Nature. Pain. The nature *of* pain.

Yes, this is another post about me, somewhat self-indulgent in nature. Well, it's my blog; I can talk about whatever I want. I actually don't care if you read this or not; writing helps me sort out my thoughts.

G-d is doing a lot in my heart right now. I had a talk with Him last night (or rather talked at Him—I'm having trouble hearing Him right now). I've figured out that this season is one of longing and emptiness, meant to create greater hunger in me. The end result will be greater maturity and understanding of Him. The immediate result is pain. I'm trying to accept and welcome what He's doing, but knowing that the pain is worthwhile doesn't make it hurt any less.

Whenever I go through this kind of season, I tend to feel an urgent need to get outdoors and away from people—to be in a literal wilderness, one that matches my heart. I nearly went crazy several times during my internship; G-d was doing so much in me, but I didn't have much time to spend outside. I was always around other people, constantly being asked if I was okay, what was going on in my heart, could they pray for me… I was grateful for my friends' support and concern, and often I needed it. I believe fellowship is necessary to live a healthy life as a believer. But I have always been most comfortable in solitude. Sometimes being alone makes me feel better. Sometimes it actually makes things worse. Other times solitude soothes my inner turmoil for a little while, providing a brief rest before I have to go back to wrestling with what He is working in me. Today, it was the third result.

I went hiking on my lunch break, along Blue River again (there really is nowhere else nearby, except for Shiloh ). I enjoyed as much as I could in my present condition. It was a beautiful day for a hike. A strong breeze came and went at times, playing against the day's unusual warmth. I walked for a while, stopping to watch a robin bathe in a stream. Above me, a hawk beat futilely against the wind before side-slipping beyond my view. I perched on a ridge high above a creek and listened to the wind for a while, letting it speak for me. My heart felt full, but I did not know what to say that I hadn't said before. All I could do was pray short prayers: "G-d, give me grace. Give me joy in this season. I am Yours. Remove everything in my heart that is an obstacle to love. Help me."

I found a perch on a crooked tree by the river and sat there for a long time, watching dying leaves spiral slowly into the water on fall's last breath. When the wind came, the leaves fluttered in sheets to the river, blanketing the water's surface, and were carried away by the current.

I ran my hand along the tree trunk and felt the moss and lichens growing on its surface. The tree was bent, broken, and ugly, but some of its branches still held leaves—withered leaves, but signs of life nonetheless. The battering my tree had taken from the river had defined it, given it character.

Yesterday, Loch and I sat on a rock outcropping a couple of miles upriver and talked about pain. "When I first heard someone say that G-d causes pain, I was like, 'No. That can't be right,'" Loch said. "But I realized that it's true. Sometimes pain is completely G-d's will." I agree with her. A lot of the pain humans feel is because we live in a fallen world. Yet I think that pain is ordained by G-d more times than we realize. He does it because He loves us too much to let us continue in sin; because He has such huge dreams for us to be more than we are. But the only way for Him to make us better and to entrust us with more of His heart is to carve out those things that drag us down—and boy, does it hurt when the Word pierces you. I have to say that the writer of Hebrews knew exactly what he was talking about in Hebrews 4 and 12.

I still don't completely understand why G-d is doing certain things in my heart at certain times, or even what He is doing. However, I think I understand more about the ultimate end He has in mind. He wants to perfect me in love, to make me mature and holy. But He has to teach me some things first about His strength versus my strength, and about how the pain is necessary and even right. And so today I resolved to be as weak as He wants me to be, and to embrace the pain of the Hebrews 4:12 sword when it is for my own good.

I don't know when I will be healed. It hurts a lot…sometimes like a stabbing wound, sometimes like a dull ache. All I can do pray, keep reading my Bible, and not become offended at Him. I have to trust that the Father knows what He's doing—that He is good, because He says so; that He wants more for me, because His Son longs for a spotless Bride; that He loves me…that He loves…simply because He exists.

If there's one thing I have left, it is to declare this: He is the I AM. He is good, kind, perfect in timing, and sovereign; He cannot contradict His nature. I say He is faithful, and I believe He will complete what He has begun in me (Phil. 1:6).

The switch

I switched to Blogger's beta version. You can't really tell because I kept the same boring template (which my brother refers to as "walls of text"); I'll have to see if I can find a better template at some time. But anyway...I like Blogger's beta build (ooh, alliteration); it's easier for people who don't want to spend lots of time messing with the template's code. I didn't mind that so much, because I know some HTML, but I have to admit the new "add page element" option is nice when I'm in a hurry.

Anyway...that's about it...oh, I went on a hike today with Loch, one of my roomies from the internship. Beautiful day for walking--it was probably 65 degrees outside, a gorgeous fall day. In between trying not to slip on the muddy path, Loch and I caught up. We're both going through similar heart seasons, so we talked about pain and about the process of maturing. I enjoyed the walk and the talk; I wish I saw her more often.

And now for something completely different

I am almost done with the latest batch of gigantic chocolate bars that Killer gave me. Her master plan behind blessing me with dark chocolate is, and I quote, "To make you fat." I should resist, I know...but it tastes so good...

In other news, I think the prophecy rooms are getting easier. Today I went and sat in the prayer room, first to quiet my heart and second to pray for the prophecy teams and for the people receiving prophecy. It went pretty well today. I've gotten used to the structure and don't mind doing the opening or closing prayer, and I think I'm finally getting back into the flow of easily listening to the Spirit. Plus, my friend Gem, who lived across the hall during my internship, turned up in my prophecy room. That was fun.

I still am dealing with my own heart stuff...it's been hard to hear Jesus lately, although I am always touched by how faithful He is to speak through me in the prophecy rooms. I've been smiling more lately; the pool of stagnant sadness inside seems to be dissipating, if slowly. The L-rd keeps nudging me about different things I should give up to Him--like my exercise habits (or lack thereof).

Another thing He's brought to mind is that I need to get my car taken care of. I have a Missouri driver's license, but my title, plates, and insurance are all still Minnesotan. I have a bunch of tasks to do before I can "convert" to Missourism. It's like one of those action-adventure platforming games with the annoyingly long chain of tasks, where you have to move a box, then climb a rope and flip over a yawning gap, then race against a lowering gate, all to reach a tiny little switch that opens one door. Here is the puzzle I have to do: find a junkyard so I can find a new rim, then take my car to IHOP's resident mechanic and get him to replace the dented rim, then take my car and get it re-inspected, then go to the DMV and get my plates and title, then get Missouri car insurance. I realized I've been putting it off for far too long (although being consumed with that huge work project was a good excuse).

Of course, that could be because part of me is still loyal to Minnesota. I miss the little holographic loon from my MN DL. And Missouri plates are ugly.

Excuses. Anyway. I have prayer room again tonight at 10:00, then Hotness, Killer, Gem and I are going to do something. We don't know what. But whatever we do, it'll cheer me up.

Vows

I took a vow a few months ago, a short-term vow that should alter the way I think, both in my mind and my heart. I took this vow in the spirit of the Nazarite vow described in Numbers 6:1-21.

The Nazarite vow is one of consecration. It is taken by those who wish to separate themselves to the L-rd for a time. I wanted to set myself apart as a continuation of the season begun in my internship. I wanted to let the L-rd tell me who I was to Him and learn who He was to me. I gave up certain activities, interactions, and relationship possibilities so that I could devote my time to prayer and my focus to Him.

But I slipped back into old thought patterns. I didn’t know how to consecrate my thought life. I didn’t really do anything to separate myself from old habits or beliefs. I began to struggle with an area of sin that I hadn’t had trouble with for years. I rationalized my sin and enabled myself to keep sinning. I slipped in my devotion to Him in many other areas. I was spiritually bored, yet unconsciously unwilling to turn to Yeshua for help. I lied to myself, saying that everything was all right, but it wasn’t. In short, I was miserable.

He loves me too much to have let that continue. A week ago, He confronted me about my failure. He was nice about it, but He made it very clear that I was not living rightly. I had to admit that I hadn't kept my vow. I hadn't set myself apart. In fact, I was worse off spiritually than I'd been before I'd taken the vow. I could only say, "Please, show me where I went wrong. I can't fix it. I can't do anything by my own strength. I need You."

I'm not condemning myself. I write without shame, simply stating facts, because I am beginning to understand what it is like to live under His mercy. It was His mercy that prompted me to ask what was wrong with my heart. He showed me mercy by telling me how I'd been sinning. By forcing me to come face-to-face with my self-deception and my disobedience, He showed mercy, not letting me continue in my unhappiness. He has been so gentle with me throughout the whole process. I haven't felt any recrimination. He keeps saying to me, "Beloved, I want so much more for you than you want for yourself. I want you to be free. Will you let Me help you?"

I could only say, "Please. Please help me. Remove everything that hinders love. Make me holy." That was a scary prayer to pray because I knew He would answer. He did, right away, and even as I type this I can feel the Word piercing me and chastising me, like it says in Hebrews 4 and 12. The experience is not pleasant most of the time, but I know I'm going to be better because of it. I wonder who I will be at the end of this.

When I took this vow, I thought it was going to be completely enjoyable and fun. I pictured me sitting at the feet of Jesus like Mary of Bethany in Luke 10, receiving the Word, la la la la, happy happy happy. But Mary had to fight against the noise and confusion in the house, against the disapproving looks of the disciples and of her sister Martha, against even her own doubt and insecurity. Likewise, this season has turned out to be turbulent. It's been sobering and surprising. Oddly, it's also been joyful. Every day the Father gives me a new piece of the puzzle that is His heart. Every day I receive a little bit of understanding when it comes to His grace, His mercy, His just and loving judgments, and the fear of the L-rd. I used to have intellectual understanding of these attributes of G-d. But experiencing these qualities and emotions when they are directed at me is beyond description.

I am overjoyed that He loves me this much. He has chosen to use my rebellion to draw me closer to Him. A lesser Being would have written me off, for I had taken His love and thrown it back in His face. I made a vow and didn't keep it; I valued myself and my desires more than I valued Him. Yet He pulled me back, and I returned--and now I am in an unexpected time of humility and of learning His heart. I am so amazed at the Father's extravagant, unreasonable love for repentant prodigals. His commitment to us far surpasses our commitment to Him.

I'll probably make mistakes during this season; I am human. But I know I will be strengthened by the realization that this vow is not, after all, one-sided. I am weak and I don't know how to be holy. But that's okay--He is going to teach me how to depend on Him. I'm going to come out of this wilderness leaning on Him, as it says in Song of Songs 8:5. He does not give up on those who are His, no matter how many times we fall.

And You
You are still for me
You're not against me
You keep coming after me

I say yes
I'll choose You
I'll learn to lean
For You're faithful to me

Memory trigger

Yesterday I found some hand lotion way in the back of a cabinet. It looked old. I popped the cap and dabbed some on my hands, then sniffed it. The lotion smelled like sunblock.

As soon as I inhaled, memories began flooding through my mind, recorded through the eyes of my childhood. Summer days at local lakes...roasting in the car on the way to the lake...shivering on the sand and eating gummi bears in between plunges into cold, shallow water...rough yellow sand rubbing between my toes on the way back to the car, no matter how carefully I'd brushed off my feet at the end of the day...sitting on my towel on the way home, feeling the seat belt rub against my shoulder...

Vacation at my dad's parents' place in Ocean Grove, NJ--an old Methodist camp town that seemed like another world...walking on white, silky sand shaped by the ocean...chasing seashells carried by the waves, only to find pieces, never whole shells...lying in bed at night, feeling like I was still bobbing up and down on the waves...ice cream at Days' and Nagle's...walks along the boardwalk...sand in my hair...

And then reality twisted, and I was back in Kansas City, Missouri, far away from any decent beach, being stalked by autumn chill and the grey nothingness of winter.

The memories brought on by that lotion's scent seem distant, yet at once more than real. I wonder if that is how I will remember my earthly life during eternity.

Unexpected

Unexpected: nothing for me to do at work; a full day to myself in the prayer room with only a few work emails to follow up on.

Unexpected: Coleslaw that tasted like onions; bad dill pickle (the corned beef was good, as was the challah roll).

Unexpected: a revelation that the fear of the L-rd can be a comfort, helping to remove hindrances.

More on the fear of the L-rd later, possibly...

Corned beef craving

So today I started having cravings for good Jewish food. I know it’s a bad idea to fantasize about food on a fasting day, but I could just picture how the corned beef would hang so temptingly off of a croissant, with a big dill pickle waiting in the wings…and then I saw latkes—oh, latkes, how I love thee!!

Matzoh ball soup swam before my eyes. I could almost taste the salty yumminess of matzoh balls…and fried matzoh, kind of like French toast except a little drier…and my grandma's good coleslaw….

I couldn’t stand it any longer. I searched online to see if there were any authentic Jewish delis around here. I probably could’ve asked Princess about it, and if I ever got my lazy self over to the Messianic Synagogue I bet they could give me recommendations, but I needed answers right away. Turns out there is a kosher grocery/deli thing inside a Hen House grocery store on College Blvd. in Overland Park. It’s called Irv’s Market and it’s kosher. I don’t know if it’ll be as good as Sol’s or Cecil’s from back home (rest in peace, Sol’s; why did the tire place have to buy you out??). But I have been longing for corned beef and I’ll take whatever I can get.

The sandwiches are, apparently, ginormous—1/3 lb. of meat (per serving) on a roll and served with a side of coleslaw, potato or pasta salad, as well as a pickle. I have a feeling the meal will be well worth the $6-$10 Irv’s Market charges. Killer and I spent about as much when we split some sushi the other day, but we were still hungry when we finished. I don’t think we’ll have the same problem with Irv’s.

I called Killer and was like, “Forget fasting, let’s go get a corned beef sandwich!!!” but she convinced me to wait until tomorrow. So I printed out a menu and have been attempting not to drool on it.

I fear I know what I will be thinking about in the prayer room tonight…

A day off? What a strange concept

I am taking today off; the major project I've been slaving away at for work doesn't need me for a couple of days. It feels strange not to be working. I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I was going to go shopping, but plans for that fell through. I do know that I am going to see that Esther movie after prophecy rooms tonight. I'm going with Hotness, Withit, and possibly some other people. Otherwise, I don't have anything to do until my prophecy team's briefing at 3:30. Maybe I will go hiking. I don't know. What does one do with free time, anyway?

Healing

As a corporate body, IHOP-KC has been praying for some people in our midst who need healing: paraplegics, quadriplegics, a blind man, a man who lost his voice, and a man who has cancer.

The man struggling with cancer is named Luke Simmons. We have been praying for him a lot during the last few weeks. He’s been very sick, struck by seizures and paralysis. But he’s been coming to the 4:00 intercession meetings to receive prayer, believing that healing will come. His faith shames me and many in the House—we who believe in personal revelation, in dreams, in visions and in prophetic words, but who struggle with the fact that G-d does choose to heal, that He wants us to partner with Him by interceding for healing.

Luke Simmons died this morning. I don’t know much more than that fact. I didn’t know him personally, but I feel for his parents and his friends. He was well-loved and he will be missed. I know that he’s finally shed his ravaged body and entered the Revelation 4 reality of heaven, to be seen again some day with a perfect body. But, as most people (believers and non-believers) would wonder in this situation, why did he have to die?

We prayed and fasted diligently. Every day, hundreds of people praised G-d for healing and declared His name, asking Him to heal Luke. In the Bible, one of His names is YHVH Rapha, meaning “G-d heals.” The name of I AM is no talisman. His name declares His nature. He is who He says He is. He is good. He is a healer.

So why wasn’t Luke healed? Why are three men still in their wheelchairs? Why can’t Bob speak or Terry see?

I am struggling with answers myself. One of the only things that comes to mind is that we can’t earn healing. We weren’t trying to earn Luke’s healing, but I keep reminding myself that we can never earn anything from God. Salvation, personal revelation, healing—they are all gifts. We have nothing on our own merit. The odd thing is that He chose weak and empty people to partner with Him by asking Him for things. He wants to give us stuff, but He wants to give it to people who are desperate for the things of God.

Maybe we aren’t desperate enough yet. Maybe we aren’t hungry. Maybe we have to admit our absolute bankruptcy and lack of the knowledge of God. Maybe we have to corporately ask for a spirit of repentance and ask for the desire to believe that God does act. When we are united in absolute need for Him, will we be able to corporately cry out for healing and revival?

Edited for additions: My prayer room team discussed Luke's death. Some of us thought that he wasn't healed because we weren't ready--some of us weren't truly contending, even if we thought we were; some of us didn't truly believe in healing; some of us were in compromise, were not truly living the way intercessors and believers should. Although I give credit to many, many people who faithfully (in both senses of the word) prayed, the House was not united in this matter. One person on my PR team said, between tears, that G-d was showing mercy on this House by *not* healing Luke. "If he had been healed--what would that have done to us in our compromise?"

My new friend Steph echoes my thoughts:

I asked [G-d] why Luke did not receive the healing we prayed for, but it wasn’t an accusation. I already know why. Too many of us sit in the prayer room completely disengaged and think that counts as something. Too many of us are under the delusion that we are living the sermon on the mount lifestyle, when actually, we just talk about it. Too many of us are covered with the fear of man or the spirit of this age. Too much of our speech is impure and destructive. Too many of our hearts are not in it.

Can God use weak and broken vessels? Yes. And is it His desire to heal? Yes. But those are not the issues here. What would happen if healing were to suddenly break out in our midst? Would we have any reason to press in and press on for real wholeheartedness? What would open our eyes to our own dullness and need if we had signs and wonders to prop up our false ideas about our spiritual state? I believe that Luke was not healed because we were not prepared.

Writing

I haven't done any creative writing in so long...aside from the occasional poem or song, I really am not a disciplined writer. Funny, since my B.A. is in Writing. Is it because I don't have that much time between work and the prayer room? Bogus, says I. "I just don't have enough time" is the refuge of wannabe writers who never get off the ground. If you want to badly enough, you make the time. I cheerfully admit that I'm just too lazy to do so. My ex-profs and ex-Writing Center friends would flog me if they heard me say that, I'm sure. (One of the Writing Centers where I used to work still has one of my poems pinned up in the tutor lounge. Not my idea, I assure you.)

Occasionally my muse gets tired of waiting for me to take some action and smacks me over the head with a story idea. I then have to write it to make it stop bugging me. Today I wrote five pages after the smackage had subsided. Had a lot of fun, too. (See my Xanga for a teaser.)

Back when I was in school lo these many moons ago, I took two classes from an amazing prof who made us write for ten minutes at the beginning of every class. We would all walk in, sit down, and pull out our paper and pencils. She would say something like, "Write about a porcupine, a gumball machine, and an old winter coat. You have ten minutes. Go." And whether or not you felt like writing, you had to write, because at the end of the ten minutes we would all go around the room and read what we'd written, and if you didn't have anything...well, you just didn't have anything, which was kind of silly, because that's what we were there for: to write.

That excerise was good discipline. Sometimes the results even provided ideas for a longer story. I might find that box of old school stuff some day and post some of the ten-minute exercises on My Creative Outlet™.

In which our heroine finds herself, alas, indoors on a fine fall day, but concludes that even if she were outside, she would have nowhere to go

I'm working (surprise, surprise) in between taking longing looks out my window. It's such a gorgeous fall day. I wish I could go take a bike ride. However, even if I had the time, I'm not sure where I would go. Back home there was a park reserve within ten minutes of my house. And within a half-hour's driving distance, there were probably six other parks with biking/hiking trails. Minnesota has a great parks system, but Kansas City? Nothing. For example, yesterday I wound up riding in a graveyard.

I'm probably being unfair. And the graveyard wasn't half-bad, actually. The road went back further than I'd imagined; the place was pretty quiet (despite the not-so-distant rush of traffic from 435), and the trees were beginning to shed their green to reveal brilliant oranges and reds. But at that moment I missed home a lot.

I suppose I could probably find somewhere decent to bike or hike if I looked around harder. Not that I have time for looking right now.

Flotsam and jetsam

I am too tired and distracted to write a real post on the cool revelation I got on Song of Solomon 3:8 last night. I will warn you ahead of time that the following post is strictly frivolous.

• I got a small extension on the project I'm working on--very small; just a few days. But at least I don't have to spend every waking moment on it any more. Just most of my waking moments.


• In other news, the USPS mailbox at IHOP has disappeared. Somebody from the post office repossessed it on Monday and we might not get it back. I don't know why. Maybe we're not special enough to have a mailbox.


• Yesterday after the three-day fast ended, my friend Killer gave me two big honkin' bars of Hershey's Special Dark (45% cacao). Killer already has my undying love and affection, but I pledge it to her once again.


• I figured out how to hang up the dragon wind chimes I got in Chinatown last Thanksgiving: tack them to the door frame of my closet. I tend to forget they're there, so I bonk into them whenever I pull clothes out of my dresser, but they sound very nice.


• I found my Xbox games. Not that I need competition for my free time, but occasionally pulling out Halo can be therapeutic.


• I had an apple cider slushie on Sunday. It was one of those drinks you never would have thought of on your own, but it turned out to be the most amazing slushie I had ever tasted.


• I may end up being dragged to the Renaissance Festival this weekend. That promises any number of interesting sights and stories. Perhaps I shall trip a knight and be challenged to a duel.

Frosty break; fasting names

I am working from home and the prayer room again today. Hotness and Killer just dropped by to make me take a break. They came bearing Frosties from Wendy's, which was of course the perfect thing to bring: something chocolate and something that didn't quite break the liquid fast I'm on.

Liquid fast. That sounds confusing. Am I fasting from liquids (not wise) or fasting on liquids? On the rare occasions that people here talk about fasting, I can't always tell what they mean. I think there has to be a way of classifying fasts that doesn't confuse us all.

Anyway. I need to get back to work. I am very good at procrastinating and didn't really need any help (although I enjoyed the visit from my friends). This project waits for no one.

Identity

I got back to KC last Tuesday and jumped right into the schedule. It's been tough...the first day I was back, I felt like I had a tightly-wound ball of pure sadness in my throat. I'll say that the goodbyes with my family were hard and leave it at that.

Lately, I've really been feeling a call to do the fasted lifestyle for real. I have a roadmap to holiness right here in Matthew 5-7. I know that Proverbs 2 contains the ancient paths of knowledge that Jeremiah spoke of. I want to feel the call to repentance and intercession in Joel 2. It's the Global Bridegroom Fast right now and I've been looking forward to really entering into prayer for the nations and stuff. Unfortunately, I don't get work off for GBF, and the deadlines I have are not forgiving. So I'll be taking my laptop into the prayer room this evening and tomorrow. I'll probably still work evenings after GBF, and I plan on working during the weekend (though I am also working at the Women in the Prophetic conference as part of the prophecy teams). I don't like working through GBF intercession meetings, or even studying during them, but I don't have much of a choice.

That leads me to a question I've been considering during the past few days: what is the identity and work/PR balance for operations staff? I heard one of my fellow ops staffers say that they didn't like praying on the microphone in the PR because they believed being ops staff was about being hidden.

"Hidden" is an IHOP term for not serving in a highly visible position, such as a singer, teacher, worship leader, etc. (It can also mean not being fully released into our spiritual gifts yet.) All of us at IHOP are hidden to some degree, but some more than others. Ops staff tends to fall into the latter category, I think.

I know that we don't get to be in the prayer room as much as full-time staff; we kind of take the hit for the good of the Missions Base, choosing to sacrifice our time to work rather than pray or serve in the PR. So is my identity to be based off of that? Am I an editor or am I an intercessor?

I am really asking this question of myself as it pertains to my whole life. Who am I all the time? Do I use my free time only to watch movies, to read, to hang out with my friends? How much time should I spend in the prayer room? Am I a different person at work than I am in the PR? Am I a different person in my heart than in my speech?

I really wish I had chocolate right now. Anyway. I need to start working. Later on I want to go up front and pray for Wes and Amanda Martin. Wes is one of the associate directors for the Onething Internship...good guy. His wife is pregnant with twins, but both of the twins have health issues like excess brain fluid and spots on their liver. There's a knot of people surrounding the Martins as someone prays on the mic for the twins, inviting the whole room to corporately pray for healing.

Man. When I think about that, my own issues seem so small. L-rd, heal those little girls.