Something borrowed, something blue, something old, something new…

Thoughts emerge about getting the Bride ready.

The way we do church has got to change.,

We are not the Johnny Carson show. Meetings were not intended to revolve around one sheep bigger than the rest while the other sheep come and eat. And come and eat. And atrophy.

There is a longing in me for us to prove that together we are stronger than being alone.

So yes, I am starting a group. maybe more than one.

But I am not going to lead it all the time. Each of us has stuff to bring. A lifetime of seeing God. How do we rotate through and become the sum of more than just one? How do we make the risk acceptable so people feel safe to fall forward?

We are on the something new phase of getting ready for a wedding.

More beautiful than Miss America, more loyal than the armed forces, more sensitive than any new ager, and more anticipatory than any bridegroom, the Bride is emerging. I feel her gather…together we are her.

I had sent him a birthday card and written a note on the inside. I had told him how important Jesus was and that I hoped he knew him.

So he came. One day when I got home with the two kids, he was there. In the house.
Oh no.
He had decided to teach me a lesson. That is what Dads do for their daughters.
He had brought two friends. They were old men like him. men who grinned at others being hurt. Men who were so dead inside that they had to hurt and hurt and hurt others to get any kind of sensual sensation.
Oh no.
There was a younger man there, who took one of my kids and went with him to his bedroom. Grinning.
Oh no.
Me and the child that remained were ushered into the garage.
They had set up a workbench there.
Covered in plastic.
My child was placed on the workbench. They had blindfolded me while they stripped her and tied her down. She was crying.
oh no.
I cry.
One of the other men spat at me.
Renounce him. It was a growl.
Renounce him or else. Jesus.
I couldn’t.
And his knife came down. Into her body. Slashing and dicing and shredding her little body. Into ribbons and blood. Killing her. I could not think. It could not be. Oh my God. She was dead. I stood, numb. No. No. No.
They told me I was a bad girl.
I had to stand in the corner.
Renounce him. A different growl, same request.
Renounce him and we will bring her back from the dead.
That is what they wanted. My faith that they had that power.
Renounce him. Words for a life. Possible sin I could never absolve. But a life. Her life.
So I did. And with my back turned I renounced that I believed in his name and his love, and his power.
They turned me around.
And there she was. Pink and breathing. Her eyes were closed. But she was alive.
It is hard to recall all the emotions in the tears.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
And now that she was back, they knew they could do anything. And I would agree.
They had a container. It contained…the essence of a man. His spirit. Recently killed.
And they had a cat. A black cat, that was tied in a burlap bag.
And their motives are always to keep as many as possible from ever knowing the freeing love of Christ.
The child they had killed, that I thought was my girl, the child’s spirit had not yet left for heaven. So they killed the cat to connect them. The child and the cat. They put the cat on a spit. At his other end, the human spirit of the man chose to be attached for wicked purpose. They burned the cat so he could attach. Strange fires, human and animals.
I remember they burned the cat so long he dripped. I got burned by one drop, as I reached under him.
The men and their eyes grew glazed. The energy of entities in the room made it cold. There were chants, whispers, promises.
And then.
Somehow.
The spirit of the man was in me.
Hating God.
And the spirit of the child was in my child. Captive, unable to ascend.
The Lord saw. And He knew. And he waited.
Years for me. For him, no time.
And today he came.
He shined his light.
He applied his power.
He came and conquered. He came and saved. He made wrong things right.
And He brought the child home. And he compensated the earth. And he ushered the wicked one to the place his choices preferred.
He makes everything beautiful in its time.
Because that is who he is and that is what he does.

I am sill absorbing the freedom I feel tonight. And the joy that is pushing out the sorrow. That night is over. My morning has come. Surely he does all things well, and right on time. Awe leaves me without words. Who is like our God? And who can give him this glory except one who has seen his power here? And if these present sufferings are not worthy to be compared, then the glory that is coming…must be very great indeed.

So there I am, at the beach. This is my favorite place to be with God. The question is, where on the beach? Where should I go?
The Lord highlights an area.
Of course! My kids were baptized there! We used to do outreach there!
I have friends that still go there and pray!
So I arrive. And I am thankful, giving him praise for all the amazing things that have happened on that land, near or in those waters.
And then I pause to listen. I sense he wants to speak.
It is not those things.
What?
It is not those things that make this land special to me, when I think of you.
What?

What am I missing Lord?
This is one of my favorite places to meet with you. But it is not for those reasons.
Okay, then…why is this special Lord?
This land is special, Tanya, because it is here that you came to throw sand at me. It is here that you chose, when you found a truth previously hidden, to come and to tell me that I was not who I said I was. It was here that you trusted me with your deepest pain. It was here that you allowed yourself to get really mad at me. It was here that you got real with me.
Whoa.
That upsets what I thought I knew.
Again.
It is not always the happiest memories that go the deepest.
When I am willing to share my true heart in its messiest place, that matters far more to him than anything.
Feeling realigned to Him.
And every time I went to the ocean this time, that is where I found myself. Again. With him.