From time to time in the past I have set up booths in new age events, to offer dream interpretations and spirit affirmations to those hungry for such stuff. I use the language of the culture, which I am much more comfortable with than christian-ease, so when this last event rolled around I was looking forward to it.
It is always good to get to know the vendors around you to add to the positive energy flow of Love.
This year I had Stevie, she does necromancy, on my left, and Jeff, he does spiritual readings from the wrong tree, on my right.
The gal across and down, did toe readings, the gal up from her drew pictures of spiritual beings around me trying to connect with me, and the one directly across did inner healing of life hurts through channeling. They were all nice. So who would come?
That first night, almost no one did.
It was dead for us all.
Lots of time for us to talk. Stevie and I really hit it off, although she was a little annoyed that she couldn’t pin down what I do, or how Creator energy is different than Reiki. I told her I do whatever the person in front of me needs….and she kept saying- but what is your specialty….she wanted to form a link.
I went home and that night before I slept she came to me and tried to put a nice little man made wall between our booths with a window where we could connect between clients. I realized I had not been staying within my 6 by 10 slot spiritually and she was asking for boundaries.
Hers was not okay though. So I pushed it up and out of the way and set in its place a light barrier. It was alive and from the Lord.
The next morning as I awoke, the Lord spoke quite clearly- he has called me to feed his sheep. hmm. I was not sure what that meant for the day. Ah well. I went in and wondered if Stevie would acknowledge our exchange. No Stevie.
An hour and a half later she came in. She looked at me and smiles. She pointed to the space between us. I got it, she said. Light. She outlined our barrier and said it again. Light. Right. I smiled and agreed. And still, it was very slow. Her, and the guy on the other side of me, began getting a slow trickle but none came for me.
Then a guy came through and asked if he could sit. Sure, why not. He began to talk. It turns out he was a pastor. he had been a priest in Michigan but gotten ejected by his bishop for starting and interdenominational faith day. Now he works in the inner city. With the poor. And as he described his work I saw the generational component he was up against. I talked to him out of Hebrews 7 and explained what I had found. We spoke for about an hour. And he left.
Stevie came over and said, what were you doing? The energy changed and started going up and down like a sin wave. Who was that guy? I said a pastor. She said, oh, and looked at me again.
And I realized I am not going to be able to stay within a 6 by 10 slot anymore. My spirit has grown. It reaches beyond that.
I did not go back the next day.
In the middle of moving, my family was appreciative that I stayed home and worked.
I am not sure if I can do that venue again.
I did come away with a mandate that seems more geared towards the kids that know their dad.
And so I grow.

There are times that God opens my eyes to see things I have not seen before.
In the move, there has been so much to do.
We now have a lawn that takes 6 hours to mow.
The first week we were at the new place, the lawnmower broke.
And God showed me my husband.
My husband approaches problems far differently than I do.
He does not waste the time or energy it takes to get discouraged.
He simply assess and proceeds in the fixing. problem after problem, he approaches them the same. Problems within problem, he might get a little exasperated but he does not quit. He just assesses what the next step needs to be then he does it.
For him, a new set of problems is life giving.
He gets bored with the same old problems over and over.
And he really enjoys company as he problem solves.
If I am just standing there he loves to talk to me and cheer him on by shared support.
He is very good at telling stories.
I marvel at the way his circuitry works.
As I have gotten healing and have become aware of some the deficits in my own circuitry, I am more in awe of God for giving me a life mate who loves me and shares with me and likes to be with me.
I love my husband.
Next month is 25 years for us.
What a journey it has been.
Today I just want to honor the one who said I do to me 25 years ago.
It has not been perfect.
But it is God’s perfection, for us to be apart of God’s work in perfecting us, to be together.
Selah.

I have been with you for three years. We have broken bread together. Stayed at each others houses. Traveled together. Taught together. I love you. You are family to me.

But now I have to go. What has happened is for the good. But you won’t see m anymore. We won’t talk on the phone. We will not know each others hugs. We will not share gaze the way we once did. But it’s for the best.

When I go I bring the potential for a relationship with you that transcends the physical reality we once knew. It won’t seem like that at first. It will be different communication and you will wonder if it was me and you will need to grow in discernment to tell when it is not.

My kiss will feel like breath. Instead of eating beside you, I will eat through you.
I will wash your feet still, but it will feel like peace returning into your being.

Earth is a type, a shadow. Of a far greater relationship.
What I offer will be more intimate. Instead of sharing what you are conscious of, our relationship will allow me to go to the innermost part of your being and surface things of which you are unaware. You will know the secrets of your heart through me.
I will allow you to know me in a deeper way too. I will share the depth of my heart in a way you could not take if we were both skinned sitting apart from each other.

There are times you will long for my hand to be once again on your face. This change is hard. There are some places you will visit where you will always think of me and remember me and long for me to be as I was. The pain will take your breath away.

When you feel that way, remember I feel that way too. Not that it should be as it was, But that I long for you in the way it shall be. A better way. With no more room for miscommunication. A way with no more painful breaches. A way that will reveal the truth that our time here on earth was but a model of a better way to come.

You may feel at times that I torture you, to be with you but to not be with you the way you once know me. Take heart, little ones. I too, feel the angst at any separation between us. This is partaking of the fellowship of my sufferings. And so I go, to prepare a place….where we never have to be a part again.

If you were his disciple, how would you respond?

Today is my mom’s birthday.
I think she is turning 89. Others say she is turning 90.
My mom.
When I was born, she is was in mourning.
The sister 22 months older than me had been kidnapped by my dad while she was pregnant with me. There are other details, but the gist is that my mom wished I was her. In my baby book she put pictures of her and my sister.
I had my dads eyes, making it hard for her to bond with me.
It all set me up for the abuse that was coming.
But I remember learning how to make my mom happy. And when she was happy, I found a little rest.
If I stayed pretty, she was happier. When I impressed her friends with my behavior and intelligence, she was happier. When she wasn’t happy, I couldn’t stand the pain. She knew I heard/felt her thoughts sometimes. That made her push me away, so I tried not to. But when her pain was big, it was hard to ignore. But if I bothered then, she fed me. So I learned food’s purpose. It was to stop pain.
She enjoyed hearing people call me her carbon copy. She promoted me to do that. So I became her extension. I looked just like her except for my eyes. But even they changed color, to hers. The years of growing up were hard ones for her. She was trying to keep her new marriage alive, and care for a child who had been returned after six years of absence. I was overlooked. She only sexually abused me when she was drunk. The times I remember her being involved in the satanic stuff she was strongly drugged.
Once I got married, our relationship improved.
She thought I was doing the right thing, and when mom approved, she backed, financially and with nice-ness.
We got close again.
She enjoyed her grandkids.
She enjoyed sharing all their kudos.
With everyone. Everywhere.
She got a job caring for the nursery at the church I attended and was very well liked.
responsible and hard working and loved the little ones- that was how she was known.
When I became pregnant with my third child, God started my healing process.
Things became strained between us.
And unsafe for my children. Because mom was indiscriminate about who she shared with. And her sharing about what I was beginning to recover was causing the cult members of my family to become concerned I would reveal family secrets.
I had to separate.
It was a long time before I could reestablish relationship. And then it was a bit strained.
Now my mom is dying.
Her heart leaks. Badly, now. Alzheimers is gaining more of her time. And her days are short.
I am grateful for the day we had, in March this year. She had a heart attack and had just gotten home. I happened to be in town. We sat on her bed for three hours and she shared with me her life.
I grieve there could not have been more.
I remember when the Lord told me how to honor her. he said, if I went after all of what his cross makes available for me in my life, that if she chooses him, when she gets there, I will have honored her by making the most of the life she sacrificed to give me, she will be honored by me. I have clung to that.
Today as my Mom turns 89 or 90, I commit again to pursue God for all I am worth.
This one’s for you, Mom.
I love you.

I have started a new Bible reading plan. It is chronological. What a ride it has been! It was like seeing Genesis all over again for the very first time! He creates! He names! There is joy! he is joy! He creates! And he names! There has been an effervescent quality to feeling the creative facet to Him this time that I have not touched before. He enjoys! It is bubbly! It is fun! And it is perfect! And there are some things He created, that he left unnamed. he put it into the hands of men to do that. To name stuff.
And I ponder judgments we make. And how somehow it is us, naming stuff without wisdom and without God.
We are created to one day judge the world, and to judge angels. You will be asked how angel x did over the region where you lived, in the area he was assigned to display God and minister to the heirs of salvation.
By the time this assignment comes, we will be ready.
Our spirits will have been matured. Our souls will have been tamed. And our bodies will have reached their end. Our birthright, then, will shine. So God in His wisdom, put us on a path. It began when He created stuff He did not name. It continued with the example of Adam, with spirit alive before soul had ruled, naming the animals.
It is a substory to the story of reconciliation back to the garden.
In the reconciliation we are both being restored and being grown up.
It occurs to me that there are things God has created and put in my life that he is wanting me to name.
It is Father, preparing me for the day when reigning is a portion of my role.
It is practice, to feel what it is like to commune with Him, get his perspective and assign something on the earth with the dominion I have as a son.
It may be a situation. Or a heart ache. or a new relationship. Or an old one.
We see John redefined as the son of Mary at the cross.
Named.
God named me.
And he wants me to name.
And it develops me towards the day when I will proclaim.
Wholehearted and with authority.
The way every good wife does, in oneness with her husband.
I get to share His joy that He created stuff, He knew this would all be happening. And I am a part of that joy.
Amazing King.

Sometimes when birds around me are making sounds, I can interpret them.
Crows, to me, have always sounds like warbling.
Last year I learned that crows are by original design intended to be watchbirds. They let the neighborhood know when danger or destruction are happening. They are the bird most commonly hijacked by the enemy and that changes their sound.
My experience since then has been to try to operate in dominion by saying, you can only make the sounds you were designed by creator to make when you are in my space. Since then no crows made noise on my land.
Then I moved.
There are a group pf seven in this new neighborhood. Big. We bought a few acres and the wood beside us. When the crows showed up I told them to be quiet. They responded but not with obedience. If I started towards them they would fly away but still sqwaking.
Father asked me how much earned authority I had on this land. Not much. I started pulling weeds. Authority grew. I could feel a shift as I did life giving things to steward the land.
Then the day came for discussion. Four of the biggest ones came to my back deck while I was by the sliding glass window.
They wanted to talk.
I understood them!
They said I had dominion over the land around the house. They then said they still had more authority in the woods. And they flew away.
And I said…Father??????
He said, Tanya, if these were new agers, how would you treat them?
I said I would bless them into their original design and love them where they were.
He said for the crows to do the same.
Since that encounter with the crows I have pondered a bit.
My picture of dominion, of ruling and reigning, compared to Father’s.
My idea of earned authority and its entitlement.
All of this came under scrutiny.
I act like there is a contest I have to win.
He operates in the confidence there is no contest.
If I engage as though it is a war, and they are the enemy, I activate the worst in those birds.
If I bless them into their original design, I give them permission to be that, and things align with the truth of my dominion faster, with less effort.
I know this because, since I was intentional about blessing their original design, they have settled down, are less aggressive, and have not been on our property.
Learning, becoming. God gives the farmer wisdom. Selah.

She had been dropped off the year before.
I had been 4. She was 6.
She had been gone since before I was born.
Being abused.
Now she was back.
Instructions for her were – keep me away from other kids.
The safety of the secrets was more important than life.
She hated me.
She focused on her task and found me a wonderful solution for her need to act out.
Daytime was hard, in different ways than night time.
Hard, hard.
At night when we were sold we had to perform. Then we were chosen. All of us knew that if we were one of the first ones picked, it would be an easier night. So among all the little girls it was cutthroat to be sold first.

I guess the ones that paid more took extra care.
I remember one night. It was me. I was picked first.
My sister, that night, was one of the last ones picked.
Abuse. I just shut down. More abuse. I grew so hollow I got cold. More abuse. I became blank.
And the night was over.
But back home, my sister was mad.
Really mad.
Because of me, she said.
That night and her pain was because of me. It was me that made her get picked last. She was furious.
7 year old fury.
Demon amplified rage.
I had gone from one bad to another and I wasn’t prepared.
She was so mad.
She seethed. She told me she was going to show me what it was like for her.
She took some sticks and broke them in half.
She shoved them in my rear and twisted. It felt like they were side ways and it hurt so bad I couldn’t breathe.
She kept saying it was my fault and she kept hurt me with sticks.
She said the splinters would infect me and I would die. She prayed I would die.
I finally managed to shut down again.
The pain receded to waves that came forward every so often.
I don’t want a sister.
The idea formed like an inception. It grew and gained hold.
It became a litany that I used when the pain came.
I don’t want a sister, I don’t want a sister.
The next day I told mom. I told her I didn’t want a sister.
I also told her I hurt.
She gave me an enema. It hurt more. Days. it hurt.
She said my sister didn’t have any choice, how she was. It wasn’t her fault.
I didn’t want a sister.
She said I had to make do.
Looking back I see I assumed she knew about the selling and the sticks. She always said I knew her thoughts and I assumed she knew mine.
It became my magical prayer.
I prayed it alot.
God please take away my sister.
I don’t want a sister.
Holding the hate in place. And enabling me to keep shutting down.

It was not that there wasn’t enough faith.
The faith was there.
It wasn’t that there were inner healing blocks he had not unearthed.
It wasn’t that enough scriptures were not read, or read.
It wasn’t for lack of listening or desire.
But it didn’t look like martyrdom to us. It didn’t look like the prophecy Art Katz had made.
And we contended every day, continuously, some for 15 years.
We are left not knowing, or perhaps knowing a portion, through a glass darkly.
And he is gone. Everyone who knew him will miss him, and he was known by many. And the question is, why?
Some things have formed inside me, over the past few days.
A new knowing of the cloud.
A new perspective of variation and stability.
And I believe my friend has had the opportunity to observe some things and have long time, life time questions answered.
I have a partial answer on why he is gone.
I think the two scenarios were played out for him.
I think he got to see how it would impact all of those he loved if he received healing.
Everyone, mature, immature, believers, non believers alike.
And then I think the Lord showed him the impact it would have on everyone if he went home.
Jon was a family man.
Especially in those last years, when he was with you, he was fully present with you.
And when he saw the two scenarios, he picked the one that would allow more people to love and be perfected by God.
It was a hard choice.
It will be awhile for some of us to feel the rightness, in our loss.
I am glad he gets to move again, without pain.
I am thankful for the insights he gave to me freely.
But in the end, the greatest love is the love that causes a man to lay down his life for his friends.
And his choice allowed that.
Jon was a martyr after all.
Selah

I miss you.
I miss you too..
Your bride hurt me.
She hurts me too, sometimes.
She dishonored me. She used me. She took what she could get out of me and she never saw me, except as one who should be her fan.
She is immature, yet. I love her. My heart aches at the pain. Yet hope beats within me still.
I want to be with you again. I long to have the moments of oneness. I miss your smile. Your laugh. Your attention. I miss those times when our connection transcends the here and now, and becomes eternal. I love you.
It hurts that you did not seem to take my side when she hurt me. It makes me upset with you. I want you with me, but I want you to be there for me more, and I want you to stick up for me and I want you to….
I cannot do all that you want- it would not be good for you if I did. I can be with you in a way you recognize sometimes. I am with you in many ways you do not recognize. I groan for what those moments between us do to me. In return for you allowing me to come like that sometimes, I can love you with a covenant love.
You know how to come to me like that. I don’t know how to come to you like that. So it feels like you are asking me for you to come when you want but what about when I want? What about when I need?
I can promise that if you yield your demands and allow me to do what I think is right, we will both be satisfied. If you demand what I cannot give (out of love) then you will become bitter and I will be left in my longing. The choice is yours. It always has been yours, and I will never take it from you. But the choice is about a different issue than what you have made it. The choice is all about love. I love you. I have loved you with an everlasting love. I know your needs better than you do. Will you trust me in this?
You have always been faithful. I will trust you while I don’t understand. I wish it didn’t hurt anymore.
I died so I could take that from you. And reconcile you back to Love. I will wait until you are ready, and not a moment longer. I am undone with love for you!

I was afraid.
I was alone.
My body was getting ready for delivery.
A son.
I had gotten pregnant the previous year, by a guy I met while I was working at the Chief Auto Parts in Downey. I lived in my car then. My nephew being killed, the ritual nature of the killing, the newspaper stuff and the family stuff had converged and I was snot able to stay in my home town anymore. I met a guy. He was nice. W had sex. And I got pregnant. My need to deny the pregnancy had propelled me into my fifth month without acknowledging it.
Now I had acknowledged it. I had gotten married because of it and I was alone because my husband had left the week before on a six month deployment. Yes, he knew the baby was not biologically his. But he loved me.
I was at my sister’s and she had promised to be my labor coach. I went and told her I needed her help, the pain had begun. She told me she would be there in a bit. This was the last day she was protected by her current birth control and she wanted to make the most of it with her current boyfriend.
I had taken some cod liver oil earlier in the day because my new husband expected me to receive his furniture shipment in two days so I needed to have birthed the baby and be home by then, which was his original due date.
And the pain had begun. I was alone.
I wonder sometimes what it is like to go through pain with others. That has not been my journey.
As I travel back to recollect this time, it wasn’t until my water broke that my sister came out of her room to take me to the hospital. Then she was pretty disgusted with me when we got there and I did not progress quickly. They sent me home and she threatened to not bring me back.
Hours later. Contractions so strong I was almost entirely internalized. My sister and her boyfriend drove me in when I started screaming I think. I remember at one point the internal monitor said his heart had stopped and I saw two nurses look at each other and shake their heads. Pushing was awful. Our son had ingested his bowel movement and had to be suctioned for a while after birth. For many hours they did not bring him to me after birth. I think my behavior during birthing had given them alarm for his safety.
I remember one of the nurses saying she would not know me now, how calm I was.
And there was our son.
Beautiful. Perfect. Gentle. Life.
Something happened inside me. God gave me the grace to care.
I remember 26 as the year I had our son. And my life changed as God breathed on my heart through it.