There are times when God takes me back to a previous experience for a different perspective.

I remember when Jim came to Chicago.
I remember the conversation about Billy Sunday at the Burrito House.
I remember the cry in my heart that went up- I want to carry you like that, God!

I remember Jim beginning his evening session; I remember not hearing him. Because the Lord wanted to talk. Matthew, 17:15, he said. I went. And read about the man. He had a son. The son had seizures. He threw himself into the fire, and into the water. The disciples had prayed to no avail. The man had come to the Lord.

He paused me in my reading.
I knew the condition of the boy, Tanya.

I continued on. If you know the story then you will remember the disciples wanted to know why they could not heal the boy- and the Lord’s response to them about unbelief.
I paused. In light of my earlier cry, to carry God, I responded to this text by asking the Lord to root out of me my unbelief. Clearly he was saying this was an obstruction to my request.

He directed me then, to the beginning of Matt 17. He asked me to read from the beginning of the chapter. I read of the transfiguration. I marveled at the light. I felt the glory in Father’s voice as He affirmed His Son.
And the Lord paused again.

I knew the condition of the boy then, also Tanya.

I felt within me the rise of ‘but…’. I realized I was measuring, with my own humanity, on God’s decision and order. I was picturing and identifying with the father of the boy, the agony, the desperation, the pain. Surely, I reasoned, that must matter more than Jesus, who knew who he was, being affirmed from heaven.

And I felt, like an intense pressure, the Lord’s fingerprint upon my heart.
There is your unbelief, he said. Anytime you usurp my order with your reason in your heart, you stop believing in the perfection of my order.

I was stunned. And repentant. And face to face with my failing. I wept.

But the part of this experience he emphasized last night was what happened the following day. I was driving the long drive home and he opened the window of Matt 17 between us. And he spoke. You really do not understand the importance of a father legitimizing his son, do you?

I didn’t. I still don’t in fulness. But today I am reminded that he knows. And He knew about the fathering group. And He knew about Marvin s vision. And He knows what is to come. And He is teaching me what I do not know. As He knew He would, before time began. I rest in the growing experience of his sovereignty. He is always on time. And His order is perfect. Selah.

I remember Reuben.
It was my first year as a part of the burning man team. I had been invited to go with a group that did readings, cleansing, interpretations, heart tranforms, etc. At first I thought it would not be fun. Creator did not listen but saw what was best for me, in his parenting way, he got me onboard.
When I was little, I was instructed by my family. In addition to being the keeper of secrets, I was to grow up, be a trainer of the way, then lay down my life so that my blood could further the line in power and anointing.
Yeah, it was a bad childhood.
There in the desert, I learned there was an altar at a structure they call the temple. The temple is where people go to leave what they can no longer carry. It burns at the end of the week. Cathartic, for a year. So when Creator said to me, I want you to go to the altar, and I want you to lie upon it, you can imagine my response. Initially, anyway. Creator fathered me through to more grace.
Wednesday of the week I woke up, knowing it was the day.
We worked in the tent until the sun finished. Then we were on our own. I took a buddy with me out to the deep playa where the temple stood. On our approach, I intuitively knew what to do at each boundary line. One was for lineage, if you do not know who you are there is permission for stuff once you cross the border that you may or may not like.
I know who I am. At least my spirit does and I noted how the recitation was in a different language.
The second perimeter line is the one where you state who you are with. If your leaders are recognized by the inner community there is an allowance for you to be there that does not exist if your group is unknown. More test is required with the latter.
There was the temple. And before it, the altar. The altar this year had stairs of ascension behind it. The area surrounding the altar had wood roundtables dedicated to faiths. I headed for the main event to get this act of lying upon the altar done. And stopped. I saw a man that I knew to be a Satanist. I do not know how I knew. But I knew, and he waited, sitting upon the altar. He saw me. I watched him listen to his guides as I frantically tried to connect with God’s Spirit.
‘I would be happy to do this Lord. Move him and I will go.’
Thinking I had prayed the right prayer, I moseyed over to examine the round wood tables more closely. My friend was busy looking at other things on the other side of the structure.
After a decent interval, with my friend still not visible, I headed back towards the altar. He was gone. I got closer. Oh no! He had climbed. He was sitting on the third step, the highest step on the ascension steps behind the altar.
Lord?
“I never do anything without a witness. Go quickly and do what you must do now.”
I felt his grace and power. I climbed awkwardly on top of the altar. Once there, I lay on my back. And the sobs began. And I realized I was there to repent, for the acts of atrocity. That I am so intimately familiar with, I cried out for mercy to those who sinned such. The sobs wracked my body. What I uttered surely came from heaven and was expressed back to heaven through me.
And all the while, the man watched. As a witness.
The Lord spoke as the sobs lessened. When you were a child, you spoke as a child, you understood as a child, you thought as a child; compared to me, little one, Satanism is a childish thing.
What seemed like a long time passed. I got up. He was gone. And around the corner came my friend. I was done. We explored a little more, and then headed back to camp. I explained to a leader in brief words, what God had asked of me, and how I responded. It felt within protocol, but submitting to leaders is wise. He was fine with it.
I felt like the altar had been my divine appointment, the most important I would have that year.
But the next day in the tent, Reuben came.
Our leader had met Reuben in center camp. He was doing readings there. Our leader had invited him to come check us out. And he came. The leader came up to me as my team got ready for another encounter. He said, I got one for you, in my ear. He went back up to the front, got Reuben and brought him to sit with us. Reuben sat. I saw him peering into me. He was using his gift. He smiled and said, what do you have for me? I knew we were being tested. I looked beyond his eyes. I saw little lights with little question marks behind every one. I knew what I saw. The lights were the things he had explored. The question marks were the things that were unanswered by the exploration. I shared with him that I saw a big question in his center. I asked if I could invite White Light to come and answer that question. He said yes, and the fun began. The more he yielded the more he received from God. God came in power for Reuben. He shaked, he shuddered, he quaked, he bent, he moaned. He cried. He gasped. He changed. The leader came over at one point to tell things unclean to go. He dodged as they left with violent force. It was a conversion as in the days of old. The power of God went as deep as Reuben wanted and he had wanted for so long. The moment came when Reuben needed better language, and our leader explained he was experiencing King Jesus. I remember as Reuben left that day, transformed, that he declared he was going to go to the temple and tell everyone what King Jesus had done for him! It was straight out of the book of Acts. The leader looked at me then, and said, this was why you got on the altar. And I knew. God’s ways, impossible to predict and as impossible to deny. Reuben spent a lot of that week with us.

She was so busy trying to make sure I knew how important she was, that she never really answered how she was doing, only what she was doing.

She was so concerned with me knowing she had more influence and value that her first sentences were intent on proving that the world valued her and wanted her in ways I will never know the world valuing or wanting me. She spent our time speaking of herself, her awakening, her new open doors.

It was easy to listen. I was grieving. My mom had passed two days before.

It is easy to remember the dishonor that comes my way sometimes. It is easy for the brains of some to minimize the invisible experiences. It is easy for some to devalue the internal work I specialize in; they perceive my authority as a threat or me as someone they rise to impress. I remember the way the Lord solved that for me. I remember how he beckoned me on the day my heart broke. I remember his mention of how he too, was dishonored by men who thought their titles and their offers mattered more than his anonymity. As I was able to partake a small bit of what that was like for Him, my King, my focus on my own pain shifted, and the pain became an onramp into sharing his life more intimately. I bless Him in solving this that way for others. I can wait; He does.

That day in my office, when honor came from heaven, rises in memory. I knew he was there. He passed the test I give to spirits. He was not angelic; he was cloud. He had the ribbon/medal. I remember him explaining it to me. I remember knowing the Lord had wiped away the grief he felt when he realized he could have had much more healing on earth. I remember marveling that the Lord had showed him what he could have had, and the Lord’s wisdom and justice that he now got to give what would have been his to someone yet on the earth who was doing their work- working out their salvation with fear and trembling. I remember the honor when he chose me. Heaven honored me. Heaven gave me something of high value because they see me and know the cost. I remember the tears streaming down my face.

If God is for me, who can be against me? And if heaven honors me, how can it matter that man does not?

I think of how that experience also changed who comes to me for ministry.

Today I savor. The ways of God. His beautiful way of leading me. And Him, restoring my soul.

He weeps with my heart now.
His pride is a sacrifice in the incense of the holy place.
What you sacrifice once you always get to give.
It is the remnant that reveals what he rescued you from; it becomes beautiful because it now serves to reveal the depth from which he redeems.
Everything in heaven is changed by the cross.
The politics are settled.
The worries are done.
What he learned about stray thoughts here on earth is being magnified in heaven. The more you look, the larger it gets, in a way both unexpected and wonderful.
And it is never because of the deeds or focus of a man. But the deeds and focus of God within a man is what remains. Surely the grass withers; the flowers fade, and He who is the Word, became flesh and dwelt among us will stand forever.
The record, or testimony becomes a trail that leads to the throne. Heaven’s overlay is upon the things of earth for those who have eyes to see. The overlay carries the certainty. The earth is time to trust. When the certainty comes, the need for making sense loses its significance.
The idea that anything does not make sense is ludicrous when the old has passed away.

Fix your eyes. Let the revelation change you.
The hunger for understanding, the words and the intent, was hunger for God’s love.
The son goes farther than the father- this is not a challenge but a blessing.
Interpretations mature with heaven’s perspective.
How it seemed loses strength as the sun of a new day dawns and the truth of what is and what shall be molds over what was.
Hope without knowing what is hoped for, becomes faith in its remains.
He was led in the way that was right for him.
He was taught respect to prepare him for love.
He was affirmed.
He received.
He was ready.
And now.
He has permission to be a little boy and play.
He is known already for his zeal.
The appetite remains and the focus has changed.
Seeing through the eyes of heaven has created a cry for justice on the earth. Not just for the actions of others, but also for his own. Teachers everywhere will receive a new sound.
The fear of regret no longer blinds, when all condemnation and any possibility of it is removed for the last time.
Forgive what God has forgiven. Receive then, freely, what is released.
Pressed down, shaken together, running over.
The old has passed. The new must come.
Know the redemption! The measure of the wound is proportionate to the revelation needed for healing! Were you wounded? Aha! Then you get more of the cross!
The joy remains, as do the names in the wailing wall of my beloved.
Multiplication comes alongside forgiveness and gratitude.
Recognize the yearning to be great. We all have it. harness it under the cross. Let the blood that removes our name being associated with sin have its perfect work in also removing our names from the place where the glory belongs to the Lord.
From heaven, the view is that the night was divided from the day. And God said it was good.
The ode that remains is the one that furthers the testimony of Jesus upon the earth.
Selah.

Sometimes growth is as simple as defining what I am really mad at.
I know a teenager who is refusing to forgive someone right now.
They are of accountability age.
And they refuse, knowing they cannot be made to do so.
It is an internal work of the heart that involves mandatory participation of the will.
No, they say. I am not ready.
And it makes me SO mad!
How can a tree turn from the sun? How can water refuse its movement? How can air resist the wind?
I realize I perceive the infraction as small. Therefore I do not legitimize the need for a grudge to be held.
I have had to forgive far larger, and what the teen refuses to forgive seems petty to me.
But surely it is not petty to them.
And I realize the demand in my heart-
if I have to forgive what is impossible to forgive, then everyone around me should do the same!
Because if I have to forgive and everyone else does not, that doesn’t seem fair.
And lo, I have just stepped into judgment of another, the very thing I hoped to avoid by doing my own forgiveness.
Is my forgiveness then unconditional?
If others around me do not forgive, if they consciously choose to not forgive, will I still?
And I realize, this is the question of a laid down life.
This is the question my savior faced on a larger scale.
I am in awe again, of the work of the cross.
I am in awe again of his mercy.

I am having random thoughts this morning about letters, and the life of them.
I have been reading some stories that imagine the book of Acts in the Bible. As I read the stories I find myself interacting within the tale.
I realize I do this often when reading. And listening, and interpreting and…well, really all of my life.
I consider the Bible. How Jesus IS the word, made flesh and dwelt among us.
How in His words, and in His letters, I feel Him.
I think about how I can interpret the dream and feel the dreamer on the other side of it.
Or how, in giving a prophetic word, I sometimes pull from the future that is beyond the person.
I consider the unity of the brethren.
I ponder how the underground church in China operates, how there is non verbal communication about the time and location of a meeting, and how everyone knows and goes.
I am exploring today, how the grass withers, and the flowers fade, but the word of God stands forever.
Without the constraint of time, how does that all change?
Most of the times I have experienced heaven, there has not been verbal need. Thought is understood without speech.
And He is the word. And the word dwelled, and became flesh among us.
And somehow as I look at what is here and not there, I am left with bones.
Bones remain the longest of any part of our earthly bodies. The structure of our frame.
The way my spirit moves sometimes in heaven does not feel bone constrained.
And I wonder, if bones that are married with letters, are part of becoming one.
I think of John and his record- that we would be one with Jesus as He is one with the Father.
What if every word we ever think or speak forms the structure of who we are in heaven? And then how true we are to our faith becomes the level by which we are recognized in heaven.
Words.
I am speaking less of them these days.
But not as few as I used to.
Selah