A Sacred Impression

"Mommy, I need a hug." in his itty bitty longing voice, asked Seth. "Sure honey!" I replied.

Falling into my arms, he wraps every part of him, stretching himself as far as his arms can reach around me. And in a very unexpected tenderness I hear him say,

"I love your hugs, Mommy."

As tenderly as the sacrament was given, I felt the vibration of a deeper cry within me, attempt to loosen whatever kept the latched door within my heart, closed. I began to hear the pulling door, move back and forth over memories far away within me- stirring a well of tears inside.

Words of a child have never felt so, treasured. Never felt so, wanted. Never felt so, precious.

Why? Why did my heart feel such a startled feeling of, unconditional love? Longing?

"With every breath.
With every thought.
From what is seen to the deepest part.
I offer all, that I've come to be.
To know Your love, Fathering me.

With every step,
On this journey's walk,
And wisdom's songs,
That the soul has sought.
I give myself, unreservedly,
To know Your love, Fathering Me.

Father Your all I need.
My soul sufficiency.
My strength when I am weak.
The love that carries me.
Your arms enfold me.
Till I am only,
A child of God."

"Child of God"
From "Hungry"- Vineyard Music
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3r3JAV2r208&feature=share

Drenched in His presence midst the wet heat of tears streaming down my face, I let this song surround my sacred soul. I remember the first time I heard it. I was unloading the dishwasher, about a decade ago. I came crumbling to the floor in sobbing tears then, too. Realizing, I did not know this love, anymore. The love, of a father.

My childhood had many hugs, by my father. They made an impression on my heart, that shaped it. Shaped it into a place where, I was indeed his "little girl." During those years, I fell in love like many daughter's do. He was my hero. But like all hero's, they hold dark secrets that are kept from little girls hearts. Until, they can no longer be kept.

Some of those secrets, are redeemed. Some, are left in the closet of darkness and shadow. And sometimes, they are the very things a daughter is carrying, herself.

It would be over the course of many decades, that the many secrets would be unveiled. And with each one, a bit of that little girl would die. Or at the very least, become numb.

Until one night, unexpectedly, her son would meekly say, "Mommy, I need a hug."

And the next night feel her Heavenly Father give her, a hug.

Streaming through scenes of sacred smiles. Scenes of heroism, both by him and by me. Scenes of chilled faces where the warmth of his coat, comforted the frost bit cheeks of a little girl. Scenes of a kiss, for the dime to get a gumball. Scenes of a generous spray of gifts beneath the Christmas tree, never knowing we were so very poor. Scenes of his being taken, far away, for a long time. Scenes of tear after tear, streaming through so many sacred miles.

"My daughter, I see every scene of your soul, dripping with unfathomable pain. I want to help you learn how to receive, My hugs. I want to Father you, in all of who you are. I want to unfold and enfold every part of your heart, that you might know My Fathering love for you. In those cracks where courage, stood alone. In those secret sacred places where hope, stood alone. In those strands of tangled and tormenting tugs of war over who your father was, and who he wasn't...I want to show you who I AM. I want to Father you, my beloved daughter. Will you let me?"

"Can I be your sufficiency?" He whispered.

And I feel all over again, a feathered breath of my sons words against my neck, "You give the best hugs, Mommy!"

Inhaling deeply while my chest heaves up and down I reply to my Heavenly Father as this song streams over my soul, barely uttering words, "You give the best hugs, Daddy!"

With every step on this journey's walk, I am learning to let my heart be hugged, again. Wisdom's song the soul has sought, is being sung through the voice of my son. While every day I give myself to him, unconditionally, unreservedly, he gives back. Over and over, again.

With every breath, with every thought, from what is seen to the deepest part, Seth offers all that he is coming to be, in the safety of my love, nurturing him. In that privilege offered me daily, I am asked the same of my Heavenly Father, "will you offer Me, all that you are coming to be?"

With each and every sacred hug he gives, my Heavenly Father is hugging me. He is allowing me through my son, to fall in love with Him again. To become, my Hero. But unlike earthly father's, He holds no dark secrets. And the secrets He does hold, are revealed in sacred shadows of beaming love through, Seth. So that, those kept in the dark, can be broken. Where once again I become, His little girl.

His strength, when I am weak.
His love, that carries me.
His arms, enfolding me.
Till I am only, a child of God.

And how do I know that every one of Seth's hugs, are making a sacred impression?

I am being shaped by them.

His Daughter, My Worth

Longing met my desolate heart with a gush of quiet tears, this past New Years Eve, 2011.  A thirst parched my soul's ocean depths with a resignation of no longer settling for the human condition of,

loneliness. 

Seclusion.   

Standing in the dark of the room, watching my precious little boy sleep while the world around me had it's coat of cordiality wrapping around it in the form of 'ringing in the New Year', I stood naked within.  Nothing to show for the abandonment, that still taunted me.  Ravaged by the remoteness of such a state for decades, greeted me unexpectedly.  I simply could not breathe one more breath of such, brokenness. This expectation that my heart would be found-

in others.

I was invited to the surgery of, surrender.  My need to find myself, my identity, my worth and value, in others.

When I found the courage to 'dare greatly' as Brene Brown calls it, a humble valor welled up within.  The need to vulnerably voice my grave need to be known, moved slowly in a muddled step by step rhythm, towards the door of the room my husband was in.  It was sometime shortly after, midnight. 

"Honey," I mumbled in a low, barely intelligible tone after muddling my feet to the door while gently pushing it further open.
"I need to ask you to pray for me," I lamented in a whisper. 
"Sure, what is it honey?" he asked calmly.
"If you think at all to pray for me this year, could you please pray for me to be "known".  I really need to be "known" and I think that the only way I am going to really feel known, is if Jesus really meets me in such a way that I no longer have any other need to be known by another." I stated in tones of pure unworthiness.
"Sure," he replied gently.

And I walked, away.

Since that night, much has happened.  People I would have never dreamed would be in my life, are.  But, something else happened to. 

I had gotten an email from a friend, ( one of those persons I referred to above, "never dreamed would be in my life," friends).  In her email she had sent a video about the life of Scott Hamilton, the ice skater.  As I watched, something deeply moved in me.  It wasn't the pain and uncertainty of his journey with cancer.  Nor his resolve to endure, well.  It was something he said regarding his relationship with God.  He was asked a question:

Nurse: Do you pray?
Scott: Yes
Nurse: Well, what do you say when you pray?
Scott: Well, I just thank God for all the blessings in my life.
Nurse: Do you ask Him for anything?
Scott: No.  I just want Him to know I'm grateful, I'm grateful.
Nurse: Well, who is God to you?
Scott: Well, I guess He's my Father.
Nurse: Oh, oh, you're a father, right?
Scott: Yes.
Nurse: If one of your children were hurting, wouldn't you want him to come to you for comfort and strength?
Scott: Yes.
Scott: So, I change the way I pray now.  I ask.  I ask to heal, for strength, courage...

"I am Second"
Scott Hamilton Interview
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9ZcN_6wzp8

As I listened to him speak, and watch the tears well up in his eyes while he shared this, a pulse of pain palpitated within my soul.  I heard the Holy Spirit say to me, 'Who am I to you?"  As I thought in the midst of listening, my hearts beating pain was this; "I know you as Holy Spirit, my comforter, my power, my way of hearing all you are doing.  I know you as Saviour, King, Deliverer, Healer, Rescuer, Protector, etc."  But, He asked again.  "Who am I to you?"

Tears. 

And then the words were heard, by His Spirit to my heart. 

"I want you to know me as Father".

Tears.

After that midnight moment at my dining room table, cradled by the warm glow of light next to me, I had a choice to make.  To quietly sit and simply, be still.  Or to find something else to do.  I had no idea how to even relate to Him, as Father.  I knew of Him as Father....theologically.  But, to know him as His daughter...  that was an unforged land for my soul.  But, in that moment it was no longer a land that was unnoticed.  He had found that piece of property buried deep amongst barren, broken, parched land and was offering me an invitation to join Him on a journey, only He could unfold.

I sat literally night after night still, quiet, looking at email, facebook, while worship washed over me.  Many times intentionally I played the same song, over and over again.  I couldn't hardly breathe without feeling the heaviness of burden, coming in and going out with each breath.  I could hear so much, in a way that I had not seemed to hear it before.  The comfort of the crickets.  The rest of the rain.  The whispers of the wind.  The breath of the breeze.  Soaking my senses while they ached, for awakening. 

I was also facing many a precipice surrounding my personal life.  Unknowns, out of my control within my circumstances.  I desperately needed to see Him as, Father.  Unhurriedly however, as I asked my questions of 'why'...'how'...'when'...circumstances only a Father could bring, began to fall upon me.  People I had dreamed of decades ago, meeting, were now in, "my inbox".  Through those people, my Father was speaking right into the calling's, gift's and vision's I have held as a child.  They were now being, confirmed. 

He was speaking to...
my worth.

My value.

I've lived much of my heart with this "picture" in mind:

"In a classroom of people, there I sit in the back.  Unnoticed.  Unseen.  Waiting and hoping for the day it might be, my turn." 

What you have to understand about that picture, is that I did not see myself as "good enough", "valuable enough", "qualified enough".  That what I had to offer and give was not "worth" enough to be accepted as "good enough".  I silently sat with hope saying to myself, "pick me, pick me, please pick me."  But after so long of thinking that, saying that to yourself, and it not being you who "gets picked"....you forget to ask.  Forget to raise your hand. 

Why did I not forget, the call?  The vision?  How did I maintain any hope, at all?  Maybe because I clung to a verse in Hebrews 11:27 ..."for he endured, as seeing Him who is unseen."

In this place of being still, quiet, I began to listen for more of how He wanted to "Father" me.  I had been given some pretty profound gifts along this time, but I knew this was more than "giving gifts," to His daughter.  I began to see how much as a Mommy, the value of helping my son see that he was more valuable to me than anything else, was a absolute.  I wanted to show him, what that meant.  In a moment while I was writing one evening, I began to realize that my Father was showing me through a movie I love, "The Lord Of The Rings", that my value is-

not in what I do, but in who's I am. 

Who I belong to.

It is a moment in the theatrical version of "The Two Towers", where this question of who I am was, challenged.  Eowyn is wielding her sword.  Aragorn approaches and when she turns, he wields his sword against hers and says the following:

"What do you fear my lady?' asked Aragorn. 
"A cage.  To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them and all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire." replies Eowyn.  "You are a daughter of kings, a sheildmaden of Rohan.  I do not think that will be your fate." replies Aragorn.

For too long, I have lived struggling at this very core place, inside me.  Who am I?  With much in my past as it pertains to things that my father has done, I tremble at the very thought of uttering  I am the daughter of 'this', or 'that'; by way of his hands.

I did not want my son growing up, finding his value in something, it's not found in. 

Being a parent reveals, our brokenness to say the least.  Like a never going away mirror, it illuminates some of our worst character.  And, some of our best.  Today, while I was cooking dinner, pondering and musing over the conversation I had just had with him about, his value, I felt my Father speak to my heart and say this.

"You can't impart a truth to your son, you don't first believe yourself.  Do you know yet, how much I value you, Dawn?  Do you know how much to Me you, are worth?"  "Dawn, I love you...not for what you do, but for who you are.  And you Dawn, are my daughter.  I adore you." 

Just before I heard this word in my heart, I had just gotten done explaining to Seth how to know if the enemy Satan, is trying to destroy your worth.  And how to know when it is the Holy Spirit telling you about, your worth. 

"Your worth is not in what you do, but in who you are.  You are a son of The King, Seth!", I had just said to him, with passion.

New Year's Eve, 2012...I surrendered to be fully, known.  Not by other's.  But, by Jesus.  However, He came and asked me a deeper question. 

"Who is God to you?"
I said many things, but not once did I say He was -My- Father.

"Do you ask Him for anything?"
I asked Him to find me.  To cause me to know and experience Him so fully, that I would have no other need to be known, by another.

"What do you fear, my lady?"
I used to fear, a cage.  A place where my heart would be living for long years, behind bars of a brokenness so deep, than not one eye would be able to look, and then look again.  A place where not even one, would be able to look and know just precisely, the profundity of how that place inside has been orphaned, abandoned, abused and raped emotionally, mentally, and was left disowned.  That place where use and old age just accept them and the chance for valor has gone beyond recall and desire.  That is what I feared.  That what I was made for, who I am inside, will never hear the words, "It's now, your turn- my daughter." 

"You can't impart a truth to your son, you don't first, believe yourself.  Do you know yet how much I value you, Dawn?"

I think I am seeing a glimpse of it...

Every time I wipe the tears, from my son's eyes.  Every time I see his choices, and I am challenged to how I am to parent those choices.  Every time I hear him say, "please forgive me, Mommy".  Every time I hear shame come from my mouth, rather than value.  I feel the palpitating in my heart.  Every time I say, "please forgive me, Seth".

Yes, I think I'm seeing a glimpse of it.

"Good.  Because, I will not stop asking.  I will not stop, showing.  I will not stop, revealing.  I will not stop, adoring you, my daughter.  I will not stop showing you how much you are worth to me and how valued you are, by Me.   Why... you ask?  Because you're Mine.  And, as for your fear of the cage...that will not be your fate." replied my Father.  My King.

Yes, I think I'm seeing a glimpse of it...

It's not in what I do, but in who I am, that I find my value...my worth.

I'm, His daughter.

I Surrender

http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/I+Surrender/4IknEk?src=5


Here I am
  down on my knees again
     surrendering all, surrendering all.

And find me here
   Lord as you draw me near
      I'm desperate for You, I'm desperate for You.

I surrender.

Drench my soul
    as mercy and grace unfold
       I hunger and thirst, I hunger and thirst.

With arms stretched wide
      I know you hear my cry 
         Speak to me now, Speak to me now.

I surrender.
I surrender.

      I want to know you more, 
          I want to know you more.

I surrender.
I surrender.

I want to know You more.  
I want to know You more.

Like a rushing wind
   Jesus breath within.

Lord have Your way
   Lord have Your way
      in me.


Like a mighty storm, 
     stir within my soul, 

Lord have your way 
   Lord have your way 
      in me.

I surrender. I surrender.

I want to know You more.  I want to know You more.

"I Surrender"
Hillsong - Cornerstone

Though not outwardly seen or known, I wept when I first heard this song play.  I was in the kitchen.  I was in the midst of daily demands.  My inward posture slowly lowered to the dust from which I came.  Each line sung sanding itself against my sore, scared, and seared heart.  Each refrain my heart was racing.  Reaching, toward that moment when all around me would be as the night.

Quiet.

When the quiet finally came...  it was many nights later.

I stared into the photo.  I stared into the lyrics.  I stared into the music.  A field.  A storm.  A horizon.  A tall grass of circumstances, reflecting a small portion of what is lying all around.  Like debris, it is only a glimpse of what is happening.  Emerging were several things, for me.  

A deep darkness, lies closely behind her.  She is only, just at the edge of its shadow's fringe.  

The deep black presses into her horizon. What follows her?  What pursues her?  What haunts her?  

What keeps her face, forward? 


Myself, I would be watching, looking, trembling even.

Maybe it's the gathering light of the horizon.  Why is she not looking to the left, or to the right, or looking up to the gathering details of an encroaching darkness that seems eerily consumed with death?  

Maybe she's been here, before.  

It feels as though she is unmoved, by the gathering darkness, the pursuit of blackness. The obviously ominous, outstretched lowering of the clouds.  How does one even keep such a gaze?  Has she ever looked, anywhere else?  When?

There is deep shadow.  A seething and sinister darkness about to entirely overtake the hues, the horizon of hope.  Will all memory of what looked to be so full and vibrant, be just a fading fragment of memory?  Will she remain, standing?  Will I remain, standing?

"Like a rushing wind, Jesus breath within.  Lord have Your way, Lord have your way, in me.
Like a mighty storm, stir within my soul, Lord have Your way, Lord have your way in me."

I feel the fears and failure, of parenting.  Insecurities and intricacy's of marriage, in the midst of parenting.  Worries of where we might live, after the daunting reality of foreclosure pressing in closely, if not worse.  Anxiety's of money, yet to be seen for rent.  Depression of detoured dreams, unfulfilled.

And, there is the deeper storm, within.  

Finding faith.  Discovering doubt and deliverance.  Penetrating impatience with a holy discontent.  Seeing through selfishness. Sadness. Shame, swirling around me.  Feeling pressed against a passing of time that has pushed itself into the crevices of chaos creating a cycle of dysfunction and disillusionment.  

"Here I am
   down on my knees again
      surrendering all, surrendering all.

And find me here
    Lord as you draw me near
       I'm desperate for you, I'm desperate for you."

My posture is just that.  On my knees.  Crying out for Him to find, more of me.  I'm not always ready, for Him.  Or ready for the rushing wind to breath within.  For when the winds come, I'm not always certain what they might do.  Storm winds, can cause much to fall.  Much, broken up and uprooted. 

"Like a mighty storm, stir within my soul."

Acknowledging my own realm of darkness pursuing me, trying ever so relentlessly to surround me, is to admit sometimes more than I'd like. Am I ready to say,

"Lord have Your way, Lord have Your way, in me!"

As I have sat, listening over 
    and over
      and over
         and over to this precious song...  I have often wondered, "How is it that I can listen to a song like that, over and over and over again?"  What is it that happens in the crevices, of me?  

I think it is found in these words...

"Drench my soul
  as mercy and grace unfold
     I hunger and thirst, I hunger and thirst.

With arms stretched wide, 
   I know you hear my cry
     Speak to me now, speak to me now."  

In a storm, we get drenched.  Life's storms, do not come any other way but with a drenching.  And, all at once many times.  And too many times, we see the drenching of evil.  But have we ever considered being drenched by Him, even in the storm?  

Within me lies an unquenchable hunger and thirst.  Hunger and thirst.  Hunger and thirst. 

Before I know it, I am literally on knees with my hands stretched out from side to side, rocking back and forth like a baby, tears streaming down my face longing and crying and pleading...

Hear my cry!  
I know you hear my cry!  
Speak!  Speak to me, NOW!  

I sing it over and over and over and over, because that is what the storm brings me.  Not always right away, not always in a way that is 'right and proper', but in a muddy puddle of reality sitting on the shore's of the storm, raging around me, longing for something of Him to show me that the horizon, even if it is consumed by the encroaching darkness overhead, cannot consume You! Jesus!  

For You have consumed all evil.  At the Cross.  At the Resurrection.  

Maybe she too has seen, what cannot be taken?  What cannot be blackened by the brutal bludgeoning breath of life?  

I think she has.  

Storms, give a voice to my cry.  And they give my cry, a voice.

When I hear that voice it is then I know, I've surrendered.

It's then I know, the rain has washed something of the storm away. And I'm ready to say, "Lord have Your way, in me."

And it's then I know why, 
I listen over
     and over
        and over
           and over again.

I want to know You more
I want to know You more...

I surrender.

The Sacred Song Of Spring

The fragrance of Spring.  It comes rushing in, with a healing hope.  On the wings of renewal, life is springing forth all around us.  Song, is in the air.  And, I think many of us, after a lingering longing for winter, to finally exit its bitter, blustering winds, we find our heart ready to be wrapped in the serenity of spring.  

Until that spring brings with it, a bludgeoning -

of a Mother’s life.  

Each year, it’s the doorway of Spring, that ushers in, the sacred reminder,

she’s gone.

And with that loss, much of herself is obliterated, as well.    And so it is, with great longing, we yearn- to remember.  We yearn to remember, the sacred.  And with each passing year, we realize just how much harder it becomes, to hear.  To see.  To feel.  

But-

the sacred
refuses
to be bludgeoned.

It’s a bit of that sacred, I would like to share with you.

Eyes.  Her eyes.  They were of the summer’s blue sky.  They held all of what the sky can hold...forever.  A sense of the eternal, shone forth, in her.  And her eyes, gave that gift, of the eternal, with every gentle word spoken, from her lips.  

Hands.  Her hands.  They held our little life within them, as she turned the pages of her life, within the reading of the Bible, so many days of our lives.  Her hands held our tiny little fingers as she guided us through the crossing of many perils, found within, those deeply treasured stories.

Her hands filled our home, with the comforting, and soothing smells of freshly kneaded caramel rolls, Mexican dinner, spaghetti, freshly canned vegetables, freshly picked blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries.  Her hands, forged a tapestry of needlework, that would find itself to be one of the sacred places where her little girls stories, would be heard.  And, those tapestries would become, sacred threads of time, holding a timelessness to them, like nothing else could.

It was through her hands, we learned how to pray, learned how to treasure the scriptures so specifically selected, leading anyone who she might have talked with into the very knowledge of knowing Jesus Christ, personally.  And it would be her hands, that tucked us in every night.

Perhaps, the most sacred of moment, come in a note that she penned to us, on Valentine’s Day, 2 months before her being bludgeoned, where she confessed her wrong to us, as a parent, her sadness of expecting too much of us, and her longing to pray so much more together as a family, than we were at the time.  

Ears.  Her ears became the very place, from which her prayers each night, ascended into the very throne room of heaven.  Listening each day, for the sacred to fall, from our four year old lips, our five year old tears, and our forever longing to strive for more.  She heard as well, the unspoken words.  The unspoken tears.  Those things that only little girls body language could communicate...  Somehow, she heard it all.  And somehow, she knew exactly what to do, with it all.  She not only listened to our voices, and all sorts of mannerisms, but she heard the voice of God.  And, she not only heard, but she listened.  
She responded, with courageous and confident character.  A quiet love, that seemed to move mountains, on our behalf.  Mountains, that she somehow knew, would not be moved for years later.  With those ears, she heard... the sacred silence where prayers for their children, solicit the realm of the Heavenlies, doing warfare beyond what she could see, in the here and now.

Voice.  Her voice. Took all she heard, into that place once again, where only the sacred things live.  It was her voice that taught me, how to know, Jesus.  How to receive His love, for me.  How to have, not just as a child, but for the rest of my life, “Little Visits With God”.  And not just on Easter, but everyday.  Through her words, I understood and learned what not only “doing to others” looked like, but what “saying to others” looked like.  How to use my words, in season and out, like salt, to bring the most of what I have to offer, to others.

Nurturing.  She had a gift in this.  And somehow, that gift was transferred on to us so much so, that now that we have children, people are amazed by all we have endured, that such a gift at all, remains.  She cared for our souls, like that of warm autumn rains, that come and water the earth, just before the death of winter.  She cared for our hearts like that of the scent of spring lilacs, moving to and fro, blessing every recipient it touches with the joy of memory, and the hope of tomorrow, and the kiss of the moment that everything will be, alright.  Even when the storms of spring, come.  

And, I have had the treasured privilege to know, that some of her last words, were this:  

“Do not worry for me.  For the Father has been doing amazing things, in me.  I know who I am, and I am His.”

And her life,...

was gone.

I must confess, that as I have written all I have, giving you a chance to peer into the sacred, her life was bludgeoned at the most pivotal time of our life, as daughters.  As women.  With the perils of moving from little girls, into beautiful young women, and the perils this bring, we became adult women, much too soon.  And, because of that, we have lived with a gaping hole- 


of feeling orphaned.

On every level.  

There is nothing that can ever replace the grave depth of loss, we endure.  We feel as though in great part, we are standing behind the movie camera of life, sharing that which we see and remember from afar.  However, we see and remember closely, her leading us, holding us, and bringing us, to our Savior, Jesus Christ.  And even though, we have endured a bludgeoning of much, within us, that this writing is not the place for...  and even though we have, lived knowing more, than many do, about the fuller story,  we have lived it in such a way...  that her legacy, has not been bludgeoned.  

It is from this place her legacy, the fragrant hope of Spring, rushes in.  It is from this place, healing has been flowing.  It is from this place, that life has sprung forth.  And, it is from this place, where when the bitter winters and the blustering winds, blow through,  we find the real story.  It is where the miraculous of who we have become, is sacredly mingled with who she was.  Where the realm of the not yet, breaks- into the here and now.  

And it is from this place, that the serenity of spring, sings, it’s sacred song.  

A Boy, His Weapons, and His Battle

“Mommy, please may I watch Bible Stories, please, please, please Mommy!!!“ he asks with deep yearning.  “Ok Seth. Which story would you like to watch?“  I ask, knowing the echo of his words to come.  “David and Goliath, Mommy!“ he replies jumping up and down.

I set the video to play.  Eagerly, he hops himself onto our plum colored loveseat.  His precious little hands, hold themselves anxiously beneath his thighs.   His gaze, is fixed on the T.V. screen.  His entire being, has been transported to a lush green pasture full with sheep.


Where a young boy is worshiping God.


He is about to face the biggest battle of his life.  


All within the walls and windows of our living room.    


Soon though, I hear him say, “Pause it Mommy, pause it please”, while the pattering of his feet scurry quickly down the hallway.  “Where is it Mommy, where is it, I can’t find it Mommy”, he begins to ask in urgency even a four year old shouldn’t be able to yet ask in.  ‘What honey, where is what?“  I reply knowing full well what he is looking for.  “My David costume, Mommy, my David costume silly girl!“  he reply’s with the kind of disbelief that only a grown up should have.  “Oh, sure honey, let me come and get that for you,“  I reply, walking down to his bedroom.  


Finding the box his costume is in, he begins to pull out the oversized, pale brown T-shirt, which hangs down well past his knees, asking for help as he try’s to put in on himself.  “Let me do it!” he states earnestly, trying to learn how to tie his satin green belt around his waist.  As he dances in rhythmic back and forth motions, he practices his twirling of his sling.  “Did you know that Goliath is really tall and strong, Mommy?” he asks, as I’m draping the Indian brown frayed strap that crosses diagonal down his shoulder to his waist.  “Yes, he is very strong isn’t he, I reply while hanging his bag of rocks at his side.  While excitedly pulling away from me towards the door, I say,  “Don’t forget your headband and sandals, honey!”  “Oh, yah, that‘s right, Mommy!“  He replies in a gingerly giggle.  


As we prepare for battle, I sense the urgency for his role in this story.   


After strapping the straps of his sandals, urgently he takes off running, getting but half way down the hall, when he then comes racing back to the room.  Reaching over his spy basket  which sets on the closet floor,  he reaches to get his duct tape covered cardboard sword, shield, and spear, along with his “real” play sword he got for Christmas.    


We are now, ready for battle.


As my little David runs back down the hall, I follow and take the VCR off of pause.  He stands in front of the T.V. as the story continues.  


And he stands, prepared.


Prepared  for that moment, to protect the lambs.


Prepared for that moment, to protect his people.


Prepared for that moment, where the battle belongs to the Lord.   


Soon I hear him moving about, swinging and slinging his swords.  The scene where the lion attacks David’s lamb reveals his first victory.  And then, we learn about his victory over the bear.  
Soon after that, we learn of the battle looming high upon the horizon.  A battle of which he will not be allowed to fight in.


But, David does not let what others say, keep him from the courage and call that courses through his heart.  


He believes, that God, is with him.


Though just a slingshot and some rocks in hand, from where I am sitting, the music reveals the story‘s increasing stakes where a small young boy is about to face a Giant even the best of men, the most experienced of men, would not dare to fight.  A fight anyone David’s age, could not win.  


But, David, saw this battle differently.


He saw it, as already won.
  
“Ha ha ha…who will fight me?!” I hear Seth say, in the meanest four year old voice he can muster. 


“I will” he transitions into David and his tiny 4 yr. old  voice.  


“You; you are just a boy!  Do you think I’m a dog, that you come to me, with sticks and stones.” I hear him gravel and grovel, imitating Goliath. 


 I ever so slightly turn my head so as to see him…but I catch his watching glance as he says, “M-O-M” in a slow and frustrated please stop watching me kind of way.  And so I go back to typing on the computer, pretending to be fully engaged in my very important don’t interrupt me kind of business.


“You come to me with a spear and a shield, but I come to you in the name of the Lord”.  he says with the kind of  conviction, even I hope to have, while facing my battles.


He moves to the left.  Then he ducks his head down moving to the right, throwing his spear.  Legs apart, face held fast with determined fervor, he twirls his slingshot with precision and skill.   


Then, the rock soars through the air-


‘THUD”!


He falls down, like Goliath. 


Then, he gets up, picks up his sword, and says, “I will cut your head off”.  


The climactic drama has come to an end, and it’s on with "Act Three", where he sits out the rest of the story on our plum sofa, asking, “Snack please, Mommy?”


Seth loves to pretend he is in a battle, right now.  And he likes to dress up in his armor.  He loves his shield, swords, spear’s and knives.  All of which Mommy and Daddy made for him out of duct tape and cardboard.  He loves the feeling of swinging them back and forth, grunting with loud noises as to say, “Look how strong I am!“.   He sees every stick, as a potential sword, for the next big battle.  He loves to play with his spy robots, bugs, and dinosaurs all within a battle, duke-ing it out between the herbivores and the carnivore’s, the insects and the arachnids. To be David one moment, and Goliath the next. He loves acting out the bible story’s.  


I have been feeling a bit of ‘Mommy worry’ as he continues to enjoy these battles, wondering why it has to always be a ‘fighting” game.  He’s loved story and acting since he was young enough to use sign language for the word, “story”, at 6 months old.  And of course, he is forever wanting to tell a new story, about everything and anything.    


As I have been musing upon his passion for ‘fighting’ with all his “weapons”,  I’m reminded of my own fight, daily.  It doesn’t look the same in the natural realm, but isn’t’ it, really?


Don’t we have many different ways we fight, using weapons such as our words.  Our looks.  Our tones.  Our attitudes.  Our silence.  Our anger.  Our body language.  Isn’t there a quote, “your body says a thousand words?”  


Or maybe it’s what we don’t do, and do instead.  Maybe it’s what we don’t say and say, instead.  Maybe it’s what we don't pray, and pray instead.  What we don't give, and do instead.  


But, do we recognize these things, as weapons?


The kind that, are fighting against and apart, from God?  


What did David say;


“you come to me with a sword, with a shield, and with a spear,  but I come to you in the name of the Lord.  For the battle belongs to the Lord.” (1 Samuel 17:45)


How do we battle?  Do we battle, in the name of the Lord?


Or do we battle in the name, of “what about me?”  


And in doing so, loose a part of ourselves, and take a part of others, in the process, never meant to be lost or taken?


I was considering what David took, with him into his battle, when it occurred to me, to consider- what David was doing before he entered, the battle.  


He was worshipping.


He was playing his harp, for a king.


It pleased the king.


He was protecting, his lambs.


And when it came time for a battle to be fought, he hurried to the frontlines with fervor.


He fought, with faith in a God, that won battles for him in the past.  Battles that no one believed, he’d really fought.  


Seth…believes he will win.  Every time.  Seth, believes in a King, who wins battles.  He believes in a God who is with him, everywhere he goes.  Seth worships, God.  The same God, David worshiped.  Seth loves to battle.  He loves to fight.  He loves to swing his sword, stick, spear, all in the name of, fun play.  


And, in the name of our Lord.  But, mostly in the name of lots of fun.  


I remind him all the time, asking, “who’s side are we on, sweetheart?“  “God’s Mommy!“  “That’s right, honey, God’s side!“, I reply with confident conviction.  But, one day… 


he will have to wield those weapons, in ways that may not be, so fun. 


And, when it matters more than ever, he will have to choose a side to be on.  


He will have to decide, what weapons he'll use.


What battles he will fight.


Will he take fun?  


Or, will he carry with him, what Paul tells us, in Ephesians 6:10-18.


“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power.  Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devils schemes…..Therefore, put on the full armor of God so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand…..


With the belt of truth buckled around your waist.


The breastplate of righteousness in place.


Your feet fitted with the readiness that comes with the gospel of peace.


The shield of faith-  of which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.


The helmet of salvation.


The sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.




This is the armor, I can only pray he will wear, all the days- of his life.   


 This is the armor that won, David’s battles.  


This is the armor, that will win ours.


This is a choice, I cannot make for Seth.  But, I can pray he will. And, I pray that I will help him learn, how to put it on.


So, that one day, when ultimately he learns the battle is for his very life, he will reach inside the truth of God's word, and have hidden within his heart, five smooth stones, like David did.




Knowing for certain, the battle truly does, belong to the Lord.




Dear King and Warrior,


There are many young boys and girls, who have battles before them.  Some, are in fun.  Others, are for their very life.  And those battles are right within, the very walls and windows of their own living room.  Many of these battles, are urgently awaiting rescue.  Thank you dear King and Warrior, for fighting their battles for them, even if unseen.  Lead them, in their loneliness.  Let them not be forgotten.  Let them not, get away from, Your ever enveloping hand.


Others, are urgently longing for role to play.  They are ready for battle.  They are on, the frontlines of a very dark, dark war.  Shed Your light, upon that path of which they trod the territory of the evil one.  Hide them from their foe, and lead them into the everlasting paths of Your redemptive plan.  


Keep them Father, prepared for the battle that will most definitely ensue, sooner than they know.  Help them …as they protect the little lambs surrounding them.  Help them, see those lambs, who need them.  


Others, Lord, are struggling to believe You are with them.  Courage does not course through their heart, but they long for it to.  Help them to see You, where you seem, unseen.   Help them to see it, as already won.


And Father, please, help our son, Seth, not to listen to what other's say, but rather continue on with even greater courage, and more certain a call upon his life while he's young, coursing through his heart, that he might when he's old, still believe, the battle belongs to You.


Father, I too, have been midst many battles.  I’m facing one right now.  I don’t always face them, with the courage, faith and heart that David did.  I don’t always, worship, as quickly as David did, either.  


But, I know, that I cannot face any battle, without worship.  Without, You.  


And even in my quivering, and my tremendously quenched, with pain, heart…help me to somehow believe, … know,


 it pleases You.  


My worship, pleases You!


For it is in this place, that I will be putting my armor on.   


It is in this place, the unseen  battle that hovers all around, is fought with it’s mightiest of victory’s. 


It is in this place, I must learn to fight, live out the fight, and love through the fight…


For it is ever before me.


Teach me Lord and King, how to battle, …


on my knees. 


On my face.  


So, that,….when I come face to face with the lies, of the enemy…


he will see my sling of prayer, and tire…

He will see my five stones, and tremble. 


He will see once again, that the battle


Belongs not to him, 


But to a King…


Who has already won.

The Sixth Word

Some dear friends did a most beautiful tapestry of an ancient Good Friday service called the, Tenebrae.  If you would like to see more of what they did for this Holy Week, please visit; Soulbreather.com and click on "The Meeting Place".

Below is what I wrote, after viewing this gripping video.  I hope you are blessed.






Through the passage of time, one will have the sacred- 

stare him in the face. 

One will have the sense that something profoundly powerful, 

is being offered. 

One will have, a choice. 

This moment, today...left me with my heart and spirit, 

quenched- 

by the sacredness of his sorrow, suffering, and surrender. 

A stillness- 

before my most Holy King.

Witnessing the Sacred...

"Come on Seth, we're running late, it's time to get going". I told him as I began heading out the door with my coffee cup in hand.  "Ok Mommy" he echoed back to me.


It was a mildly melancholy day for our mid-morning drive to our friends home.  Gentle sprinkles of rain fell lightly upon our windows.  Seth chose to listen to worship on the radio today. The gray overcast subtlety invited us to relax a bit, as we patiently drove with anticipation to a time of play with our friend.  Though not too long of a drive there, it was enough time to hear a few songs on the radio and catch our breath from a hurried moment getting out the door.  


"Mommy, are these angels singing?" Seth inquisitively asks as his voice ever so slightly raises in tone.  "No honey. Does it sound like angels?" I ask in return.  "Ya, it does Mommy" he replies with a drawn out childlike conviction.  

The song playing has a very melancholy melody.  Like a slow dance of rain, dripping down delicately on the windows of our heart, the piano begins to play.  


Here are some of the Lyrics to the song, "Blessings" By Laura Story; the song that begins to play.


"We pray for blessings.
We pray for peace.  
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep. 
We pray for healing...


What if your blessings come through raindrops. 
What if your healing comes through tears.
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know your near.
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise."


As this song played, I looked back at Seth.  This is what I saw:  


His hands held to his chest, folded. His eyes gently closed.
His lips moving, in silence.


As I watched him, I was immediately enveloped by the presence of Heaven around me.  I knew that there was something sacred, surrounding us both.  Sifting the soil of my heart where worry and fear, hide...the Holy Spirit opened up to me a picture of what He is doing in our son.  Watering His heart with more of Himself, in a moment where the very rains of Heaven flowed down.  Laced around those tiny little lips was a prayer only he will know- this side of heaven. Perhaps that prayer was moving mountains, I had no idea he even knew how to ask-
    be moved.  

Perhaps he was unwrapping in the spiritual realm, things only unwrapped- through the mouth of babes.  To even ask what he was praying, felt invasive.  The gift of that moment, was enough. One to be kept between him and his Heavenly Father.  


There is a sweetness and innocence in children, however when they have their eyes closed, in prayer...it's indescribable the feeling it brings a parent.  A gift that is priceless.  Especially when you sense something profoundly intimate in such a sacred moment, has invited you in to witness.  

I saw something in his face in this moment of prayer that he had...


Pure peace...pure faith...pure abandon. The kind that only the  Spirit of Jesus, can give a child.  


As the lids of his eyes were closed, I couldn't help but ask, do I look like that when I pray?  Do I go with the same depth of conviction and transparency, such as that of a child?


It was shortly after his little lips stopped, he then lifted his hands in worship. I immediately was taken into the realm of the presence of the Heavenly's where the angels; really do sing.  And suddenly, just as the raindrops were falling on our window, this mild melancholy morning, they began to fall from my eyes. 


Falling from places within where- longings lye patiently for healing.  

Where tears of joy rise- in the privilege of seeing your son, respond so resoundingly to the revelation of His presence.  


This was a blessing through raindrops.


A bit of healing, through the tears.


I am sure, I will silently see more sleepless nights yet to come.
I am sure, it will take such nights for me to know once again...
He is near.


And, I am sure it will take many trials more- for me to know that these trials truly are


some of your most tenderest of mercies...


in disguise.






Dear Savior,


Thank you for the many voices You've gifted, that sound like...angels to our ears.  


Thank you for the way you find us, a midst many melancholy mornings- so as to bring us into the healing rains- of Your presence.


Thank you that our son, knows the voice of angels in his heart...


the voice of Your Spirit enough...
to raise his hands in prayer. 
In praise.
In worship.  
Even at four years old.


Thank you that you allowed this window in our morning...to open in such a way...that it became a window- into the days of our lives, yet to come.


Help me Father-


 to remember...


there really are blessings in the raindrops.


Your healing can, will and does, 
come through the tears.


That in the sleepless nights, still yet to come...
you have not changed.  That you are the same yesterday, today and forever.  


That you are...


always near.


And though the trials of life...tragically travail upon the terrain of our hearts, 


help me remember that your mercy trod's upon them trials more powerfully than the trials themselves. 


And that in those truths...your mercy will come-
 even if disguised...in the rains of such pain.