Hope

Yes, I Was Mentored By A Random Internet Stranger!?

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

An eagle showed up in my life.

She was drawing out the vile illness from my heart with her questions, green goo surfacing, and I was astonished at the sticky mess dripping off my clothes.

“Yuck! How do you clean up this stuff?” I asked, panicking.

“Why don’t I call you, and we can talk about this some time?” she offered.

My mind swirled.

She was a random internet connection.

Should I open my heart, and the great vulnerability within to a random internet stranger? What was I thinking???

Well, I’ll start with how it all began.

I had a recurring dream for a couple of years. The title of the book that was recommended to me by Amazon matched the title of the dream.

(I didn’t say that this story would be easy to swallow. I only promised the truth).

And no, I had never followed the random inner longings of a dream before.

I discovered Heidi Baker, a missionary in Mozambique through this book, and then was connected with a handful of people who met online weekly to pray about this common spiritual burning that it sensed God was putting on all of our hearts.

From within that group, one of those ladies started a Facebook group, which I joined regularly.

It was in one of those groups that I met Aja, who was now probing my heart with her questions. Goo from the depths that had not surfaced before was now spotting my clothes and I come back to my story – do I meet one-on-one with Aja, or not?

I met with my pastor, spouse, and a handful of trusted friends over iced coffees one sunny summer afternoon to ask their advice.

“I am heading down a spiritual rabbit trail that I don’t know if I will emerge from,” I began.

I shared what we spoke about, the journey that it seemed God was guiding with his large invisible palm, squishing me together with this new group, as so many lumps of clay, joined in the spirit.

I listened to both their wise cautions and their encouragement.

And I met with Aja.

Open your heart, I felt God whispering during that first call, as I spoke with her.

I was surprised.

You’re safe here, He continued to encourage.

And beyond the obvious safeguards that we use by engaging the big ol’ gray matter in the head, such as by asking if I am being encouraged to: (1) read my bible? (2) connect more deeply with my local community (?) (3) connect with the Lord?

Beyond those questions, which were answered with a yes . . .

. . . I was growing spiritually.

My plumage was starting to fill out.

She sat in the chair between Jesus and me and facilitated our conversation so my own quiet times could bear more fruit.

And I was just about ready to fly, by the grace of Jesus.

Is it time for you to choose a random internet, or in-person connection to soar with, too?

On a COMPLETELY UNRELATED topic, we are hosting a regular online listening prayer and connection time soon.

Details will be posted soon HERE.

Rejoice in Your Fear

/ Lori Lawe / 3 Comments

The newspaper is like the genie in the bottle, a monster emerging from the words. It stares down at me, huge and menacing. My teeth quake as I glance at it, trembling. I am afraid.

I am left in the corner, quaking, the monster guarding me, bidding that I say right where I am, crouched in the corner. It is watching for when it is safe for me to come out.

But it never is. Another scare. Another news item. One crisis after another. I crouch and hide, obedient to my fear.

But when I attempt to rise on quaking legs, and when I stand, holding, as a crutch, the arm of the One standing next to me, I feel a bit stronger. But my head still spins.

Come, He seems to bid. Take just one step, my child. One step and then another. I focus on Him, who steadies me when I walk.

His face becomes a bit clearer. The arm that I rest on feels a bit more solid, and less a figment of my imagination.

And my fear, which once dominated me, returns to rest deep within the newspaper, where it belongs. It is always lurking inside there, and within the words of some others that I meet.

But I realize now that fear is too strong for me. I cannot tame it. But it can be supplanted by my intense, prolonged, focus on the One who is not afraid.

And then I walk. And then I run. And then I give a cup of water to the thirsty. And then I wash the smelly feet of the hurting stranger, the one who, also, has been terrorized into a shell of herself by her fear.

“Come,” I bid. “There is One who will help you to walk. Let’s take the first step, together, sister, brother. I will show you how to lean on His arm a bit more often, a bit more of your full body weight supported by Him the next time you fall. Don’t let go.”

And as we tread upon our fear, He is raising up a great army. He passes you the weapons that are needed for this great war: love, compassion, humility, dependence, servitude.

Only the weak are strong. And thus, my fear has strengthened me, as I have been pushed, ever more into the loving arms of My Father, who holds me as I cry. Let’s not miss the opportunity that our fear points us toward.

Don’t panic. I’m with you. The Message

Let’s rejoice in our fear because we have been pushed, more often and more deeply, into His arms of comfort. What are you afraid of, sister, brother? Come and be comforted in the arms of the greatest comforter, so that you too may be a comfort to others with the comfort you have received.

What is one step that the Father may want you to take today, to live out of love, and no longer out of fear? How can your fear strengthen you, as you remember that it is the weak that are actually strong?

Pretend You Don’t See My Mess, Please – I Prefer Bondage

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

Jealousy. Green sticky goo must come out of me somehow. I am jealous. I hide my hands behind my back. A cover-up; I will pray for you. But behind my back the goo leaks. No one notices until the puddle of goo forms at my feet.

I stand back in shock. That must be someone else’s jealousy I am standing in! I take a step to the left in horror, trying to kick the green goo off my feet, legs, trying to be free. My friend smiles at me compassionately. She understands that the green goo couldn’t possibly be mine. I am HER friend! She stands in a puddle of her own goo. I pretend not to notice.

And so the mutual self-denial is edifying. Let’s bow our heads, hold hands in unity, and pray for the one that we esteem so highly. We are spiritual. We aren’t jealous. But when we are done, our hearts pump specks of charcoal throughout our bodies. Death has touched our hearts. We won’t speak of our sin, and so our sin holds us captive.

But in my room at night, where no one can see, I cry out to God in desperation. God, look at the state of my heart! It is singed with death! I try to pray, but my prayers go up in smoke. Can you help me? Name it, He speaks, gently. Name why your heart is smoldering now, a smoking log and not a blazing fire.

Looking down in shame, I speak. “I am jealous.” And the Lord dances. He dances with joy, pulling me out of my despair to join Him. Well done, he whispers softly into my ear. And I am joyful. Like a toddler covered in mud, who made a mess of their surroundings, I am free. The mud washes off, easily.

My mess does not define me. I am defined by Him, the truth, because I speak the truth. I see myself through His eyes, forgiven, when I am honest with Him, myself, others. Not overly self-deprecating. Not hiding. Just honest.

I bring my problems, like a difficult math question to my Father, for help. “Why am I jealous?” I ask Him. He points to weeds in the garden of my heart that I have neglected to uproot, yes, but He also shows me that there is green goo in the air, everywhere in our culture. I breathed it in, and it took root, simply because from grade school, we compare the one to the other. An unhealthy system has infected me as well.

And it doesn’t matter, actually, why I am ill, or how I contributed to the growth of the ugly mess. The doctor has come, to innoculate me with His love. And I can dance again.

And so the next time that my friend and I stand in pools of our own making of green sticky goo, I can get out the broom, the one that Jesus gave me. I can offer to show my friend how Jesus helped me clean up my life, to sweep away the goo. Do you want to borrow the broom? Holding the broom with Him, you and He can sweep away your goo, too. And He will dance with joy, as your heart is revived, refined a little more. And we are free to soar.

We don’t have to hide.

If we claim that we’re free of sin, we’re only fooling ourselves. A claim like that is errant nonsense. On the other hand, if we admit our sins—simply come clean about them—he won’t let us down; he’ll be true to himself. He’ll forgive our sins and purge us of all wrongdoing. The Message

Consider asking God if there is any strange goo at your feet that you don’t want to see. Holy Spirit, set us free, we pray. May we be courageous enough to see ourselves the way we really are, so that our eyes can begin to see with clarity the vision You have for our futures, as we connect our lives to You, we pray.

Did You Find A Crumb Of Hope For Your Teen Yet Today?

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

The dawn of a new day. I can sense the inspiration.

A blank page.

A new life.

The possibilities are endless. We are inspired.

Parents spend thousands of dollars on baby clothes, cribs with matching wall decor, and expensive lotions for baby’s butt. We are inspired. The possibilities are endless. We haven’t messed this up yet.

We have hope.

But in the depths of the dark of night, on the page that has been written on, crossed out, erased, for the teenager who has messed up big time, inspiration and possibilities seem like a closed book. Every corridor that can be walked down from here seems dark, foreboding.

For the sullen teenager, a disappointment, we toss her an iPhone and watch her walk to her room. His life feels like the depths of night, right now. We must have messed up as parents. We spend less time with her and feel more frustrated. The dark corridors all seem to point to the same place, the place we don’t want to travel down. This is your journey, we say.

Good luck.

But what if his silence is imploring you to walk down the darkest of corridors with him? What if the light at the end of the tunnel will be so bright, so warm, that it will heal your soul too? What if the savior of your kids’ life isn’t you after all, but is the One through whom all things are made? What if, at the end of the journey, you find a piece of your soul?

And so we pray, on our knees, for our lost son, forgotten daughter. We pray until our hearts are transformed. We pray until we have some extra love left over, poured out to us from the Father, to give to our children.

We pray until we can find a tiny bit of hope to grasp onto, and then we continue our journey, offering a morsel of hope to our child when the opportunity arises. And we pray some more.

And in the transformation of ourselves, a tiny bit piece of beauty comes from ashes. The possibilities are endless for us and for our children. They are, like a new life, even this day, as are we. The page written on, erased, still has room for new words. Hope is born this day. And all is well with the world. I nourish my soul with today’s food and pass on a crumb to my child. It is enough to sustain her, for today. And He is pleased with His child, with you.

Oh! May the God of . . . hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope! The Message

God, though we have left a trail of continual failing as parents, and though our teens look back on a similar trail of constant failing, You never stop reaching your arm of love down to us and helping us to stand, again, to keep walking. Would you help us up again today, to continue our journey as parents, though we are tired and discouraged? And may we show the same grace to each of our children we pray.

Is Anyone Else Suffocating, Unnoticed?

/ Lori Lawe / 3 Comments

I am in the struggle of my life. The enemy’s hands are closed around my neck. I gasp for breath, lashing out with my hands, struggling to break free. I accidentally strike the enemy as I violently thrash about.

At church, people stand near me, sipping tea and laughing together. Quips about the weather. To all outward appearances, I am sipping tea with them, laughing too. But the reality that is more real than the reality that can be seen is that I am at war. I can’t breathe.

The enemy has taken me to my knees now, where the life-or-death fight resumes. I feel death about to engulf me.

And then, like a person on a lifeboat, come to the rescue, to reach out a hand to a drowning man, she arrives. She hauls me into her boat. I am exhausted, soaking wet, and cold. “Thank you,” I gasp. My enemy is nowhere to be found.

“Who are you?” I ask. She is a random stranger. She shows me her clothes under her rain cloak. She is a fellow pilgrim, like me. Her clothes are dirty from months on the road. “God sent me to breathe life into you,” she explains.

She administers CPR and I feel stronger for a while. She offers me tea, biscuits, and a listening ear. She offers a blanket that calms my racing heart.

And that is how I met Aja, a random internet connection who opened my eyes a little wider regarding God’s path for me to follow.

I was afraid to journey further on, so God sent me a companion, for a while. And the journey has been easier with her around. She shoots the enemy with arrows from afar.

And she has been helping me to gather strength and to regain balance, to be ready to take the next baby step, leaning on her.

Because we are at war. For our future destinies with God.

What is He whispering about the next thing for you? Is it too big for you to succeed in?

That’s one of the ways you know your assignment is from God.

Are you strong enough to stand today, dear one, and to take the next step? Lean on my arm. Let’s listen to what God may be saying to you and let’s take the next step, together.

Peace to you. Just as the Father sent me, I send you. The Message

Lord, help us to have the humility to receive the ones that You send to us. I am reminded of the man stuck in flooded water, who refused help from the boat, the helicopter, and the swimmer with the extra life vest. “God will save me,” he explained.

God didn’t save him.

Once in heaven, he exclaimed, “God why didn’t You save me?” God replied that he wouldn’t receive the help that He had sent via the boat, the helicopter, the swimmer.

May we not be that stubborn Lord! Help us to ask questions, to humbly listen, to apply what we are learning from the guides that you send. And may we also, next week, help someone else get unstuck from the mud, even as our boots have just recently been cleaned from the same experience. Help us, Lord, to help each other, we pray.

Consider asking God, “Who should I be opening the depths of my heart to, sharing the thoughts that keep me awake at night? Who has wisdom to hear? Is there anyone that I can help to take one step out of their muck?”

Does Your Heart Long For the Gift of Hope?

/ Lori Lawe / 4 Comments

Ah!!! All of it – yuck! It clambers on me, like a slime mold, slowly advancing. It climbs up my feet, and legs, though I protest, holding my arms high in an effort to keep it away. I try to push it back, frantically, but it advances. The yellow goo, unfeeling, is slowly encapsulating me. Will I be unable to breathe?

As it climbs up my chin, and toward my mouth, I cry out a guttural sound. I try to scare it with my bellowing roar but it enters, past my lower lip, advancing.

I sit on the ground, defeated. It continues to climb higher, up my cheeks now. I have succumbed. What is next?

And then you approach. Your legs are at my eye level as I sit on the ground next to you. I lift my eyes to your face. The slime swirls under your feet, but cannot climb you.

You extend your hand to me. Will I take it? Of course, I will. I lunge for your hand and the warmth surprises me. You look heavenward, up, your eyes closed as your fingers clasp around my hand.

I feel a tingling sensation, and a deep warmth, like water poring just under my skin. What is this? I am standing now, and I look in wonder at my hand that was just touching yours.

The slime pools and bubbles at my feet now, too, in a swirling confusion, but I pay no attention. I tread on it with ease.

I am laughing, embracing you. “Thank you! And wait!” I begin to say. I have so many, many questions. But you must not be detained. You stand in a circle and turn around once, or twice, and then are transformed into an eagle.

And you soar.

I jump after you. I try to flap my arms too. You become smaller and smaller, a tiny dot, gliding back and forth across the sky above me. You seem to be beckoning me just by your presence.

The impossible has become possible because of your life.

And what do I do, now that I have seen you? Do I sit down on the ground again, in despair, and wait once more for the slimy mold to… no!

But yet I can’t fly! I am lost in confusion. I circle once, twice, spinning, and then fall to the ground, dizzy. I did not transform as you did.

What will become of me? Oh – what was it that you gave me? Yes, I put it into my pocket. That tiny piece of paper.

I read like a starving man who has not seen food for days eats. What does it say?

Pile your troubles on God’s shoulders— he’ll carry your load, he’ll help you out. The Message

And so I rant, and I complain, and I speak of what ails me. And the slime mold oozes from my mouth. It was not outside of me but within me this whole time! When I speak it aloud and expel my inner contents in a mess of turmoil to my God, then the slime mold is expelled from within me.

I wipe my mouth. I feel gross and splattered with my mess and yet my stomach ailments feel better, too. And what now, I wonder? I feel lighter now, almost as if I could…

I spin around once, twice, and then, the wind beneath my foot pushes my foot into the air at the exact moment that I leap up. I turn in the air, once twice, and …

I am an eagle, now, soaring, too.

I crisscross the sky, just above them. Can they see me? I think they can if they squint, look closely, believe. Are any of them ready to step out of the advancing slime mold too?

Get up, get up, dear friend.

A Gift We All Want – Freedom from Fear

/ Lori Lawe / 4 Comments

The edge of the shadow creeps higher.

From the corner of my vision, I see it. It grows, curving and menacing as it climbs, encompassing my field of vision. It expands before my widening eyes.

I slouch, making myself smaller. Only my huge eyes can be seen now, staring at it, watching it grow.

Pop! It is gone! I sit up in wonder, turning round to see what has happened. You have flipped the light switch to “on”.

But fear, and the memory of it broods just under the surface as we speak. I am never very far away from it.

As a lake is half full of water, I am half full of fear, wherever I go. We speak of other things, above the water level of my fear, but the heavy lake of fear sways within.

It is just under the surface. Can you feel it?

Why no?

You flick on a flashlight, and shine it at my feet. The water level recedes to just below your light. I am walking on water now because your light has forced the fear, the water level, to recede from where it was just under my waist, to where it is now, just under my feet.

Wow! Thank you! I shout! I sing and dance, splash my feet in the puddle, the memory of my fear. I take your hands and ask you to dance with me, to splash with me. The lake of fear has become a puddle of fear that I now traipse in.

I need you with me, everywhere I go. And that light thing – that flashlight – can you bring that everywhere too?

You tell me you can’t stay with me and I throw myself prostrate, clinging to your feet, begging you not to leave me. I am horizontal in the puddle now, and fear surrounds me again, even with you here. Please don’t leave me!

I have to leave, you say, gazing with love into my eyes.

You turn around once, twice and are transformed into an eagle. You spring from the ground, eyes lifted, and soar. You circle me from the air, high up, watching me with the piercing vision of that majestic bird.

I can see you sometimes, though you are long way off. Your example encourages me to sit up, to wipe the tears from my eyes, and wait – what is this in my hand? Oh, you left me your flashlight!

I stand up, splashing the puddle with my boots, and switch the flashlight to “on” again. I whirl it round me. No monsters here- only the faint shadow of their movement at the edge of this beam of light.

I sit down to eat awhile, to refresh my spirit. I am on dry ground now, for the warmth of the light from my flashlight has evaporated any water. What was it that you told me again?

“I look up to the mountains; does my strength come from mountains? No, my strength comes from God, who made heaven, and earth, and mountains.” The Message

I lift my gaze. Light from the arm holding my flashlight naturally lifts to follow my gaze. The light shines higher and I feel lighter, lighter.

No fear to hold me down.

I spin, once, twice and now I am free too, free to soar. I too have found my wings. I too am an eagle.

It was only fear that was holding me captive.

I left my flashlight on the ground for them.

I hope that they (you) find it soon.

How to Receive The Gifts You Really Want This Christmas

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

A hairdryer for the bald guy. A new journal for the person with tendinitis. I have received every color and scent of “bath and body balms”. I’m allergic to them all. (Plus, why do you need a “body balm”? What even is that?) You have examples of your own.

Christmas presents that are useless. We smile, nod, PRETEND, and then say thank you for the stupid stuff in our hands.

How about the gifts that represent the desires of our hearts? The ones that are JUST out of reach? The things that we can’t quite articulate, that we don’t quite have the hope to believe we could ever attain, and so we try to forget.

How do we exchange bad Christmas presents for good ones? Where is that store?

Well, the frustrating part is that if I lead you to that store, you won’t go inside. You think you’ve already seen everything in that store. You think you understand what it’s like. You’re wrong. I know because I didn’t go inside for a long, long time, either.

I stood outside trying to warm my hands and feet while people came out of the store smiling, with shining packages. They invited me to come inside, but “No, I’m fine out here.” They can see that I am suffering in the cold, but they shake their heads and pat me on the shoulder as they walk past.

Many understand because they also stood outside in the cold for a long, long time prior to entering.

However, I had heard that night on the news that freezing temperatures this time of year are deadly. I became more uncomfortable as I shivered, but still, I waited.

Finally, I gave up and turned around. I walked back to my home, put my feet up, and distracted myself with the news.

I HAVE experienced Christianity, I protest!

They knock on the door. They brought me hot chocolate to warm my freezing hands. They offer me packages from the store that I was standing outside of.

Finally, I open one.

Oh, so THIS is what Christianity is like, I exclaim!

The gift we REALLY want will be discussed in detail next time here and here. How to receive good gifts, by cleaning our senses, will also be discussed.

Hey! Don’t blame me for these super short posts! You’re the one with a short attention span! Go read a REAL book or something. As for me, I have a train game streak that I don’t want to mess up, so I gotta go!

“. . . if some . . . outsiders walk in on a service where people are speaking out God’s truth, the plain words will bring them up against the truth and probe their hearts. Before you know it, they’re going to be on their faces before God, recognizing God is among you.” The Message

God, teach us to want to receive good gifts from You. What is hindering me from receiving from You, the gifts I really, really want this Christmas? (Pause and listen. This is how we begin to clean our ears.)