Amazing Grace

In September of 2008, God allowed me to sing my grandma into eternity. She was a strong woman and fought to the very end, but went peacefully. A gift such as this would come along only once in a lifetime.

Or would it?

In the wee hours of Monday June 7, 2010, I was getting ready to sleep for a couple hours in the adjoining bed in mom's hospital room. By this time, we all knew her time was short, but only God knew the minute and hour he'd call her home. The nurse came in to take mom's vitals. Asked me if I needed anything. I brushed my teeth. I leaned over mom and talked to her. Told her I was going to nap in the bed next to her, I wasn't leaving the room, I'd be right there.

In that moment, her respirations dropped in half. I got closer, kissed her forehead, caressed her cheek, told her I love her. I said, "Ok mom. I'm not going to sleep. I'm just going to stay right here with you, ok?" And I did. More talking. More kissing. More breathing in her scent.

Without even knowing what was happening, I said, "Mom? I don't know if you want me to sing to you like I did grandma, but I sure will."

Amazing Grace

How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me

Mom's mouth moved for the first time in days, as if she was singing with me. I started over because I couldn't remember any other words.

Amazing Grace

How sweet the sound

And she breathed her last.

Twice in a lifetime I sang the two most important women in my life into eternity. There is no such thing as coincidence.

(Parentheses)

I went to a writing conference and my mom needed medical treatment.

Once home, I found out my mom has a brain tumor.

My mom has lymphoma.

I've been with her nearly every day.

My mom seems to like to sleep when I'm with her. And that's ok. She needs to rest and heal.

(I've been writing.)

The hospital has been my office. My husband has become the homeschool mom and housewife. And I take my lunch and my laptop to the not-so-comfortable chair next to my mom and I turn on Pandora and she sleeps (and I write.)

Good days. Bad days. But the worst days have not been caused by tumors or lymphomas, but by careless humans.

(on those days, I cannot write.)

But on the days, which are most days, that mom wants a cool washcloth on her eyes and wants to nap while I'm with her (those days, I write.)

And in the (parentheses) of one planned writing conference to a surprise second one, I have finished one proposal of my own and one with a very good friend. This surprise second conference includes a meeting with a publisher who is interested in both proposals.

And today is June 1. Jill's birthday. Last year, we moved into our new home and new life on this day. This year I'm praying for my mom to recover. I'm also praying for what's been happening in the (parentheses) of my life.

His Mercies...

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed..."

And I was not consumed yesterday. I might have been having a great big pity party yesterday, but I was not consumed by anything other than my selfish tragedies. (Name that Jeremy Camp song. One of my favorites.)

"...for his compassions never fail."

I can't tell you how many understanding nurses gave me a hug yesterday after I wrote that. And one Ivy Tech Student instructor sought me out in the little oncology-floor waiting room and said, "You look awful distressed today and I think you need to talk it out. What is going on?" Then she gave me the biggest hug. Thank God for her.

"They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him’.”

And they are new today. I feel better. Thank you, my friends, for your comments, your emails, and most of all, your prayers. (((hugs)))

Bad Attitude

Confession: I have a bad attitude.
Truth: If you know me, you probably already know this.

Not about everything and everyone, though. Just some things. And man, I get pretty passionate about those things.

In my head, I don't have that bad of an attitude. It's more that I'm stating my opinion. When things work and are decent I'm pretty apathetic, really. I enjoy the good stuff, don't get me wrong. The good memories are all stored away in my heart--promise. But the bad stuff pisses me off.

I've been working on being more positive.

Confession: I tend to be in the empty half of the glass.
Truth: I don't know why. And it takes a lot of work to think positive.

I used to be a lot worse. Ask Phil. I used to believe that anything bad could and would happen to me (and most times, it did.) I was constantly worried. Like when Phil was driving over the road without me. In the days before cell phones. There were a couple times when I couldn't get him to respond to me paging him. I don't remember why now, but what I do recall is how obsessive frantic I would get. I'd call the pager 172 times in a few hours, I'd call State Troopers along his route, not to mention calling all the hospitals along the way.

I also believed Phil would leave me. And I believed I wasn't worthy of anyone's love. I believed I was a bad person and bad things would continue to happen to me.

I'm not quite that bad anymore. But sometimes those anxieties rear their ugly heads. (more than usual lately)

Confession: I don't care if you don't like me.

Truth: I don't care if you don't like me.

It's not just something I say. I truly don't care if you don't like me. I'm not here to please you. And why should it bother me if someone doesn't like something I do or say? Is my worth resting in a human?

I have no use for some people. I tolerate very little. I tell it like it is. And most often, that gets me in trouble. Some people want to be lied to. They want to feel good about themselves so they fish for compliments or blog comments or Twitter responses or Facebook conversations...anything. Anything at all to get attention.

I might have been like that when I was younger, which is probably why I can't tolerate it now. I sought out acceptance like it was a drug.

Except it's more powerful than any drug out there.


Confession: I am judgmental.

Truth: I always have been.

Not towards everyone though. Rational, logical people very seldom are judged by me. It's the people who make no sense to me that I wonder about.

Confession: I am a hypocrite.

Truth: So are you.

We all are.

Confession: I'm not good at encouragement.

Truth: I don't know how to change that.

I've been doing this Beth Moore Bible study and in the last session something very powerful happened to me.

Let me go back to November of 2005. I was asked by my Church to attend a Lifeway Women's Leadership Training conference.

Something happened there--well, it started a little before that. I had done another Beth Moore study and she had mentioned (quite often) having a spiritual "mama," a mentor. I prayed and prayed for one and God didn't answer.

Until this leadership conference.

I had felt just a tad bit uncomfortable eating meals at the conference because it seemed everyone there was with someone else from their own church. This observation was verified by the name tags that said the name of the church as well as the attendee's name.

We were meeting in Lifeway's sanctuary for a little music from Travis Cottrell before the day's classes began. I chose a pew 5 or 6 rows from the front, scooted myself to the middle and buried my nose in the day's schedule to verify that the sessions I chose were truly the ones I wanted to attend.

The music started, I stood up and started singing along. I looked to my left. Empty. I turned to my right. Empty. I realized then that I was the only one in the very, very, long pew and I was smack in the middle. I looked forward and behind. It was the only pew in the entire sanctuary that had open seats. And I was smack in the middle.

The uncomfortableness of it all sank in. I closed my eyes and asked, "Why can't I have someone to be with? Why can't I have a mentor?"

God's answer was loud and clear, even if silent, "Am I not enough?"

He really proved a point to me that day.

For the last 5 years, I've been going at it (from an earthly prospective) alone. No human mentors, not many humans that could relate to me and my spirituality, and I've been perfectly ok with that. I stopped asking for human mentors and friends. I leaned fully upon Christ.

Last week, at the end of the Stepping Up video session, Beth Moore asked participants to stand up and move in shoulder to shoulder. Our facilitator asked us to get up and do the same. Beth explained that as sisters in Christ, we should be shoulder to shoulder at all times. We should not let the enemy penetrate our bond. We should encourage one another, be there to bear each other's burdens, love each other unconditionally, and stand this way, shoulder to shoulder.

As she was saying all this, I was standing between two women I don't know. Shoulder to shoulder. Touching. There was a line of women in front of me and behind me all shoulder to shoulder. Surrounding me and non-penetrable.

I closed my tear-filled eyes and asked, "This means something, doesn't it?"

God answered again, silently, and not near as stern as before. The answer was yes. But He didn't tell me what exactly it meant.

God Totally Called Me Out

You're probably not going to believe this.

So really, the truth is, I don't want to believe this.

I joined this Bible study because I needed to get back to God. I don't know a single person at the study and have never stepped foot in this church. (If you want to catch up on the story. Read this. Then this. And this.)

So, Beth Moore was on the video for Stepping Up, talking about the Psalms as songs and it was so very interesting. She was reading some verses and having us flip to some in our Bibles and we were in Psalms and had to move to Hosea and I flipped right to it because I know where Hosea is and I know the story Hosea tells and just the other day I likened my lifetime-relationship-search for God to Hosea, so yeah, I know right where it is. But the girl next to me didn't and for a moment, when I saw her go to the table of contents, I started (in my mind) judging her and I have no excuses. I just did. And I thought to myself, you should give her a little grace. There's no reason you should be thinking this stuff, this is stupid.

Then I hear Beth Moore on the video say, "ALL of us need to turn to the table of contents to see where Hosea is, lest we should get prideful in our hearts because we know where it is and our neighbor doesn't."

OUCH.

If the girl who sat next to me at Bible study last night is reading this, I want to apologize. Which makes me a coward, because I totally couldn't work up the nerve to say it last night. But I am sorry and I don't want to be like that.

If there was a time when I thought God couldn't possibly know and react to my every thought--that was washed away completely last night. You skeptics can call that coincidence. I think otherwise, though.

And I feel horrible and really need to change some things. What made it even worse (for me, in my head) is when I got up to leave she said, "Be careful going home, Michelle, it's snowing pretty bad." She knew my name and cared enough to wish me well. And here I am, being all mean in my head. For no reason.

Time to make some serious attitude adjustments.

Now What?

It was very hard for me to hit "publish" on this one.

* * *

In October of 1999, Zane was born. Phil was driving our semi over the road and he was home one day out of every thirty. That year, Jill and I spent New Year's Eve together afraid for Y2K. We survived.

In 2000, we filed bankruptcy on that semi and moved back to Indiana and lived with my parents for a short time. Phil found a driving in job in Chicago and he was home two days out of every seven.

In 2001, 9/11 happened and I was scared for our lives. I'd never, ever heard it so quiet outside as when all planes were grounded. That month, we found a duplex to rent, Zane turned 2, potty-trained and I was still trying to decide if I was a good mom or not.

In 2002...Phil got a local job hauling fuel and was home EVERY night.

In 2003, Phil and I bought the Knox house. I started attending a church for the first time since I was let down by a different church back in 1992.

In 2004, doctors thought Phil had cancer. He didn't. He did, however, punch a wall and break his hand and have to have pins put in.

In 2005, I was reading my Bible daily, active in Women's ministry (and Phil in men's ministry) and I was really getting to know God. Jill told me she had breast cancer and had already been battling it for a year. She'd already had a mastectomy and chemo and radiation. She made me get a breast exam. And I think they thought I had cancer. I then had an ultra sound. Then a mammogram (and platypus poop.) Then I had to see a surgeon. He told me I didn't have breast cancer.

In 2006, I was called to write. "Write." (I noticed I posted that on 12/02/06. Wonder if that has anything to do with 12:26?) That year, I also lost my Uncle Ed. I'm not sure there's ever been a time when I felt as close to God. And that's also the year my church gave me a wake up call--lying about me, accusing me of ridiculous things, and leaving me alone during a time of huge, monumental need. Phil thought he was having a heart attack. Our fridge broke. Phil lost his job. Phil had double hernia surgery. We almost lost our house. 2006 was probably the hardest year of my life. I felt so alone that year. And God taught me more about His love than I could've ever expected.

In 2007, my thyroid completely shut down and I've been trying to get my brain (and my body and my life) back ever since. It's also the year I was asked to be on the editing team at The Midnight Diner.

In 2008, I lost my best friend, Jill in January. She might have survived Y2K, but she did not survive breast cancer. And then my grandma passed away in September. I was asked to be Editor-in-chief of The Midnight Diner.

In 2009, We were taken on a trip of a lifetime to Key West and Marco Island, Florida in March. Phil quit truck driving altogether! He started working as property manager for Inspiration Wood. We were blessed with a grandson in April. Around May, I finally started feeling like myself again with the help of some replacement thyroid hormone. We moved in June and I've been trying to figure out what life is now that Phil's home all day, every day and now that everything has changed.


* * *


I started this post with the intention of talking about how I feel separated from God right now. I mean, I know He's there, He just feels distant to me and I remember hearing people talk about feeling this way and I distinctly remember thinking, "I will NEVER feel that way. I will always feel as close to God as I do at this very moment."

I was going to talk about this new Bible I got, The Books of the Bible--with no verse references--and how I was going to start reading that for the New Year.

But I got caught up in looking at the way things got so ugly during the time I was closest to God. I remember what I went through and the lessons I learned after I did Beth Moore's Believing God study. Things I haven't found the courage to write about.

And though God says, "Do not be afraid."

I am afraid.


I'm afraid that if I get close to Him again, something worse will happen. And I don't know how to let go of that fear.

I know I'm the one keeping the distance from God.

I said it.

Now what?

Muddy Water

Last night I was not as I should be.

It didn't start last night. It's been going on for awhile.

Sometimes, I expect things. As if I deserve them. Entitlement. I don't want to play that card--the "Deserve" card--the one that says: What we really deserve is death but Christ came to save our wretched souls. While true, this is a different lesson in grace and suffering.

* * *

This is about two women, Hagar and Sarah, whose lives were entwined. Sarah was supposed to have believed God for his promise of a son. But. She didn't. She didn't think God could deliver or maybe didn't think he was delivering fast enough. So she told her husband (who also had a say in the matter, possibly the final say) to get Hagar, her servant, pregnant. And he did.

Then Sarah got mad at Hagar.

Uhm. Hello?

Hagar ran away from Sarah's bad attitude and mistreatment. She stopped for awhile. To think maybe?

She was sitting by a spring of water in the wilderness.

* * *

I ran away. I was walking in the wilderness near a small river. Alone.


Quit laughing at me.

Ok. Laugh. It is funny.

* * *

An Angel of the YHWH (Yahweh, the name God gives himself) found her by a spring of water in the wilderness and said to her, "You must go back to your mistress and submit to her mistreatment."

The Angel of the YHWH also said to her, "I will greatly multiply your offspring, and they will be too many to count."

* * *

I had to clean off in a mud puddle before I could get back in the car. I washed my feet, my hands, my arm, and my leg in muddy water. I couldn't get the mud off my pants though.

* * *

So she named the LORD who spoke to her: El Roi--The God Who Sees, for she said, "Have I really seen here the One who sees me?"

* * *

I had a dream last night, a long, weird dream. But at the end I was in my car. Leaving. I started to back out and noticed my stack of weirdly huge Bibles in the field across the road and it was raining. I sat for a long time and watched the rain pour over my Bibles. They were fat and bloated and soaking up the rain and getting ruined. I was driving away from the Bibles so I could turn around and be on the same side of the road as they were, so I could get them in from the rain.

I got out of my car and got soaked walking towards them...

Parting the Waters: Finding Beauty in Brokenness

I met Jeanne Damoff (pronounced DAM-off) a few years ago on a message board. Yep, she's one of those friends. I have a lot of them, but Jeanne is a bit different.

At first, I thought she didn't like me. She might not know that, but she does now. But seriously, now I understand it was my overactive imagination and nothing more.

We first met at the ACFW conference in Dallas in 2006. I remember laughing with her in the lobby, but what I remember most is feeling overwhelmingly sad when she got a call that someone close passed on. I felt the need to pray and she doesn't know but I was praying silently when I hugged her. I had also signed up to take a shift in the prayer room, I prayed for her family then, as well.

I really got to "know" Jeanne reading her blog and her every-other-Thursday posts at The Master's Artist. Then I found out she takes photographs (like really outanding ones!) And though Jeanne's words are phenomenal, down to earth, and always seem to leave you with an unexpected sense of hope and peace, her photography spoke its silent language to my heart.

This picture of Natalie, Jacob, and baby Lawson Jacob touched me deeper than I realized at first. When I saw it, all I knew was that Jeanne was a great writer, a funny gal who gave points to people who made her laugh, a great photographer, and a woman who loved her family deeply. I sort of knew that Jacob had brain damage, but I didn't know the story and I was didn't want to appear rude by asking. Little by little, the pieces came together. Jacob had an accident, he nearly drowned. He lived. He has brain damage. The photos of him are always stunning, there's so much in his eyes, they speak that silent language, too.

This was my first chapter in the story that is Jacob Damoff.

In August of 2007, I found out that Natalie was Jacob's best friend. I found out she named her baby Lawson Jacob. Soon after, Relief published selections from Parting the Waters.

And this photo then meant more...look at Natalie. I know that feeling of--what do you call it? Blessed pain? Or as Jeanne appropriately called it: Beauty in Brokenness?

Those moments in life, we all have them, or maybe not everyone does?

I have had them. When my grandma died. It was so hard to watch her go, yet knowing she was finally in peace was peace for me. When my uncle committed suicide. The single most painful event in my life, yet knowing the demons no longer could taunt him and that he's resting in Jesus now--overwhelming pain and relief simultaneously.

Is that a taste of what Jesus felt when he commanded His spirit to His Father?

My mind captures images and holds them, the first photo is one that comes to the forefront of my mind often. This is the other one.
There's something in Jacob's smile that commands attention.

I often find myself wondering what it's like to be that happy. Then I remember I am, I have only let life drag me down.

Parting the Waters is so brutally honest. The reality of it all is bitter and heartbreaking, yet through it all there is a hope bigger than explanation.

My mind captured an image from the book and will not let go. Jeanne and George had just brought Jacob home after a lengthy period of rehabilitation. Jacob, at this point, was not able to speak. They were at a special chapel service and the pastor, "...at one point said 'God,' Jacob pointed first to his own heart and then straight up in the air. "

Imagine that.

Jeanne continues, "After that day, when someone mentioned the Lord, Jacob pointed. Always to his heart first, then to the sky. He hadn't uttered a single word, but his actions preached a thousand sermons."

* * *

Another aspect of Jacob's story that I appreciate, one that helps me in my own life, is hearing everything the family and community did with Jacob while he was in a coma. I mentioned above that my grandma's recent death has affected me. She was not conscious for a week or more towards the end. I posted the story of the last minutes I was blessed with sharing with her. As Jeanne put it, "What a precious memory you'll always have of singing her into eternity." I still struggle with the last breath she took, at such a meaningful moment. I feel like God gave me a piece of this Beauty in Brokenness we're talking about.

My friend Elaina, said this to me, "Reading Parting the Waters reminded me that we understand so little of the way our brains work and to presume that someone doesn't comprehend is not a good plan. Even in dementia and Alzheimer's, they're still themselves. They just have trouble piecing everything together. I believe she heard you, Michelle."

Jacob has given me so many gifts, I can only imagine the crowns in heaven adorning his head, and I bet he'll have that big smile each time another is placed for the blessing he's been to a number so great, only God can know.

Order Parting the Waters here.
Join Parting the Waters on Facebook (and send Parting the Waters Flair!)

Visit others blessed by Parting the Waters:

5 Minutes for Books
A Little Whine and Cheese
A Peek at My Bookshelf
A Spacious Place
Alien Dream
Arkansas Dreams
Ashley Evans Boone
Aspire2 Blog
Bible Dude
Blame it on the Loud Mouth Gene
Blog Tour Spot
Bluebonnet in the Snow
Book Nook Club
Canadian Prairie Writer
Christy’s Book Blog
Conversations with a Stranger
Davis Family of 6
Fictionary
Five Bazillion and One
Gatorskunz and Mudcats
Getting Down with Jesus
Good Word Editing
i don’t believe in grammar
iamhealed.net
Kells Creative Musings
La Vida Dulce
Life with Missy
Lift My Noise
Lighthouse Academy
Marc Whitman’s Blog
Michelle Pendergrass
Musings from the Windowsill
Mystery, Suspense, and God, Oh My!
Net’s Book Notes
One Voice in a Big World
Portrait of a Writer . . . Interrupted
Relevant Blog
Restore
Sherry Kyle
So You Wanna Be Published
The Friendly Book Nook
the mcgill’s
The Writing Road
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Write by Faith

Blessings

I need to do this today. I had originally intended to post all the CRAP that's happening, but what's the point? I sent an email to one of my bloggy friends and then realized that even though there's so much wrong, there's also a lot that's right.

So.

• My husband loves me and I love him. Today, that's a big deal. When so many other couples are divorcing or are complacent and uncaring, I am grateful for Phil. What you see is what you get with us, I talk about him all the time because he's so much a part of me. I'm not sure I would have the strength to go on without him. Y'know that song Johnny and June? Well, not just the song, but the Johnny and June love story? ("...and when you're gone, I wanna go too, like Johnny and June...") Yeah, that's us minus singing careers. It was rough in the beginning, but it's always been stronger than we're able to explain.
  
  
  
  
• My son. He'll be nine on Saturday. Nine! Goodness how did that much time go by? He's turning into his father (which pleases me to no end.) He's such a good kid. Sensitive to people's needs, caring, loving, funny--man is the kid funny. For example, yesterday he says, "When you see RIP on a tombstone, it's Rest In Peace. If a Lego guy died, it would have to be Rest In Pieces."

• Our health, I mean, aside from bumps, sprains, bruises and such, we're pretty healthy people. Phil's got high blood pressure, I've got this (as of yet unfixed) hypothyroidism but those are totally treatable and minor in comparison to things I don't want to talk about.

• We have families who love us.

• We still have our home.

• Phil still has a job.

• We've got the best friends anyone could ask for.

• There's food on the table and clothes on our backs.

• We're able to give a little each month to our little girl in Peru through Compassion International.

We're really not that bad off. And I need to remind myself because I'm sure I'm in the midst of a big ole rootin' tootin' spiritual battle. I've walked in this fire before, I remember what it feels like to try to continue walking with those unhealed blisters on the bottom of my feet. It's not fun, but I understand it's a part of walking with Christ.

Feet are important this time, I'm trying to figure it all out.

Feet walk, run, jump, play, bend, twist. Feet are the foundation of our walk.

Any other valuable foot notes? ;) Pun totally intended.

Confirmed, I think.

Here's yesterday's Praying In Color:


Yesterday, I wrote about spiritual battles. How in the past, I've first beat myself up then become depressed and so on.

Today, I was reading Chuck Swindoll's daily devotion (he's one of my favorites) and he said:

What do you do when tragedy strikes? What do you do when a test comes? What's your first response? Is it to complain? To be angry? To blame? To try to reason your way out of it? Or have you formed the habit of doing what Elijah did? Do you go to your special place and get alone with God? Elijah provides a wonderful example for us. No panic. No fear. No rush. No doubt.

Here's the link in case you want to read the whole thing. When I read that I thought wow. Is this not what I just experienced? Didn't I just blog about this?

See, sometimes I do listen.

Spiritual Battle?

In the past five years, I've found that many of my spiritual battles have been pretty obvious if I pay attention. When I was just getting back into faith, trying the Bible on for size, and stretching my believing muscles, I was typically hit with financial difficulties like this one. Phil's been with me for all of the battles, but I'm speaking for myself in the lessons because I think we are all tested and tried in unique ways and even though we were going through what appeared to be the same situation we were each struggling with different pieces of the same puzzle.

The financial woes I experienced looked like a different animal to Phil--maybe a self-esteem or a pride issue. (not saying that's the case, just trying to explain how a problem can be one thing for me and another for him.)

When I learned to trust God for all things involving money--which is a hard lesson and I'm not nearly as mature as I'd like to be--the battles started involving electronics. I remember I'd made the decision to write and my computer crashed and then the laptop crashed. My mom (graciously) gave me an old one of hers and it didn't have Microsoft Word on it. I posted a question on a message board asking if there was an open source version of Word and a wonderful man sent me his old copy of the program. (I'd mention his name, but I didn't ask permission and I don't know if he wants the public glory. I'd love to give it to him, but he's a rather humble man and he sent it because he'd just prayed asking God to show him someone in need of the program) I was floored.

Soon after, our cat knocked over the Beta fish bowl onto the laptop and fried it. I thought I blogged about that but I can't find it.

Those are just a few of the examples. Other things include cell phones losing signal at important moments, power going out for no reason, etc...

So that brings us to the topic d'jour. Seems that things have escalated a bit. Now the battles are financial and electronic.

I can't lie. I totally stressed out yesterday over the latest event. However, I did something I don't normally do. I prayed. Yes, I pray regularly, especially when people I know are in need. I'm a great intercessory pray-er. When things go wrong in my life, though, the first thing I do is blame myself. Then I get down on myself for being a complete and total idiot. Then I get depressed. Then I vow to never let something like that happen again (as if I have control!)

Yesterday, though, I grabbed some pretty scrapbook paper and made myself a Praying In Color journal that I could keep in my purse. And I prayed--in color. I found out about it while surfing the web a few months back and it has done wonders for my prayer life.

I took a picture of the one I did last night. Just because.



EDIT TO ADD: Did you happen to notice the date I put on that prayer in the photo? Wow. I got out my journal to draw one for today and saw that. What the...?

Things That Are Hard To Talk About

I wrote a story called Whisky Lilacs and when writing it, certain scenes were in my head like I was watching a movie. Today, I watched a video of the song Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley and Allison Krauss that reminded me of the process in my head when writing that story.

Sometimes things are beautiful even when they're dark and painful. As a writer, I struggle to fully explain things like the cross, which is at once the most beautiful expression of love and at the same time, the darkest of moments as Jesus cries out to His Father, "Why have you forsaken me?"

Whiskey Lullaby is an example of dark beauty.

"...the angels sang a whiskey lullably"

The Start of Something New

Are you one who resists change?

I'm not, I get excited about it. I've sensed for the past few years this "spiral up" thing God has going on. I learned a bit about it the first I worked through Beth Moore's Believing God.

What I got out of it was something like this. The Hebrews were freed from Egyptian slavery, yet walked circles around the desert. Some spiraled up and crossed the Jordan, some didn't. Things came full circle for them (Gilgal, the place and the name mean circle), the Israelites had to be circumcised and healed before they moved on. Last year around this time, I blogged about this spiritual circumcision

This spiritual circumcision that requires a loss of a way of life, this is what I have been experiencing. First God asked me to move on from my position with AtHome America. Then He asked me to leave my Church. Then He asked me to leave a place online that I have been for many, many years and have made so many of my close friends.

It is a year later and I'm find myself spiraling up in many areas of life. In our family life, much has changed since we've been working through Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University For the first time in our relationship, Phil and I feel like we're getting a grip on our finances. I've never felt so good about the choices we're making as I do learning these skills.

I've got my Misfits--love you guys! That's my critique group. If I dare say so myself, this group has some exciting things happening now and I can see many more celebrations for the future!

Then there's this post from last year. I talk about how I lost myself, my creativity, lost who I was and how my friend Kimmie was helping me get me back. This year, her husband said, "I have never seen a person change as much as Michelle has and in such a dramatic way. From her clothes to her attitude, she just carries her self different now." Thank you for telling me that Kimmie! It means more than you know.

Big things have happened with writing as well. Most of them are completely internal and you'd be bored to tears if I hashed that out here.

Once again, faced with some disappointing events with long time friends yesterday, I realize that people will always disappoint me and I'll always let them down. It is in forgiveness that we get on with life. Some people don't have the capability to forgive, or to spiral up and they'll never cross the Jordan. More than once I've been stuck running around in circles. I'm just glad that when I'm feeling a bit down, some of those crumbs fall to the floor like Chanda's post and the TGIF devotional because those tell me that what's happening is not wasted, as a matter of fact, it is probably set in motion by God. So, while I hate it that I've had to leave stuff behind, I love it that I did a Spiral Up.

So, like Cowboy Up--God has given me Spiral Up. LOL

Write

I put my writing away for a long time. I should rephrase that--I put myself away for a long time. Who knows why? I've tried to analyze it but I draw a blank. I just know somewhere along the line, I wasn't "me" any longer.

I walked away from God for a long time. I couldn't stand the pain, the hypocrisy, the questions. After twelve years of doing things my way, I turned to Himand found I hadn't even been walking on my own two feet. He had carried me, never making a sound. I snuggled into His big arms and had myself a good, long cry.

I told Him I wanted what He wanted and I was ready to listen but he held me. I wonder if He didn't trust me? Or maybe he just wanted me to know, really know, that He wasn't going to abandon me?


When He put me down, my muscles weren't in very good condition because I hadn't walked in such a long time.

I remember one time I fell. I was really making some progress. Long strides, pumping my arms, moving fast. I guess I got going a little too fast. I was confident God had given me the ability to teach and lead women and I was full force into it. I didn't realize until later that what I thought God was asking me to do and what God was really asking me to do were two different things.

Thinking that women's ministry should be my focus, I arranged for the women of our church to go to a conference and I was all about doing everything to help them and to lead them. I chose which sessions I would attend based on which would help me best teach, serve and lead the women.

One was based on the book, "If You Want To Walk On Water, You've Got To Get Out Of The Boat." I figured I could help them learn to step out (as I had) and do what they had a passion for, do what they were good at, etc.

At the end of the session, Amy turned on the song by Casting Crowns, "The Voice of Truth" which just happens to be MY song. I was taken aback. She passed out index cards and instructed us to close our eyes and listen to the song. She had us keep our eyes closed while she asked a question. We were supposed to write down the FIRST thing that came to us.

"What is keeping you from getting out of the boat?" She asked.

"Others." I wrote.

"What is it that God wants you to do?"

"Write."

It scared me so bad I shoved that index card in my bag and got out of there. I came home from the conference and cried for about 3 hours as I relived that moment. Then I put it all in the back of my mind and went about MY business.

Months later, my life seemed to be in utter chaos and exhausted, upset and angry one night I literally fell to my knees and yelled, "What do you WANT from me?! What do you expect me to do?!"

"Write."

It was that quiet, still voice people talk about.

"What?" I said out loud, "You can't be serious."

And then I cried again for hours. I was still there on the living room floor when my husband came home from work to find me in a ball, crying. He was pretty shaken up and after I told him what was wrong--that God told me to write, he laughed at me. He said, "Everyone seems to know that except you."

Laughed at me!! I was furious. Then he said, "Well, then. I suppose you should quit this nonsense and write."

The next morning, I got down on my knees and apologized for being so stubborn. I was embarrassed that I had acted like such a fool.

"If you want me to write, do you think you could give me some indication of what it is I'm supposed to write? Is there a verse or something I could look at or something?" I prayed.

That little voice in m'head came again, "Jeremiah 29:11."

At this point I was pretty freaked out. I didn't really know I'd get an answer so quick. I was baffled because I didn't know what Jeremiah 29:11 said. I grabbed my Bible and flipped to the pages past Joshua, Job, Psalms, Isaiah and then the pages popped open to a page that had an index card shoved into it.

I looked at the index card and thought I was going to hurl.

"Others. Write."

I looked up and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. I held it. I looked down to see the title of book. Jeremiah.

Not just anywhere in Jeremiah. Yep. Right there. Jeremiah 29:11.




See, I told you. I knew you wouldn't believe me. But its true. And its three years later and the butterflies are still on acid.

God Called Me

Writing is not glamorous for me. It is not something I share with just anyone. When I sit down and something pours out of me, it hurts. I'm not implying that it hurts metaphorically, it is an emotional challenge for me to put the stories in my head onto paper and when I think about being published, I swear someone slipped the butterflies acid and they're on a baaaad trip.


I remember in vivid detail everything that has happened to me on this road God has put me on and it would literally take a book to get it out there. And then you wouldn't believe me, you'd think I produced just that--a piece of fiction.

I have been writing as far back as my memory goes. The vast majority of my writing has been therapy. I found this from years ago, "If anyone ever reads this, Journ, I'm sure they'll come with pretty white coats to take both of us away." I talked with Journ daily; the only person who listened.

Without writing, I'd either be in an institution or dead. I don't write for pleasure, desire, passion, or because I want to. Growing up without God, I had nothing else. I had no one that I was aware of that was protecting me, watching me, guiding me. I had a bipolar father with post traumatic stress disorder having nervous breakdowns after watching Platoon, hiding beside his bed in the dark of the night because he thought we were under enemy fire, overdosing on tranquilizers, and aiming his loaded crossbow at me. I had an alcoholic grandmother, hiding bottles of vodka between her mattress and box spring, falling down flights of stairs where I'd find her laying in pools of blood.

Just two examples of my self-destructive, suicidal role models. I have forgiven them all, but that doesn't mean it all goes away. It is difficult for me to reveal these things because I know some of my family reads this blog, but they were there, they just don't talk about it.

I didn't have a therapist as a child. I had my journal. When memories come back to me now, in the form of a character or story, I want to scream in agony; I want put it all away again because I don't want to have to relive the pain. I don't want to be invisible again. I don't want to be let down any more.

Books gave me escape from my life and hope. There are a couple very special books I recall with much emotion.

Where The Red Fern Grows is my favorite book of all time. Why? The hope of love. The hope that I would have something in my life that I could pour my faithful love over the way Billy loved Old Dan and Little Ann and the hope that one day, I'd find the love that would die for me the way Old Dan loved and protected Billy; the way Little Ann died for Old Dan because she couldn't go on without him. The hope that I'd see a red fern one day.

Wanna know how good God is? Not only did He send His Son to die for me that way and love me that way, but he sent me a boy from the Ozarks. He sent him to me in a traffic jam in 1994 and I fell in love instantly. He gave me Phil to pour my love over. He sent me someone who would protect me and love me. Then he doubled His grace when He sent Zane, Phil's little clone.













~more tomorrow

The Finale or A New Beginning?

I hope it doesn't sound like I am bitter or in pain over the situation I've been telling you about. I was hurt, bitter, and confused. However, in the midst of this battle, I was also dealing with the single-most difficult tragedy in my life...the suicide of my "big brother." He was technically my uncle, but we were really like brother and sister. Growing up, he and my grandma lived just across the alley and I was there more than I was at my own home.

My pastor friend helped me more than I think he knows. He was one of the people God used to bring Uncle Ed to a relationship with Christ. I have thanked God repeatedly for that. The day of the suicide, my family asked me to call the pastor because they knew how much Uncle Ed respected him and also because he was such a great source of comfort to them. They'd never met a pastor outside of a church building and this pastor came to hospitals and to homes. For them, it was God's love through a man. Something they couldn't see in me, because I was just Michelle to them.

I was hurting on so many different levels that day. Two days prior, all of those accusations had been made against me. The last thing I wanted to do was to call this pastor. God broke me in half and crushed me and made me realize that day that it wasn't at ALL about me. It was about the room full of people who were hurting. The people who didn't understand God's promises. So I lowered my head and dropped down to beg for God's forgiveness...and I called him.

I can imagine what he was thinking of me. I don't want to speculate publically though. He visited with all of the grieving family and arrangements were made for the funeral. I was so grateful for him. I still am.

The day of the funeral came and I sat between in the middle of my grandmother and my step-grandmother. Smack between a 40 year bitter fued--one that unfortunately still continues. The funeral parlor was spilling over with people, yet it was silent. The pastor's delivery of the message was just perfect for the audience. He didn't skate around issues or candy-coat them. He said exactly what needed to be said. I heard one faint "Amen" from behind me and I silently thanked Him.

I've been to a lot of funerals, none as incredible as this. I still remember the silence. When the pastor was speaking, I didn't even hear a sniffle, no one blew their nose, and no one cried. Everyone was listening. The experience equates to the one I had on September 11, 2001. Air traffic halted and the skies were quiet. Until then, I had never even noticed how noisy the air was. With Chicago airports silent, the air outside took on a lucid, dreamlike quality. That's how it was in the room when the pastor was speaking.

I sent the pastor a thank you card and meant every word I said. I'm afraid he doesn't believe me because of the events that have transpired. I still love his daughther, his wife, and him. I miss them. I think of them often and I find myself wishing things would have been different. Wondering "what if" It will have to be enough that God knows my heart and knows that I am ever-grateful for what the pastor did for me, my family, and my friends. Sometimes I wish I could go back and have a "do-over." At the same time, though, if I didn't go through all this or if I had the chance to do it over I wouldn't have the lessons and experiences that God wanted me to have.

I've heard it said that there are two directions in a Christian's life: toward God or away from Him. I feel like wondering what if and wishing for do-overs is like walking away from Him. From here, I desire to only move closer to Him. It means that instead of wanting it my way, I lay it down at His feet, ask Him to take it, and I LEAVE IT there. Some things have to die in order to have life.

I heard about "dying to self" but until I had to lay down my pride, I didn't understand. Through these trials, God has ask me to do things I've never done, things that I'm not familiar with, and things I'm not comfortable with. Like when He called Peter out to walk on the water with Him. Peter didn't think about it at first, he just went. He looked around and got scared and started sinking. I was sinking for a little while there and drowning terrifies me. Jesus reached down and grabbed me and at that moment, I had no choice but stare Him in the eyes. He reminded me that He was to be my focus. And later, again like Peter, Jesus flat out told me that it didn't matter what He asked other people to do. He wanted to know if I was doing what He expected of me.

And here we are.

Now to the part you've been patiently wondering about. Thank you for coming with on this short ride. I appreciate your willingness to listen.

The burning churches. Well, I had a dream Monday before I woke up and started posting all of this. I had a dream about burning churches. I believe that is a seed planted for me to water. God will give the increase. This is what the seed looks like:

Churches burn with no sign of a starting point.

Two pastors go head to head--one says Satan, one says God.

They're both hearing voices.


In my head, this book is called Flash Point. One meaning of "flash point" is the point at which something is ready to blow up. Scientifically, to measure a flash point a small cup with liquid in it is heated gradually while being continuously stirred so that the heat is evenly distributed. At regular intervals an open flame is directed into the cup. When the liquid reaches it's flash point temperature, the contents will ignite.





My new verse came first:

My thoughts grew hot within me
and began to burn,
igniting a fire of words
Psalm 39:3

Then the dream. Then the title. Now I must get to writing...

Sleep deprivation, Psychosis and my dreams. Part Five. The Conclusion.

Read Part One Here.

Read Part Two Here.

Read Part Three Here.

Read Part Four Here.



I realize this subject is probably getting old. (That's if you're still with me on it) Even so, it seems like I've got issues to work out concerning the many facets of the situation.

Let's recap. I had a trusted pastor friend who basically (short version) didn't like the way I recalled my dreams and told me God doesn't use dreams anymore. I have come to the understanding that God doesn't use dreams to tell us about Himself or things to come, however, He can and does use dreams to teach lessons or give insight. Can Satan influence dreams? Sure. Can they be "of Satan" if I give them to God? I say no, because of the verse, "Greater is he that is in than he that is in the world."

What's this got to do with sleep deprivation and psychosis? "Child development researchers and other scientists have long observed that babies deprived of touch [tactile stimulation] are more likely to fail to thrive--and even die. The late Dr. John Bowlby's classic studies of infants raised in stark orphanage nurseries in Britain after World War II showed that babies deprived of a caregiver's loving touch more often than others failed to thrive and died. Dr. Bowlby called this "skin hunger"--a baby starving for cuddling, stroking, and holding." Article Here.

I wonder, are dreams to mental health what touch is to survival?

If I had the money, the degree, and the resources, I'd be pursuing this with passion. Studies have shown that without sleep (thus without dreams) people either display psychotic behavior or they actually become psychotic. Is that just like those babies? The infants who were not touched failed to thrive or died.

Satan knows what the Bible says. I'd be willing to say that he probably knows the Bible better than most Christians (if not all.) When Satan tempted Jesus in the garden, he used Scripture. This is so powerfully important and I've heard very little about the impact that has on our daily lives.

I said yesterday, I'd explore how I saw God's hand in all of this conflict and chaos. I think it all centers around what I've learned about God.

In 2 Chronicles chapter 32, we see King Hezekiah's illness, pride, wealth, works, and death. At the end of verse 31 we read, "God left him to test him and discover what was in his heart."

Romans 12:5 says that God has distributed a measure of faith to each believer.

In James 1:2-4 we read, "Consider it great joy, my brothers, whenever you experience various trial, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. But endurance must do its complete work, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing."

God gives each believer a measure of faith. In order for faith to produce, it must be tested by various trials so that the believer may be mature and complete. God tests our faith to discover what is in our hearts.

Repeatedly, I heard from my pastor friend that Satan's plot in this conflict is confusion. He also told me that it was ironic that just about the time God is going to do an "explosive work" at that church, something like this conflict occurs. He said that the devil wanted to make a turn in the road. My pastor friend told me all about Satan and what Satan wanted and how Satan worked.

I never once heard from him how God was working. I find that disturbing and sad. I couldn't count the hours I've spent in prayer and study during this situation. I begged and pleaded with God for His wisdom in this.

The pastor said this, "This [situation,] given proper patience, prayer, and submission, will become a blemish in history not a turn in the road the devil wants to make it."

My take on it--from my heart--is that Satan deserves no glory. There is One and only One who deserves recognition. The Lord my God.

There are so many layers to this conflict, so many whose hearts were tested in so many ways. I choose to focus on myself because I have access to the inner workings of my mind and thoughts and to pretend that I understand what lesson God wants someone else to learn or how He tested another would be foolish.

What I know--what I want to give God the glory for are the lessons He taught me.

I trusted someone else's direction for my life (the pastor's) instead of trusting Him. God was trying to show me that I didn't belong in the position the pastor appointed me. I thought Satan was trying to discourage me from being involved in women's ministry at that church because Satan doesn't like ministry. Sounds logical enough. It did at the time, anyway. I've learned that God was trying to get my attention by not furthering the ministry. I couldn't hear Him, though, because I was too busy focusing on what the pastor was saying and by giving Satan glory.

I allowed myself to be deceived into believing that people who go to church know what God wants. I thought God must want me in women's ministry if His shepherd put me there. This one hurts the most. I blame no one except for myself. The pastor appointed me Director of Women's Ministry and I grabbed the job and ran with all my might. That is not what God had for me. And instead of asking Him, I just assumed that His shepherd knew what He was doing. Oh how foolish of me!!

I thought that God's people should approve of God's call on my life. Now this was just stupid of me to believe. I look back and think that if I'd only have paid attention to (for example) the story of Moses, I'd see that God's people don't always know or approve of what God wants.

I thought others should understand what God was asking of me and I thought it was my job to make them understand. Again, stupid. See Moses again.

I'm still learning from this conflict. I questioned God when it first started, but now I'm finding joy in the trial. I'd rather focus on the fact that God is testing my faith to discover what is in my heart and to increase the measure of faith He gave me.



Now...what's the burning church all about? You'll have to come back tomorrow to find out. (Ok, so I thought I was done. I'm not!)

Sleep deprivation, Psychosis and my dreams. Part Four.

Read Part One Here.

Read Part Two Here.

Read Part Three Here.

The Holy Spirit lives in me, He guides me, comforts me, convicts me, and so much more. Was this pastor friend trying to tell me that the Holy Spirit doesn't know what's going on in my head at night? That He was somehow detached from my dreams? That He couldn't use my dreams to teach me lessons? That He couldn't use a dream to give me an idea?

That is exactly what this friend was telling me. And not just me. This is what he teaches in church. If God made us in His image, that would include our mind, dreams, and emotions. And I say that if I let Satan get a foot in the door, he has the ability to shut me down, discourage me, and fill me with lies. Which ultimately keeps me from doing God's will.


Was this Satan trying to discourage me from writing or God teaching me a valuable lesson?

Several times, I was told that the dreams I was having were Satan's way of trying to deter me from God. I was told that God absolutely does not speak to people in dreams anymore. When I read the Bible, I understand that He may not be using dreams as a way to prophesy but I also understand that God does not change. If He doesn't change, His character never changes, and His ways never change, why would He just stop using dreams as a way to reach people (like the verse in Job states?) Or as a source of comfort and reassurance as in the New Testament shows in different examples?

I was literally sick about this. I was having dreams. A lot of them. But this mentor of mine, my pastor friend was telling me the dreams were basically satanic. I asked how it is that Christ can live IN me--how I can be "of like mind" with other believers and yet, the dreams originate from Satan? How can Satan be IN me when Christ is IN me?

I understand the argument that Satan can influence my conscience mind, therefore my subconscious mind might recollect that influence in a dream but what about "the Spirit who lives in you is greater than the spirit who lives in the world." (1 John 4:4 NLT) If I am to take this at face value, then I see that it says that the Holy Spirit is greater than any demonic spirit who tries to influence me. Wouldn't that indicate that a satanic influence would stand no chance when filtered through the Spirit?


I had a friend tell me that she read parts one, two, and three and didn't understand. She thought I was "too deep." I laughed and told her I don't understand either. I'm trying to work it all out and I had no idea it was going to turn into a series. But I'm not done yet and I'm going to keep going.

Tomorrow I'll explore how I see God's hand in all of this. Especially in the conflict.

Lay Down My Pride

,



Why yes, it is the name of one of my favorite Jeremy Camp songs. It hits me where it hurts.

It starts:

Every single word I say, You know it before I speak.

You know every thought, the deepest part of me.

You draw me close and then I see...

Your presence is everything I need

To be the child that You've created me to be.



Can I tell you something I don't often admit? I am needy. I need to start admitting it more. But, wow...this is difficult to talk about. I don't want to talk about it because it is true. If I tell you I'm needy you'll see a flaw, a pretty serious one. And to know what people are like and how they judge and abuse knowledge and get all self-righteous, it is scary to admit I have a weakness.

Well of course you already know I have weaknesses and flaws. You may have already found some and are just waiting to see if they show up again. For what? To maybe feel a little better about your flaws? Oh now...wait? Don't go there? We both have a problem, friend. It's called pride.

Pride causes me to want to hide things. Like this being needy. I don't want to admit that I like it when people say something nice about me or about what I write. It feels good. And yes, God did give us the Spirit so that we will encourage our siblings. And we should do that whenever we can. But when I hear praise, I don't want it to become my reason. I don't want to write so that my reward becomes the praise. I don't want to write so that my reward is a blessing. I want to write to bless Him. So as my Father, He will read it, smile and say, "She did listen!"

But I am needy. And I can't "hear" Him. So He sends a sibling in my life to put an arm around me. A sibling to say, "That's really good." And I feel better...for a little while. It seems to be a never ending cycle. Needy writer writes. Feels uncertainty. Must be insane. Who else is like this? Depression. Discouragement God sends approval. Feels good. Yeah...it is good, isn't it? I should be proud of it, shouldn't I?

Wait.

Is this the point at which I'm supposed to pay attention? Did I just take the credit for what God gave me? Did I take credit for writing something? Did I just overlook the fact that God sent someone especially for me, specifically for me? Do I think I'm a better writer than someone else? Do I think I'm more deserving somehow? Is that "self-justification" kicking in? Am I believing that I am better at characterization? Plotting? Dialogue? Craft? And is that other person another writer who is writing for God??? How did I get here?

Pride.


I'm ready now to see it your way

Lay Down my pride

My desires

My demise



It would be far better for me to acknowledge on a constant basis that I am nothing without that which He gives. Better for me to admit I'm needy. Because He already told me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness" and I ignored Him.

Ready now to see it your way

'Cause I'm done

I'm through

Ignoring you

Now its true

I'm kneeling at the cross of your grace

A mess of Blessings

Luke 6:36-38

Jesus said to his disciples:
“Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

“Stop judging and you will not be judged.
Stop condemning and you will not be condemned.
Forgive and you will be forgiven.
Give and gifts will be given to you;
a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing,
will be poured into your lap.
For the measure with which you measure
will in return be measured out to you.”



To be merciful is SO hard sometimes. To not judge I think is even harder. Forgiving...sometimes impossible. And giving is most of the time ok. But giving when you don't feel like you have anything to give and giving when people are sucking you dry is just...draining.

But then to know that the mercy we receive, the judgments we DON'T receive, the condemnation--there is none in Christ, the gifts God gives are far better than anyone else can give, and I love this: a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing will be poured into your lap. Man! Can you see God up there with the blessings for us when we do these things...when we are merciful? When we stop judging? When we stop condemning? When we forgive? When we give? Can you see Him with the blessings? Packing it all down tight like you do brown sugar for a cake? Beating it down so that He can pack some more down in there? And then pouring more on top so that there is just a mound of it all over the place making a mess?

A mess of blessings!