The Lord has dealt bountifully with His servant

I have not written because I have been bound and gagged—by grief and sorrow and the lies of the wicked one, having had a party and feasting on my lament—there being no word of life to fight them off. That's what comes of not reading your bible everyday. It has powers we know not of and does wonders in the deep. My life in a nutshell from these two powerful psalms.


Ps 13  How long wilt thou forget me, O LORD? for ever? how long wilt thou hide thy face from me?How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily? how long shall mine enemy be exalted over me?Consider and hear me, O LORD my God: lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death;Lest mine enemy say, I have prevailed against him; and those that trouble me rejoice when I am moved. But I have trusted in thy mercy; my heart shall rejoice in thy salvation.I will sing unto the LORD, because he hath dealt bountifully with me. 

Ps. 18:6-24

In my distress I called upon the LORD, and cried unto my God: he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him, even into his ears. Then the earth shook and trembled; the foundations also of the hills moved and were shaken, because he was wroth, The LORD also thundered in the heavens, and the Highest gave his voice; hail stones and coals of fire.Yea, he sent out his arrows, and scattered them; and he shot out lightnings, and discomfited them.Then the channels of waters were seen, and the foundations of the world were discovered at thy rebuke, O LORD, at the blast of the breath of thy nostrils.He sent from above, he took me, he drew me out of many waters.He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from them which hated me: for they were too strong for me.They prevented me in the day of my calamity: but the LORD was my stay.He brought me forth also into a large place; he delivered me, because he delighted in me. The LORD rewarded me according to my righteousness; according to the cleanness of my hands hath he recompensed me.For I have kept the ways of the LORD, and have not wickedly departed from my God.For all his judgments were before me, and I did not put away his statutes from me.I was also upright before him, and I kept myself from mine iniquity.Therefore hath the LORD recompensed me according to my righteousness, according to the cleanness of my hands in his eyesight.

This is not the end.

The Lord summoned Moses to the top of the mountain and Moses went up. 

We were Counted among His friends

In my evening meditation I was finally able to discern the basis of grief for me. Painted for you and for me with pictures from the heart.. The missing piece—

Together we climbed the mountain of God. The streams from which we drank were crystal waters and the bread we ate was the bread of angels. We were counted among His friends. We were children bidden to the secret wardrobe having entered through it to another land. And we rejoiced at the treasures we had found. And I am deep in the forest of God now, but I am alone and it is frightening in its solitude. The trees are high and blot out the sun. No clearing to pitch my tent. I feel like Eve in a garden without Adam...who has died,mysteriously. Won't God be with her?  There is no other who can hear her, only the wind which carries her whispers.

I want to speak of God in the language of the wise, of the mature, but there is not ear or eye who understands and has seen the crystal palace across the river, who has touched the glories of  invisible realities, who can say "I know." This is an existential loneliness, a joy which cannot be doubled. What, I pray dear God, do you suggest? 


I must find my way to the Tree of Life. To drink from the mouth of the River again. 

Darkness in the Dark

This is how insane I am. The single man across the street has been staying overnight with his girlfriend more and more. I have met her and she is a lovely lady. But often at night when the sun goes down and the darkness comes, I see his lovely house which was once full of light, closed and dark. No car in the drive way, only a few lonely dogs in the side yard, listlessly waiting for their master to return. It saddens me and I feel abandoned again. How quacky grief is. My heart cries out, "Why don't you just marry the girl and move back home?" What is wrong with my once sane, rational and lovely mind?

Church today was sadly predictable. My heart remained asleep. I am asleep, and every time I am awoken by the anointing i.e.,  the presence of God, new tears appear. I am caught between a flood and a drought. Neither is welcomed. And so I shy away from God, knowing that my fragile covering is only made of cheap toilet paper.

But I am finding that I am learning what the Master has for me this season. INSIGHT: The young man who gave the sermon on "suffering" spoke as one who had never suffered. His words were like palm knives, a thrust which does not kill but yet is painful. It is in the quality of the spirit that words reveal if the martyrdom of suffering has taken place within. In those people you can hear and feel the tenderness of God. There is a "dark knowing" of the ways of the Cross, a certain fragrance of charred remains— the combined scent of frankincense and myrrh. It is the nearest thing to holiness and a whiff of it is sufficient. It is the fragrance of Christ.

I shall never speak the same way again of suffering—so intellectually, so blithely, so incredibly stupidly.

Another blessing of my sacrifice of tears has been the awareness that I have been bound by convention, fears, confusion, and my own idiomatic ideals. But the fire has burned the ropes that held my hands tied. I am free because I can see both the beginning and the end. The books of Eccles. says that if you can see all things, but not know the beginning or the end, you understand nothing. Now I have experienced "the end" of all things and I will never be the same again. My robes, my spiritual garment has been singed with the fire from the altar and I am irrevocably changed. For good, thank God and may peace be upon my friend, brother, my bright companion, Hans.

Somewhere Beyond the Stars

Well I hate transitions. But they are necessary in life for growth. But oh...they feel so bad. The days become murky, the nights become fitful and shadowy, the joy is subdued if at all. Transitions. But light feels like life and hope is like medicine and a word from God feels like a life saver in an ocean storm. But my friends, did not the disciples experience this wave tossing also? I am afraid our lives must go through the swirling torrents to be made into five smooth stones.

But I have always experienced the depths of the ocean with a friendly face...my friend...who has gone on to the crystal sea and sees the four terrible beasts who stand before the throne. H. is hidden beneath the altar since he has no body yet. He is a spirit, no he is a soul who is delighting in the warmth of the bridegroom's embrace.

By the way, the "four terrible beasts" is a terrible translation. It should be "four awesome beings." These "beings" have consciousness and speak. I don't think they are merely symbols. I wish I could see the emerald rainbow. In fact, my next blog will be named that. What do you suppose that means? Can you guess?

I also wonder if Hans is with family? Scripture often says "And he was gathered up to his forefathers." It sounds wonderful to have family embrace your arrival. Hans so often prayed with Anne, his sister, before her death, they have no doubt embraced that the wilderness experience is over for them.

It reminds me of a 50 miles walk I took once. During the Kennedy Administration, he encouraged sports and excercise. The whole nation started walking. I, along with 40 other kids, walked from White Sands Missile Range to El Paso. After 10 miles I was in torment. After 20 I thought I was going to die on the side of the road. After 30 I no longer spoke. No one did. Even the kids who took off running were back with the slowpokes. After 40 miles, I prayed in tongues. At the 49th mile I quit. I could see the green steeple at the Northgate Shopping Center where the television crews were waiting. But I was finished. I could not walk one more mile. I quit. The van picked me up and returned to the base. In riding back to the base, deeply discouraged and ashamed, I fell asleep. They took me right to my house where my parents were waiting for me. When I woke up, I had tears in my eyes. To this day, I don't remember crying in my sleep, so I think that I must have teared up when I saw my house. The experience of suffering was over and my feet were to be wrapped and soaked in healing balm.

It must be so with those who die and return to the bosom of the Father. The tear wiped away from the journey of pain. The pain of insecurity, self doubt, confusion, shame, fears, betrayal, abandonment, war and trauma. We do not feel the weight of sorrow because we have grown used to the burden. But in heaven it is like floating on a sea of salt...you feel for the first time, the incredible lightness of being.

That is what prayer does for me. It gives me a foretaste of rest, of freedom from self condemnation and false expectations and I can just be a child again.

I am SO HAPPY for Hans that he is delighting in God today. You know how child like he could be when he was happy, as all of us are. So my beloved sings somewhere beyond the stars and I am so very grateful to God that he has been swept out of this terrible sea of the human experience.

Behind the Waterfall

It is Sunday morning and several things are happening. I must go to church and two of my grandchildren leave today. Having them here has been my attempt to get to know them although they have been very "tied up" with the El Paso grandchildren. It has been one big party all week. As a result of this, my grief has been minimal, seeping out only at night or when they are gone. Next to my desk is Hans' tie, watch and glasses. Things from which he was inseparable. Now it looks like he has been raptured and only his effects remain, body gone. Yesterday I was able to make a joke—not finding Hans' favorite bbq brush, I said, "Dad must have taken it with him."

The day before, Emmie was triggered by the swimming pool, remembering Grandpa taking her for a dip when she was little. The grief moments are less and what I am waiting for is the ability to think about H. with only joy and happiness. It's also odd that I have prayed for many people going through loss and Jesus took away their pain with just a simple request. But for me there is no respite except the passage of time and the sifting through the muddled feelings.

Sometimes I blame God, sometimes I blame Adam, sometimes I blame myself, sometimes I blame the cat.  I pour over pictures, memories, and events together, but after all is said and done, it still feels like I am at the end of the road. The truth is that I have turned the corner only I haven't been looking at my horizon—so deep into the details of life have I been. I must keep focused on the bigger picture.

On a wonderful note, Benjamin, Julianne's child has turned out to be a evangelist and has greatly influenced the other grandchildren who were open to truth. They are taking bibles home with them and are actually excited about it. Benjamin told them they HAD to change their lives and follow Jesus. So last night they laid in all their beds reading their Bibles. Shame on me. This morning Reese and I rummaged through all the Bibles looking for one that she liked. "Pray to the Lord for harvesters for the field is white with harvest." It was yesterday's meditation. But right under my own nose?

It feels like there are two clocks by which I live—an outer clock and an inner one. The outer one is rushing by...filled with dinners, friends and appointments. The inner clock moves slowly and quietly and measures time by the memories.  Honestly, I really miss Hans. I miss him the most at the end of the day when we found refuge in one another and from the world. Even the world of our children and we just found one another. Like the author of "The Shack"Bill Young says, he is just behind the waterfall. And until this mortal puts on immortality there will be no sighting.

The Search for Wisdom

Good morning. It is 6AM and I have been up for a while. There are no new metaphors in my head. The horizon of my state of being is flat again, perhaps a little nervous since I am heading for eye surgery on Friday. The surgery is not without risk. But what could be worse than today? Blindness might give me a new lease in life or for sure seal the deal and I would want to move on for sure. My life is seldom boring.

There is, I might say, a tentative excitement in the air as I move farther away from April 25, 2011. I am changing I can tell.  My denial is coming to an end and I am beginning to view the future without Honey. He would want me too...he would be disappointed in my giving up. He would actually be shocked. I'm sure he thought "I would be just fine without him." He was part of the process of making me whole. I thought I would be "just fine" without him too. That's how big of a fool I was. Marriage is a strange spiritual knot. The pain in death and divorce prove the existence of spiritual ties—their breaking can be heard around the world.

I am reading a book whose subtext is called the 'search for wisdom." The gist is that the older people have more wisdom than the young and this author is trying to cull it out of them. So he interviews people over 70 years old to discover how they use their "wisdom." Or how does their wisdom play out in real life. One 94 year old decided to get involved in passing the McCain-Feingold bill in her state. She was constantly on the phone cajoling senators to pass it. "She would nap in the afternoons and scrap it out in the mornings while her husband of 80 something would increasingly withdraw into his own little world of sleep and television. She outlived him. Maybe "wisdom" was really more temperament rather than "wisdom."

All I know is that desire to withdraw into my room and watch nothing but movies is a real threat to my call and the remainder of life. I have to push through to light. I have so many things still left to teach and so much spiritual energy in me. But . . . my flesh is weak and the devils are strong. If you see me advertising something you will know a miracle has taken place. I might begin with something easy... like ministry skills..or church planting. All of these are easy things for me. The life of virtue and devotion is more taxing. The most fulfilling and requiring the most preparation is teaching the bible which oddly enough is more rewarding than anything else.  God's word is like honey on the tongue. Incredibly sweet.

How does a young "old person" use their wisdom? How does a Christian allow wisdom to guide them? I wonder about that in my own life. I must make decisions now completely alone and as a free agent. It is a bit challenging.

Please pray for me on Friday at 9AM. Pray for Dr. Gulbas and staff. Pray he has a steady hand and isn't hung over or something awful like that. Ask Jesus to guide his instruments.

The Invisible Hand of Love

Yesterday I woke early and went out in the backyard. I picked up dog poop in the morning dew. Soft and icky, but gathered in a big pile, Then I offered it as an offering to the gods of the modern life—the trash barrel as my altar. I proceeded to cut the grass with a nifty lawnmower than was practically humming with pleasure as it did its neat little trim job on the unruly grass. The lawn was finally green having fertilized multiple times. I picked up lawn chairs and shaved behind the ears. Then hauled off all the clippings to the trash. I rearranged the patio furniture and set the table with white linens and candles, all the while the dogs were thinking we were having a party. They couldn't wait for the cupcakes so they got in a big fight with one another over some scrap which lay on the ground. It was a chewed up ball. Then I shocked the pool and set up a picnic table with colorful umbrellas. In my jamies still i went ot the front yard and watered all the desert plants which were wilting with thirst. It was now 11 AM and I was still going strong, raking and pulling up dead things and watering my feet with the hose every once in a while. Running into the bathroom I noticed my face was BRIGHT red..fruits of a busy life. Then I took a shower and made myself beautiful (or so I thought.) Wondering the whole time, how is it that I had all this energy and still wasn't tired. I said "Who has done this?" Who had taken care of the lawn for me. The chores of Friday, having cleaned the garage and emptied the sad space into an orderly picture. Where did the life to do this come from? Who is working with me to take care of this place? Things that my earthly husband had done for me...always...making sure that I lived in a miniature castle. A queen for sure. Now someone was performing magical tasks around my place and it wasn't me, yet it was.

Was my heavenly bridegroom loving me? Didn't my patio look festive and ready for a sweet time in the spirit as I walked the grounds this Sunday morning, the dogs quiet in repose? Who in the world had done all this work?

But  yet I miss the sure hand of the flesh of Jesus. His gift to me of a thousand fold. A man whose name I have taken forever...Christian.

The Pillar and the Cloud

Every day is like the same. Nothing new under the sun. I wake up with pain and I go to sleep with pain. I somehow manage to exist during the day. The days do not grow easier to bear. I just keep going. But neither to the left nor to the right do I see the cloud or the pillar of fire. I have no direction except the beating of my own heart which refuses to stop. Last night a wicked thought came to my mind as I held the bottle of sleeping pills. I knew that even though I cannot hear my Master's voice, there are other presences readily available to speak. I must journey on, even in the dark. I share my burden with the only one who understands how the wearing of the yoke and mantle feels, the Christ himself. My head is too small for just one. It holds the treasures of eternity and no one mind can store its weight and so I must return the gift of abundance back to the giver.  s

Lady Cowman's book was written for me. She writes her story on every page. Streams in the Desert is  finding that stream of refreshing in a dry gnarly wilderness where only the gila monsters and jackals live.

Oh where is the hidden stranger who walks beside me? Where is the rescuer and the comforter? Where do they hide in the night. I cannot be still for the forest of noise overwhelms me with its silence and my heart returns to April 25, 2011. Night after night the scene replays its majestic and awesome picture that severed my heart in two.