As Simple as it Gets

I can't embellish or add anything flowery to this morning's understanding and post. I was so crushed yesterday, and I recognize my deepest grief is the contradiction between what I know and read of God from the Word and what I see in my circumstances - which is nothing of God's promises at all for over 18 months. A grand and hideous silence and contradiction. This morning it even hurt too much to let God's word in and listen to any of my favorite Bible teachers. That contradiction slapped in my face again was more than I could bear.

"When your words came to me, I ate them; they were my joy and my heart's delight, for I bear your name, O LORD God Almighty. . . . Why is my pain unending and my wound grievous and incurable? Will you be to me like a deceptive (intermittent) brook, like a spring that fails?" (Jeremiah 15:16, 18)

So, the question to me on my morning dog walk was simply which side of this razor's edge I'm going to fall on. Do I believe my circumstances reveal the character of God, or do I believe somehow, against all the grief within me, that God's character gives meaning to my circumstances? Oh, believe me, I want with every fiber of my being for God to change my circumstances, BUT . . .

I love, I hope, I'm crushed - I rise in love, I hope, I'm crushed - I crawl back up to my feet in love . . . . Death would be easier than this life. BUT . . . it all comes down to the cross, that cross from which some days I hear a mocking laugh. Real, raw honesty here today, friends, but I don't doubt for a minute that there is someone who will read this and identify exactly with my feelings. Keep reading!

It all comes down to the cross. For love, Jesus emptied himself of all his majesty and rights as Deity and took our betrayal and rejection of him, even my imploring questions now. He loved, he hoped, he was crushed, he rose up in love. What could it have meant to Jesus to be stripped - willingly, but stripped nonetheless - from all that incomprehensible union with pure joy and love and oneness? Whatever it meant, it meant winning me.

No, I'm not at all equating myself and my suffering with Jesus. It's just that now I begin to understand the ferocious depth of his love for me. He IS love. I don't BEGIN to grasp how much, but I desperately want to soak myself in him.

Sorry - words water down the impact of this truth.

Aaugh . . . as much as this still - hurts isn't strong enough a word - grinds me to dust emotionally, I will not let my circumstances and the horrifying choices someone else is making inform me about the nature and love of my Jesus. Whatever meaning comes out of this in the end, it will be the meaning LOVE incarnate gives to me.

BUT "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose . . . . If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all - how will he not also graciously give us all things? . . . For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8: 28, 31, 38-39)

God of My Steps and Missteps

(entering the cave before descending to Mooney Falls, Havasu Canyon)

“Who would have thought,” I mused, “that parking at the wrong end of the mall would turn out to be so much fun?” What a morning of mistakes and missteps! They started when I read the wrong appointment card for my hand surgeon and missed a day of work, cutting our dogs’ walk short by 20 minutes so I could fly out the door, leap into the car, and speed to what I thought was a 9:00 am appointment. The puzzled look in the receptionist’s eyes morphed into a bemused grin of “Oh, this poor confused old lady” as she sadly informed me that my appointment wasn’t until four that afternoon. Wrinkles from too many hiking trips move younger people to see senility instead of a love for the outdoors in my appearance!

“Oh, crumb!” I chided myself. “I must have read the ‘4’ I wrote as a ‘9’!” Quickly shrugging off the $72 I had just lost in missed pay, I opted to make the best of the situation and save gas by popping over to the quick-fix jeweler in the nearby mall to get two bent prongs on my engagement ring repaired.

June in Arizona marks the beginning of the season when one is willing to walk from the farthest spot in the parking lot as long as it’s under a tree or even a healthy bush offering a spotty patch of shade, so I rejoiced in finding a parking space not only close to a mall entrance, but also beneath a leafy canopy of shade. Imagine my consternation to discover that the store whose entrance I parked near didn’t open for another hour! Grumbling at misstep number 2, I tramped back to my car and drove around to the northeast side of the mall, where surely the generic mall entrance MUST be open at 9:00 a.m. And true enough, it was.

Misjudgment number 3: the jewelry repair shop was in the northwest corner of the mall, so I had to walk the entire length of the mall!

“I needed the exercise anyway,” I philosophized, still leaning into optimism – or at least leaning away from mounting frustration. That meant I had to hike the length of the mall again at 10:00 when my ring was fixed, running the gauntlet of the now-open kiosks that flanked the food court.

“Have you heard of Dead Sea Minerals?” a young man called as I attempted to zip by.

“Yes- are you Ahava?” I shot back breezily, hoping to brush him off.

“No, we aren’t . . . ," he replied.

“Oh, what the heck?” I thought, “I might as well get the nails on one hand buffed.” That’s fully what, and all, I expected to happen. Twenty minutes later, though, I wonderingly waved good-bye to Avi and Elan after chatting with them a bit, sharing what I recently learned of the meaning of the Hebrew letters Yud, Heh, Vav, Heh (the hand of grace nailed in grace), Isaiah 53:5 “But he was pierced for our transgressions . . . ,” and praying for the success of their little stand and for peace in Israel.

Elan was genuinely touched that I would pray for them. Yes, I walked away with a nail care kit, too, but I walked away with an awed joy that Jesus continues to use me, even in my brokenness, to touch other people’s lives with his love. After the person you’ve trusted the most tells you that you are worthless, hearing from Jesus that you are precious enough for him to speak through absolutely rains down worth, dignity, value and a joy that sets your heart dancing!

Oh, those blessed missteps that led me to a God encounter! Abba, can I dare to believe that even this trek through a valley of shadows deeper than death is, in fact, a pilgrimage under light I simply can’t see – a journey to a victory more beautiful than I can imagine?

Some days - days of mistakes and missteps – my heart dares to trust this is, in fact, the truth I can hang my heart on!

Ruth's Blessing

(The photos are my Grandma Miner, aka Ruth, with two of her five daughters, Helen and Bonnie, and Ruth and Bram with 24 of their grandchildren circa 1965. This post references last summer's post The Beauty of the Opal, but this take on that experience is a further revelation to me, to be followed by yet one more! I pray this blesses all the Grandmas in the blogosphere!)

Rose Jackson © 5/20/2010

Here it comes again!

“Hi, Ruth . . . er- I mean Rose.”

“I want to introduce you to Ru . . . er– Rose.”

“Nice to meet you, Ruth . . . oops, Rose.”

I hear it from friends and from strangers: people consistently call me Ruth instead of Rose. I understand the mistake from women at our church - our director of ministry to women is named Ruth – but from total strangers? It used to frustrate me. Didn’t I speak clearly enough? Were others just not paying attention when they met me? I couldn’t fault casual acquaintances too much. I have enough trouble of my own remembering the names of people I’ve just met unless I say their name over and over in our first conversation, but this was happening so often that I started wondering what the problem was!

My internal dialogue went something like this: “Granted, my grandmother’s name was Ruth.”

“No one on this end of the continent knows that, though.”

“Grandma died 25 years ago, and now that I’m a grandmother myself, surely no one who knew her knows me.”

“No one outside of my family, anyway. So what’s the deal? Why is this happening so frequently that it’s almost laughable?”

Then last year life plunged me into the darkest days I’ve ever known. Knowing this, my friend Charity gently touched my hand one morning and said, “I want to take you on a journey through ‘The Father’s House’. It’s a spiritual journey into God’s heart, looking for Jesus there. A friend of mine took me through this when my marriage was in trouble, and I found such a breakthrough for my own heart. Let me know when you’re ready.” Tears glistening in Charity’s eyes told me she was speaking from the reality of a powerful encounter with God in her own life. Searching for light, hope, and meaning from the tragedy threatened to overwhelm all my identity, I eagerly took up her offer.

Two weeks later I sat beside Charity and her mother Sharon, one of my best friends. “Please, God, I don’t want to conjure this out of my own imagination,” I silently cried, trying to remain aloof from the influence of my own presuppositions. Sharon and I voiced what we were envisioning; she described a beautiful mansion in vivid detail. I was having some trouble, my analytical brain questioning whether what I was sensing was me or God. Sharon’s words were awash in love and amazement as she narrated her journey across marble floors through gilded rooms.

All I sensed was a deep desire to go “out back,” and in a flicker of faint remembrance (in my imagination surrendered to the Holy Spirit) I caught the musty but somehow secure odor of an ancient porch. My hand felt worn wood as I pushed open a shabby screen door and was enveloped in the pungent sweetness of my Grandmother’s apple tree. I hadn’t smelled that in over forty-three years! As Sharon envisioned glorious flowers ablaze in color and a river filled with sparkling gems, I sat on the smooth board swing beneath green apples and leaves that cast dappled spots of shadow and light, and felt someone pushing me. Could I dare to believe this was Jesus? Was that his laugh I “heard” as I sensed someone pushing me high, running under the swing? So natural, so common, so ordinary . . . so wonderful!

Then I sensed Jesus beside me as I sat in the grass edging Grandma Ruth’s garden. The whole town agreed she could plant a stick and get a gladiola! Fragrant lilac, fresh dill and mustard scents and rich, warm earth mingled with the redolence of green growing things. A thought flashed into my mind, “Jesus – am I getting this right? You liked cucumbers?” I couldn’t suppress a chuckle. Grandma Ruth made the best bread and butter pickles in town, if not in all of Indiana. I heard the breathy, soft “squeaky toy” giggle of my Grandma. What simple joy and pure, rich faith she had, and how much love for all of her 35 grandkids! I can still hear her gentle, low voice calling me “Rosie.”

“Oh Lord!” A sudden flash of realization swept over me. “When I’m called Ruth, it’s Grandma’s blessing coming down to me!”

I marveled at my heart so drawn to hers across six decades, even though I saw Grandma only five more times after we moved across the country when I was six! Such is the enduring power of a grandmother’s love: a legacy of blessing, belonging, and delight, all of who she was, so treasured even by God that he used my Grandma’s laugh and garden sixty years later to touch my heart when it was breaking.

Can I be that for my grandchildren? Oh, I hope so! The two I have, now three and six years old, live literally on the other side of the world. I visited them for one month three years ago and one month this year, and had the exquisite joy of them home for ten months two years ago, but it will be another three years before they can come home again. Till then I treasure Friday night voice-over-Internet games of Battleship with my grandson Evan and chuckle as my granddaughter Elsa wonders how I can read the picture book in her lap over the computer (we both two copies of several books).

I treasure and I worry: will they feel how very much I love them? Will they recall our carousel rides here and elephant rides over there? Will they remember making grape and cheese-triangle sailboats on the trays of their highchairs here, and making homemade tortillas (with the five-pound bag of corn flour I carried in my suitcase) together over there? Is that moment I so clearly remember with Evan - holding him cheek-to-cheek on his first birthday as he growled his new word “Wow” and I growled right back – safely secured in his memory for the day he’ll need to know he’s amazing and “wow”? Will they know who I am? Will that matter? Will I make a difference for them?

And then I remember Grandma Ruth, an ordinary, uncelebrated woman, her life and self still so much a part of the fiber of mine even after I moved away. The sweet, green and growing aroma of Grandma Ruth wafts into my heart whenever anyone “mistakenly” calls me by her name. Now I know it’s no mistake; it’s her blessing!

Will Elsa ever be mistakenly called Rose? I doubt it; Evan certainly won’t! But I pray who I am and how I love will be a lingering aroma in their lives that takes them by surprise some day to a remembered place of delight, security, and joy – a place like my grandmother’s garden, accessed through that old screen door of the ordinary times we’ve spent together. I hope their days will be graced with joy, not sorrow, but if they find themselves in a “dark night of the soul,” I hope my prayers today will draw their hearts to a place where Jesus meets them with his healing love.

For all of us Grandmas, Grannys, Grams, Nanas, Mimis, or whoever we are called, Ruth’s blessing is the truth that, no matter how small our grandchildren are, where they live, or how infrequently we may see them, the fragrance of who we are will leave a legacy of blessing that transcends distance, circumstance, and decades.

So blessed!

Not my usual post, but another note from Thailand. I wish I'd brought my cable to connect my camera so you could see here a photo of my left foot with about 35 hungry fish nibbling the dry skin! That is one experience to take off my bucket list! Believe it or not, the one who coaxed me into this weirdness is the doctor for the Austin team here to do childcare!! Ignoring all academic questions about the cleanliness of fish mouths, not to mention the water they were swimming in in the front window of "Jimmy's Travel and Fish Spa", Doctor Debbie asked, "Please, will you do it if I pay for it?" That was right before she screamed and squealed as the first voracious and overly enthusiastic fish targeted her instep . . . . .

All lunacy aside, I am even more smitten by these kids and their families than I was two years ago. Wow, when I hear the stories of what "normal" life is like for them, I am so humbled and privileged to be sharing these past ten days with true saints. The passion of living out their calling! The real-life stresses, weaknesses, and challenges we all face, amplified times ten in a foreign culture. We have our own little "Model UN" just in our class of 5 and 6-year-olds, with my grandson translating our English (and Texan to boot) instructions into Chinese so "Sam" can translate them into Korean for "Anna," and the Swedish nanny translating into Finnish for her two small charges. Thank you, thank you, all of you who helped me come! You are blessing so many families here.

Our card-making workshop last Saturday was a huge success - whole families came.The Finnish mom was so thrilled to have the first girl time" she'd had with her daughter in many, many months, the Koreans were grateful to get to make get-well cards for folks in their churches back home, and many a hubby was glad to have a last-minute opportunity to make a Valentine card for his wife. No greeting cards in China! Can you imagine how much such a simple thing means? Hands and fingers hungrily flew in a burst of creativity and fun, and you should have heard the happy chatter! Thanks again friends for creating a memorable blessing.

There will be many tears tomorrow when everyone leaves for parts north and far away, and the Texas team heads home. Hey, they want me to come back in the fall to speak at a women's retreat - and boy, will I love that as God provides. And any of you teachers or administrators looking for a job working with amazing people and helping a wonderful cause, they need lots (like 36!!!!) of both in the SIL EAG!

The Greatest of These is Love

Many times in the past two months my heart has been bursting to set these words down, but as many times it has been cast down by anxiety and fear and I couldn’t bear to write through the pain. The deepest betrayal of my life has brought me perhaps the greatest blessing: the absolute certainty and powerful experience of God’s unrelenting, un-soundably deep love for me. If when Samuel Clemens stood on the riverboat, he took a measure of the depth of God’s love instead of the Mississippi River, his pen name would have been “By the Mark, Fathomless” – and Mark Fathomless wouldn’t have rolled off the tongue or stood out on the book cover like Mark Twain. But how overjoyed I am to cry out, “Mark, Fathomless! Relentless! Flood stage!” Will Mark Fathomless turn this blog into a book? Editors, take note . . . .

Can you see between the lines to my leaping heart, and do you wonder how betrayal can turn into dancing? Two things have become the floor under me: the power of forgiveness and the power of God’s love. From the outset of this crisis, I determined that I would forgive, come Hell or high water, for my own sake and for Jesus’ sake as much as for my betrayers. Forgiveness alone couldn’t support me, couldn’t keep me standing through the torrent that threatens to tear down the foundation of 37 years of my life, and I sensed immediately that I needed God’s love working through me to restore my heart and give me brand new love for my betrayer. I never dreamed that love would come through knowing how deeply I am loved by God, but now I see THAT is the bedrock of my life, and so it was meant to be for all of us.

I hang on to a verse in Jeremiah when I’ve felt the sting of rejection over the past seven months. I remember the “address” to this verse by thinking of it (with only a joke in the waist department and slight exaggeration in the hips) as my measurements: “They will be my people, and I will be their God. I will give them singleness of heart and action, so that they will always fear me for their own good and the good of their children after me. I will make an everlasting covenant with them: I will never stop doing good to them . . . . I will rejoice in doing them good . . . . “(Jeremiah 32: 38-41)

Joy I never felt before spills over in me in unexpected places and moments. So many small miracles, seemingly unrelated to the calamity I’m facing, nevertheless tell me that God hears me and delights, absolutely rejoices, in doing me good because he LOVES me! From meeting Robin Mark, a singer whose music on my iPod reduces me to tears and praise on my daily dog walks, to the many times I’ve been a channel of blessing to someone who needed encouragement, to connections with women walking the same road with me, to an outpouring of provision for my upcoming mission trip to Thailand, to sweet conversations with Jesus whispered in my spirit, God’s hand surrounds me, guides me, provides for me, surprises me, gives me “warm fuzzies” and downright belly laughs. I have dared - yes, I do fear and reverance God, BUT I have dared to leap into my Abba's lap, bury my head in chest, and know he loves it. That childlike confidence in our Father's love is ALSO, and perhaps truly, to fear and reverence the LORD.

My latest chuckle came yesterday as I ate a grilled salmon taco with mango salsa, and suddenly I sensed Jesus telling me how much he enjoyed eating grilled fish there by the Sea of Galilee. Wow, I was transported to his side, fire crackling, fish sizzling, and I ate the rest of my taco with Jesus beside me in the Taqueria. Do you bristle with religious indignation or with disbelief that I would dare to see myself sitting beside Jesus on the shore as I sit in Tia Rosa's? My unabashed boldness and embrace of every sweet moment with him comes from knowing in the deepest places within me that Jesus is nothing but love, and he did – and does – all he did and does for me out of love for me. Now I see it as an affront to the cross to question his love for me.

Beloved of the Lord, that love birthed new love, faith, and forgiveness in me, a passion for the one who wronged me that burns through rejection and hopelessness like the fire that consumed the drenched wood and soggy sacrifice on the altar when Elijah confronted the prophets of Baal and Asherah (1 Kings 18:16-39) I know in the depths of my soul that the God who answers by fire – the fire of passionate, forgiving, overcoming-the-Gates-of-Hell love – he is God, and he loves me.

I don’t know the end of this journey yet, but I feel like Merry and Pippin in the movie version of Lord of the Rings when they sat in the branches of Treebeard as the rushing waters of the Rive Isen swept away the evil of Isengard. I sit on the shoulders of my beloved bridegroom Jesus, the true Oak of Righteousness, who says to me, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the LORD, your God. The Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” (Isaiah 41: 2-3)

I reply to him, as King David did: "When I said, 'My foot is slipping, your love, O LORD, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul.’” (Psalm 94: 18-19)

I see now and more importantly know the bedrock truth of 1 Corinthians 13:13: “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” Love has a power greater than even great faith and steadfast hope: knowing how much you are loved heals and transforms and empowers amazing new love within you. Beloved, I don’t know the river sweeping over you or the fire blazing all around you, but you are unceasingly loved by Jesus, and his love will renew your heart and carry you through to love those you never thought you could love, with his own heart.

“And we have come to know and have believed the love that God has for us.” (1 John 4:16)

By the Mark, Fathomless!

A "BUT . . ." to pray: Almighty God, my ABBA,sometimes when I look at the circumstances of my life I just don't feel your love. Honestly, I've wondered if it's true. How that must grieve you! Okay, Father . . . I see my failures, I hurt because of ________________________ in my life, BUT you say that you love me, and you don't lie! I may not feel it this instant, BUT I know that when I ask you to draw me in to your love, you won't turn away from me; you will embrace me joyfully. Father, ready or not (whether I'm ready or not, because YOU always are), here I come!Help me today to KNOW your love for me!

If this blog has blessed you and you would like to contribute to my October 2010 mission trip to speak at a women's leadership conference in China, you can send a check made out to Outreach - City of Grace, with Rose Jackson China on the memo line, and mail it to:

City of Grace, 655 East University Drive, Mesa, AZ 85203

Check my posts of January and February 2008 to read about my first trip.

Trophy Bride

(Please do read this, even if you are male, and substitute friend for bride if you can't get past the feminine nature of the word bride.)

Rose Jackson © 9/22/09

How ironic that the answer to the cry of my heart came out of utter destruction. Over a year ago I prayed to really experience God’s love for me, to move knowledge from my head to reality in my gut. So many of my friends seemed to slip so easily into his heart for them, like stepping into a beautiful ball gown (the sanguine friends) or sliding into a soft, voluminous cashmere sweater (my fellow melancholies).

Maybe I’m so analytical that it took this much agony to override my analysis. Whatever the reason, unless you have found yourself a crumpled shell in the desolate, burned-out crater of the loss of all you once loved or of all you hoped for, you probably can’t comprehend an utter emptiness that is deeper than death – and the resulting desperate longing that compels you directly into the flame of the blazing, ardent, passionate, jealous love God has for you.

I found my answer, and how poetic that it came during the Fourth of July weekend – a celebration of freedom.

Again and again in my daily reading in June I came upon verses containing the word “shield.” “Blessed are you, O Israel, a people saved by the LORD. He is your shield and helper and your glorious sword.” (Deuteronomy 33:29) “Okay, nice metaphor,” I asked God, “but painful things are hitting me like flaming arrows. What does it really mean that you are my shield?”

Then over the July 4th weekend I house-sat for some friends of mine for four days, partly to help their home look "lived in" while they were away, and partly to get away from the relentless stress I’m under at home. Sitting on their front porch that Sunday morning, listening to birds chirp in the mulberry trees and delighting in the crisp white picket fence bordering their lawn, I opened my Bible for my devotional reading and it fell open to Song of Songs - a place I never go for inspiration. There it was, nonetheless, Song of Songs 3:1: "Come out you daughters of Zion, and look at King Solomon wearing the crown, the crown with which his mother crowned him on the day of his wedding, the day his heart rejoiced."

Hmmmm . . . okay. And then my eye crossed the page to 4:7

"All beautiful you are, my darling; there is no flaw in you."

Tears streamed from my eyes. In my spirit I sensed the Holy Spirit telling me (and you, too!) that the Father put a crown on Jesus the day I (and you) came to salvation and became his, our "wedding" day with him. On that day Jesus' heart rejoiced! He sees me as absolutely ravishing, with no flaw at all, thanks to his righteousness which robes me.

Caveat here – I don’t get visions or dreams from God. How I wish I did, but the way he seems to speak to me is by pouring sudden understanding like a heap of treasure into my mind and heart. I dig into the pile, pulling up sparkling strands of thoughts and images that come together in beautiful clarity, though frequently the thoughts take the shape of analogies from unusual places. That morning the first strand I pulled up was a scene from the movie “Cleopatra” (not at all a spiritual motion picture!), specifically to a scene of a triumphal procession into Rome. Almost instantly 2 Corinthians 2: 14 came up in my other “hand”: “Thanks be to God who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ,” entangled with Ephesians 4:8 “When he ascended on high, he led captives in his train and gave gifts to men.” I could hear trumpets and drums, but it wasn’t Cleopatra and her retinue marching in; the captives Jesus led into the throne room of Heaven, including me, including you, are not the conquered, but the rescued and ransomed! Aha! I saw myself standing on the steps of the throne of God, alongside the victor, Jesus, who holds his sword and shield . . . .

Two days later at our weekly Bible study, our church outreach director spoke on Ephesians 6 and the armor of God. Trumpets up again in my memory, God poured another armful on the pile of my understanding. Ephesians 6:12-13 reads: "Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm, then . . . . ” In quick succession, two friends in the study who didn’t know what I am going through shared these verses:
Genesis 15:1 "Do not be afraid, I am your shield, your very great reward."

Exodus 14:14 "The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still."

Wait a minute! Christ holds his sword in his left hand, so if he is my shield and glorious sword . . . that means I am on Jesus' left side, sheltered behind HIS shield! If I am on his left, and he is at the right hand of God, then the Father is on my left side, and I stand sheltered between them both.

Aha! I sensed that my warfare now is simply standing, and where I stand in this battle is on the steps of the throne of God at Jesus' left side, his shield (that's his faithfulness) in his left hand covering and shielding my heart, mind and spirit, and his right hand (his promises and his sovereign power) fighting the battle for me. My job is to stay out of the way of his sword-swinging right hand and simply cheer him on with my shout, “Yes, Jesus, do all you plan and purpose and desire!”

The chains of my captivity to the effects of betrayal, fear, and anger lie thrown down on the steps of the throne of God as a trophy of Jesus’ victory in my life on the day I took him as my savior and he took me as his own beloved. I am a trophy of Jesus' triumph. I am a TROPHY BRIDE! I am FREE (no matter what is going on in my life), and I am ecstatic to be in Christ’s embrace as he lifts me upon his shoulder and shows the hosts of heaven, "This is one I have set my love upon!"

I know Song of Songs can be seen as a metaphor for the love God has for us, the Bride of Christ, the Church (not the institution, but the individuals who comprise the Church), so I believe the "extrapolation" God gave me to us as individuals is not heretical. I sensed the Holy Spirit affirming (to you, too, even if you are a guy!) that the Father put a crown on Jesus the day I (and you) came to salvation and became his.

He rejoices in you, his trophy and prize, the one he fought for, the beloved one whose salvation is a crown upon his head! In the middle of whatever battle you are facing, even if you feel you are chained to your past or sitting in the smoking ashes of your hopes, dreams, health, relationships, security, and future, REJOICE in the truth that Jesus ended all of your captivity and fights now for you! Stand and rejoice in whose you are and where you stand!

“You Raise Me Up”
Brendon Joseph Graham, Rolf U. Loevland

When I am down, and oh, my soul so weary,
When troubles come and my heart burdened be,
Then I am still and wait here in the silence
Until you come and sit a while with me.

You raise me up so I can stand on mountains,
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong when I am on your shoulders,
You raise me up to more than I can be.

Backfire!

Rose Jackson © 9/1/2009

(A family tradition is to write our names in sparkler. No name in this one, but maybe that's because it was meant for you, and your name is hidden in the fire!)

How to get this implosion of understanding onto paper in all of the power with which it came upon me this morning? No beautifully crafted words this morning. No, the imperative of this sudden insight compel me to get it down and out to you who hear the flames crackling and cringe from the heat pressing against you.

Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. Isaiah 43:1-3

Walking through this fiery trial, I am not burned up. In fact, more and more I am enveloped in times of glorious joy and confidence, love and power, as I was this morning out walking the dogs. How can this be, except that God, the Holy Spirit, dunamis, (dynamite!) sets a backfire by his presence and power within me that sweeps over and burns out the blaze the enemy has set in my life and marriage? “Oh, my gosh!” I exclaimed with sudden recognition within myself. “This is exactly what firefighters do to put out brush fires and forest fires: extinguish them by removing their fuel, fighting fire with fire!”

Like the burning bush that was not consumed – I suspect like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego walking around in the fiery furnace with and surrounded by the holy, protecting fire of the fourth figure (Jesus himself?!) who looked “like a son of the gods” - I can feel the ring of the Spirit’s holy fire around me, protecting me from the ravenous flames of Satan. My enemy’s plans for me and my husband will backfire because of the BACKFIRE of the Spirit of God surrounding his throne, where I stand!

“For the LORD your God is a consuming fire, a jealous God.” (Deut. 4:24)

“. . . and among the lampstands was someone ‘like a son of man,’ dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet and with a golden sash around his chest. His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of rushing waters.” (Rev. 1:12-15)

How many stories have I heard of missionaries whose lives were preserved by cordons of flaming beings or rings of fire, visible to their enemies? Flames and fire are not metaphors for God; he is that fire, and somehow a fire that preserves his beloved while it destroys his enemies! A backfire of jealous love!

He, the unquenchable holy fire, fills his children! “Come be the fire inside of me; come be the flame upon my heart.” From the song “You Won’t Relent,” sung by Kim Walker and Chris Quilala. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GLNlnf80nXo

“But after me will come one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not fit to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.“ Matthew 3:11

Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit . . . . “ Acts 2:2-3

No wonder I can stand more and more often in rapturous joy, tears streaming down my face in absolute delight! Now wonder I dance in the face of betrayal and hopelessness. I am surrounded by hope that protects and preserves my heart!

Nebuchadnezzar then approached the opening of the blazing furnace and shouted, “Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, servants of the Most High God, come out! Come here! So Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego came out of the fire, and the satraps, prefects, governors and royal advisers crowded around them. They saw that the fire had not harmed their bodies, nor was a hair of their heads singed; their robes were not scorched, and there was no smell of fire on them. Daniel 3: 26-27

. . . And when this is over, I won’t be consumed. You won’t either, dear one! The enemy's plans against us are bound to backfire! There won’t be so much as the hint of a s’more-making campfire upon us! On the contrary, we will pour out the fragrance of our beloved, our God and Savior Jesus!