thousands of brave souls, who are be tortured, imprisoned, or killed for their faith
heroes scattered all throughout history.
i read about perpetua - the beautiful wife and mother - who
raised her hands and sang to her Beloved as the sword pierced her throat
and Siao-Mei, a 5 year old from China, who willingly took on imprisonment with her mother in the name of Jesus
and Walter Milne, a 52 year old man, who joyfully burned at the stake and brought thousands into the kingdom by his bravery and love
I sit here, trying to cry quietly, as not to disturb those browsing through books
and reading newsweek.
I cry because Jesus is real, and eternity is real, and
the coming Judge, He who is going to make
ALL THE WRONG THINGS RIGHT,
is absolutely, undoubtedly, REAL.
and it is no loss, it is no sacrifice, it is no cost, to take upon affliction
and suffering and death for His name
out of love.
all for love.
because He loves.
I sit here and cry because this will no longer be a reality for
missionaries in un-reached tribes and middle-east nations
but the Church at large
as evil increases and the lust of the Harlot of Bablyon arises
to drink the spilled blood of thousands whom
didn't shrink back nor let their love grow cold.
soon, very soon, my friends, our proclamation shall be,
"We overcame the enemy,
by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of our testimony;
not loving our lives so much as to
SHRINK BACK FROM DEATH."
Soon, very soon, my beloved, we shall complete
the book of martyrs, and write it's final chapter.
Soon, very soon, the book of revelation will come alive
before our very eyes...
and we shall be tortured and killed because we will not take the mark
and
He shall come to vindicate His bride
and usher in the Year of the Lord we have
so longed for within our hearts.
Very soon.
Very soon.
[yes, the whisperings within the heart of my childhood will be answered, and we will be caught up within a drama so much greater than ourselves.]
Amen
(so be it.)
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