a good segue

And that makes for a good segue to talk about pain.

Since starting this blog I've never mentioned any particulars of my background, my story here. Never have had the desire to wax long about it or dive deep, and what has been said now is brief and fairly descriptive.

What seems really interesting is, as obsessive as the Body is about knowledge, it seems to be even more fanatically counter-obsessive about pain.

Pain (also referred to in the bible as hardship, trials, suffering, discipline, etc) is painted by churches as of the devil. It must be shooed away, prayed away, anointed away, taken a stand against, ordered to go to hell, commanded to depart, blah blah blah. God most assuredly and absolutely does not want any of His sweet, precious, little buttercups to be in pain. Don't you know that?!?

Why else might it be that pain is seen as accursed?

It doesn't bode well for the pulpit to say that pain can be of God, sometimes is of God. This would lead to dwindling attendance numbers, which in turn would put the building mortgage and staff salaries in peril. (And God would **never** want that, now would He?)

Churches have much better numbers when this era's marketing message is proclaimed: God LOVES you, and has a WONDERFUL plan for your life.

And there we have it: the Blessing Paradigm. The overboding message of today's Church. The notion that life is to be pothole and speedbump free, and the instant it isn't, that is the devil and God wants nothing but to change that asap.

That's the first step. The second step of the paradigm is God's unquenching desire to do nothing but shower you with so many blessings you can't contain yourself.

This is a very cunning message. Very slick. Very crafty. Entire empires have been built on it. And there are some good teachers who have succumbed to its message and its numbers. But that's getting ahead a bit. For now let's stick with the pain is evil, pain is not of God stuff.

Have you ever been to a church that had a prayer-based altar call during the service? One where they have "prayer partners" up front who will pray with you? How is this whole prayer time marketed? Something along the lines of "If you have a need in your life--relational, financial, maybe pertaining to a job--we just want to pray with you." Some churches will add the additional tag line something along the lines of "we just want to agree with you in prayer, that God wants to help you break through what you're going through".

The message is: if you have crap going on in your life, in any regard, it's not of God and He wants to right the ship that has somehow turned on its side.

So, what then? Is this saying that the converse is true? That those of us who Follow must have some type of oh-my-God crisis going on in our lives 24/7?

No, not at all. Rather, it's saying that there will be times as Followers where our lives will be poured out like a drink offering, and this, friend, is of God.

If this isn't taking place on some kind of basis, then Houston we have a problem.

Dal Segno Al Fine (from the sign to the end)

Poser, Poser, Poser.

You're being like other narcissistic people I know. My reference point for the Knowledge post was penned on March 6th. Many things have been incubating and swirling inside since then, and I've been wanting to revisit them. Shall I send you my follow-up draft on pain before posting it, since I failed to send you the draft of the follow-up post about knowledge beforehand?

My only reference to scriptures are the four you rattled off in true Al Capone style here the other day. Rat-a-tat-tat. Followed, of course, by your make-believe verse, "the meekness of His kingdom of love".

I swear, dude, maybe someday you'll realize love has a thousand different faces, not just the 200 sheepish, patty-cake ones you and millions of others think constitute the whole--half of which are forever stained with the feces of false humility, as you demonstrated for us so well here the other day.

I expressed an interest three times to discuss your verses-plus-1 here, and you would none of it.

And you want me to believe you'll be genuine behind closed doors when you are not genuine in public? What is that Jesus says about whitewashed tombs and dead mens' bones? I don't care to see your skeletons. I'd much rather deal with whitewashed you here in the open, you'd be much cleaner here.

I have great suspicions of someone who ducks and runs multiple times...then has the nerve to say they don't duck and run. And I'm to trust you in that darkened alley you're bidding me to? Let's see, you've been wearing a mask from the minute you showed up, and I see the shiny reflection of that dagger you're not quite hiding all the way behind your back. What do you think I am, stranger?

You never owned up to yourself here, while you claim you can and will own up to yourself elsewhere? You smeared your shit on this blog. This is where the mess was, and you're "no no, go over there instead. I'll clean it up over there." You are a fucking pussy, dude. Said with the love of Jesus--one of those other faces of His which you don't think exists.

So stick your private email request up your ass, it'll look good there next to your brains.

As for your surmising I wrote any of the Knowledge post because of the last few days, take a number and break out War & Peace while you wait. You are about #1183 down the list of people who have slung useless verses and Christianese psychobabble my way in a variety of contexts over the last few years. This is a deductive writing, not an inductive one. Jump off that narcissistic train, pal. You're one of thousands, and the last in a loonnnngggg line. This is not something that just cropped up.

As for my daughter, she is special, I think. She is growing up fast as a 5 yr-old and I actually am missing it, from 900 miles away. Between Christmas Day and last week I spent a grand total of six days with her.

All praise be to her godless black-hearted bisexual mother-fucking cunt egg-donor, who got up under oath and lied her conscienceless God damn fucking ass off, stripped my life with her away, and is living the life of a fucking whore right before her eyes. Oh wait, whores get paid to spread their legs, I mean fucking slut. That's what my daughter is growing up in.

Meanwhile, all your kin who try and blow bubbly, positive verses and PMA Christianity my way? They have taken, and can take, a number. Don't need the platitudes, fuck you very much.

But God bless America! This wonderful country with its great laws which have raped me dry with no Vaseline? God bless this place!

Now, wonder why people slinging hollow cliches, aimless Christianese and bible verses which are not authored by God make me angry.

The local church who kicked me to the curb, and any others who gasp "oh my, he's angry", and do nothing but try and brush my anger under the carpet with Scripture so your dainty little worlds of blessing and praise and Christian euphoria aren't disrupted? You'll be standing there on That Day while my bludgeoned heart is hanging there for the vast masses to see. You will be silent and Jesus will tell me "speak".

I will turn to you, and through gritted teeth and barely able to speak through the tears, I will growl, "I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink. I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat. I was an angry stranger and you did not invite me in." As I say this God the Father's heart will break, and Jesus' eyes of fire will burn right through you. You will turn to Jesus and say "But Lord, didn't we sing praise songs in Your Name, take a stand for You against man's anger, defend Your Word faithfully, and spend our time warming our voices in practice for this 24/7/365 PraiseFest which is now before us?" And He will say "I never knew you. Depart from Me, you who do wickedly."

So go ahead, marvel why I go off on the callous Body. Ponder why I lash out that this life is not about being a BlessingFest, nor seeing how orgasmic your precious "praise & worship" time can be. You're nothing but a bunch of stone-hearted, blind, self-inebriated pieces of shit, you double sons of hell whose "compassion" reeks of vulture vomit.

You're God damn right I'm pissed. Go ahead and quote me your little "man's anger does not bring about the righteousness God desires" verses til you're blue in the fucking face, and please include the verses about the tongue while you're at it. Quote them all to me, you praise and blessing whores. Bow to your golden calves. You're all about your knowledge, garnering blessings and popping a woody during worship, and none about men's hearts.

Now, Poser, you have now promised three times you wouldn't come back. You've struck out, and are now furthering your yo-yo, triple-speak con job by trying to bend even more rules (which you implemented) while trying to wipe the egg off your face. Just go, dude. Your diaper is already down around your ankles. Don't make it worse.

And that, my friends, is what is called seeing into someone's heart.

Good day.

Knowledge

I continue to not know what spouting a bunch of verses, either said or written to me, or posted or preached anywhere, is supposed to do.

I mean it, I don't know what it's supposed to start, say, convey, cause or finish. Within any of us.

I used to, but I have gone from Saul to Paul with this. I honestly and totally no longer understand this.

It's as if rattling off a bunch of stuff is some kind of kingpin thing. Creates some kind of uncontestable Kingdom aura. I guess?

Where the whole world stands still and holds it breath cause the Wor-duh!!!!!!!!!! is being "proclaimed". (by who?)

Is Jesus supposed to appear with a heavenly magic wand, sprinkle some kind of powerful fairy dust or somethin' when this happens?

God connects no dots for me when the laundry list gets scrolled out. Every time someone rattles off verses to me I have questions. And I kid you not, no exaggeration, no one will stay around to talk about my questions regarding the list of verses they've just slung.

They just launch their Holy Hand Grenade and book the hell out. It's a pattern with an easily recognizable signature. Think their explosion of verses decimates any potential for questions. They never stick around. Never come check out the aftermath cause they presume nothing will be in the wake but carnage.

I've yet to see one person, even one, respond after firing their RPG (Rocket Propelled Gospel) my way. They think I'm dead-- drowned or viscerated by the avalanche of what they perceive is "Truth". (it's not) Or at the least I'm maimed, and there will therefore be no possible discussion. I'm undoubtedly silenced, so they don't engage. Won't dialogue. Amazing.

And this, folks, is what is called "witnessing" and "sowing seeds" and "taking a stand for Christ" in the 21st century Body. This is it.

It's the Church's twist of the Knowledge Is King poison in this society.

Knowledge is king. Period. And the Church has fallen for this hook, line and sinker. If you spout more verses than me, you "win". You're spiritual, you're on track, you're of God, you're this, you're that.

Society's gig with knowledge is: get as much education as you can. This is pounded from day one. Also, knowledge equates to power, equates to being somebody, equates to having the upper hand, equates to advantage, equates to superiority, equates to success. And human success and conditions are somehow the measure of "fruit".

Watch our news so you can be the first to be informed. Make an informed decision. Join us for breakdown and analysis of the game, the speech, the disaster, the rescue, the downfall. Blah blah blah.

It's everywhere.

And what does the Church do with regard to knowledge? It follows the lead of society, what else would you expect?

It is just as rabid in its charge for Followers to: read the bible, read all these other umpteen million Christian books, watch these Christian documentaries, buy these tapes from this Christian seminar, listen to Christian radio, fill your mind with Christian xyz, follow these x-step patterns to faith, worship, growth, maturity, love, salvation, ministry, gifts, ad nauseum.

And...for what?

Knowledge is just knowledge.

I was talking with a friend the other day about some Jesus stuff when they said, "I need to read my Bible more".

My response? "Maybe."

So...knowledge.

So what?

painful beauty

Last week my daughter and I spent a few days in Chicago. It was her first trip there, and my first visit back in six years. Our plane flight out from Chicago was not until late in the evening Thursday, so we had all day for whatever we thought to do.

There were pleasant moments throughout the visit, yet the one sticking in my mind is a beautifully painful one, or painfully beautiful perhaps better said.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse on Wednesday afternoon, and by the time Thursday rolled around it was cold with a downright sting rather than a nip in the air. The temperature was in the 20's, then with the humidity off Lake Michigan and winds no less than 20-25 in downtown it was quite a contrast of temperatures both from where she lives and from earlier in our Chicago trip. Toward the end of the day it was time for us to retrieve our luggage from the hotel we'd been staying at and take The El (metro train/subway system) to the airport.

I decided we'd walk eight blocks to the hotel, then take a cab with our luggage seven blocks to the subway station. We could have taken a cab both ways, but looking back on it now I'm glad it seemed good for us to walk the first part. We were about half way to the hotel when the late afternoon weather started to really show itself to the sun. We were walking in shadows of buildings, and the wind was really doing its thing. As we walked down the street hand in hand, my daughter said "I'm cold, Daddy."

I have a knack of paralleling my life with her to my life with my Dad, the Man Upstairs. This situation at hand followed that pattern. I acknowledged her statement with an "I know, sweetheart, we only have a few blocks to go".

As I digested her words, I turned and silently said the same thing to my Father, "I'm cold, Daddy".

He knew my reference was not to the weather conditions at that moment, but rather a reference to my life.

We walked another half block or so and turned east. We were now on the street our hotel was on, but were also facing directly toward Lake Michigan. I knew what that turn of the corner would mean: a combination of the strong winds amplified by the cooler air from the lake. It had been that way leaving the hotel that morning, but the wind had been at our backs. It would now be in our face.

As we made that turn we had to wait for the stop light to change to cross the street, so that last two and a half blocks began with 45 seconds of standing dead still before we could walk one foot closer to the hotel. Even though she wasn't saying anything further I could tell my daughter was miserable. When the light turned green we ran across the street, then she once again commented how cold it was. I picked her up, faced her body toward me and crossed my arms under her hamstrings as she buried her head into my shoulder and put her arms around my neck.

And then I began to run.

Maybe it looked like a jog to anyone else, but what would a sprint look like if you were wearing a 45-pound sack of potatoes around your neck and chest? All I know is I was going as fast as I could, driven by a Rocky-like desire to abate a bitter situation for my own flesh and blood.

I made it about a block going as fast as I could while a searing pain took root in my lower back. I kept running, and as the pain increased I let out a gutteral growl. My daughter lifted her head and asked "what's wrong, Daddy?"

"My back hurts, sweetheart" I said between breaths and kept on. The pain was really bad at this point, and yet the hotel entrance was 75 yards ahead. I kept running and let out another growl. My daughter raised her head again and said "are you hurting, Daddy?" "Yes, baby", I gritted between my teeth.

I kept running, and then started to cry. There was such a swirl of emotion in that moment that I just couldn't bear it anymore. I hurt like hell, and yet I wanted to take care of my flesh and blood. It didn't matter that I hurt, I wanted to keep going, and yet the wind, the weight and my back were conspiring together to kill me. I hated their opposition, and their effect.

My crying made my daughter start to cry. She knew that I was hurting, and when I hurt she hurts. When I cry, she cries. She's very in tune with Daddy's heart, and what he feels she feels.

I made it about 10 more yards and just couldn't do it anymore. I stopped and set her down behind a small facade sticking out from the building next to our hotel. It jutted out about 18 inches from the wall, and I thought it would be enough to shield her from the wind while I let my back and breath catch back up.

The facade did nothing for her. I could tell right away it was still bitter and she was still miserable. What I hoped would be a 20 or 30 second catch-up became a two-second respite of nothingness. The back pain had not subsided in the least, and yet here came that eye-of-the-tiger surge and overflow from the core of my spirit to keep going even in the midst of my own pain.

I quickly picked her back up and took off again. Not 5 yards into those last 50 yards the daggers in my back let themselves be known more than ever. I began to growl again, and cry. This really upset my daughter. She knew I was in pain, and yet saw me going on in spite of it. She pleaded with me to stop and I said "No, I'm not stopping."

I kept forging ahead, gutterally making a fool of myself. The more I growled and cried the more upset she got. She kept pleading amidst her tears for me to stop, and I kept telling her through my tears and gritted teeth and shortened breath that I wasn't going to.

We were both tearful, crying wrecks as we neared the hotel doors, to the point we attracted the attention of the bellman, the doorman and guests outside the front. I didn't give a shit what they thought, or what they knew or didn't know. I just wanted to take care of my daughter, and to do so was killing me.

I made it to within 5 yards of the hotel and collapsed. I didn't fall, or drop her, my body just gave out as I simultaneously prodded her to the door to get in out of the cold. We entered the hotel lobby both crying messes. It was about 5:30, and the hotel lobby was full of posh, sophisticated business people in the lobby lounge and bar. They were involved in their business chatter and professional posing. The gentleman playing the lobby piano, in cumberbund and tuxedo, was making those ivory keys sing, doing a great job facilitating the Lawrence Welk, everything is wonderful atmosphere.

My daughter and I stumbled loudly and unelegantly to the closest two lounge chairs we could find, she still crying and me with a grimacing look on my face, gasping for air. We crashed that party like a bull in a china closet. Quite unbecoming for the slice of Americana we had barged in on.

We sat there for several minutes. She said "you were hurting, Daddy. It was hurting you to help me."

There are so many things she says that are parallels of God's fatherhood to us. I always try to respond back to further these parallels. "Yes, sweetheart, it did hurt Daddy to help you, but all I wanted to do was help you, it didn't matter the pain that Daddy was in."

Later that night out of the blue she said "Daddy, you were hurt so that you could help me".

"Yes, sweetheart, that's right."

I'm really glad we walked those eight blocks.

And I'm really glad the weather was miserable.

have you ever pondered

that in the prodigal son story the father is displeased with the son who lives by the book, does everything "right", goes to church every time the doors are open, votes for justifiably endorsed candidates, drinks only certain beverages, wears acceptable clothing, embraces (and scorns) everything a decent person "should", surmises he is aligned with his father's view toward things?

And so I wonder why there is such a glut of churches who teach, herald and embrace "right" living. Why so many say that living by the book and staying between the lines equates to favor in Father's eyes, and "righteousness".

This helps me digest why I find myself shunning that type of life, and why I am more and more embracing and savoring the unrefined, unpolished, unprofessional, unbecoming, raw, dirty, suspicious, scorned and scandalous people and things around me.

They are beautiful.

And no wonder when people scorn the unrefined, unbecoming, raw, dirty, suspicious, scandalous things about me.


"If then you have died in Jesus to material ways of looking at things and have escaped from the world's crude and elemental notions and teachings of externalism, why do you live as if you still belong to the world? [Why do you submit to rules and regulations?--such as] do not handle [this], do not taste [that], do not even touch [them], referring to things all of which perish with being used.

To do this is to follow human precepts and doctrines. Such [practices] have indeed the outward appearance [that popularly passes] for wisdom, in promoting self-imposed rigor of devotion and delight in self-humiliation and severity of discipline of the body, but they are of no value in checking the indulgence of the flesh (the lower nature). [Instead, they do not honor God but serve only to indulge the flesh.]" (Colossians excerpt)

ships

A ship in a harbor is safe,
but that is not what ships are made for.

today's wonder

Is this a baseball?

Or is it not?

God doesn't care about life like you or I do

Starting about two years ago I began to grow quite tired of hearing people talk about how much God cares about human life.

And my sentiments regarding this only continue to grow over time.

This is not saying He doesn't care about human life. He does.

It's saying God values human life differently than humans do. And we are continually attempting to transpose our value into God's mouth. When are we going to stop?

We act, live and think as if God is not still in the business of sacrificial love.

It is this observation that He is.

Don't think I am immune to this, or that I might be barking because I'm the dog instead of the fire hydrant as far as this is concerned.

I exist, yet I have had my own life squelched for another's sake. The pain I see in them because of this living death sears the core of my soul with a ferocity and frequency which won't be discussed here.

I have seen life sacrificed for my sake. And I'm not talking about relatives dying of old age and cancer, nor soldiers whose blood rests on distant shores.

I know people who have life today because of humanly horrific circumstances involving death. And I know people personally who have been sacrificed for the sake of others.

I wish people would stop trying to peg God as having human sentiments about life and death when things happen.

It's rather underwhelming. It tends to really fester when things like tsunamis, 9/11, tornadoes and Katrina occur.

Yet to me it's no less hemorrhoidal when any scale of death takes place.

It would be good if we as a group would just shut up more, and quit intimating that God holds human views of a variety of things, life and death included.

pain

There is a form of pain which recalibrates one's understanding of the word.

It is a pain where knowledge enters a cocoon, dies an excruciating death, and emerges as compassion.

So many go to great lengths to avoid pain and death.

Avoidance breeds superficiality.

Any wonder, then, why so much shallowness in churches today?

com - "with"

passion - "pain"

Any churches where the ongoing message is pain (the path to compassion) instead of pleasure (blessing) and praise (the path to superficiality)?

And knowledge...why heralded as the end-all of the faith, instead of as one of several introductory stepping stones on the path toward something far beyond it, infinitely more powerful?

the crowning glory of America

A friend's divorce was finalized today.

Chalk up another victory for the fugacious harlots running rampant in this land.

They sell their soul to the god of happiness, the flitting emotion of illusion.

You demand others to hone in to your personal magnetic north, which is always...moving...here...no...there...no, really...no...yes...no...

Or, more accurately, does not exist except in your imprudent minds.

Buy the lies and bow to the golden calf.

Out of your mouths comes the feigned desire for God to forgive your deliberate and calculated acts.

You don't mention anything from 2Tim3 or 1Tim4 when you converse with God, do you sweetie pies?

You will lose no sleep tonight.

The Lazaruses you have created will be up, licking the sores with your names seared into them.

song lyrics

i know a town where people are running
away from life, it seems always funny
they think they are smart
don't doubt what they say
scared of a change
existing only
to bring me down

thoughtless in heart, desperate in honesty
failed from the start, wasted and suffering
supply them their drugs, just don't take them away
scared of a change
existing only
to bring me down

"The Down Town" by Days Of The New

excerpts from the American Version bible

There is a newly released edition of the bible, called the American Version. It incorporates current views of American society and American Christians into the bible.

Here are a couple of excerpts.


(beginning of Mark 3):

"Another time he went into the synagogue, and a man with a shriveled hand was there. Some of them were looking for a reason to accuse Jesus, so they watched him closely to see if he would heal him on the Sabbath. Jesus said to the man with the shriveled hand, 'Stand up in front of everyone.'

Then Jesus asked them, 'Which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save life or to kill?' But they remained silent.

He looked around at them warmly with a positive smile on his face and, patient and compassionate toward their stubborn hearts, said to the man, 'There is a world renowned hand surgeon in Jersualem. He comes highly recommended. Look him up. Following your surgery, there is an equally renowned prosthetician in Jericho and physical therapist in Samaria. They are as renowned as the first surgeon. Look them both up. You'll be in my thoughts and prayers.'

The man went and did as Jesus had suggested. The surgery went well, there were no major complications (thanks to the prayers and concern of others), the man's insurance covered the cost of the prosthetic except for a nominal copay, and the work with the physical therapist went well.

Within two years the man had recovered about 98% of his original use of the hand. He was able to once again be a successful and contributing member to society. Everyone at his church swooned and swooned about the three doctors who had helped this man.

Then the Pharisees went out and began to plot with the Herodians how they might kill Jesus."


(end of Matthew 8)

"28 When he arrived at the other side in the region of the Gadarenes, two demon-possessed men coming from the tombs met him. They were so violent that no one could pass that way. 'What do you want with us, Son of God?' they shouted.

Jesus was taken aback by their vulgarity and violence. He gave them a disconcerting look, and did his best to avoid them. Later, among friends, he talked about these disgusting men, and everyone their shook their heads in disbelief and scorn about these troublemakers.

Jesus went by that way again and the two men were again violent. Jesus knew he was called to take a stand for righteousness, so he contacted the police, who arrested the men.

Both men were diagnosed with mental disorders. One of them was diagnosed with emotional dysregulation, a common symptom of borderline personality disorder. The other was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. Both men were treated with IM injections and received dialectical-behavioral therapy."

Now, we know this is not how either of these stories go, yet are these accounts of these stories not as society and the Church at large view them?

Are we nothing but mere lemmings?

Are we nothing but moronic regurgitators who mindlessly approach, view and live as the world does?

It's hard for me to stomach that Jesus was beaten to a bloody pulp so we could live meek, powerless lives dominated by the perceptions of those who snub their nose at Him.

some of the fruit

Without overcommitting, last month mentioned possibly penning a post or two about some of the fruit that's been sparsely mixed in with the barrenness during this long winter season.


A few weeks ago, on the night of February 14th and into the morning of February 15th, I drove overnight from Tennessee to Texas.

I got a later start than I'd intended, leaving about 8:45pm on Wednesday night and getting to my destination around 7:30am Thursday morning.

At 3:00am, I'm driving along when all of a sudden the Holy Spirit brings someone to mind. It's a friend who is a missionary. They have commonly been in Africa (Sudan, Tanzania, etc) with a sprinkling in Europe over the two years that I've known them.

They usually come home for very brief visits twice a year, once in December and once in July.

So I'm driving along and the Spirit does His thing, and as I start to think of them I begin to surge into God's heart to know what is going on with them.

I have no interest in sissy, vague-ish prayers. You know those types of prayers, "oh God, please bless So-n-So. Bless their work for You. Keep them safe as they serve You and sow seeds for your Kingdom, Lord, blah blah blah."

Ehhh! That doesn't fly in my book. Too generic, too superficial, too marginalized.

After all, are we not to be salt, rather than some weak, diluted something else that has lost its saltiness?

I want to REALLY know what is going on, hundreds or thousands of miles away. Distance means nothing.

I don't know how to explain it, but suffice it to say when I really pressed into God with regard to my friend I got something back.

As I pressed in, I got the sense that at that very hour, at that moment (3am where I was), they were in some type of intense situation above and beyond their normal decisions and routine of life as a missionary.

There was something of intensity, concern, perhaps even gravity, going on. Not that a missionary in Africa's life is without concerns and perils already, it just seemed like this "whatever it was" was something extra, not normal, not what they would generally encounter. It didn't seem to the point of life-threatening, but it did seem of great importance.

So that is what I prayed. I prayed for whatever intense, trying, perhaps even perilous situation they might be involved in.

I always make a point to note what time it is this friend is brought to mind for prayer. Since they could be in any time zone in the world, I like to tell them the day and time I was praying for them to see if/how that measures up with what they were doing or encountering at the time.

In my history for praying for them, there have been times the prayers were for general things, and others when I sensed the prayer was for that moment. This one was one of those "in this moment" ones, or so it seemed...

I had no idea, really. When I first have these prayers the thought definitely goes through my mind "Am I whack? Why on earth did I pray that? That is crazy, I'll have to let them know and see if I was totally off base or what."

So thanks to my laptop being out of commission, I didn't have the chance to email this friend until eleven days later, on February 26th. I described to them what went on in the middle of the night, in the wee hours of the morning of the 15th in the U.S..

Sometimes it is some time before hearing back from them, and I expect this because they are out of the States so much of the year and Africa is not exactly teeming with Starbucks or wi-fi connections.

To my surprise, I received an email from them within 24 hours.

Here is their reply:


"Its been a while. Hope you are doing well.

Wow, I read your email the first time and was like.... hmmm... couldn't think of anything happening that night. But I read the dates wrong.

Later in the day, I re-saw the dates & realized. I flew back to the U.S. on 2/14 and a friend of mine picked me up in my car really late at the airport. At about 2.00 am (my time, add an hour for central to 3.00 am), my car overheated & we were stranded on the side of the road in Montana, which might as well be the middle of no where. We waited for someone to pick us up from the missionary organization, but meanwhile dodged some weirdos that 'stopped to help'. Since we were only single women, we were skeptical of any 'help' at that hour of the night. We were praying no one else would stop & were fighting some fear since I didn't have a cell phone signal.

So, Yeah WOW.... you heard from God. Be encouraged & I'm really touched... how much God loves us, He prompts people to pray on our behalf the moment we need it. I'm stiting here with the friend who was waiting in the car with me and she can't belive it! She's like, 'whoa... that gives me chills.' Needless to say, THANK YOU FOR Praying."

The thing that really trips me up about today's Body is the notion that the life of a follower of Jesus, life being nudged and led by the Holy Spirit, is this orderly, sane, tranquil, pain free, euphoric existence.

To the contrary, I commonly find the things the Holy Spirit prods me to do seem nuts from a human standpoint.

Because of this, every time I send this friend an email I always start off with a disclaimer: "this is probably going to sound weird, but...", "I could well be wrong, but..." and then proceed to mention what went on in my thinking, praying and pondering about them has been.

The human part of my mind shouts I have no clue what is going on half the world away. And I don't.

It's just like in the movie Field of Dreams when Costner says "I have just created something totally illogical." When nudged by the Spirit it is common to do and pray things that are totally illogical...

This was not the first time that what was nudged to pray for my friend was spot on. No kudos for me, that's the Holy Spirit.

The word for Spirit (from Holy Spirit) in the bible is the same for word for "breath" and "wind". So yeah, when we lean into God we are close enough to hear his Breath, hear when the Spirit speaks what's going on with God. (John 16)

When life becomes one of intercourse and being led by God's Spirit, it's natural for part of us to think what we hear is nuts. He tells us and prods us to say and do things that sometimes seem totally whack.

Don't for one minute think it's a quiet, orderly, serene thing when we become part of what God is doing.

Go read the book of Acts, or dare to tell God you want to be part of His life (versus asking Him to be part of yours), and then tell me I'm lying.

Be forewarned. If you tell God you want to get in on the script He's penning, get ready for some MAJOR tilling and unearthing. You can pretty much bank your life will become pretty close to opposite what is being preached in the pulpit.

(The pulpit has to preach safely. They have to keep the people coming in the doors to pay the mortgage and the salaries. It's thin ice to preach about life as we know it becoming uprooted and disheveled.)

But that's how much of a gentleman God is. He doesn't brow beat anyone away from playing country club into a life of dishevelment without their asking for it. Most people are introduced to a safe, country club type of Christianity from the word go. If we want to play country club, make our appearances and live in the realm of "I'm blessed, brother, how are you", so be it.

Doing so will relegate us to Christian "power" consisting of 'lifestyle evangelism', being a 'living witness' and telling people "I'll be praying for you" and "God bless you".

That's about as powerful as it gets. Nice and safe. And that's why so many are into this. There is no danger or unpredictability.

If we're going to move from there and get on God's page, there is some rather painful detangling that must take place.

Spiritual detox is not even remotely pain free.

Yet it's only when we get over onto His page that raising the dead, healing the sick, dispelling demons, cleansing lepers and drinking poison which will not harm us type things start to come into the realm of reality.

Talk of this type of power puts on the brakes for most people. Most Christians run as fast and as far away as they can from this. Others somehow embrace it. Others go around the corner but peek their head back around in curiosity, and given some time might wander back over, unsure but intrigued.

The ones who run away will relish Harry Potter stuff but they won't believe the very things their Creator bids them to embrace.

Have you ever pondered that Jesus is not speaking out of His ass when He tells you and me "greater things than I have done will you do, because I go to the Father"?

Later in the NT we read "every man has been given the measure of faith".

Not the measure of faith you've already tapped and are embracing right now. The other kind.

It's in there. In you. In me. Placed there by our Designer.

Would we venture to tap it?

Grab your toupee before you say yes.

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