The Shadow of Your Wings

Stress Relief

flutterby | April 29, 2008 23:26

My sister recently shared this site on her post in an effort to assist mental wellness. It is worth passing along.

http://www.therightfoot.net/mystuff/whatever/swf/bubblewrap.swf

If anyone figures out how to transfer this to the desktop screen please let me know.

Thanks.

Picture Perfect?

flutterby | April 25, 2008 06:40

I’ve been staring at the picture on my desktop that I took several years ago in Arkansas. It’s a photograph of Christ of the Ozarks - a monolithic statue, created of white mortar, that stands atop a mountain on the grounds of the Passion Play outside of Eureka Springs. We’ve made the trek up that mountain many times over the years, once to see the play, but always to see “Jesus.” This summer we will be taking two of our teen-aged granddaughters with us on the pilgrimage. I’m so excited. I want them to see Jesus.

The sculpture itself is rather crude (which is to say it‘s no David.) Reminds me of something I carved out of soapstone in high school art class. Huge, simple, surreal. But there is a holy hush about the thing, the place … as if you can hear the muted whispers of a million prayers rustling through the pines. Peace abides there, on that mountain, where Christ is lifted high, His gaze overlooking the city below, His arms open wide. There is a sense of welcome, a call to “Come unto Me.”

I understand that there has been a lot of controversy over the years about the piece. Questions about the artist’s integrity, squabbles over the disproportion of the sculpture, its visibility. And yet it stands, undaunted by winds of dispute or nature. Sort of like us, as Christians. Our lives are rarely perfectly formed renderings of Jesus, our integrity not quite up to someone else’s standard, our very visibility an affront to many. Yet, in Christ, by His grace, we too stand, with arms outstretched, quietly welcoming, watching, waiting.

I just want them to see Jesus.

Some Glad Morning …

flutterby | April 21, 2008 17:21

I’d like to share a story with you that will no doubt raise a few eyebrows. I only ask that you, should you disbelieve what I am about to tell, keep a talking donkey, the splitting sea, and a really big fish in mind. Our God is able to do any and every thing to get His point across.

I’ve told you about our beloved granddaughter, Andrea. Well, as we were preparing for her funeral I sat with our “pastor” (at that time) to discuss the service. I asked him to please assure the congregation gathered on that day that we, her family, were comforted by the knowledge that she was with the Lord. His response stunned me. “I can’t do that.” When I questioned his reasoning he replied, “Because I can’t preach someone into Heaven or out of Hell.” What can one say to that? “PARDON?” He proceeded to tell me that as he had not personally heard her “make a confession of faith” or “pray the sinner’s prayer” with him how was he to know that she was with the Lord? Surprisingly I didn’t stumble over my tongue (or punch him in the nose). I simply said, “Did you ever hear ME say that prayer or make that ‘confession’ to you?”

Anyway, we got past that incredibly awkward moment. Sort of. But the man’s words scratched at my heart with sharp claws of question marks. I knew that she believed. I also knew that at 13 she was wondering and yes, beginning to wander a bit. I prayed, begged God to somehow put the matter to rest, to answer his doubt and my own growing concern. For months I cried and prayed and worried.

Then one Sunday morning as I was getting ready for church I heard Andrea’s voice, “Amma, it’s even more beautiful than you said.” Clear as a bell. I turned off my blow-dryer, looked around the bathroom and said, “What?” Again, “It’s all that you said it was and more.” I knew, beyond all shadow or doubt, that she was speaking of Heaven.

Now, I won’t try to kid you into thinking that I wasn’t looking for the men in the white suits after that (we're not talkin' angels here!), but only for a split second. I knew what I “heard,” and as unbelievable as it seemed, I believed.

We arrived at church just as the worship time was beginning. Tradition in that particular congregation is to sing a few fast “praise” songs and then slow it down for “worship.” The first notes of the song chosen to open our time for worship brought me to tears. I know it well. It was Andrea’s favorite song. It was sung at her funeral. I Can Only Imagine… I hadn’t heard the song since the funeral. After two or three lines I had to leave the sanctuary. A friend, her youth pastor’s wife, came out to the portico to comfort me. I told her of hearing Andrea’s voice earlier. She smiled sweetly but I don’t think she believed.

Eventually I made my way to the ladies room where I seriously let go. Bawling, squalling, crying out to God, “What are You doing to me?!!!” When I finally settled down I took a paper towel (trust me, tissue would have just dissolved under the mess I’d made) and began to wipe my face and eyes, blow my nose. Now, I don’t want to get too graphic here, but because I have trouble with nosebleeds it is a habit to check the tissue (I know, gross. sorry.) So, I opened the toweling, all clear. As I was closing it I had the most intense “feeling” that I should “look again.” So, I did. And behold! There, in the center of that towel, created by the tears and (other stuff) was an absolutely perfectly formed butterfly. Immediately I was flooded with a complete and blessed peace and reminded that the butterfly was symbolic of new life, of resurrection. I knew, without doubt, that our sweet girl was with Jesus. That knowledge has not failed nor faded in these three years since, neither has the peace that God granted me that day.

I know how utterly fantastic this sounds. But I believe. Father has always spoken a prophetic word to me three times, whether in dreams, or Scripture, or answer to prayer. He knows how dense I can be - I think it takes three to get through to me. That Sunday morning He spoke to my heart 3 times in the space of an hour. How gracious is our God!

If you ever have a chance to visit our darling’s “garden” you will find, tucked at the base of a rosemary plant, a beautiful little cloisonné butterfly. In a certain light the heavenly blue wings glimmer as if ready to fly … Someday we shall.

Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel
Will I dance for You Jesus or in awe of You be still?
Will I stand in Your presence, to my knees will I fall?
Will I sing hallelujah, will I be able to speak at all?
I can only imagine …

mercyme

No Vacancy

flutterby | April 15, 2008 22:24

When an unclean spirit goes out of a man, he goes through dry places, seeking rest, and finds none. Then he says, 'I will return to my house from which I came.' And when he comes he finds it empty, swept, and put in order. Then he goes and takes with him seven other spirits more wicked than himself and they enter and dwell there; and the last state of that man is worse that the first. Matt 12:43-45

I have seen the truth of this warning in an everyday setting - a friend who gave her life and her home over to a beloved child. As the girl neared her teen years she became rebellious, by her early teens she began to exhibit wanton disregard for those who cared for her. During her high school years she ripped through every boundary of discipline the family had established for her well-being. Finally she married, against her family's wishes, and moved away. For several years my friend kept the child's room open, hoping she would come to her senses, hoping she would return - to her home and her heart.

I could only watch, offer "Well, if I were you I would ..." advice, and pray. From my perspective it was easy enough to say "Let her go," or "Reclaim your life." But I knew from my own experiences that reclaiming one's heart, no matter how battered and abused, is virtually impossible. We love our children - for better or worse - and (maternal) love most truly hopes and believes the best for (if not of) its offspring.

A few months ago my friend finally came to the realization that her child had chosen a path that no longer led to her doorway. We talked much about the prodigal, about not giving up, but no longer chasing after either. She began to make plans to turn that empty room into a sewing space, or guest room, or - hey, knock out the wall and enlarge her own bedroom! Yeah - that sounds like a plan. For the first time in years she became excited about the possibilities and promise that empty room held for her. I, as her friend, was just happy to think she was no longer going to allow this spiteful emptiness to taunt her.

Two days after she made the decision to begin by clearing out and repainting the room the child showed up on the doorstep, her own child in tow, with bag and baggage. She was moving "home." No permission was needed as far as she was concerned. No apology. No repentance. The months since have been horrific. The rebellious teen is now a hate-filled, vindictive young woman. My friend's home and heart have been turned upside down.

Why, one wonders, doesn't she just say "Out!" Because now there is another child, this precious grandbaby. The family is vehement in their intent to protect her from the life her mother now leads. ... and the last state of that man is worse that the first - because now they feel they must endure the ruthless, controlling dictates of the mother in order to keep the babe safe.

I know this is the story of too many parents and grandparents in this age. I also know, and remind my friend often, that "we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers ..." Hard, as a mother who once turned the child over the knee, to keep in mind.

I pray for my friend, for her child, her grandchild. I weep with her. I am at times overwhelmed with dismay and, frankly, disgust on her behalf. I also find myself having to clean my house after she's visited - sweeping away my own anger and judgment.

I have learned some valuable lessons from this experience. That it is a good thing to clear out and put to order those rooms of my heart that have been vacated. But I must rededicate the room to something right(eous) and useful - it cannot be left empty. My own "spare room" had been redecorated and designated as a guestroom. But I recently realized that it had become filled with so many memories and whatnots that there was little space left for the One I would most like to inhabit it. He has held the key to my hearthome for many years and has always been welcome to any and every room in it, but I'd allowed so much clutter to accumulate in this one room that He was hardly able to move in there. So I am in the process of clearing it out again. I am determined to allow no one or thing into that space without His express welcome, though I admit that there are times I am tempted to open the door to its old occupants out of pity (self), or custom, or even loneliness. But then I remember to Whom these rooms belong and am able to say, in fullness of faith, "I have no vacancy." The desire of my heart is to be filled to capacity with His abiding Presence.

Come, Lord Jesus! Fill the emptiness of my soul. Let my life's rooms echo with the sounds of joyful love expressed and the laughter of Your Spirit. May my heart be bright with the flame of Your light and scented with the fragrance of Life - eternal and everlasting, in You. Amen.

Into the Light

flutterby | April 10, 2008 20:07

"In the midst of darkness, saints may not have strength to pursue [their] dreams. But it may be, in the mercy of God, that as we wait for the light to go up, we can do poorly what we would love to do well." John Piper, When the Darkness Will Not Lift

From this haven under the wondrous wing of God, as I "wait for the light to go up," I begin to feel like a child confined to the house because of nasty weather - nose pressed against the window, watching the rains pound against the pane, longing for the sun to return so I can go out and play.

When the LORD lifted His wing to offer me welcome and refuge from the storms that I was struggling to endure I gratefully crawled beneath it. There He has given me shelter and helped me learn again to find joy and strength in His presence. But now it seems that the skies are clearing and I can see the sun's light playing on the ground just beyond the edges of the shadow. It is filled with the flutter of life and purpose and it beckons me to step into its warmth.

A gentle whisper stirs the air around me. Could it be the voice of my Beloved speaking to my soul? Little one, the storm has passed - step out into the light and spread your wings.

Unlike the child who, with such encouragement, would burst out with a great whoop of joy, I hold back. Why? Perhaps because I have no dream to pursue, no sense of what purpose might await me. Yet, I have a growing awareness that I was never invited to "pitch tent" in this sweet shadow. It is a place to rest for a season, not a lifetime. " ... in the shadow of Your wings I will make my refuge, until these calamities have passed by." Ps 57:1

Many things I have learned to "do poorly" ~ what is it, I am left to wonder, I "would love to do well."

I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. You have made me strong, Lord. Now I pray for courage to step out of the shadows. In Christ. With Christ - my Light.

The Shadow of Your Wings

Stress Relief

Picture Perfect?

Some Glad Morning …

No Vacancy

Into the Light

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