Slay the Dragons.

I've written before about my dear friend and her husband and how I say he carries a baseball bat: how he steps and and protects her and shields her and makes it his duty to armor and protect her. I absolutely love this about him, and for her.

I talked to another friend today who gives her husband a morning good-bye with: "Go slay some dragons!" as he heads off to work. The words empower him from her lips, as she acknowledges the tasks he takes on during the day in order to protect and provide for her.

Today, I saw a need for another to do the same. To stand in the gap, to bring a baseball bat, to slay a dragon. Today I saw a guy with a really fancy car walk out and cuss a woman out because her fancy car bumped his. No scratches. But I have never seen a demonor more full of angst and uproarus and almost... evil... as his was. She was shorter, polite, and well spoken. He was well over six feet and cursing and calling her every name possible, hands flailing and temper full of firey rage.

I have never, never, never seen a man disrespect a woman so much.

And all I saw were many passerbyers who stood and watched her be belittled by a giant grunt. She held her ground, "Sir, you may not disrespect me. Sir, you intimidate me." And yet he continued to pervert the air with his lips, the space with his presence.

I wouldn't be able to live with myself today if I too, watched. If I too, saw and watched a woman disgraced. There was no one with her to stand in the gap, to come along her side and empower her against this monstrosity of a masculine figure who made it his job to ream her. She had done little wrong, an accidental tap on his bumper, which was reported, but again, no scratches.

How often to do we stand in the gap for injustice? How often are we Jesus at compassion's side? How often are we instead passer-byers who watch in omission? How often are we like the others of Jesus' day, who watched without word as he was crucified? Not their business? Pagh! Indeed! The honor of justice, of care, of human dignity, is our business. Is our call. Is our command!

Who are we, if not created for this at this time? Who are if we let injustice unroll?

Jesus calls. Jesus commands. Jesus quests:

Stand in the gap. Fight in justice. Be a Baseball Bat. Slay the Dragon.

___

P.S. If I ever have a car that is worth more to me than human dignity, please hit it with more than a baseball bat. Let my sights be on the individuals created by God, not the possessions created by man, and my heart show it forth.

A Malnourished Heart.

Dozing off to sleep, worn green leather spread across my chest, is pages flopped between my fingers, chapters and books falling apart, cradled in my arms. Spiritual milk.

I've spent several nights lately this way, falling asleep with my spiritual milk upon my breast, its contents like lifeblood that I suck. Feeling its words and truth and authors and empathy and stories refresh me, as it has refreshed the hearts of saints for centuries. Its words I pull in and ponder.

"Like newborn babies, crave spiritual milk,

so that by it you may grow up in your salvation,

now that you have tasted that the Lord is good."

I Peter 2:2-3

Last week, a friend commented on an acupuncture experience, talking about the distinction the doctor made of her heart to her limbs, and the lack of blood flow in-between. Her heart was starved of the blood flow it needed, ceasing energy to the limbs to stay heated and energized. The doctor explained it to her in words: "your heart is malnourished."

Her reflection drew Truths and parallels that expounded on her spiritual life, and gave great depth of heart-thought to the movement of true Life in side her. I appreciated her terms of explanation, her "heart was malnourished" needing time and space and words and Life to inwardly grow and flourish too.

I laid against my pillow, pages sprawled across the blankets. Spiritual milk. Life to a malnourished heart.

Closer than a Brother.

"There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother."

Proverbs 38:24

Found a Home.

"Even the sparrow has found a home,

And the swallow a nest for herself,

Where she may have her young --

A place near your alter,

Oh Lord Almighty

My King and My God."

Psalm 84:3

I wrote a year or two ago the sparrow and the swallow. About the craving for a home, for a nest, for young. I wrote with deep desire and trying to understand the Lord's word and call her, and his desire or promise for me as a single woman clinging to these words.

New words now follow them. My friend Kate Vasey said came here the other weekend and said, "You feel peaceful." Her words suprised me, in my scattering state. But her "known" is right, is true. Our conversations followed and expounded...

I have found my home. I have found my nest. I am in the place God wants for me, and preparing for the life he has for me.

I have always felt, always known, always been at home, in the life of "home." In the tasks and joys of that creation -- of table setting and dish making and children raising and man loving and garden growing. I have always been a heart at home here.

And now, this fallen sparrow has found a home. This wandering swallow has found a nest.

And so tonight, as I rest and find my place near His Alter, I conclude in contemplative worship. In praising him, for home.

Praying Through Pain.

I've been speaking with some women about chronic and physical pain, and was reminded twice to night, to PRAY through pain.

To ask and seek the grace to walk through it.

To ask and seek revelation of the problem behind the pain.

To ask and seek the Spirit to reveal the cause, the course, and the care for this chronic pain.

To ask and seek intercession for underlying psychological/spiritual layers of pain.

Please join me, and remind me, as I learn and challenge the journey, to pray through pain.

Higher Than I.

"Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I."

Psalm 61:2

The Lord has something to teach me here.

This verse has been floating around in my brain for at least a week, with no "note" attached to it...

"Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I."

Psalm 61:2

I See You.

I have a friend who always says, "I see you" with exuberance and a twinkle and bright white smilie on his face, often with that little head nod that guys do.

There is something in that phrase. Something in those words that is more than language.

Its being known.

Deep in the heart of all mankind is the desire to be known, to be seen. I feel it in myself, the craving and longing to be known inwardly, within every facet and canal of my workings.

When I hear my friend say this, when I feel the desire to be known, I feel the core of my humanity. I feel that inner need, that longing. I feel the friendships who know, who 'see' me. I feel their presence and the power of that kindred heart to carve through the layers and know, and see.

Yet I also recall his promise: that He is El Roi: The God Who Sees. That He is the God who made, who created, who designed, who breathed life. He is the Psalm 139 God. And He is The God Who Sees.

I am thankful for my friend, for his true, so deeply genuine heart. I am thankful that he "sees" and that with laughter and a twinkle, his line has spoken so clearly to me and others: "I see you."

And I am thank for my God. That I serve the God Who Sees. That the God I know, knows me and makes himself known to me. That he is El Roi: The God Who Sees.

In God's Image.

"You disrespect God in the image of your wife, and you disrespect God."

~ Dave Huber (Community Life Pastor; Church at Charlotte)

My Special People.

Every night, every day, every week: candles lit on the table. It was the constant, the norm, the un-remarkable. Of course, candles on the table. "Christina, please light the candles" was my Tuesday night task, following the table setting and prefacing the prayer giving.

Candles. The norm. At home. At the table.

It wasn't until college that I realized, it wasn't the norm. That having candles lit at the dinner table every night was instead, an anomaly.

I leaned over the counter, trying to glean her wisdom and understand her perception,thoughtful intentionality, and meaningful tradition. Before, I had always seen it as a task, a setting of the table - the candles. But now, I grew to recognize the art of candles as my mom, as personal.

"Why do you light candles?"

And I'll never forgot her response:

"Because people light candles for people that are special to them,

and you're my special people."

My special people. Ah, warm sigh. My special people. My mom.

This Warrior.

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against...the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces in the heavenly realm." Ephesians 6:12

4 cell phones to the office, simply out of belligerence. Freshman honors students in four corners, like dunces, for the second day in a row, still not working, still goofing off. Junior Honors student leaving in the middle of class, in no anger, nor explanation. Administration calling and tracking parking spaces to see what went amiss. The "f" word use profusely, 3 more students removed to ISS, remarking to administrators "She's crazy!" And I put my head down on my desk.

Defeated.

I am full of angst. Feeling completely abused, disrespected, and frustrated. At my wits end.

I wrote two months ago about piercing the dark. Full of ferocious empowerment for the gospel at my school. I live it, I talk it, I breathe it, I push it. Just last week I had out my projects from Bible class at Calvin Christian, displaying their work about the Passion week and Pauls' missionary journeys. This week, I explained the B.C. -- A.D. breakdown, and everything in history revolving around Jesus, all centering on Him, the cruxic of all time and history. Then the next class, I spoke about slavery, singing aloud the sweet anthem of "Swing Low, Sweet Charriot" with depth of explanation of the story of Elijah, the need for hope and heaven. I furthered it with the Moses connection of Harriet Tubman, and the slaves needing the empathy that comes from Jesus suffering. I communed today about Mormans and Jesus and Truth and persecution and the difference faith makes.

The gospel is presented everyday in my class. In my life, but also in my blatant words and assumed connections of Jesus and stories and life. He is real, he is present, and he is powerful in F202.

One of my favorite songs, the song I always pick up and play and sing to at my piano is "The Warrior Is A Child" by Twila Paris. Its lyrics read:

Lately I've been winning battles left and right
But even winners can get wounded in the fight
People say that I'm amazing
Strong beyond my years
But they don't see inside of me
I'm hiding all the tears

They don't know that I go running home when I fall down
They don't know who picks me up when no one is around
I drop my sword and cry for just a while
Cuz deep inside this armor
The warrior is a child

Today this Gospel Warrior came home and collapsed. Today, this warrior was sustained by no armor, by no might, by no power. I just simply dropped my sword and fell down.

But I didn't realize it until now. I didn't realize the spiritual depth and connection of my awful day, until I ended it looking up verses, trying to re-arm myself for the fight and refocus from my darkness. And I thought: I wonder if today has less to do with each individual incident and and each student and coarse word and harsh interaction, and if instead, today was a spiritual battle. If today was the presence of darkness, the spiritual forces, fighting against the Gospel Message in my room (Ephesians 6:12).

So this wounded warrior sits, reflecting and praying. Defeated, but arming. Reading:

"Put on the full armor of God so you can take your stand against the devils schemes..."

And I dig into the Word, "so that when the day of evil comes [I] may be able to stand [my] ground, and after [I] have done everything, to stand" (v 13). I search around for my belt of truth, my breastplate of righteousness, my gospel of peace, helmet of salvation and sword of the spirit. And most importantly right now, my shield of faith -- extinguishing the flaming arrows of the evil one (v. 14-17).

I end tonight, I end this battle, with prayer (v.18), and searching scriptures for my armor. My classroom needs a mighty warrior. My school needs a mighty warrior. My heart needs to be a mighty warrior, fitted with the armor of God, standing against the devils schemes.

"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power." Ephesians 6:10

~~

P.S. Thank goodness for Lamentations 3:22-24!