B E L I E V E

There is Magic in the spirit of Christmas.

The A n t i c i p a t i o n of the opening of "The Gift". The unspoken breeze of Kindness in the air. The child-like F a i t h in something wonderful and mystical and, yes, magical. The spirit of Believing comes to life.

Believing in what some would say is unbelievable. Not because it makes sense all the time. But because simply allowing yourself to believe means coming to Life a bit.

.B E L I E V I N G.

.It is sorely underestimated.

Something drastically changes in a person's heart when someone believes in them. Just those words. Those

Four

simple

words.

"I believe in you"

......creates a spark in the soul. With it can come a newness of living.......

NEVER underestimate the power of believing in someone. And NEVER forget that God is the ultimate Believer. in. you.

Regardless of what has been done. He desperately believes in you.

____________________________

.This is what we tell the children we work with through eXile international

Children

who have lived in W A R all of their lives.

Children who were taken from their homes and made to become rebel soldiers.

Children who were forced to kill after being abducted.

These children are BIGGER than orphans. They are more than sex slaves. They are kinder than the killers they were forced to become. They are larger than their past.

These Children are

beautiful and

strong and

resilient.

But they need someone to

b e l i e v e

in them.

W i l l y o u ?

http://www.exileinternational.org/t-shirt.html

The purchase of a b e l i e v e t-shirt for only $15 buys two t-shirts! It supports eXile international's work AND we will bring a 2nd "believe T" to one of the children we will be working with on our upcoming trip to Congo as a symbol of hope.

WHY? Because we Believe in them and God Believes in you and by Believing..........we have Hope.

b e l i e v e

http://www.exileinternational.org/t-shirt.html

Asante Baba

I am humbled often. I need to be. He knows that. The most recent humility began last night in a country church in Hazel, Kentucky surrounded by 11 Wednesday night attendees. It ended by a recollection of 200 displaced, praying, weeping Congolese women on a concrete floor. Beneath a cross. Stones in hand..... and a phrase I heard over and over in their prayers. 

"Asante Baba" 

Translated: Thank you, Father. 

In a Swahili speaking country, there are a few phrases you pick up on in passing. When greeting each other? There is "Jambo." When praying? "Asante Baba." Thank you. Father. Over and over and over in their prayers. In a world full of wars and rape and starvation, they pray:

"Asante Baba." Thank you, Father. 

Where over 60% of the women have been raped and over 20%  die by the age of five. They pray:

"Asante Baba" Thank you, Father. 

Because they prayed mainly in Swahili, I could make out little. But I bowed with them and I prayed with them and I listened to them say over and over - scattered throughout the Swahili......."Asante, Baba"

My mind drifts back to another world. Last night's tiny town church service. Prayers. Listening to the acapella hymns of Thanks being sung in four part harmony, I felt at home. Before the service ended, my dad asked all of us to go around and share what we were thankful for. As I listened, it felt like a cloud of purity came through the room. One by one, person by person, sharing their heart. Some got choked up, a few tears were shed, but every word was spoken from a spirit of genuineness. I always seem to find that here. Gratitude. Real Life. Thankfulness. Genuine, Pure Gratitude.

................ I Find it Most Where There is Least..................

Like in a country church of a small town. Like in a church building in a war-torn. country 

I was in Congo with ALARM June of last year. They had gotten permission from the UN to bus 40 women into a church from each of the five surrounding displacement camps for a trauma healing workshop we were providing. We talked of Hope and Heartache and Healing. The women shared together and prayed together and cried together. 

At the end we had them gather stones from outside of the church. Goma is at the foot of an active volcano, so lava rock is in plenty. They brought their stones inside. 

These women had been traumatized by war and rapes and brutality and poverty and life.  We talked with them about the burdens that life gives us and the heaviness that it causes. I talked to them about Burdens of Anger, Unforgiveness, Hurt, and Shame. 

I asked them to look at the stone they were holding in their hands and told them that we were going to give them an opportunity to place those burdens at the foot of the cross of the Lord. To grieve before Him and lay down their pains.

They did.

A western women would have taken the stone and neatly placed it at the foot of the cross, returning to her seat and, possibly, bowing her head and closing her eyes. Not these women. These women were bruised and burdened. And Beautiful. Beautiful most of all because of something I have never witnessed before. Not to this level. 

In Congo I saw many things I had never witnessed. But there is something in the heart of the people of Congo that I had yet to see and have yet to see again. 

Broken Desperateness. 

These women did not place their stones anywhere. They surrendered them. When I invited them to come and lay their burdens at the foot of the cross at the front of the church......At once, it seemed all 200 of them came to the front and, as if it were rehearsed, knelt down. Praying. Grieving. Crying. Praying some more. We were all so overwhelmed, I think we froze. 

Overwhelmed at their Rawness. Their Vulnerability. Their Genuine need to grieve. Overwhelmed at their Brokenness. Their serenade of quiet prayers together made up a hum of petition to their Father. Their "Baba" and as I walked between them. Kneeling on the concrete floor of the church. Stones in hand. Puddles of tears on the floor. I heard....

over and over and over.

"Asante Baba. Asante Baba. Asante Baba."

Thank you, Father. Thank you, Father. Thank you, Father.

May we be broken. May we be desperate. May we be grateful. 

May we be.....

His, b

.The Door.

Back Home. It grounds me. Where people simply are who they are. Where you go to Wal-mart for a mini high school reunion and instead of getting home late from being stuck in traffic - you run short on time because you have to catch up with all your relatives you see in town. 

Nothing to prove. No one to impress. Nowhere else to be. You cannot re-create what is found in a Small Town and you can never quite find it in the City. I have learned that living Simple and Small is the Grandest and Largest means to live. Period. 

When you have More you want More, and the Larger you live the Smaller you become. Not because you yourself are small - but because comparing begins to creep in and all of a sudden, trying to become "better than" or having "more than" begins to make us feel "less than." Contentment gives way to Desire and we suddenly feel Inadequate. We stop asking ourselves who we are Becoming and begin asking ourselves how we can Arrive - when in reality, we are already there. 

I was in a taxi cab once. Driven by a man from Ghana. I told him I had been to Ghana and, for whatever reason, I asked him "Are you happy here?" 

"Yes, I am happy here." 

"Were you happy in Ghana?"

"Yes, I was happy. But I needed a village." 

"A village.....what do you mean?"

"In the village you do not need the door." 

He went on to tell me that in the villages, everyone has little. One person has what another person has and so there is no need for the door. "The door is to keep someone out" he said. If everyone has the same thing - there is no need for the door, because everyone shares. He then said in "the town" you begin having more, and so you begin wanting more. You then have to have "the door" to keep people out because they want what you have. 

Amazing.

On this day of Thanks - quickly to be overshadowed by the day of Spending - I am brought back to the simplicity of a small town, the genuine spirit of her people, the community of a village, and the need (or un-need) of The Door. 

She was wearing pink.....

She was wearing pink. Bright pink. In the middle of the woods - walking - searching - adventuring. Her pink stood out so brilliantly in her surrounding of nature. Like she didn't fit it. But she did. Fit in. Light shining through the trees. Her hair glistening with each sundrop. Leaves crackling with each tiny step. She was beautiful. As was her surroundings. 

As I lay on my blanket, I watched her.......and I thought: There is something about the woods. Something mystical. Something whimsical. Something dangerous. 

The woods....or the forrest. I always wondered what the difference was. From the country line road in Farmington, KY, it was the "woods" - or the "woods behind the house" to be exact. We would go back there and spend hours. Our own little scavenger hunt of sorts. Me, Jason, Heath. What would we find......in the woods? What escapade would we go on? What perils would we find ourselves in the middle of? What new creeks or hiding places we would come upon in.......

The Woods. The Wilderness.

I watch her and I smirk. She in her new outfit of play clothes bending down to pick up a branch of a tree that is four times her size. "I found it!! We could us this one!!" She is screaming to her parents who are about 30 yards away. It brings me to pause.

Searching.....Adventuring....Scaventure-ing....she found it!! And she was so proud.

I have been drawn lately to look into myself. Past pink play clothes and tiny crunchy steps and into the deeper places of wooded adventure. I am also drawn lately to this verse:

"John grew up and became Strong in Spirit. Then he lived out in the wilderness until he began his public ministry to Israel." Luke 1: 80

The adventure of the wilderness. I went deer hunting with my dad at dusk. Saw a deer. Shot. Thought I hit it. And so we went searching. In the woods. Dark was drawing close, and the darker it got, the deeper I searched, and the faster I walked. In the woods. Me in my camo and boots.....................thinking back to the little one in her pink play clothes. A parallel came to mind. 

Young me. Old me. Little me in pink. Older me in camo. Youthful Innocence. Seasoned Courseness. Can you have both? I think  - yes.

You see, the wilderness is just that. It is wild. It is life's version of coming and going and living and learning and playing and building and running and jumping and loosing and hunting and searching and finding.............life. And finding God. And finding Truth. And Finding, well, yourself. I never knew what that meant really. Finding yourself. Or maybe its not just about Finding Something , maybe its also about Becoming Something. Someone. You. Maybe it's about being settled with the pink and the camo and walking in a wonderful blending of the two. 

It's about picking up something bigger than you are and realizing that it is not of your own strength. Looking at your Father in the distance and saying with a childlike excitement, "I found it!!"

We are the truest versions of ourselves when we walk the closest to our Creator. We shine a little brighter. We walk a little straighter. We seem to loose the need to Prove ourselves and stop the game of Striving and we, slowly, find that walking beside of Him in the Garden becomes the most comfortable of strolls. 

A stroll that, ironically, is surrounded by trees and leaves and thorns and bushes and shelter. It is woody and wonderful..... It is wild. But the comfort comes in knowing that it's His forrest and these are His trees - and you can't see one for the other. But you can:

Walk. Beside. Him. 

Shall we? Walk? I think, yes. 

In Pink Camo, nonetheless : ) Yes. Pink Camo. 

Brave Benjamin

I have come to realize my favorite thing about cooler weather. There are many. The slight bite in the air that causes you to hug yourself a little tighter. Scarfs. The inside warmth of a long run in a cool breeze. Cold nose-tips. The appreciation of how hot tea feels as you sip it slowly. Cuddling. Being able to fog up a window with your breath and then using your finger tip to draw the shape of a heart - then smiling in spite of yourself. Cuddling. The strange security that extra heavy blankets bring in a bed when you are sleeping alone. Cuddling. And .......... 

Fire.

Dancing. Dreaming. Laughing Fire.

It ignites my soul in a different way. Brings me more in touch with the breath of my spirit. Warms me from the inside out. My thoughts dance with it - as does my fingers on the keyboard.

I love it most especially here. In my secrecy of hide-aways. My friend, Danny, always knows where to seat me when I come here in the fall or winter - the table right in front of the Fire.

Fire..........Fire........... Fire...........

I had a rare jewel of an opportunity today. A first. Sitting around a table in a public housing apartment. Me and Claude and Frank and Benjamin and Claude (the older one). Four brave and very strong boys from 7 to 18. They are refugees. Refugees from Congo and Burundi. Their stories of strength and war and refuge and rescue would cause the strongest of us to be broken. But they smile and they laugh and they live and today -

They Drew. Heartache and Hope.

"I cannot draw. I do not know how to draw." Benjamin. Oh, Benjamin. He is a personality rolled up into a little man in the form of a 12 year old. Trying to slyly and quietly leave out of the side door.

Gathered around one small table in one small apartment in the middle of inner city life.......Talking to them about the Hope of healing from the Heartaches they have been through and the promises of God. Reminding them that He was with them in their heartache. Benjamin wanted little part of it. He was uncomfortable and embarrassed and, on more than one occasion, tried to leave. "I cannot draw. I do not know how to draw." He must have tried to leave 5 times. Smiling and smirking each time - but underneath his smile seemed to be something more.

"Benjamin, its ok. Just sit beside of me. Will you sit here. Just be beside me." (I have deceptive tactics. I admit.)

Having just come from a wonderful worship service at MidTown, they were pretty wound up. Marisa had coordinated rides for these families and Cissy had sweetly gone by to pick up some art supplies for us. As I told them stories of the other children I have worked with in Africa and after they watched me draw my own saddest memory - they begin to understand and settle a bit.

I watched as they drew Heart Wounds. Saddest memories. Times that they were most afraid. I watched as they drew:

Guns. Men with Guns. People running away. And I watched as they drew God in their picture. I always have them do this as a reminder that, although He may seem so far away at that moment, He is never further away that our next breath. So they drew Him. Sometimes as a heart. Sometimes as a long-haired person (don't ask me why.... apparently God is a hippy : )

And I watched Benjamin.

"Benjamin. It's ok. Look - I can't draw really well either....just draw whatever is in your mind" Tactic number 2. But I wasn't lying. For someone who does art therapy - I am a lost art. Except when it comes to stick people. I rock at stick people : )

"I need a pencil. A pencil." (All we had were crayons, and he was using as many excuses as he could find)

Finding a pencil in my purse I gave it to him. It quickly broke and this was excuse number 16 to get out of dodge. I gave him a pen. I didn't pressure. Just invited. There is a difference. A beautiful difference. I gave him space and went on to encourage the other boys to draw what Peace or Forgiveness or Love looked like. I watched as they drew Hands Holding. Two men embracing. Hearts. Birds. Rainbows. I smiled.

Looking over at Benjamin again - I was pretty amazed. For some boy who didn't know how to draw, he had suddenly developed a skill. He was drawing a bus and people running away. Running. Away. Faces were sad. Frowns and then he drew

Fire........... Fire.............. Fire

Behind the bus was a tree and the bush and a man who had set a house on Fire. It is a theme in many of the pictures that I see. Fire. It is common place. Three main themes I always see. 1. Burning Houses. 2. Dead Bodies. 3. Guns and Bullets. The stories behind their eyes and behind their smiles and behind Benjamin trying to leave  - speak loudly. He told me his story and then I asked if he could draw what he thought Hope would look like. He went straight to 

it.

Rainbows. Holding Hands. Hearts. Yes, he is quite the artist, Mr. Benjamin.

As I left, he was close by my side. You could tell he was proud of himself - as was I. And I told him so. And as I walked away, I thought that we are not so different. God sitting beside of us. Encouraging. Loving. Listening to us as we make excuses not to deal with our pain. "I can't draw, God. I can't do it. It's too hard. I am not capable. I don't know how." God, in His wisdom.

"Its ok, child, just sit beside of me. Just be beside of me."

Trying to escape. Trying to look away from the very thing we must face head-on in order to find Healing. In order to find Hope. Gently coaxing us - He is there. He is always there. Actually - never further away than our next breath. If we would only -

Breathe.

But we don't. We hold our breath believing somehow that it will go away. Wanting it to just go away. We are blinded by the Fire. Feeling it's heat all around us. Trying to escape out of a side door. Sometimes slyly. Sometimes boldly. Sometimes blindly - we look past the very thing that will bring us relief:

His Hand. On my way to the car - I notice someone holding my own. It is Brave Benjamin. He is a character. The things he has seen in Congo in his short life there will stay with him for years and years. But, much like us, it is in facing them and feeling them and grieving them and reaching out for that hand to hold that will somehow make the fear subside.
I leave and he waves and I wave and I feel my heart become warm. Yeah. Almost like its on.........

Fire : )

Lord God - I thank you for this day of warmth. Of, yet again, learning much more than I teach. Being refined by your own fire much more than I mold. Finding your hand even in blinding flames. Humbled. Again.

I am,
Yours - b

Chasing the Tail of a Rainbow

There are some stories that I just forget to tell. Why? Not sure. I often do that in session too.

"Have I ever told you about....." or "Have we talked about this theory I have on......" or "I have this analogy on that....did we talk about this before?" For a therapist, I have a horrible memory and, honestly, just don't listen very well. But I am learning.  Catching up on blogging (sounds strange), I realized I don't think I have shared one of my greatest God moments ever. What I am about to tell you is true. Every inch. Every unbelievable inch.

Moving to Boulder in 05, it was a rather lost time of my life. I have had many. I moved there knowing one person. One. Coming from being in ministry and teaching classes and being in the center of everything around me......it was quite the change. I liked it. So much. But isolation feeds depression, and I was in the pit. It was a late rainy Saturday afternoon. I hadn't eaten all day and needed to get out, so I was going to make a Wendy's run. So I thought. Leaving the apartment, I noticed that the clouds had cleared. In Colorado, rainbows are common place. Having more days of sunshine than anywhere else in the nation, sun follows rain quite quickly- causing rainbows. On this day, they were on double duty. Looking up in the sky, I saw two of the most beautiful rainbows I had ever seen. Brilliant. Bold. Magical.

And so..............I set out to follow them. To find the end. Yes, I am serious.

I was on a Mission and a Chase and getting Lost around every corner. Racing the clock before they disappeared. What does the end of a rainbow look like? I was going to find out once and for all. I turned left and right - looking up in the sky and plotting my course according to where I thought the end would be. And then the end would move. And I would chase it.

Chasing the Tail of a Rainbow is no easy task.

I did this for what seemed to be an hour. I couldn't believe that the rainbows were still in the sky. It was like God was waiting on me to find them. Giggling at me the entire time. LIke he had me on a wild rainbow chase. And that I did. Chased and chased. In the backest of back Colorado roads, wondering if I would ever find my way out again. I was getting closer and closer. One rainbow had already disappeared - so I was chasing the tail of rainbow number two, driving as fast I as I could on a mountain road. And then: I found it.


Driving around the corner, I was coming closer and closer to the end of the rainbow. It was right there. It just has to be right there....just around here.....just around this corner.....it looks like it goes into that field. - Just - Right - There -

And it was. For a split second I saw it. I got out of my car and ran to the end. The end of the rainbow ................ fading into a field. And then it was gone. Was there a pot? Nope. Was there gold? Not a drop. There was a slow faint colorful fade into an abandoned field. And then that was it. And then it was over. Like the day after Christmas, but not so much. There was no disappointment. I was filled to overflowing. Exonerated. Enraptured. Filled. But that wasn't even the good part. Not even close.

It took me twice as long to get home. I was as lost as a southern girl with Absolutely no sense of direction in a new western territory could be. But it didn't matter. Just gave me more time to sing praises and thank God for this incredible joyride.

Which wasn't over. 

Finally got home and opened the cabinet to get a glass for a drink. Found something pretty incredible. My mother is the Chief Encourager. In fact, when she gets to heaven, I feel sure she will be getting an award of some sort. She had been there the week before and put encouragement cards in various places throughout my apartment for me to find. Under my pillow. In the microwave. In my cabinet next to my glasses. I opened it up and read this:

"God puts rainbows in the clouds so that each of us- in the dreariest and most dreaded moments- can see a possibility of hope.” - Maya Angelou.

True.............. Every. Last. Colorful Inch.

Lesson Learned: We strive and we plot and we plan for the end. The goal. The mission. The top of the ladder or the "when I get there" moment. It's not about that. It's not about that at all. There is no pot. Do you hear me? THERE IS NO GOLD!! When we get to that "I will be happy when" or "We will be ok after" or "When I......then...." Guess what happens?

It moves. Promise. And we are left trying to find another rainbow to chase. The other option is this: We can look back on our journey. Kneel down in the middle of an abandoned field and cry out to a God bigger than life, asking Him: What, Lord, Will You Teach Me? How, My God, can you change me? How, Oh Potter, will you mold me? Now. Right Now - in the middle of this field. Right where I am. Today.

Today. May we find the end. You and Me. Today.........

The other side of pain..........

Will I ever be normal? I wonder. I sit at this table across from three young families as I listen to them talk of old bills and new boats and bunko. I watch them. Leaving to change diapers and cutting up chicken strips. I wonder. Will I?

I am planning the next trip over to Africa in my head. Finalizing new partnerships with orphanages who hold the world's most traumatized children. Dreaming of ways to lend the ear of the right politicians to pass a bill that would call our nation to accountability with dismantling the LRA........an army whose crimes are simply unmentionable to the average person. Even the stories can cause nightmares. I know this. I sit at this table, drinking my hot tea with my cream, typing my words from my heart, with a soul overflowing tonight. I will be blogging late into the moon. It is one of those evenings. I like these evenings.

Looking across the table, over the candlelight, amidst the lights of the boats on the dock - I look at them at how sheltered their life really is. Do they really know heartache? Do they really understand life? Real life? How judgmental I can be. I was forced to make a call yesterday morning from the beachside pool to the Department of Children's Services. A father sexually abusing his three year old son. I seem to rarely be able to get away from it, but the hope is so much brighter. Life. Hardship. Heartache. Pain. Evil. Darkness. Do they know? How sheltered they are?

They are finished with their meal. Ordering dessert - their little ones are excused to run around the table a bit. Him in his precious plaid shorts. She in her precious patching plaid dress. They come over to me to bring me the ice that they have gathered out of their glasses. I smile and reach down to take it from her. Our eyes meet. She has Downs Syndrome. Do they know? Heartache?

Indeed.

I am learning Lord. Teach me. Teach me well.

You see pain can come in all kinds of shapes and sizes. Squares. Circles. Rebel army groups. Lost loved ones. Children with genetic disorders. Broken friendships. Broken vows.

Broken Hearts. Hearts in different shapes. Wounds in different sizes. Healing by the same Lord.

They are leaving now. The table says goodbye to me, as does Larsen. She is blowing me kisses from the door. I am blowing them back. My heart beams. Will I ever be normal? Lord, I hope not : )

For the innocence of a child. May I keep that. Somewhere scattered among the residue of pain that surrounds me - keep me simple and blind and un-knowing.................of anything but what's on the other side of pain. Of anything other than you. Of You. In You. Through You.

I am delighted to be,

Yours. b

~ Invisible Wings ~

So I have this think I do. I have a lot of things I do. But this one comes out when I'm away from home. I like to take other people's pictures. I know. I know. That's not what I mean. You know, you see it too:

He takes her picture. She takes the camera, gets in his spot, and then she takes his picture. Or this one: One of the group steps out of the group to take the picture of everyone else. Then someone else says...."Ok ok, now you get in it." Then they say, "Noooo it's ok. I don't need in it." Then the other guy say "Yes you do! Let me take one with you in it this time." He takes the camera out of her hands and she takes his spot. You know the drill. So I like to be that person. Walking by.

Today it was strolling by. Twice it happened. Once at sunrise. I was walking up on them taking a group picture of the ocean behind them. Two people switching spots - but no one to take a picture of all of them together. I saw them from a distance. Me with my camera taking odd pictures from odd angels of odd things. I often just get so in the zone that before I know it I am either lying in the street taking pictures or waist deep in the ocean with my camera. No Lie. I was coming out of the ocean and just took a picture of something I had written in the sand. Approaching them.......

"Do you want me to take a picture of all of you together?"

"Oh that would be great!" I did. Snip. Snap. They said thank you. I was walking away. She stopped me. "What were you writing in the sand?"

Thinking she assumed it was Barry Loves Janice or Make Love Not War.....I paused. Does she really want to know? I stammered.

"Uhhhhm..... it was 'Sing A New Song'"

You ever notice someone's face get warm? It's not a warmth to the touch. It's a different kinda warm. Kinda a glow. Kinda. Yeah - she glowed a bit. Smiled. I turned to walk away.

"Hey...." Stopping me with her words. I turned around and met her eyes. My mother's age. Sweet Demeanor. She bent down to draw something in the sand. A Treble Clef. Looked up and me and said:

"Sing a new song." and she was past glowing now. I was too.

"Thanks......you too."

You ever get that feeling that there are angels around you and you don't know it. Like if you had a spiritual filter of sorts, you would be able to see their invisible wings? Yeah. I bet she had some. I bet if I could see them they would be glowing. And warm : )

The Business Man and The Bum

So there is this story of this man. He lived on the beach. Not on the elegant part of the beach. He lived on the bummy side of the beach. He was a bum. Not the kind who asked for change.....the kind who sought for naught. A beach bum. The best kind.

A wealthy business man was taking his vacation on this beach. Troubled by watching the bearded beach bum every day come to the same spot and fish all day until it was time to go home - and doing the same thing the next day. Seemed pretty much a worthless life. Lacking ambition. Short on spunk. Worthless. The wealthy business man could take it no more.

He went up to the beach bum and said, "O.K. so don't you want to DO anything with your life? Do you have no motivation at all to make something of yourself?"

The man slowly looked up at him, "What would I do?"

"Well you could go to school and get an education for starters."

"Then what?" the fisherman asked. "Well.....maybe you would use your degree and advance in your field."

"Then what?" The business man was caught in between getting frustrated and excited with anticipation of what this poor soul could do with his life."You could build a business and.....well.....you could buy a house and maybe even a better car."

"Hmmmmmm O.K., Then what?" "Well, you could then start to save money and have a retirement fund and then maybe, if you worked hard enough, you could even retire early."

"Really? Well....what would I do then?"

Really excited at this point, the business man's eyes were big and bright with plans of accomplishment. "Well then you could retire and come down and fish every day. Every day you could come to this spot and fish until your hearts content,"

The fishermen smirked and looked down to bait his hook. Casting his line into the ocean, he said,

"Well, sir. That kinda looks like that what I'm doing about now."
____________________________________________________________________________

THE CREED

THE CREED

As God as my witness, I will never allow the actions, reactions, or behaviors of another person steal away my soulfulness, rob me of passion, or crush my God-Breathed Spirit.

I will never sacrifice the Creator’s Plan nor Christ’s mission that I have so graciously been given and humbly have received for any earthly relationship, selfish ambition, or temporary gratification.

I will never allow my happiness to be dictated by the approval, love, or faith of any human, and I will never allow my self-worth to be determined by the reflection of anyone’s mirror other than the eyes of my Creator.

I will find purpose in my pain, wisdom through my weaknesses, and fruition from my failures.

I will never create expectations for my life and then be disappointed when my own feeble attempts to plan for the future fail.

I will never forget the value of whittling.

I will choose to be a human being rather than a human-doer, realizing that it is in Silence that the voice of God is the loudest.

I will always remember the power of Breath.

I will never overanalyze the situation to the degree of loosing the experience of the moment. I will release my instincts to control and replace them with the seeds of faith.

I will learn to rest as hard as I work – and play even harder. Realizing that you can never give away what you do not have.

I will view my need to please others, to impress, gain attention, approval, or admiration as mere insecurities. I will view these insecurities as cracks in the Solidity of my Soul – which can only truly be filled with the knowledge that I need little but the Intimacy with God as my Creator, my Savior, my Soulmate, my Husband, and my Friend. I will choose to love my Lord above my family, my friends, my desires, my lusts, and my need to control my present and future

I will never loose my sentimental ideals, and I will never forget how I learned them.

I will never hunger for the approval of others, but will hunger only for those things with which I can have guaranteed fulfillment – God’s love and lessons. I will realize that allowing others to define who I am through their opinions and thoughts is in fact giving them the power over my spirit. Therefore I will only define myself as a child of God who is seeking to be filled only by His Love.

I will think with my head and love with my heart.

I will value relationships as treasures and will view all people as children of the most high God – deserving equal respect. I will realize that because of the beauty of uniqueness, there is a richness of growth and a wealth of wisdom lying within each soul. I will become a part of each person I meet and they will become a part of me. Realizing that the lessons learned in each of our individual journeys can turn waywardness into wisdom which we can each share by simply experiencing the other person.

I will never forget that the world needs garbage men.

I will seek to forgive – recognizing that there is always a story behind each sin and an intention behind each action – whether good or bad. Yet I will not confuse forgiveness with forbearance. I will not trade the loss of self-respect for another’s ego. Understanding that long before I can love my neighbor as myself, I must first learn love for myself in the cast of light gleaming from the love my Lord has for me.

I will never wait for others to believe in me for me to believe in myself.

I will see the less fortunate as blessed in ways that I may be blind to, yet commit myself to Thankfulness for the tiniest of gifts. I will value the song of a morning sparrow as equal to the smile of a child as equivalent to the richness of wealth. For True Wealth is based on the ability to have nothing and find contentment.

I will view life as a Canvas – A Canvas on which dwells the ability to touch all six senses simultaneously. But that possibility only comes by allowing ourselves to taste the fruit of experience, to touch the peaks of the mountains and the putty of the plains; to view the richness which colors bring of uniqueness, and to see the beauty beyond boundaries; to breathe the crispness of friendship, the freshness of children, and the wise fragrance of the old; to learn the art of just Being with Him and allowing His love to fill our spiritual senses with the peace of His touch, to taste the sweetness of His Spirit, to see His children through His eyes, and smell the savor of His grace; to hear Him whisper my name, and to sense the awesomeness of knowing that amidst the chaos of the world - He has thoughts individually and preciously purposed for me.

I will never confuse the Heart of God with the Humanness of His Children.

I will never allow vulnerabilities to create persistent pain – but I will make choices as what I will do with my hurt, anger, frustrations, and confusions – rather than reacting to them by pure emotion.

I will remember that no matter how much Cement is added to water, the Bond of blood will always be thicker.

I will soak in the Romanticism life brings as a passionate richness of living, while placing perspective on the realism of dreams. I will embrace fantasies momentarily and benefit from their emotion, while remaining grounded in the knowledge that we create our own reality.

I will have Hopes rather than Expectations, Prayers instead of Worries, and Requests rather than Demands. Being dependent on no ONE person to meet my emotional needs or to create happiness of heart – realizing that total dependence on God demonstrates Him as the only thing in life that is completely stable, consistent, and constant – never ceasing to exist or go away.

I will always embrace the freedom of disinhibition while remembering the safeness of boundaries.

I will recognize my Wholeness as absolutely obtainable separate and apart from any relationship with another person – but it is only possible when the created truly knows the Creator.

I will understand and embrace that being single does not mean being alone, and being alone does not mean being lonely, and that it is only in being Whole that we can promote wholeness and healthiness in any other relationship.

I will view Humility of Heart as the gateway to Solidity of Spirit. I will understand that true Humility is knowing your extraordinary value enough to deny the desire for others to recognize your greatness while having a deep comprehension that the existence of our priceless value was born out of the Creator of Grace – Blood Personified – through a degrading yet beautiful sacrifice of the Omnipotent Trinity.

I will see Grace as manifesting a desire to please the One who continues to be bountiful to the undeserving, rather than a permissible Will to be marginal in my walk with Him.

I will never doubt that being in Love is one of the most powerful connections known to man – and because of its power – it can break you, blind you, or bury you. But in the same breath, it can create such a comfort and completeness with the One, that the world could fall apart around you and you would never think to look away from their eyes. It is an amazing animal all to itself that must be honored with Royalty and embraced with Delicacy, yet caged in the realm of Reality for fear of it running freely over our hearts and souls. For even the most magnificent creatures must be tamed to be held.

I will always remind myself that if I love God above everything else – with my entire being – it will all fall into place; Recognizing that if He is pleased with me and my life decisions – the approval of His children is not needed; And to find the Peace that surpasses my own understanding, I must be in constant search for the Prince.

I will cease to compare myself to anyone other than my reflection, attempting to reach my self-made ambitions out of self-growth – separate and apart from the need to be better than the others by which I am surrounded and only out of attempts to be the best version of myself.

I will remember that there are problems that are solvable, people who are tolerable, and a Father that simply wants me to ask.

I will view the past as purposeful in my Journey toward Wholeness. I will see the future as non-existent – save in the mind of the Almighty. I will see the present as a sacred and precious opportunity to influence gently, choose wisely, and land softly – for everyone needs a mattress on which to fall.

I will see Beauty as the internal instinct to love the unlovable, touch the untouchable, believe in the unbelievable, hurt with the hurting, laugh with the joyful, and cry with the grieving. To show kindness to the coarse, to give to the taker, to forgive the unforgivable, to see brilliance in the broken – and above all to have the Heart of Christ.

I will remember in my solitude that I am Never alone.

I will refuse to play the superficial game by always making attempts to climb the mountain that continues to grow and striving to coddle my insecurities by overcompensating those things I believe others value.

I will view criticism as an open door which I can choose to enter or choose to not. I will taste of the critics words and choose whether or not to partake – based not on the sweetness – but on the applicable meaning. And if it so applies, and would benefit my growth, I will soak in the words and allow it to mold me into more of what He wants me to be. And if I find it not applicable – I will lay it down.

I will remember in my darkest hours to Simply Believe and life will take care of itself.

I will see Honesty as the foundation of all relationships, and without it the entire union is just smoke and mirrors.

I will learn to speak softly and listen loudly.

I will see Character as choosing to do what is right - not because it feels right - but because it is right. I will make every attempt to clothe myself with integrity and place the importance on the stance of righteousness over the judgment of the world.

I will seek Maturity in my journey through developing the ability to delay self-gratification, through learning the skill of self-deprivation, and through practicing reservation of thought, behavior, and impulses. In Maturity, I will develop the ability to see the outcome of my choices before they are made and therefore make wise decisions based on the desire not to repeat past mistakes.

I will not take any wooden nickels.

I will understand that making mistakes breeds opportunities for growth, but refusing to learn from them breeds destruction.

And with saying all of this – I will allow myself to be human and to make mistakes – and when I do, I will view Guilt as a God-given emotion, given for the purpose of progression and not for self-defeat. I will strain the good learned from every failure and absolutely leave the remaining heartache, shame, and remorse for God to wash away.

And above all, I will value the person God created me to be. I will remember that I was formed in detail by the fingers of the Almighty, and I will have respect for His Creation – seeking always His place for me and praying that the Hands of the Potter will continue to mold me and shape me into His Masterpiece.

And with God as my Soulmate – My partner in intimacy – I will overcome.

~ 2004

my heart is sore

I like walnuts in my blackberry salad. I like them a lot. I eat the same thing when I come here. Winter Blackberry Salad: greens, blackberries, goat cheese, and………walnuts. I sit here in this house supposedly built by Al Capone on a mountain made of nostalgia amidst the presence of peace – and my thoughts surround me.

Listening to my kindred brother, Sir Sean, talk of freedom, pain, and change last night…… He dreams such big dreams and brings the reality of possibility closer to life. An epic soul. It has been a while since I had heard the stories……working together on and off for what seems like years now, I have heard them often. I have seen the pictures many times. Yet, when I saw them again tonight, my heart re-broke. I was a bit caught off guard.

I realized something. I have become jaded. Or maybe just desensitized. Or maybe tough. It has become common place for me to talk of children who are robbed of their childhood, girls who are brutally raped before the age of 12, children killing men out of a will not their own. War. Hate. Brutality. Madness. I think somehow you have to desensitize yourself to hold your head above water. Hoping for those who feel hopeless. Opening the door of healing for the broken.

My heart is sore. Sometimes I think I laugh so loudly because I hurt so deeply. There must be a balance, somehow. This work is not for the faint of heart but must be for strong in spirit. Being taken further and further down the road of pain…….in the midst of my office as much as the midst of a Congolese displacement camp. God is able to shed my physical eyes daily. For that, I am so very thankful. For the opportunity to give them hope - I am honored. For being able to hold their little hands as they hurt, I am remarkably grateful.

I am the lucky one.

The lucky one.

Father, God of heaven and all of earth. I come to you tonight with a sore heart and a tainted spirit and I am thankful. I desperately wish for your heart, and with that comes hurting for the hurting……and I am hurting. But my hope is bigger than my hurt and the warmth of sharing with them a part of your love and healing outweighs it all.

What is bigger than this pain? Healing. Hope. Heaven. Three words I hold to the death. What is greater than their stories of pain? Their stories of Survival. What is larger than their life or war? Their live of Love. What surpasses the horrific past? The presence of healing waters and the dreams of a Heavenly God.

You. Simple. You.

I do not live in their pain. I cannot. I will not. I live in their future. Their Future of Peace. Their Hope of Healing. Their stories that I will be telling and re-telling and telling again. Helping the world to see what true Resilience looks like. Bringing the nations a glimpse of true Forgiveness. Showing the world what true Joy looks like. Not from me – not from me at all. From them. From You.

Through the greyness of your ashes – I see your color.
Through the weakness of your bones – I feel your strength.
Through the residue of your pain – I see you shine.
Though the brokenness of your heart – You are whole.

Battered and Bruised…..you bodies bears scars. As does your spirit. But your soul. My child, your soul is as I see it. As I will always see it.

Simply

Beautiful. Radiant.New.

You are not what life has done to you. You are what I am in you. You are mine. And I am Yours. And we are One. ~ I am, Your God. Forever Always. Here.

Rediscovered Breath

"Pretend that you are the zookeeper and I am the dragon"

"Pretend that we just got to the pirate ship and the mean men are ready to capture us!"

"Pretend that the magical bunny came alive when I was asleep"

"Pretend this cheeto is your orange lipstick"

I think I have done more pretending in the last 48 hours than I have done in a lifetime of daydreams.

These past few days I have been able to lavish play time with all four of my nieces and nephews. From puppet shows to doll houses to catching catfish to tractors or riding "Nellie" to pretending and imagining and dreaming............... I have loved every inch. There is little in life more magical than pretending and imagining and dreaming - don't you think? Imagination is simply capturing childhood in a bottle and opening it up at any given moment. Although it's difficult to put one favorite imagination memory at the top of the list this weekend, I would have to say this one is standing tall.

Reading "Sally and The Purple Socks" to Emma before bed, I was laughing hysterically the closer we got to the end. (Even to the point of her looking up at me, unamused to say, "Aunt b, what's so funny? It's not that funny?" And then there was the end. Wanting to read "three more books pleeeaassee," I distracted her by picking up a large book on her nightstand with a cloth cover made by the little four year old in the bed. Opening it, I found a book. The Book. Not "My First Bible" book, but the real deal. Full of old school poetry making up the greatest book of all time. Certainly not written in the language of a four year old........unless you make it come to life.

Opening it up and I knelt beside her bed, I could tell that this was common practice in my brother's household. Given the solid and grounded love in that home, I didn't doubt it one bit. "Read me about Queen Esther" she said. I smiled. I had only had a few minutes before "ultimately and absolutely past bedtime you must close your eyes this very second" came way. I had turned to Ezekiel. How do you make Ezekiel come to life in the minds eye of a 4 year old surrounded by a world of the Hannah Montana and Jonas Brothers competition?

As I begin reading of "the glory of the Lord was shown all around him"..... I stopped for a second. "You know, I like to close my eyes and imagine sometimes what it would be like if what I read was really happening."

"How do you do that?" Bright eyed now. "Well.......(making this up as I went along) you close your eyes and pretend to see the pictures you would see in your mind if the words you were hearing came to life. That's imagination." She closed her eyes tight as I read on.....

"The Glory of the Lord rose up between the cherubim, where it had rested...."

She stopped me, "I am imagining yellow lightening and lots of goodness"

"Perfect" I said, as I smiled in spite of her seriousness. She tightly closed her eyes again and the journey continued. Me reading her bits and pieces of God's Magical Storybook knit together by the Universe's Greatest Truths. Speaking God-breathed words into the air which were finding their way to the imagination of a four year hold who was making each one come to life in her imagination.

And I envied her. The newness of a child. You cannot re-create that. Hearing the story of Ezekiel for the first time? You only get a "First Time" one tIme. Magical. Not just for her, but for me.

If my current season of life had a lesson attached to it, it would be called Learning to Breath. Something we think we shouldn't have to learn how because it's involuntary. But more times than not, we cease being a volunteer. We stop breathing. Not literally, but deeply figuratively. We become so distracted with living that we forget to learn. I am there. I am here. I am rediscovering Breathing. I am rediscovering Living. I am rediscovering Life. For my reading pleasure? I am rediscovering the spirit of the law of the universe in a book called The Bible, and I have never been more in awe of it's power.

So from the bedside of a fan of Queen Esther to Nana's bed that doubles as an airplane to Hawaii - I invite you back to Imagination and Questions of Wonderment of the Book of Life.

Wanna go on an adventure with me? Rediscover a treasure of old? A book of absolute truth made up of stories of the heart creating a pathway to a lifetime of love and wonderment.................. sound intriguing to you?

Me too : )

Barefoot and Twirling

There are some places you come to where you simply need no shoes. They are simply not needed. They don't fit. The are uncomfortable. Not in marked size of a narrow heel, but in a manner of being. Every once in a while, you come upon a place that is so authentic, so real, that you want to soak it in as much as possible - and somehow.....shoes get in the way. Shoes most always get in the way, I think. Barefoot is simply best.

So I am here - in the midst of genuineness, trust, quiet, and surrender. Barefoot and Bare and Brave. Walking around in beauty and running my toes through the earth as if to say,

"Good Morning. Thank you for letting me share your presence."

It is a peaceful presence. I could hide away here. I think I will - if only for today.

"Good Morning, Lord. Good Morning."

There is an ant crawling on my bible.....he is an active one. I think I shall call him Charlie. Charlie the ant. I look up from Charlie the ant to see a lady who has also come to be at rest. She comes with her book in hand and is walking out to the cliff overlooking the edge of the mountains. I look down for a second and look up again to see her in movement. Twirling slowly. Truly. She is around 50 years old. Some sort of Yoga mixed with a surrendering stance. She reaches her hands in the air as if to welcome all the morning will bring to her. Her hands come closer to her heart in prayer. Twirling now again. She knows I am here. She must know I am watching her. No one else is around for many spaces. But she

~Is~Not~Ashamed~

In her mind, it is she and her God. Together. Alone. One.

Her need to twirl outweighs her fear of judgement, and it is beautiful, I think. Somehow maybe that is what it means to be as a child. To love like a child. To believe like a child. Vulnerability.

It surfaces the most sacred form of Love.......and the scariest. A sense of loosing self. Maybe that's the point.

Father God of all of the beauty that is surrounding me. I pray a surrendered spirit. That you, above all, will be my God and I will be your servant. That my need to twirl to dance to simply Love you will never outweigh my level of embarrassment. Embarrassment. Father, my Lord. What oh what is there to be embarrassed of? That I love you? Embarrassed that a child loves her father? How could I?

May it never be so. May I ever and continue to remain:

Barefoot and Twirling.

Yours, b

In The Middle

I am in the middle of this place of conviction in the midst of a village of community in the middle of this nest of surrender in the midst of these clouds of stillness. And I am still. I worshipped tonight in a chapel in a convent among women who have given their heart and soul to a God whom they have never seen nor heard nor touched. Yet they have surrendered - all. A L L.

Tucked away at end of a long gravel road in the middle of the woods, I drove in anticipation and my heart began to race a bit. I am rarely nervous. Rarely intimidated. I was - both. I had put on my best headscarf and wore my longest dress. And, yes, I was even early. I was told that the sisters were on retreat, but they were opening up their chapel time to the community. Given my surroundings, I anticipated being the only "community member" there. I was. I was told that the worship would be in silence. I am not good with silent, but wanted to learn. Passing by a quaint and remote cemetery....... then a garden of wildflowers.......then a garden of vegetables.....and then their home.......and then the chapel. I have been in awe of this lifestyle for quiet some time. Being drawn to the great minds of old monks and mothers, there is a certain kind of freedom that comes with surrender that intrigues me. It seems once one is able to give up the life of sexual intimacy or marital coupleship - there comes a freedom of thought that allows you to pour your soul into God at a deeper level. Somehow purpose becomes clearer and the understandings of the Creator less tainted. Or so it seems.

Coming in, I was greeted with great surprise. I believe they are not used to having visitors. Especially somewhat younger visitors with strange headscarfs and big smiles of wonderment. The chapel was small and silent and facing a window that seemed to proudly announce: "We are at the top of the top of a tall green tree flourishing Tennessee Mountain" without saying a word. The sisters were dressed even more casually than I - in pants and t-shirts and in simplicity. I was quickly greeted in whispers and instructed on the hymnal and worship schedule. I was then given three books - then told there would be another one underneath me. Being raised the daughter of a Church of Christ preacher, I felt a bit out of my element. But wanting to learn. And I did.

Chapel began. I think I soaked in my surroundings much more than I actually worshipped. My mind drifted to the last time I worshipped amidst the cloth. Amsterdam. Psalms 23. Wow - I hadn't thought of that in a long long time. As the sisters began to sing a psalm, I listened.

"Where are you oh, Lord. Do you hear their cry. Do you hear the moans of your people in the darkness?"

The answer:

"Does the one who created the ear not hear. Does he who created the heart not hear their cry?"

Thinking about the nine year old girl that I read about today who had been gang raped in Congo. Telling the journalist that she was 15 because, somehow, 15 and being raped seems somehow less tragic than nine. It is tragic. Regardless.

He who created her ear hears her words. He who created her heart hears her cry.

I return to Amsterdam in my mind. At a Catholic service. It was a stop on the way back from Sudan and Uganda. I had opted to spend a few extra days there to take some shots. It was cold. So cold. I was sitting in a pew in the back of the church. Not understanding word one of what was being said or sang, so I opened up my bible. Psalms 23.

I had not cried. Not really. In Uganda I had heard horrific stories. Horrific. Stories that I have only repeated once. Stories so evil that they would have to be told by an eye witness to believe them to be true. They were. True. As I read Psalms 23, I remember strangely beginning singing Jesus Loves Me in my head. My mind was stuck on one part. One part. Over and Over and Over.

"Little ones to Him belong. They are weak but He is strong"

Stories and stories of children being captured and tortured and forced to do horrific acts of evil. I sat on that pew. reading........

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death................

i w i l l f e a r n o e v i l"

For the first time since entering Uganda. Feeling a calling on my heart so strong it overwhelmed me. and i cried. and i cried. and i cried. silently. sitting in that pew in one of the most beautiful cathedrals that I had worshipped. I cried for them.

Looking out of the window over the tops of all of the mountains I had driven up to get here - my mind comes back to my surroundings. I look down and the sister in front of me is looking over her shoulder at me to make sure I am turned to the right page. I am not. But I smile back and shake my head and turn my page. Looking to my right, the sister who first welcomed me lifted her book to show me I was holding the wrong one. I smile. She smiles back. I reach down to get the right hymnal. We sit in silence for some time, and I am grateful. For the silence. It is finished and we all leave. In silence. The sweet sister in front of me winks at me as she leaves. I like winks. My greeter walked out with me and whispered....

"Thank you so much for coming.......it is good for us."

"Thank you for letting me join you"

I am humbled by them. At their reverence. At their surrender.

I am here now on the porch of the local community nightly hang out. Rain pouring around me. The smell of dampness in the air. Lightening making its presence known. Grateful for this day, Lord. Grateful for your presence in mountaintops, in hymns, in forgotten memories, in raindrops on my computer screen. Simply -

I am grateful.

and I am, forever and completely,

Yours, b