In His Garden

Chapter 32 : Returning to the abyss, pt. 3

2006-08-23T21:33:00.000-07:00

I see a fait light at the bottom of the stairs through the hold in the wall. I can also hear the voice of the abyss growing louder. I shake my head, intentionally ringing the chimes in my ears to drown out, or at least subdue for a moment the awful voice. Yet I can hear it faintly and if I attend to it, I feel its grip sending stabs of pain deep throughout my gut.

This is different than before, much stronger, more forceful. It is different in nature too, more direct, harder to recognize for what it is, harder to ignore. “Why is it different here?” I must ask.

“The abyss is losing its grip on you. It is fighting to keep hold, to keep power over you. You are threatening to escape it fully. The abyss does not give up its captives lightly.” He explains. “I am here with you. I am your refuge and your strength. You do not need to be afraid.” He reminds, “Let that become truth to you.”

I breathe in deeply, smelling His fragrance, choosing now. “I will believe Your word. I will believe you meant what You said. I will believe.” The voices of the abyss seem to quieter now.

I glance back at the wall. It is torn open and I could scramble through the hole. I am unsure what to do though. “Papa?”

“What do you want here?’ He replies. “You may crawl through the wall, but then the wall will remain within.”

Of course! I could have seen that for myself! I am ready to be done with this obstacle, to press through it. It looks as though I could press and have it give way. But the tunnel is narrow and the block would cause me to stumble. No, I have to get rid of them, there is no other choice. “Papa, please show me, what are these, how do I get rid of them? How do I give them to you?” I turn to look at Him as He nods at me and I know now that I have chosen well.

I look back at the wall, focusing on the stone at the bottom left. It seems to be holding much together. “What is that stone, Papa?” I whisper quietly, biting my lower lip in anticipation. I think I know what it is already. The stone suddenly has a face I recognize. Then there is another and another. Soon the entire bottom row of stones is covered with faces of individuals whose words flung me into the abyss years ago.

Above them I see more faces, still more who are associated with my plunge into this darkness. In the center I see the face of my mother.

“Why is she here?” I ask without realizing I have spoken. Then I see her turning her back on me because I have done something that displeased her. And for that moment I no longer existed to her. I was not wanted! That is what ties all these faces together! Each one of them has said to me, you are not wanted!”

“Papa, What do I do with this? How do I tear this down? I cry out raggedly.

“Forgive them.” His answer is simple, yet profound I had buried all of this underground, deep, so deeply that I no longer could see it not know that it was there. Yet these faces still called out their dreadful message to me.

Swallowing hard, I reply, “Yes, Papa, I will.” Slowly, one by one, I forgive and release each one.

“ I forgive her for the words she spoke, for what she did. I give her to you—she is no longer my problem. I forgive her.” I speak the to first face on the wall. I hear a sharp crack and see the corner stone begin to split. “Papa, I forgive them. I release them to you. I hold nothing against them any longer. I forgive them. I forgive these others and I release them to you. They are now yours. “

A long horizontal crack opens along the bottom row of stones now. “I forgive the teachers, the administrators, the others. I release them into your hands. I do not have to fight their words any more. They are yours!” The crack starts extending upwards now.

The most difficult one is still at hand. Taking a deep breath, “Papa, I forgive my mother, now. I release her to you. I forgive her for turning away, for ignoring me, for not meeting my heart’s cry. I forgive her! Papa, please bring restoration to her! Please. She has lived with the consequences for long enough, set her free Papa! Set her free!.”

The stairway resounds with a loud crack that echoes painfully through my head. The stabbing, throbbing pain shoots through my temples and echoes within me. A loud rumble distracts me from it as I see the wall crumble into a heap at my feet.

“Papa, I repent for my unforgiveness, for failing to forgive these, for building this wall within me. Tear it down! Take it, crush it! Leave none of it within me. I know I cannot be what you have desired if it remains. Destroy it completely!” I struggle to life a heavy stone to give to Him hoping He will destroy it. It is too much for me, though and I cannot lift it.

Suddenly, He is at my side, now taking the stone from me, lifting, then crushing it by His mighty power. It is so effortless to Him! His strength amazes me. One by one, He crushes the stones until only powder remains.

“Spread this on the path and pack it down well underfoot lest any dust remains airborn.” He instructs.

Painstakingly, I spread the crushed stone along the staired path towards the door. I do not go down further than we have already come. Meticulously, I tread along the entire area, trying to firmly pack the crushed stone into place.

“Is this enough? “ I finally ask.

He looks over my work, pausing to firm up a spot under His own foot. He nods. “Yes, it is done.”

In the silence of the moment I realize a voice has been silenced. I no longer hear “not wanted” in the distance. I am sure though this is not enough, we are not yet complete in our task.

He nods. “You are correct, that was just the first obstacle. But it was not a small one. This wall has influenced every relationship you have in some way or another. It kept you from sharing, especially sharing your needs and kept you from receiving, from allowing others to give to you.

“The wall has been in place a long time. Now that it is gone, you will need to adjust. It will feel threatening to you at first, admitting your needs, letting others touch them. Do not let the fear that you have learned cheat you from this. Push through the fear and take hold of My hand. Draw strength from me and take refuge in Me, not in your own self protection.

“See that what I have given you is good.” His voice is encouraging. I feel anxious though. Do I really want this? A part of me does not. “You flesh.” He offers.

It feels unsafe, exposed. I liked life behind the wall where it was protected, concealed. I feel exposed vulnerable now. I can meet my own needs much more efficiently on my own…

“No—“ He interjects, stopping my run away rationalizations. “You cannot. That is a lie you have learned to believe. You are not designed to be alone. To be complete, you must be tied together with others, fed by and feeding others.

“Do not continue in that deception. You can get by on your own, but you are emaciated, starving for more. Look at what I have just now healed in you—How strong the desire to be filled now that it has seen the light of my restoration! How hungry you are!

“That is the state of your heart. Hungry but you do not even know it. You cannot hear the hunger pangs, yet you are starving. Let me restore that to you-allow you to connect with and receiving from others.”

The silence hangs heavy as He lets me decide. How much easier this would be if I did not have to decided at each step. But I must. I cannot turn away from what He wants.

“Yes, Papa, please, begin the process. I know it will not be instant, please begin to heal and restore this walled up place that I might be able to connect again.” I wish I felt this more as I pray, but it is all that I have at the moment.

He reaches out and takes my shoulders in His hands, presses His forehead to mine. “Reach out to Me, daughter, bridge the gap between us.”

I reach out and grasp His arms, just at the elbow, I can reach no further. His arms are so big, so strong that I cannot even begin to grasp them fully in my hands, but I try none the less.

I can feel His breath warm, even hot upon my face. I breathe it in, at first it is difficult, even suffocating. But then it becomes easier, cooler, freer. I am able to breathe in deeply what He has breathed upon me.

“Breath in my life, My spirit, child. Let it fill and rebuilt you from within.”

A cool breeze blows in through the door, down the long stairs, refreshing and renewing the stale air, echoing what He has said.

I want to reply, but have no words. I just breath and obey what He has spoken. ‘I will supply all your needs according to much riches and glory. I will supply….’

I remember how Elisha brought life to the dead child, laying upon him and breathing upon him. I wonder if perhaps part of my heart—once deal is now coming to life again.

“It is—if you will allow it, even nurture it.” He replies softly.

“How do I nurture this?”

“By taking risks, run barefoot in the grass, hold My hand and run, talk to those you meet along the way and share from the depths of your heart. Hold My hand, I will give you strength.”

I clutch His arms, overwhelmed by the notion. “Show me where and when, Papa. I will, I will do it.” These are words of faith.

“I know you will…” Suddenly I realize, He has faith in, belief in me!. He sees my heart and He believes in me! I realize how little I know my own heart when He believes in me more that I do.

“Thank you Papa, thank you.” Tears slide down my face to the crushed stone below.

Finally, He takes my face in His huge, strong hands. He kisses my forehead, lingering slightly. “I love you.” He reminds me.

“I think I am finally beginning to know that, Papa—finally, maybe….”

He smiles on me. And I wonder at what a strange place, the path to the abyss, it is to finally have that realization. And ironically, in spite of all this I find I begin to run from Him, from all of this. My heart, my flesh I suppose takes off, trying to lose itself in a place He cannot find me. It does not last long this time, only a few hours, not days. My flesh has not been subdued, as my routine has been broken and the flesh gained strength while I did not attend to it. I call out to Him, and He is there.

“Forgive me Papa, I repent,” hanging my head in shame, awaiting the heaviness of His correction.

“No,” He finally says. “You already know, your heart is repentant, there is no need. You know.”

“I repent Papa, I bring my flesh under submission to you. I bring it under your rule.” I return to the routine I had left and find my flesh is once again able to submit.

Chapter 32 : Returning to the abyss, pt. 2

2006-08-23T21:32:00.000-07:00

I chew on this for a long time, savoring what He has given Me. I have heard these words before, but they never touched me like this before. Many times I have felt that those I have trusted have spoken against me, turned against me. I begin to see that He has not been behind the words that have been said to me. That it was not Him who inspired the words that rejected me. Perhaps, it did not even please Him that those tings were said. I never that that it please Him specifically, but I guess I had not really thought of it displeasing Him either.

“Those words were not from Me, child. I was never in that.” Tenderly He touches my face, bringing me back from the past into the moment with Him. “I am your refuge.” He reminds me.

I begin to realize, finally, that I am not alone. I never was. He was there for all of it although I did not understand it then.

“Come now, you cannot go unarmed.”

I realize that my sword and belt and shield are still learning by the tree. Quietly we walk there together.

As I gather them, I ask, “Please teach me about these. I do not feel I really understand them”

Smiling, He takes them from my hands. “You already know what these are, truth, faith and My word. They are linked together. Truth is your foundation, holding everything together, supporting everything.” He fastens the wide belt firmly around my waist. “Truth comes from my Word and from faith, they are linked. It is your using of truth that holds you together. It is what is deep within your heart, not head knowledge. This is what has become truth to you.” He hands me the shield. “This is faith. This is what you are willing to believe Me for. What are you willing to ask of Me and trust that I will do when your faith is in Me. I am your refuge. You will not be shaken. It requires a strength and tenacity of decision to hold on to what you know is true. And this…” He hands me the sword, “This is My word.”

JN 1:1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God

“My Word is powerful, alive with My life. You can use it to the extent that you have faith in what has become truth to you. Knowing My Word alone is not sufficient. It must be truth to you, under girded by faith in it.”

I listen, concentrating on what He is saying. Do I believe what He has just shared with Me? Is it truth to me? Do I have faith in what He has spoken to me? I glance over my shoulder toward the door He has shown me, the back at Him. I must, I have no choice. To overcoming this thing I must believe what He has said and act on it.

“Yes, daughter, that is the way. What you have is sufficient to overcome, you must choose what you will do with it. Whether you will use it or not.” He explains.

“Yes, Papa, I understand. I will choose to believe what you have said. You are my refuge. I will hide in you for You are on my side.” I reply carefully. Words are cheap, I must do more than simply speak them. I need to walk them out as well. That is what the challenge will be. “Papa, I just realized, I will need light too,” I remember the darkness of the abyss.

“I am your Light and I will be with you.” He replies, taking my hand. I am reassured as we walk toward the doorway. We wade through the water to get to the door. There are a couple of feet of ground between the water and the door, so standing is awkward.

He reaches out and opens the doors with surprising ease. Few doors seem to have opened so easily. He ushers me through before Him. The stairs here are not open as they were at the other door. We can only take a few steps before we come to a wall, a large brick wall blocking the way.

At first I do not know what the wall is, but then I realize that I know this wall. It is the wall that stands between my heart and those who try to be close to me. This is the wall that keeps me from reaching out and allowing others to meet my needs.

Suddenly, I see how I have struggled and fought to meet my own needs, even at the expense of meeting the needs of others. In my independence I have taken care of myself to make sure my needs were met, needs which should have been submitted to others, and failed to meet needs that were my responsibility to meet. I have failed to submit, allowed my independence to stand between myself and others such that no one needs were met.

“Papa. Forgive me!” I cry out, astonished at what I have seen. “I never knew I never knew the depth of my sin! Forgive me! I repent. I submit, I submit my needs to you Papa God!” It is so very clear not, I see what I have done there is no question, not excuse. It is before me and the stain is unmistakable. I sob both in repentance and in frustration. How should all this be there? I never before realized the depth of the sin within me. “Please, please, forgive me, Papa!”

I see something more now, there is a further cry in me, I want to cry out for restoration as well, but find I am reluctant to.

“Why do you not ask child?” He presses me, not allowing me to dodge the issue I do not truly want to face.

I do not want to answer, yet dare not disobey His press for an answer. Finally, I whisper, “Because…why should you do this for me? Why would you say yes? I have caused this in my sin. These are the consequences of my sin—why would you want to step in to change that which I have so earned?” I cannot lift my eyes to look at Him, I am so afraid of Him in this moment. I am guilty, how can I ask for anything?

I feel more than see the sternness of His expression. I know He is not pleased with me. My heart sinks, feels tight and cold within me.

“What kind of parent do you think I am? To bring you to a place of repentance without hope of restoration? To change your heart and breath life into it only to leave it for death in a situation without hope or promise? If one of your own sons were to recognize and repent of his own disobedience would you not move heaven and earth to bring him into fullness of inheritance?” His voice is very firm, almost angry now.

Meekly, I reply, “Yes, I would, once I saw the change of heart was a real change.”

“Then how much less do you expect Me to do for you?” He demands.

I am afraid now. “I don’t know, I don’t know! “ My tears flow freely now, “Why would you do anything for me? Why would you care?” The words tumble out unbidden, pouring from the wounds of my heart, from the voice of this place.

Suddenly, He is holding me, allowing me to draw strength from Him. “Because I love you.” He whispers in my ear, holding me more tightly still. “Ask of me…”

It is hard to draw breath through my sobs, but finally I am able to whisper, “Please, Papa, please heal, please bring restoration. Restore what the locust has eaten and the canker worm destroyed. Restore what my sin has destroyed!” I am shaking even as I ask this.

“I will child, you will see. I will.” He replies softly in my ear. He holds me as the shaking finally stops.

“Show me the source of this, Papa. Where does this come from?” I want to get to the heart of the problem, to truly and finally change.

Nodding, He shows me a picture of my birth, prematurely taken from my mother’s womb, suddenly cut off all source and supply. I struggle to breathe but no one realizes, there is not help offered. I struggle for breathe, finally taking in ragged gasp, then crying out in fear. Still no one realizes my distress, no one comes to me in my needs. I am cold and afraid and alone. There is no one to meet my needs! I must meet them myself—no one can be trusted—no one will give me what I need!

My heart breaks at this picture. There is no one who could confirm this picture to me, but my heart confirms it clearly in the depth of pain that rises in response.

“Forgive me this vow! Papa, please, forgive me this vow! Please break down these structures and restore, rebuild, renew. Tear down this wall!” Raising my eyes to Him, I see cracks appear in the wall now. I rush to it and am able to pull one large stone known! I hand it to Him. He crushes it in Him powerful hands, the pink powder falling from it looks like crushed granite paving material. It covers the stairs thinly. Pulling a second stone down, I hand it to Him to be crushed.

Chapter 32 : Returning to the abyss, pt. 1

2006-08-23T21:29:00.000-07:00

I try to obey, yet find myself sitting at the foot of the bed, staring at the objects on the shelf for a very long time. Finally, I fall asleep, sitting there, leaning on the post at the foot of the bed. Not long afterwards, I wake, blinking in the morning light. I feel neither rested nor refreshed. I am stiff and my mind is foggy. I look around and find that He is there, still in the doorway, watching me.

“Come with Me.” He invites, extending His hand to me. I unfold myself from the awkward position on the bed and slowly walk to Him. It is somehow a relief to be in His company again. He entwines my arm in His tenderly. “Come; let us go out into the garden.”

We walk carefully down the outer stairs to the garden grove below. I wonder briefly if we are going to the place of correction again. I find that I am at peace even if this is the case. But it does not seem to be His destination. We walk through the garden, talking for much of the morning.

As we walk, though, I feel a pull, a pressure on me that distracts. Things seem confusing, unclear. I do not know how to see what is going on around me, how to understand what I am feeling and hearing. The pressure builds and builds, becoming impossible to ignore, overwhelming. “Papa, what is this? Please help me! I can not continue this way, help me!”

He turns to look at me. “What are you hearing?”

Until this moment I did not realize that it was indeed a voice that I felt more than heard. I pause for a moment to listen for it and I hear clearly now the words, “You are not wanted.”

Now I understand what I am responding to, what I am feeling. But I do not understand where it is coming from. The voice is not loud, just a muffled sound, but enough to raise a reaction within me. “Where is this coming from? What have I done? What do I need to do to get rid of this?” I find myself growing more and more agitated.
His answer takes a long time. “It is the voice of the abyss.” He explains.

“But how? We shut the door—nailed it shut. You quieted that voice.” I am confused, remembering my struggles through that place.

“Come, I will show you.” He guides me through the garden, to the sunny side of the castle. We pause at the bench by the water and he points out a door in the castle, near the waters edge, at the corner of the wall. In all the times we have been here I had never seen this before. “There is another door to that place.

“You did shut the door to the abyss, but the voice is strong, even penetrating through the song of grace that you hear now. It is not coming at you in the old ways. The voice is calling to you in new ways now.”

I realize that this door is in the sun, not in the shadows as before. The voices, feelings I am struggling with are coming from a source which has never been a source before, my husband. This is a new picture and new way indeed. “What must I do, Papa?” I ask, desperate to make it stop.

“You have a choice; you can nail the second door shut. The voice will remain, but the door will be shut and you do not have to go into that place. Or, you can go into that place and silence the voice.” He does not seem to indicate which the right choice is.

I think for a moment. I do not want to go back there, but there does not seem to be much of a choice. Closing the door does not silence the voice and I want it silenced. “Will you go with me? I can’t go back there alone.” I begin, stammering with anxiety.

Placing His hand on my shoulder He says, “You will not go alone. But you must prepare first. You cannot go as you are right now.”

“Yes, Papa. Please, help me.” I am relieved that He will be with me. Even now, the thought of facing that abyss alone is more than I believe I can do.

“Come, then, first you must eat.” He guides me around the side of the castle to the back door to the kitchen. We walk in and He begins to prepare a meal for me. He places a large piece of meat on a plate and pours a large glass to milk. Instead of going into the dining room, He turns back outside, heading toward the intimate picnic area. We sit at the table and He places the meal before me.

I hesitate for a moment, not knowing where to begin.

“Drink the milk.” He tells me.

I hesitate, not understanding why that is important now.

“Drink. It will replenish what is being taxed right now. It is the foundational things that are being attacked right now. These are what are usually attacked, and debilitated. It is rarely the deep things that come under such attack.”

I take up the large glass and begin to drink. It is incredibly rich. Not like the milk I am accustomed to drinking, stripped of the richness for health’s sake. I must drink slowly, it is so rich. I savor the flavor and the fullness, not having realized the depth that was present in His milk.

PS 59:9 O my Strength, I watch for you; you, O God, are my fortress, [10] my loving God. God will go before me and will let me gloat over those who slander me.

PS 59:16 But I will sing of your strength, in the morning I will sing of your love; for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble.17 O my Strength, I sing praise to you; you, O God, are my fortress, my loving God.

PS 62:1 My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. 2 He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.

PS 62:5 Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him.6 He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.7 My salvation and my honor depend on God; he is my mighty rock, my refuge.8 Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.

PS 62:11 One thing God has spoken, two things have I heard: that you, O God, are strong,12 and that you, O Lord, are loving. Surely you will reward each person according to what he has done.

He reminds me of His strength, His love. His is my fortress and I will not be shaken from His arms for He alone is my refuge.

As I finish the milk, I find strength returning to my bones. I am strengthened and reassured. I am finding peace in Him once again. “Thank you, Papa.” I breathe. “You were right, that is exactly what I needed.”

“Now, take the meat.”

I begin to eat the meat He has placed before me:

PS 55:12 If an enemy were insulting me, I could endure it; if a foe were raising himself against me, I could hide from him.13 But it is you, a man like myself, my companion, my close friend,14 with whom I once enjoyed sweet fellowship as we walked with the throng at the house of God.
PS 55:20 My companion attacks his friends; he violates his covenant. 21 His speech is smooth as butter, yet war is in his heart; his words are more soothing than oil, yet they are drawn swords.
PS 56:1 Be merciful to me, O God, for men hotly pursue me; all day long they press their attack.2 My slanderers pursue me all day long; many are attacking me in their pride.
PS 56:5 All day long they twist my words; they are always plotting to harm me.6 They conspire, they lurk, they watch my steps, eager to take my life.7 On no account let them escape; in your anger, O God, bring down the nations.

PS 55:16 But I call to God, and the LORD saves me.17 Evening, morning and noon I cry out in distress, and he hears my voice.18 He ransoms me unharmed from the battle waged against me, even though many oppose me.
PS 56:8 Record my lament; list my tears on your scroll-- are they not in your record?
PS 56:9 Then my enemies will turn back when I call for help. By this I will know that God is for me.10 In God, whose word I praise, in the LORD, whose word I praise--11 in God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?

PS 55:22 Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous fall.
PS 55:23 … But as for me, I trust in you.
PS 56:3 When I am afraid, I will trust in you. 4 In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can mortal man do to me?
PS 56:13 For you have delivered me from death and my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before God in the light of life.

Men have hurt me, come against me, those who were close and trusted. When I call to Him, I am saved, He does not forget me, but sees and records my distress. He delivers me from my distress, the efforts of those against me have no effect on Him, but His hand is against them and He will turn them back. His is for me. He will never let me fall, I trust Him and will not fear. No man can harm me beneath His coverings, I walk with Him.

Chapter 31 : Discovering Dreams, pt 4

2006-06-19T20:00:00.000-07:00

He releases my other arm so that I can bring the nearly empty box into my lap. As I look into the box, I find two objects remain. I glance at Him in surprise; I thought there should only be one.

“Success is an attitude, little one, not a specific dream.. I want you to have that attitude over all the specific dreams I am giving you.” He explains. “Now, take out the smaller package.”

Of the two objects in the box, one is a large, oblong package, the other small, the size and shape of a jewelry box. I remove that smaller package and set the box aside.

As I tear at the stubborn paper I whisper, “I will submit to you, Papa. I lay aside my fear and take up faith. I will receive what You have for me.”

The paper gives way and I open the box. Inside, there is a ring. It is a ‘mother’s’ ring, set with six oval stones. The first three I recognize as being my sons’ birthstones. The other three seem to be topaz, garnet or ruby, and amethyst. But I only have three children. Then I know, these are my sons’ wives! They will be daughters to me, not daughters-in-law! My daughters! I am sobbing now, with joy.

“Look again, there is more.” He whispers in my ear.

I look more closely and see tiny round stones, eight or ten of them, set between the larger oval stones on both sides of the ring. I cannot make out the colors, there are too many of them to tell. It takes me only a moment to realize these are their babies! My grandchildren! This is my family, knit together and held close through three generations. Overcome with emotion, I press the ring to my heart, sobbing, not wanting to let it go.

“Put it on.” He takes the ring and places it on the index finger of my left hand. This is where I wear a ring to remind me of something important. This I cannot forget.

I look up at Him and mouth the words, “Thank you.” Not trusting my voice at all in this moment. In reply, He kisses my forehead tenderly and puts His arm around my shoulders. I rest there, my head on His breast for a long time before He hands me the final wrapped object.

I hold it for a few moments before unwrapping it, wondering what more there could be from Him. The wrapping seems to give way easily this time. I find that I am holding a microphone.

He does not wait for me to ask for an explanation. “You will need this when you teach.”

‘I will need this when I teach… when I teach…’ The words ring over and over in my ears, ‘…when I teach.’

“You have been afraid to accept this, child.” He speaks out the unsaid words of my heart. “You have known since you were thirteen that this was your calling, but you have been afraid of it. You have tried to hide from it, tried to run from it, and even recently, you have been ready to give it up.”

Tears begin to fall again as the turmoil over it all comes welling up again. A very real pain knots my gut reminding me of the struggles I have had with this issue. He strokes my hair comfortingly.

“Do not be afraid any more. I have never changed my mind. I want you to hold on to this, to pursue it, to dream.”

Looking from the object in my hand to Him and back again I whisper, “I will, Papa, I will.”

We sit there, together, for a long time as I try to absorb all He has said and given me. Finally though, He says, “It is time for you to take these and put them where they belong.”

I look up and realize that it is night now. A cool breeze blows in from the balcony bringing in the fresh scent of night. Without thinking, I reach for the box to hold the objects so I can carry them to my chambers. Firmly though, He catches my hand and stops me.

“No, do not put them back in the box. If you do, you will not retrieve them. They must stay visible to you or they will be lost again.” He warns, taking the now empty box from the table and folding it up, flat, so that it cannot be used.

“Yes, Papa.” I meekly whisper, not realizing I was doing the wrong thing. Carefully I gather the objects in my hands and rise to my feet to take them into my chambers. He walks there with me, across the balconies. I walk into my bedchambers, to the shelf above the bed. He stands in the doorway and watches as I place the objects on the shelf.

“Now, it is time for rest. Sleep now.” He instructs.

Chapter 31 : Discovering Dreams, pt 3

2006-06-19T19:59:00.000-07:00

I am lost in thought for quite a while. It surprises me when He reaches into the box and hands me an unwrapped object. It is a teddy bear! I am back to being confused again. The stuffed animal is soft and comforting, something I want to hold. But it is a child’s toy; I cannot fathom what this has to do with me or my dreams.

“Papa, please, help me understand this. It just does not make sense to me.” I look up at Him. Although I cannot see His face, I know His expression is one of mirth, He is enjoying this!

“This is an object of comfort. You are to be a comfort to My people. There is a difference, though. The comfort you are to offer them is the comfort of My grace, a true eternal comfort. They will come to you, seeking comfort, for you are called grace, and you will give them that comfort. You are bewildered because you do not see yourself as comforting, but rather confronting. This is because your picture of comfort is inaccurate. Real comfort comes from truth and you offer My truth. You offer what is real.” He explains.

“Yes, Papa,” I reply, but I know this idea will take some getting used to for me. I and still not sure I totally understand it. I am still stuck with a feeling of incongruence between the pen and the teddy bear. “What am I to do with this?”

“Take all of these things and place them in your chambers. There is a shelf above your bed. Put them there so that you are daily reminded of them. Pray over these dreams. Pray them into being. Their presence there will remind you to do that. But wait, do not do that now. Finish seeing them first. There are five dreams for you to see. Five is the number of my grace.”

I set the pen and the bear on the table with the ceramic dove. I wonder what can still be in the box. I truly do not know what else there might be, but there are two more objects, He says. I reach into the box again and remove a flat square package, wrapped securely in paper. This one is difficult to unwrap, the tape is stubborn, the paper tenacious.

Under my breath I hear myself saying “I submit to you, Papa. I submit to your will.” As I do, the paper gives way and I am holding an elegant wooden frame. It is mahogany with a beaded molding around the outside edge. Inside the frame is a document. It takes a while, but finally I am able to read it.

The document is a certificate of ordination. I ponder this for a few moments, not knowing whether to take this at face value or if it is symbolic. He does not give me a clear answer. But I realize that that issue is not so important, for this is a dream of full time ministry.

I remember twenty years ago this was a dream I held. But, like so many other things it seems, this was lost to me by the demands from outside. And now, He is returning it to me. I do not know what this looks like though, and He does not explain.

Once again, I find myself lost in thought. This time though, I find myself becoming distracted. We begin to talk of other things, but I feel the weight of the former things, the thoughts, feelings, expectations of the past, pressing down on me. It feels hard to breathe; there is a weight on my chest and across my back. Instinctively, I reach for my throat and find that over the robes He has given me I am wearing a heavy, beaded collar, made of small shells, that is making it difficult to breathe. Flexing my shoulders I find there is a heavy woolen, felted mantle across them, pressing down and making it difficult to move.

Where did these things come from? He did not give them to me. Panic threatens for a moment as I feel suffocated by them. I have to get rid of them! I cannot let the old ways, the old expectations steal from me again! With both hands I clutch at the collar, wrenching it from my neck. I hear beads raining down on the floor as I throw the collar into the fire. Likewise, I grab the mantle, flinging it off into the fire as well.

The flames blaze brightly, consuming the foreign garments. I begin to breathe more easily, but the panic and distraction still remain. I cannot focus clearly.

Knowing my distress, He takes my forearms into His powerful hands. “Hold on to Me.” His voice is commanding, firm. Instinctively I clutch at His arms, holding them as He is holding mine. Still I cannot focus.

“Look at Me!” He commands. “Draw your strength from Me. Focus on Me.”

Somehow, I manage to raise my eyes to look at Him, locking on to Him with all I have. As I do, the old things lose their grip and begin to fall away. Slowly, I feel myself returning, the old things no longer threatening to overcome the new.

“I am returning your dreams to you.” He reminds me, bringing me firmly back into His presence. “They are purified now, but what you dreamt of in the past was truly from Me, even if you did not know it.” He pauses to release one of my arms and press His hand to my face. “I love you and want to give these to you. You need these dreams to give you drive, to give you purpose.” He strokes my hair tenderly, then traces the edge of my ear to the earring He has just place there, reminding me once again of distance He has brought me. “Look in the box now.”

Chapter 31 : Discovering Dreams, pt 2

2006-06-19T19:58:00.000-07:00

Once we are there, He gently takes the book from my hands and places it on the table in front of the fireplace. “Keep it here, where it is ever before you and you can remember that you are writing this.” Turning back to me, He says, “Come with Me to My chambers now, I want to show you your dreams.” He takes the box up from the table.

I follow Him out to my balcony and across to the balcony of His rooms. As we walk into the sitting room I am reminded of His taking residence there and glad of it. He places the box on the table and sits down on the small couch. He bids me to sit with Him.

As I do, He puts His arm around me and draws me close. For a time, we talk, not about anything in particular, about the journey to this place and the changes it has brought about. Finally, though He says, “Look in the box.”

Biting my lip, I bring the box into my lap. It is full, but not too heavy to manage. Looking inside, I see a number of objects, each carefully wrapped in plain paper, as if packed for long term storage. I cannot make out what the objects are, though. Reaching into the box, I remove the topmost object and set the box aside.

The object is quite heavy for its size, about the size of a woman’s shoe. Glancing toward Him for encouragement, I begin unwrapping the object. The paper resists my efforts for a bit, but finally gives way to my hands. As it tears away, I see a polished ceramic figure in cream, grey and gold. The figurine is that of a bird, a dove I think.

I find myself staring at it for a long time. What does this have to do with my dreams? I do not understand what this object means. Something out of the corner of my eye draws my attention to the window. As I glance toward it, I am reminded of the eagle we had watched soaring overhead.

To fly! To succeed, to soar above! This bird is a picture of that flight, of success!

“Yes, child,” He confirms gently, “I want you to dream of success, to see that, to hold on to that. That is why the bird is ceramic. It is heavy and sturdy so that you can hold fast to it without fear of it breaking, crumbling in your hands.” I feel His arm warm around me, hugging me gently as He explains.

I stare dumbly at the figurine for a few moments. A tear slides down my cheek as I realize that this is something I have never dared let myself hope for, dream of. The old expectations of disappointment would always overtake the possibility. But, what then, does success mean?

“What does it mean little one?” He voices my thought, challenging me to look further into this dream.

What does it mean? I turn the idea round and round in my mind, considering different definitions of the word. Finally, though, I realize there really is only one definition. “Success is pleasing you, Papa. That is what I want more than anything.”

He leans down and kisses the top of my head tenderly at this. I am reassured that I have answered well. He explains briefly, without great detail, what this will look like. I find I have no reply to make. With great care, He takes the bird from my hands and places it on the table, edging the box toward me again. He nods toward the box to encourage me to look into it again.

I do not actually look in, but rather reach in and pull out the next object. Unlike the first, it is very light and thin. This one is easier to unwrap. It is a white quill pen with a gold nib.

This object I do understand, very clearly. I have always had a dream of writing, from the third grade, maybe even from first grade, I remember it. I wrote throughout childhood and into high school. But then a deep wound came in to steal that from me. It has been lost to me for many years. And now, He is handing it back to me, purified, refined in His fire, for His purposes.

“I am giving you a pen of gold for the words that I will give you will be as gold to the ears of those who hear them.” He explains with pleasure deep in His voice.

I am weeping openly now, I could not hold it back if I tried. “This is my dream that you are giving me back!” Some how I am surprised that what I had within me could be what He would desire.

“You will recognize all your dreams, child, they are all very familiar to you. I gave them to you in the first place; you gave them back just now. All I did was to purify them. They are all things you know.” He draws me closer now, pressing my head under His chin for a moment. Slowly my tears cease as I caress the pen in my hands coming to believe that what I thought was forever gone is now given back to me.

Chapter 31 : Discovering Dreams

2006-06-19T19:54:00.000-07:00

We walk upstairs, to my chambers. The sun shines in through the balcony windows, but the fire is still burning brightly in the fireplace. He guides me to sit by the table where the boxes are resting. The second box remains open and not yet emptied.

“Open the third box,” He directs.

I balk; it is difficult for me to leave a task unfinished. “But we have not yet finished the second. How can I look at the future before the present is settled?” I find myself protesting. The truth is that I do not want to look in that third box.

“But the present is shaped by the future.” His voice smiles ironically as He says that. “Do you not teach that? You tell your students that the present is shaped by your picture of the future. Is that not true?”

I nod, not willing to argue the point. I open the box, but do not look inside. I cannot bear to. I know what is inside is not right, there is something wrong with it all. Uncomfortable, almost disgusted with it, I hand the box to Him. “Papa, please, take this, there is something wrong, it is not right. I don’t want this…”

Nodding, He takes it from me without hesitation. “Your dreams have been pressed and shaped by the expectations and demands of others. You are right, as they are now, you will not see them realized.” He walks deliberately to the fireplace. I am surprisingly undisturbed to see Him dumping the box out into the fire.

I watch, emotionlessly as the fire blazes and apparently consumes the contents of the box. Part of me feels relief that they are gone, like a pressure, a demand is no longer present upon me. But I am surprised as I see Him reach into the fire and retrieve objects, now purified by the fire, and place them back in the box.

“Papa, please, I really don’t want them back. Please…” I stammer, not understanding what has transpired.

“You are speaking out of your old expectations. You are speaking out of your expectations of disappointment and pain. Those have been changed…” His voice trails off.

As it does, I remember the setting of new expectations, of abundance and of love and of the tokens of those changes which sit in the study below. “Yes, Papa, but I don’t understand, why do I need these? Why are they so important.”

“Because, without a vision, my people perish.” He explains, walking back toward me with the box. Instead of pressing it on me, he sets it down on the table. “Come; walk with Me to the study.” He helps me to my feet and tenderly takes my arm. I am again struck by His incredible patience with me.

Together we walk down the long staircase to the foyer and down the hallway to the study. As we walk in, I am filled by the sense of peace and security that I find in this place.

Rather than heading toward the fireplace to sit as we have before, He guides me to the bookcases along the back wall. We stand there for a moment, before the bookcases, just looking at the shelves upon shelves of books, reaching from the floor to the high ceiling. I long to sit and pour through each one. The possibilities they contain—I sigh.

“Choose a book.” He instructs with no further direction.

I feel like a kid in a candy store, and yet, I know there is purpose here. I search the shelves, trying to find the ‘right’ volume. Finally I see it, on the third shelf up, on the far right. It is a moderate sized volume, with a red and purple cover. Carefully I remove it from the shelf.

“Read the title.” He encourages.

It takes a moment, but finally I can, it says “A Life Well Lived”. I open the book and find that it is only partially written. Over half of the pages are blank.

“What will you write on those remaining pages?” He asks, inviting me to consider the possibilities.

Now I see. Those pages, I want to write out the fulfillment of my dreams on those pages. I understand Him now. I do want to have dreams once again. The longing though is one tinged by uncomfortable anticipation.

He nods at me, smiling, knowing my thoughts. With the book still in my hands, he takes my arm and we walk together back up the stairs to my room.

Chapter 30: Opening the Gate

2006-06-19T18:35:00.000-07:00

The warmth of the sun and the sound of birds wakes me. I blink in the bright morning light, feeling rested and stronger than the night before. The ache has subsided a bit. Much to my embarrassment, I hear my stomach growling.

“You are hungry.” He noticed too! My cheeks flush in a hot blush. “Come into the garden. Eat of the seeds you have sown.

I do not understand what He means. He takes my arm and leads me down the back steps into the garden. I do not know where He is going or what to do now. So I simply follow.

He leads me into the shad garden. The gnawing emptiness in my gut becomes painful. He points out the mushrooms growing there. I pick several and at His instruction eat them. They are rich and flavorful, satisfying the edge of my hunger and dulling the sharpness of my pain. It I such a relief! I had forgotten they were growing here.

“There is much growing here that you do not know of. There is much fruit now, from seeds that you have sown. It is time to partake in some of it.”

He guides me through the shade garden to the picnic area behind the kitchen. The fence there is covered in dense vines that are heavy with ripe raspberries.

“Gather some of the berries and come with Me.”

I gather as many as I can hold and return to Him. The berries are large and full, a sweet scent rising from them. He takes them from me and we continue to walk around the castle walls. We stop again in the sun at the bench by the moat. The tree there is full of large ripe peaches.

“Take and eat the fruit.” He directs.

My mouth water as I pick a large heavily perfumed fruit. Without hesitation, I bit into the sun-warmed fruit Juice runs down my face and hands. The richly flavorful fruit ease the ache of hunger gnawing at me. I wash the sticky juice from myself in the cool water, taking a long drink as well. I can feel Him smiling on me as I do.

Finally, he takes my arm to walk with me to the bridge over the moat. Growing beside the bridge we find a heavily laden blueberry bush, with fruit as large as large grapes. Below it I notice a lush patch of leafy spinach.

“Gather here, child.”

I take up handfuls of spinach, washing it before I hand it to Him. Then I pluck a many berries as I can hold, again giving them to Him. We walk again, turning right, to stop at the bench at the front gate. Here there is a small patch of tiny wild strawberries beneath a nut tree laden with nuts.

“Gather here as well.” He directs, laying out the berries and spinach on the bench.

The berries are easy to harvest, the nuts take a little more time; shelling them is not easy. Finally, though, I have enough to give to Him.

He takes the final offerings and rolls them, together with the others, into the spinach leaves, reminding me of a salad my children love. Turning back to me, He places the roll in my hand, indicating I should eat.

It is wonderfully filling, rich with the nuts and sweetly tangy with the berries. The freshness of the spinach completes the picture and answers the hunger of my soul. Finally satisfied and refreshed, I sigh and lean against Him, sitting on the bench.

“This is what you are growing in this garden, fruit to fill and heal the wounded, hungry souls.” He pauses. I had not realized that such produce was present here. “Come, let us unlock the gate now so that others may come in and partake of what you have grown here.”

Unlock the gate! Excited anticipation mixed with fear rises up in me. I have kept carefully, intentionally locked for so long. Do I really want to unlock it?

He rises and takes my arm, leading me toward the gate. The gate and fence have changed so much. Now painted white, the well spaced iron bars are just my height now. A definite boundary, but not an impenetrable one any longer.

I fix my eyes on the gate itself. A spring close panel that may be opened only from the inside covers the lock. I do not want to do this. Yet, He has asked me and I did choose that I would submit, not negotiate, not manipulate. Taking a deep breath and deciding once again for submission, I pull open the panel, revealing the lock, a simple dead-bolt style mechanism. I reach to turn the handle, but it is rusty and hard to turn.

“I will submit! I will!” I whisper under my breath, fighting with the lock. Finally, it turns and the gate swings open. It stands ajar, not fully open, but definitely no longer tightly closed. The sight of the open gate raises panic that quickly builds to terror. Without thinking, I turn and run.

But I run straight into Him. He catches hold of my shoulders, firmly, not letting go. “I will guard the gate for you child. As I now guard the door of the castle, so not I will guard this gate as well. Trust Me. I will not betray your trust.”

“Yes, Papa,” I stammer, still overcome by the fear that the sight of the open gate raised in me.

“Come and rest now with Me, before you look at the open gate again.” He leads me back to the bench and guides me to sit with Him. His arm around my shoulder strengthens and comforts me.

Still the open gates trouble me. The though of people coming in draws up expectations of hurt, wounding and being used.

“This is why I will keep guard at the gate.” He replies. “Remember, my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Choose to trust Me, child. I will be your protector—your shield, your strong tower. All those names you know Me as I will be for you here. Take Me at My Word.”

“Yes, Papa—I choose to—I will.” I whisper.

We rest a bit longer but then He bids me to return to the gate. I follow Him there. This time, though, He stands behind me, arms around me as I look at the open gate. The fear rises again, but it is not overwhelming this time. I am able to fight it back.

“You have opened the doors to your dreams.” He whispers.

“What dreams?” I ask. “I don’t think I have any.” I am puzzled.
“You do. We will look at them together. But first, give them to me that I may reshape them, purify and mold them.”

“They are yours, Papa.” I reply, sighing as the last of the fear seems to drain away.

“Come then, let us go upstairs.” Together, we walk to the back stairs up to my chamber.

Chapter 29: The nail, pt 2

2006-06-19T14:14:00.001-07:00

“Sit down, “He gestures for me to take the chair near the fire. It feels strange, but I do so. I would rather be sitting at His feet. As I sit, He hands me the second, flat box. Since we were last here, I realized that the first box was my past, this my present and the final one, my future, my dreams.

“Take the next object from the box.”

In the dim light from the fire, I look into the box and see a gold earring and a nail. I remove them and set the box aside.

The earring is a simple gold hoop of moderate size. The nail is not much larger around than the earring. I find I know their meaning and I look to Him for confirmation.

“These, if you are willing, are to be the mark of your new won submission in Me. If you ask Me, I will drive the nail through your ear into the door post. I will place the ring in your ear, marking you as a beloved servant for life, one with great stock in the household, one who may inherit from the household.” He explains.

I pause to think for a long moment. True, this fight to a place of submission has been difficult and I would like to mark it. Yet, I know these symbols mark the choice of submission for a lifetime, not just a moment. They make a powerful statement that for some reason is difficult to even consider.

And yet, what other choice is there to be made here? Have I fought through all of this only to be turning back, turning away from it now? Can I permit myself the option, the possibility of picking up again what I have fought so hard to lay aside?

“Yes, Papa—please, I want to be marked as Yours, for life.” I finally force the words out in a whisper, my voice more ragged than I expected.

“Then come with Me.” He extends His hand to me, seeming to ignore my inner turmoil.

Heavyhearted, I walk with Him to the balcony and through the gate to the balcony of His chambers. We stop at the door way between the balcony and sitting room. The twilight air is cool and quiet, magnifying the tension I carry.

“Here.” He instructs. I obey, wishing for joy in this moment, but not readily finding it. Instead, I find I am afraid and uncertain. But of what? The pain? No, that truly does not discourage me. I guess it is the not knowing what I am getting myself into that haunts me. But I have chosen and I will stand.

I look up at Him in resolve now. I feel His gaze upon me and sense His approval. His firm hand on my shoulder guides me toward the door post. But His touch is gentle as well, He does not force me. And this reassures me that I can trust. And I choose to trust.

I purposefully slide the hood off.

“You are my beloved servant, daughter, friend, attached for life, invited accepted.” His words soothe some of my anxiety.

Carefully, he adjusts my head, to place my ear against the door post. He glances at me as if to say ‘Are you read?’

Biting my lip, I close my eyes, not wanting to nod and move out of place. I reach up to remove the earring in my left ear, assuming it will be in the way

“No.” He stops my hand firmly. “do not remove them. I gave them to you for a purpose. I want you to hear my grace always. I will place this here.” He touches a spot on my upper ear.

I am actually relieved, noticing once again the soft song of grace ringing in my ears. I am glad that this constant will not change.

The glint of the nail in His hand catches my eye as He presses it against my ear. The metal is cold against my skin. I can see a mallet in His hand; I suppress a shudder as He raises up the mallet. Swallowing hard, I feel the mallet strike the nail. A sharp pain course through the side of my face as a crunching sound testifies to the cartilage giving way under the nail. My stomach churns slightly.

The pain is momentarily intense, but not unbearable. I am pinned, though to the door frame, unable to move. I have to fight a rising panic as a drop of blood runs down my ear to my cheek.

He says nothing, but removes a package from His robes. He unwraps the white velvet from the package, revealing the keys I have given Him. Tenderly He takes the velvet and wipes the blood from my face.

“This is your life that you are giving Me. It is a precious offering.” He explains, rewrapping the keys with the now stained velvet. His gesture strikes me, how precious that single drop of blood is to Him. How precious my life must be to Him.

Tucking the key back into His robe, He kisses my forehead. “You are the bride I am preparing for my son, and I love you.”

My panic subsides, He is worthy of my trust. With controlled careful strength He pulls out the nail, twisting it out of my ear. He takes the earring and passes it over the coals in the lantern, burning impurities away, leaving the gold glowing and hot. He moves very close to me.

“I will place this in your ear, marking you as Mine.” He pauses a moment as if to make sure I do not object, then pushes the gold ring through the nail hole in my ear. My ear stings sharply as He does so. The heat from the gold burns, but also seals my wound.

He has marked me, I am His!

The weight of the ring is noticeable and the pull of it against the new wound begins a dull ache that steadily grows.

“You are Mine,” He whispers. “This is the mark of your submission, child, not offered cheaply or without meaning. It is hard won.” He kisses my forehead.

“Yes, Papa,” I breathe through flowing tear. I swallow back sobs that come from His recognition of my battle. Knowing that it is all important to Him moves my heart beyond words. The ache though, spreads down my neck and shoulders. I do not understand it.

Wrapping my rim in His, He guides me to the edge of the balcony to look out over the grove. The cool air of twilight soothes me as He stand behind me, wrapping His arms around me in a secure embrace. I lean on Him drawing from His strength. By now the ache has spread throughout my body. Why does it ache so much?

“Because submission is a process of death. Death to the flesh, to the self, is a painful process. That is the pain you feel. Let me give you My strength to stand on. Lean on Me and rest.” His embrace is firm and sure. I lean into Him, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. In the security of His arms I am safe and find rest. I sleep.

Chapter 29: The nail, pt 1

2006-06-19T14:14:00.000-07:00

Sometime later I awaken and He is there. I think on what has just past. “Forgive me Papa, for not trusting you fully. I will trust you now.”

He hugs me gently, receiving what I have said. “Come with Me, I want to show you something.” He helps me to my feet and takes my arm. Unhurriedly we walk through the shade garden, turning the corner to the place where the shaded side meets the sun. Attractive vines have overgrown the fence here, making it a place sheltered from the outside. Tress sprinkle the area as well further enhancing the intimate feel of the place. Close to the castle wall, near a door I did not know was there, I find a round stone picnic table and benches. I realize the door must lead into the kitchen.

“What is this place?” I ask, bewildered.

“It is place for you to meet with those I connect to you.” He explains, but offers nothing further. We pass slowly by the picnic table and finally into the kitchen. Walking by the pantry I see the shelves are basically well stocked, although there are a few empty places on the shelves.

“I will help you to fill those shelves, do not worry.” He comments as we walk past.

Continuing through the kitchen, we stop in the small private dining room. There He bid me to sit down and places before me a plate of bread and meat and a glass of cold fresh water. “Eat now.” He invites.

I obey, realizing how hungry I am. The meal tastes so good. I use the bread to sop up the juices from the meat so as not to miss anything He has given me. The meal leaves me feeling stronger, some what renewed after the struggle of the recent past.

Leaving the table now, He takes my arm to walk down the long hall into the foyer. Suddenly I am so tired.

“Papa, I don’t think I can go further.” My feet feel like lead weights right now, my legs burn with the effort of just walking. I fall into a chair placed along the hallway wall, desperately trying to catch my breath and make the burning stop.

“Renew your strength in Me. (Is 49).” He instructs. “Take my hand and come , you do not need to rely on your strength, I will give you strength.”

Placing my hand in His, I struggle to my feet. Slowly, leaning heavily on Him, we continue down the hall. Gradually the hallway opens into the elegant foyer.

Polished black and white marble tiles greet us here. Heavy, regal moldings line the floor, door frames and stairs, working their way up to create panels on the walls. The flowing split staircase seems a focal point as the center of the space. The wide stairs with their gilt banister rise to a landing, then on to a second where it splits into two staircases leading to the second floor.

Together we climb to the first landing and sit at the top step. Looking down into the foyer I see the shadow forms of many people, guests crowded into the foyer, talking with each other. They seem to be waiting for something.

The sight threatens to overwhelm me. I feel the tears burn my eyes as the fear rises from within. The urge to run builds, but He is there with me, so I stay.

“You are overwhelmed now, but it will not always be so. This place will not always be full of people. There will be times and seasons for that, but it will not overwhelm you. I will give you strength and understanding, and I hiding place in Me to rest. Your study, the cave, those are places away from the crowd. They are only for you and I, they will sustain you in those seasons.

“My yoke is easy. It will be different this time because it is me, not you. I will show you your dream, in that box upstairs.”

“I am afraid of them.” I murmur, hanging my head.

“Why?”

“Disappointment. I remember being told as a child I could not have those dreams.” A great sadness fills my voice.

“Do not be afraid, we will look at them together. Remember your new expectations, abundance, not disappointment.”

I am intimidated by what I hear. Not sure of what it means, not what I am supposed to do. But I have made a decision and I will submit. I will trust Him in this and not fight to do it in my way. Finally I am able to whisper, “Yes, Papa, as You say, it will be.”

I feel more than see Him smile. Even so, my heart is heavy. I know, more that feel, that all this is good. Yet it is hard. The changes have been hard won and though defeated the flesh is not laying down gracefully in defeat. I feel it rising up, wanting to manipulate the situation into its own will. But I will not negotiate, I will not try to do it my way. His is the only way and I will submit. A silent tear slides down my cheek, testament to this inner struggle. I notice His hand on my shoulder and how long it has been there.

“Come upstairs now.” He softly instructs. Slowly we walk up the stairs, taking the flight on the right heading into the hall containing our chambers. He leads me into my own rooms.

Chapter 28: Voices,pt 2

2006-06-19T14:10:00.000-07:00

“You are being set free to be what and who I have made you to be. The barriers that have stood in the way are being torn down and I am unleashing you. In the past you have been afraid at every step of the way. You fear displeasing me. Leave that behind and walk in the new maturity of the mature son (huios) The placed one knows the heart and will of the Father and goes forth in confidence to do it without fear.”

“Yes Papa.” I try to absorb what He is saying, but it feels overwhelming.

“There remains one thing still left to do before we leave this place.”

My heart sinks. It is still not complete? What more can there be? Repressing a sigh, I ask, “What must I do ,Papa?”

“Expose your sin to Me.”

I still do not love this process, but I have learned to obey. Quickly removing my robes and sandals, I place myself, uncovered, into His hands.

“ I trust you, Papa.” I whisper, trying not to tremble.
“I love you. I will never betray that trust.” He takes my arm in His and walks with me to the waterfall. “You have not been washed of the stains.” He explains.

Without thinking about it, I look and see that I am still covered in heavy, tar-like stains. As I see them, I realize how uncomfortable they are; I do not want to continue carrying them.

The startling cold of the water breaks me out of my thoughts. He has soap and a scrub brush in His hands.

“These stains have prevented Me from reaching your heart. Submit to Me now and allow Me to wash them from you.”

The water’s cold penetrates my joints and starts to ache. I do not want to stay, I hate the cold. But even as I begin to shiver, I hear myself saying “Yes, Papa, please cleanse me.”

He wastes no time as He begins scrubbing the stains from me. “You have trusted in yourself not in Me. You protect yourself, take care of things for yourself,,,”

Suddenly I hear my own vow, “I will not be vulnerable.” And I see its source—daddy did not protect us from the alcoholism. This is the final piece of the puzzle that has kept me from submitting.

“Papa, I repent! I repent of this vow! I break this vow! Break down these structures, Papa break them down!”

The cold water has hardened the stains and they start falling away. The center of my back itches intensely. A stubborn stain clings there. Vigorously He scrubs at it until it falls away. Finally I am clean,

But the penetrating cold has taken its toll, soaking into my joints leaving them aching and sore. My skin, raw and red from the scrubbing and peeling away the stains, tingles and burns. As He leads me from the water, I find the warmth of the air welcome even though it stings my raw flesh painfully.

“Allow Me to anoint your raw places.” Even His voice sounds warm now.

I nod, unable to find words. He has a flask of golden oil in His hand that He pours liberally over me. The oil is so warm! It is the penetrating warmth of a sunbeam in the middle of summer, strong and sure. The heat sinks deep into me, driving the cold from my bones. As it does, I realize the stinging ache is gone from my skin as well. The oil has covered me and relieved my pain.

Tenderly He reaches for my robes and covers me with them. He ties the sandals back on my feet and settles the silky hood over my head. Although I am spent, I also feel protected once again. I am safe.

“Come now and rest.” He leads me by the hand to a warm sunbeam to sit with Him and rest. This time I know we are finished and I am truly able to rest.

Chapter 28: Voices,pt 1

2006-06-19T14:09:00.000-07:00

The silence only last a few moments as we sit together. “Tell me how to do this. I do not know how to submit.”

“Yes you do.” He shakes His head disagreeing with me. “You already submit to the wrong voices. You fight the correct one, but take in, unconditionally, the wrong ones.”

He has rebuked me again, very gently this time. It hurts though as He is right. “Please change this. Do whatever it takes so that my heart can hear and recognize the right voices.” I whisper, biting my lip in fear of what I am asking.

Without explanation, He takes my hands, presses His thumbs into my palms, then presses my hands to His heart. Suddenly, without warning, He releases my hands and sharply boxes my ears! I jump back in shock and surprise at the explosive pain in my ears. I cannot hear! Before I can react further, He grabs my face tightly and presses it close to His, so close I can feel the roughness of His beard on my cheek.

“Now, listen to My voice. The others have been drowned out. You can hear them if you try, but now choose to focus on My voice.” I can hear His firm whisper in my ear.

My ears are still ringing with pain, tears streaming down my cheeks as I now, whispering, “Yes Papa.” My face is still locked in His powerful hands.

“Child, listen to My words. You are loved. You are valued. You are respected. You are destined.” Under the sound of His voice, I hear the soft chimes of His grace, but nothing else.

He continues to hold my face as my hearing slowly returns. I realize though that there seems to be a bandwidth missing. The other voices have quieted.

“I want to hear Your voice.” I murmur.

He kisses my cheek. “And I want to speak!” Abruptly He stands, pulling me to my feet. “Hang on to my neck!”

Without thinking, I obey. He spins me about, allowing me to soar once more in His arms. Joy floods in, threatening to overwhelm me.

“Remember,” His voice is soft in my ear as He sets me down once more, “My yoke is easy and My burden light. Teach my people this. Let Me be in control though. Know that this is where and how I want to speak to you, in your ear, softly, with My grace drowning out all the other voices in the background.”

“Yes Papa.” I press my head to His chest. He holds me close to His heart, pleased I think.

I sense what He has said, particularly about teaching His people is important. It is strange to think I could be dong something important. I think on others who are important, seven or eight names immediately come to mind. I am not though. But what He has just said sounds like what He has asked me to do is important.

“It is,” He assures me.

I do not understand how this can be when everything looks like I am not significant. I only assist, support and substitute for those who are important.

“Under authority does not mean lesser. Remember the lesson of the eye and the hand. They are different; one is not greater than the other. Both are valued and important.” He pauses for a moment, then goes on. “The changes in you have been rapid because of your willingness to receive and even ask for My rebuke and correction. You do not understand How important that is to Me.” Gently, He strokes my hair. “I know it is hard; it pleases Me that you obey.”

I really do not understand, it does not feel like things around me have changed. But I will not deny what He has said. A quiet joy wells within me, knowing I have His approval, a satisfaction and contentment I have never known before.

He guides me to sit down with Him once again. I find that I am finally able to rest in His presence again. The distance between us has finally been bridged.

Chapter 27: I will not…, pt. 3

2006-06-19T11:54:00.000-07:00

I feel as though I dare not express to Him how relieved I am to know His rebuke is finally over. At least for now. Taking my arm in His, he walks me to the north east corner of the castle, where the castle and courtyard share a common wall. A small thorny weed growing near the wall catches His attention. The vine seems insignificant and easy to overlook.

Yet, He points to it, directing me, “You must get rid of this. Dig it up; do not let this grow and undermine what has been built here in this place.”

Not fully understanding, I obey. I have nothing but my hands to dig with now. My sword is still back in the grove. For a moment I think about going back for it, but He shakes His head.

“No, you do not need that now. This is a matter of your choices.”

So I begin digging with my hands. The process is slow and difficult, but I finally reach a large white root, positioned directly beneath the wall, near the corner. I am puzzled. I fear if I try to dig it out the wall might lose support and begin to collapse.

He nods. “Open up the root and remove what is within.”

I can feel Him watching me as He directs me. I wonder how to carry out his instruction, having nothing to cut the root open with. I try clawing at it with my fingernails. At first it does not give way.

I remember what He taught me before though, that I must bring my flesh into submission, choosing His will over my own. I command my flesh to submit. The root starts to tear under my hands and I peel open the tough outer husk. Inside I find four large white pods, the size and weight of gallon milk jugs.

“Remove them”

Struggling slightly with them, one at a time I pull them out of the underground husk, laying them at His feet. Each one is marked with a word. Together they read, “I WILL NOT SUBMIT”. I swallow hard at this revelation. I never knew such a declaration was buried so deep within me.

“Look at the third one.” His voice calls me from my reverie.

I take the pod in my hands, staring at the word “NOT”.

“Open it.”

I try clawing it open, but it will not tear. “I submit my heart to You, Papa!” I pray under my breath. The pod splits open suddenly.

As it does, I see myself at age 2 or 2 ½, telling my maternal grandmother that I did not have to listen to her, she was not my mother. I have heard the story many times from my parents, including the part about how this lead to one of my few childhood spankings. I have always been embarrassed by the tale. This time though, He shows me something different. I see how, in that moment, in my childishness I realized that I truly did not have to submit. All I really had to do was make it look like I was doing the right thing and that was sufficient. As long as I acted in ways that were close enough to expectations, my heart did not have to submit. And so the pattern became set.

“Forgive me, Papa! Forgive me! Forgive this vow within me, that I would not submit! Break down these structures Papa! I will submit. I will submit!”

He nods deeply.

“How do I get rid of this?” I am excited, yet fearful of the possibility of finally finishing and closing the gap between Him and me.

“Open up the pod and spill its contents on the ground.” He directs

Struggling, I finish pulling it open. Finally it flies apart. The pod is filled with insects! I drop it in fear and revulsion, reflexively brushing my arms and legs with my hands to make sure there are none on me. My stomach churns at the mass of creatures on the ground and I jump back trying to distance myself from them.

“Burn them.” He hands me the lantern from His hands.

Keeping as much distance as possible between me and the writhing mass of bugs I pour the coals out of the lantern out over them. The coals glow for a moment then burst into flames, consuming the insects and the now empty pod that contained them.

Once the flames die down, I sweep the coals carefully back into the lantern.

“Now, return the remaining pods back to the root.”

If anything, the pods feel heavier now. I struggle with their weight as I return them to the root under the wall. “I WILL SUBMIT” I bury the root once more, allowing it to continue supporting the castle wall. Finally finished, I sit back on my heels, my energy spent.

He stands beside me, looking at me. Placing His hand on my shoulder, His voice is soft, “Come, let us go back to the shade garden once more.” Reaching out to help me up, He takes my arms to lead me back to the garden.

Chapter 27: I will not…, pt. 2

2006-06-19T11:50:00.000-07:00

Finally we reach the shade garden and sit beneath a tree. There is a gentle quiet as we rest there. But even in this rest I find myself becoming restless and agitated.

“Talk with Me.” He invites.

Hearing His voice, I sigh with relief. I am reluctant though, to talk, fearing further rebuke from Him.

“Tell Me your fears, little one.” He wraps His arm around me and draws me close to Him.

“I am afraid,” I begin, not really sure what I am going to say. “I am afraid that you will turn me away, that you will no longer want me to serve you, I guess.” My voice is uncertain, stammering as I stumble through my words.

“Child, I will never turn you away.” He extends His left hand to me, gesturing for me to take it. “You see your name is cared upon the palm of my hand.” I trace the hard raised edges of the car with my index finger. “I have promised to never turn you away. It is you who turns away from Me in these times.”

I know what He says is true, but still I am afraid.

“Surrender that fear to Me daughter.”

I do not know how, but I am willing. I realize that there is a stone in my hand, dark, smooth and oblong—slate I think. On its smooth surface is carved the word “ALONE”.

As I read the word I realize how long I have held on to this memorial stone, believing its pronouncement over me; that I should always be alone, isolated in heart if not in physical distance. Wordlessly, I place the stone in Him hand.

I watch as He closes His powerful hand around the stone and begins to squeeze it. The stone squeals metallically in complaint before it suddenly shatters. He drops the dust and stray pieces and let them fly away in the breeze. Then He draws me close again, holding and reassuring me.

Finally, He says, “Child, will you return with Me and let Me finish?”

Even as His words weigh heavily on me, I am stuck by the fact that there is no anger, no condemnation in them. Deep within I knew it was not finished. My flesh wants to walk away and be done with this. By my heart….” Yes, Papa.” I whisper, “I will.” I am filled with dread, but the alternatives are so much worse. I cannot imagine continuing to be apart from Him.

He holds me close for a few moments longer, to remind me of His promises, I suppose. Then, He helps me to my feet, laying His arm around my shoulders to walk back to the grove.

Far too quickly we arrive at that place. Once again I find I must decide and surrender myself into His hands yet again. He receives me lovingly, but as before, His rebuke is hard and uncompromising.

“You have disobeyed Me, you have been in rebellion.” The words cut deeply through me; how they hurt! I see how my fear of submission centers in my mother. I vowed not to submit so that I would not be vulnerable to be hurt again.

“Forgive me, Papa.” I choke out the words in a strangled cry. “Forgive me for I have refused to submit to you! I repent, I repent!”

“Will you surrender control?” He firmly asks, pausing a moment in His rebuke.

Suddenly, I notice another stone in my hand. Black and sharp like obsidian, the jagged glassy oval bears the word “CONTROL” engraved upon it. I know what I must do and realize if I pause too long I will not be able to do it. Silently I hand the stone over to Him. Again, as before, He crushes it in His powerful grip. Sometimes, like now, His strength truly frightens me. Surrendered into His hands, He could crush me like that rock and there would be nothing I could do. A vague sense of helplessness washes over me.

But, His rebuke is finally over now. I am exhausted, but glad that at least of now, it is over. He guides me back to the shade garden to sit beside Him and rest once again.

It does not take long for the restlessness to seek me out once more. I don not understand why I cannot seem to relax in Him presence right now. No! The realization hits like cold water. We are still not finished. That is the source of the agitation.

“Oh, Papa!” exhaustion and distress color my cry. I feel the distance growing again. “Please! What ever it takes, I want to obey! I will go—what ever you ask!” Tears flow freely down my face. “I just want to finish this. Please, please, let us finish this.”

He does not respond; for a moment there is only an uneasy silence, punctuated by my choked sobs. I brace myself to hear there is yet more rebuke awaiting me, flinching in anticipation of it. “No.” His clear voice cuts the heavy silence finally. “No further rebuke now.” Although I try to hide it, my sigh of relief is unmistakable. “Your heart is changed, willing and softened now. That is the purpose of rebuke, once achieved, it is no longer needed. Let me take you to the source of the problem.”

Chapter 27: I will not…, pt. 1

2006-06-19T11:43:00.000-07:00

“Let Me see your feet.” He finally says. He takes my feet in His hands, tenderly rubbing them for a moment. Gently, He ties the sandals back on my feet. “It is time for you to take some risks now. This will require correction.”

He sits there beside me, saying nothing more, as if waiting for something from me. I feel a barrier between us, not hostility, but as disconnection. It seems more and more unbearable as the moments pass.

“Papa, Please, I cannot stand this separation! Please, change me. I do not want to be apart from you!”

He smiles, taking my arm and we walk toward grove, walking through the shade garden rather than through the sun. As the grove comes into view, I realize that I am not so frightened of it as I once was.

He leads me to the tree to stand there and receive correction from Him. Willingly I obey.

He begins.

He shows me a painfully familiar picture—idolatry! Again. My gut is wrenched to see that my own comfort has become an idol between us. I have worshipped my comfort and failed to pursue His promises, even as Israel failed to pursue the promised land!

Abruptly, the correction changes to rebuke! I have disobeyed Him. I have refused to lay aside my comfort, to be uncomfortable for Him. He is angry, displeased with me. His rebuke has stopped, but I can still see His anger. I hate His anger! But I know that it is only in His anger that I can truly appreciate the depth of my sin.

I stand dumbly before Him, unable to form a reply. I try to go to Him, walk with Him, but cannot reconnect. A cold distance still stands between us and I cannot bridge it.

Finally I realize what it is. “You are not finished, are You?” I hesitantly ask.

“No”

I know the only way to bridge the distance between us is to allow Him to complete His rebuke. Oh, how I truly hate His rebuke, I feel like my heart is falling within me. He is waiting for me to ask Him to finish. How many times has He said He would not force me here. Oh, but I wish He would. I do not, oh I do not want to ask Him for further rebuke. But if I do not, the distance will remain. And that is worse.

Sighing heavily, I finally cry softly, “Papa, please, I cannot stand this distance between us. Please, finish this, what ever it requires.”

Silently He nods, leading me back to the tree. This time though, He sits on the branch, saying, “Come, place yourself into My hands to receive My rebuke.”

I swallow hard. Not long ago He had asked me if I would obey such an instruction. I said yes then. Now it has become reality and I must choose.

I will obey.

I remove sword, belt and shield, those things which seem to get in the way at this moment. A deepening knot tightens in my gut as I lay them aside by the smooth trunk of the tree and walk to Him. In silence I stand before Him for a moment. He presses my cheek with His hand and kisses my forehead, reminding me of His love. I place myself into His hands.

He does not hesitate. His rebuke begins and it is hard. I do not understand the depth of my disobedience nor how much anger He has for it.

“I am displeased.” He reprimands strongly, the tone of His voice pierces my heart more than His words. “You have not listened to Me, habitually tuning out my voice, especially regarding ministry. You have refused to share your heart, particularly your weakness and sin with others. You refuse to receive ministry from Me. You have closed down your heart. And you have refused to submit.”

His words are hard and heavy, cutting through the depths of my heart. His rebuke is always right, but the truth hurts so deeply. I cry out, “Forgive me Papa, forgive me! I will obey, I will submit.” Then I am surprised to hear myself say, “I am terrified to submit!”

Abruptly He stops.

For a moment I am confused, but I remember that He has told me He would never rebuke me for my wounds. Without explanation He helps me to my feet, but I have no strength to stand. I fall to my knees crying beside Him.

“Teach me how, Papa, teach me how to do this.”

“Come rest with Me in the garden.” He takes my arm once again. We walk together, the distance between us bridges, somewhat, now. I hurt now, though, with a deep ache and a longing for a relief of the terrible emptiness that the distance from Him brings.

Chapter 26: Barefoot, pt 2

2006-05-07T19:03:00.000-07:00

We continue on, walking now, heading toward the doorway. The very real pain in my knees leaves me limping and clinging to Him for support. My labored breathing hands heavy in the hot, stuffy air.

Finally, we reach the door back to the foyer. Cool air and bright light rushes in as He opens it. While the cool air is easier to breath, it feels cold now in the foyer. The change is a shock to me, leaving me feeling ill. He helps me to a nearby chair.

“Let Me see your wounds.” He directs, peeling away the robe from my knees as I wince in pain. My knees are torn and bloody, bruised and aching.

“ I do not understand, Papa, what happened?” I ask as He removes the debris from my wounds. Deeply imbedded stones make the process very painful. “What is all this?”

“The criticism, condemnation and self consciousness has penetrated deeply, child. They have cut you in ways that debilitate you, keeping you from that place of worship. There is great power in that place, so there is great struggle in getting there.

“You have been wounded getting there before, you dance before Me wounded. You serve before Me bleeding. Let Me heal those wounds.”

“Please, Papa! I am so tired of this pain!”

He opens a jar of salve and straightens my legs. Taking a handful of the ointment, He spreads it liberally over my knees. It burns! I bite my lip to keep from crying out. I was not expecting this!

“I want to burn away the criticism that is infecting these wounds that makes them fester and poisons you. Some of it has been around so long you cannot distinguish it from the truth.”

I hear old voices from the past raising up from the shadows. “Not good enough” “Stupid, stuck up, uncaring” “Not like us, different” “Too hard, wrong, does not fit” “That’s not the way it is done.”

I know these voices well. They have haunted my heart, kept me from intimacy with Him. But in ways they are also a part of me, a part I must now give up. “I release these to You, Papa.” I whisper, biting back tears. “I want to hear truth, not this any more.”

“Yes” He says, “it is time not for truth.”

I do not even begin to understand what He means by that.

“Remove your sandals.” He directs. I obey, handing them to Him. He helps me to stand, then walk through the foyer and out the front door.

I remember how afraid I have been in the past, walking with Him. I realize I am not afraid now. So much has changed.

As we step outside I hear myself thinking about how much I hate being barefoot.

“Why?” He asks, my thoughts are not hidden from Him.

“It hurts. Either someone is stepping on my feet or I am stepping on something that hurts or I stub my toes on something. I always seem to hurt myself when I go barefoot.” I explain hurriedly.

He does not reply.

As we walk across the courtyard, I notice how warm and soft the sand feels underfoot. It tickles my feet, but does not hurt. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a small green plant growing up near the gate in the same place where we planted a seed not long ago.

Still without speaking, we cross the bridge into the garden. I am taken aback as I realize how the wood is softly smooth and warm underfoot, feeling almost like silk underfoot. As we cross the bridge and step over to the grass I am awed at how velvety soft the grass is beneath my feet.

“What have you felt?” He asks.

His question surprises me and I cannot find an answer.

“You have closed yourself up to much that is good in trying to protect yourself from what is bad. Trust Me instead. You have excused it, but it has been selfishness and sin.” Gentleness and love infuse the challenging words He has just spoken.

His words are heavy in the air between us, placing something before me that I had never realized. Yet I cannot deny or argue what He has said. And what He offers is so hopeful. “Please, Papa, correct it.” I finally whisper.

“I knew you would say that.” He leans down to kiss the top of my head and He takes my arm. Somehow it seems like is has been a long time since we’ve walked like this to the grove. I am surprised though, when He turns to the right into the sunny side of the garden, toward the bench by the mote where we have sat to watch the koi. The garden is blooming and beautiful.

I am seized by the urge to run. Not to run away, but to run like a child for the sheer joy in running. He takes my hand suddenly and we begin to run together, laughing for the very joy of it. We run full out until I finally collapse from the effort. Tumbling down on the ground I realize that my feet do not hurt! I see our footprints in the grass and the small stones laying in that path and wonder why I did not seem to step on any of them.

“Because you are holding My hand.” He replies. “You have been guarding yourself for a long time. Now is time for you to begin to take risks, holding on to My hand.” He helps me back to my feet, taking my arm once again. Coming upon the shaded bench, we stop to rest in the coolness of the refreshing shade. “This is how you are to labor now, holding My hand and being refreshed in Me.”

I look up at Him for a moment and see a solid strength like no other I have known. He is so different from what I had been taught to expect, so safe, so faithful, so truly worthy of my trust. His hand in mine does not force me nor hurt me, but freely gives me strength and comfort.

Silently, we move to the water’s edge, sitting on the bank to dip our feet into the cool water. Although a bit shocking, the coolness of the water is reviving nonetheless and we sit quietly, resting there.

Chapter 27 to come

Chapter 26: Barefoot, pt 1

2006-05-07T19:01:00.000-07:00

I awake in His arms still. I am surprised to still be there.

“Get used to being in Your Father’s arms.” He replies to my unspoken thoughts.

I think on this for a long while. What does it mean to be in His arms?

“I did not send you out to go alone, be rather that I will go with you.” He explains. “I will hold your hand now that the stone “Not Enough” is gone.”

I see now how that stone prevented me from holding on to Him before. It stood as a wedge between me and His promises. I sigh, relieved that it is now gone. I lean my head against His shoulder; it is so restful here with Him. I am surprised to realize suddenly, I am not used to rest.

“I will give you what you are to do now. I want you to rest in Me even as you labor for Me.”

I have been working too hard with and for too little for son long. And there has been no rest. I wonder for a moment what would it be like to be used to this, for being in His arms to be the norm. How very different things would be.

I am beginning to understand a little. I rest again in His arms, trying to understand what it means being there. I think on holding my son in my arms. Where I go, he goes. His relationship to me is clear to all who see. From that place, he can clearly hear and list to all I might have to ay. It is a place of affection from which I often whisper words of endearment to him. When I hold him he is in a place of safety, out of danger, protected. When my son is in my arms all I have is his and in his reach. His position with me is clear. He is watching where I am going, where I am taking him, not worried about how he is going to get there.

It is also a place of immediate correction, not so much of repentance, but of direction, a place I can softly speak direction to him. It is a place where he does not have to worry about being taken care of. It is clear that he will be.

I long to learn to rest and stay in His arms. But I feel myself becoming restless.

“Make a habit of staying here.” He whispers in my ear. I try to rest once more, and finally I do.

His peace overwhelms me and I find delight in His presence once more. “I cold be here always.” I sigh softly.

“No you could not.” He laughs, knowing my pension for activity over rest. “Do you know I delight in your company? This is what I made you for. Do not let others in true here.” He is quiet for a little while, but then continues. “There is a different perspective from here that I want you to see, set apart from selfishness, from your own needs. You can get here only because your need is met in me.”

“Forgive me my short-sightedness, my selfishness, Papa. I am indeed a selfish creature. Please forgive me.” I whisper, seeing the truth so clearly within me.

He nods silently. “Trust Me for the bigger picture, start to see from one step further back, the perspective from my arms is up higher and one step back from where you have been looking from.

“There is provision and abundance because you are here in My arms. You are doing because you are accepted by Me, not accepted because you are doing.”

He lets me think on all this a while before adding, “It is time to go back now.”

He helps me to my feet as He stands. We walk past each of the memorial stones: the crystal spray, the butterfly, the rose and now the wedding tent. I recall the meaning of each and try to hold on to it. In the light of the lantern we make our way back to the entrance. It is small enough that we will have to crawl through.

On hands and knees, there is no light in the space. He covers me as He did before as we crawl through into the long passage.

“Can one get lost here?” I ask, sheltered in His presence.

“Yes, that is why you must stay with Me.” He replies, His voice echoing off the close walls.

I wonder how someone would get lost, the passage seemed straight, but sheltered in Him, I guess there was more I did not see. The path seems different now than it was when we came in. I find rocks in the way, excruciatingly painful under my knees.

“Those block the pathway in.” He explains. “I swept them out of the way when we came in.”

“What are they?” I am bewildered.

“Self consciousness, embarrassment, fear, guilt. They are those things that keep you from coming into a place of worship.” He replies without condemnation.

“They hurt!” I exclaim in frustration as my knee lands directly on another stone. “Can I get rid of them?”

“Yes, you must intentionally sweep them away.”

I begin deliberately sweeping them aside with my hands, clearing a path to crawl through. My efforts though are imperfect and I am painfully aware that miss a few.

“Each time you come here, you must do that to prevent distractions that will keep you away.” He warns as we continue the long crawl out of the cave.

My knees are pretty battered by the time we come to the end of the passage way. I find it difficult to stand even as I blink my eyes in the light, trying to adjust to the brightness outside the crawl space. The pain in my knees screams at me until I cannot ignore it. I remember His earlier admonition to me.

“Papa, my knees…” I whisper, still a bit afraid to expose my wounds to Him.

He turns to look at them. I can see they are bruised and bloody. “These are wounds from criticism, old and new and even criticism of yourself. Your worship is a gift to others even as it is a gift to Me. You have wounds that often prevent you from going there. Let Me heal you.”

“Yes Papa! Here? Now?”

“No,” His voice is gentle with me, “we need to leave this space first.”

Part 2-->

Chapter 25: Surrender, pt 3

2006-05-07T18:41:00.000-07:00

In that safety, I finally begin to answer His question. “Papa, I used to love the church. I know I did at some point. But now—now I just plain hate her! I do not want to invite any one. I do not want to even be there. I love the individuals but I hate the body.

“She is ugly and dysfunctional. She is hurtful and dishonest and abusive. She takes and takes and takes but does not give in return. She is wretched and ugly. I hate her! How can I love that?

“You have shown me how to love my husband. But he has laid down his life for me and his children. But the church? She has never been there, never supported, never stood by me. And You want me to choose to love that?” The words tumble out in a flurry. I feel wretched and afraid. Part of me expects understanding from Him. A larger part though expects correction and rebuke.

“You have been wounded, you voice the harvest of those seeds. I have promised you before I would not rebuke you for being wounded. I cannot require discipline of your hurts.”

He holds me very firmly now. I cannot pull away without struggling with Him. I want to though. I want to run and hide. “I almost wish You would! I do not want to do what You ask. I do not know how! I wish You would rebuke me so that I would have to find a way to do it.”

“I will not do that, child.” There is no note of anger in His voice although I cannot fathom why.

I hate to even think it, but I do not really understand why He would refuse. I am suddenly aware of a bitter and vile thought. I hate to admit it, but I hear myself thinking, “Why would He turn down the opportunity to hurt me when I am even asking for it?” Tears of hurt and shame begin to flow. I want to hide from Him, but cannot.

“Now, we can talk.” His voice is gentle as He shifts me into His lap, pulling me close enough to hear His heartbeat. “You expect, deep within, that I really want to hurt you.” There is no accusation in His words, only a statement of fact.

He is right, I do. I really expect He wants to see me hurting. After all, that is what His church has done, it is what my mother has done… Then I realize it is her voice that I am hearing and feeling I this moment. I do not know why, but I have always assumed she wanted to hurt me. The little criticisms, jabs, observations made when I thought I was doing well. I guess they left the sense that she really wanted to hurt me. And worse. I have felt that this is the way it should be so much so I invite and accept it.

“Papa! Forgive me! I did not know. I have seen you this way too. Please forgive me! Please help me to see you the right way” I cry into His arms. There is no rebuke, no harshness, no anger from Him.

The sin, it must be sin, it was born out of the hurts of many years. He is not angry with my hurts. I can feel His desire to bring healing to these wounds and cleanse the sin of my heart and replace it with truth. “Please forgive me Papa.”

“Forgive her.” He says, I know He means both my mother and the church.

“Yes, Papa. I choose now to forgive them both. Please forgive me my lack of forgiveness. I repent Papa, I repent and I choose now to forgive them and release them both to You.” I whisper he words, He has drawn me so close I do not need to speak them more loudly.

He says nothing but I can hear the beat of His heart and the soft chimes of grace in my ears.

Finally, He speaks. “I love you daughter. Know this does not change that at all. Remember I kissed you before I asked this of you.”

I had not seen that, had not remembered that. I press into Him as He holds me, relieved in seeing this. I am truly safe and secure here with Him. He truly does accept me, not based on my performance.

“Because you have chosen this though, you will see changes. The seeds you have sown will be watered through this sacrifice.”

I stumble on the words sacrifice, confused.

“Your obedience is a sacrifice child. Do not minimize that. You have chosen to lay down the hurts of the past out of love for Me, asking nothing in return. I do not treat that lightly.

“This sacrifice shall be rain upon those seeds. And I will bless your harvest with abundance.” Tenderly He lifts my chin and kisses my forehead, cradling my face in His hand.

“I love you Papa.” I whisper.

“I know child, I know.” He replies. He adds nothing, no condition, no corrections, no requirement, no demands. He simply receives from my heart.

“Thank you for that, Papa. Thank you for not asking for what I cannot give, for not demanding what I cannot do.”

“Lay down that burden, that fear here and now daughter. I want to free you from that load. You have long been weighed down with the notion that to be loved and accepted you have to do more, do what you cannot do, be someone else. Lay that down now and fully receive the love I have for you.”

“Yes, Papa, I will lay that down. How do I do that?” I wish I already knew, but I cannot see it.

“Look in your hand.” He replies.

As I do, I find I am carrying a small, smooth stone. Large block letters spelling out “Not Enough” adorn the deep grey, oblong piece. An icy knot forms in my gut as I read those words. They capture the entire situation so very clearly. Never enough.

“Give Me the stone.” His words are an invitation, not a demand. He will not take this from my by force.

Not shifting from the hold He has on me, I press the stone into His right hand. “It is yours Papa. I will not be “not enough” any longer.” I close my eyes and press into Him.

His arm tenses as His hand closes around the stone. I can hear the stone cry out and finally break under the force of His great strength. He throws the pieces into the darkness of the cave where they will not be found. They clatter and bounce as they fall.

“You are enough, daughter. You are sufficient and made for my particular purpose. Do not accept any longer or even hear the admonition that what I have created in you is wrong or that it is not enough. You are the work of My hands and My delight. My grace and My grace in you are sufficient and I am pleased.”

“You are so good to me, Papa.” I whisper, marveling at how much has changed since this walk began. In many ways I feel as though I have met Him for the very first time. I have known Him, but not truly known His heart. “Thank You, Papa.”

In the stillness of the place, the only sounds I hear are the sounds of Him, the falling water, the chimes of grace, His breath and heartbeat. This place is full of Him and only Him. There is neither room nor place for anything else. There are moments when I still cannot believe myself here with Him, like this. This is all so very different than what I have ever believed or understood.

“And what do you think of that?” I an hear a wry smile in His voice.

“I think that I like You and trust You more that I ever thought I could and that You are much safer that I ever realized. I finally have begun to understand how You can be who You are and yet love me without condition or caveat. I don’t completely understand, but it is a beginning

“You are so much more awesome than I ever understood. I love to lose myself in this place, in worship before You. You are truly more incredible that I can ever say. Only You, Papa, only You.

It seems as though He sighs at this; it sounds as though He is pleased. “Rest now, with Me.”

Laying my head to His breast, I sleep.

Chapter 26-->

Chapter 25: Surrender, pt 2

2006-05-07T18:39:00.000-07:00

That I can do! I am relieved to obey Him. I sing to Him, focusing on Him, not what He has asked. As I do though, I find that there is a shield in my hands. It looks like a police riot shield made of a dull grey metal. This is the independence He wants me to sacrifice.

I know I have used this many times. It protects me, keeps me safe from the intrusion of others. I can be in the midst of a group and still be safe and protected from them. This is what He wants me to lay down before Him.

I do not want to obey. At the deepest core of my being I do not want to let this go. I do not understand why He asks this of me. He has said that this is not disobedience, that this is not sin to correct, so why does He ask this?

I stand for a long while before I finally realize that the consequences of not doing what He has asked me are more dreadful to me than the consequences of doing it. I think so at least, but my heart is still unsure.

The heavy shield is strapped to my left arm. I try to remove it, but am unable to. “How do I get this off, Papa?” I ask genuinely puzzled.

“Use the sword,” He instructs.

How I wish He would just take it from me! With my right hand I reach for the sword. It is difficult to reach and hard to maneuver. It takes me a long time to cut the sheild free. 1CO 12:21 The eye cannot say to the hand, "I don't need you!" And the head cannot say to the feet, "I don't need you!" … [24] … But God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, [25] so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other.

Finally the shield clatters to the ground with a dull thud. I stare at it a moment but then act quickly before I lose my resolve, quickly picking it up and placing it on the fiery altar. The flames flare as I do. I find I cannot watch, though. I step back and turn away from the offering. The intense heat threatens to burn my back and neck. Shadows dance wildly on the cave walls as the flames crackle. Finally, they die down once again.

I do not want to look. I feel torn, empty and afraid, almost angry. I do not understand what is being asked of me.

“Turn back and look child.” He firmly directs me.

Unwillingly, I obey. The flames have not consumed my offering, but have purified it. In place of the large body shield, there is now a small gold shield. He gestures, inviting me to take it. I try to pick it up, but it is still hot from the flames. Startled, I juggle it a bit until I can set it down and step away from the altar.

“Come to Me.” He says.

I stride over to Him, but cannot look at Him, the turmoil in my heart is great. We stand in silence for a long time. Finally, He reaches out and takes hold of my chin, turning my face to look at Him. Still I cannot meet His gaze. “What are you afraid of? Why are you afraid?” He asks pointedly cutting to the heart of the matter. I am indeed afraid.

I hesitate to answer, the honesty it requires intimidates me, but I find strength in my frustration. “I am afraid of disappointing You, of displeasing You. I truly do not understand what You are asking of me. I will obey You! I will! But I just do not see, I do not understand what you are asking of me! I do not understand how to do this. How can I obey what I do not understand? “I am afraid You will turn me away because of this!” There is a shrillness in my tone that even I do not like.

“Who do you think I am? Do you still not know Me?” His voice is sharp.
I feel like I am caught in a no-win situation, not knowing how to obey yet being expected to do so none the less. And I suddenly realized that this is not of Him. “I am sorry Papa,” I whisper, though still not at ease.

Gently He releases His grip on my face. “Go get the shield and bring it to Me.”
I do so, the metal now cooled enough to hold safely in my hands. He takes it from my hands, holding it out for me to examine.

It is much smaller than the old one, large enough to fend off a specific attack but not large enough to truly hid behind or to separate me from a crowd. The brilliantly polished surface reflects the glow of the coals, uninterrupted by unneeded decorations. The edges roll slightly to soften them so they will not cut the user. The metal while thin and light, is very hard and strong, much sturdier than it looks. He turns it over to show me two leather straps for my left arm and a longer one to sling it across my back when not actively using it.

I know what this is, faith; but still I do not understand. Silently, He fits the shield across my shoulders, on to my back. “Now look at the stone.” He instructs.

I try, but the glowing coals are too bright and I cannot see anything. He scoops the coals back into the lantern, containing the light so I can look on the altar stone.

Finally, my eyes adjust to the dimmed light. I can just make out how the altar stone has melted. In its place is a flow tone, shaped like a tent with soda straw formations forming a fringe at the top edge. At first, I think it is a tabernacle, a tent of meeting, but then I see, it is a wedding tent.

“Papa, I do not understand this, I do not understand what you are asking of me.” I plead, shaking my head, despair threatening to overtake me.

“I want you to love my church. You have grown cold and distant. I want you to fall in love with her again.”

“But how do I do this with this church? What more do You want me to do? What else can I do?” I feel like a failure. If all I have already done does not satisfy, then nothing can.

“Come sit with Me.” He invites, sitting down to lean against a large rock by the water’s edge.

I sit at his feet, my back to Him, not even leaning on Him. I can feel myself closing in and shutting down.

“You are pulling away from Me.” He observes as He lightly rests His hand between my shoulders. “Why?”

I can not cover it up, it is pointless to try hiding from Him. “Because I do not even like the church! Sometimes I hate it!” The words tumble out from me along with tears.

“Come share your heart with Me.” He draws me closer to Him, putting His arm around me to pull me to Him.

I bury my face in His shoulder to tearfully whisper, “I am afraid to, afraid You will be upset with me.”

“I already know, child. It is safe to tell Me.” He strokes my hair to reassure me He means what He says.

Part 3-->

Chapter 25: Surrender, pt 1

2006-05-07T18:36:00.000-07:00

My dreams are strange once again and I awake uneasy and disturbed. “Papa?” I ask uncertain what is happening now.

“You heart is anxious.” He declares, showing me He understands even what I do not tell Him.

“Yes, Papa, why?”

“You sense there is change coming. And there is. I want you to establish a new memorial stone here in this place.” He explains carefully.

I understand my growing anxiety now. Taking a deep breath, I ask, “What must I do Papa?” My emotions are mixed. I know what He requires of me is always good, but it is often so difficult. I was not prepared for this.

“This memorial stone is a surrender, a surrender of independence.”

My mind races now. I do not understand, but yet I do t the same time. I have always been fiercely independent. That has been how I have gotten through much of what I have dealt with in life. I am terrified of what will be if I have to give this up—what is He asking of me? I begin pacing before Him. “Papa, I don’t understand. I will obey. Please, tell me what do I need to do?”

I can’t stop pacing nor the racing thoughts in my mind. I just cannot see what He wants. I think too, I am deeply afraid to even look there, it seems to much to bear. He does not reply. Finally I have to ask, “Does this require your correction for me to see it?” A knot of dread fills my gut. This does not seem to be a place of correction though. I am so confused!

“No daughter.” He finally speaks. “This is not something that you have done wrong. “ I hear more than feel myself begin to breathe again. “No child,, “He reaches out to me, touching my shoulder, stopping my pacing. “You have not disobeyed Me. I have made you the way that you are. I gave you that independence, it is part of your gift, part of what allows you to do what I have called you to do: to think for yourself and to stand and teach what is difficult and even painful and to do it in strength.

“No, I do not wish to take that from you. I do not ask you to change that, to become something or someone that you are now.” He pauses for a moment. “I am asking you to submit it to Me in this place of worship.”

Part of me is relieved, but I am no less confused that before. But still I long to obey whatever He asks. “I will do what you ask, Papa. Tell me what to do.”

“This will be a sacrifice. You must build an altar.” He explains.

“I don’t know how.”

He does not answer immediately, but seems to look around for a moment. His gaze settles on a large flat rock just a few steps behind me. “Take that rock and bring it here.” He directs.

The rock is large, half as tall as I am and about as wide as my shoulders. I am certain that it is heavy as well. How can I move it? It must weigh as much as I do, at least, even more! But I know He would not ask of me something I cannot do. So, I walk over to the rock.

The stone is rough, like unfinished limestone but not sharp. I pull at it and find it is more than my arms alone can lift. But I know that I can lift much more with my legs. Perhaps I can get my shoulders under it and lift it that way.

I tip it up onto my shoulders and push it up off the ground. The walking is difficult, but I manage to get it the few steps to Him. Carefully, I set it down before Him. He nods at me as I try and catch my breath from the effort.

“It is not complete. The altar must have horns.” He explains indicating the shape He wants it to take.

Not knowing what else to do, I find a stone and chip away at the edges of the stone altar to make it conform to His design. The blows of stone on stone jar my hands and arms. They ache with effort. My legs still quiver from the effort of moving the stone. If preparing is like this, I fear what the sacrifice will be like.

His voice jostles me out of my thoughts. “The altar must have fire.” He hands me the lantern holding glowing coals. I have nothing to transfer the coals with. Still hoping that I am doing right I open the lantern and spill out the coals on to the stone altar. I am surprised to see them glowing brightly, then suddenly burst into flame.

“What do I put on this altar?” I finally ask, not sure if I have thought it or said it aloud.

“You will know.” He replies reassuringly. “Just worship Me.”

Part 2-->

Chapter 24: Worship, pt 4

2006-05-07T18:02:00.000-07:00

For a moment it is silent but for the sound of the water. In the stillness I hear the soft chimes of my earrings moving in time with y breath. Though soft, the song of grace echoes off the rock walls, seeming to grow louder as it does. The rocks are crying out to Him of His grace! The song is so beautiful, I have to listen.

As I do, I feel Him reach to take my face in both His hands. He bends to kiss me, this time though, He kisses my lips. It is not the kiss of a lover though. It is the lingering kiss of a King declaring to His court, this is His beloved, the one who belongs to Him.

I am transfixed in this moment, not moving or breathing for a long time.

Finally, He says, “This is a place of intimate connection. As you declare who I am in worship, you allow me into your heart to become what you have declared Me to be. In this place you allow Me to become resident, to take the throne of your heart.”

He lifts His hand into my sight. “Give Me your hand.”

I place my hand on His. I am struck at how tiny—like and infant’s—mine is in His and by the strength and might of His hand.

“Why do you so willingly place your hand in mine knowing in My strength I could hurt you?” He asks, his voice echoing off the walls.

“Because I trust you, Papa.”

“This is a place of trust. When you open your heart to pour out worship you are walking in trust and openness to me. Come unto me, and I will give you rest.”

I see that verse now in a new light, the command and the promises He gives and how worship plays its part in that.

“ Do You want me to teach this, Papa?” I ask softly.

“In time. For now treasure it in your own heart. Ponder it, study it. Let the seed grow that in time the fruit will be ready in its season.”

“Yes, Papa.” How many seeds like this have recently been sown? I silently wonder.

“Many.” He replies to my unspoken question, “And the harvest will come soon as well. The ground here is good and the harvest needful. Expect abundance and surprise.” He pauses for a moment. “In this new season of harvest, My promise to you is that My yoke will be easy and My burden light. I am changing and equipping you to do what I have brought you into this season to do. Do not be intimidated or overwhelmed by anything that happens, for I am ordering it. Just walk through the doors that I open and know that I have opened them for you.”

“Yes, Papa,” I whisper, what else can I say?

“That you love Me.” He replies, thee is a smile in His voice.

“I love You, Papa!” I cry out, my heart ready to declare this over and over again I catch His hand in an embrace and He draws me in to fully embrace me. This time though, for this first time, I think, I embrace Him back. I am a little afraid to do so, but He immediately responds with a more powerful embrace, tucking my head under His chin. I know I have pleased Him. “I love you, Papa, I whisper again, my voice echoing off the walls. “I love You.”

“Rest in Me, now,” He directs, pressing my head to His chest. I obey, easily falling asleep cradled in His arms.

Chapter 25-->

Chapter 24: Worship, pt 3

2006-05-07T17:58:00.000-07:00

I awaken and He is still here beside me. I feel rested, refreshed.

“Drink of the water here,” He says. “It is a source of refreshing that will not run dry. You can always find it in the midst of your worship.”

The water is cold and sweet, purer than anything I have known before. I am struck again by the beauty of this place. Caves have always spoken to my heart.

“Few truly find this place, child.” He explains once again. “It is hard to get to and there are not shortcuts here. All must travel the same path. Some stay closer to this place all the time, but here are not short cuts to get there.”

I am surprised at how He immediately directs His comments at the lies I have been taught. I had been told that there were those who were favored with shortcuts, that the rules did not apply to them, only to the ordinary among us. Yet, He tells me this is not so. “Papa, can I ask You? Why was the path here so dark? I do not understand.” The question comes out of my mouth before I even can think about it.

He pauses for a moment before answering, as if thinking of a way to explain that I will understand. “It is dark because this is not a place found by the flesh. You do not travel here with your eyes, but with your heart, guided by My grace. The path here is only through My grace.”

I nod, I think I understand. I look around again, marveling at the scene. Three particularly distinct formations catch my eye here, a crystalline spray, a butterfly shaped crystal and the rose crystal. “What are these Papa?”

“These are memorial stones marking major transitions as you learned how to enter into worship. The rose is when you learned to dance before Me. The butterfly is when your spirit was first set free to become lost in worship. The crystal spray was your discovery of what worship was and what it meant.”

I remember each of these times, not so much as a specific event, but as an emotion, a transition, a change in my walk with Him. Thinking on these things, I find a longing to dance before Him building in me, to dance even as David danced before Him. I do not understand the desire, I am neither musician nor dancer. But to be able to totally give myself to celebrate who His is, is a deep desire of my heart.

“May I Papa?” I finally ask, feeling a bit self conscious, even embarrassed.

He nods, very slightly and opens His arms in invitation. I am not sure why, but I begin to remove the garments He has given me. I am safe in this place, I can be uncovered before Him without fear.

I begin to sing and to dance before Him, letting overflow the deepest feelings of my heart and mind. I am not performer to be sure, but I can see His smile and I know He is pleased, receiving what I offer before Him.

The cave is filled by the soft radiant glow of the lantern that surrounding Him. I can feel it, it is His glory. I know this light so well. It warms and comforts me.

I continue until I have poured our all that is in me. When I stop, I am standing before Him. He ways nothing, but gently begins to pour a new oil over me, rubbing it deeply into my hair and face, anointing me head to foot.

As I in all of this, I realize I am not afraid any more. I remember not long ago, my terror at being uncovered before Him. I am no longer afraid.

“What were you afraid of, daughter?” He asks, lightly holding my shoulders.

“Everything. I was afraid You would reject me if You saw me for who and what I was. I was afraid of condemnation. I was afraid You would hurt me, but not heal. I was afraid you would not love me if I was not perfect, afraid that I would not be enough for You to accept me.” I pause for a moment, reflecting. “I am not afraid anymore.”

He kisses the tops of my head, then picks up the garments He has given me and tenderly dresses me once again. I feel so secure in His garments.

“Come sit with Me.” He says, walking towards the stream. We sit beside the flowing water. “Worship is your expression of love for Me. I need nothing, but I desire relationship with you. That comes through your worship of Me. As you declare in those times who I am, what I am, you make a statement of faith, for trust in those things and in that faith you are brought closer to Me.

“David, Mary and John all were true worshippers. They longed to be in my presence, close to Me, celebrating in the fact that I was there with them not in what I had done for them, but in who I am and that I was there in their presence.

“John reclined on my breast, hearing My word, but even more, the beating of My heart. Mary was always found at My feet. She never wanted to be far to be far from Me, to miss out on a moment of My visit.

“You have long wondered which spirit you had, that of Mary or of Martha. You have called yourself a Martha many times. But I want you to see this: When we first came to this castle, your first thought was to prepare Me a meal, instead, though, you followed Me into the study. In that room there have always been two chairs, yet by your choice, not my direction you have always sat at my feet not in the chair. Even in other rooms,, you have only take a chair when I have directed. You have been by my side constantly and at my feet as often as you could. You even mourned your lack of perfume with which to anoint my feet.

“You have Mary’s heart, child, ministering to Me by closeness and relationship rather than by your constant doing.” He touches my shoulder as I hang on every word He is saying. “I am moved by true worshippers because they have given me their hearts.”

He lifts His hand from my shoulder to cradle my face in a tender embrace. I press into His embrace, drinking deeply of it. “Please, teach me Papa,” I whisper, longing to know more of Him.

“The way here is not easy, few are willing to crawl blindly, guided and covered only by my grace and spirit. It is a path of surrender, not of show. A place to move as I move and only as I move. True worship goes deep into your soul and takes you to this place where the rocks ill cry out with my grace eve if you do not.”

Part 4-->

Chapter 24: Worship, pt 2

2006-05-07T17:55:00.000-07:00

I feel a rush of cool air in the darkness. I breathe deeply, drinking in the refreshing coolness. I think I hear the sound of running water too.

He stands to His feet and helps me to mine. There is a flicker of light. He is lighting a lantern!

“Look around you child.” He declares, holding up the light.

We are in a cave, water running down one wall into a small creek flowing down the center of the chamber. The light reflects off the dripping walls, glistening.

Careful not to touch the formations, I walk about, amazed and the incredible and rare formations I see.

“Papa, what is this place! I whisper, awed by what I see in the glow of the lantern.

“This is the secret place. The place deep within yourself that you have longed to ifnd, fearing what you would see. Now, look—“ He gestures outward. “The river here is flowing to the surface, filled with life. This place is carved by the life flowing through here.”

I see crystalline formations of the rarest forms.

“Look here.” He points out to me a rose shaped crystal that looks like a massive gypsum rose, but is made out of pink crystal. I have never see something like this before.

“No one has.” He replies to my thoughts. “It only exists here in your heart.

“You have long wondered what is inside you. There are treasures here that no man shall ever see, put here for My pleasure alone. No one else will come here with you or will discover what I have placed here. This is a place of wonder, of worship. It is the place you come to when you are lost in worship, in My presence.

“you have the heart of a worshipper, not to lead it, but to enter into it, to come into this secret place with me an to worship without distraction.”

I do not understand, at least my mind does not, but I think that maybe my heart does! “I know this place, Papa—the feel of it I know. I love to be in this place with you, dancing before you, bowing at your feet.”

“The time spent here is precious to Me, especially those times when you have pushed through circumstances to get here.” He explains.

“And it is You who takes me here!.” I blurt out my sudden new understanding.

“Yes, however, you come, you follow willingly, closely. It is easy to become distracted and not get to this place. Rest here in this place of worship for a while.” He sits beside the quietly flowing water.

I sit down with Him, singing softly to Him.

After a few minutes though, I find I must ask, “Why was my flesh so reluctant to come here?”

“Because the narrow path here becomes blocked easily with the issues of the flesh. Those temptations that have been calling to you and that you have refused would have blocked the path here. We would have been unable to come here without first cleaning it all up. To come here means you must subdue your flesh, your flesh knows this and rebels.” He explains.

I nod, understanding, I think. I rest now, sleeping peacefully in this place.

Part 3-->

Chapter 24: Worship, pt 1

2006-05-07T17:53:00.000-07:00

Finally, He speaks once again. “I want to share something with you, to take you somewhere with Me. Your flesh is afraid to go because it will have to change. Will you come?”

The decision takes but a moment. “I will.” I stand before Him and He reaches out to take my hand in His. “Yes, I will go with You.” I repeat, taking His outstretched hand.

Firmly He grips my hand. The touch of His hand draws up so many feelings in me. His hands are so large and powerful that they could crush me in a heartbeat, yet His gentleness is amazing.

“Come with Me,” He instructs, rising from His chair.

My feet are hesitant and slow to move. Gently He encourages me, but does not force me to follow. Once again I do not understand my own reaction.

We leave the study, cross through the large tiled foyer, the sound of our footsteps echo loudly through the hall. I want to ask where we are going, but feel I should not. He says nothing. We continue to the staircase, but do not go up, rather we walk along the right side, to find a door in the side of the staircase. I do knot know what is behind the door. Still silent, he grasps the doorknob; it is slow to turn. Finally it does and the door complains and He opens it. I cannot see what is behind the door, the darkness there seems impenetrable. I look to Him, but still He says nothing.

“What is this, Papa?” I finally ask, having not ideas of what to expect. I can only guess that this is a storage closet, a utility room perhaps?

Still no answer. He ducks His head to step though the doorway. I am hesitant to follow, but He is still holding my hand and draws me to follow Him. I know I could pull away, but I step into the darken doorway. The room is deeply dark and I am afraid.

I cling to His hand as He turns to the right and takes a few steps. My grasp on his hand tightens even more, I fear letting go, lest I become lost in this dark place. And I still do not know where we are!

“Why do you need to know?” He finally answers in a voice so soft I almost miss it.

The words that tumble forth surprise me. “I guess I don’t, since I am with You.”
“Then come and follow.” I hear His slow foot steps as he starts to slowly walk again. I focus on keeping hold of His hand. “Focus on Me, do not become distracted or lost in this place.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Listen to My voice, not to anything else you might hear. Follow Me now.”
I can feel the space has become smaller than it was. Soon we will have to crawl to get through it. “Where does this lead?” I murmur.

“To where we are going.” He replies. I know there must be a reason for His indirectness, but cannot fathom what it might be.

Soon the ceiling angles sharply down and it is not possible to walk upright any longer. If we have to crawl, I will not be able to hold his hand any longer. “Papa! It is so dark! I cannot see You. I can’t hold Your hand!. I’m afraid of being separated from You.”

“Come then.” I feel His arm on my shoulder, guiding me to slid past Him and stand in front of Him. He helps me down to my knees to crawl, but then He kneels above me to crawl Himself. He surrounds me with His presence as we crawl through the small tunnel. I will not become lost!

We seem to crawl for a long time. I cannot tell what is around us, all I can feel is His presence. My knees, hands, wrists and elbows begin to hurt from the rough ground we are crossing.

“We are almost there.” He whispers encouragingly in my ear. I had thought I could go no further, but somehow His encouragement makes me able to go on.

The air here is hot and stuffy now. I fight back a rising panic. The heat, the darkness and the sense of being utterly lost is feeding a deep fear in me. Finally, He stops.

Part 2-->

Chapter 23: Another Key, pt.2

2006-05-07T17:42:00.000-07:00

When I awaken, He is still there. He feels me stir and hugs me briefly. Then He says, “Let Me see your neck.”

I turn to show Him the scar, let Him examine the burn of the coal. I can still feel the coolness of the salve He applied earlier.

“Do you understand the importance of all this?” He asks.

“No, I don’t think so,” I reply, still blinking the sleep from my eyes and rising to my feet.

Gently with His finger He traces the path of the scar on my neck. “This scar threatened your life’s blood. It sat where your blood, your life flowed though and it contaminated it. This was the source of your constant fear that I would leave you, that I would turn my back on you and abandon you for someone, for something more important. It was the core of your failure to trust Me completely.”

I understand now what help the key in place and why I could not break it. “But, Papa, if this was so very important, why did it not seem as difficult as earlier hurdles we faced? It was not easy, it hurt and dos, I think. But it was not so hard as the challenges of the garden. Why is that?” I ask quietly.

He is silent for a moment. “You have come a long way child. You have learned to hear My voice. You have begun to trust Me and expect good from Me. What you once had to fight to see is now more easily seen. It does not make it less important, it is evidence of the changes of your heart.

You still bear a wound of where the scar has been removed. Today, I will heal that and replace it with new, if you will allow Me. I want you to see Me beside you and walk in a fresh and new anointing I offer you. You must walk in a new trust that your huios (placed, adult child) prayer has been heard and that it pleases your father to answer it. You need not plead or beg. Your Papa—

--He has not called Himself that to be before—

“Your Papa has promised you an answer of abundance and I will not forget my promise. I will heal that scar and mark it with my love.”

“Yes, Papa, yes!” my voice is but a whisper. I desperately want to obey and receive from Him. My words are in faith, not my own strength.

“Come close to Me.”

I am standing just steps away from Him. Aware now of the burn on my neck, it is harder that it should be, but I obey. Turning that side of my neck to Him, I feel myself tremble. He puts His hand to my face and cradles my cheek.

“I am pleased, child.” He says.

I press into His hand savoring the words I longed to hear. With His other hand, He touches the burn on my neck. I feel the warmth of His touch and know He is healing me.”

“Now, instead of fear, your blood, your life will course through the touch of my glory and those who see you will see the reflection of My glory.”

It is all I can do to stand soaking in His presence.

Finally He says. “Come to the window.” I follow Him there. “Look,” He points outside. I see people gathering outside the gate.

We watch at the window for a while. At last, I ask Him about direction, what I am supposed to do, what direction I am to go, what am I to do with or for those gathering at the gates.

He looks at me, taking my hands in His. “Do you trust Me?”

“Yes, yes I do.” I reply, confused by His question.

“Then trust Me. Walk through the doors I open. Knock on the doors I present. Do not run off in searching. In you, I want the work to be Mine alone. I want others to see what I do in you and know it is an act of My grace alone, not of your building or creating.”

“Yes, Papa. I will do what you ask. I will wait on You. Please, Papa, do not let me fail to see what you place before me. I will obey.” This is so different to me. I thought there were things I was to push through, but He seems to be telling me to wait now. And I will.

He nods at me and releases my hands. He turns and walks back to His chair and sits by the fireplace once more. “Come here child.” There is a firmness in His voice that concerns me.

“Yes, Papa.” I quickly step to His side.

“If I told you to place yourself into My hands, would you obey?” He asks me pointedly.

Confused and swallowing hard, I stammer, “Yes, Papa, you know I have and I will.”

He pressed me further, “What if you know that it meant correction, discipline?”

My heat sinks. I have no idea what I have done wrong. “Yes, Papa, yes, I would. I will. Have I displeased You? Have I disobeyed?” I have no idea what I have done.

“Why? Why would you obey?” He persists, not answering my question.

“Because…well because I, I trust You, I love You. Papa, papa, I trust you. Correction hurts, but it is worth it Papa. I want to be close to you, I do not want to be apart from You. I want to walk with You and there is no other way. I want to obey You.
“Papa, how have I disobeyed you? What I have I done wrong?” I cannot help but ask, my concern still growing, edging even into panic.

He nods. “What is what I want you to teach my people. Teach them who I am, how to live. Teach them to trust Me enough to obey Me.”

Still uneasy, I answer. “I will, Papa. Show me how so I can do it right. I will do it.” I realize His voice is grieved, His expression heavy.

“Many of mine do not know this. Teach them of expectations and your new expectations. Teach them where you have been.” He pauses, finally answering my question. “You have not disobeyed Me, daughter.”

Relief flows through me and I find myself breathing out my tension. “Papa, show me how to do this, how to share with your other children. How do I start?”

“Come close, let Me whisper in your ear.” He beckons. I rest my head again on His heart to listen.

“You do this in the context of who you are. Do not pretend to be anyone or anything else. You are a teacher, because of your gift, people will ask of you. All you need to do is let others know you know Me and answer the questions they ask.”

I can do that! Relief once again washes over me. I can do what He is asking of me! The picture I have always had was of something that I could not be. But this I can do! His yoke is truly easy and light! I can not get over the idea I can do it

“My people are insecure in their gifts, they believe that someone else’s gift is beter or right. They spend their time chasing after these other gifts rather than developing what they have. It is in the context of your own gift that you will minister, even to the salvation of others.” He pauses a moment. “Serve Me, not men.”

A pang of grief pierces my heart. I life my head, pressing my forehead under His chin. “Papa, I am sorry, I have done just that. I have confused who I am serving. I have tried to please man, thinking that would please You.” I am grieved at this insight, but at the same time, overcome knowing that repentance can come in the context of such incredible closeness.

Chapter 24-->

Chapter 23: Another Key, pt.1

2006-05-07T17:36:00.000-07:00

For a long time, I rest there in His arms, my head upon His chest, His hand on my heart. Gently, He puts His hand to my face, holding it, tucking my head under His chin. “Child do you understand that I am delighted in you?” He asks. I can hear the pleasure in His voice.

“No, Papa, I really don’t think that I do.” I am embarrassed as I whisper my reply.
“It is time to change your paradigm about yourself as well. You see yourself as a child, but you have grown up. You see yourself as an apprentice when you are expert. The feedback from your most recent group of students I sent to you to show you this. It is time to take confidence in what I have created in you, time for you to accept and be thankful in what I have created you to be. Step up and take that now.”

What He asks is a big change, it is very new for me. It is so much easier to see myself as small and just faking my way through things that to see myself as strong and competent. But I must submit, I must obey. “Yes, Papa, please help me.”

The room is quiet now, not uncomfortably so, but quiet nonetheless.

Finally I ask, “Papa, this destiny that you talk about, I am scared. Every time I have heard people speak of their destiny, I hear them speak of terrible hardship and pain. Yes, they have said that You brought them through, but it has always sounded awful and I am scared.”

“I know you are scared. But know this child, my children do not go through more pain on the way to their destiny than those who are running from Me. They tell of their pain because it is a memorial stone to what they have done, the growth and maturity they have gained. It is not a bad memory they want to run and hide from, but a reminder of what they have gained. So they talk about it and it sounds like they have walked through great difficulties, worst that you are willing to bear. The meaning of it all though is different to them.”

I shake my head; this is hard to understand. “I have always believed that serving You meant asking for that pain and it has frightened me. It has made me fear that You would take from me the things that are dearest just because You—well You did those things as a matter of course. I’m sorry I have looked at you that way, Papa.”

“I know, child, I know.” His kind voice is soothing to my troubled spirit. “That is why I want you to know I love you and I want you to trust in My love.”

“How? There is so little love that I do trust…” The words tumble out before I can stop them. I do not like to hear this truth spoken out loud though.

“That is not as true as you think.” He counters without anger. “There are loves that you do trust in. You do know how to do this. Let me into that circle of trust.”

“How, Papa, tell me how.” Desperation tinges my voice.

“Oh, child,” He sighs, stroking my cheek gently with His thumb. “You are so close. Your heart is so close to this. There is one last key that you did not give Me when you gave Me the keys to your heart.”

“There is another key? I honestly thought I gave You all of them. I do not even know what the key is for.”

“”It is the key that unlocks an attic room where your dearest treasure is kept. You wear the key around your neck.”.

I am surprised to find there is a thread around my neck and on it hangs a tiny key. Looping two fingers around the thread, I try to break it, but it does not break! I try to lip it over my head, but cannot. I can find no know to untie. I do not understand how to give it to Him, although I truly want to do just that.

“How do I do this, Papa? Do I cut the thread with the sword? I do not understand.”

“No, not the sword. The thread must be burnt away in the flame.” He explains.

“But how?”

“I must take the coal from the fire and burn it away.” He speaks slowly and deliberately now, knowing the weight of what He speaks.

I swallow hard, but do not hesitate. “Please, Papa do it—I want to give this to You. I am not afraid of the flame if it is in your hands. Burn away what you must. I trust You.”

Tenderly, He presses my face in His hand as He hugs me. Helping me to my feet, He takes my arms and walks toward the fireplace with me. The blaze is very hot, its strength frightening.

Suddenly I know what is in that attic room! It is a portrait of myself! It is the very core of who and what I am. With access to that, He can repaint that portrait. This is what I fear the most, finding out I am not what He wants and being required to become something that I just cannot be. Unconsciously, I clutch at the key, my flesh does not want to give this up. I chew at my lower lip, struggling not to yield to Him.

Through it all, He waits for me, not taking anything by force. His wait is patient, not driving me or manipulating with guilt.

I try to force my hands off the thread, but cannot. “Papa, burn my hands if you must! Please, I give You this key! Take it from me as I cannot!” I whisper in desperation.

He takes a coal from the fire. I stiffen in anticipation. He surprises me as he takes the coal to the left side of my throat to a large raised scar that I did not know was there. He pressed the coal to the thread, pressing it into the scar.

The pain courses through me as I search to understand the nature of this scar, this wound of long ago. Finally I can see that it is fear! But of what?

I see a little girl whose daddy is always away and when he is home his is not accessible, too tired, asleep. She is afraid daddy is not there for her, that he won’t be there when she needs.

“Papa! Forgive me for this view of You. I have been afraid You would not be there for me! Forgive me!.” Suddenly the thread breaks and the key is in my hands. Without a word, He removes the coal and returns it to the fire. The burned scar throbs; I shut my eyes to hide from the pain.

“Wait here for Me, do not move.” He instructs. He seems to take a long, long time to return. I want to look for Him, to wander from this place, bit I fight to obey.

“Here,” it is His voice once again! He presses something into my hands. I fight to open my eyes, but still cannot see it.

“Papa, I cannot see…” I stammer, confused and a little frightened.

“Let Me put salve over your wound.” Gently He smoothes His fragrant salve over my neck and shoulder. The coolness immediately begins to relieve the pain. I feel myself relax and almost fall. Struggling to keep my feet, I clutch at His arm for balance.

He is there! I suddenly realize, when I blindly reached out without looking or checking to see, He was thee!

“Yes, daughter, I am always here.” He presses something into my hands once again. I am finally able to see. It is a small gold mirror. “It is for you to see yourself through my eyes. When we look at the portrait you keep, I want you to be able to see what I see as well.” He explains.

Though curious, I cannot bring myself to look into that mirror now. In spite of the ache in causes in my burned neck and shoulder, I press the tiny key into His hands.
“Please, take this now, too, Papa. I want you to have this key too.”

He takes it as though I have given Him a great treasure, polishing it and adding it to the other keys in the velvet wrap. “This is a treasure to Me, child. It is all you have to give.” He says somberly, as if to warn me from belittling my offering to Him. “Place the mirror the cabinet for now. It is not time to go to the attic now.”

I obey, but slowly because of the pain in my neck and shoulder.

“Come sit with Me again.” He sits and once again draws Me to Him, bidding me to rest upon His shoulder. I am grateful and I fall asleep in His arms.

Part 2-->

Chapter 22: Broken glass pt 4

2006-04-16T21:38:00.000-07:00

He leads me to His chair. I sit at His feet, my back to the fire, facing Him. He is still holding my torn hands. “You believe that those who hurt you faced no consequences, that they have been blessed in spite of what they did to you. But you confuse My gifts and calling that are irrevocable, with My blessings that are often conditional. Let Me show you.”

He shows me images of consequences each has paid related to their behavior toward me. I do not know if they know the relationship, but it is there. Then He reminds me of the abundance of blessing I have received. I realize once again how blessed I am and how very blind I have been.

“Papa, forgive me, I did not see, forgive me!” I rest my head on His knew. “Thank You for showing me.”

“You are forgiven child. That is why I am teaching you.”

“I though I had forgiven all this. I don’t understand why is this still here?”

“Forgiveness does not heal the pain, it only opens the door to begin the healing process. You just pushed the pain down and never sought healing for it. It is time now for healing.”

Once again I feel so very angry about all that happened, so betrayed, so angry, so wronged. I do not want to keep carrying it around, but I also do not want to open the doors to it all happening to me again.

“There is no sin in your anger, but do not allow it to become sin.” He carefully explains. He seems so aware of my pain, so attentive to it. “Your wounds are real, child and have cut you to the core of your being. I want to bring you healing.”

“How—what must I do?” I stammer. The pain is a familiar companion and I am tempted to let it stay. But no, He does not want that and I must obey. I want and listen, though reluctantly. I want to hide, to withdraw, not to wait on His reply. My mind races with ways to run and hide. But I stay.

“First, you must want to be healed. You have been defining yourself with this pain of yours now. A large part of you does not want to let it go.” He finally replies, squeezing my wounded hands gently, as if to remind me He is still holding them.

I sigh heavily, His words challenge me. He is right, I do not really want to let it go. “Papa, forgive me, I do want to be rid of this. I am tired of being the martyr. I do not want it any more and I want to be free.”

“Good,” He rises from the chair and helps me to my feet. Still holding my hands, He puts His arm around my shoulder, “Come, let us go outside.”

He walks with me outside into the courtyard within the castle walls. It is still barren. Though there is sunlight, no plants are growing, only barren dry soil and dust.

“This courtyard is the place you wear all the pain, the place you are keeping it. It is a lifeless and forbidding place that people have to cross to reach your heart. Letting Me heal your pain means transforming this courtyard into a place where you can bring others, an inviting and welcoming place.”

I look out over the yard again. It is such a contrast to the garden, so lush and green beyond the castle walls. “I want to change it, Papa. I do not know how.” My voice seems so small n this place, wounded and dejected.

“Come then. We will begin here.” We walk to a spot just beside the gates that open out to the bridge. He hands me a fat seed like the ones He showed me what seems like so long ago. “Plant this.”

I take the seed in my hand and it round several times. I wonder what will grow from it. I try to dig a whole with my hands, but the ground is too dry and hard.

“Use the sword.” He instructs.

I obey, recalling the word of Ps. 51:12: Restore to me the joy of Your salvation and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me.

The soil gives easily under the sword. I place the fat seed into the hole.

“Water it now.”

The moat around the castle is the nearest source of water. So I cross the bridge and cup water into my hands. The water is cool and soothing on my wounded hands. Carefully, I take back the water and pour it over he planted seed. The water has washed the blood from my hands and I can see the wounds begin to close.

“There must be something now to fill the void left by the pain. This will grow up to take the place of that pain. It will grow quickly.” He nods at me. I think He is pleased.

Placing His arm around my shoulders again, He guides me back inside to the study once again.
“Now, look into the remaining boxes.” He instructs, turning me toward them and guiding me gently there.

I do not want to look at them again I already feel like I am hurting enough right now. As I peek into the first and then the second box, I am astonished to find that there is no more broken glass! “I don’t understand, Papa, what happened?”

“In confronting these issues, you have released all of it. You no longer have to carry it around, unless you choose to pick it up again.”

“No I don’t want it back! “ I hurriedly reply. “What should I do with these though? The pictures are all framed, but I am sure I do not want to display these images.” The elegantly framed pictures are not ones I want to look at continually. Even without the broken glass, they are painful to see.

“You are right, these are not for display. Take them out of the frames, out of the places of prominence. Stack them and put them in the drawer under the book stand. There you can keep them safely. You can hold on to what you have learned, but keep it in the shadow of My Word.

Looking at the pictures as little as possible, I quickly obey, putting the painful images into the drawer. “What should I do with these?” I ask, pointing to the now empty boxes.

“Burn them, the frames too. There is no need to hold on to such things.”

Some of the frames are very beautiful. I feel a pang or regret at destroying them. Realizing my feelings, I hurry to obey, lest I become distracted and fail to do as He bids me.

“Come sit with Me.” He invites as the fire flares brightly, consuming all it has been offered. He sits down and draws me into His lap once again. It feels good to have his arms around me once more. I feel safe here; finally I feel I can rest.

“I will give you rest, daughter. And I will bless you in the coming days. You will sow seeds that will reap a plentiful and significant harvest. You will see the move of My hand and the favor of your Father in rich and abundant ways.”

“Thank you, Papa,” I whisper.

“Now, rest in Me.”

Chapter 23

Chapter 22: Broken glass pt 3

2006-04-16T21:34:00.000-07:00

We walk back to the fireplace, His hand gently on my shoulder. I sit beside to box again and must my courage to look within. The topmost picture is large. The simple frame is intact, but the glass is broken into large, wickedly sharp shards. The picture is a collage of our move from old house and of people, from the church, who were involved in that process.. Memories and the pain from them come flooding back. Broken promises, promises that we would not be damaged by certain people who broke contract with us. Feelings of blame for expecting integrity, feeling blamed for the whole thing because of my expectations; no accountability, no repentance, no consequences.

Even now, the feelings are so fresh! I am so angry, so hurt. I cannot help but weep. How could You let this happen? How could You condone this? How could You bless them for this?” I am livid, even at Him. The strength of my reaction surprises me; I cannot contain it any longer. I begin to curse them at the top of my lungs. “Damn them! Damn them!” I am too hurt and too angry to even be afraid of His reaction. Tears are flowing freely down my cheeks, falling into my hands, burning the cuts from the broken glass. Trying to brush them away, I only manage to smear blood from my hands across my face.

I feel His hand gently on my shoulder. “You know, you must break those curses.” He tells me softly. There is no anger in His voice, only compassion.

Part of my –my anger-wants to argue, but I do not. Over each one, I whisper,” I repent Papa, for cursing them. I break that curse over them, I break that curse. I bless them now. Bless them Papa, bless them to overcome the curse….” My words fade into bitter weeping and I turn to Him, “You have blessed them, blessed them in spite of what they have done. They experienced no consequences—it didn’t matter. There was not price to be paid for what they did. None of that mattered to You!” Part of me cannot believe my own boldness in this moment. “What they did to me did not matter to You and You blessed them!” I hang my head now, whispering, “I want Your blessing too—I want to ask for Your blessing too. But after all that has happened, how can I expect…” I cannot finish through my tears.

His response is gentle and simple. “Ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find…”

“I want your blessing, Papa—please bless me, too.” My voice is breathy and weak, I can manage no more than that.

He squeezes my shoulder in His strong hand. “Release the pain to Me.” His instruction is firm.

I stare through my tears at my hands, torn and bloody, full of broken glass. “Why? What did it matter then? What difference did it make? I did not matter then, what does it matter now?” My hands close convulsively around the glass driving it deeper into my palms.

“It did matter then, child. It mattered very much. I was there with you in all of those moments, let me show you.”

I see images: a cowardly half apology, one blaming me for expecting better from others. But this time He is in the picture and I can see He is not pleased, I even see tears.
It is so clear now, He was not pleased, not condoning, not blessing it all. He was unhappy with it all. This was not what He desired!

“Let it go now.” He tells me again.

Purposefully, I begin to throw the glass shards into the fire, watching the flames flare with each addition. Finally my hands are empty, but there are shards embedded in my hands and I cannot remove them. The pain intensifies and I can think of only one things to do. I hold my hands out to Him, wordlessly as I have nothing left to say.

He takes my hands in His with a healing gentleness and begins the work of removing all the slivers from my hands. The process takes a long time. When finally He is finished, He keeps my hands in His left and takes my chin in His right hand. He lifts my chin to look into my face. With incredibly delicacy He begins to clean the blood off my face, removing tiny glass shards from my cheeks, my eyes and even my ears, and throwing them into the fire.

His compassion only brings me to tears once more and I silently weep again. He lets me cry myself out. Finally, He speaks again,” I have blessed you my child, more than you understand. I have given you abundance as your expectation. Come let Me teach you.”

Part 4-->

Chapter 22: Broken glass pt 2

2006-04-16T21:28:00.000-07:00

I find His last statement confusing and contrary to what I have been taught. I had been told over and over that “God doesn’t care about your happiness, He cares about your perfecting. I just knew my happiness was irrelevant, something that just should not, did not matter to a real Christian. I’d been taught not to consider it, not to dwell on it. I cannot grasp what He is talking about. “I don’t understand, Papa, you care about that?” The words pour out before I can censor them.

“Yes I do. Is not the fruit of the Spirit joy?”

Joy? Happiness? He really means actually being happy? Somehow the concept never before seemed possible. I has always assumed that I was too imperfect to ever be at a point where I could be happy and also be pleasing Him.

“Yes, Happy with a real joy beyond what the world portrays as happiness. A deep contentment and security in my love and goodness. You cannot have that in the midst of all this pain an your belief that I approve and sanction it all.”

“So all this is not pleasing to You? This was not the way you wanted me to feel, not what you wanted me to understand? This was not to be the fruit of my service?” My feelings pour painfully out as I hit the core of a deeply held belief.

“How could those things, the wounds, the pain, be the legitimate fruit of the good seed you have sown? No these are not your fruits. They are the weeds growing among the harvest. Your harvest has barely been touched. The painful wounds have stood in the way of gathering even a fraction of it.

“Child, I have wept and mourned with you over these things even when you had no tears left to cry. Every wound, each blow to your heart and spirit I have felt in myself. Even when you did not know and understand the damage, you just felt the dull throb of the wounds, I was there beside you, offering comfort that you did not know how to receive.

“Receive that now from Me. Let Me share in taking the pain from you and leave in its place the growth and strength that you have gained through it. I want you to grow past all this now, grow into more and greater things.”

“Yes, Papa, “ I whisper, my eyes misty with tears. I need time to process all He has just said. “I will, I will.”

I find myself still struggling with the idea that He is concerned with my happiness. I never really knew I was allowed or even supposed to be happy.

“You are thinking as a servant.” He explains. “The servant’s happiness is irrelevant to the master. You are more than a servant. You are my child and my friend.
I want you see you walk in a joy that will be your strength. Your strength has come from determination, from sheer stubbornness and your ability to set pain aside. You have come to a point where you are weary and what once was sufficient is no longer enough. My joy is to be your strength now. Let it replace that pain.”

A tear quietly slides down my cheek, followed by another and another. I am wary. My own strength is not enough to continue. I really do want what He offers.

“Come to the windows with Me.” He takes my hand to help me up and guides me to the tall windows. He stands behind me as I look out on the grove, the tree and the waterfall. Pulling me to Him, He wraps His arms around me. “This is your promise that you will not be disappointed. It is our place of meeting where we will always be reconciled.

I realize that in my fear of disappointment, the pain I already know is easier to hold than the fear of losing happiness. The pain of the disappointment is so great that I must avoid it at all costs.

“Expect abundance now, daughter.” His voice intrudes on my innermost thoughts.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the coins in their place in the cabinet.
“You are fighting against it even now..” He continues.

I look down, surprised to find myself guarding against His embrace.

“You do not have to fight this any longer. I will not disappoint you or leave you or turn you away.”

I know I must make a choice at this moment, I must make a statement of faith, the feeling just do not conform. “I will not fight against this joy any longer. I will receive what you are trying to give me. Forgive me, Papa, for fighting you for so long.” I stop pushing His arms away and begin pulling them into me.

“The joy that I have to you is not a joy that resides in the things of the flesh. It is a deeper lasting strength, born of a confidence in my loving kindness. What I give you now is only a small portion of what I have for you. I give it to you now to strengthen you in going through those remaining boxes.”

I hear the pleasure in His voice as He explains this to me. The knots in my belly feel like they are being undone. As the ache within in is fading away a new strength and energy is taking its place. I find my thoughts freed to consider what there was not room or energy for before. “This is what you mean? This is what you want for me?” I ask, feeling a little weak in the release of the inner tension.

“Yes, little one,” He kisses the top of my head. “This and more. There will be room for more when you release to Me the pain you carry.”

He was right, I needed this because now I truly want to let it all go to Him. I can face going through the old hurts having tasted what He promises on the other side.
“Come then, let us begin again.”

Part 3-->

Chapter 22: Broken glass, pt 1

2006-04-16T21:24:00.000-07:00

“Give Me what is hurting you here.” His kind voice breaks me out of my reverie.
I do not understand, but then I see a framed picture on the window sill. The frame has no glass in it and in my hands I hold the shards of the broken glass from the frame. The image is of the time of hurt and loneliness. The sharp shards are cutting into my hands.

“Give that part to Me. Keep the image, but give the pain to Me.”

I hand Him the broken glass, relieved to get it away from me. Taking it from me, He strides to the fireplace and tosses the glass into the fire. The flames blaze for a moment, consuming what He has fed them.

He beckons me to come to Him; I stand with Him there in from of the fire in a gentle silence. He puts Him arm around me and I find that the consuming aches is gone.

Then I see something I have not seen before. He is there with me in my pain. I am not and never was alone. His tear—He felt my pain, it meant something to Him; my pain was important to Him.

“I never knew, Papa!” I never understood it really matters to you, I did not know you really cared about my hurt so much. I never knew it mattered to you!” The image of His tear is burned in my mind. I cannot shake the testament to my hurt.

“You are forgiven,” He says, hugging me, reminding me that He is there. “I am here.”

“Papa, may I—I would like to give you something more.” I find in my hands another picture, the glass shattered. The picture is that of a woman who’s words cut through my heard, devastated me to the core. “I want to give this to You as well.”

Quietly, He takes the broken glass from me, adding it to the fire as before. We watch the flames until they subside somewhat.

Finally, He says,” There is a lot of hurt stored up in you, hurt related to my body, to your service to Me. I do not want you to continue to carry it with you. I want to take it from you, to heal you and make you whole. I do not want you to be alone in this any longer.”

I consider what He has said. Although I want what He describes, it is a frightening proposition none the less. I look at the fire once again. “Yes, Papa, I do want to give all of those shattered feelings to You.” I finally reply.

His arm tightens around me briefly. Then He walks me over to a large box full of framed pictures placed near the windows. I sit beside the box; He crouches beside me. The pictures in the box are very old. Each one a moment, a memory, a person. And in each one, the glass is cracked, some just slightly, some totally shattered.

I look at each picture, removing the glass. At first, He has me put the shards in he fire myself, but soon my hands are full of shards imbedded in my palms. Too full of the memories to speak, I wordlessly hold my hands out to Him. Tenderly, he takes my hands in Him and carefully removes the shards, tossing them in the fire. With His thumbs, He strokes the wounds until they are gone.

I continue going through the pictures of the old church, the division, the loss of relationships, people who wounded me, situations we served in. The further down I go in the box, the tinier the glass shards seem to be. It feels like there is glass everywhere, filling the box, all over the floor and my hands and arms. I separate the pictures from the glass and frames, setting the images aside and filling the box with what remains.

“Can we just put the whole box in the fire?” I ask, my hands raw and bleeding again from the viciously sharp edges of the glass. He nods, but first takes my hands to heal them once more. Then He helps me move the box beside the fire.

“We must pick up what remains, lest you continue to be injured by it all.” He gestures to the floor covered by glittering fragments. I realize that the sandals He gave me have once again enabled me to walk through what He has told me to do.

It takes a long time to clean up all the fragments, even with His help. I never knew how much I was carrying. Only with His strength am I amble to heave the heavy box into the fireplace.

The flames flare brightly as they consume the box and the glass. As the flames die down, He says, “There is more.” He shows me two more boxes, as large and full as the first.

Sighing, I cannot help but protest, “Can’t we just toss the whole thing?” I really do not want to look at what is there. I know the pain and do not want to deal with it.”

“No child,” He shakes His head patiently, “There is much that you have learned, much that I have taught you, much maturity and growth in these boxes, in these pictures. It would not be right to throw that all away. There is good amidst the pain.”

“Yes, Papa,” If He says that there is good in those boxes, then I do not want to lose it. I must do it all His way, not my own. Although tempted, I will not negotiate or try to do this my way. His way is best.

Sitting beside the closer box, I begin to sort its contents. The pictures in this box seem larger, clearer than the one n the last box. They are more recent, the glass broken into large, wickedly sharp, dagger like slivers.

He stops me before I take the first pictures out. “Do you know why I am doing this, daughter? He asks.

“No, not really. It seems like a good thing to do…” I stammer my uncertain reply.

“It is because I do not want you carrying this around anymore. I want you healed. I want you whole. I want you to be happy.”

Part 2-->

Chapter 21: The second box, pt 4

2006-04-16T21:09:00.000-07:00

I find I am grateful to sit down again and lean against His leg, resting my head on His knee. In this moment of quiet, I star into the fire, reflecting on that has been happening. The changes are huge in some ways, so hard to see in others.

I feel His hand lightly rest on my head, occasionally stroking my hair. I am reminded of the strength of His hands. They are so very very strong, yet never has He hurt me with those hands. Nor with His words either, I realize. He has corrected, rebuked, and it was painful, but the pain was in the truth of His words, not in hurtful words. Truly, even though He could have, He has never hurt me, never even turned His face from me, though there was every reason for Him to do so.

“Share your heart with Me.” He is not demanding, but gentle in His request from me.

Funny how these words have always seemed to be a prelude to His correction. I cannot resist His invitation though, and begin to pour out my hurts over a deep wound caused by His body. I am honest and hold nothing back. It was a terrible moment when I felt abandoned and alone. I desperately needed help and support and the body did not care for its own.

“It is time to come clean with me on this…” He says with a touch of firmness in His voice.

The hurt is welling up inside me and I cannot contain it further. “Papa! I thought I had forgiven. I really believed that I had. But it still hurts! I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. Was it alright that these things happened? You took care of me, of my family, provided all that we needed. You comforted me though it all. Does that make it all right what happened? Am I wrong to be hurt?” I have not said this to anyone before, the boldness scares me a bit, but honestly compels me now.

His answer comes slowly. “No, no it is not all right. This is not the way I desire my body to function. Your hurt is real hurt over real wounds.” He looks at me for a long moment. “Let Me heal you now.”

It takes me a long time to answer. “I want to, Papa. But I am afraid. If you take this from me, I fear I will be empty within. The emptiness is worse than the hurt.” I hang my head, ashamed at my fear.

“I will not leave you empty.” He reassures, His firm grip on my shoulders reminding me that He is there.

“Then, yes, Papa, please, please heal this ache in me. I glance up and see a tear on His cheek! I am surprised and do not quite understand.

He gently draws me close to Him, embracing me. As my head is pressed to His chest, I feel His tear on my cheek.

“Take it, and place it on your heart,” He tells me. I do as He bids. “Know that I am there with you even in your hurt.”

Suddenly I realize the hurt I am feeling is really an overwhelming sense of aloneness. I have felt alone and isolated even in the midst of His body. I glance out the windows into the garden and notice for the first time that it is empty. I am alone here. In the distance I see the shadows of people beyond the fence. For the first time I can recall, I do not want to be alone anymore.

“I am ready to stop being alone now,” I whisper.

“Soon, child, soon,” He tells me.

The ache in my heart remains though. I am not sure of what to say.

“Let Me into your hurt.” He whispers gently. “Let Me share that hurt with you. You do not have to be alone in this.”

I feel my walls finally break. I cry into His chest. As I weep, I feel His arms around me. He is with me. I can feel the trace of His tear on my cheek. For the first time I feel I am no longer alone.

Chapter 22-->

Chapter 21: The second box, pt 3

2006-04-16T21:07:00.000-07:00

As I do, I see that little girl, longing for attention, empty. She sees the attention received by the baby and believes that the only way she will receive attention again is to attach herself to that baby, mothering it. Certain that no one will give her what she needs, she will glean what she can, but will never be filled.

The image brings to tears as I see the depths of my heart revealed before me. I have struggled with the issue of attention for a very long time. I always claimed that I did not desire it, that I wanted to avoid it, but it never felt entirely true.

Now the truth stands before me. I long for, even crave attention. Even now I feel empty for its lack. Yet I cannot seek it, cannot ask for it, I must hold back lest I be refused and disappointed again.

“Papa, forgive me!” I cry, despairing. I do not know how to submit this longing to Him. Part of me wants desperately to release this all to Him. But another part is so afraid that if I do I will be left empty and unnoticed, rejected all over again.

In this moment, He covers me again, clothing me in His righteousness. “Now that you see, you need not remain uncovered.” He explains, drawing me to Himself. As He embraces me, He continues, “There is no sin in wanting attention. It is part of the normal human needs. There is no sin there to forgive.”

The revelation brings me to tears. He leads me to the chairs, sits and draws me into His lap, holding me closely. “The sin is in your belief that it is wrong and must be denied and in the vows and judgments you have made that no one would give you attention and that you were not worth of it yourself.”

Brokenheartedly, I cry, “Forgive me, Papa! I have believed those things! I repent, change my heart! Show me how to receive. Please, touch and fill this emptiness!” I see how even when it is there, I run from the attention I crave, believing somehow that is it not right for me to have it. Yet others seek me out because I know how to pay attention to them, all the while I crave that very thing for myself. I see too how He has placed me in a family of men who do attend to me constantly and I have not truly received that because of these wounds. “Forgive me for rejecting the very thing I crave, that You have given to me!”

He places His hand gently on my heart and I feel something being cut, ties from disappointment to rejection. “As you begin to receive the attention you need, the habits connecting these will break down as well.” He explains.

“Thank you, Papa,” My heart aches right now, but in a new way. The pain is real, but it seems to be a growing, healing kind of pain, not the stabbing cutting ache that destroys from within.

“Get me the oil I gave you.” He directs, helping me to rise.

My footfalls make little sound as I go to the cabinet to fetch the flask. I pause for a moment, reminding myself of the new expectations that are represented there. Quickly, though, I return with the flask. It does not seem a large bottle, but He pours it liberally into His hands, rubbing it lightly between them.

He takes my face carefully in His hands, rubbing the fragrant oil into my face and hair. I breathe in the perfume deeply. The delicate scent is that of morning, sunrise with blooming flowers-orange blossoms I think- in the distance. This oil is light, not weighty like the other. Continuing His ministrations, He rubs in into my neck, shoulders, and finally into my heart. A lightness begins to seep in, penetrating the weight I have been carrying, easing the burden so it is not so hard to bear.

“My yoke is easy and my burden light, child. I know what you need and have never desired you to be without that. Your sin has caused you to believe a lie, that I would starve my children of what they truly needed as a requirement of righteousness.”

Again, I see how much I have misunderstood Him and repent. ”Forgive Me, Papa for not trusting your goodness, for believing the lies about You.”

Taking my face in His hands again, He kisses the top of my head. “You are forgiven, child.” He presses His cheek to my head now, holding me in tender embrace.
Inwardly, I struggle to stay here.

“Do not pull away from Me,” He whispers gently, His embrace still firm and secure. Your flesh is trying to go back into old habits and responses to pain. Fight it, fight to stay here with Me.”

As always, He knows my heart, He is right. It is my flesh struggling with the new revelations, trying to fight the changes happening around it. The call of these old ways is strong and my heart struggles not to go down those paths. Familiar thoughts threaten to creep in, feelings beckon to me.

“Focus on Me,” He instructs, “Put your mind, your eyes on Me.” He still holds my face firmly in His hands, His head resting on mine. Without thinking I reach up and take hold of His wrists—His hands are so large and strong and yet so gentle! I am holding on to Him, not to pull away, but for strength. We stand like this for a very long time, me struggling to focus on Him and not the old ways, Him giving me strength to fight to remain here with Him.

Finally, finally, I feel the pull of the old things weaken, temptations to run and hide from Him lose their appeal. “It is working, Papa.” I whisper, not willing yet to move my hands from His.

“Yes, it is. But do not yet lose your focus.” He replies softly. So we remain still longer.

Finally, He kisses the top of my head again. “Well done, child. Because you have stayed and obeyed, no wedge has come between us.

“The repentance moment is easy. The rebuilding, tearing down the old structures and creating new is the more difficult part.” His voice is tender as He holds me and we walk back to the chairs.

part 4-->

Chapter 21: The second box, pt 2

2006-04-16T21:01:00.000-07:00

“Disappointment and rejection are deeply intertwined for you. They need to be disconnected.” He explains. “It will require some correction.” There is no anger in His voice, but rather a tenderness that belies the difficulty of His corrections.

“What ever it takes, Papa, please, I am ready for whatever it takes.” I whisper swallowing hard against the anticipation.

He nods, thoughtfully. Quietly, he shows me a picture of a little girl, disappointed by the lack of attention from parents exhausted by a new baby. Already feeling threatened, rejected, this feeds her sense of being unwanted and alone.

“First you must forgive them.” He instructs.

I obey, releasing them from all that I have perceived.

“Look again, there is more.” He encourages me.

part 3-->

Chapter 21: The second box, pt 1

2006-04-16T20:59:00.000-07:00

Soon we are in my chambers again, sitting by the fireplace, glowing warmly, with the second box in my lap. I open it to search for the next object. Inside the box I find a large book. It is leather bound, with gold print that I cannot read. Perhaps a journal? I open it—it is a hand written cook book! A cook book? I have to laugh. After the recent events, it seems a strange object to find.

As I examine it more closely, I see that the handwriting is my own! The recipes are familiar, many that I have developed myself! The book is almost full-only two or three blank pages remain. “Papa, please help e understand this,” I ask Him, truly uncertain of what to make of it all.

He takes the book from me, flipping through it a moment, smiling. “This belongs downstairs, come, I will explain there.” He leads me back down the stairs towards the kitchen. We stop though, at the large shelf placed in front of the sealed basement door. Smiling, he carefully places the book on the self.

“This cookbook is what you will use to feed the guests who come here to dine.” He explains. “It is filled with what you have learned, experienced and worked on. From this you will pour out to my people.”

As He says this, it seems I can only see the rows of empty shelves and the one tiny book from which to draw. I am so unprepared! “Papa, please, will you fill these shelves for me/” I stammer, feeling so inadequate.

“With what?” He asks.

“Fill it with what will draw people to You!” Fill it with those thins which will cause them to think of the creator not the cook! The one who made the apple, not the one who cut it up. Let all eyes be on you and not me!”

I feel His smile, He is please, I can feel it so clearly. He nods, “Yes, I will do this and above and beyond what you have asked. I am pleased.” He holds me close for a moment. “Come, let us go to the study—there is more on your heart to share with Me.”

Together we walk down the hallway, through the foyer to the study. Still, it is my favorites place, I think. I love to listen, to hear His voice, just to sit beside Him and be in His presence. We sit beside the fire, He in the chair, I on the floor beside him. There are things weighing on my heart, heaviness from the day upon me.

“Share your heart with Me.” He invites warmly, making me feel safe and welcome.

“I’m not sure where to start.” I begin, but soon the words are tumbling forth unrestrained. It is easy to talk with Him. He listens to me, so closely, so attentively, I don’t know when I have been so truly heard.
part2-->

Chapter 20: Submission, pt 4

2006-04-16T20:44:00.000-07:00

Taking my arm now, He leads me to long way back through the castle. The freshness of the morning and the sparkle of the early morning dew makes the garden glimmer like a fairy tale—a very different place than it was just a month ago. I am shaken from my reverie as I realize He is leading me to the study. My heart leaps! I so love that place with Him.

Walking in, I do not know what to expect. My hands are full and I do not know what to do with the objects I carry.

“Place them in the cabinet by the windows.” He instructs, gesturing toward the elegant curio cabinet.

The large cabinet stands elegantly between the two bright windows. Glass on three sides and mirrored behind, it holds the faceted bottle of oil, placed there not so very long ago. I find myself smiling at the remembrance of it. He helps me to open the curved glass door. Carefully I place each object, save the ring which I wear, on the empty glass shelves of the cabinet.

“Here they will be before you, reminding you constantly.” He explains.

As He speaks I look at the shelves and see that they are far from being full. There is so much more they are able to contain. I am encouraged.

“Come sit by Me.” He directs, seating Himself in a chair by the fireplace.

Contentedly I sink into the deep wool of the dark sheepskin rug at His feet. I want to rest my head on His knee, but find I still cannot. Instead I sit very close, not quite touching Him, staring with Him into the fire.

We sit quietly for a while, peaceful in the silence. Finally, He places a hand on my shoulder and draws me closer to lean on Him, inviting me to rest my head on His knee. Tears fill my eyes as I submit to His invitation. And it is now that I am resting on Him that He begins to speak and to teach me.

“Humility,” He speaks the word and pauses, letting it hang heavily in the air. “You have not understood humility. It is tied to submission, but there is more than that. It is not about beating yourself up, making yourself unworthy and unfit in your own mind so that you put others first because you see no value in yourself. It is about seeing and knowing the value I place in you and in the light of that choosing to honor another more highly than yourself. The first is truly a work of the flesh, the other of the spirit. To balance both the knowledge and the honor is truly the work of the Spirit.”

He has answered a question which had, until now, remained unasked. I know there was a taste of this understanding in the first place of rebuke with Him, but it was not complete then. Now I see that only in submission to all of His word can true humility ever be found. And it is even more complicated that I knew before.

He lets me chew on this a while before He continues. “Stand up.” He gently instructs. I obey. “Look in the mirror.” He gestures to a large mirror over the fireplace mantle. “Tell me what you see.”

I look up into the mirror as He directs but it is a long time before I can speak. The picture I see is almost too full for words.

I see a bride, as I had see before. I cannot yet see her as myself, that is still a leap too far. She is beautiful though, dressed head to toe in stunning white, with rare jewels to match. Suddenly though, I see something more. I see a bride who has nothing to offer her groom, no name, no family, no dowry. But the groom loved this bride so dearly, so deeply He would not be deterred. He went to His Father and explained the problem. Out of love for the Son, the Father Himself dressed the bride in her bridal clothes. He provided for her a dowry of gold coins and gems so that she would not come to her groom empty handed. He placed a ring on her finger and adopted her into His own family, giving her His name, for the sake of His name. The Father provided all this so that all would see the glory of the bridge groom in the splendor of His bride. All for the bride who had nothing, all because of love.

The picture leaves me speechless. I understand even more clearly now what He has done and the overwhelming depth of love He has for me. Still without words to say, I glance at Him. In His hand there is a flask, of oil, I think.

“Let me anoint you,” He says. I nod, wondering what this is. The oil is heavy, with a rich heavy fragrance. He pours it over my head and it drips down to cover me. Setting the flask aside, He takes my face in His hands, rubbing the oil in gently with His thumbs, over my ears and into my hair, my neck and shoulders. He pauses, “Open your robes that I may rub this into your scars, so they will not hinder you.”

Without a second thought, I obey. Soon He works the fragrant oil into the newly formed scars across my belly and over my back and shoulders, ending with my feet and hands. I am overwhelmed and overcome with His goodness. His kindness is too much for words to express. I fall to my knees at His feet, crying and wishing I had something to offer Him at this moment, to be at His feet, empty-handed again just seems wrong.

“But you have not been empty handed.” He interjects, “Your offerings have been dear to Me.”

“What have I given You?” I ask, perplexed.

From within His robes, He removes a package of white velvet and opens it to reveal a polished key. “You have given me the key to this place,” He reminds me, carefully returning it to His robes, “ and it is dear to Me. I am pleased.”

His words ease my distress. Finally, He helps me to my feet. I refasten my own robes.

“Let’s return upstairs to finish unpacking,” He tells me. I take His arm and He leads me upstairs. On the way, it seems the halls and the foyer have become less dusty and more bright.
Chapter 21

Chapter 20: Submission, pt 3

2006-04-16T20:39:00.000-07:00

When I wake, I turn to look for Him, not knowing what to expect. He is there beside me. The relief is so profound it is almost physical. He is there! He looks at me as if knowing my heart is filled with more questions than answers. He nods, offering to answer my need to know.

“What has happened—I do not think I fully understand, Papa.” I breath, just so glad to be at His side again. “Help me please. I just want to get this right, to please you, Papa.” I find I am staring at the ground now unable or unwilling really to lift my head and face Him.

Gently, He pats my hand, as if to acknowledge the difficulty and pain I currently feel. “Those two expectations would have destroyed everything you have fought for, everything you have attained. They would slowly eat you alive and would have succeeded had you not chosen to obey.” He explains.

I never knew the seriousness of it all, nor would I have believed it.

“To you, submission always has looked like losing everything, like someone trying to control you. So you have fled from it. Instead you created a flesh-based work that looked like submission. You learned the rules, expectations of each situation, anticipated and acted on them, making it appear that you were submitting when in truth you were calling the shots, choosing what you would do and manipulating what you would not. From the outside it looked good, but it was in truth all about your flesh.”

I feel the last bits of my old sense of self crumbling and falling through my fingers. His words hold nothing but truth, there is no denying any of it. “I repent Papa! You’re right, it’s true. I’m so sorry! I have always taken control never actually surrendered it.” I cry to Him. “Please show me how to do this your way. I don’t know how to do this, Papa! Help me!” I am devastated, my heart overpowered by an ache I’ve only felt in the darkness of the abyss. I feel the old patterns calling to me. I fight them off, though not well, wanting only to please Him.

Without words, He hands me the pearl that I had left upstairs on the table. “This is a pearl of great price.” He quietly explains, the anger gone from His voice now. Hearing this, I sigh with relief.

I take the pearl from Him, holding it in my palm and looking at it in the fresh morning light. How strange something like this could be built out of a wounding, a flaw and yet become so precious. For this first time, I see the pearl as the only gem that does not need cutting, polishing and finishing by man.

“This is how you must see yourself now. Though imperfect at the core, you are wrapped in layers of grace, provided you by nothing of your own. It is those layers of grace that give you value. Not anything you have done or anything you can lose. Nothing you can do will change your value. Your value is found in what I have created.”

Finally I begin to see! My value is tied in being His creation, who I am created by not what I am. Because I have been fashioned by His hands I have worth apart from everything else. Nothing no one can change that or take it from me. His work is always rare, precious and perfectly suite to His will.

“I will submit, Papa! I will obey You in this.” I whisper, unable to find anything to say, tears trickling down my cheeks.

“There is more,” He continues. He gives me a polished gold key. “You gave me the keys to your heart.” He reminds me. “For your last expectation, in return I give you the key to your dreams, your destiny.” He presses it into my hands with the pearl.

I am overcome, having no words to say at all. The only thing I can think, and it embarrasses me deeply, is that I do not now what my dreams are any more. I feel like I have let them all die. Suddenly I feel so lost I cannot help but cry. He pulls me into His arms and just lets me cry for a bit. Quietly He shows me the dreams that He has already brought to pass. Dreams of home and family, education and career, things that I was not really aware of any more.

“The dreams are there,” He whispers. “There is a person you struggle with; one who has caused you to believe theirs is the only destiny. But this one is not the only one with a destiny. I have a plan and destiny for you and it is not a secondary one. You are not a second choice, a left over or a make-due-with reject. I have a destiny for you of service to Me, to my people. Your hurts and expectations have made it difficult to dream and to see what I have for you, even to see that you are part of the promise of destiny, but I will show you. Open your heart to see and to dream. And those dreams will not be taken from you and given to another. They are for you and you are made for them.” His voice is soft in my ear, gentle on my aching soul.

I feel the tears flowing again in response to His words. No words seem complete right now. Finally, though the tears cease. He helps me to my feet, saying, “Gather your new expectations, it is time to go inside.”

We walk to the stone that has been the platform for all my expectations, old and new. With a slow deliberateness I begin to gather what He has given me. The feather, the tea-rose, the coins on the chain, the garnet together with the ring on my finger and the final two, the pearl and key. How very different from the bud vase of dead roses that we came with are the objects now in my hands. I realize that I still do not know the full extent of the changes within and it will be some time before I can understand it all.

part 4-->

Chapter 20: Submission, pt 2

2006-04-16T20:37:00.000-07:00

The fire there is lit and fills the chambers with a warm glow that drives back the evening shadows. He sits down in one of the chairs by the first. Although I still feel distant from Him because of what I have walking through during the day, I sit on the floor beside Him. I feel raw and wounded with a gnawing emptiness that stands in stark contrast to the warm richness of the room. I still have the two faded roses in my hand. I lay them aside, hoping that if I release them some of the emptiness will fade, but it does not.

Tenderly He reaches out to stroke my hair. “Your wounds have not fully healed, let Me tend them.”

“Yes, Papa,” I am confused. This is not what I had expected. Still, though, I am happy to obey His instruction, opening my robes to reveal the still healing wounds across my belly. I can see one of them is infected.

“Let me cleanse this.” He says, drawing me close. I nod and He begins. As He does, I see my mother and how, in my mind submission to her father cost her her dreams and her failure to submit again cost her everything else. Suddenly I realize that I am terrified if I submit it will cost me my dreams! I am terrified of hearing ‘NO’ because I am afraid of not having a chance at those dreams. But I do not even know what my dreams are at this point! I think my dreams—whatever they might be—are His already. I am so confused! “What are you asking me to submit to?” I finally whisper afraid that if I say it too loudly it will sound like rebellion.

He finishes His ministrations to my wounds and releases me. “Pick up the first of the two roses.”

As I do, a large pearl, one of great beauty, rolls out of the faded and crumbling petals into my hand.

“What is the pearl?” He asks.

“The product of an oyster’s irritation.” I answer, suddenly seeing what He means. It is my perception of myself, my hatred for myself, that is what He wants me to submit! Why is this so hard? I do not understand, by comparison everything else has been so easy.

“Burn the last two roses.” He directs without further explanation.

Slowly I place them in the fire and watch for a long time as they burn. They do not seem to catch flame, but rather they begin to glow and are consumed in that brilliance. I feel empty, unclean, reminded of my running away from Him. There is none of the hope or expectation of the past times. I know that the process is not complete, but I miss the optimism I felt before.

“What now, Papa?” I cannot take my eyes from the fire. “I feel so unclean.”

“There is still repentance to be done.” He explains, pausing for a moment now. He turns to look at me very somberly. “You are waiting for Me to push you, but you know the sin. You must come to Me. It is only when your sin is unknown that I will come and take you to the place of correction.”

His words hang heavily in the air between us. It is my choice now and I must find the strength to make it. Hanging my head, the words come pouring out, “I’m sorry Papa! I am sorry for not trusting you here. Forgive me for running and for where I have gone.” My throat is tight as I speak, tears overflowing.

“You are forgiven. Come down to the grove and wash,” He extends His hand to me.

Gratefully I take it and He leads me to the pool. I wash in the peacefully stillness of the moonlight for a long time. The velvet of the early night seems to wrap itself around me, comforting even as many stains are carried off in the water. Even still, as I leave the water to rejoin Him, there is still a wall between us.

“What is this wall? What will it take to get rid of it?” I ask in rising desperation.
“It will remain until you repent and obey.” He firmly explains. His tone makes it clear that there is no negotiation, no other alternative.

My guts freeze. This distance will remain until I submit! Briefly, but only briefly I weight the alternatives. The distance is infinitely worse than anything else I can think of, even submission.

“Papa, I repent, I repent! I will submit! I will-anything not to have this distance between us! I can’t bear it, being apart from you like this! Please, don’t turn away from me! Don’t turn away, please! I will submit! Please show me how!”

In the midst of my choking sobs, I do not realize that He has guided me back to the tree. Kind, even in His sternness, He helps me to brace myself against that familiar branch, to ready myself for His rebuke.

“You have been in rebellion to Me.” He begins, His voice angry and firm.

How I hate His anger! The words cut my like a knife. I had never seen my ‘pet’ sin as rebellion. After all, it was only myself that I was cutting down. Why would that be such a problem? But I have known deep within, for a long time now, that He had not approved and I have hung on to it still. Rebellion. The word still tears at me. I never knew, never thought I was ever in rebellion, especially to Him.

“You have insisted on your own will over mine.” He continues, his anger not abated.

I am broken as I see the picture now. I have failed to obey His command and to believe what He has said. The fact that that command regarded who and what I am doesn’t matter. Obedience is still required.

“You have called me a liar.” An even deeper anger becomes apparent in these words.

But it is the truth of the words that cuts through me like a knife. He is right and there is no defense. I cannot stop my tears. He is not finished with His rebuke even though I want to hear no more.

“By continually believing yourself ill-made, defective, by crucifying and tearing yourself down, tearing down what I have purposefully created as a vessel for My Spirit, you have profaned what is holy and sacred and made by My hands.”

I never saw this before! After all, it was just me, so it did not matter, but I see how very wrong I have been. I have called Him a liar and denied His words. Finally I feel the rebellion in me being crushed.

“In choosing what of My word to believe and what to deny you have been arrogant and prideful. I am not pleased.” His words rip at my heart, but yet He does not stop. “Your disobedience undermines your faith, your faith will grow no further because you deny Me in this. You will not see my purposes like this.”

All my resistance is finally broken. What He requires is so difficult, but the cost of disobedience is too high. In heaving sobs, I cry out in repentance for all that He has shown me, the pride, the rebellion, the faithlessness. My tears flow from the deepest parts of my heart as the wall between us finally breaks down. “I will obey you, Papa, I will submit, I will. I can’t stand the distance between us. I will do whatever You ask!” I fall at His feet; there are no words left for me to speak.

I don’t know exactly when, but He quietly sits down beside me, His hand gently on my shoulder. I want to reach out to Him, but my pain and grief overwhelm me and I cannot. Finally, curled at His feet, I sleep. But it is a fitful sleep; I dream of a car spinning out of control that eventually comes to a stop. I feel like I am that car.
part 3-->

Chapter 20: Submission, pt 1

2006-04-16T20:36:00.000-07:00

He hands me the next to last rose. It is an odd flower, thorny and defensive. Neither fully closed nor open, it seems almost ambivalent and angry. I look to Him for understanding.

“This is your expectation that you will be replaced, that you are not good enough and only holding place for someone better.”

The words cut surprisingly deep and a new level of fear rises in me. None of the other issues have ever touched me this deeply. Unlike the other expectation, this one I do not desire to change.

Still, almost as though He does not know my thoughts, He continues,” You believe that I am only allowing you to be used until something better comes. But in all of this you see yourself as defective, as a poor design, flawed. You refuse to see My perfection in you.” He hands me the last rose now, “And you do not believe that you must actually submit and change all this.”

His last words strike like ice and I feel my insides turn cold. The terror and panic I feel overpowers me in a way nothing else has. It seizes me and I run from Him. I try to find what will keep me away from Him and immerse myself in it. For three days I run from Him, neither eating nor sleeping, just running and trying to hide, to find some way around what He requires.

The relief is only momentary and I feel lost without His presence. I am exhausted and drained, and there is no refreshing to be found. I realize, finally, I have no choice. Half reluctantly and half in hope, I return back to the garden grove, just hoping that He will be there.

“Papa?” I call out, looking earnestly for Him. “Papa, are you there?”

“Yes, child, I am.” He replies, His voice surprisingly without anger.

Relief washes over me. He has not left! “Papa, I’m sorry for running! Forgive me! Please!” I cry, as He meets me.

Patiently, gently, He shows me the dynamics of the moment. These last two expectations are the deepest, most profound and are demanding the greatest degree of change yet. My flesh panicked and sought out counterfeits for what He was calling me to, immersing itself in them. But He called to me, and my spirit heard, bringing me back to this place to find Him once again.

“If what I have done before is not submission, then what I is it?” I thought I understood, but find that I do not.

As He did once before, He gives me the answer in my husband’s arms. He gives me a picture in my husband’s love for me and my trust and surrender to him as an example of what my Papa is asking for from me.

This is so different what is portrayed in the flesh, not domineering, inflicting rules and pain, but sacrificing and looking our for, seeking only good for me. “This is so different Papa.” I whisper. “How Papa? And why is this so hard for me? What is holding me back?”

“Let us return upstairs and I will show you.” He replies gently taking me by the hand and guiding me up the back stairs to my rooms.
part 2-->

Chapter 19: Expecting honesty and approval, pt 5

2006-04-09T20:13:00.000-07:00

“Come walk with Me now.” Leaving the bonds where they lay, He guides me to the edge of the mote surrounding the castle. We sit at the edge, admiring the koi. “I want you to see something.” He point into the distance. On a far hil I see a city with four clear spires. It is the city He pointed out to me before. “We will be going there soon.” He tells me, “All this renovation has had a purpose. You will rescue my people from that place and bring them here to be restored.”

I do not know what to say, only “Yes, Papa,” seems right. He tells me no more of it and I sense questions are not right for now. We sit there quietly for a long time.
Finally He turns to me and asks,” Do you know that I love you?”

I ponder the question for a moment, then I know-not the answer of my habit, but out of faith and expectation. “Yes, papa, I do!”

His sudden smile is like the sun breaking through clouds, lighting everything around in His joy. I am surprised when He reaches into the water to playfully splash me and more surprised to find myself in the water a moment later! He is laughing and I cannot help by laugh as well. In a moment He joins me among the fish and we splash and play there. The water is so clear and I find it is deep as well. My foot slips and I fall under only to discover much greater depth to this water full of life than I had ever known. The joy of the moment is beyond description as we just play there a while.

Finally He signals me to follow as He swims up to the pool which feed this place from the waterfall. Once at the pool, we just float, resting for a few moments in that refreshing place. After a short time, we leave the water to sit on the bank.

He does not speak immediately, but waits a few moments before He begins, “You know I love you, but do you know that I like you?”

I look at Him puzzled.

“I choose to call you my friend,” He explains.

I have no words to express what I feel. I take His hand and press it to my cheek-how I love His hands! I am surprised when He takes my hand and presses it to His face as well. It still overwhelms me that He would love me so much and want me to be with Him.

After a few moments, we rise, returning back to the dwindling pile of flowers. I lay down the tea rose and look at all the old and new expectations lying before me.
“Review your new expectations,” He directs.

I touch the feather, rejection replaced by acceptance’ the coins, disappointment replaced by abundance; the garnet drop, pain replaced by love; the tea rose, perfection replaced by honesty. I pause at the ring, condemnation replaced by—as I suddenly see!—more than approval, this is sonship! Not jut approved, but adopted!

I sit back on my heels, stunned! To be placed as a mature son, set to represent the Father and do His business! I cannot understand. “These changes…” I stammer trying to ask.

“They are real,” He assures, taking me back to read the journal of the first few days. On reading, I am struck by my cry of revelation: It is my sin and mine alone—more of a confession that revelation.

“That moment of repentance has been key in all that has followed.” He explains. “When you saw all of it was in your own heart, then we could change your heart. Well done my son.”

Over and over the words echo in my ears, with the chimes of grace: Well done, well done. My heart is full. I am ready to face what remains.
Chapter 20-->

Chapter 19: Expecting honesty and approval, pt 4

2006-04-09T20:06:00.000-07:00

“Come now.” Taking my arm once again, He leads me back to the large flat stone holding the remaining roses. There are still four dead flowers remaining.

“Let’s continue,” His voice is calm, almost somber as He hands me one of the remaining flowers.

It is so very heavy! The stem is straight with long straight sharp thorns. The blossom is dark and shriveled, like something has sucked the life from it. It is hard to hold, the weight threatens to pull it from my hand.

“This is your expectation of condemnation.” He says without further explanation.
Now I understand the weight of it. I have carried it around for years, always expecting it and dishing it out myself when it was not forthcoming. The weight is so familiar and in that familiarity, comforting.

I find I still have the tea rose in my other hand. As the weight becomes too much, I hold them together in both hands. I had always expected that these two thing would go together, honesty bringing condemnation. The shriveled rose begins to twine around the fresh one, almost as though to choke and strangle it. I am horrified at the sight, but unable to move, I do not know what to do.

“Do not let them become entwined!.” He instructs sternly. “No not allow the old expectation to destroy the honesty!”

I try to pry them apart, surprised at the force it takes to separate them. Keeping them apart is difficult, almost as if the shriveled flower is struggling to reach the other. The old expectation grows heavier and heavier, I can not hold on to both any longer. Either I drop the new and fight to hold on to the old with both hands, or I release the old. I know what I must do, but it is a struggle to release it none the less.

Finally, the shriveled rose falls from my hand. As it hits the ground, something strange happens. The rose becomes a snake, the long straight thorns become sharp fangs. The true nature of the expectation becomes obvious now! Sharp pains in my feet, legs, arms and hands tell me I bear the scared from many bits from this beast.

I stand dumbstruck, staring at it, know I should kill the snake. I hesitate though. I have always trusted this beast, condemnation, to lead me back to Him when I had gone astray, how can I kill it?

“Has it ever lead you to Me!” He asks calmly.

I think on it for a moment. Not it never has. The pain, its venom has always lead me to the place for darkness, not to Your arms. Though I trusted it, it never lead me where I thought it would.

“Look,” He points to the snake. It is coiling and ready to strike. The fangs gleam ready to drive into my flesh. Without thinking I take my sword and cut off its head, crying out, “There is now therefore no condemnation for those where are in Christ Jesus.”

That quickly, it is dead. I watch it writhe in its death throes. He puts His hand on my shoulder. “You have trusted a counterfeit. Conviction, My voice, will lead you to Me, not this.” He pauses for a long moment. “It is time for you to expect approval. Lift the rose in your hand, small it.”

I obey; although the flower itself is imperfect, the fragrance is pure and sweet. I drink it in deeply.

“There is much to approve of in this honesty. You have been manipulated by condemnation and disapproval for a long time. You are very sensitive to it.” I nod, feeling the ache it has left within me. “You do not know how to receive approval.”

This truth resonates through me. I have always provided my own condemnation if no one else did. I have not allowed approval to rest on me. The aching emptiness of this revelation engulf me in a cold pain and dread. “You must correct this?” I venture, knowing and yet dreading the answer.

In this moment, I deeply fear yet another rebuke. I look away, unable to bear the though of having displeased Him again. I am sure He must be angry with me again.

“Yes,” he replies, but His voice is gently, not angry. I look up surprised. “But not in the way that you think.” He engulfs me in His embrace, an embrace of joy and pleasure. “Well done my good and faithful child—well done.”

I cannot believe what I have heard. Even in His arms I carry out, “How? How? All I have made are mistakes! So many mistakes! How can his be well done?”

“You have done it all for Me, given your widows’ mite. You have never let your talent lie fallow. You have always put it to work wherever you saw something to be done. You have not withheld it. Well done. Now enter into your father’s good pleasure.” He releases me just enough to press something into my hand. I cannot see it clearly at first. But then I see it is a family signet ring—the father’s ring given to the placed sons! “Wear this!” He instructs.

I slip it on my right hand and look closely at it. It is mean to be a seal and the imprint it leaves is “Jehovah Jesus”. My mind races to comprehend what my heart tries to embrace. This is the ring given to the huios-the mature, placed son.

“You have never believed yourself to be huios, only teknon (immature, minor child) never believed truly that there was destiny for you. I have already planned that destiny, it is yours, with a real calling. You have talked yourself out of it for far too long. Just now, finally believed that that is there for you. Under the past leadership you cam to believe that you were disqualified by birth, by gender. But you are adopted as a son in my family now. You are placed. Act on it, act like it=--it is not an ‘if’ but an ‘is’”

His words strike a deep chord in me. “Oh, Papa, I repent of these things I have held on to, have believed in opposition to Your Word! Forgive me for believing the lies that disqualified me, kept me away from your promises. Forgive me for I believed myself inferior and rejected because I am a woman! Forgive me!” I suddenly realize my hands are tightly bound! Perplexed and afraid I lift my hands to Him. I see a flash of light—His sword! And I heard the words “There is no longer male nor female…” The bonds drop to the ground. Looking closely I see they are made of snake skin.

Part 5-->

Chapter 19: Expecting honesty and approval, pt 3

2006-04-09T20:01:00.000-07:00

I still sting from His rebuke, now this that seems to stand against everything my Papa has been telling me. Unrestrained now, I honestly share my pain and difficulties with Him and am surprised by His reply.

“My yoke is easy and my burden is light. This is not the way I desire it to be. I do not want you so grieved in my work.”

His words hang heavily in the air for a long time. I had thought that the person I had been hurt by could do whatever he pleased because of his position, his anointing, that he and his feelings were infinitely more important than me. ”And the last are first.” He reminds me. “I do not ignore the cries of any of my children. I have used this to help you grow, but your pain is not my perfect design. In this season, focus your eyes on Me and do not watch was is going on around you. I will carry you through to the other side.”

“How, I do not understand.” I shake my head, whispering.

“Come, climb with me.” We are at the tree and He beckons me to climb high into its branches with Him. Anxiously, I climb behind Him, carefully watching where He goes that I might go there myself. I dislike high places and am afraid to see the place, high in the branches, He has chosen to rest. “Come, sit close and lean into Me.” He directs.

Carefully, I edge toward towards Him, finally stopping just beside Him, my back to His chest as we straddle the high branch.

“Lean into Me and close your eyes.”

I obey and fall into the power of His around me, of His chest and shoulders behind me. The incredible strength of Him calms me; as I close my eyes, the fear subsides.

“Focus on My voice now. Are you still afraid?”

“No,” I whisper, not wanting to disrupt the newfound calm that covers me.

“Why not?”

I pause to think for a moment. “Because I can hear your voice, feel your strength. I know you will not let me fall even as you cannot fall yourself.” I feel completely safe in His arms.

“Now open your eyes.” He directs.

We are on the ground once again and I did not even know what He was doing. Al I knew was the safety of His arms.

“This is what I want you to do. Close your eyes, lean on me, and listen to my voice alone. Trust Me, you need trust, nothing, no one else.”

“Yes, Papa.” What else can I say? Now I better understand what He wants me to do.

Part 4-->

Chapter 19: Expecting honesty and approval, pt 2

2006-04-09T19:58:00.000-07:00

In the distance somewhere, I hear the chimed of His grace, but the grief and pain within myself drowns it out. I am reminded of the comfortless comfort of the abyss and part of me tries to seek it.

“Cling to Me, child.” It is His voice, firm, but no longer angry. He knows what is happening in me, He knew that I could handle no more than this. And this is why He insisted on waiting for this.

My heart longs to cling to Him, but has not the strength, the grief and the old ways are so powerful. I struggle to obey though, managing to uncurl myself enough to look up at Him. It is enough! He meets me there, enfolding me in His arms, holding me as I weep.

“I’m sorry Papa! I’m sorry. I will obey, I will do as you say.” I murmur over and over, crying into His strong shoulders. Finally the tears subside.

“You are forgiven daughter.” He reminds me, love filling His voice. I long to receive it, but cannot. I feel so stained and unclean. “Go wash, see the stains of disobedience washed away.”

He walks into the water with me. As I stand under the waterfall, my hood slips back past my ears. I hear the call of the abyss reach out to me. It resonates with my grief, drawing me there. But in the rush of the water I hear the chimes of grace as well. I try to focus on those and the effort transfixes me. I do not know how long I am there, but it feels sudden when He gently moves the hood back into place, covering my ears and shutting out the call of the abyss. I feel like I have been snapped back into reality suddenly. I am weak, disoriented as He leads me from the water. We begin to walk.

Past the tree now, where the perfect rose, now crushed, lays covered in dirt. Tears trickle down my cheeks. I turn my face away know otherwise I will search for that artifact in the dust. My heart is wrenched as I do but somehow I think I have pleased Him. After we pass the tree, He stops and tenderly kisses my forehead, drying my tears with His thumbs as He gently takes my face in His hands.

“I do not know how to do this Papa. I will obey You, but I don’t know how. Please, help me.” I whisper through more tears.

“I will.” He promises. Then for a moment, He puts me in the loving arms of my husband to share with him something I never have, to allow him to touch a place I have allowed no one to go before, to acknowledge something I have always hidden before. And there is a joyous release in the doing. There was fear for me and some pain for him, but for both of us there was joy and anticipation in the new freedom.

“Papa!” I cry, “Nothing else would have shown me this! No other way would be so clear. I never, never before would have allowed that boundary to be crossed. You did leave some of it private to me , but the rest you showed me how to share.” I am overwhelmed by it all.

“Let your heart lead you in this.” He explains, leading me out into the sunny part of the garden again. “This was something you deeply desired to share. I will give you the desire to share and be transparent and honest when the time is right. Listen carefully and obey, do not reveal all things to everyone, that is not what I ask of you.”

He stops us at the stone bench near the gate. On the right of the bench there is a small rose bush growing. He stoops to pluck a flower and hands it to me. The small tea rose is deeply and wonderfully fragrant. The white petals are tipped with pink. A few have small bug-nibbles taken out of them. Another’s dry brown edge curls down daintily. The stem has a few tiny delicate thorns clinging to its side. The blossom is lovely and fragrant, but not perfect.

“This is to be your new expectation—a fragrant honesty.”

I continue to stare at the tea rose. This is by far the hardest new expectation for me to expect. This kind of honesty is something new to me, I find it difficult to accept the idea that not only are flaws acceptable, but that it is safe for them to be visible to others.

As we walk back to the grove, I share the distractions and trouble of my heart with Him, the pain I have in His service and confusion that threatens to overtake and overwhelm me. I do not know where I belong or how his promises will come to pass. I find my hands filled with icons of my confusion now, a key and an ID badge. I have worn them around my neck as symbols of my status and leadership.

“ I know I have chased after these, believed them to be the way to serve You.” I explain handing them to Him. “I see now they are not what I thought hem to be and I give them up to You.”

He takes them from me and nods. “You heart has been truly changed for you to give these to Me without being asked for them. I know what this has meant to you. This is a fragrant offering to Me.” The key and badge disappear into smoke in His hand and He inhales the fragrance deeply, smiling. “Although you do not feel it now, I do not take this offering lightly. It is a sacrifice to you and I know it. You have given Me the freedom to move and place you, a freedom you have always been afraid to give Me. I understand what this means to you.” He smiles on me, but my heart aches too much to receive it right now.

Part 3-->

Chapter 19: Expecting honesty and approval, pt 1

2006-04-09T19:51:00.000-07:00

Finally the grieving has passed and I am strong enough to go on. We return to the roses once again.

“Pick up the next one.” He instructs.

I reach for it, but it is difficult for me to see. When it finally comes into focus, I am shocked. It is perfect! The beauty of this flower bewilders me. The petals are deep peach, delicate and porcelain perfect. The calyx finely formed and balanced, embraces the petals perfectly. The stem arcs gracefully and without thorns. I do not understand why this is among the others.

I look at Him, the questions evident in my face. “Child,” His voice is very stern, I feel a knot forming in my gut. I dread what He is about to say. “This will require rebuke to change.”

Dread fills me. His rebuke is painful and unrelenting. There is no negotiating with it. His way is the only way in that place. I can walk away from it, I know, but that would mean turning my back on Him. And that is an even more dreadful thing that His rebuke. Still I feel a tremor building within me.

“How have I disobeyed you, Papa?” My question is not challenge, but a voice to my confusion.

He knows and does not hesitate to answer me. “This rose is your expectation that you must be perfect and with it your refusal to be honest and transparent, even with Me.” The sternness has not left His voice, although I know it is not my question that has brought His anger.

It is now so very clear to me. It is entirely true. I have maintained an outward look of perfecting, having it all together. Truly I have not tried to create anything fake, but in carefully avoiding revealing too much of myself, my heart, I have created a shell that is not real, not approachable and worse still, not obedient.

Gentle, even now, He takes my arm to lead me to the place of correction. I’d like to drag my feet, but cannot, my heart is so heavy knowing He is displeased in me, I do not want to displease Him further.

As we approach the tree, I find I am on the verge of tears even not, not in anticipation, but in grief that I have disobeyed the one I long most to please. With a firm tenderness, He places my hands against the branch, knowing I will need its strength as my own fails.

He pauses a moment only, before He begins His rebuke.” I have been displeased with you.” Although He does not raise His voice, there is not mistaking he anger in it. It cuts through me like a physical blow. “You have willfully, knowingly disobeyed Me when I have bid you to be transparent, to reveal yourself to others. You have refused and done your own will.”

I hear myself cry out in the pain and truth of His words. “Papa, change me!” I cry. “Do not stop until my heart is changed!” sobs well up from deep within.

“If you do not give up this disobedience it will cost you everything in the long run. All that you have heard Me promise will be destroyed in the wake of this sin. Once you learn to hide, it is only a matter of time before there is something to hide, and that will only grow.” His words are not a threat, but a foretelling of what is to come on this path.

The pain of this proclamation tears at my heart in ragged sobs. “I’m sorry Papa!”

“All this is rooted in pride. It will lead you to cover more and more until your heart is hardened and trusting in your own ability to hide, not in Me.” Fresh sobs pour out from my heart at this. “I am not pleased.” The anger in His voice devastates me.

What He asks—no—demands is so very, very difficult. First He demanded I reveal myself to Him, but now to others? Truly I am appalled at the thought. Of all things I do not want to do, this is chief among them. “Papa, please!” I start to plead, but then knowing He will not relent and my stubbornness will only prolong this, I stop. “Forgive me, my pride, forgive me for refusing to obey! I repent, Papa, I repent.” I cry instead. I fear disobedience more than obedience now. “Papa, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please do not turn away from me!” The deepest cry of my heart has found voice now. “Please do not turn away.!”

“Crush the rose.” He commands, but I am slow to obey, the beauty is deceptive. “Crush it.” He says again. I dare not fail again. I drop it to the ground and step on it, crushing its beauty into the dirt. The sight makes me weak again, I cannot take my eyes from it.

With His foot, He covers the remains of the rose with dirt, it is gone. Emptiness and the keen awareness of my own imperfection seize me. I curl in on myself in a fetal position to hide I think—I do not want anyone to see me now, even Him.

Part 2-->

Chapter 18: Expectations, pt 5

2006-04-04T15:15:00.000-07:00

He releases me from His arms, only to turn me to face Him. “It is time for you to enlarge your expectations. The old vase can no longer contain your expectation. Smash the old container, I will give you a new one.”

Regaining my feet, I step to the stone upon which the vase sits with the remaining roses. I still have the stone in my hand. Before I can think it all out, I touch the vase with the stone and the vase explodes, throwing me once again into His waiting arms.

He is there to catch me, to hold me, give me His strength. My mind is reeling from all that has happened. “How Papa?” I stammer, hoping He understands what I mean.

His firm embrace reassures me. “You must move these things now from your head to your heart. To do this, you must act on them I faith and as you see how I work in it, your heart will come to know.”

“Yes, Papa.” I whisper, pressing into His arms, not wanting to leave His grasp.

But distraction comes. Something happens to hurt my son and I am grieved. Even so, I do not want to lose what His is doing with me. “Papa, can we continue?”

“No, child. Not now. The next step cannot be taken while you are grieving. The next step will require corrections that you will not be able to accept without giving into your old ways. You would be injured, not healed. Wait until the hurt has passed, then we will continue. Stay here in my embrace while the hurt heals and the grief subsides.”

I see His wisdom and do not argue. I rest in His arms as I walk through the process of forgiveness and releasing the hurts. And through this I see too a new understanding of His loving care and concern. I am struck by His insistence on waiting on my pain, making sure that there would be no injury to me, in spite of the pain that would be necessary. I truly see that I do matter to Him, my hurts, my feelings are important to Him. Never have I understood this before. I can not think of anything else that would have shown me so clearly as this. “Thank you, Papa, thank you.” I whisper.

Chapter 19-->

Chapter 18: Expectations, pt 4

2006-04-04T15:11:00.000-07:00

We walk back, His arm twined in mine. I am still distracted by all that He has told me, so I am grateful for His guidance back. It seems we return very quickly to the roses. I lay the coins beside the feather.

Before I have an opportunity to think, He hands me the next flower. Truly it is a hideous thing. Covered in thorns of all shapes and sizes, gnarled and bent, the flower looks more like a thistle than a rose.

“It is your expectation of pain.”

The words hang in the air between us, hovering so heavily I am forced to take a step back. Immediately, though, I see what He is telling me and I know it is true.
In just these few moments, the awful thorns of this blossom have begun to dig deeply into my hands, digging deeper as the voice of the expectation grows louder. “They do not care about you!” It screams to me. “They never will. You do not matter! No one care how you feel—you do not matter.”

The voices are so familiar to me. I want to drop it, but cannot. My hands to seem to tighten of their own volition around the deformed flower, driving the spines deeper into my hands. Although intense, the pain is a familiar one and for a moment I am taken back to the abyss. I remember times when I was trapped in that place that pain was the only thing I was able to feel. I would clutch as this flower just to be able to feel something.

“Drop the flower.” He commands, suddenly bringing me back to the grove and the garden.

I try, but cannot let it go. “I can’t, Papa, I can’t, help me! Please! Help me!” the pain and frustration I feel fills my cries as I feel trapped by the flower’s thorns.

He stands behind me, encircling me with His strong arms. As He pries my hands apart, I see the scars in His hands and see my name carved in His left palm. A new strength fills me and with His help, I finally release the deformed thing.

The wounds in my hands burn, yet He tells me, ”Strike it with your sword.”
I dare not argue or disobey. Although it hurts, I take up the sword He has given me to strike at the horrid flower.

“My name is carved on His hand! The hairs on my head are numbered! I am chosen, destined, His child! His grace has saved me! His grace! His grace!” Over and over again I strike at my target. Finally, the flower shatters under the sword and I am thrown back into His embrace

His strong arms swallow me, the strength of His chest supports me. His strength is so much more than I understand. For a moment I feel surrounded in Him, all I see is His white robe, reminding me for a moment of the abyss. But this is not that place. I am swallowed, engulfed by His love! I suddenly know as I have never known—I am loved—I do matter to Him! I am loved by Him.

“Papa, I am so sorry I have denied this, run from it for o long. I have called your love such a distant and impersonal thing. But it is not! I repent! I repent for not receiving your love, for not believing you really, honestly cared for me, personally, individually! I repent! You do! You do honestly care for me!”

He holds me deeply in His embrace as He explains, “This is to be your new expectation, love.” Into my wounded hands He presses a tear drop shaped stone half the size of my palm. Deeply red and faceted, the stone seems like a drop of blood frozen it time. But the stone is warm and the warmth penetrates my wounded hands, burning out the thorns, healing the wounds left by the thorns. The burning pain in my hands flows away and I fall once again into His powerful embrace.

Once again I am swallowed I the white fullness of His arms. For a moment I am struck at how like the abyss it is, encompassing, consuming, too powerful to resist. Yet where the only thing I could feel in the abyss was pain, the pain is strikingly absent here. Then I surrender to the awesome love that overflows in this place and release all thoughts of the abyss.

He holds me there for a long time, saturating me in His consuming love. Never before have I felt truly loved by Him. I can see so clearly the power and the difference of this new expectation.

Part 5-->

Chapter 18: Expectations, pt 3

2006-04-04T15:10:00.000-07:00

He hands me another rose. Although it should have opened fully, the stunted blossom never has. “This rose is the expectation of disappointment.”

His words echo, resounding powerfully in my ears. Is it true? Do I really—yes, yes I have expected disappointment. I did expect that something would have to go wrong, that the promise would not be brought to completion, that I would never quite reach the goal. I have never seen this before, but He is so right! This hideous expectation has colored everything I have done.

“This will require correction to change.” His voice is gentle, there is no anger in His words, only love. I hear in His voice a desire to give me more, to take from me the hurts and limitations and replace them with His grace and I am overcome with such love.

“Come, share your heart with Me.” He instructs, taking my arm once again to walk with Him in the garden.

I cannot help myself, I take His hand for a moment, kissing it and whisper, “Thank you Papa, thank you for this.”

Lovingly, He presses His hand to my check. He says nothing, but He dos not have to. We begin to walk.

As we walk, the thorns from the shriveled rose of disappointment begin to tear at my hands. As they do, I hear the voice of the expectation rising in my ears: “You do not deserve more than that! Don’t complain, settle with what you have and be happy for it!” The words are familiar, I have heard them often. I shake my head softly, seeing how much of my life these words have colored. I hear the soft chimes of grace in my ears and remember what He told me, not to hide my wounds from Him. So I show Him my hands, tell Him what I have heard.

“Yes, child, these are the issues which need correction.” He confirms what I already know. His arm entwined in mine, we walk back towards the rove, to the tree, that place of correction. We have been there so many times it seems. I think it would be unbearable but for His unrelenting, unwavering love and restoration. The voices of my expectations are growing louder now, threatening to drown out the chimes.

“Come, His voice is firm, clear above all the other voices. “Let me correct your heart, your expectations.”

I nod, bracing myself against the lower branch, anticipating the need for its support. “Please, Papa, help me change.” My voice is only a whisper.

He begins. He shows me how I have allowed this expectation to steal from me the very things He had promised. I was refusing to hang on to what He wanted to give me. He was trying to give to me and I was refusing to receive from Him to fulfill this expectation!

I cry out in frustration at myself and my sin, at how my sin has denied me the ery things He’d promised and I had so longed for. It was me—my own sin that kept me from all He promised! Not Him, He never failed! It was me!

He continues and shows me even more. The root of all this has been in my lack of faith, my failure to believe that He has meant all His promises! Somehow I have been convinced that these promises really were not mean for me.

I am broken, I grieve for the truth in what He shows me. “Forgive me, Papa! Please! I repent! I repent for calling you a liar, for not believing that you meant what you said! Papa, I’m so sorry, sorry for rejecting you gifts, for refusing them and blaming you for it! Oh, Papa! I repent, I’m so, so sorry, Papa, I’m sorry.” I bury my face in my hands and cry with gut wrenching sobs.

He puts His strong hand on my shoulder. I am so aware of its weight and warmth there as He patiently wits for me to calm. “Now, take the rose and come with Me.” He takes my arm and walks us to the moat surrounding the castle.

Stopping at the waters edge, He guides me to sit down. “Take the rose, crumble it and feed it to the fish.”

The colorful koi are playfully gathering at our feet. They are so alive! I begin to crumble the brittle rose and sprinkle it into the water. Quickly the little fish consume the rose.

“The stem as well,” He admonishes.

I obey and the rose is gone. I quietly sit, empty handed, wondering what is next. He says nothing, but gestures toward the water. A large, darkly colored koi swims to me and bumps up against my foot once, then again.

“Look—“ He points toward the fish.

As I bend down toward the koi, I see something glimmer. The fish has something in its mouth! It holds still while I remove it. Lifting the object into the light I can see it is a gold coin on a short gold chain. The fish swims away, leaving me gazing in surprise at its gift.

Amazed, I cry out, “Oh, Papa! What does this mean? I don’t think I understand.”
He does not reply, but gestures again toward the water. The fish has returned! There is something in its mouth again. Reaching for it, I find another gold coin! The fish returns again and again until I have ten coins hanging from the chain in my hand!

Finally, He speaks. “This is to be your new expectation, child. Let abundance replace your expectation of disappointment.”

I am confused for a moment. Abundance is not the opposite of disappointment—it is something better! “Papa!” I have no other words.

“Shhh. Listen to Me for a moment. “His voice is suddenly firm. “No not be reluctant to expect Me to fulfill the promises I have given you according to My word. Give me your hands.”

I reach toward Him and He takes my hands in His, gently removing the thorns still embedded in my flesh. The voice of the old expectation is silenced as the thrones are removed.”

“Papa, somehow I had always though that it would be arrogant for me to expect all of that. I always though I should be able to have that.”

He looks at my hands again and removes yet another thorn. “No, there is no arrogance in believing that I will be true to My word. It is about Me, not you. I am faithful to My word because of who I am, not because of you. It is time for you to begin to expect harvest, abundant harvest from the seeds you have sown. You have sown much, but only reaped little. It is time to see the true harvest of those seeds.

“It is time to grow up in your faith now, to move from the beggars’s faith of the immature son (teknon) to the expectation based faith of the placed, mature (huios) son. How can the placed son do the work of the Father if he cannot believe in what the Father has said He would do and provide?”

“Papa, forgive me, for that has been the nature of my faith. I have begged you and put my faith in the begging, not in the nature of my Papa! I am so sorry! Forgive me Papa!”

He puts His arm around me to comfort me. “You are forgiven, child, now do not allow condemnation to take hold. Instead, grow, take this truth deep in your heart and walk in it.”

“Yes, Papa, yes, I will, I will do it.”

I stare at the chain lined with the heavy coins, overwhelmed by the magnitude of His abundance. Then times what would have been needed over and above what I could even think or ask! The reality of what He has told me begins to set it. Faith based on true expectation truly expecting to do what He promised. Not acting as though His fulfillment of His promises depends on my ability to pray hard enough, long enough with the right words and in the right way. I just need to expect Him to be who He said He is!

“Thank you, Papa! Thank you.” Words are not sufficient to express the wonder of what He has given me.

We linger a little longer by the moat, resting and enjoying the refreshing of the cool water teeming with life.

Finally though, He says, “Come, let us return to continue the process.”

Part 4-->

Chapter 18: Expectations, pt 2

2006-04-04T15:09:00.000-07:00

He leads me to a large flat rock between the magnolia tree and the waterfall. Silently He extends His hand to me; I hand Him the vase. Still without words, He lays out the roses one by one upon the rock, then sets the vase down as well. Finally He speaks, “These have been guiding you for a long time.”

I hang my head in sorrow or shame, I’m not really sure which. “Yes, Papa, I know. Where do I start?” I have no idea what to do, what is expected of me here.

“Start here,” He directs, handing me one of the roses.

I am grateful to accept His direction. Taking the rose, I look at it closely, but see nothing that makes any sense.

“It is the expectation of rejection.” He says simply. The words hang heavy in the air.

“I thought we had dealt with this already,” I swallow hard, vividly remembering that time and that correction.

“We did,” He nods. “It is time for rebuilding now. You have repented, changed, but a new expectation must be built.”

“How?”

“You cannot, but I can.” He pauses for a moment. “Will you give it to me? Will you do what I tell you to do?”

“Yes, Papa. I will” My heart is heavy though. “Why is this so difficult when I know what You have always given me, done for me, has always been good?” I am so frustrated in my own responses and confused by my own reactions.

“The flesh hates to leave behind what is familiar.” He explains, putting His hand on my shoulder. “Come with Me.” We walk toward the waterfall. Together we walk into the pool that flows from the waterfall into the garden. “It is time to let this go now, so that you can build a new expectation. Each petal of the rose is a person you have perceived rejection from. Take each petal and crumble it on the pool, release each of those people, forgive them and release it to Me.”

I have hope, this is something that I can do. “Yes Papa.” I begin the process. There are metal petals on the flower, many faces that come to mind, family, teachers, friends, many others. Soon the water is covered with crushed petals; only the stem is left.

“Break up the stem and release it as well lest the blossom grows back.” He instructs.

As I do so, the thorns on the stem cut my hands deeply. Somehow, I am embarrassed by my wounds and try to hide them though they bleed freely. Two thorns in particular are deeply imbedded in my palms and they cry out to me in bitter voices:

“It is all your own fault” cries one.

“You have deserved what you have received.” Shouts the other.

The voices cut through my heart, as though the thorns are embedded there as well.
I am stunned, frozen, not knowing what to do. Tears run down my cheeks, I keep trying to hide my wounded hands from sight. When I open my eyes for a moment, I find He is standing right beside me.

His voice is stern, “Do not hide your wounds from Me, child.” He takes my hands in His, opening them and revealing their wounds. I begin to sob softly, not understanding the strength of my own feelings. “I cannot heal what you hide from Me.”

His words sit heavily with me. I realize I am afraid to show Him my wounds.

“I will not condemn you for your wounds, daughter.” Even in His sternness, His tone is gentle.

His words reverberate through my soul. Always I have believed that I could not show Him my woundedness, that He would be angry at me for being wounded. Now He tells me this is not so. I cannot hold back the tears. The pain of the thorns and their call is too much to contain in the light of what He has just said. “Please, Papa!” I press my hands towards Him.

With incredible gentleness He removes the deep thorns from my hands, crushing them, silencing them. As He washes the wounds in the cool clear water of the pool, I hear the song of grace in my ears. It was always there, I realize, I just chose not to listen.

Finished tending my hands, He take them in His and presses them fondly. I find I feel so empty now. The constant presence of that assumption is gone now, but I have nothing to take its place. Is this how it is to be?

“I will not leave you empty, little one, I will not take from you without giving you better in return.” He takes my arm.” Come walk with Me.”

We walk through the grove and through the shade garden and beyond. I do not know what to say, so I say nothing. The silence between us is both comfortable and comforting, not strained nor tense. We are now in the sun again, in a large open field at the back part of the garden.

Finally, He speaks. “Do you trust Me?”

The question stops me in my tracks. My first instinct is to say yes, but I hesitate, knowing the inconsistency of my heart. “I want to, I think I do, but I’m afraid I do not know my own heart, that if I say yes, it won’t be entirely true. I am afraid that You will be angry…” I stammer, trying to answer.

“Then make it a statement of faith.” He replies.

I am struck by the simplicity of what He is telling me. I know faith is always pleasing to Him! “Yes, Papa! Yes, I do—I do trust you!” I cannot believe the joy and release that floods in as the words pour forth.

His reaction, though, stuns me! Laughing deeply and fully, He suddenly sweeps me into His arms and swings me around like a child. I laugh too, more fully than I remember laughing before. In His arms I feel like I am flying, soaring, more accepted that I have ever felt in my life.

When my feet finally touch the ground again, I have to cling to His arms for balance, still laughing heartily. The emptiness is gone now, replaces by the laughter and acceptance of my Papa. On the ground in front of me I see a large feather and realize it is from the eagle we had seen soaring above the garden.

“Pick it up.” He directs. As I move to obey, He continues, “Keep the feather to remember, as a memorial of your new expectation.”

“Papa, thank you!” I whisper, no other words seem available to me right now.
“I will not leave you empty.” He reminds me. “Come.” He takes my arm in His own and we walk.

I notice the fence, it has been painted! The iron bars are now white! “What does this mean, Papa?”

“That you have changed,” He replies, a smile in His voice.

Staring at the fence, at the beautiful garden before me, I sigh, “I am so sorry to have fought you so much through this.”

He pats my arm comfortingly, “The flesh does not like to change, the process is always hard.” We continue to walk, circling the whole of the garden. “Let’s return now.” So we walk back to the grove, stopping at the flat stone holding the remaining roses.

I lay the feather down, in place of the first flower. The contrast between the old and the new is striking. The feather seems to shimmer in the light, emphasizing the lifelessness of the roses.

Part 3-->

Chapter 18: Expectations, pt 1

2006-04-04T15:08:00.000-07:00

After a brief respite, we return to the sitting room to continue unpacking. The second box on the table is larger and flatter then the first. The top is tucked closed, so I have to wrestle a bit to get it open, eventually pulling it into my lap before I finally open the top. Even so, It is difficult to see into it. Finally I make out the topmost object, a simple, clear glass bud vase filled with dead roses.

Pulling it out, I push the box back on to the table. As with the doll before, I feel baffled at this object, unable to understand the significance at all. Wordlessly, He extends His hand, silently asking to hold to object Himself. I am happy to hand it to Him, hoping He will explain.

Taking the vase in His hands, He turns it softly, inspecting the dead flowers, then hands it back to me. "These are your expectations, those things that you walk into the new and unknown with. These are how you see the world, the filters and lenses you view it through."

His explanation is unnerving. I take the vase back. The condition of the flowers does explain quite a bit. "But what do I do with it, Papa?"

A pause hangs heavy in the air before He responds. "These need to be changed, child." His voice is soft even gentle. Then He adds, "Three of these will require my correction to change."

His last words hang heavily between us. I have tasted His correction and know it is good, but it is hard. I know I have the choice of what to do. I know what I must do, but find myself slow to do it.

Gently He takes the vase from me again and places it on the right side of the mantle. I stare at the dry, crumbling blossoms for a long time.

Swallowing hard against the fear of His correction, I can finally speak the words that are ringing in my heart, "No, Papa, these cannot stay. As you say, they must not stay."

He says nothing, but reaches to hand the vase back to me, beckoning me to follow Him. My heart is heavy though. I dread the long walk to the grove. From the balcony it seems we were so close to it, in the shade of the great magnolia tree.

“You are right, we are close.” He comments on my thought. “Come daughter, let me show you.” He walks to the balcony and through the gate onto the balcony of His chambers. In the wall beside the door leading into His sitting room, there is another door, one I had not seen before. Within lies a staircase of smooth grey stone. Stone walls rise on either side of the staircase. The wall on the right is lined with small windows lighting the staircase cheerfully. The stairs are short and easy to climb, ending in a door opening into the grove. Although parts of me dread the process that I know will follow, I am at the same time relieved not to face the long walk to that point.

Part 2-->

Chapter 17: Unpacking the past, pt 3

2006-04-04T15:07:00.000-07:00

The first box is nearly empty now. I have to feel around the bottom of the box to find the next object. I am taken aback to find a set of rosary beads made of rose petals. I recognize this, it was a gift from my mother over 20 years ago. The beads baffle me. I do not understand why they are here. Why would this be something I would bring? Absently, I run my fingers over the beads.

I smell the faint fragrance of dried roses and hear the muffled voice of a priest trying to explain how I should pray, but I cannot understand His words. Much louder and more clearly, over the priest's voice, I hear another voice, my mother's I think, telling me what I 'should' do, should be, should think, should feel--all the 'shoulds' I cannot live up to.

"Please! Take this from me! Papa, I cannot live up to it!" Forcefully I put the rosary in His hands.

He takes it, but says nothing for a moment. "This is not all bad." He finally explains. "In the midst of this, there are values, standards that you have been taught that are good and have served you well. They have drawn you to Me."

"So then, what do I do with it?"

"Allow Me to purify it, to separate the silver from the dross." It is an offer, not a command.

"Please, so it." I find no difficulty in this decision.

I do not clearly see how, but He passes the rosary through the fire. The flames flare briefly with the smell of roses, but then return as before.

Turning back to me, He shows me a simple silver chain, hung with a simple, polished cross. I touch it gingerly, but the unbearable 'shoulds' no longer call out to me. All I can hear now is the soft chime of grace. He pauses a moment, but them places the silver cross on the self by the photo album.

I reach to lift the box, believing it to be empty, but it is far to heavy to be empty. Still unable to see into the box, I feel around for the last object and find a rock.

My laughter cannot be restrained. "Why do I have a rock in here?" Surely this must be a mistake! I turn the unattractive stone over and over in my hands, trying to understand it. Suddenly, the rock splits oven. Inside I can see sparkling, multifaceted crystals of deep purple and blue. A geode.

I remember my grandfather who loved geology and how he would often teach me about his passion when none of the other grandchildren would listen. It was the same way with my other grandfather who taught me about photography.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Him nodding at me. "This stone is a reminder of those who say in you the rare gem that I designed even when others saw only the unremarkable., It is a reminder to you of what I have made in you and of those who saw that as well."

Freely the tears flow down my cheeks as I remember the attention they would pay me, the sense of acceptance and importance they gave me, and how it was belittled by others.

"Put those here," He points to the small table between the two chairs. "So you will see them often and be reminded."

As I do so, He takes the first box from me and folds it up and sets it outside my chambers. "I do not want you tempted to try to move into the guest room." He explains.

I baulk at this for a moment, but quickly realize how right He is to be concerned. He knows me so well.

Tiredness suddenly washes over me. "Papa, may I rest a bit before we continue?" He nods and we walk out to the balcony. Looking about, I notice that the balconies share a common floor and are separated only by a small, unlocked gate. The sight poignantly reminds me how close He desires me to be to Him.

Chapter 18-->

Chapter 17: Unpacking the past, pt 2

2006-04-04T15:06:00.000-07:00

He leads the way into my chambers and I see three boxes, two on a smallish marble and iron coffee table placed between the two soft chairs in the sitting room, and a larger box on the floor in front of the table. With Him encouraging me, I sit in the nearer chair and reach into the open, top most box. I cannot actually see into the box as I reach in. I find myself both surprised and yet not, to draw out, first, that doll of many years ago. It is dusty, dressed in faded green velvet. Still, I am stunned; I just sit, staring at it. Finally, I am able to speak, but only in a whisper. "What do I do with this?"

He is standing behind me and He replies, "Why do you keep it?"

The words come slowly, hesitatingly as I respond. "As a reminder, I suppose, as reminder of the pain and dangers in gifts. A reminder not to receive, to keep myself closed, not to risk the pain that opens me to the call of the abyss." Oddly, I am surprised by my own answer.

Moving beside me now, He places His hands on my own, gently, not forcing anything from me. "Is this what you want? Do you need this reminder? Is this what you want to hold?" There is no accusation, no criticism in His tone, just a genuine question to help me see things for what they are. His voice is also filled with compassion and concern tender and more genuine than any I have known.

My first instinct, my first desire is to hide from this issue so I bow my head to avoid His gaze. But as I do, the chimes in my ears ring softly, "My grace, my grace…" And in that song, I know what I want. "No. No, Papa, I do not need this reminder, not any more."

"Will you give it to Me?" by His tone, I know He will not force it from me. The choice truly is mine and He will honor that.

Even though I know I do not want this painful memento, the temptation to hold it back is strong, especially because I know what He will do. It takes a long, long time before I am able to say, "Yes, Papa, I will." It takes even longer to release it into His waiting hands.

Once I do, He wastes no time. He rises from my side and walks directly to the fireplace blazing with a bring, strong flame. I bury my face in my hands, I cannot watch. In His mercy, He does not require that of me. I hear it though as the reminder of my past hurts is consumed in the fire. Unbidden, tears begin to flow even as I try to hide them from Him, fearing His displeasure. But none comes. He walks back to my side and patiently allows me to cry, letting the storm of my feelings pass.

"Why did I hold on to that?" I have to ask, my face still hidden in my hands.
Compassionately laying His hand on my shoulder, He replies, "the flesh knows that things are significant and holds on to them. It cannot discern between that which is helpful and that which is harmful, though. It holds on to both and something that is harmful is often held most strongly. It is hard for the flesh to let go, even when your heart knows it is time."

I knew this process would be difficult, but I wonder how much more so it will become. The thought seems to echo in my mind, making it difficult to calm myself and causing me to wonder if I will be able to continue on. All the while, He is beside me, waiting patiently, not pushing, not forcing. And it is in His patience I find strength and encouragement to press forward still.

Swallowing hard against the uncertainly, I reach for the box again and withdraw an armful of framed photos: a bridal picture of myself, wedding photos, pictures of my husband, children and other family. I desperately want to keep these, but resign myself to release them if required.

I think He knows the heaviness that is threatening to overcome me as He quickly reassures me, "These you must kept. They belong on the mantle where they can be seen and treasured."

Relief floods me in almost a physical wave. I find myself telling Him about the photos. Most are special black and white portraits of my children treasured for how they reveal the heart of each. My bridal portrait puzzles me. "Why does this look so different from the reflection I just saw?"

"Because that is not the same person you just saw." The answer seems obvious, but I think I needed to hear Him say that nonetheless.

He takes them from my hands and clusters them on the left side of the mantle, dusting them as He goes. A tension drains from me as I watch Him realizing that the process is not going to be entirely one of letting go.

Energized by this, I reach for the box again. This time, I find a photo album. Looking through it briefly, I see it filled with photos of ancestors, genealogies, people who I do not know but who are somehow connected to me.

"This is your heritage, both the good and the bad. In time we will sort though to keep the good and release the rest. He explains.

"So should I keep this?"

"Yes, you will write a heritage to your sons there." He explains as He shows me the empty pages at the back of the book. He allows me to silently consider these ideas before I hand him the album. Decisively, He places it in an empty book case to the left of the fireplace.

Part 3-->

Chapter 17: Unpacking the past, pt 1

2006-04-04T14:58:00.000-07:00

We stand there for a long time.

Finally, He says, " let Me help you unpack your boxes."

My mind flashes back to the three boxes we brought into my new rooms. Part of me, I think, had hoped not to have to deal with them. Deep within, I think I know what His offer means and I am reluctant. At the same time though, another part of me does not want to refuse my Papa anything.

"All right, "I hear myself whisper and I have wrestled with my conflicting thoughts for what seems to be a long time. We turn to leave the balcony, walking through the sitting room toward the door. On the way, we pass a large mirror hanging over the fireplace. I am surprised to hear my own gasp as I see my reflection.

I hardly recognize myself! Garbed from head to toe in His garments of white, wearing jewels inscribed with His grace, I am not what I remember myself to be. "Who is this? What…?" I cannot help but ask.

"A bride." He answers.
I am unable to suppress a small laugh. "Most brides carry flowers not swords." I remark, not in sarcasm, but in genuine wonder at what I see.

"The bride I have bought for My Son carries a sword." He replies.

We pause there a moment more, then continue on. His words stay with me though, to think on later.

Quickly we cover the short distance to my new chambers. As we walk, the words well up in me, not to be held back, "Thank you, Papa, thank you for asking me to stay here, close to You."

"Where else would you stay?" He replies, making me think about what I have just said.

"I had always though, assumed I guess, that I--that you would have wanted me in the guest rooms..." I falter and begin to stammer.

He stops walking and turns to face me now. "And make you a guest in your own home? In your own heart?" I cannot answer Him. Shaking His head, He goes on, "That would reduce you to a position of resentful obedience, obedience without relationship, without love. That is not what I desire for My child."

The firmness and incredulity in His voice just adds to my shame. In my ignorance, that is the very thing I have feared, one of the very reasons I never before considered giving Him the keys to this place. I struggle to find words, unable to look up at Him.

Placing His hands on my shoulders, He continues, "Daughter, I want you close to Me. I have no desire to see you at the other end of the hall. I want you beside Me, to hear My voice and to hear your heart."

Tears trickle down my cheeks as I whisper, "I am sorry Papa, that I still know you so little."

Tenderly, he kisses the top of my head. "You are forgiven." It is more a reminder than a statement of something new. "Come now, to the task at hand."

Part 2-->

Chapter 16: The master suite, pt 3

2006-03-20T21:27:00.000-08:00

When finally I stop, He presses the now open box into my hands. I reached in to withdraw the dark gold lame’ bag. With trembling hands, I open the drawstring and shake the content into my hands.

For a moment I cannot breath! A pair of earrings, matching the necklace that He had given me, fall into my palm. A series a white gold drops surround central heart-shaped diamond, chiming softly as the earrings are lifted into the firelight. The central stones are each engraved with the words “My grace”.

Lovingly, He fastens them on my ears. I hear the whisper of the chimes, “My grace, My grace,” they sing. I am overcome.

“Oh, Papa!, Thank you!” I bury my face in his chest.

“Now that the abyss is silenced, you can hear these. I want you to hear my song of grace constantly in your ears. “

And I do, over and over again. “Thank you Papa!, “I whisper, my heart threatening to burst with joy in His embrace. He kisses the top of my head. And simply holds me for a long time.

“Come sit with Me.” He finally says and leads me to the balcony. Together, we sit on a glider bench, His arm around me.

It is such a pleasant place, the shade of the magnolia tree lightly covers the balcony. The gentle sound the waterfall below and a soft breeze complete the outdoor décor. If I open my eyes I could look out over the garden, but prefer to close them, for now savoring his presence. A part of me though fights to be up and running, seeks to be doing something. I go to silence it, not wanting to miss a moment of this precious time with Him.

He nods at me. “Do not give up these times of rest. You’ve been busy for too long. In order to do what you’ve been called to do for Me, you must take time with Me. I will provide you with the meat you will serve, but you must meet with Me, rest with Me to receive it. Do not be afraid of rest anymore. There’s no more danger to you in rest.”

I see I have been afraid of rest for so very long, it is always meant vulnerability, danger that I have no defense against. But to rest with Him is safe. Nothing can harm me in His presence.

“Papa, please forgive me for the fear that I’ve been holding onto all this time, the fear of rest, of stillness, quietness. I repent for holding on to what is counter to Your word. Please forgive me and show me how to do this differently!” Even as I whisper these words, I notice something different this time. Though saddened by seeing this fear in myself, I am no longer so afraid of being wrong. I am confident in His forgiveness and of His guidance and instruction for change.

He hugs me briefly, “You are forgiven child. You all are already on the path to change, but I will bring light to the old path and show you a new way “

“Thank you, Papa. “I can scarcely believe how different things have become.

“Let Me show you something.” He begins to rise. Together we walked toward the rail of the balcony. Immediately I can see how different the garden has become, not nearly the place it once was. He points to an eagle soaring overhead. “Soon you’ll be able to soar like that.”

Those times I had ever dared picture myself able to fly, it was as a little canary, ever as an eagle! Suddenly I see this is what will come out of the rest with Him!

“ Yes.” He smiles.” Give me your hands.” As I do, He takes them into his own. As before, they are still calloused and ragged from the busyness that I have made for myself. “Let Me treat them.” He instructs. I can only nod as He brings out His jar of ointment. Slowly, and with great, tender care, He covers my hands in the fragrant balm, rubbing it deeply, firmly into every wounded and rugged place.

I never realized how much my hands ached, how very tired they were, until that moment. It is such a relief, released to have my hands empty, still for even a few moments.

“This will enable you to let go of what I have not given you, to be still when it is time. And it will also give you the strength to hold on and to do as I call you to in that season.” He holds my hands in His for a long time.

Tears in my eyes I can only whisper, “Thank you, Papa.”

He takes both my hands in His left and with His right tenderly He rings the chimes on my ears . They sing out, “My grace, My grace.” Over and over and over. My tears, flowing freely now, I pressed my head to his chest crying “I love you papa, I love you.” I never before have been able to receive, to feel His love in such a real and tangible way. Dressed in His garments, standing in His chambers I feel more safe and more accepted and more loved than I ever have before.

Chapter 17-->

Chapter 16: The master suite, pt 2

2006-03-20T21:24:00.000-08:00

“No.” He says slowly. “I do not want you there. I want you much closer to me.”

I am slow to understand and just stand there looking at Him dumbly. He beckons me to the doorway beside His chambers and opens the door saying, “Here’s where you should be.”

We enter into a smaller suite, laid out in mirror image to His. The sitting room, smaller, but simple and elegant, focuses on a fireplace already crackling warmly with fire. I realize the two chambers share the fireplace, making them almost the same room. A gentle welcoming warmth fills the room, inviting me in.

I feel His hand lay gently upon my shoulder as He explains. “I want to close to me, child. I want you to know that I am here, that if you call out to Me in the night I will hear you and be here with you.” I am so relieved that He should want me to so close to Him.

I do not want to question His instructions, so I carefully walk into the room. Setting my boxes down on the table in the middle of the sitting room, I look around the rooms for a moment trying to grasp all that has taken place in just a short time. Then I realize that I do not see Him.

“Child,” I hear his voice a small distance away. “Come to my chamber.” I did not realize He had left! Hastily I obey.

“Yes, Papa.” I call out rushing through His door, a little breathless from my dash to get to His rooms. Immediately I notice a beautifully wrapped box sitting on a table in the sitting room.

“It is for you.” He explains, nodding toward the gift.

“Why?” I find myself asking before it can stop myself. An anxiety I do not understand tinges my voice.

“Just because I want to bless you.” He replies, smiling gently at me. He ushers me in and I sit down in the chair beside the table. I cannot bring myself to reach toward the box, much less open it. I simply cannot receive it.

“It is yours whether you choose to open it or not” He kindly assures me, encouraging but not pushing me.

Still, I am paralyzed, afraid to even touch it. “Why could I received the oil from You, but not this?” I ask aloud, frustrated and bewildered in myself.

“What do you expect?” He asks.

The word ‘expect’ floods me with realization. Gifts have long been a difficult thing for me. It is a language of love I understand and I love to give gifts. But it is so hard for me to receive. I avoid opening gifts, especially publicly and dread the disappointment that comes.

“What disappointment?” He gently probes as if wanting me to see something more.

“The disappointment of knowing I’m not known, of knowing that no one is listening or pay attention to me, the disappointment of not feeling loved.” I reply, shocked in my own honesty. I see myself caught in a catch twenty-two. Gifts speak to my heart, but I cannot receive them with joy, or even at all because of the expectation of pain.

I see myself as a girl, around the age where the abyss began to call to me. During the Christmastime when my parents and bought me a very nice doll but I hated it. I was bitterly disappointed, not because there was something else I wanted, but because I felt so I ignored. No one knew me well enough to know that I truly would not have wanted that. I cried then, but claimed it was with happiness because I could not disappoint them with the truth.

Other memories of gifts given in ways to emphasize convenience and obligation flood in. I cannot hold back the tears no longer, as I bury my face and my hands and sob.
Tenderly he puts His hand on my shoulder, waiting patiently until the sobs have subsided. “You can take it with you, you do not have to open it now.”

“No,” I cry again. I am sure He knew I would say that. “It is time for change, I want to be able to receive.” I try to pick up the box, but still cannot. “What do I need to do to be able to change this?”

“Give me your expectations.” He explains.

Suddenly, in my hands I see a black rose, dried and crushed from being carried. I give it to Him. He hands me the box.

Carefully, I unwrap it and open the lid, but I cannot see inside. My bewilderment shows clearly on my face as I look up at Him.

“Throw this into the fire.” He hands me the rose. Tears spring to my eyes as I set down the box and walk the few steps toward the fireplace. Repenting of my expectations, I throw the rose into the fire. The flames flare up, reminding me of the cloak that He burned earlier. I sob into my hands again, feeling overwhelmed by the sense that I no longer know who I am. I feel like so much of what I have always known, of who I have always been is changing so quickly and I do not know how to keep up. He is there right beside me, now, His arm around my shoulders as I cry.

Part 3-->

Chapter 16: The master suite, pt 1

2006-03-20T21:22:00.000-08:00

I feel a deep reluctance not knowing what is there—still surprised by what I have already found in this place. And I am so tired of stairs at the moment!

“These are not difficult to climb, “He tells me, smiling. I sense He knows that it is not disobedience in my heart and thoughts, only tiredness and a little anxiety.

“As You say, Papa.” I take hold of the banister and carefully begin to climb. He is right, these are not like the basement steps. They arc gracefully up to a landing midway up the stairs, then separate into two flights, going to the right and left. I pause here to see which way He goes. He goes to the right, I follow.

At the top of the stairs we pause, taking in the view. It is lovely. We can see into the foyer and into the dining room wing from here. The landing is sprinkled with chairs as though it is used as a quiet retreat from the noise of a gathering below.

“Come sit with Me.” He sits in a large wing chair, close to the railing, and beckons me beside Him. Although there are chairs, I prefer to sit at His feet.

“Please tell me, where are we now, Papa?”

“The upstairs is a place for family and intimates, a place where those are welcomed in to stay.” He explains.

“Do you have a room here?” I ask with some trepidation.

“Yes, I will show you if you like.”

“Please, I want to see.” I reply, although I am a bit concerned at what I may learn. He rises fro the chair and take my arm in His. We walk together down a corridor, carpeted and not quite so dusty as downstairs, perhaps because it is used more. We stop at one of the first rooms on the right, He opens the door and I peer inside. Cheerful sunlight fills the small room before me gracefully accenting the simple, plain furnishings within. . Clearly, it is a room for a child, not for a guest and especially not for Him! The room does not even have a fireplace!

I am appalled and embarrassed. “No, Papa! This is not right. Please, let me find you another, more fitting room! You have the keys now, You cannot stay here!” I feel frenzied and anxious, almost panicked. I rush down the hall, scarcely realizing that I really do not know where I am going. I see two rooms at the end of the hall and sigh with relief, sensing this is the place I am looking for. I open the left hand door, the more decorated of the two, my hands trembling with anxiety, As the door swings open, I can see clearly this is the Master Suite.

Peering in, I can see a sitting room, large and comfortably furnished with an elegant fireplace on the right hand side wall. Beyond, on the spacious balcony, another sitting area invites us. The bedchamber is through a door to the left. I recognize these neat but lived in rooms, I suddenly realize, these are my chambers.

“Please Papa, please, stay here, take these rooms-this is where you should be!” I plead, frenzied as I search for boxes to move my things out. Tears fill my eyes blinding me. In my agitation, I run into Him.

“Papa I am sorry!” I cry out, sobbing heavily now. “I’m so sorry!”

He catches me, but does not let go. “Why are you a troubled?” He asks, clearly expecting an answer.

I hate to respond, I am deeply embarrassed. “I’m ashamed Papa, ashamed that I’ve given you such rooms! I thought that I had given You more, that I’d done better. I have failed you again.” The words rush out of me in a flood.

“And…” Only He would realize that I have not told Him everything yet.

“And I’m afraid you’ll be angry.” With great heaving sobs, I begin to cry into His shoulder. For a while I am aware of nothing but the pounding of my heart and the rush of blood in my own ears. He holds me tightly until finally I calm.

“Child I have been in this guest room for a very long time. Why would have become angry now?” He voice is gentle as he draws me out of myself with His question.

I have no answer.

“ Child, you’re embarrassed now, but that was the best you could give to Me in that season. You have not displeased me. The season has changed now, though; now is the time for change. I will accept your invitation and stay in these chambers.” His strong arms around me comfort and reassure me that He means what He says.

“ Thank you Papa.” I whisper, still in his embrace. Once I settle myself a little more, He helps me box up the last few things I need to move out. Boxes in hand, I head down the corridor, for the small room where we began.

“Where you going?” He asks, stopping me mid-stride.

“To the other room,” I reply, turning toward Him, much surprised by the question. Where else is there for me to go?

Part 2-->

Chapter 15: The abyss, pt 3

2006-03-20T16:40:00.000-08:00

We rest a moment as He lets me regain some strength before turning back to the pit. We stand facing it, staring at it. “This place no longer has the power to hold you. You never have to return here again, never have to listen to those voices again.”

“Can we leave now?” I ask, exhaustion tingeing my voice.

“In a moment.” He opens the lantern and removes a single coal from within. Taking a step toward the pit, He drops the coal into the darkness. I watch it glow as it falls. It seems to fall a very long time, but that is not unexpected. I have been in that pit too many times; I remember too well its depth and the difficult climb out of that place. Finally it hits bottom. I am surprised to see it continuing to glow even at the bottom.

“In time the coal will light this whole place. But for now, it is right to seal the door and keep this place empty.” He explains.

I try to think of what He has said as He guides me back to the stairs. The air is so heavy and foul that I am barely able to breath. I dread this climb. I have climbed this stair too many ties and I know it will be difficult. In the past it has even taken multiple attempts, getting part of the way back up and falling back down, only to have to try again to get out.

“I am here,” He reminds me, pressing me once again between the wall and His strong shoulder, making sure that I will not fall. There is no railing to these stairs, if He is not there beside me, there is nothing to keep me from falling back into the depths of the darkness.

We begin to climb the stairs. Step by step by step we ascend, but it seems there is no progress. My thighs burn, my knees scream in pain. I cannot get enough breath. I do not know if I can make it further.

“Use your sword to support you.” He instructs.

I would have never considered using such a weapon as a mere walking stick. It seems absurd. I am uncertain, but not willing to disobey His instruction. Unsheathing the saber, I plant its tip in the step above me. The blade cuts deeply into the warped wood of the tread.

“I can do all things with You!” I whisper, pulling myself up one more stair, bracing against the strength of the sword ahead of me and His presence beside me. Over and over again I repeat the effortful process until finally we reach the top step.

I half fall through the door way back into the hall, hungrily gulping in the cool fresh air of the mail floor. The last of the muck from the abyss drips from my robe onto the floor, leaving no stain on me. I feel relief hearing Him shut the door behind us.

“Papa, please, may I rest now!” I cry out, surprised again by my boldness with Him.

“Yes.” He guides me the short distance to the private dining room and helps me sit down. Graciously, He hands me a large glass of cold, sweet water. I gulp at it desperately at first, then slow a bit to savor its fresh sweetness. As I catch my breath I become aware of a terrible sense of uncleanness covering me.

Before I can ask, He responds. “That comes from breathing the air of that place. Rest a while, it will pass.”

I am so weary I have no difficulty in obeying this instruction.

Finally, though I must ask, “Papa, I have heard that call before and could not resist it. How is it I did not lose grip on You this time?

“It was the oil, the second anointing of it, that allowed you to withstand that place, to be able to breathe that foul air and still cling to Me.”

That is why He anointed the tip of my nose! I suddenly understand now and am unable to suppress my laughter. He smiles warmly at my amusement.

“What now, Papa?” I ask a little while later.

“It would be good to seal and block the door so that in a moment of weakness it will not be easy for you to go there again.”

He is right of course, I know the temptation, the solace found in the known and familiar even when it is hurtful and damaging. “What is the best way?”

“Nail the door shut and then block it with heavy furniture.”

“All right, Papa. Will You help me?” He nods as He helps me rise from the table.

Silently, we walk to the door. He hands me a hammer and long, heavy nails. The process of nailing the door shut is a slow one. The wood of the door and frame, though plain, is very hard and the nails large. My shoulder and arms already ache from pulling myself upstairs. The hammer’s blows seem to ring off the nails, barely moving them into the wood they seek to penetrate. I have to rest numerous times before I am finished.

When finally I turn, finished with my task, I see Him as a short distance down the hall, bringing a large bookcase this way. The bookcase is a deep mahogany matching the paneling in the dining room in style and color. With authority, He places it firmly in front of the door I have just pinned shut. The shelves are large enough to completely conceal the doorway behind them. I am relieved that I can no longer see it, no longer to have a constant reminder of what is there. The bookcase, for now is empty, but it is a sign of what will be.

“You will fill this—won’t you, Papa?” I ask shyly, but with hope.

“Of course, child, if that is what you desire.”

I catch His hand and press it to my cheek, unable to give voice to the thanks that overflow my heart. He says nothing, but smiles warmly at me and carefully takes my arm again. We head back down the dusty corridor. I notice the hood I now wear is made of the finest, lightest silk I have ever known. White, like the robe, it is almost weightless, yet I do not doubt its capacity to protect me.

Soon we are in the foyer. Instead of going down the opposite corridor to the study, He stops at the long formal stair case arcing gracefully to the upstairs rooms.

“It is time to go upstairs,” He announces.

Chapter 16-->

Chapter 15: The abyss, pt 2

2006-03-20T16:38:00.000-08:00

The staircase, just inside the doorway, descends steeply. I feel a rough wall on my right side, my shoulder braced and rubbing against it. He presses against my left side so I cannot tell what is there, perhaps just emptiness. I am glad for His presence beside me as the darkness disorients me. Slowly my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. I can see only a faint glimmer of light and that is coming from something He carries, a lantern perhaps, in His left hand.

The staircase is long, we seem to descend for a very long time. The air becomes oppressive, stagnant, heavy and hard to breath. Briefly I wish I had brought the oil He just gave me.

“Do not fear, you have everything you need with you.” He replies to my thoughts as we continue to climb down.

My feet become heavier and heavier, my legs burning with the effort of the climb. I want so desperately to rest, to sit for a moment.

“No,” He warns me, “do not rest in this place, if you become restful here, you will be drawn into the abyss.”

I need no further encouragement to continue. Finally we reach the end of the staircase, the last step ending in sharp jolt. The air is even more oppressive here than it was on the stairs: hot, sticky, stale and musty. It feels like the air itself is sticking to me.

In the quietness of the moment, I hear a curious dripping sound nearby. The light of the lanterns allows me to just make out a sticky, murky fluid dripping from my robe. The air, or whatever is in it cannot stick to His garments! This place cannot hold on to me any longer! The revelations floods in like fresh air.

I try to focus in on this freshness, but something distracts me. I hear a faint sound, like that of someone moaning in pain.

“What is that Papa?” It is familiar, but I cannot quite place why.

“It is the sound of this place, the cry of pain that draws you here. It is the legacy of your past generations. I will show you.” We begin to walk slowly toward the sound, His arm still entwined with mine. The light of His lantern is absorbed in this darkness. I can see only a few steps beyond us. As we walk, the sounds, cries becoming screams now become louder. I feel a pull to join them, to become enmeshed in my own pain—this is the pull of the abyss.

We continue our approach. I hold tighter, with both hands now, to His arm so as not to become separated from Him. It is the only way I can see not to answer the powerful call of this place. The sounds, the call keeps getting louder though.

Finally we are at the edge of a horrible pit; the cries now so loud I cannot hear myself think. I fight the urge to surrender to it, to throw myself into the abyss. “Papa!” I scream, not hearing my own voice in the cacophony of the calls. “Make it stop! Make it stop! I can’t hear You anymore! Make it stop!” Tears flow freely down my cheeks as I plead to Him.

My hands still clutch His right arm. With His left, still holding the lantern, He reaches around me and pulls a hood over my head, covering my ears. I had never noticed a hood on the robe before. The moment I am covered by this hood, the sounds stop, they are gone! I sag against Him in physical relief from the assault.

“Papa!” I am surprised to be able to hear my own voice now.

“You are safe.” He assures me.

“Are the voices gone?” I am confused.

“No,” He gently pulls back the hood along one side of my face, exposing my left ear slightly. I hear the sounds muffled in the folds of the hood; they disappear as He lets the hood fall back into place. “This will protect you from those calls.”

Part 3-->

Chapter 15: The abyss, pt 1

2006-03-20T15:44:00.000-08:00

For years I have felt that I have been fighting the pull of a great dark abyss. Each time I seem to get away from it I have been drawn back, caught by the cloak I have worn. But the cloak is gone now. Can this really mean I do not have to go back?

I rush back to His side, the question forming on my lips. He answers me before I can ask. “Yes, you are free from that place now. You have dwelt there and fought your away from it for far too long. It has been handed down as a family legacy, like the cloak, but without the cloak, it no longer has a hold on you. You are free from that abyss.”

My mind whirls at the thought. I had never though about this, not considered it possibility.

“Come, let Me show you that place in the light now. You will no longer need to fear it.” He rises and takes my arm.

“Where are we going?” I ask with trepidation.

“To the basement.”

What basement? I did not know there was one!

He leads me back to the foyer and down the hall with the dining room and kitchen. He approaches one of the closed doors opposite the great room, near the smaller dining room.

Now I understand! The two places are so close. Perhaps that is why I have often felt myself drawn there, to the abyss after preparing and serving a large meal. Quietly, He nods at me and pats my hand with tenderness. We stop at a very plain door, easily overlooked in the lovely woodwork that surrounds.

“Open it.” He firmly directs; it is a command, not a suggestion. With warmth, He adds, “I will be here with you.”

Cautiously, I push the door open. There is no light within the doorway; it is completely and totally dark with an encompassing darkness that goes beyond the absence of light. It seems to suck in the light, draw it in and consume it within. I can just make out the first step inside, nothing more.

Firmly He entwines my left arm in His. “Stay close lest you get lost.”

I clutch at His wrist, the power of His warning not lost on me. I have no desire to go here, much less become lost within. Too many times I have been here and lost my way in the depths of that darkness. Too many times I have had to claw my way back into the light. No, I do not want to be here, even with Him beside me. But, I will obey.

Part 2-->

Chapter 14: The kitchen and dining room, pt 4

2006-03-12T07:13:00.000-08:00

I let His words rest upon me. I do not fight them off this time. I have pleased Him. How I have longed to hear those words! And now that I have heard them, I cannot receive them! “Oh, Papa!” I cry, I find myself looking longingly at Him, still trying to absorb His words deep within me.

I think He sees me struggling to obey. Gently, He releases my face. “Child, let Me anoint your wounds, it will help.” In His hand I see a small faceted bottle contain an orange-gold liquid.

“Yes, Papa,” I reply knowing I must expose myself to His scrutiny. Quickly I unlace the vest, carefully removing it and the rest of the garments He has given me.

Standing naked before Him, the fire is hot upon my back. He beckons me nearer. As I obey, He says, “This is the oil of joy. Let it penetrate your wounds to the deepest places within you.” Tenderly He anoints the still deep wounds across my belly. I feel it penetrating the depths of those wounds with a peculiar warmth that begins to spread within me. Oddly I feel a weight on my shoulders and just as suddenly it slips off. I hear it softly fall on the ground. I know what it is, I do not have to look; it is a cloak of mourning. I realize I have been wearing it for years.

“Yes,” He agrees, “You have worn it many years, even since you were ten years old. It has been in your family at least three generations, a family heirloom.”

I know He is right, but I do not want such an heirloom any longer.

“I want to give you this.” He continues, holding out the beautiful flask of oil to me.

“Oh, Papa!” But I have nothing to give You!” I am not even sure why I have said that.

“Give Me the cloak.” He instructs.

Immediately I move to obey, holding the foul garment gingerly. I do not want to touch it more than necessary, do not want to allow it to get a grip on me again. Quickly I hand it to Him.

Without hesitation, He takes it and flings it into the fire place. The flames consume it hurriedly and brightly. In a moment it is gone. I stand dumbly for a moment, realizing that constant companion the heaviness is finally gone. The reality of the change seems to elude me. I look at the beautiful bottle in my hands. I feel as though I should give it back to Him. I find it difficult to believe that He will not require it back. Receiving gifts has always been difficult because of this fear that some how they are not really mine.

“My gifts are not something that I ever demand back.” He says without condemnation.

The truth of His words reverberates through my deepest places. What He has given me is truly mine to keep! “What shall I do with this Papa?”

“You may keep it into the cabinet by the windows.”

As I carry it to the cabinet I have a sudden new understanding. I had always wondered about the gifts displayed in one whose ways were difficult for me. Now I see, he gave his widow’s mite, all he had, with an honest heart. And He was pleased and He blessed that one.

Then I see it! He is pleased with me! I have truly pleased Him! My heart leaps as I finally understand! I rush back to His side, the oil still in my hand. “Oh, Papa—Your grace to me! Your grace!” I press my face into His hand, tears of joy streaming down my face. “Papa, your grace, your grace, your grace!” I have no other words to speak.

Tenderly He lifts my face and kisses my forehead. I think He is smiling. “Here, come, let me dress you.” He covers me again in His garments. I feel so secure in His garments.

“Please, Papa, anoint me again.” I am not sure why I ask this, but my heart longs for it.

Taking the bottle from my hand, He begins, touching the top of my head, the tip of my nose, my ears, the base of my throat, my hands and feet. “Take this freely, it contains enough for a lifetime.” He hands the bottle back to me.

As I go to put it in the cabinet once again, I am struck by another realization. I am free—I never have to return to the abyss again.

Chapter 15-->

Chapter 14: The kitchen and dining room, pt 3

2006-03-12T07:12:00.000-08:00

“I will believe You, Papa, I will trust You.” I rise to get the keys. The drawer is sticky, but it opens. Inside, there is a key ring with one large, gold key and many smaller once. The firelight reflects dully from the keys. Somehow I know if I take hold of them, I will not want to let them go.

With just one finger, I scoop them up, hooking my finger gingerly in the ring, not allowing them to fall into my palm. I rush to His side, almost throwing the keys at Him in my haste not to become too attached to them.

He takes them carefully, as though handling a treasure. I am stunned by the concern he demonstrates in handling them. Wordlessly, He polishes away the tarnish until they gleam. He removes a length of shimmering white velvet from within His robe and carefully wraps the keys it in. With equal care, He takes the wrapped keys and places them in His robe, close to His heart, then turns toward me.

I am startled and shocked by my own reactions. I flinch and barely resist the urge to cover my face with my hands. “Don’t hurt me Papa!” I cry out before I can silence the words. I thought I was at a place of trust, I truly believed that I did trust, but my own words betray me. I expect Him to be angry, but He is not.

“Have I ever?” He asks calmly and without reproach.

My flesh tries to answer yes, but I cannot find any place where that is truly the case. He has said ‘no’ to me at times, but that is not the same.

“No, you have not.” I whisper afraid of taxing His patience.

“Have I ever given you reason to doubt Me?”

I look back. It seems hard to find places of trust because so many of my own works seem mixed in. I keep looking and cannot find any place He has given me cause not to trust when I have been unable to do something on my own.

“No you have not. But I do see how many times I have taken matters into my own hands, even when You have been there and how I have usually complicated matters or made a mess out of them.” I hang my head in frustration.

He beckons me to His side again. I sit beside Him once more, resting my head in His lap now.

“You have been faithful, daughter, hung in and endured what few have been willing to. You have been faithful to a fault.” His words sting now as I see so much of what I thought to be faithfulness has been my own flesh working out of fear of rejection and self protection. I am devastated and feel condemnation welling up within.

“I have seen the faithfulness of the past and blessed it. It was an act of obedience and it was the best you had to offer me. You gave it willingly. It was a sweetly fragranced offering to Me.” There is a note of sternness in His voice that cuts through my sense of condemnation. Gently he lays His hand on my head. “It is time to grow up now, though. Time for you to stop being faithful to what I have not called you to. Time to stop working pointlessly and to focus on what I have called you to.”

I feel the tears trickle silently down my cheeks. I cannot stop them, much as I would like to. I say nothing, not wanting Him to see me right now.

“You have not listened to me, child.” He says firmly, even as I hide my face from Him.

Placing His hand under my arm, He bids me stand and face Him. I cannot lift my face to Him though. I feel the fire, hot on my back and my grief burning within me. All I can focus on is that I have failed yet again. At some level I know He has said more than that, but still failure is all I can hear. With a firm but kind touch, He lifts my chin so I must face Him. The tears burn my face now, but there are no words to speak.

“You have not listened to me.” He repeats Himself, His words edged with rebuke, but somehow, in this moment I do not care. “All you have heard is that it is time for change, you did not listen when I told you that what you offered to Me then was pleasing to Me. You gave to me the best you had and gave it out of an obedient heart. A widow’s mite, a pleasing fragrance. You must hear this.” He hold my face in both His hands now. “You have pleased Me.”

Without intending to, I start to pull away.

“No.” His voice freezes me. “You will stay until you hear this. Condemnation is threatening to overtake you and if it gains a foothold your wounds will not heal and you will lose the ground you have gained thus far. If you want to keep this ground you must make a choice to truly hear Me now.”

His words are heavy and I cannot ignore them. I must obey. “Yes, Papa, I will.” I whisper, reluctantly, not understanding why this is so difficult for me.

Still holding my face in His hands He begins again. “Offerings made from a genuine, loving and obedient heart are always pleasing to Me. You have pleased Me, child. I am pleased with you.”

part 4-->

Chapter 14: The kitchen and dining room, pt 2

2006-03-12T07:11:00.000-08:00

He leads me back through the dusty halls down to the study. By the time we arrive I am exhausted again. As He sits in His chair by the fire, I drop to the floor on the soft sheep skin and lean my head on His knee. “I am so exhausted Papa! I do knot know how I can do this? How can I do more?” I want to cry, but cannot find the tears. The task He has placed before me seems more than I can possibly even consider.

He strokes my hair gently. “You work too hard and need to rest.”

Quietly and kindly He shows me how I have used busyness to protect me. As a youth I used it to protect me from things at home, either keeping me away from there or at least keeping me from the path of the storm. So I retreat to the busyness in defense and cannot allow myself to rest even when there is nothing to defend against.

“What must I do about this?” I whisper, stung by the truth of what He has shown to me.

“Your heart needs to be healed. I want to be free from this.” He whispers to me.
“What must I do?” I am at a loss to see His path.

“Give Me the keys to your heart.”

His words strike me hard. I though I had done that. Keys mean ownership—does He not have that over me?

“No” He replies to my thought. “You allowed me a lease, a long one, but not ownership.”

I am taken back to see that He is right. I have not actually trusted Him with true, full ownership. I have not allowed Him full control—residence yes, but little more. The reality hits me heavily, weighing deeply upon my heart. What would ownership, what would Him having the keys look like? My first glance at such a thought is fearful, full of hurt. Instinctively, I fear that He will use His ownership to hurt me.

I tentatively glance up at Him and can see clearly that He knows what I am thinking. He says nothing though, but again strokes my hair tenderly and rests His hand on my shoulder. Clearly, He is not angry with me, though I do not understand why.

“Where are the keys?” I finally ask, realizing that even if I wanted to give Him the keys, I could not.

“In the drawer of the bookstand.” He glances toward it briefly as if trying not to push me into action.

I rise slowly from the soft sheepskin rug, my mind in turmoil. Somehow I am not surprised to find that the drawer is stuck when I try to open it. I work at it earnestly for a while, but finally return to His side.

“How do I open the drawer?” I feel stupid asking, but I do not know.

“Make a choice to trust Me again.” He reminds me of when we walked through this trust issue in another light.

As I sit down beside Him again, I find I have my head down, resting on my own knees y mind and heart reeling with what he is asking of me. Somewhere along the line I have learned that He really does not care about me, that He does not care about my needs, or was that my comfort? I am not sure I remember clearly in this moment. Some part of me knows that giving Him ownership requires level of privation and sacrifice that I have heard about in the awful ‘stories of old’ about what was gone without and how holy ‘they’ were to do it. It sounds so much like He wants to deprive me of all comfort or relief I might find. It seems like things are hard enough now, why should I invite them to become harder still? How can I trust that He will not tear down this place once He owns it?

Somehow, I have already forgotten what He said in the dining room. I want to obey, but feel so conflicted. I wish I could cry, but cannot find the tears. I feel ill, I do not know how to do what He has asked of me.

“Papa, I want to obey, I just do not know how to open the drawer. How do I trust you in spite of all I have been taught?” The words tumble out of me in a rush. “I want to do this!” I raise my head to look into the fire—I cannot look at Him right now. “If it would help….please, take me from this place…rebuke me if that will help me do this!” I hang my head once again in despair, still unable to find the tears to release my turmoil.

He is quiet for a long, long time. Somehow it is fitting, the silence helps me to calm myself just a bit. Finally, He reaches forward, laying a hand on my shoulder. “A willing heart does not need rebuke.” He says firmly.

I do not know what to say, feeling as though I have no hope now.

“Come closer to me, here by my side.” He directs. Not lifting my head, I obey, leaning against His leg, His hand still on my shoulder.

Quietly, He begins to share with me about the Good Father and the Good Shepherd. He reminds me of His names that I have studied and that none of them are names of fear and hurt, but healer, provider, shepherd, refuge, strong tower, deliverer, redeemer. There is no name for Him that means destroyer, wounder of His children. That is simply not who He is, it is not in His character. What I have learned is a false representation of my Papa God. He works all things to good for His children. He gives good gifts to His children, we are the sheep of His pasture, His wealth and His treasure. He tends and preserves us for Himself. Those things I fear, He simply will not do, they are not in Him.

He lets me think on these things for a long time, but it is clear that I must make a choice. He will not force me, but I must do something with what He has shown me. My anxiety has not lessened, but I have chosen.

Part 3-->

Chapter 14: The kitchen and dining room, pt 1

2006-03-12T07:06:00.000-08:00

He takes my arm once again and leads me back over the bridge through the court yard and into the castle. I am grateful for His lead as I find that I do not know my way around. It is strange to me that this castle, my heart, is so unknown to me.

Once in the foyer, we head to a corridor to the left. The corridor to the study, on the right, is the only corridor that I have really seen so far. The long left hand passageway is lined with closed doors on the right-hand wall. On the left is an enormous dining room. Finally at the end of the hall is the kitchen.

He opens the swinging doors to let us in. I am awestruck by the size of the room. It is huge! The walls are faced in warm river stones, the fixtures lines with red brick. The effect is warm and comforting, so familiar and inviting. This is a comfortable place for me, I feel safe, hidden from the crowds, in the kitchen. I like to be enmeshed in the preparation, protected from exposure outside in the dining room.

In anticipation, I survey the rest of the room. A double sided steel table runs down the center of the room. The right side wall is also lined with steel preparation tables. Clearly plating and presentation are to be done there. The left wall is lined first with stoves and ovens, then with a walk-in freezer and refrigerator. The left side of the center table is stocked for preparation with tools and bins of chopped vegetables and seasonings. The smell is wonderful and homey here, comforting, making me feel strangely at home.

After the size, the thing that strikes me is that it is already fairly clean, not like the study which required some effort to make livable. The dishes are clean, the front wall set for dishwashing. I find there are a few moldy fruits in the refrigerator, but little else seems to need cleaning.

“I don’t understand, Papa, I though you said we needed to clean this place.” I ask, confused.

He nods and takes my arm. “You know you are called to serve meat from here to my people. You have spent many hours here already. This place has seen much use over the last two years. It is ready for use, but you needed to see this for yourself.”

I am still confused as He leads me into the dining room. I see it is really two rooms, though. The first is a smaller, intimate room, seating only a few, closed off from the man room by a pair of pocket doors. The walls of both are burgundy and the carpeting a deep blue-green. The wainscoting is finely grained cherry or mahogany as are the simple, elegant table and buffet. The iron chandelier ringed by eight ivory candles also displays the same regal simplicity. Clearly the focus is the meal and not the room.

He bids me sit and serves me again. As I eat, I see there is nothing I can do to be unchosen. By His choice, He acted to accept and love me, and that choice is about Him, not me. With this, I can feel the wounds heal a little more.

After I finish, we leave the small table and He takes me into the main dining room. I cannot even count how many can be served at the immensely long table running down the center of the room. Each place is set with linen, but no china. Clearly the room is being readied for use, but use is not quite imminent.

“More will come here to be fed.” He tells me. “Not all will like what you serve. Some will come and choose not to eat, but those that eat of the meat you serve will be changed and grow.”

I feel overwhelmed and a little panicky at the thought. How can I possibly feed that large a group the kind of meal this room would anticipate?

I try to stammer out a question, but He tells me, “Let us go to the study and talk.” before I can manage to form the words.

part 2-->

Chapter 13: Bandages, pt 5

2006-03-10T21:42:00.000-08:00

“No,” My honestly surprises even me. “But if you believe it is time, Papa, then I will.” Perhaps I am learning something.

“Come then.” He bids me stand at the water’s edge. In the still water I see my reflection an His. Gently, He opens my robe allowing me to see the wounds in the reflection. The injuries are brutal and threaten to overwhelm me, but I see Him in the reflection as well, making it bearable. The gashes look as though a great cat, a lion perhaps, has raked its claws across my belly, not just once, but several times. The lesions are deep, I wonder that the pain is not greater.

“My salve is still upon you and you are still walking in the numbness of old. Many function with such wounds. I want you to see these so that you will recognize he in others, so that you can bring the same healing you receive to others.” With a firm hand, He closes the robes and fastens them shut with the belt. “They must remain covered lest the flies come.”

“I thought they were gone.”

“Largely that is true, but they are always around, it only takes one to cause great damage.” He turns me to face Him now. “Do not allow doubt to spring up I you. I want to raise you to a new level of trust in my, no longer trusting in yourself but in what I have told you, in who I am and who I have raised you to be.”

“You make it sound so simple.” I reply ruefully.

Tenderly, He presses His hand to my cheek. I drink in this tenderness. He gently kisses my forehead and draws me into His embrace.

“I love you Papa,” I whisper. He just holds me.

Finally, He says, “Let’s return to the tree, we cannot begin the healing process here.”

As we walk I feel emboldened to speak from my heart. “Papa, I do not understand something. I am not afraid now. Other times when you have lead me to face something I have been afraid, even though You have been with me. But now I am not, why?”

“You are still numb. It is difficult for you to feel anything about this right now.” There is no condemnation in His tone, only explanation.

As we enter the shady grove, I see a place set with water and meat. “Come sit and eat.”

Suddenly I recognize the hunger gnawing at me. As I eat He begins to show me truths I have not understood.

Eph 1: 3. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! He has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realm,
4. just as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless in his presence. In love
5. he predestined us for adoption to himself through Jesus Christ, according to the pleasure of his will,
6. so that we would praise his glorious grace that he gave us in the Beloved One.
7. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our offenses, according to the riches of God's grace
8. that he lavished on us, along with all wisdom and understanding,
9. when he made known to us the secret of his will. This was according to his plan that he set forth in Christ

He shows me that I am chosen. He has predestined my effectiveness. I am not chosen because of anything I have done, but because of what Christ has done. He is pleased with His choices. His choices were made with full understanding of everything that would be.

Ringing in my ears over and over I hear ‘I am chosen’. He actually chose me! And understanding and faith that I never before knew begins to dawn. He chose me!

I see Him smile and nod at me. “Yes I have,” He says without recrimination of my slowness to believe. I feel a heaviness leave me, at least in part.

“Come, look at your wounds now.” He instructs, beckoning me to Him. He opens my robe to reveal my wounds. But they have changed now. They are cleaned, no longer full of debris and infection. The actually seem to be healing. I wonder that a meal alone could do this.

“Meat is very powerful.” He answers, closing by robe once again. “The wounds must remain open for now so that they might heal from the inside out. If they are closed now, they are likely to infect. But they must be protected.” He places a vest around me. The back is soft white wool, the front is heavy white leather. He laces the vest securely around me, protecting the open wounds I still bear. The vest strengthens me, supports me, like the old bandages did. But with this I can heal.

“Thank you, Papa,” I whisper, still surprised. I did not know what to expect, but certainly this was not it.

“Come, let us return to the castle. It is time to clean out the kitchen.”

Chapter 14-->

Chapter 13: Bandages, pt 4

2006-03-10T21:41:00.000-08:00

Gingerly I rise to my feet. It is still hard even to stand. I feel unsteady through out. He puts His arm around me once again and I lean heavily upon Him as we begin to walk. With Him I walk to the edge of the garden, following the edge of the fence. I notice that the fence is iron now, no longer stone. The bars are about shoulder high with stone pillars separating the sections. The fence is not nearly so formidable as it used to be. I see some flowering vines beginning to row up the iron pickets.

“Those vines will bear fruit and draw others to your gate.” He tells me warmly. I think He is pleased.

Together we walk very slowly. I did not realize how much strength I was drawing wrapped up in my own efforts.

“You have worked so hard,” His voice brims with love not condemnation, ”It has driven you, given you no peace, not real peace but rather a counterfeit that was close enough that you would settle for it.”

It is true, what can I say? I want something more now, something that is real. He nods and smiles at me. “Why are we here? What…” I cannot find the words to ask the question on my heart.

“Because seeing these changes will strength you.”

I get a glimpse of something now, just briefly. All the tings I have been afraid of being asked to do, the things I cannot do, I am unable o do them because of something within me. As I am changed I will be able and no longer afraid.

He smiles and nods again, glancing toward the fence. “All that remains is for you to paint the fence and it will be finished.”

“So it does not have to come down?”

“No, the fence is necessary, you must have it. But it has locked you in as much as it has kept others out, so it had to change. Since I stand guard over your heart now, it serves a new purpose, one of the spirit, before it served the purposes of the flesh.”

I ponder on this as we wander to a more distant part of the garden. I do not think we have been here before. It is the spot farthest from the castle, the tree and the waterfall. But there are vines growing over the fence here as well. And in the distance I ser people outside the fence.

“Who are they, Papa?” I ask, suddenly unsettled by what I am seeing.

“They are those who will want to enter this garden because of the fruit they see.
There seems to be a lot of people, coming closer now, and I am afraid. He clearly sees what is happening now.

“Shhh, do not be afraid. Remember I keep guard here now, they cannot hurt you in the garden. They cannot hurt the garden, it is meant for them.”

His words do not make sense to me. I need some time to come to grips with this idea. “Papa, can we move away? I keep feeing as though I must do something here and I do not think that is what you want of me right now.” I whisper tentatively.

He smiles again. “You are getting stronger to see and resist the flesh. This is a step toward healing. You are right, these cannot come in until your wounds are truly healed. Come.” He wraps my arm in His, but does not put His arm around me this time, letting me stand more on my own. I am shaky, but I can walk this way. I still lean heavily on Him though.

As we walk, He speaks to me, teaching me. Finally, He tells me, “Child, I will reset your expectations and give you a platform for a new level of faith to arise in you so that you can walk in my purposes.”

“Be it unto me according to they word, Papa. I want what you want. I do not want to settle for something less. I want what you desire. “ I pause a moment, stumbling over my words. “Because, Papa, I think I can really trust you now, trust that you are not going to hurt me, to make my life difficult just because you can. I don’t think I ever know this before.”

We walk toward the castle now, stopping at a shaded bench by the moat. We sit down to rest. I am already so weary! From the bench I can see the colorful fish cavort in the water, the sight of such life fills me with joy.

“Are you ready to look at your wounds?’ He asks.

part 5-->

Chapter 13: Bandages, pt 3

2006-03-10T21:40:00.000-08:00

“Yes, Papa, please, heal these wounds. Remove the bandages.”

But He does not. Instead, He hands me the swords that He gave me. It has been a while since I have needed it. “You must cut them off with this.”

I am confused. This was not what I expected. I take the sword though, wondering what to do with it. I am afraid that I will injure myself with it, trying to remove the wraps that bind me.

“Do not fear, you cannot injure yourself with it. This will only cut through sin, through the flesh, but it will not wound you.” He takes both my hands in His. He holds His hand around my hand that holds the sword. My other hand He wraps tightly around the blade. With sure swift movements, He draws the sword though my hand. I can feel the sharpness, the power of it, but there is not blood, I am not wounded.

He releases me hands now and I draw a deep breath. Carefully, slowly, I begin to cut through the bandages swathing my core. “I am saved by grace, though faith. I am not justified by works. You promised you will always be with me, that you would not forsake me.” The first layer of bandages falls away There is a second underneath! I try to draw another deep breath, but the wraps hinder me, leaving me feeling suffocated. Biting me lip, I continue to cut away at the bindings. “I have been crucified with Christ, no longer do I live, but Christ lives in me. “ Finally I cut through the dressings and they fall away.

I drop the sword and screw my eyes shut. I do not want to look, I cannot! I suddenly realize I can breath now! Hungrily I draw deep breaths, I cannot remember breathing this deeply before. Slowly the suffocating feeling subsides and with it some of the panicky fear that I had felt.

“Come let Me help you was away the residue and begin to clean those wounds.” He carefully helps me sit up, then to stand.

I am so weak! I have been trusting in those bandages for so long for support that my core as become weak. The very I have worked so hard to strengthen, I find now is so incredibly weak!

He takes my left arm in His left and puts His right arm around me, helping me to walk to the water’s edge. Halfway there, I have to stop, I am not strong enough to continue. He gives me water and wipes the sweat from my cheeks, patiently waiting with me until I have regained enough strength to go on.

Finally we reach the water’s edge. Even there He does not release me, but rather walks with me into the water and under the water fall. As I stand there I realize how cold the water feels, not bitterly cold, but cold enough to be shocking, maybe even refreshing? The warmth of His hands carefully cleaning away the last of the bandages draws me from my considerations.

“Papa, forgive me for trusting in and leaning on my own works.” I breathe softly. I am clean now. It feels strange, weak and unsupported, and yet free at the same time.

He helps me back to the bank and out of the water. He scrutinizes my still open wounds. “These must be covered.” He pulls His robe around me firmly. “This was only the first step, you are not healed yet. If these are left uncovered, they will fester. My righteousness will protect you.”

I nestle into His robe, relishing the sense of safety even as I am reminded of my own weakness. “Papa, why did you have me cut the bandages off myself?” I ask, oddly unafraid this time.

“So you would know that you could do it and how to do it. Your flesh will seek out this support; seek to bind you up again. You need to know how to be free.” He explains without criticism.

I nod, trying to tuck this into my heart to keep for the future.

“You must be careful in this season, during this process. You are weak, do not try to carry excess burdens at this time. You need to grow stronger before you do.” He leads me a few steps further. “Now sit with me and eat, you need to gain strength.”

There is a picnic laid out on the sandy bank of the pool, set with milk, bread and meat. He bids me sit and eat. I sit down and He sits with me. Seeing the food I realize how hungry I am and I quickly drink the milk. The richness is delicious, but it only takes the edge ff my hunger. It is the meat that I am longing for. Never have I known meat to taste this good. It satisfies a deep hunger in my soul. It surprises me that I have not touched the bread, though. I have little desire for it. I am uncertain what to do. “Papa, what is the bread, should I not want it?”

“What do you think?” He replies cryptically.

“I know it should be, but something does not appear right.”

“Break it.”

I obey only to find the loaf is hollow and full of worms. In revulsion I drop it.

“This is the bread that many fill themselves up on rather than with my meat. It fills them up but does not satisfy their need. You chose well.” He explains.

I am still confused. This feels so strange. “Papa, I don’t understand, what is happening?”

“Child, I am taking you deeper than you have been before. I am showing you your heart. I already know it. But you must see it so that you will know what is there and who you are. I want you to be confident that I am for you and not against you and that you are for Me.

“Now, walk with me. You must become stronger and used to walking without those bandages before we can go further.”

part 4-->

Chapter 13: Bandages, pt 2

2006-03-10T21:38:00.000-08:00

Even now, the numbness touches my fear, dulling it, making me less willing for it to be taken from me. But how can I say no to Papa God? “How can I say no to You? “ I whisper, but so much of me is unsure and afraid, even unwilling. I can not imagine what it means to truly feel any more. I cannot remember the last time I actually felt without reservation. The thought of it actually frightens me more deeply that I realized.

“What you cannot feel right now is joy, child,” He breaks into my thoughts with gentle words that draw me from my own depths. “You have been deceived, the numbness only dulls the pain, it does not cover it up. It keeps you from feeling anything but the pain.”

I ponder what He has said. I cannot help but wonder if it is true, the possibility never occurred to me before. Can it be a lie? Kindly He strokes my furrowed brow soothingly. I think on Him, all that He had done for me, how He rushed in to sweep me into His arms the moment the door to my heart opened, how He healed the wounds on my back, not betraying my trust, my name carved upon the palm of His hand. How can I fail to trust Him now?

“Please, Papa, do it, set me free from this” I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice.

With a delicate touch, He smoothes His salve over the bandages that bind me from armpits to hips. I had never before noticed how tight and stiff they were, holding me together. He salve begins to soften the wraps, loosening them from me.

“What are these wraps, Papa?” I ask tentatively.

He is silent for a long time, as if contemplating how to help me understand. Finally He speaks, “They are the works of your flesh—the works you have done. You have worked so hard to keep from making a mistake, it is your perfectionism.”

The truth is so obvious, but it hits me like a rock. He is asking me to give up the only way I know how to be, how to cope. I can taste the panic rising in my throat, but the numbness rises too, to squelch even these feelings. I am not sure whether this is good or bad.

“Papa, what does this mean? What does this look like?” I am finally able to stammer, still fighting the urge to run. “I cannot fathom what this would look like.”

His answer is compassionate and patient; I still marvel at His incredible patience with me. I have never known such patience. “You are afraid letting go of these works will mean that you will just sit and watch and no longer be active. You are afraid that it means letting go and watching everything fall apart around you, seeing your nightmares come to pass and losing everything.”

I close my eyes as tears begin to flow. I can only nod in response. He knows me so well!

“Do not fear, that is not what this means, not at all.” At first, I cannot hear His reassurance. “It means letting go of the drive, the compulsion that has driven you so hard. You have been working hard, so hard to serve your flesh, not to serve Me. You will begin to serve Me with your whole heart, in freedom. You will continue to work, even hard at times, but without the specter of disaster looming over you, driving you to destruction. There will be freedom in all you do, not fear in all things. You will be able to say no without guilt or fear. You will find joy in what you do.”

His words have penetrated my reserve now and I am hanging on them. It takes me a moment to realize that He has paused. Finally I must ask, “But at what cost?”

I can feel Him smile wryly, “Yes, there is always a cost, my dear. You must give up your control, the assurance that your work will bring you success, what you want. You will have to give that up to Me. What you are accustomed to trusting in you will no longer have. You must give that over to Me. You will have to subdue your flesh.”

I wonder what it would be like, not to be able to rest in, to count on my own efforts, to have to let o of this crutch. The freedom beckons to me, enticing me. It is not enough. But, I trust Him, and this is enough.

part 3-->

Chapter 13: Bandages, pt 1

2006-03-10T21:36:00.000-08:00

Even as I rest here with Him, a pang of fear touches me. I do not want to give it leave to remain, so I gather my courage to tell Him. It is still difficult to get used to the idea that He truly wants me to share the deepest things of my heart with Him.

“Papa,” I begin hesitantly. “Something scares me...” I can feel him nodding, encouraging me to go on. “I am afraid, desperately afraid that I will do something wrong or that You will see something in me and decide to turn away even before I know what I have done. I guess I’m afraid that if I am not perfect I’ll lose everything in You. I am terrified of making a mistake, any mistake, because it could mean I’ve lost everything.” It is difficult to admit this to Him.

He says nothing, but holds me and shows me a picture of myself as a little girl, being ignored for having done something wrong, but not knowing what she did or how to fix it and making things right again. She is afraid of losing relationship, of not existing any more. I remember this picture now, I’d pushed it aside now for many years. Reliving it now, the feelings are so poignant I can taste the fear as the overwhelming sadness fills my belly and edges into my throat. I see my mother turning her back on me now and a touch of panic edges into my awareness too. Surely this is the source of my fear.

“This is not justice.” His voice is very stern now and I fear that He is angry with me. I can feel myself tremble, though I try to hide it. “That was manipulation, not training the heart but scarring the soul. Your soul is deeply scared, wounded to the core from this. Your expectation is set and you have seen this over and over.”

Relief that His anger is not with me mixes with the bitter reminiscence of the empty aching of my heart. Tears threaten to overflow as my words pour forth. “There are no second chances for me.” The words are bitter on my tongue, I hate this fact I have lived with for so long.

“You haven’t needed many of them, have you?” His response surprises me, if anything I expected a lecture on why I was wrong in my belief.

“No, not really,” I stammer in reply. “There have been times I have lost, the loss has been big, but I have minimized those times, I guess. I’ve worked very, very hard to be good, to get it right the first try, or close enough to squeak by. I always wonder, I fear, when someone is going to catch on, to see through it all and realize that I am really just faking it and not a good as it all looks.” I know I have said these words before, but this is the first time I have ever felt heard or understood in this.

“It has been hard for you.” His words, though simple, are filled with deep compassion that belies their simplicity.

“Horribly. I am always so afraid it will all be taken away and I won’t even know why…” It is so easy to let the words flow with Him.

“My grace…” He whispers in my ear. “My grace…” over and over He whispers that to me. “My grace… it is unmerited favor. Unearned, unconnected with anything you have done. You cannot earn it or un-earn it, it is my grace…you are my grace. My grace is not about you or anything you have done. It is all about Me, so you cannot lose for anything you have done.” I begin to weep now. “Receive my grace, my grace…my grace. “He begins to whisper it over and over again in my ear. “My grace.”

“I submit my heart to your grace, Papa, I submit my heart to your grace.” I try to rest back into His arms and let this pain and fear finally go.

“This is not something you can just let go of, child. You must be healed of it. I must restore and heal those scars and wounds.” He explains kindly.

“I am willing Papa.”

“Those wounds go very, very deep.” He says, touching my heart, tracing a line down to my belly. They cut through every fiber of your being, every relationship, everything that you set out to do. They undermine all trust for you.”

“I know Papa! I know,” I cry, flinching as I see the wounds exposed. They are old wounds, unhealed through the years, ragged, bloody and deep crisscrossing my belly.

“They are cruel wounds. And yet, you have persisted.” He pronounces as if passing judgment.

I feel I must explain. “I bandaged them together the best I could…” I now see the filthy rags I used to try and hold the wounds together, to cover them and function in spite of them. They have been in place a long time and it shows. The bandages are horrid and vile to behold.

“But they have not brought you healing, only functioning to a degree.” His declaration cannot be argued or dismissed.

Sadly, I nod, wishing for more than to just function wrapped in these filthy rags, but not having even an image to hope from. They have been a part of me for so long I do not know what it would like look to function without them. “I want healing, Papa, I want to be whole. Most of all I want to be able to trust you completely! Please, Papa, touch and heal these wounds.” It is an effort to find the hope even to say these words.

Gently He nods as He moves from behind me, carefully laying me down, wounds exposed, on the branch. Carefully He examines the wounds. Although He has done nothing yet, I find that I am growing anxious. “These bandages must be removed. You have become numb beneath them.”

His words call a new fear to life. I have been numb for along time, but that numbness is safe. I can not feel much, but it keeps the pain bearable. I have always been willing for this inevitable trade off. But to feel joy, without pain? It is tempting, but at what cost? Can I face Him touching so deeply?

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Chapter 12:Listening to His Whisper pt.3

2006-03-05T21:30:00.000-08:00

“Can I talk to you Papa?” I ask.

“Always,” He reminds me, encouraging.

“This was so difficult, Papa. I do not understand. I really did not want to leave that comfortable place with You, especially since it seems that I have just found it. It feels like I have lost it again.

“It hurts, Papa, even now it hurts. You tell me that I did this right, that You are pleased, but my feelings tell me the opposite. Please, I guess I just need Your reassurance right now.” I am reluctant to ask for it though, thinking that perhaps I should not need it.

“My child,” He breathes, tenderly pressing His hand to my face. “You did right. You see, it was only in that closeness that your heart could hear My whisper. And you did hear it, leaping to My call.

“You could have ignored it, and waited. If you had, I would have called and invited you to deal with this thing again and again. But, had you continued to resist, I would have had to bring a rebuke to you as I did before.”

I cringe at the thought, before I realize it. My heart still stings in remembrance of His rebuke.

“The correction had to come, you know that. But in this way, when you responded quickly, it was much easier.” I hear myself laugh ruefully at this, but He nods firmly, stopping me. “Yes, easier and less painful to you. You are sitting here with Me now, not flinching away in fear with a wall between us because you chose to quickly obey.

“Yes, you pleased me.” He hugs me briefly, I press my head to His arm.

“If this was right, why does it still hurt so?”

“Sin damages much. When you repented much was torn down. But what your heart longs for is not yet present. It is time for rebuilding.”

“But how!” Frustration fills my voice. “I don’t know how to do this relationship differently. I don’t know what You want from me!”

“Trust Me.” I am reminded of His promise and some of the tense frustration leaves me. “Simply change your response to her. You have responded defensively out of the deep hurts that have remained unhealed and the expectation of more of the same. Stop. I guard your heart now. You do not need to be defensive any longer.”

His words arrest my attention. The possibility of not having to be on constant guard, protecting myself has never occurred to me. If He guards me now…. I realize with a powerful suddenness that what He asks, I can do!

“I can do that, Papa! I will do what You ask! I will obey You, I will obey!” A tension drains from me, leaving me feeling weak in its wake. “I expected You to demand so much more of me.” I stammer finally.

“That is a deception of the flesh. When it cannot distract you from My way, it will demand more than My way, demanding what will cause you to fail.” He explains. “I am releasing you, giving you freedom now, to be who I made you to be. Do not allow other demands to change that, to cause you to pursue other than that.”

“Yes, Papa.” I sigh resting in His arms. I love this place, surrounded by Him.

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Chapter 12:Listening to His Whisper pt.2

2006-03-05T21:28:00.000-08:00

At the waterfall, I try to wash, but it is hard. I hurt-I just plain hurt right now and still I have no answers. What am I supposed to do now? Looking down, I see I am still stained, stained with guilt and shame for what I have done, what I have clung to I do not know what to do.

“Repent, wash” His voice is kind but firm.

No more! I think – I am tired, deeply weary and want to be done. I do not want to obey. But I remember His stinging rebuke – I do not want that either and if I do not obey that will come until I do. So I obey. “I repent of accepting this guilt, this worldly sorrow that is not from You.” I see how I have been drawing it into myself, like the pain, and holding on to it, building my world upon it. “I repent, Papa, I let it go, I release it, forgive me!” Finally I see the stains washing away.

I am clean, but my heart is heavy. I look for Him, but do not see Him. “Papa, where are You?” Panic fills my voice. Did the reluctance in my obedience drive Him away?

“I am here.” I hear His voice by the tree. It reminds me that He said the tree was a place of reconciliation as well. I begin to walk out of the water, but it is difficult. I ache all over and my heart is heavy. I grieve for what I have done and still feel without direction. By the time I reach Him I am chilled and cold throughout.

Silently, He dresses me in His robes once again. The fabric, though soft and warm, feels weighty against the aching places of correction. I cannot lift my eyes to look at Him now. It seems like we stand that way for a long time.

Finally, He directs me. “Kiss my face.”

Of all the things I did not expect Him to say! This was certainly the first on that list! At first I am too stunned to obey.

“Kiss Me.” His firm voice repeats his direction.

“How can I?” I wonder. If I could, I would disobey, but I am too afraid of His rebuke for that. Lifting up my head is unbelievably hard, but I do. I stretch on tip toes to reach, even as He bends down to meet me. Carefully, very gingerly, I kiss His face.

As I do, He sweeps me into a deep embrace, lifting me from my feet into His arms.

“How can you do this?” I protest.

”How can I not?” He shows me that we are looking at different things. I see my sin, He sees repentance. “You heard the whisper of My spirit and left a place of comfort today even though there would be pain. You saw your sin and repented. How could I not be pleased?”

“But I am unclean! Beneath this robe I am stained and unclean! How can you bear to touch me?”

“You have been washed by your repentance. The robe is to cover any stain that remains yet to be washed. I see only My righteousness in you.”

He carries me to the tree, to sit with Him on that branch. Tucking my head under His chin, He embraces me in a bear hug as before. I feel tired, still unclean. I wish I could see what He sees.

But all I can see is how I have failed Him again. I am grieved and still do not know what to do. Now that I have repented and sought change, what do I do? How do I do things differently? But in this moment I even fear to ask.

“Oh, my precious child…” He begins.

“Precious?” I wonder.

“Yes, precious. You have greatly pleased Me. In this moment you feel so distant, but you are closer than you know. You sought to remove what would come between us and you have even though it cost you in the process. I am pleased to know that you value this closeness enough to pay for it in your flesh.”

I ponder this concept for a while. “It hurts, Papa.” I whisper, finding this is all I can discover this is all I can find to say.

“I know.” He replies, confirming what He said a moment before. With a gentle hand, He reaches from his embrace to stroke my face. His touch soothes some of the raggedness of my soul.

“Papa,” my voice still a whisper, “I dread what you are going to tell me to do. I fear that—I fear that you intend to humiliate me, to hurt me. I know change is needed, but I fear you will make that a way to pay me back, I guess, retaliate against me for what I have done.” I hang my head in sorrow, for I am ashamed at the contents of my heart. “I’m sorry Papa.”

“Little one, I know you are afraid—afraid of Me. Some of that fear is right. You should fear my rebuke, that helps you to obey when your flesh cries out otherwise. But the pain of rebuke is only to bring you to obedience, the pain of correction to bring you to repentance. Once you have come to that place, I do not continue to use pain to train you. I want you to understand that I do not treat my children,” He lifts my chin to cause me to look at Him, “My daughter that way, that pattern you know from your mother’s ways, not from mine.”

Immediately I see what He means. “Papa, forgive me! I repent of those judgments and expectations I have been carrying from the wrong way I have seen You because of my mother’s ways. Please, change my heart! Help me to see You rightly! ” I cannot hold back this cry from Him, even though I do no know what to expect.

“Shhh,” He presses my head back to His bosom. “I will not change these things in you with harshness but with My gentleness.” He softly strokes my cheek again. I find I want to hide from Him though, afraid that at any moment for no reason I can understand He will explode in anger. “No, you must receive my tenderness, my love right now. This is why you wear My righteousness and not your own. Yours is not sufficient, mine is.
“No, you are not perfect. I am perfecting you. Just sit here with Me and let My love penetrate your hurts. We can not talk about what to do until you remember where you are.”

So I lean back into His arms and rest a while. Slowly, I feel a peace beginning to creep over me.

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Chapter 12:Listening to His Whisper pt.1

2006-03-05T21:25:00.000-08:00

Even as I rest in His arms, my mind is drawn to an issue, a thorn that I have not overcome, one that continues to plague my thoughts and my heart. I am reminded of Ezk 5:7…you have not followed my decrees or kept my standards…. I know this cannot remain or it will become a gulf separating Him and me. I do not want to break this closeness now, but I do not want anything that will separate us to remain.

He told me this was a place for reconnecting, that He would deal with issues, but would not push me away. I procrastinate a few moments, but no, I cannot allow this to grow between us. “Papa?”

“Yes, child.” There is something in His voice that reminds me He already knows, none of this surprises Him.

“You know what I am thinking…” I try to avoid bringing it up.

“Yes. Tell me any way.”

There is now no way around confession I suppose. “I am seeing something now, that there are issues I have with a person, a woman, the issues run deep. I know I thought I’d dealt with forgiveness, but I think there is more than that. I cannot seem to get past this on my own. I think I need your help.” I cannot suppress a deep sigh. “Your correction, to turn from this. I cannot see this clearly, but You can. I want real change in this, this time, nothing half way, like it has been. I know there has been sin, but You, only You can show me where. Please, Papa, correct my heart. Change and transform me into what You desire. I fear pride has crept in…please, help me through this.” I close my eyes in shame.

But, He hugs me nonetheless. I feel Him smile on me even as He releases me and begins to rise from our sitting place. “I am pleased, little one, I am pleased.” He begins, as He walks to face me. “You heard My whisper to your heart and responded, I am pleased.” He nods thoughtfully at this.

I wish that was more comforting to me right now. I know it should be, but the anxiety and dread I feel threaten to overpower. I cannot look up, even as I wait for Him to begin to show me the awfulness of my sin. “Papa, please, change my heart,” I whisper, covering my face in shame. “I do not want to be apart from You.” I stiffen in preparation for the truth.

“First, “ His voice is stern. “Repent and confess what you already know.”

It is difficult, but I begin. “I think I have been jealous, Papa. I repent of my jealousy, I repent. I repent of the pride will not submit, that finds fault and criticizes. I repent of this pride. I see now how I have dishonored You in all this, Papa, by not seeing and receiving this rightly. I repent for dishonoring You!

“Oh, this hurts to see!” I cry out more to myself than to Him. “Change me! I don’t want to keep this any longer!” He begins to painfully reveal my sin to me. “Rebellion! Oh Papa, I have been in rebellion against you. I repent, I repent. My independence has become an idol to me! I repent of my idolatry.”

My sobs are ragged now as I convulse with the gut wrenching agony of this revelation. How much I hate idolatry and how guilty of it I am! I notice suddenly that my hands are clenched as well. I know there is something that I must release. “I submit to you Papa! Show me what this is!”

He does not hesitate to show me. I see a judgment against an alcoholic mother and a vow that no woman would ever speak into me, ever be over me again. The throbbing ache of heart that made these judgments rises fresh once again. “Forgive me! Forgive me!” I sob, forcing my hands to open and release the judgments and vows they hold. The effort though is agony.

“Show me how to do this right, Papa! I will obey, I will! I want to do this Your way!” Even as the words pour forth, a new fear overtakes me. “But I am afraid, Papa! I am afraid! She hurt me—she hurt me so much I am afraid to let her touch me!” I never realized the fear resident in this place, nor that this fear itself was sin as well!

This latest revelation is too much for me, every fiber of my being wants to run from seeing these things! I cannot do this on my own, I can’t! “Papa! Help me, please, please give me Your arm! Help me stay here to be changed!” My own strength is not sufficient here.

He does not hesitate, even the barest of moments. He is there, giving me His arm to cling to, to draw strength from, even as His correction continues.

“I repent of this fear! Of setting her before You as more to be feared than You – as another idol! Forgive me!” I weep bitterly falling to His feet. I think I am there along time – His feet are wet with tears. I feel myself drawing into myself with the shame and stain of what I have seen.

But He calls to me, extends His hand. I must reach out though to take it. It takes me a long time. He is patient and waits for me. And finally I do, I reach for Him. His strong arms help me to my feet and He leads me to the waterfall. On the way I cry. “Forgive me for being critical, for looking for things to find fault with!” We stop; I begin to fall to my knees once again.

“Stop now, conviction is becoming condemnation now. Do not go there.” His voice is very firm. I dare not disobey, even though the guilt still draws me.

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Chapter 11: His grace pt 2

2006-03-02T19:31:00.000-08:00

We are quiet for a long while. Finally, though, He breaks the comfortable silence. "Come, let Me show you something you have not seen here yet." He takes me a short distance from the place where we had been sitting. He lifts the leaves of a large, deeply green plant. There are mushrooms growing on an old log beneath the leaves. "There is fruit in this place." He explains, plucking a small mushroom for me to taste.

He brushes off the dirt carefully and hands it to me. I am surprised as I bite into it. The taste is rich, with the flavor of meat.

"Unexpected." He remarks. "Few expect or bear fruit in this place, but it is here. It is growing on what you have put to death. The soil is rich for such growth. Few will taste it though. Most will only have the sweet fruit that grows in the sun. Few will find the richness that grows here.

"Like this fruit, you are rare, your personality, disposition is unusual and misunderstood." I nod at the truth and pain of these words. He puts His arm around me now. "It is my design and purpose though. I have made you rare…rare and precious to do the work I have fitted you for. You are blessed."

I am confused. I have always seen myself as broken, flawed, unfit and undesirable.

"You must learn to see yourself differently now." His tone is now more of a command than a suggestion. "You need to go forward, not stay in the past."

His words hand heavy in the air for a time. I know what I must do, however much I do not want to. He has touched upon an area of comfort for me. My picture of who I am, flawed though it may be, is not something that I truly want to change. I am comfortably uncomfortable with it. And yet, I cannot, I dare not resist His command. Swallowing hard, I finally respond, "Papa, forgive me for hanging on this flawed identity, for not lining up with what You say about me."

As I offer these words to Him something begins to break in me. I bury my head in His shoulder, tears trickling down my cheeks. I feel something dropping from my hand. Looking down, I see a lead charm, like a dog-tag laying on the ground. The identity I had created for myself!

"Then who am I?" The words come out more as a sob. "How am I to know?"
"I have already told you. You wear it around your neck."

My hand goes to the diamond heart I now wear, engraved with my name. I think I had forgotten it! "Papa, forgive me!" I begin to sob.

"Shhh--you will learn."

We rest there for a while and I continue to try and pour my heart out to Him. It is difficult, though, I have trained myself for a long time to hold it all in, so that I would not be hurt or rejected. Now I must unlearn, start again.

"Papa, I think the thing in all of this that I fear the most is missing You. I am terrified of looking up and finding myself lost and without You." I finally confess to Him.

"You do not have to fear that, child. There is always a place for us to meet. If you call to Me, I will always meet you there. Now that it is planted here in your heart, you will always find the way."

"But I thought that was a place for correction…" I stammer, I do not understand Him.

"Come, I will show you." As He rises, He helps me to my feel. Wrapping my arm in His, he begins to lead me back to the garden grove.

I am uneasy, fearful as He leads me gently from the shade garden back to the tree. Once we arrive, my anxiety grows deeper, becoming dread.

"Share your concerns with Me now." He invites, leaning against the powerful trunk of the stately magnolia.

I find myself concentrating on the smooth, unscarred bark of the tree, trying to distract myself of the fear that is gripping me. I fear His anger, expect to receive pain from Him. "Papa! Forgive me for still holding on to this expectation, this fear! For seeing you wrongly and not getting it right yet!" The words flow from my heart like water, unable to be contained. I fall to my knees at His feet weeping violently. A part of me, my flesh I suppose, expects rebuke, pain, at the least disappointment from Him. But it does not come.

Instead, He is crouching there with me, His hand gently on my shoulder. "I am here." He reminds as He helps me to my feet and pulls me into His embrace. "This is not just a place of correction, it is a place of reconciliation, of reconnection for us. Come, sit with Me."

We sit together on the lowest branch of the tree. He straddles the branch, leaning against the tree's trunk and draws me into a bear hug, my back to His chest, tucking my head under His chin. "I have so much more for you child, now that you are freed, you will see the lavishness of your Father. There is much I want to give you, do not doubt and you will see that."

I warm in the depths of this embrace and something within me comes to life. I cannot contain my smile and even laughter. I see how blessed I am as the light dawns on me. "My name is grace--unmerited favor!" All my life I have struggled with my name, bearing the brunt of childish jokes and taunts. And yet, it has been there all along. He has called me grace and every time someone speaks my name they are speaking a blessing over me! Every time I write my name, I am confirming what He has done. It has been there all along. How could I have missed it for so many years!

Impulsively, with a fearful boldness, I reach up and kiss His cheek. For a moment, I am afraid, until I feel His smile and a tightening of His embrace. I begin to laugh within His arms, relaxing into His embrace. The laughter continues to well up in me, coming from a very deep place within me, one that has been dormant for a long time, and it fills me with comfort.

He rocks me gently now. "You are my grace and that is my call on you. My grace. My grace is sufficient. My grace is sufficient, my grace." Over and over He says 'my grace' until it echoes from the castle walls and resounds within me, His Grace.

Finally, I am beginning to feel His love. Slowly, slowly but certainly, it is filling me. I love my Papa God.

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