Calling For a Flood

So the summer has begun in earnest. I stay up late, just because I can. My family and I spend the days together, I tuck the kids into bed, my husband stays up as late as he can, kisses me goodnight and goes to bed, and then the house is mine.

Not that I'm going to turn the music up loud and dance till I drop. Nothing like that. I enjoy being alone, because in the alone times, especially the late-night alone times, this creative groove kicks in and I find words and music to express the stuff that goes on inside.

There's a price to pay for this lifestyle, of course. Sleep patterns get disrupted, I wake up late, and it's incredibly hard to go to bed early on Saturday night, Sunday being the one day a week when early-morning things are required. Recently, oddly, I've been waking up around 5:30 am, unable to get back to sleep. I'll sit up until maybe 7 or 7:30, then I go back to bed and sleep a few more hours. This morning, for instance. I woke up, looked at the clock: 5:42. Well, good grief. I tried to get back to sleep, couldn't, so I hauled myself out of bed for a while.

The flooding situation here in the Midwest has reached the point of obsession, so I turned on the 6:00 news. Our local television channels come from Mississippi River cities, so I watched an entire news broadcast, story after story on the historic flooding. Up and down the river, town after town, levees were broken and towns were flooding, or levees being shored up by armies of sand baggers. I saw a piece of footage where prison inmates were working alongside farmers, and a clip of Amish working alongside English (that's what Amish people call us), all working together to throw sandbags on the levees. In some places the work is in vain and the river had already burst through. In others, the herculean effort was paying off. Ironically, the only people who seemed relaxed and at peace were the folks of one town that has no levee at all. “We just move out for a few days, then we'll clean up,” with a shrug. “It's a river. It happens.” Happened in '93 and a little in '01. So they move out for a few days. Another story I've seen shows a stretch of levee where the water started to seep through the sandbags, the workers knew what was at stake, so they got up on top of the levee and squished the sandbags down, stopping the water.

I watched for a while, then hovered somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. I saw visions of levees and sandbags—thousands of sandbags, and a river flinging itself forcefully against them. The river was made, not of water, but of people; people tired of man-made barricades holding them back, tamed by levees, straining to return to a natural ebb and flow, the pulse that would fertilize a soil without artificial sprays and chemicals. It was jumbled, like dreams are, and it seemed absolutely normal that this river of people should be striving to breach the levees and flood the earth.

I startled awake and turned off the television. The clock told me it was close to seven. The basement invited me, cool and dark, so I laid down there on the bed, drifted off and slept. I woke up close to ten, feeling strangely refreshed.

* * *

In the 1990s the late Fuchsia Pickett came to the church I attended at that time. She talked at great length about how the Holy Spirit, when He fills a place, or when He sends a great outpouring, does not necessarily have to fall down upon us. He is meant to rise from within us. Her message irritated me somehow. Falling down on me seemed so much better than rising from within me. What was within me seemed measurable and limited, somehow. Surely all the action was from what comes to me from above. We've always sung songs and prayed prayers to God, asking Him to fall upon us. That has always been my understanding of revival.

When I was young we would have revival once a year or so. A traveling evangelist would come and preach at church for a week, and unsaved people would turn up and get saved, or churched kids who weren't saved yet would go forward and make their decision. If you were already saved, you didn't have to feel left out in the cold for long. Eventually he would call for those Christians who'd grown cold to rededicate their lives. If the altars weren't filling up fast enough, he might call on those who felt the call to full-time ministry. Eventually he might call for those who yearned for more of God. There was an altar experience for anyone and everyone. But you waited all year for the big man of God to come to your church, and you would have your outpouring, and he would move on to the next church.

Or there might be the odd Sunday when the LORD would fall upon the place and the pastor would open up the altar and it would fill up. But always there was the sense that God, the mighty Yahweh Himself, was falling or raining down upon us, and the pastor, the man of God, was facilitating. For me and others like me, there was not much I could add to the drama. I could receive what the LORD was pouring out. I could then be strengthened to go out and live my Christian life and lead others to God, but in the ongoing drama of the outpouring I was almost always on the receiving end.

A few Sundays ago when I asked God for an outpouring, He said okay. That day wasn't to be a pouring out from above, but a flowing out from within, and I didn't even know it until it all started pouring out of me into our congregation. I guess what I was asking for was for God to fall on the place or send something big from outside myself. I don't know; maybe He did all that stuff. But to me the wonder was that instead of pouring down on my receptive heart, He poured OUT of my willing heart. Just like Dr. Pickett used to say. The mighty Yahweh Himself. Not pouring through the great man of God, but pouring out through a nameless, faceless mom, a Godseeker.

See, I think my daughter's eye situation has made me hungry. Hungry, first, to see her get healed. Then, hungry to know why some times and places get special treatment. Then, hungry to have God pour out His Spirit here, too. In THIS time and in THIS place. This hunger, I think, is good. Scary, but good.

* * *

The flooding continues here in the Midwest. The rains have stopped, but it's too late to stop the river from cresting. Engineers know that, and, of course, no effort is made to slow the flow, just to keep it in. The river will crest, even though the rain has stopped and inland gardeners like me are getting ready to start irrigating again. The rains have slowed down. They even stopped for a while, but it's too late. All the water upstream from us, the rivers and the brooks and even the drainage ditches are already swollen and rising and even cresting as they join the mighty Mississippi and flow on till they reach us down here in the heartland. And by the time it all gets here the river rages as it strains against the manmade levees topped with sandbags thrown on in desperation. That's how on a beautiful, sunshiny day you have a river breaching levees in a dozen spots, pouring out into the floodplain. The water isn't coming from above now. The rains have come, the rivers are full and the levees can't contain the water. The river is full of it, and it's pouring itself out.

And God is pouring Himself out there in Florida. It's still going on, and people are going down there and catching hold of something and taking it back to wherever they came from And other people are watching on GodTV or on the Internet, and God is bringing an Awakening, like we've prayed for all these years. Is this a big Awakening? I don't know. People say it is. It could be. I think I hear an undercurrent of worry from people involved in that outpouring. Will it stop? How can we keep it from stopping too early? If this is the Big One, will we somehow fail God with our polluted humanity?

Honestly, I'm not sure it matters too much. Because back at the headwaters the rains have already fallen. Up and down the river, many rains have fallen. Every revival, every Awakening, every outpouring, every tent meeting, has brought rain to saturate the earth and fill the brooks, streams and rivers. Rains may continue to fall, or they may stop or slow for a while. But at some point, maybe even at this point, it's too late to stop the swell of the river of God's people. And all the denominational levees, built to contain us and keep us safe and neat and tidy, won't be able to stop the flood that's set to pour out on the earth and wash and fertilize it.

* * *

Almost since the beginning of the Church, there have been schisms and splits and differences. Like it or not, we're divided now, and set into neat streams of God's family, with walls built to hold us in. Levees. And like it or not, those things are there, and so firmly ingrained that I can't personally even imagine a world without denominations and the four walls of church buildings glaring at each other from across the street.

But, see, if the Holy Spirit really catches hold of people like He caught hold of me that one Sunday, then there wouldn't be any of these movements where everyone looked to one man to carry the day. We would look to Jesus within us, Jesus seeking to reach out in love through us, and I can see a great river of us—people who strive to reach out past the neatly built floodgates, the walls of our churches and denominations, flinging ourselves against the floodgates, battering the boundaries until the levees are breached—and we pour God's love out into the streets, and the walking dead, the hungry, the unsaved, will stand open-mouthed as we pour ourselves out into the streets, not seeking somebody's agenda, not making names for ourselves, but sweeping out over the levees into a desolate world. Doing it the natural way—not relying on door-to-door, planned outreaches and Personal Evangelism programs, but soaring from place to place, sharing God's love wherever we go, wherever we find ourselves. And there would be no squishing down the levees, for the flood would sweep over and the levees would be breached, unable to contain the epic flood.

And I know this would be disturbing to our civil engineers, our levee-builders, the ones who truck themselves off to Seminary to school themselves on key doctrines, not only of the Faith, but also of denominations. I know, because honestly, this all disturbs me too. Deeply frightens me, because there's no game plan and there's no clear exit strategy. There's just trust. Not trust in me, thankfully. Not trust in the guy through whom the latest rainstorm started. There's trust in God. God made the river that flowed before people came along and built levees. He made the Church before we built the denominations that hold us in and make us feel safe. He was there before us, and He will be there after us, and He wishes to flow through us and flood the earth.

“Hear me now. I'm calling for a flood.” (John Waller, Calling for a Flood)

The Sunday outflow:

http://realgodseekers.blogspot.com/2008/05/angels-outpourings-and-such.html

Mud, a Wet Wipe, and a Healing Touch

This past week was Vacation Bible School at church. The kids all got a chance to get out of the house every night for a week and do some really fun crafts and games. The church got a chance to pull together and do a project that has lasting meaning in young lives. And parents got a chance to have a break every evening for a week.

Everybody wins. Oh, wait. Everybody, that is, except me. Yeah, I signed up to do Vacation Bible School. I wasn't going to. I get so burned out from teaching. This was a really hard year for behavioral issues, and with added responsibilities on the church praise team I was ready to do nothing for a while once school was out.

However, I did agree to a fairly non-involved job. I was simply to take kids around from one station to the next. Crafts, snacks, games, a short movie, a teaching time. All I had to do was herd the crowd. Right? So I said, if I can have that simple job, I'll do it. I'll be a crew leader.

So began a week of keeping kids from pounding on each other and doing permanent damage to church property. Oh, and there were a few “extra”responsibilities this year. At some stations we actually had to round up the kids afterward and help them process what they learned there. Ask questions. Have group discussions. Help them find ways to apply what they've learned. Sigh. I just wanted an easy job.

Yeah, you know, it's funny. I noticed I'm the only teacher who signed up to help out with VBS. Most of them know their limits. All of this and more came to mind as I was grouching after the first evening.

The second night was pretty rough, too. They've split kids up into multi-age groups this year, so that you might have 5 year olds all the way up to 12 year olds. The idea, I think, was that the older kids wouldn't be jostling into cliques and acting obnoxious and smart-alecky, but would instinctively help with the younger kids. And you wouldn't have a herd of five-year-olds all trying to beat each other up. Nice theory. Here's how it worked out. We had a couple of younger kids in my group, and one of them was always trying to beat up on the other one. We had a couple of older kids, and they jostled around and acted smart-alecky and obnoxious. And we had one kid in the middle who clung to me all week—my oldest daughter. This was my little VBS family of five kids for the week.

Tuesday night they were learning a lesson on helping others. The Bible story was the one where Jesus healed a blind man using mud and spit. When we got to the Bible story station the kids were herded into the room. They were given these athletic headbands to put over their eyes, and the lights were turned off. Once they were “blind” we crew leaders were each given a bowl of oatmeal, which was to be the “mud.” We were supposed to put some mud—not IN their eyes, of course, but ABOVE their eyes. So I was going around smearing a little oatmeal just above each. One girl, not on my crew, was a little freaked out. She did NOT want mud touching her body. Her crew leader let it go. Of course you don't want to traumatize the kids. I know this girl, so I went over to her, leaned over and whispered in her ear, “It's oatmeal.” She heard my voice, realized it wasn't going to be icky mud, and let me smear a little above each eye.

Unexpectedly, something changed inside me during that little exchange of trust. There was a welling up of compassion--caring for these kids, here to have a good time, instead finding themselves blinded with smears of “mud” on their faces. So as we went around the room with wet wipes (hey, we don't have a real pool of Siloam), and washed the “icky mud” off their faces, I found it had become an act of caring help, a kind of compassionate “service.” There was a hush in the room as we moved from child to child with those wipes. I don't know if you realize how unnatural the quiet was, given this rowdy group. One of my crew, a big, burly, clown-around eleven-year-old, was sitting quiet, waiting, his smooth child-brow marked with worried furrows. I wiped his face and whispered, “It's okay,” and watched his wrinkled brow relax and smooth out again. Then we were done, they counted to three, and all the kids took their headbands off, the lights went on, and kids blinked and squinted and laughed with relief.

After that things went back to normal; and yet, things weren't the same at all. Somehow after that the whole week seemed to go better. Kids weren't quite as obnoxious. Little boys weren't pounding on each other QUITE as much. And the older ones started helping out with the younger ones.

AND I got to see that healing at the pool of Siloam from a little bit of Jesus' point of view. And all the other healings He did. Yes, they were “signs” pointing to something important. But they were something else, too. I walked the room, clearing “mud” from eyebrows, whispering encouragement, having compassion on these little furrowed brows that were too young for furrows. Do you realize the depth of God's love for you?

* * *

I remember studying Jesus' miracles in Bible college. We had whole classes on the gospels—I remember Matthew—the class that covered the book. We went through chapter by chapter, discussing the miracles, explaining how they were “signs,” what they pointed to, the theological implications, etc. We knew any theological implication could appear on a test, so he would pause after a point, and you heard a roomful of pens scratching feverishly across paper as you scrambled to write everything down before he dove into the next point.

I wonder how Jesus felt about that? I mean, He was there in that room, wasn't He? We were given lectures on His miracles, His artwork, but all the compassion seemed drained out like liquid from a sieve, leaving a dry pile of theology--did He long for us to understand His heart, His motives? And all the while we were feverishly scratching out facts on blank notebook paper. Later, over supper, the hardcore theology students would debate facts for our entertainment, batting around God's love like a toy ball. I wonder how God felt as His heart was tossed back and forth casually over soup and salad.

* * *

People give and receive love in all kinds of ways. It's amazing how different we are. Some people go out of their way to show others they care by doing stuff they know somebody will like. Other people give gifts. There are people who love to hear the words, “I love you.” For others, it's touch. For a few, time spent together means everything. For me, it's always been appreciation.

When school ended we teachers were given a gift certificate for a trip to a day spa. A little pampering, they thought, would be just the thing for a hard-working bunch of teachers.

You can't imagine how grossed out I was. The thought of being touched by a stranger does NOT equal an afternoon of relaxation for me. A sentiment, I find, that few share or understand. And yet I would not be touched.

I whispered my heresy to a fellow teacher I trusted, who assured me that a manicure or pedicure would be nice. Or I could get a nice facial massage. Are you KIDDING? Don't TOUCH my FACE! But...the school board really appreciated us as teachers. I knew they did. And for the sake of being appreciated I went for a morning with the rest of the ladies and got my hands and feet buffed, dipped in paraffin wax, and a sissy pink shade of polish was applied to each finger and toe.

For me, see, appreciation is almost the same as caring. I really care about those farmers on the school board, trying to figure out how to appreciate a bunch of women teachers. I appreciate them. So I let them send me to a spa to get “purtied up,” showed my nails around everywhere, then a few days later I discreetly took polish remover to my fingernails.

* * *

When I first sent my oldest daughter to school, she would come home at night singing these nifty Bible songs to the rhythm of the backyard swing. I really appreciated that. I appreciated the fact that Bible was her first lesson of the day, and she was telling me Bible stories I hadn't gotten around to telling her yet. I know Christian school isn't for everybody but it was for us, and I saw great value in what they were giving my daughter.

So the next year on parent orientation night I found out my school was going to have to end its music program. The music teacher was retiring. I prayed and thought about it a few days and then offered my services. I would teach my daughter's class music every day. I don't think they heard the part about me offering it for just her class, because before I knew it I was swept into the entire music program, kindergarten through 8^th grade. They seemed a little apologetic when they asked if I could organize a couple of musicals a year. Well, why not? I said. I've done dance recitals and stuff like that. All righty then. And so I've been at it, now, just finishing up my fourth year. See, for me it's not that I really dig serving. It's that I really appreciate the school that teaches my kids the Bible, and helping with music is pretty much the least I could do. When you care about my kids you care about me. And I appreciate that, and I've come to care deeply about these people and their kids.

* * *

Have you ever been broken? We come to Christ broken, hurting and helpless to save ourselves. He cleans us up, sets us on the right path, because He already did what was necessary to save us. He wipes the mud from our eyes, whispers, “It's okay,” and then the light comes on and we blink, look around with delight, the spell of darkness broken. Then we spend the rest of our lives learning what He's given us.

I prefer to remain broken. I don't mean the pain, or the sin that caused it. I like the remembrance, because in the remembrance there's thankfulness and for me, thankfulness is love. It's why my eyes tear up sometimes at communion. It's why I'm at my best when I stay close to the fountain filled with blood, drawn from Emmanuel's veins. It's what makes my writing, music and art such an enjoyment to me. It's because my life, when it's at its best, has become a thank you note to God.

So today, miraculously, my daughter's eyes are almost matched up. It's happened quickly in the last couple of days. It's a wonder to me, like living in the best kind of dream, and not wanting to wake up. I know what God is doing in my family is not just a sterile “sign,” although it may well point to something. When I first started this journey I thought of the faraway Lakeland miracles, and how God was doing some kind of strategic thing, and I thought it could never be for us. Or I thought of the long ago signs of the Gospels, and how they were a strategic thing that could never be for today.

What I didn't know was the compassion, the caring that went into each miracle. “Do you want to be healed?” He would say. Then, “Get up! Pick up your mat. Walk! That's right. Walk!” And people would do it, because He cared. A burdened sigh as He said, “Be opened.” Wept tears for their pain as He healed their dead.

I cry as I write this, partly because I was up late in the night, keyed up about the miracle that's happening in my daughter's eyes. I'm sleep deprived now, you see. But partly I cry because He is gently wiping the mud from my eyes, healing my daughter, saying, “It's okay,” and He cares. And I appreciate that.

Rainbows

Just a short reflection that I started a month or so ago... And now I have the rest of the story to complete it :D

The other day (way back in May) we were driving back into town from the East, looking to the West. We never drive in that way, in fact we rarely get the chance to leave town anymore because of various commitments and involvements. And lack of time off.

Anyway, it hadn't been raining, but there was a lot of humidity in the air. Likely story for our part of the world :) Above us there was bit of a rainbow sticking out of the clouds. I looked around and saw some more pieces of the rainbow scattered through the sky, peeking in and out of the clouds.


A long time ago, LOL, when I was a girl living on the prairie. My mother called this event - a rainbow without rain - a sun dog.

Excitement thrilled through me. What a pleasant surprise - a gift from God, something to make me smile. He promised Noah with a rainbow. While it was meant for Noah, I felt an inkling of a promise to me too.

You see, here's how its been. Godseeker, do you remember way way back at bible study. You described a desert, parched dry, not much left to give. And then a well (our bible study) sprung up in the middle of that landscape. Well obviously over the course of a few years, that well has continued to flow and sprouted a few more and well now, you're practically living in the fertile crescent. LOL

Me on the other hand... Not quite so much. I've slowly been drying up. I mentioned last summer was an emotionally trying time. On top of that I was in several ministries/volunteering that I was in the constant, give give give cycle. I've had to slowly pull back, cuz there just ain't anything there to give! This is new, I'd never felt like this before. And I remembered your description of the desert, I was confused a little how anyone could know God and feel that. Now its clear.

So I went about stabilizing myself, cutting this, adding that, adjusting expectations. So through the winter and this spring I've been stable, things have been ok. I'm producing, not a lot. Overall, while not quite in the desert place, I feel mellow. Ok. not mellow - about two steps less than mellow - numb.

So I was asked to be on the church's softball team. Ok I'll pause for all the laughter.

Anyone who knows me... And yes my real name is attached to this, so I know that there are actually people who know me who might read this blog. {Hi, y'all! drop me a line!} Well, you know that I'm not athletic, I'm not even an athletic wannabe, I'm not even big on watching from the stadium. Read this as I have never touched a softball, nor do I have the foggiest on how to throw or hit or whatever anyone does with those things.

"So, are you in?" she asks...
"Absolutely," I'm crazy.

So I worked really hard this spring/early summer figuring it out. I played a few games. I hit the ball! I threw a ball that someone caught! I caught a ball! I got bruised! AND! I scored!!! :D I was so proud of myself!

Then it happened... all the voices started creeping in. "you're not a jock" "you can't do it" "they're just letting you feel good" "why are you doing this to yourself" "You surely can't be enjoying yourself" "Amy, This isn't safe"

Various people in my life were discouraging to me about this. And you know what. I liked playing! I really wanted to do it. But all of a sudden I couldn't. I couldn't go, I couldn't throw in front of anyone. Couldn't hit a ball.

I went through a lot of soul searching. Talking with God. Trying to figure it out.

So here's my sun dog. All the different colors arched across the sky. I tried to separate them. Where does one color let off and the next begin. They don't actually its such a gradual even shift in colors. Here's red. Bright clear, it keeps on being red. Then it's slightly tinged with orange. Just a little, but still clearly red. Then red and orange are both there together. Then its a little more orange and then red isn't there. They're side by side. And then yellow enters the picture. And all the way across the rainbow. Until you get to blue, which most certainly isn't red!

Sometimes changes happen so slowly and subtly that we don't notice. Until all of a sudden they are different. So God showed me this rainbow. The rain wasn't falling but the was a lot of moisture promising a change in weather soon. Well as circumstances would have it...

I think I figured things out (for about the billionth time) I went to the local CC and registered for "one" class this fall. Just one. The first one. The start of many. The beginning of a new color.

In about 3-4 years, I will no longer be Amy the SAHM who does graphic design also. I will be Amy, the nurse (who now has a lot of deep and rich life experiences to bring to this new profession). I am getting ready to add the next color to my rainbow :) Thank you, God for showing me the colors & helping me to rejoice with them!