Some of the God given gifts in me have allowed me over the years to connect with various people in non verbal ways. Esoteric, right? I don’t know. I think each of us walks what is in front of us to walk. Defining and describing are luxuries we don’t always have. I did not choose to be this way. I did not choose the abuse that opened me all the wrong ways. But I am convinced that God, in his wisdom, is making everything beautiful in its time. The gifts the enemy saw and perverted God is now using for good. When done through his light, with a motive of love, the gift can be of great benefit.

One of the last times I saw Mark on earth I had a word for him about Africa, and rhythm, and songs. It was a chance meeting in Balboa Park, he was with his wife. I gave him the word then continued on to my car with the kids. We were returning from the Zoo. I got within sight of my vehicle. “It’s a good gift, you know.” It was him, but he wasn’t there. I said, really? in my mind. I was very skeptical. “It’s a good gift.” I shrugged. I thought, maybe this was relating to the prophetic word, and that he was talking about prophecy. The jury in me was still out on that. Today, Father, let Mark know for me, he was right. It is a good gift.

Years before I had a nephew that was killed. My brother’s son. Ritual killing, called the most heinous crime in our area ever, the perpetrators had thrown his body in the dumpster when they were done. He was three. I remember after that, I was brutalized by people trying to connect with me in that non verbal way. Chants and curses and taunting. Some of it was demonic. Much of it was his mother’s family, they were indigenous folks who understood their wiring better than I did mine. They got satisfaction and power from harassing me. I had to learn how to do ‘street fighting’ with my mind. Crazy days.

By the time I was 32 I was married and had three children aged 6,4 and 1. My life was normal on the outside. We attended church, the kids an I. My husband was in the Navy and was less interested. Inside I was mainly a mess. The memories had begun a few years prior and chaos reigned. The outside order and demands were what kept me anchored. I was going to school at night to earn a degree and my husband would watch the kids. I was marked. Perpetrators could see me still. I remember a couple of professors and the mind games they played with me. Being connected felt familiar and was seductive in its own way. I did not want to choose sin but I seemed helpless against the mental connections that were sought, found, then used against me. It was like mental rape. I am thankful it never became physical, and I have the strongest sense that God in his grace averted me from that possibility several times. I did not see it as a good gift. I saw it as open doors that needed to be shut hard and forever. I tried deliverance after deliverance, memory after memory, to get that accomplished. To no avail. It was like ley lines inside of me, open routes of travel the enemy could recognize and use. That year was so hard. Memories came, three a week for most weeks. I seemed to always be on the brink of one, in one, or grieving. I saw Mary every other week and my sister helped love the children during that time. It seemed never ending. I was always tired. The special grace I had on worship was where I found God. As deep as the pain uncovered went in me, his love began to penetrate more deeply. Some morning I would awake with a clear choice. Choose life, or choose death. My family of origin still had connections to me and were very aware of what memories I was processing an I was powerless to stop it. I cried out for God. I worked harder to get free. The doors remained open. Sometimes there dead animals left around our property. One day there a chemically treated rose in my mailbox that the Lord told me not to touch with my skin. He would tell me what needed to be removed from my house and he was so specific about where to trash it. Different things were trashed in different places. I remember one time dumping a mirror that was given to me by my dad. Then I went into the store and down the frozen section I saw my dad there. He had a wig on but I knew him. He just stopped an stared. I got out of there fast and shook all day. I did not know then that they could only take me if I was voluntary and if they were able to call out the parts of me that they had trained. I got an answering machine that year because of the terror the silent phone callers would bring. The doorbell stopped my heart. I believed the threats. I knew I would die. It was just a matter of time. But I would rather die trying to get free than to live placidly in the destiny they had planned for me.

32 was a hard year. I was bothered less when my husband was home. And the kids and the love God put in my heart for them was a godsend as well. Looking back to that year I see the great grace God has had on my life. And today, in heaven Mark knows I found the truth. The gift is good after all.

The memory came this week. It all fit together. No wonder the feeling of being powerless was such a trigger.
Volunteering to drown was easy compared to what followed.
When we went in the deepest place, there was a part I did not understand. He did not go all the way into the pit with me. He stayed at the higher level and did specific motions to help me stay focused.
When I asked him why, he said he only goes into places that his blood cleanses and restores.
This place was not one of them.
Could he go, I wondered? He said that if he went in there the deterioration would not be able to continue, because he is life.
I feel like there is still so much I do not know.
In the memory I had to go there to travel the paths I traveled as a child.
I had to know for sure where I was, what I joined with, and how that impacted me and aquifers.
It was so hard.
I would have done anything, joined with anyone, to escape the terrible feelings of being powerless there.
It was so hard to stay in them.
When I came back up, some sort of seal closed the lower place. The part where the electricity formed the barrier was still open to me but the lower place was sealed off an he said I did not have to go there again.
I am so wrecked and weary, bone weary, exhausted by the memory.
I didn’t really have a lot of time to process before today came.
Today a song was being sung about the glory realm.
I closed my eyes an was instantly fixed by a beam of warm light.
Him.
I then was on a platform and he said, where would you like to go?
He said I could travel now, while awake, as long as it was through the light.
Africa. And we were there. A woman with a basket was drinking from a pool of dirty water.
Where next?
He explained that I could not travel much with the other door still open. Now it was closed. I could. Always through the light.
I am excited. I don’t even really know what it all means.
He is delighted for me, so happy I chose to stay in the impossible place so he could heal me there.
It is amazing that I forget still, when faced with impossible, that on the other side I find God there.
I still feel a bit upset with myself for the joining.
I wish I had been able to be heroic, or a martyr or something.
But I was, when I volunteered for the drownings.
Sorting through it all, and the healing is starting to overtake my wounds.
Surely he does all things well…just look at my life.

I remember being excited. An author I enjoy had released a new book. Although it has a paranormal feel to it, I find the romance this person authors very satisfying to read. I was getting ready to go to the bookstore.

I heard the Lord. He said, I’ll go with you. Argh. I didn’t want him to spoil my fun. He was sure to tell me I should not read the book. He was guaranteed to have good reasons. And then I would have to battle with my conscience when all I wanted to do was have the simple hours of pleasure that the read could bring.

It had been a hard season. Surely I was entitled to it?

Of course then I felt guilty for not wanting him to come. That became the weightiest. So I said, fine, come along. And we went. As soon as I got in the store, I can feel myself tense, my soul expecting to hear the rebuke, anticipating it, wondering if it would become an argument.

The salesperson had a hard time finding where the book was.

Sure enough, as soon as it was in my hand, I heard him say, I see what is in your hand. It is not the best for you. I felt him begin to contend with me, shifting his weight towards me. And then he stopped. And the book became light. And as I read the inside jacket I was prepared to see what my conscience might object to. I think I was almost prepared to walk out of the store without it. But there was nothing there. Just a story. And it carried no real weight. And I felt the Lord say I could buy it.

I was a little confused, but okay. A gift horse and all that.

I checked three times before my purchase just to make sure. No matter how much I want the comfort, if it is really going to be a big deal with the Lord, I’d rather not go there. I remember being a bit baffled because now he seemed fine with it.

It was not until I was on the way home that the reason for his seeming nonchalance surfaced.

I’ll read it with you, he said. Ah. So he was okay with me buying it because he would be with me to bring correction to any response my heart had that did not align? No. It wasn’t like that. He just said, I’ll read it with you. No condemnation. Not resignation. Just an anticipation of more time when I would be listening for his voice.

About three miles later he spoke again.
He said the following- my desire to be with you is greater than my concern that correcting you in this way that would cause us to be apart. The book, and your desire for it, will fade. Your connection to me matters more than my need to correct you.

I remember the brokenness of my heart in that moment. Somehow he made it so that I wanted to correct me so that our time together would be more blessed. How does he do that?
How can he be so secure in who he knows me to be that he does not need to be the heavy, he just loves me while I pass through my disobedience and loves me with open arms waiting for me to return to him?

I did read the book by the way. He did meet me in the middle. And because of those days of training there is a trust in me when he brings correction so it is much easier to hear. I don’t need to rebel so much because he loved me, allowed me, corrected me and then cleansed me. He has proved to be trustworthy here. I know there are times when his correction is more critical, and it is his mercy to be the heavy in those times.

And when I sing the song amazing grace, I am reminded of him here in this moment. Loving me fully, not because of who I am or in spite of who I am, but because of who he is. God is love.

When I was a part of San Diego Vineyard, a lot of healing took place in me. There was a special provision on worship and it was an unstoppable onramp into the love of God and his heart for me. He always met me there. Mark McCoy was the worship pastor there, and he led us as Jesus led him, extravagantly and without reserve. There was no plan B. Either God showed up or there was no use in doing what we did. God came. Every time. When he died, circumstances had arisen that made it impossible for me emotionally to stay within the community, so I heard about it in an email. The next time I was in the mountains walking I felt a mantle come. It was an Indian headdress, four gems and a feather. I did not know what to do with it, as was much of my experience in the Lord in those days. Haha, I am not much farther today. When I left San Diego, 7 months later, I went to the ocean with a particular mission in my heart. I brought a sand dollar I had gotten in the midst of a spiritual experience years before. I laid it on the sand before him. I was trying to be noble. Please God, forgive me for those things I have not been able to use here. Please allow them to go to whomever can use them the best for your glory. I know I have not stepped out in some of these things and I am sorry. And I was. I had gone to a church planting school there. never planted a church. learned how to play the guitar there, never led a team in worship. I knew that day on the beach he was okay with me. He didn’t really seem to care about the things I laid down.

Years passed. It was time to come and visit. It was time to see my mom again. The Lord made the way. I set up times to visit with various people while there. I remember the Lord, asking, when was his time. I said he could have anytime he wanted. He picked a Friday morning at the beach. I remember when it came. I didn’t know what he would say. The last time he and I had met at this place so intentionally was when I had had laid the sandollar down.

I parked my car. It was cold and looked like it would rain. I chose the place where I had known good and bad a little girl. I decided on a plan. I would walk from one pier to the next pier up the coast. I had a hope, unthought but there, that he would address the sandollar, since he never had. Perhaps he would explain and it would all make sense. The pain of that time, my brokenness and the way the relationships had failed during that season. But- his agenda. He gets to do what he wants, is always best.

With my umbrella I began my trek. Silence. I walked. Close to the water I enjoyed the sounds of the waves, waiting to hear the voice of my Lord. Silence. I walked. 45 minutes passed. What had seemed quite close to my eyes stayed the same distance away, and I realized two things. I had seriously underestimated the distance I had set to walk. I had also overestimated my physical ability to do so. It crashed in on me as failure. I had failed. It was my own fault and I would miss God. I cried. The wind whipped. The waves crashed. My tears fell. All of the sorrow. from all of the times, that I had not been able to…and the pain of those punished times that taught me intolerance, overwhelmed me. The crazy taught places where I could not change what I needed to change and the awful irreconcilable results volcanoed up. Distress. I screwed up. And I could not change it. Regret as deep as any canyon surfaced with no processing pathway. The tears would never stop, I was sure. I failed.And I was sure he would not come. And I was sure it was my fault.

I stood, uncertain. Go back? Continue? Did it matter?

He spoke. With a chuckle. Almost like it was no big deal to him, but not in a way that dismissed my pain. You are going to fail, Tanya. It is a part of the journey. You will make mistakes and it will feel like you have failed.

He didn’t seem shocked or dismayed. I was still convinced that I had lost something irretrievable, but was thankful for his mercy nonetheless. I looked at the distance I had yet to go. I soaked in the idea that he could get past it. I realized him seeing me where I was was far different than what I had been able to see. It required some acknowledging. Well then, if I am going to fail, let it always be when my heart is aiming for you and headed in your direction. Perhaps that was what the meeting time was ti be about after all.

He loved me. I could feel it then, just like I can now. His love is warm and it makes me remember hope. And, I looked down.
I am not sure if they were there before. There were two. Sandollars. One adult and one baby. I couldn’t move for a minute. The awe overcame me. My God. Who he is and what he does. Reverence and amazement and joy rolled into one toogoodtobetrue moment. I picked them up. And strength flowed back into me. Not only did I complete the walk, but on the way back to my car the clouds parted and a rainbow appeared, one of seven I saw during four days.

I still have one sandollar from that day. The other I gave away, to one younger in the faith who has great promises.
The truth that I can fail, and it is okay, and I won’t be severely punished and he will remain in affection, brought transformation that has lasted.
Surely our God makes everything beautiful in its time.
He is love, and it is what love does. Selah.

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