Dandelions in the Wind

"You will find courage in the hour of calamity if you have disciplined your spirit to rest always in the Lord and to praise continually regardless of your circumstances.  Any lesser plane of thinking is not only disquieting to the soul but will also open the door to a host of sins. Anger, resentment, petulance, bitterness- none of which can live in an atmosphere of praise- will thrive if the eyes of the soul are diverted to the natural situation and are not fixed on Christ.  He deliberately rewards them that adore Him with mercies denied the self-concerned.   Relinquishment of burdens and fears begins where adoration and worship of God becomes the occupation of the soul."

1 Thessalonians 5:18

-On The High Road Of Surrender-

Frances J. Roberts

   

As I gaze upon the looming storm in the nearing path of this dandelion, I am stilled by its speech. 

Undeniably approaching is something so intense that nothing of such simplicity could stand a midst it.  This weed, called a dandelion, leans into pressing forces with a preparedness to deliver what it was born to release.

Standing confidently, it reaches into the very story itself.  Reaching not out of fear towards safety, but out of courage, calm, and praise.  Within these seeds, there is something yet to be said.  Somewhere yet to go.  Someone yet to teach.

In the early days of the dandelion, it is nothing more than a weed.  But in it's later days, it becomes a breathless beauty where our very breath is what releases it's very purpose.  The very winds, release it into all it's meant for.  To bring forth something, more.   Winds from the south, where the warmth of the sun and heat release the seeds.  Winds from the north, where the very intent of such winds is to bring destruction.  Still, the seeds do not distinguish from such winds.  Their very purpose is unfolded despite what winds blow them forth. 

While reading in, "Song of Songs," by Watchman Nee, I read about the north and south winds. 

"If there is a fragrance inside, outward circumstances, whether the north wind or the south wind, will only serve to bring out the smell of the fragrance.  She no longer lives according to her environment.  She can now live in any kind of circumstances.  She knows that as long as she is filled with the grace of the Holy Spirit, she can happily live in any environment.  ....The north wind and the south wind are two different environments that the Holy Spirit uses to train believers.  She has given herself to the training of the Holy Spirit.  Although the south wind is pleasant and the north wind is fierce, a person who lives in heaven does not feel the difference.  He knows that his circumstances only serve to manifest the grace of the Holy Spirit."

My life has been full of many winds.  Mostly, north winds.  And for most of those winds, I have wondered, why?  Why all these brutal, breaking, biting and bitter winds?  Will the south winds ever arrive with any intent to, stay?  As I read these words by Watchman Nee, I was so encouraged.  I was so encouraged because for the first time in my life, I began to feel privileged to have such winds come my way.  Often.  Because for the first time in my life, I have realized the gift they have been.  They have led me to, intimacy with my Beloved.  They have produced in me the kind of seeds that can only be produced from enduring such winds. 

Courage.

Calm.

Rest.

Praise.

All midst the crucible of clamoring winds. 

And, I can only hope that they have forged a fragrance of the very heaven's themselves.  A fragrance of fruits and spices that only calamity can converge together. 

The north winds facing us now, are the winds of facing foreclosure and bankruptcy.  With no idea of where the money will come from to afford a new home.  While all the details of such winds, rip against the branches of our life. 

Though tonight came the call of such a looming storm facing us ferociously, fiercely, and with finality that forges our character, here we are.

We are sitting in circumstances; who as Nee states,

 "only serve to manifest the grace of the Holy Spirit."

And so how will we sit?  How are we sitting? 

With courage midst calamity.

In rest before the Lord.

In praise continually regardless of our circumstances.

"For any lesser plane of thinking is not only disquieting to the soul but will also open the door to a host of sins."

In one last quiet reflection of the dandelion...

I will bend into the north winds.  I will allow the winds to release the fragrance of His Holy work within me.  I will allow all the seeds of those winds to freely, in abandoned freedom find their way into the lives of those whom He chooses to grace my life with.  I will bend with submitted anticipation to His glorious revealing plan, through whatever winds come.  I will reach with readiness into the realms of roaring lions, raging rivers, rugged terrains that would otherwise move to wreak havoc upon my life,.... with a resting in His presence.  A posture of praise, through the tears that will surely fall.  Waiting in the strength that comes, in worship of a God who not only knows the winds coming before they arrive, but has seen the glory of His power and purpose in them, long in advance.

I am reminded of how we love to capture the face of a child, blowing the seeds of a dandelion into the warmth of a summer's south wind.  I too - must choose to stand with the simple faith of a child holding a dandelion in my hands, blowing each one's seed, into the wind's.  So that in doing so, I might remind myself it is this stance, that one is able to lean into the north winds.

With the faith of, a child.

Knowing such seeds once again will grow another dandelion.  Midst many winds yet to come.  For that, is their occupation.   For they have something to say, somewhere to go, and someone to teach. 

And that someone, is me.

As well as, you.

Unveiled Song

My song Oh Lord,
pours forth.
Facets of your abundant Glory press against
my awakened soul,

Your presence falls over me.

Pure, fresh fallen snow
gently so gently midst the stillness in 
sacred silence, settles.


Heaven's fragrance in a fresh song of intimacy-
kisses the branches of my heart
that stretch far, into the folds of His grace.

Drawing me into Your Holy embrace
I stand, as the weight of your Glory
remains.


Unleashed is my voice before You, Oh Lord.

Leaves of my spirit usher forth, new song~
  a song of deliverance, healing and hope
  clap within the wings of Your Spirit.

You sing through the many
veins of my soul. You pour forth
Your speech. 

I lift my voice to you, Oh Lord.
As a dance of abandon my face -
raises toward the heaven's. 

Winter's watering cadence,
fragrantly falls upon my tongue;
I taste Your sweetness.  Angelic voices
rendering rhythms over
my awakened heart,
while voices stretching heavenly echo's of

"H~ o~  l ~ y ~ H ~ o ~ l ~ y,"

string sacred songs in stirrings so deep-

Your intimacy laces over me. 

My arms like branches holding all that lies
between, now stretch forth in response
to Your unfailing song over me...

raising forth from me
songs where Your Spirit speaks... that I might
know... who I am in You. 

My Lover divine. 
My Maker sublime.

Worshiper of You,


I drink in Your grace
poured, for such a time.

You my Beloved, I adore.
You my Beloved, I adore.
You my Beloved, I adore.

"Sing for joy, O heavens! Rejoice, O earth! Burst into song, O mountains! For the LORD has comforted his people and will have compassion on them in their suffering." Isaiah 49:13

"Break forth together into singing, you waste places of Jerusalem, for the LORD has comforted his people; he has redeemed Jerusalem."  Isaiah 52:9

Camped Around The Presence

"For close to 2000 years, weekly the church has gathered around the sermon, and we defend that out of our devotion to scripture, which is right and good. But, Israel camped around the presence, and I believe that the Lord is going to help us in the last of the last days to re-learn a priority of the presence and learn how in a practical sense, to camp around the presence- to gather around the presence of the Lord, and make that one single feature the most dominant feature in our gatherings."
-Bill Johnson -Senior Pastor of Bethel Church
 "For The Sake Of The World."

For a very long time now, my heart has been burning, camped at this very place with passion, and vision for our church.  Burning in such a way that my heart has wept in the very place he speaks of, "around the presence," His presence. 

This past week I was reading about Jehoshaphat's life. As I read, I was deeply stirred, again.

"Then the Spirit of the Lord came upon Jahaziel son of Zechariah, ...He said: Listen, King Jehoshaphat and all who live in Judah and Jerusalem! This is what the Lord says to you: Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God's. ...You will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the Lord will give you, O Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Go out to face them tomorrow, and the Lord will be with you.

Jehoshaphat bowed with his face to the ground,

and all the people of Judah and Jerusalem fell down in -

worship before the Lord.

Then some... praised God with a very loud voice.

Early in the morning they left for the Desert of Tekoa. As they set out, Jehoshaphat stood and said, "Listen to me, Judah and people of Jerusalem! Have faith in the Lord your God and you will be upheld; have faith in His prophets and you will be successful.

After consulting the people, Jehoshaphat appointed men-

to sing to the Lord and

to praise Him for the splendor of His Holiness as they went out at the

head of the army...

As they began to sing and praise, the Lord set ambushes -

against the men of Ammon and Moab and Mount Seir who were invading Judah, and they-

were defeated.

The men of Ammon and Moab rose up against the men from Mount Seir to destroy and annihilate them. After they finished slaughtering the men from Seir,

they helped to destroy one another.

The fear of God came upon all the kingdoms of the countries when they heard how the
Lord had fought against the enemies of Israel. And the kingdom of Jehoshaphat -

was at peace, for his God had given him -

rest on every side.

2 Chronicles 20: 14, 15, 17-23, 29

As I consider the fact that we are in the end days, and the darkness is only getting darker, that means that the light will only as well, get lighter. But the question that has been begging with passion within me for sometime now...is precisely as Bill stated it,

"Where are we going to camp?"

Or, in my words; "What are we going to value most?" What are we going to choose as our, "One Thing?"

Then, I also have pondered deeply,

"What is the Church going to choose as the One Thing we must not neglect, in the days of the end?"

What are we going to see as the most vital tool we have in, standing firm in the full armor of God?"

Will we be in worship in such a way, like Jehoshaphat, that we will send out the 'worshipper's first!"

And for how long did they worship?

What did that worship look like?

What will it look like for, us?

Will there be room for those in the Kingdom that God has appointed- to be heard?

How desperately do we want rest? Do we really know where true rest is found? How and what that looks like for the individual, the church?

(Can you tell I love to ponder!)

Over the past several years, I have been in the midst of so much. Learning to be a mom, learning how to deal with broken, very broken dreams, while not being able to maintain the same level of 'ministry' I once had maintained. About 10 yrs. ago, I entered into a coma as a result of being ambushed with some debilitating news regarding the murder of my mother, 22 yrs. ago,  and my sisters sexual abuse.   As I was one with which worship was my primary language, during that long wilderness season I had lost 'my voice' to worship.   I was so paralyzed within, that primary language was frozen in trauma, so deeply that all I could do is literally sit before Him, uttering only tears as my song.  And, I could barely find songs that ushered me into the soaking presence of His Spirit.  He used a song from "The Two Towers," where it felt like angelic hosts singing over me the felt sorrow of my heart, giving expression that otherwise would have only remained as a statue of stone within.

Ten years later, this year, changed all that. I cried out to Him. For Him to know me like no one else knew me, so that I would have no need of needing anyone else to be fully known, but Him.

In that process, I found myself feeling I was, unproductive. I would sit in the midst of worship playing late at night, while I either wept, or sat silent. Washing like rain, over me the Spirit would pour down. Slowly thawing my frozen soul.

Then, He ushered into my life, a couple of dear women where the connection of our lives happened by a divine post on facebook, and another through a church I went to for a short season, and an author He ushered into my life, who also was used to recenter my heart upon the Lord's unceasing grace and mercy for me.

Peeling back the layers of pain in my heart, I realized I was completely undone.

Our son, who has a Sensory Processing Disorder, challenged my faith and ability to be a mother. I was undone trying to be a wife where our paths grew distant just trying to maintain life. We were unstable regarding the sale of our home, facing foreclosure any time. And spiritually, seeking where it was God was wanting us to be in a church.

Then, I got to the end of my self, and in anguish I cried out to Him, and I was filled in a way that I had never yet experienced, while sitting in His presence beneath the open heavens of worship washing over me.   I realized that the battle for my mind, my heart, my dreams, my very identity...was so heavy, that all I could do is sit with Him. For h.o.u.r.s!!! Literally, when my little guy went to sleep, and my husband left for his 3rd shift job, my home was finally quiet, but my mind was asleep.

I began to sense the warfare around my mind whispering to me,  "you are so unproductive."  That this sitting here doing, "nothing," in the midst of worship was selfish.  I should be folding laundry, doing dishes, tending to the chores of my life.  In the midst of the myriad of arrows and arsenal of lies pelting my soul, what the enemy wanted me to believe, was that I was not living up to being the mother and wife, I had set up for myself to be.  But, slowly something supernatural happened, and the very thing that the enemy wanted me to believe, was instead the very place of which the enemy was brought down and defeated.

It wasn't until I moved into a place of surrendered longing, sitting still in the midst of soaking and prophetic worship, that the Holy Spirit began to show me many things, like how I had misplaced my heart, somewhere other than My Heavenly Father's hands.  And that He wanted it, back.  When that happened, I was ushered into a realm of His presence that only He could have unfolded for me.   It happened all in the secret, silent, still place of choosing that '"One Thing."   Being at His feet, beneath His open heavens in surrendered worship.  And like Jehoshaphat;

It is where the Spirit of the Lord, came upon me.

It is where my "position" was, with my face to the ground.

It was in that position, I saw the deliverance of my Lord in my life.

It was where my voice that once sat silenced, was now loud and clear, in utterances and longings to deep for words.

It was through the voice of a prophet, He unfolded for me what otherwise would not have been.

It was where my worship, went ahead of the army of circumstances, surrounding me and our family.

It is where the battle, was His, and not mine.

And it was where the angelic hosts, the power of worship, ushered forth sent an ambush- against the enemy, on our behalf... that the enemy might destroy each other.

Where the enemy, was defeated.

And, for the first time in my life, where we are still midst very pressing needs, awaiting for His provision to be ushered in---

I have peace, rest on every side.

So, as we move further and further to being IN the epicenter of the end days, I have to ask myself...

Where will I be camping?

In His presence. I will choose the "One Thing," as Mary did, at the feet of Jesus. It will be the one single feature of our family, that is most dominant in our life. It will be worship, that reflects off of our armor. For it is one of our greatest weapons against warfare. We will enter into worship first, as the enemy comes against us. For he will, come.

How long will we worship?

Much longer than most do! Longer than it takes to eat a meal... for a meal with Him, doesn't end until I have encountered Him... His manifest, shared, graciously longing to sup with me, presence. For why, when He comes, would I leave after just a "few minutes," in order to tend to 'other matters' needing tended to. For what possibly could be so pressing, that I can't stay long enough to be satisfied, full?

And so, it would be less than polite of me, not to ask you the same.

Where do you want to camp?

And to further that asking---

Where will the church camp?

My unceasing prayer, is that they will not fear- His presence.  They will not miss, His Kingdom coming.  They will not worry about, "other matters," needing tending to, that will fall into their proper place after the, "One Thing," is chosen.  And, that they will get a glimpse of how powerfully the Word will and must come forth, and the fruit of what that will bring, only once we have learned how to, camp around His  presence.

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.