I think if all the grief, of humanity combined, over the construct of time, were compiled….

It might measure something close to the ache Father felt, in the garden, at the fall.

My friend, that called me a daughter,

we talked about heavenly courts, he understood

we talked about John Paul, he got it

we talked about the Lord, he loved him

we talked about the glory, he knew it

we talked about deliverance,

his heart was that all would be free, and that all would know what it is, to be fathered well

When my Father calls a father home…

in the spirit he gave me a silver ring one time that kept unclean forces (previous leaders) from seeing me

I rejoice

and I ache

sharing the ache with others today

Loss

Leaves a heart wandering, unfocused, longing

Grief is what overtakes the path

In unexpected places and waves

It comes in waves and crashes

Only to retreat to come again

It’s birth in its own way

To different life that that no longer contains

The one lost

Words

Lose meaning

Tears

Fall unnoticed 

All retreats

Behind a focus that can’t focus

And a pain that swallows

Face to face

With impossible 

And expected to navigate normal

Weeping tonight

For some friends that remain

My mom was a character.

She grew up on a farm in Ohio. One of five. They never starved during the depression. But everything else was scarce. One of 5, the first time she used an actual toilet was at 16, after her dad dropped over dead one day and they had to move into town. The first time she heard a radio, she was 19, visiting her boyfriend at Great Lakes. The radio in the room she rented was on. She ran screaming from the room, thinking there was a real man in there.

Her first employer got her pregnant and she was on a train headed toward her dead dad’s family (that she had never met) when she met her first husband. Larry was shell shocked, coming home from the war. He drank. It was an abusive relationship, fraught with making money and losing it all to drink, while mom cared for her first four kids.

She got free from that relationship only to meet my biological dad. She was impressed by his ability to seduce, and by his intellect. She married again. They had a girl, but by the time my mom was pregnant with me, she realized that her husband was dangerous. her five, plus the five he had brought into the relationship, were regularly beaten, punished and tested. She went to see a lawyer about options. And shortly after, he left, taking their baby and his five, in the middle of the night. I had been in her womb 7 months.

My mom was not regulated emotionally. Her own mom had boasted, in hospice, she had never apologized to anyone in her life. Neither did she forgive. My mom lacked the circuitry to process pain. There were also early issues with bonding, and my mom suffered from narcissistic personality disorder. She needed the room to revolve around her. She was not intellectually smart, but socially she was a savvy shark. It was tough growing up, learning what was required for bonding.

When I was 6 weeks old, she met her third and final husband. They married. He adopted me when I was six. The marriage lasted until her death at 90.

Throughout the years my oldest sister and myself met the Lord. We had both ‘led’ our mom to the Lord. She said the prayer she was supposed to say. We never saw any change, but we hoped. And when she finished her time, we were not entirely sure, but we hoped.

One day after her passing, I dared to ask the Lord if I would see her again. There was a lot of stuff she hadn’t been sorry for. I am remembering, this mother’s day, what he showed me back then.

I saw the Lord unroll time from around her. With each circling she became younger. I saw my mom as a little girl. She was dressed in a skirt and was twirling. She felt pretty. The Lord entered her space and said- did you know that I was the one who made you pretty? (She giggled.) And when I made you pretty I was looking forward to us sharing together the joy of your prettiness.

Then he looked at me and spoke.

“depending on how she responds to that truth, that is the metric I will use when judging her heart.”

If all we have are lies, and the way we develop is by building on them, he will have mercy.

It is how our hearts respond when our hearts have the truth that he measures.

That is what determines our eternity.

I have hope now, that I will see my mom in heaven when I get there. And what a beautiful day that will be.

Selah.

Sometimes, we get a model, that provokes a desire is us.

Last year I had the privilege of watching someone transition from this life into eternity.

She was an incredible general in God’s army. She had firepower when she spoke. Stuff broke. She would ask the Lord for more in a room, and Holy Spirit came in power. She demonstrated God’s victory wherever she went. She was a bulldog in the spirit. If God told her to do something it got done. She persevered past emotion and intellect. Her will was more commonly in alignment with God than not. It was all balanced by authenticity. She stayed real and moved in deep compassion as a testimony of her intimacy. She could gentle herself in a moment to engage in Father’s heart. She could find peace in the imponderables. She was comfortable with silence. God was God, and she did not try to usurp that.

When the illness hit, she fought. She fought hard. I could hear her dialogue with God. “I will not give in to the enemy’s plan! I will not receive what does not come from Your hand!” He was silent. The words changed. “There are so many people who do not yet know you! They have not tasted who you are! Without your fire they are dying in churches across the world!  Without your mercy their hearts are becoming like stone! There are places that need this fire you have given me! There are groups who have called upon me to release what you have given. I am not done! I will not give up!” I could feel his presence towards her. He moved when she cried out. Yet he did not speak. “Remember the promises, God!” was the next exchange between them. “Remember those you have promised, and remember those promises that are yet unfulfilled in my life! You are good, and you do not lie! I know who you are and I will contend past this because I know You!”

Hours passed. The words continued. Each time she touched a different aspect of Him that she knew. She was looking for the words that would align her with him in that moment and produce a release of heaven’s perfection here on earth.

He did not reply. I knew his eyes were on her. I could feel His heart moving, every word she uttered caused a response in his heart. He breathed her name.

There was a shift.

I felt a sigh. It was like a collective sigh. It is what precedes certain change in heaven, I think.

I saw her garment.

It was the most beautiful blue I have ever seen. It was adorned with diadems. It captured light, reflected light, it was light. It was alive and had pulse. I knew it was her calling, her destiny. She wore it as a bride wears her gown. She knew who she was and whom she served. And she let the excellence of His gifts and call on her life be released. She knew the beauty, and it showed in her garment.

To wear this, one had to walk into the space where the garment was and it became them.

As I watched she took two steps back. This action efficiently removed her from her garment. She looked at it with affection. She would fight to the death for its ownership if he told her to. And yet…

She paused. Her whole being focused on him. Her next words took the verbally one sided (but spiritually two sided) conversation to a new level.

“ I’ll leave it, for you, if you want me to. This is not who I am. This is what you have called me to. This is your plan for my life. I love doing these things.  But this is not who I am. This is not my essence. I am your daughter. That is more important to me than anything. I’ll give this up if you want me to.”

She stood there, without her garment. She stood before him.

And he showed her himself.

Some time passed.  I heard her again. She had begun the change, her voice reflected the difference. She was less earth-focused.  “He is so beautiful! Can you see how lovely he is? I knew, but I didn’t know. I saw, but I didn’t see. He’s so beautiful” I could feel warmth in her joy.

In the natural this experience looked a little different. She became ill. It was violent. She fought for a time. And according to the medical community it was a fight she lost.

She lived well. She died better. Perhaps I needed that model, for my own life’s journey. I will never forget it.  “I had not believed to look on the goodness of Jehovah In the land of the living!” (Psalm 27:13)

Seeing her transition into death showed me more about the goodness of the Lord, while I am still in the land of the living. Surely he works all things together for good.