Omnificence unfolding in purple striation and sparkling water

Omnificence.

Good word, eh?

DiDi invented it last night, after asking me to use one word to describe the undescribable beauty of the sunset over Lake Michigan.

It was perfect. Magnificence combined with vast, ubiquitous knowledge.

He is all knowing, all present, all powerful.

And all beautiful.

Omnificent.

I love it.



(Found the term in a few dictionaries BTW, defined as "unlimited in creative power". I like DiDi's usage better.)

Not only water

I've been thinking about Peter, walking across the water to Jesus who called to him during a terrible storm.

The waves and lightening and wind must have been terrifying, even while sitting in the relative safety of the boat. Imagine the courage it would take to step out.

Amazing.

Most people would call it insane.

In addition to the terror of heaving his frame over the edge and taking step after step forward, I wonder what he could see under the surface. I picture the sea teeming with leviathans of all shapes and sizes, trying to stop his act of faith, just as the first one did in the garden. I picture all forms of ugliness threatening him, trying to catch his gaze, to make him take his eyes off Christ, and sink.

But as He always does, Jesus called. And saved. Again.

Tsunami please...

More on the spirit coming forth rather than falling...

I thought about how some people seem to be channels, to be conduits of the Spirit's power. The physician/surgeon who leads our healing ministry at church is one such soul. People love to receive prayer from her because the Holy Spirit's presence is often very tangible.

You can feel it.

In certain charismatic settings the Spirit often acts powerfully. Our teens recently attended the Joshua Revolution in Niagara Falls, and came back with stories about people being knocked off their feet. I've seen it happen at retreats myself; people falling as if a wave strikes and takes them all down in a swoop. And I wondered about that. Why there and then?

I think He can and does choose times and places to fall, particularly when they have been set aside for the purpose of worshiping and experiencing Him.

But I think it may also have to do with those who are praying, even if they are not aware of what they are doing.

I think that some people, like our healing team leader, are able to draw the Spirit up and out of themselves, to unleash it on the people there for prayer. In a larger setting, like at Joshua Revolution, a bunch of people with these gifts are all in place, and so it happens on a broader, grander scale.

He probably also chooses to fall at these moments. I'm not discounting that. But I can't dismiss this new idea, this idea that He is rising up from them, and then from many of the attendees as well, till He swells like an ocean wave, and crashes in among them...

Let's pray for a tsunami.

How can I keep from singing?

I continue to be amazed and awed at the wonder of love as it has unfolded over the past few weeks. My deep, soul deep friendship with DiDi, Bella Dolce, is watering and nurturing me, and I am unfolding and stretching and reaching for the sunshine...

I didn't realize that I had been like a dormant seed, waiting for a lightning strike to set a blaze and release me into fruitfulness at her care.

I didn't know that I so needed the love of a woman. I always thought the healing would come through a man.

It is beautiful, and our joy is infectious. We are watching other women in our congregation begin to unfold as well, touching and hugging eachother more, laughing and seeking eachother out.

Yeshua is doing a mighty mighty work through this gift of friendship.

His mercy and caring and generosity are beyond comprehension, beyond all imagining.

How can I keep from singing?

Day 5: It's hard to hear Him while rushing

No news flash this: it's hard to hear God while rushing around in the busyness of life.

Slept in today (ah bliss!) and then drove to visit my Mom for the afternoon.

I increasingly love to drive longish distances for the chance it provides to gaze at the world and think, though my thoughts didn't go very deep either to or fro. No great mystery of life solved.

Thought more about the Matthew passage in which Peter walks on water, and suspect that it might have been intended to connect with OT water miracles such as the parting of the Red Sea and the Jordan. Interesting that instead of parting the waters for Peter, He gave him power directly over them.

I still need to dig more deeply into this passage and see what Matthew was trying to tell the Jews about who Peter was.

Day 4: Back to the waterfall

This morning while approaching my waterfall, I remembered something I'd meant to write about a few weeks ago.

Usually when I go through the pounding water, all my clothes are stripped away so that I approach Him naked, the way He sees me anyway. On days when my sin is particularly apparent, the water also strips away the sins which have latched on to my flesh like ugly black leeches. Sometimes I enter with scabs covering the sore places where I've ripped them off myself, and the scabs are sloughed off and the soreness healed.

But one day, as I entered, I was not able to let a certain area of sin go. It connected to me and trailed off behind me like a thick rope, traveling back through the waterfall, and tugging on me as I tried to move forward. I stood naked before Him, simpering and posing, trying to hide the chain of sin behind me and trying to move toward Him. But the cord was pulled as tightly as it could be stretched, and I could move no further unless I let go.

How silly I was to try to hide it, to pretend prettiness before the One who knew my every action, my every ugliness. How silly to carry my sin in to Him, to reach for Him with one hand while gripping my sin with the other.

That day I never did let go and climb up on His lap. I couldn't seem to.

And that, my friends, is purgatory. Standing in the presence of God and holding on to our sins, until the beauty and fire of His presence burns off our desire for anything but Him.

Consuming fire, come.

Day 2: Reminder to go to my waterfall

I am reading Gregory Maguire's Wicked, the Wizard of Oz story told from the witch's perspective. I've been a fan of the Oz books since I was little, and have been collecting the beautiful old hardcovers for a few years. Maquire's version is rather dark and joyless, so why I'm persevering through it was a mystery until last night. Before falling asleep I read the quote below, and am now contemplating the connection between the waterfall of my imagiplation:

"I had a Lives of the Saints" once. Saint Aelphaba of the Waterfall--she was a Munchkinlander mystic, six or seven centuries ago. Don't you remember? She wanted to pray, but she was of such beauty that the local men kept pestering her for... attention."

"To preserve her sanctity, she went into the wilderness with her holy scriptures and a single bunch of grapes. Wild beasts threatened her, and wild men hunted after her, and she was sore distressed. Then she came upon a huge waterfall coursing off a cliff. She said, "This is my cave," and took off all her clothes, and she walked right through the screen of pounding water. Beyond was a cavern hollowed out by the splashing water. She sat down there, and in the light that came through the wall of water she read her holy book and pondered on spiritual matters. She ate a grape every now and then. When at last she had finished her grapes, she emerged from the cave. Hundreds of years had passed. There was a village built on the banks of the stream, and even a mill dam nearby. The villagers shrank in horror, for as children they had all played in the cavern behind the waterfall--lovers had trysted there--murders and foul deeds had taken place there--treasure had been buried there--and never had anyone ever seen Saint Aelphaba in her naked beauty. But all Saint Aelphaba had to do was open her mouth and speak the old speech, and they all knew that it must be she, and they built a chapel in her honor. She blessed the children and the elderly, and heard the confessions of the middle-aged, and healed some sick and fed some hungry, that sort of stuff, and then disappeared behind the waterfall again with another bunch of grapes. I think a bigger bunch this time. And that's the last anyone has seen of her."

There are a number of connections to my contemplative waterfall experiences. I also go behind the coursing water to a cavern that is lit. I also go to pray, though in my case Yeshua meets me there. I am also naked, though it is the purging waters that strip away my clothing. I also am strengthened by my time there, to better perform His works of ministry and charity.

I think that His gift of this passage lies in further contemplation of what it said about time, given that time weighs heavily at present. I think He is saying that if I spend time with Him behind the waterfall that He created for me, time will pass much more quickly in the "other" world. The "real" world.

This is confirmation of my beloved priest's urging as well.

It is a good gift.

Day 1 of a month-long voyage

I've decided to dedicate the next month to exploration of God's communication with me, and am committing myself to capturing the key message He delivers each day.

Figure if I put it out before you, my beloved reader, that I will actually do it.

So, here goes for day 1.

A dear friend has been struggling through the startup of a new ministry. The leaders of the ministry have faced a number of trials throughout the process, and one woman struggles particularly with discouragement. As my friend prayed about what she was to do to help this woman and the ministry overall, she heard from God that she should trust Him and get out of the boat. Her initial response was that she was to withdraw from leadership; that the boat was the ministry and that she was to exit it and let Him work out the details.

In typical style, she dropped that bombshell on me via text message, and then wouldn't answer my phone calls. She said she was about to send off an email about it. I pleaded via text that she slow down and pray more, not having any details about what she had heard in prayer.

The email didn't come through, and she eventually did call and fill me in. In talking with her more about Matthew 14:22-33, I pointed out that Peter did the opposite of what she would be doing. He stepped out of the relative calm and protection of the boat and into the unknown and fearful wild. Into the turmoil and drama. If she left the ministry, she would be leaving the drama instead of entering it and trusting Yeshua to bring her through. He said to Peter, and says to her, "Why did you doubt?"

The reality is that God's desire is for the discouraged woman to recognize the attacks of the evil one and begin to develop strategies for fighting them off. He desires increased freedom for her, and will grow her into that freedom through this ministry. And my friend is part of that journey toward freedom. She plays a key role in this woman's life, at this time and place. But she must walk out upon the troubled waters, and expect the miraculous to result from her obedience.

Oh, and by the way; the reason I didn't receive her resignation email? Her keyboard began acting up, and some of the keys wouldn't work. One of them was the letter "H", the first letter in the name of the ministry, and it's acronym, which she tried to type.

So what did I learn from this, on Day 1 of my own voyage of discovery? That God is -so- in charge.

At Jacob's Well

This is the most beautiful thing I've read in a very long time. Needless to say, it comforts me.

At Jacob's Well

Here's what I want to know about the woman
carrying her water-jar to Jacob's well
outside the town of Sychar, in Samaria:
what charms, what freshness bubbled up
from which corner of her heart, and made her the oasis
that she was? Five husbands and a lover
come one by one to slake their thirst in her,
and still some water-truce holds in Sychar, protects
this frank green spring from all polluting shame;
and now another thirsty man, this foreigner,
sits asking, and again her charms bubble up
like the water, like her questions. Could that be
what enchants them all, her way of asking
straight to the heart of things? And did she know,
before he spoke, how long her heart had thirsted
to be answered the same way? Hear the dance
of their talk, these strangers, as they sit together
on the path to Jacob's well, speak in circles
around the deep water: thirst and drinking,
husbands and lovers, mountain and temple,
Spirit and truth--askings and answers
bowing in, leaning back, swayed and spun
to the beat of two hidden drums. Here's what
I wonder about the woman, dancing back now
to the village, her water-jar left behind
for him to drink from: did she notice
what the disciples half-saw, how deep he had drunk
from their talk, from their dance? See the gleam
in his dark eyes, like sunlight sparking deep
on well-water; see his toes tap inside dusty sandals
in time to the dancer's steps; now see him rise
and laugh, shake his head, rinsed by her charms,
sated by her questions, enchanted by her thirsty
generous heart, a vessel after his own heart,
a dancer who matches his own steps in the dance
of ask and answer, of Spirit courting soul.

--Elizabeth A. Nelson

Wisdom from a Celestial Seasonings box

Bread and water can so easily be toast and tea.

--Unknown

Wormicide

It was raining the other day, and as I left work and walked across the vast parking lot I watched a worm squirm his way through a puddle. The sight of this gets me every time, and I bent to try to rescue him. He was slippery and annoyed by my "help", energetically resisting my efforts. I eventually did grab him, hoping I didn't hurt him in the process, and walked him over to a landscaped area which offered some dirt.

I felt both virtuous and victorious.

For roughly 13 seconds.

Then I saw another worm, this time already dead.

Then another.

Then another.

And a sense of futility rolled over me; the parking lot was too big. I was surrounded by other parking lots. The city was full of parking lots and driveways and other surfaces all covered with suicidal worms awaiting destruction.

I couldn't possibly save them.

That's when the anger hit; what the heck is wrong with worms that they end up drowning on asphalt?

Where do they all come from?

Why do I feel guilty about them?

And then, as if in a Hallmark card commercial, silent violins began to play and I thought of birds.

Birds were the answer; every rainstorm is a gift to the birds.

And I felt better.

Easter is coming. Alleluia.

Imaginatio divina

At my beloved priest's invitation, for a few weeks I have been practicing what I am calling imagiplation or imaginatio divina; the use of the imagination for experiencing God.

It has been an amazing adventure, one which I need to document in greater detail in future. For now I'll limit myself to telling you about His gift to me this morning.

I approach Him in a particular setting which He created for me, and I climb into His lap. Normally I cuddle in like a child. This morning however, I turned my face up to Him as a woman, not a child. He bent His head to meet me and we kissed a kiss of lovers at rest. And as we kissed, He began to blow His breath into me.

I entered His presence heavy of heart and mind. I left at peace and in wonder.

He is so very generous...

Becoming a dewdrop

I've stolen this lovely phrase from my friend Pranayama mama's recent post:

"I want to become like a dewdrop that reflects the entire moon."

April

From The Wasteland:

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

--T.S. Eliot

There is no other stream

From The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis:

“If you’re thirsty, you may drink.”

For a second she stared here and there, wondering who had spoken. Then the voice said again, “If you are thirsty, come and drink,” and of course she remembered what Scrubb had said about animals talking in that other world, and realized that it was the lion speaking. Anyway, she had seen its lips move this time and the voice was not like a man’s. It was deeper, wilder, and stronger; a sort of heavy, golden voice. It did not make her any less frightened than she had been before, but it made her frightened in rather a different way.

“Are you not thirsty?” said the Lion. “I’m dying of thirst,” said Jill. “Then drink,” said the Lion. “May I -- could I-- would you mind going away while I do?” said Jill. The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.

The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic. “Will you promise not to--do anything to me, if I do come?” said Jill. “I make no promise,” said the Lion. Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer. “Do you eat girls?” she said. “I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,” said the Lion. It didn’t say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.

“I daren’t come and drink,” said Jill. “Then you will die of thirst,” said the Lion. “Oh dear!” said Jill, coming another step nearer. “I suppose I must go and look for another stream then.”

“There is no other stream,” said the Lion.

“It never occurred to Jill to disbelieve the Lion-- no one who had seen his stern face could do that--and her mind suddenly made itself up. It was the worst thing she had ever had to do, but she went forward to the stream, knelt down and began scooping up water in her hand. It was the coldest, most refreshing water she had ever tasted. You didn’t need to drink much of it, for it quenched your thirst at once. Before she tasted it she had been intending to make a dash away from the Lion the moment she had finished. Now, she realized that this would be on the whole the most dangerous thing of all.”

The Presence of Love

The Presence of Love by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

And in Life's noisiest hour,
There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,
The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.

You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within;
And to the leading Love-throb in the Heart
Thro' all my Being, thro' my pulse's beat;
You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,
Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve
On rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake.

And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,
How oft! I bless the Lot that made me love you.

No thin veneer

do you think
the purple passion of my love
a thin veneer?
easily cracked?
my love is miles high
and oceans wide
my love is layers thick
and fathoms deep
and any rain of hurt that falls
will water the fruit
which ripens on love's peak

--Chantelle Franc

Over full and trembling

"My heart is a love-filled glass, over full and trembling to be poured out."

--Chantelle Franc

These words make me think of Christ's heart for mankind, so full of a love which will not be received.

The Odes of Solomon, Ode 40

1. As honey drips from the honeycomb of bees, and milk flows from the woman who loves her children, so also is my hope upon You, O my God.
2. As a fountain gushes forth its water, so my heart gushes forth the praise of the Lord, and my lips bring forth praise to Him.
3. And my tongue becomes sweet by His anthems, and my members are anointed by His odes.
4. My face rejoices in His exultation, and my spirit exults in His love, and my nature shines in Him.
5. And he who is afraid shall trust in Him, and redemption shall be assured in Him.
6. And His possessions are immortal life, and those who receive it are incorruptible.
   Hallelujah.

The Odes of Solomon, Ode 30

1. Fill for yourselves water from the living fountain of the Lord, because it has been opened for you.
2. And come all you thirsty and take a drink, and rest beside the fountain of the Lord.
3. Because it is pleasing and sparkling, and perpetually refreshes the self.
4. For much sweeter is its water than honey, and the honeycomb of bees is not to be compared with it;
5. Because it flowed from the lips of the Lord, and it named from the heart of the Lord.
6. And it came boundless and invisible, and until it was set in the middle they knew it not.
7. Blessed are they who have drunk from it, and have refreshed themselves by it.
   Hallelujah.