The Children

I don't remember the date of the dream.  I haven't been able to place it in my journals but I'm pretty sure it was the end of 2007 or maybe the beginning of 2008.  I have had a number of experiences over the past few years that I would describe as dreams or visions that I believe were from God, but this was by far the most intense.  

I remember being  inside a house.  I had a sense there were other adults in the house, and there was a room partitioned off by a curtain.  I remember seeing a makeshift bed and in the bed were three children.  I wondered at first why they were all huddled under the covers.  They were awake and very still. I began to feel their numbness.  It was as if what they had to bear was too much for their little minds and so they switched it off.  I realized they were not allowed out of the room, and they weren't allowed out of the bed.  Then I knew that they were being abused--and held against their will, though most of their will seemed to have died. There were two girls and a boy.  I saw the eyes of the little boy.  The light had gone out of them.  He was looking at me as if he was asking me to help them.  Their need to be helped was so intense I awoke with a thunderclap of awareness.

This vision was so real and so strong that as I awoke, though I didn't know if I believed in such a thing, I considered the possibility that these children were real and somehow were calling to me to help save them.  So I began by praying through that and for them to be helped if that were the case.  As I got some distance from the dream, I began to believe more that the children in my dream were symbolic of a larger reality of so many who are being harmed.  At the time I did not know much about sex trafficking, but I began to pray for children who were being abused.   

Gabriel Brothers

Pretty Sure This is Gabriel

Photo by Bgrace

I’m going to try to continue the story of the butterflies. I’ve written about this next incident before, but I’m learning that the significance of events in our lives can often be better understood over time. There is something meaningful and beautiful about what we receive in the moment. We shouldn’t allow that to be stolen--but distance can give us a broader understanding of significance. By significance, I mean an event’s importance, and also its meaning, scope, and its connection to other events in our lives. So that you may have more insight as to how I received the significance of this event at the time, I’ll allow a few of my writings from the weeks surrounding it to give you a sense of what I was experiencing.

It was September 2007. As John Mayer sings, I was “in the war of my life.” (Remind me to explain at some point why I love that man.) Another line from the same song describes my feelings of those days so perfectly. “I got a hammer and a heart of glass, I gotta know right now which walls to smash.”

Excerpt from my journal:
Why am I here God? I feel very lost, very confused. Is this all me? Am I just making this up? I’m so tired. I don’t want to go through all of this again and again. Perhaps you are teaching me the difference between voices. I don’t know. None of this makes any sense anymore. Am I just supposed to ignore it? Don’t you hear my prayers? Am I incredibly dull and deaf? Am I deceived? Isn’t this too much to bear and not just go numb? I just want to live in the truth and be content in it. HELP ME!

Excerpt from my journal:
Lord, I’ve never felt more lost on the outside and more found deep within. It’s this very strange feeling which defies all my efforts at making sense of things, of forcing my heart in a particular direction, or trying to fix myself. After I weary of considering all the possibilities I settle myself down and pay attention to what is in the deepest part of me and I know no other way to describe it than joy and peace.

A poem I posted after a visit to St. Joan’s:
It’s been a while since my last visit
The smell is pleasant, clean yet light
Like the dew after a long night
There isn’t much sun through the colored panes
Still their message pierces through to my veins
A few candles flicker, waiting to the side
For answers the grey fog seems to hide
But the air isn’t chilled today
And the quiet rests my spirit
There are promises in the bouquets
And I am stilled in transcendent ways
My heart calls out from this wooden pew
My Lord, I still choose you.

An excerpt from my journal:
Everything seems to be hanging on life and death. Walking this path seems excruciating and I feel like I’m constantly doing a balancing act. I’m seesawing between fear and hope, a feeling of complete helplessness and a surge of need for control. Everything in me internally is focused on this one event. But if this is God it has to be about so much more than this. What scares me is that I feel so far from that—which must mean I will have to wait so much longer under this duress. I just hate that possibility. God I struggle because at times it comes so real that everything inside me braces itself. But then nothing. And my heart feels so beaten up I don’t know how many times I can do this and recover. I want to put limits on it all. I want to have clarity and understand more, how, when, what—but every time I ask for things (these limits) what I get seems to be even more consuming. I’m hurting, I’m emotionally exhausted, spiritually dry and close to giving up hope. I’m tired. I want my life to be about more than this—something greater, larger, that feels more about others…but right now I feel too weak.
I want holiness, I want to be full of light and love and God’s glory. But all I seem to be filled with right now is pain and confusion. I don’t know how to move from here to there.

A post called Sorrow and Love (The prayer I wrote at the end is one that formed from what I felt desperate for and I prayed it almost daily):
Sorrow and love flow mingled down. The words come from the hymn “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.” A couple of weeks ago we sang this hymn in church. As we sang that line it was like a whole universe of meaning and understanding opened up to me. I realized that I knew what that felt like. In my journey, I have had but a whisper of the experience of Christ, but it has been the most beautiful whisper that ever echoed in my soul. What sorrow He must have felt in the midst of betrayal, rejection, and contempt. What pain from the abuse He suffered. What shame when others accused Him of raising himself up against God in the midst of the most difficult acts of submission ever imagined. And yet in the midst of His sorrow He looked on us with love, with grace, with compassion, and hope.
Did it ever occur to you that He gave all that He had, knowing full well that those He gave to might never receive Him, that we might never return His love, that we might never believe Him? What a shame, what a waste, some might say. But in the end…that is not why He gave. He gave out of His love for us, but He did it unto the Father. Not my will but Yours be done.
May your kingdom come in and through us Lord,
May you destroy every argument and proud obstacle that is raised up against the knowledge of God.
Give us Your Spirit to guide us.
Give us truth in the innermost parts of our beings.
Give us faith to believe all and only that which is true.
Give us purity of heart that we may desire only that which You desire us to desire.
Give us courage and strength to do all that You ask us to do.
May we live in humility, in fear of God—not man or woman.
May we live for Your glory and not our own.
And may we learn to love with the love of the cross, the love of Christ Jesus,“who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross.”
Philippians 2:6-8

A prayer I posted from Isaiah 62:
Do not keep quiet
Do not remain in silence
If I have walked rightly
If I have been faithful
To the degree that I have been obedient
In the ways that I have submitted to You
For the sake of Your Name
May the light of Your glory reflect from my face
May it be known that it is
Your light
You guidance
Your will alone
That I have sought
That I have followed
That has brought me
To the place of your bidding
To the place of your blessing

From my journal:
I don’t know what is real and what is not—so I’ll ask You to help me have clarity. It feels kind of like if I can bear up under the difficulty—the humiliation, the pressure, the confusion, then perhaps You can use me to do very important work. But I must trust that you will. So far, Lord, everything has been so blurry (seek me and you will find me He speaks into my mind) and so bleak. I’m definitely still in the desert.

Another prayer I posted from Isaiah 61:1-3 called A Bold Prayer:
May Your Spirit be upon me
Anoint me with oil from heaven
Empower me to bring Your words of Spirit and life to the “poor” (in whatever sense)
Send me to mend the hearts that are broken
To declare those imprisoned free
To bring Your light into their darkness
Grant favor from heaven to people through me
May Your justice—the beauty of Your righteousness—come to comfort those who mourn
May beauty rise out of the ashes
May tears flow from gladness rather than sorrow
May a covering of praise be worn by those whose spirits now despair.

It was in the midst of this seesaw of thoughts and emotions and events that I drove to Gabriel Brothers one afternoon. I don’t remember exactly what I was upset about that day or what in particular prompted such an outburst. It is possible it was nothing specific, rather an exasperation with my inability to reconcile what was going on inside of me with all that was occurring around me. Certainly the intensity of the constant pain I was going through at the time was enough to drive anyone mad. Madness would have been a kindness, death a rest, and even demon-possession would have been a relief—because I knew how that problem could be taken care of. All that I clearly remember was being so at the end of my ability to cope that I began screaming at the top of my lungs at God and pounding the steering wheel with my fists. Tears were streaming down my face—and yes, I was still driving. I was at the edge of all my frustration, desperation, and despair and I needed God to show up. To show me truth. To let me face whatever pain the truth would bring and get me through it no matter what the cost.
I pulled myself together before I went into the store. I was in the store a while—I used to sift my way through most of the clothing racks to see what I could find that would fit and that I liked. There was a calming rhythm to it. I used to work in retail—I worked as a store manager for a few years after college.  Going through the racks and sorting clothes had a way of calming me. Finally I made my way to the dressing room. The girl who was attending the dressing room looked to be in her early twenties. She reminded me of a girl I had met from Nigeria once and as she spoke her English was heavily accented. She had counted my clothes and given me the appropriate number and turned back to her station. But then, a bit hesitantly, she said, “Ma’am, may I say something to you?”
“Sure,” I replied.
Then she spoke softly, looking off into the distance a bit, almost as if pained, “All over the world people’s hearts are crying. They are crying to God and He hears them. Then she looked directly into my eyes as if to make me understand and she said gently, “God hears your heart crying.”
Then she looked at the floor as if she felt uncomfortable about saying something so personal to me and unsure as to how I would respond. Oh, how I saw myself in her at that moment. So I put all my own emotions and thoughts over her words on hold for the moment and said to her what I knew I would have wanted someone to say to me.
Gently, but very directly I asked her, “Did God tell you to say that to me?” She nodded.
“Thank you,” I said. “Keep listening, and keep being obedient.”
She looked at me and I could see that she had been a bit overwhelmed at her last assignment. “I’m trying,” she said.
I’m guessing I went to the dressing room after that. I have no idea whether I purchased anything or not. It didn’t matter. All that mattered to me at that moment was that God had answered me. He had answered me in a way that couldn’t have been contrived by my imagination, through a girl whose heart was so pure and so torn over doing the right thing that I knew it wasn’t Satan, and He had said He HEARD me. At the time, I took that to mean that my pain was significant to Him, just as all the other people who were feeling such depth of pain were significant to Him, and that He wasn’t condemning me. I also remembered my Seminary professor’s teaching about Israel and that every time in Scripture it said, “God heard,” it meant “God answered.” Also, I felt reassured that what was happening to me God was very much a part of. It wasn’t in my imagination, and Satan wasn’t in control of my mind or my heart or my circumstances. God had heard, and God would answer.
It wasn’t until I understood more about the butterflies that I realized that this incident—though still meaningful to me in those ways--would connect me to something far beyond what I could see at the time. And it wasn't until going through my writings from that time period that I realized that God was very much in the process of answering the prayers and questions of my writings.

Words and Ways

Sometimes God speaks to us in the most interesting ways. I’ve been trying to decide for a while how to tell you the next piece about the butterflies, but I didn’t really know how until this morning.
Yesterday was a really hard day. There are times in my journey when I know that God is breaking down all the compartments I’ve so neatly placed everything in and bringing them all together into oneness--making me whole. I know it is good and necessary, but it is so painful. He’s bringing me front and center into believing what I believe and facing the consequences of such an act. The process of standing in faith leads us back into all our doubts. I used to be afraid that was bad.  People used to tell me that if I wasn't SURE it was God than it wasn't--that God could make Himself known and He knew how to communicate in a way you could understand it--because (I can feel the weight of their conviction), "God is not a God of confusion."  But Ted once told me that doubt is an important part of faith. Asking questions, testing, and seeking understanding—it is part of the process of being able to truly discern, trust and believe.
I woke up this morning from some dreams that brought my sadness to the surface. My friends from different times in my life kept coming into my path. They had all found themselves, their roles, their gifts, their place in this world. One was training horses and the other was playing sports. Then I was with my parents and they were going out on a boat—I was supposed to go with them but I missed it. There was a kayak there, and I felt confused—was the kayak for me? I woke feeling alone.
I picked up my Bible—I’m reading through Mark--and Jesus is in the full swing of ministry. There’s a part of me that aches to be entrenched in all that. I think about the butterflies and how poignantly God has shown me this burden. Yet, I’m concerned that it won’t go any farther than a shelf in the back of my heart. I’ve felt for a while that I needed to wait. That God would say when. Now I’m beginning to question that. Maybe He’s waiting for me. I don’t know. Again, I feel alone.
I started to think about how it’s Sunday morning, and I want to go to church. I know I can go to church, and at times we do. But it’s not the same as truly being a part of a church family. I want to be fed with the Word and worship God with music and I want my kids to absorb the Scriptures and learn the old hymns. I want to take part in Communion and I want my kids to be baptized. I want us to learn how our gifts can be used in the context of the Body. I want my family to feel like they are a part of a larger family of believers and to care and be cared for. I miss the Church--terribly at times.
I laid my head on Matt’s shoulder and he opened his eyes half-way.
“I’m sad,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” he replied, and after a while he asked, “Why are you sad?”
“Because I want to go to church,” and I explained all the reasons why.

“But,” I said, “All the reasons I felt I had to leave are still true.”

“I don’t know what God wants me to do,” I said finally.

We sat in a silence for a while, then Matt said quietly with assurance, “I think you are going to know this year.”

As he spoke, I felt like my spirit absorbed his words as if I had eaten them and felt full—like manna. I knew that Matt had given me a “word.” I just didn’t know if he knew he had given me a “word.”

So I asked him, “Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know, I just do,” he said. (That's what happens when God gives you a sense of "knowing."  You know that you know something, you just don't know why you know--or how you could know, aside from God.)

Hope filled the corners of my spirit. I began to wonder what it was all about and my mind filled up with the possibilities. A sense of peace motioned for the pain of the moments before to take its leave. Then I thought about how cool it was that God had just spoken to me through Matt. He communicates to us in the most interesting ways.

That was how it was with the butterflies…

At the End of the Tunnel

Photo by Bgrace

It's amazing how things can change in a day.  Yesterday afternoon I was happily piling up books at the bookstore that I decided to put on my summer reading list.  I plan to wait for the coupons every week and buy them one at a time.  But by the time I was on the way home my mouth was in so much pain from the dental work the day before I couldn't see straight.  Dr.White hooked me up with some help, but the pain was still bothering me so much I couldn't sleep.  Which I decided to see as a blessing by the end of the night.  My brother is here, so when Matt got home after picking up Grace from a late dance class and hung out with Randy downstairs, I decided to nurse my sore mouth and read my novel (If I Stay) and let them catch up.  Which was fine until Matt came upstairs at 10PM with some really serious difficulties at work.  When you're responsible for clients who need everything to go smoothly or they lose millions of dollars in a matter of a couple weeks the pressure is so great.  Right now Matt is having a hard time seeing a light at the end of all this. I saw the blessing in my sore jaw in that I knew it would keep me up after I prayed Matt to sleep.  Life is all so hard sometimes.  I wish I could take this current of peace that flows underneath it all in my soul, "it is well," and pour it into Matt.  But that is something he must receive from the Lord. 

We appreciate your prayers today friends.

B (and Matt)

Man of My Dreams

Photo by Bgrace

I had a beautiful dream this early morning.  It came after a painful night of clarity.  Revelation always seems to be a double-edged sword. So often when we see the truth it is beyond our own power to change it.  Change must always come through God's channels or it is manipulation.  I usually prefer the pain of clarity to the numbing effect of confusion, so I was grateful, but still sad.  I wished this wasn't all so hard.  I prayed it through and fell into deep sleep that felt unusually dream-filled.  There's only one I remembered with clarity. 
I was sitting on a bench outside on a University campus.  A lot of my dreams seem to take place in this setting.  I'm not sure if it is because of the emotional difficulties of my college years I still seem to be working through, the fact that I feel like I'm in God's school right now, or the sense that I have that I will go back to school at some point--though for exactly what purpose I don't yet have full clarity. 
As my dream came into focus, I was sitting on a bench talking to a guy.  He was attractive and I was aware of the fact that he was very interested in me.  I remember feeling like I told him I wasn't really up for that kind of a thing, with a sense that though this was a really good guy, he might change his mind if he knew me and more about my journey. 
Next I saw myself standing with a group of people on the sidewalk. Though there was a group of us, I only remember one face.  It's a face I have never seen before.  It belonged to a guy and I couldn't make out his age but he seemed like he was my peer.  I vaguely remember a reddish plaid western shirt with pocket snaps.  He was tall and had brown hair that softly curled about his face and shoulders. He had a ruggedness about him, and a quiet confidence, like he'd survived a jungle or two.  I remember thinking he had a way about him like an MK I used to know from the Amazon. A lone diamond pierced his left ear. 
He was so interesting, but most remarkable were his eyes.  In a word, they were perceptive.  He seemed to know things, like he'd had experiences most people wouldn't understand.  He was watching me, and as we stood there he seemed to be amused in a gentle sort of way, not cocky, but like he wanted to share.  He was watching me, and never took his eyes off my face.  I tried to pretend not to notice. 
In my dream I was very confused because all of a sudden I felt completely drawn to him. Every spiritual and emotional and physical cell of my body felt like a magnet to metal.  Everything in me wanted to be with this man. 
The next thing I knew everyone else was gone.  I was sitting in some sort of garden area, as if I had sat down in the middle of the shrubs next to the sidewalk.  I noticed that I didn't have any shoes on and my feet had dug a big hole and were covered in dirt.  It was loose and dark, like potting soil.  I had this sense where all my emotions were pulled into the middle of my dream, I felt so sad--crushed by the weight of it, and my pain pervaded my consciousness. 
Then--out of nowhere--he was there at my feet.  The man I hadn't met before but felt so drawn to.  I had my knees drawn up to my chin so his face, though still at my feet, was right before my eyes as well.  I shrank back at first, feeling embarrassed and said,
"You don't want to put your face next to my dirty feet."
"I don't mind," he replied.
Then I noticed the tears on his face.  Why was he crying? 
Then I realized his tears were for me.  He could see me.  He knew me.  He cared enough to understand me.  He felt my pain so deeply he was crying.  I had this strong sense that he had come to take care of me and all these thing that were broken and messy and soiled weren't bothering him at all.  In fact, I started to see the dirt on my feet as a gift.  This was good soil.  We could plant something here. 
In retrospect, this next part makes me laugh, but at the time I remember feeling very confused because I realized he wanted to be with me and I really wanted to be with him but I couldn't reconcile that.  It didn't seem like the right ending to the story.  I was pretty sure I was supposed to be with someone else.  Even funnier is that I was concerned because I had just told the guy on the bench I wasn't interested in this kind of a thing.  What was he going to think?
I sensed that I conveyed all this to him (we didn't actually seem to need to talk to understand each other) and he just kind of smiled in an unaffected way and said, "We'll just take things as they come."  As we started on together, a group of soccer players came up to us and Matt was with them.  We were all talking together and I realized that Matt didn't feel at all threatened by this man at my side.  And I was confused by that.  Why isn't Matt feeling territorial? 

As soon as I asked the question I began to understand the meaning of my dream.  The man in my dream was Jesus.  I just didn't recognize him at first.  (Probably because he was so hot!)  Matt wasn't threatened because somehow Jesus' love, in all it's consuming fire is a love of communion, not separation.  In its purity it doesn't divide, it joins.  If it does not join, it is because there is an impurity present we are not willing to let go of.  Jesus' love is the only love that is always fitting, but the intensity with which it comes at times, and the ways we experience it at times are unexpected.  We hesitate, and sometimes even reject his advances.  

Jesus' love didn't diminish my love or need for Matt, but there were needs in my soul and pains in my chest that only He could heal.  I needed him for that.  Furthermore, even beyond our needs--there are beautiful, holy blessings he offers us that we are unsure of how to receive and especially how to receive in purity. 

In my dream, I had this sense that Jesus' presence with me would be so real, so desirable, and because of his perception and ability to see and understand me, so fitting, such a perfect companion, that I wouldn't feel the need for the guy on the bench. 

Maybe you find this all a bit disturbing and uncomfortable.  That Jesus could come to us as a man.  Maybe you think I have an overactive imagination (possibility granted) or you might tell me that after all, it was just a dream.  I understand.  Even in my dream I was having a hard time working it all out.  It is complicated.  But in Arwen's words, "If it is a dream, it is a good dream."

Hebrews 12:12-13

Note: I wrote this post in its entirety on April 21st, 2010, the morning I awoke from my dream.  I was post- fasting then, and haven't been released to share it until now.  I figure this will give Dad lots of material to pray about as he reads about Tozer's "sanctified imagination."

The Pointe Is...

Grace's First Pointe Shoes

Photo by Bgrace

A dancer's first pointe shoes are a major right of passage.  I did not know these things before last year.  The world of dance is all new to me.  When Grace started her pre-pointe class this year, Shari (SDC's owner and one of Grace's teacher's) explained to Grace that she couldn't go "on pointe" until her legs were very straight and her releve was really good.  Shari explained to me that it was important for Grace's muscles to be strong and her alignment straight before she would be ready.  (Here is an interesting link with more info.) 

Grace worked really hard.  I was so proud of her, she was the only girl in her class who didn't have pointe shoes and she didn't complain once.  When Shari told her she was ready for pointe last week she was ecstatic. 

Grace's school had a recital on Saturday and we needed to pick up a pair of leggings. So on Friday I took her and her friend Jade and told her we would at least get her fitted for her shoes.  That fitting took almost 2 hours.  

Finding the right shoe is a very interesting process.  There are so many factors involved.  Grace has never worn pointe shoes before, so she doesn't know how they are supposed to feel.  This is complicated by the fact that each dancer has to decide what kind of feel they are looking for.  Then you have the fact that every make of shoe is different and fits each dancer differently.  On top of which even Grace's own two feet are different.  Then there are the toe pads.  The toe pads can make just as much difference in the fit of the shoe as anything, and there are many different kinds.  

A pointe shoe is not a shoe that you can buy with the idea of growing into.  It must fit perfectly or it could cause injury.  An unfortunate factor considering Grace's feet are still growing.  

Grace finally found a pair she really liked.  After that, every shoe she tried was compared to that fit and feel.  I thought maybe she would change her mind, but she really liked the Grishkos, and stuck with them.  

Once she had settled on her shoes and toe pads the store owner sat down with me and explained how I would have to sew on the ribbons and the elastic for Grace.  I am not a very good seamstress, (Mom,this might be the excuse you needed to come home early.)  but I figure this may be the first of many pointe shoes, so I might as well learn now.  It's interesting--pointe shoes are basically made of paper and glue, with a shank on the back and satin over top.  Not much there for all that leaping and twirling.       

Grace took her pointe shoes to her dress rehearsal yesterday to try them on for Miss Marie and Ms. Shari.  All the girls swarmed around her and hugged her and congratulated her.  They were so excited for her it was really touching.  Miss Marie showed her how to break them in--even how she could drip water on the sides right before class to loosen them up (BUT NOT on the TOE!).  I just shook my head and said to her, "It's amazing how much you don't know that you don't know about all this."  Ms. Shari gave her a very serious talk about not wearing them at all right now unless she was in class.  "These are not toys," she said. "For right now they are only for the dance studio."  Then she looked at Grace and congratulated her.  "You worked very hard for these and I'm very proud of you."  Grace went to put her shoes carefully away and Shari said, "If Grace learns to use her shoes the right way then she won't pick up any bad habits."  

 So this summer Grace will be taking a pointe class along with modern dance (her favorite right now). Her biggest weakness is flexibility, so I told her we'd get a video and I'd do it with her at home.  (Don't you dare laugh!)  Then, with the money that we would normally put toward her dance school tuition, we are planning on going to some professional performances this summer.  (And Aunt Jean might just tag along, especially if we go to NY.)  Ms. Shari thought that was a great idea, "She needs to see where she's going!"

I don't know, I wonder how long Grace will want to do this, and if we will be able to afford it.  But as long as God is in it, and Grace keeps her head about her, we'll take one "pointed" step at a time. 

And in case you are wondering, yes, I did cry when she was trying on her pointe shoes, but I didn't let her see me because she would have rolled her eyes and said, "Mom," in the way that all 10 year old girls do.

I put a few photos of the dress rehearsal up last night after I got back from work. But it was a late night so I didn't have energy to go through all 400 pics. :-) I'm going to put an album together for the teachers and I'll try to put a link up for that there soon. 

Butterflies in the Sand

Photo by Bgrace

The second time I remember seeing butterflies in a way that seemed significant was almost 5 years ago. It is a vague memory, one I wish I had written about more clearly, but I will try to recall the details as best I can.  I was in OC, NJ with the girls, Jean, and my Mom.  I was walking to the beach--I think with both Grace and Em.  An older couple was standing near the entrance to the path to the beach.  The woman had a large pail of shells which one of my girls decided looked very interesting, and so she started to talk to her about it.  She looked sadly at the shells and said, "They are all broken, all the shells I found were broken, but I still thought they were beautiful, so I kept them."  I didn't know why, but I felt like we had just been a part of a "Divine Encounter."
We made our way to the dirt path which led us to the beach.  I looked down at my feet and saw to my dismay what looked like a large bed of butterflies lying dead in the sand.  There were so many of them.  They were deep black and bright orange and when I saw them I felt very sad and then a strong sense of evil.  I shook it off angrily and did not allow myself to entertain any thoughts about it because I thought Satan was using it to speak an evil threat to me about Emily.  God had already told me she would be well, and I planned to believe Him. 
It was only years later, when I spent time in Atlantic City, and the Lord brought it back to my mind that I believed it was the Lord speaking something to me after all.  He had shown me those butterflies for a purpose, but because I was so confused at the time I didn't understand it and couldn't receive it.
In my conversations with the Lord, the butterflies are usually representative of women, younger women mostly, sometimes children.  Most often they are the victims of abuse, usually sexual abuse or even sex trafficking.  I did not know this at the time. (I'll tell you about how I made that connection in a later post. And let me clarify that I never saw Emily as a victim in any related sense.)
I didn't understand that God was showing me about evil, that I was seeing something evil that He wanted me to pay attention to.  When I look back, I realize those butterflies were probably victims of the sand storm that we had experienced the day before.  The storm was too much for them.  The black on their wings felt like it represented evil that weighed them down and took away their will to live.  So much darkness had come against them.  These butterflies were precious, delicate creatures that were dying.  They should have graced the world with such beauty and instead were lying dead in the sand.
It reminds me of Genesis 4:10
"Listen, your brother's blood is crying out to me from the ground!" (God speaking to Cain.)

What I am coming to believe more and more is that the world around us gives evidence of the truth for those who have ears to hear and eyes to see.  But is is only through the Spirit of God that we can understand what is being said, by whom, what it means, and what purpose He has in opening our understanding to it.  That understanding usually comes in pieces and over a length of time, though I believe there are some people who are especially gifted in interpretation.  (I truly wish I were one of them, but that is a gift I am still praying for.)  I'm not sure that we will ever see more than "in part," but that part which God finds important to reveal to us, should never be despised.

My Thought Today

Butterflies by Emily

How often we eye the strong and expect of them more than they are able.
We take our eye off the weak and expect of them nothing at all.
In this gaze and the lack thereof, there is no look of love.

I will post more about the butterflies soon, but wanted to catch up on posting the dialogue between my Dad and I regarding my first butterfly post. If you want to follow our dialogue, you can do so at Conversations with Rev. Dad.

The Butterflies

I've decided to talk about the butterflies in pieces.  Partially because that is how they came to me.  Butterflies have been special to me personally ever since Emily was in my womb.  For each of the girls, I sort of designated an animal.  For Grace it was ducks.  Sarah was supposed to be elephants, but she decided early on she liked cows better.  Emily was butterflies.  When things started to change dramatically in my way of relating with the Lord, (some would call it an anointing, but I honestly don't know what to call it) there were certain things that began to stick out to me. Colors for instance.  Certain people who I was very close to began to be identified for me through colors.  Each of my daughters has a color, Emily's is orange.  I began to see certain things--and have a strong sense that they were forthcoming.  I didn't know if this was true or not, of God or not, something I was to learn to accept and prepare for or to pray against.  I had a sense that some difficulties lay ahead for Emily, and I was very concerned.  I got all sorts of counsel telling me to go in every direction imaginable with what was happening to me, and so I did the only thing I knew to do, I prayed.  A lot. Two separate incidents coincided that I will tell you about, in part. This is going on about five years ago.
I followed the Lord to a yard sale.  It's the only way I know how to describe it.  He basically told me where to take my car.  I had no idea where I was going or what was going to happen when I got there.  But I sensed that I would know when I needed to.  I found the yard sale and there were three items I felt strongly I was to purchase for my children, though I did not fully understand their significance at the time.  The third item Emily found.  (She was three at the time.)  I was over on the other side of the lawn and I overheard her talking to the man in charge.  She was sitting on a little white wooden rocker and calling me over because she wanted it so badly.  The man says to her, "That rocker is for a very special little girl, it's for a special Emily."  Emily's looked at him very matter-of-factly and said, "Well, I'm Emily."  The man looked at me, stunned, and I nodded.  When I walked around to the front, there was Emily's name stenciled at the top. "Well I guess that is your chair then," he said with a laugh.  We took the rocker. 
The rocker came apart and I put in the trunk of my car and forgot about it.  A few days later, I found myself in the midst of the difficult task of withdrawing from seminary.  I was also going to meet my Dad who flew into Philly that week because I had asked him to come home to be with me.  I had some time on my hands after my meeting with the school before my Dad arrived and the Lord led me to the garden at the house of one of my favorite professors. When I say led, I mean I sort of followed a post man there.  The professor was not at home, the Lord had me meet with him at another time, but I sat in his garden anyway. I wish I could describe that whole day to you, but it just seems beyond the realm of words--maybe someday I'll try. I prayed about Emily, and all of a sudden I noticed there was a beautiful off-white butterfly who seemed to be trying to get my attention.  It slowly dawned on me, though at the time I wasn't used to it, that the Lord was saying something to me through the butterfly.  And then as clearly as you can know the color of the sky by looking at it, I knew that Emily was going to fly again.  She would be well.  I walked back to the school and my Dad had just pulled up with my Uncle Bill.
"You have perfect timing," he said as he got out of the car.  I laughed to myself because it wasn't the first time I had heard those exact words that day. I knew God was ordering my every step.  He opened the trunk to put his suitcase in the back and there was the rocker, beaming white with Emily's name on it.  The assurance that flooded over my being that Emily was going to have a seat in our house was overwhelming.
It was the first time I remember the Lord showing me the idea of restoration through a butterfly.

Interruptions

I haven't forgotten about the butterflies.  I'm working on it, but it is so important that I want to do it right and thoroughly, for my own sake as well as for you to understand.  Since I lost all that I had on my computer about it I'm having to gather all my stuff up again so it is taking me some time. 

But the real reason I'm not posting about it today is that there was an interruption this morning.  The kind that puts everything on hold until you hear from God, again.  The kind that makes you go back to the very beginning and say, OK God, we need to start all over again and question everything from the very start of things.  Because I don't want anything that isn't of you.  And what I've always asked for is the truth. 

There are pirates in my territory.  I must steal it back from the enemy. 

If I fight for God may I have victory, if not, let my vessel sink to the bottom of His great, big, beautiful ocean. 

No More Than Four

"Sarah, come here.  I need to talk to you about something very important," I said.  She trotted over to my bedside where I had been reading and cocked her head to one side and squinted expectantly at me. 
"I can't tell you until you sit on my lap, it's very important."
She obligingly crawled up onto the bed and squatted on my belly and started squishing my cheeks together with her hands.  With as much seriousness as I could muster between squished cheeks I said,
"Sarah, you are not allowed to grow up any more.  Do you see my hand?"  I splayed my fingers in front of her face.  "How many is this?" 
"FIVE!" she shouted a little too loudly for the distance between us. 
"Right!" I said, "You are not allowed to do this."  I pointed to my hand.  "Only this," I said as I put my thumb down and showed her four fingers.  She giggled and then saucily asked, "Why?"
"Because if you turn five I won't have a baby anymore," I sighed in my saddest voice.  She laughed and squished my cheeks again. 
"Mommy, you're just kiddin'," she giggled.
"Well," I said, "Do you promise to be my baby forever even if your not a baby anymore?" 
"I promise!" she said firmly.  Then she added, "Daddy said I can have a playdate with Drew."
Lord help me, I'm not ready for that.  She skipped happily away and I was left to wonder how soon the last of her babyness would vanish. 
Since the beginning of the year I have spent a lot of time focusing on the idea of reverence, the fear of the Lord. 
"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding." Prov. 9:10
I'm learning so much, but I've been reluctant to share my thoughts because the subject seems so beyond the reach of words.  It's become so much a part of my world that it eventually begins to leak into my writings and I'm trying to be willing to share some of my thoughts and experiences.  I've tried to allow the fear of the Lord be the basis of everything.  Not there yet, trust me.  But it has changed the way I look at everything from spending money to eating, to writing, to working...well everything really.  Today, as I was getting ready for Sarah's Birthday party, I began to process why we celebrate.  Why do we honor people's birthdays?  And I felt it was a good and important thing to celebrate Sarah.  Sarah is important to God.  Important to our family.  Important to this world. 
Sarah was a very special baby to me.  She gave me a will to live beyond myself.  She also kept me away from numbing myself with narcotics during a time when I was going through excruciating pain.  I didn't want to take any medication that would harm my baby.  What I went through during that time was so important, and Sarah not only gave me the will to get through it, but to get through it with my eyes wide open.  I can hardly believe it was four years ago.  I remember the night she was born. My room was dark but the curtain was open to the city lights.  Matt was sleeping in the chair next to me.  I think it was about 2:30 AM.  I held Sarah in my arms and the tears streamed down my face.  I knew at that moment that all that I had gone through was worth it if the only thing I ever gained from it was her.  I still feel that way.
As I thought of all the new year might open up for Sarah, I realized that Matt and I are marking a period of closure as well.  About a year after Sarah was born, Matt and I decided we would not have anymore children.  It was a decision I prayed over very carefully.  Matt decided that he would be the one to have surgery and I believed that was the right decision.  But about two years ago I began to sense an opening in my spirit in a different direction.  I thought a lot about adopting a Brazilian boy, and even that when we visited my parents it would be good to look into it.  I was hoping my Brazilian citizenship might make the process less complicated.  But when I brought the idea up to Matt he was really firm that it was not what he wanted.  I knew I needed to respect that.  So Brazil came and went and yet still I felt an opening in my spirit.  I also knew that I could never pressure or guilt Matt into something like this.  If it was God's will than God would put the desire in his heart as well.  This would have to be brought about through Divine workings.
Now, I have to explain some things that are going to seem like they don't have anything to do with the last paragraph, but hold on for a bit because they do.
Whenever I see a cardinal, I think of Matt.  I guess you could say there is a symbolism in it for me.  And a few months ago, for reasons I could not explain, I started to feel very impressed by the color yellow, with red accents.  It is not uncommon for the Lord to speak to me through colors, but this one had me stumped. 
One afternoon I was at Rev. Mary's house and we were talking about birds, and how I often feel like God uses birds to teach me.  (Remind me to repost my story about seagulls.  I know--I keep saying I will do it, but I never do.  I'll figure it out soon.)  Anyways, Rev. Mary heartily agreed and was telling me some examples from her own journey.  ( I am so blessed to have her in my life, she makes me feel so normal.)  Just then I heard a loud tapping sound.  She smiled and said, "There's something you need to see. Go into my bedroom and peek very slowly around the doorway to the window."  I did as she said, all the while hearing the tapping  and as I saw the window I could hardly believe my eyes.  There, on the outside of the window was a beautiful yellow bird with hints of red tapping it's beak on the window like it was knocking and wanting to come in. 
I found myself in one of those moments where all the stuff that's been muddling about in your spirit collides with the physical world and all I could feel was awe.  But I didn't know what it meant.
"What kind of bird is that?"  I asked.
"It's the female cardinal." she said. 
The moment her words touched my ears the Lord shocked me so hard I had to hold myself up against the wall to keep from falling.  She was also aware of it and suggested I might need a moment.  We sat in the living room.  "What do you think the Lord is saying to you Becky?" she said calmly. 
"Well, the red cardinal is Matt," I said to Mary.  "I've known that for a while, but I didn't know the female cardinal was yellow."  I thought for a bit.  "God has been asking me for sometime what I want about something specific--about a birth."  I continued, "I thought He was just trying to help me want what He wants, but  now I'm actually beginning to feel like He's giving me a choice."  We talked through some possibilities of what it all could mean, if it was something in the natural or spiritual--but I still wasn't sure what the Lord was getting at. 
The next few weeks whenever I walked through the gardens I saw a pair of cardinals, one red and one yellow, carrying on like birds do in springtime.  The Lord kept asking me, "What do you want?"  I felt like He would walk me through my options, and then just as I thought I was sure I knew what I wanted He would show me another possibility or another way of looking at it all.  All the while he would place the question in my heart, "What do you want?"  At times I would get frustrated with the process and throw it back at Him, "I don't know what I want!  There's too many variables!  Just tell me what You want!  I want what You want!" 
Again He would help me to know more.  Finally I came to see that He was helping me to see the big picture--through His eyes.  This was why Vermeer's Painting was so significant to me.  I think in the end He knew I would desire what He desired, but He gave me the sweetness of  going through the process of allowing it to come from my deepest convictions, because it was the right decision, and because it became what I truly wanted, and not just because I thought God wanted me to want it.  It wasn't about just knowing, it was about becoming.  I knew my choice, and I knew God was pleased.  I'm not saying God gave me a guarantee.  I'm saying He allowed me to choose a possibility.
I never told Matt I was wrestling through any of this at the time.  Like I said earlier, I knew if his heart was going to change, it would have to be God's doing.  I sensed that something important was going to happen during our cruise to Bermuda, but I didn't know what to expect.  One night, we were headed back to our cabin after dinner and Matt had been flirting with babies all night.  He is a baby magnet and always points them out and coos over them.  I said to him lightheartedly, "I don't understand, you love babies so much but you don't want another one."  He answered quite seriously, "I never said that.  I said I didn't want to adopt.  If you want a baby, I will go get a reversal and we'll have another."  I was stunned.  "Really?" I said.  "You would do that?"  He was very sure, "Yes, I would."
There it was, handed to me on a platter.  No cajoling, no manipulating, no begging.  Like the Lord said, I had a choice.  But in the very words Matt chose was the affirmation that I had already made the right one.  If I wanted one, we would have one.  It wasn't what he wanted, though he would be willing to want it for me...because he loves me.  He was content, satisfied.  In that moment I felt peace that Sarah would be our last baby.  And she will always be our baby. 
It's funny, after I made my decision, the red faded from my yellow.  It was replaced with gray.  Sometimes gray represents a fogginess or confusion, a lack of clarity or even an emotional dullness.  But in the last few months the Lord has specifically been using it to represent wisdom to me--something I certainly want to welcome.  I know we all do.  The yellow speaks of light--which I hope to walk in as the Lord leads. 
Sarah's middle name is Madison.  It means son of Matthew, or in her case, child of Matthew.  Even though she came about through a time of great confusion, I know that she was a child we were chosen to have.  We are so blessed. 
You are so precious, Sarah Bear, SaSah, Babydoll, Princess...and yes, you will ALWAYS be our baby girl.
Tomorrow we'll go to the park and you can ride your new bike as long as you want...after all, it is your Birthday.
And tomorrow I will also post pictures of Sarah's Birthday party on The B Girls Blog (FYI Grandma and Grandpa).  The one at the top is Sarah by her Birthday tree.  (I hear butterflies like them, but that story is for another post.)

Mist

The sky he cries, over the sea;
Weeps against the windows of her ocean vessel,
"Let me in, let me see."

The wind stings her panes with his tears
In a sharp downward slant.
Water seeps in through the cracks.
The glass cries on both sides.

He presses for answers.
"Why does she mourn?"
But she has no use for words.
She is an enormity of wind, water, and mystery.

His cloudy mist covers
And hovers over
Her damply hidden depths;
Still her secrets remain her own.

While he does not know her sorrows
He knows well her grief
And they whisper together soul to soul
In the midst of the mist
'Til barely can be distinguished sky from sea,
Blue gray from steel green.

Note: I wrote this poem on the first morning of our trip, after reading the preface to Elie Wiesel's Night.  I could probably spend a year writing and following all the trails of emotion and questions and wonderings those 9 pages opened up in my spirit.  As I follow those trails I am simply very grateful that Wiesel wrote. My Lord reminded me again how much courage He asks of His scribes. The original foreword by Francois Mauriac to Night is also priceless. That was as far as I got.  Overwhelmed with gravity, I made my way up to the 14th floor of the ship in the early morning hours to the empty bar that overlooked the dismal sea.  We had a lot of stormy weather on our ocean journey.  But I didn't mind. The Lord didn't allow me to ask for sunny weather.  Perfect weather, was the prayer He gave me. Besides, there isn't a day I don't love the sea.  Like me, she has her moods. 

I thought I would share with you some quotes of Elie's preface (this is a new preface published with the retranslation of the work by Wiesel's wife, Marion).
 "Convinced that this period in history would be judged one day, I knew that I must bear witness.  I also knew that, while I had many things to say, I did not have the words to say them.  Painfully aware of my limitations, I watched helplessly as language became an obstacle.  It became clear that it would be necessary to invent a new language.  But how was one to rehabilitate and transform words betrayed and perverted by the enemy?

...Deep down the witness knew then, as he does now, that his testimony would not be received.  After all, it deals with an event that sprang from the darkest zone of man.  Only those who experienced Auschwitz know what it was.  Others will never know. 

But would they at least understand?

And yet, having lived through this experience, one could not keep silent no matter how difficult, if not impossible, it was to speak.

And so I persevered.  And trusted the silence that envelopes and transcends words."

Elie Wiesel