Sunday morning found me in the fifth pew, struggling to find some sense of focus, some sense of peace. My heart was heavy with the burden of upcoming battles. Bread and wine filled cracks in my soul, but words passed by my ears like I’d heard them a thousand times. A parable I wasn’t familiar with caught my ear, but I faded off on a tangent, connecting dots in need of more study. A story for another day. But not today.

I was there, but not really there, seeking answers to questions I didn’t know how to ask. Then through the clouds between my ears, a whisper floated by.

Be still. Be open. Listen.

Spoken prayers faded as they had a hundred times before, until two words struck me … Gentle Healer. I didn’t recall hearing these words before and I wondered if they were really said, but I did hear them. Then came God of Abundance. I left church still a bit numb, but those five words echoed in my heart.

God of Abundant, Gentle Healing.

It was like a warm hug, two strong Arms lifting me back to my feet.

Reading through the eighth chapter of Luke, my eyes glazed over the familiar story of the woman healed by touching Jesus’ garment and of the little girl He “awakened.” Glancing back at the page, the red letters stood above the others.

 

“Don’t be afraid; just believe, and she will be healed.”

But He took her by the hand and said, “My child, get up!”

Then He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.” Luke 8:48, 50, 54

God of Abundant, Gentle Healing.   Indeed.

I don’t know what the next few weeks will hold but I know the One who does. And He knows me.

But now, this is what the Lord says – He Who created you, Jacob, He Who formed you, Israel: “Do not fear for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire, you shall not be burned, the flame shall not consume you.” Isaiah 43:1-2

 

God of Abundance. Gentle Healer. You alone are worthy of praise. I thank You for the miracles in my life and the miracles to come. Surround us with Your Grace and Mercy. Be our strength.

Amen …

If you have ever shared a shovel with me, or a post hole digger, a bale of hay, a hammer or a saw, you know the saying: if I didn’t bleed, did the job really get done? Before I headed out to face even the simplest of tasks, our daughter would make sure Band-aids were close by, and usually, they were necessary.

Before hydrogen peroxide, mercuro-chrome (lovingly remembered as monkey blood), or even Bactine sprayed in a skinned knee, they used alcohol, salt or even ashes to cleanse a wound. And it hurt, thus the saying – rubbing salt in an old wound.

Yet some wounds cut much deeper than neo-sporin and a Band-Aid could fix.

In the deepest corners of my heart, memories dwell, things I’ve done, or should have done, festering like wounds unattended. Imagination allows wrongs or perceived wrongs to run wildly off the tracks, fighting battles I may never face, and still leaving scars deeper than any blade could reach.

Errant thoughts that seemed to have had little effect return in my weakest moments, exposed in the light of the Spirit, and burn as if cleansing something unrepented.

Gold and silver must endure intense heat to be purified, and iron must do the same to be moldable in the hands of a blacksmith, becoming stronger and in some usable form.

Realization, confession, and repentance are difficult and leave behind a stain, an ember that could quickly reignite the memory, burning deeper into my soul.

The only true cleansing is the Wound of wounds, the Scar of scars, the Blood of bloods. Jesus. Our Savior. The Son of God, sacrificed for me … and for you.

God knew we could never atone for our failures so; He made a way. And through the precious Blood of Christ, He sees us as holy, while I see only a reflection of my imperfect, unworthy self.

Lord, I am thankful for Your Grace, Your Mercy, Your patience, and for the lessons I try so hard to avoid. Help me find the broken pieces I’ve swept under the rug and expose them in Your Light, even if painful, that I may surrender them at Your feet. Fill the empty spaces with what is true, honorable, and pleasing in Your sight that one day, I may simply be a reflection of what You see in me.

Amen …

If these words have been a blessing, pass them along to another who needs to hear. Reach out to me at John@LiftedKeys.com and tell me your story. I would love to know where and in what way God has guided His words through my pen.

The day began like any other day, same routine, same steps. Lately it’s been one day at a time, one minute, then the next. I’ve had the strength to do no more.

Leaving the comfort of our little piece of South Texas, I was struck by a moment of pause … the most glorious sunrise.

It seemed like months since I’ve seen it. I’m sure it had been there, but I’ve been counting shoelaces more than looking into the heavens. Heartbreak upon heartbreak, one step forward, three steps back. Until this morning.

Golden strands burst through one remaining cloud, like a promise, a whisper warming my fragile heart. A masterpiece of color, lovingly orchestrated with broad strokes of grace, between the fingers of Almighty God.

Words appeared as if written in the sky:

God’s tender mercies are new every morning.

My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for He has been mindful of His humble servant. … the Mighty One has done great things for me.  Luke 1:46

I needed a shining reminder of who I am and Whose I am. I am His.

Scales fell from my eyes as signs of Spring emerged from a cold, hard winter. Flowers had not yet pushed through dead leaves or fallen branches, but there was evidence of green.

Jesus said, “Now learn this lesson from the fig tree: as soon as its twigs get tender and the leaves come out, you know summer is near.” Matthew 25:32

Jesus was speaking of the end of the age and rightfully so for no one knows the hour but the Father. Perhaps this dawn was the dawning of new season, of hope, of new growth.

Lord, I am grateful for the blessings of strength to endure a darkened winter. Please hold my heart and those of the ones I love … that You may lead us to greener pastures, beside quiet waters once more.

Amen …

 

If these words have been a blessing, pass them along to another who needs to hear. Reach out to me at John@LiftedKeys.com and tell me your story. I would love to know where and in what way God has guided His words through my pen.

The earth rumbled beneath my feet, and I turned to see the mountain reduced to dust. Solid ground faded into the mist, and I found myself deeper than any cavern I have ever known.

I stopped to count extremities, fingers and toes that seemed to be intact, but the life force that moved them suffered in the fall. Fellow travelers rushed to my aid, offering cool water to wipe my face and the effort was appreciated, but it had little effect as some things had run too deep.

The earthquake had been so sudden, the damage so severe, I didn’t want to move but I couldn’t stay where I was. It was a battle of mind over body, I felt like a spectator watching the shell of who I was struggling to stand, only to crumble under my own weight. My heart and soul were shattered beyond the strength to do their part, and did nothing but lie down, which is what I’m trying to avoid in myself, in fear I would remain frozen there.

Lazarus was a dear friend of Jesus, so his sisters, Mary and Martha, sent word that their brother was ill. They knew Jesus could heal him.

When He heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.” Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So, when He heard that Lazarus was sick, He stayed where He was two more days.  John 11:4-6

The disciples did not understand the waiting and during that time, Lazarus died. When Jesus arrived, both sisters said:

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give You whatever You ask.”

Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.”

Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in Me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in Me will never die. Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that You are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”  John 11:21-27

Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the Glory of God?” John 11:40

I fell to my knees, staring at the tomb, awaiting my Lazarus moment. But my vision was clouded by tears mixed into the dust that used to be the mountain. It was all I had left.

I lift my eyes to the mountains – where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

… and the mountain.

Somewhere, beyond my vision,

Jesus stood at the tomb and called in a loud voice,

“Come out!”

He embraced the mountain.

Jesus said, “Unbind him. Set him free.”

 

Amen …

Crushing news from a dear friend came across the wire and I was consumed by the fog that pressed against my ribs. I prayed my shuddered breath would allow her to breathe if just for a moment. The hard road I thought I was walking faded into nothing except embarrassment that my challenges mattered at all. I had no words.

Unusual, because I often have too many, spilling out with the fresh taste of shoe leather on my tongue. I flipped though my rolodex of things I had read and landed on Mark Batterson, in his book The Circle Maker, where he wrote:

Bold prayers honor God, and God honors bold prayers. God isn’t offended by your biggest dreams or boldest prayers. He is offended by anything less.

It takes a really Big God to answer really big prayers. It is good we have a really Big God, because we do have really big prayers. But again:

No Words

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And He who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God. Romans 8:26-27

Lord Jesus …………………………

I’m writing a story that may become a novel if it gets that far. It’s part of a choose your adventure project where somewhere in the middle of an existing book, you are encouraged to take the story on your own tangent, to expand on a series of books with one root story. If you didn’t like the way it ended, change it, continue it, or write a side story. Interesting writing exercise, so I gave it a shot.

The parent story was in a different genre than I prefer and after a few chapters, I realized its darkness was consuming my vision for the story, consuming my thoughts. I was fighting the same internal struggle as my lead character. Would this glorify God? If not, then they are worthless words on a page.

Doubts crept in telling me I was not strong enough for this battle, oddly similar to the main character and her doubts. I decided to put the story away, chalking it up to a good experiment. But a feeling nagged at me that there was something more, it could be special. Still, I’m not sure, so I let it set.

The publisher reached out to check and I didn’t want to tell her I gave up, so, I said, “The story took a turn I did not like so I stepped back to take a fresh look.” Not a lie, but not quite ready to try again, yet.

Then verses began to appear in my social feed like be strong and courageous and put on the armor of the Lord and Mark, Chapter 4:

Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will lift you up. Mark 4:7 and 10

Awakened from a restless sleep, I asked the Lord to guide my pen, that I may write what He wants me to write. Not my understanding, not my way, but His. Whether in a dream or not, I don’t know which, the story came back into view. As I wrote, it nearly wrote itself, though I know Whose Hand it really was.

As it reached a climax, I knew how it should end, but the was a big hole in the middle. Nothing seemed to fit. Waiting patiently (or not so patiently), a thought came to mind that bridged the gap. Much more needed to be said.

It still needs to be molded, and the details are still vague, but the Lord sent the hint. He’ll take care of the rest.

How many times have we stared into a canyon, not knowing how to cross or how long it will take? Highlights and low-lights of memories came to mind. But in each there was prayer, and patience … and frustration.

The Lord carried me over some, and others, He walked me completely around. But we did get through.

It seems I’m writing more than a story; I’m writing the script to what I’m living. I pray the journey, and the ending, will be pleasing to Him, He Who waits for me at its conclusion.

Amen …

The day ahead held tasks of greater importance in the Kingdom than an extra day of business would provide. A day of carrying another’s aching soul, and perhaps some rest for my battle-weary heart, a chance to focus on what really mattered.

An urgent message interrupted what was a pleasant evening with my bride in hand. Some critical business apparently had to be done by early the next morning. Funny how things on other people’s desks become critical when they won’t expend the effort to do it themselves. My heart sank and thoughts of retirement re-surfaced … and made a convincing argument. My mind went into a tailspin, but I knew if I went to exercise early, I could steal a few extra hours from what I should have been doing.

My eyes had barely closed before I was consumed by facts and figures, my pencil breaking at the most inopportune time, like the college entrance exam from a few years ago (okay, more than a few). I awoke suddenly, my mind counting lines on the ceiling and measuring their distances. I didn’t dare look at the clock, but I needed sleep.

In a moment of frustration, I sought the Lord, thanking Him for His great mercy and asking for peaceful slumber once more.

… whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure … think about such things. Philippians 4:8

So, I did, but my mind would not be deterred for long. I tried again, and again, until the alarm rang like a bell ending a fifteen round boxing match.

I stumbled out of bed looking for sweatpants and running shoes to face an hour of weights and cardio work, things that adhere to numbers, reps and sets, until it is done. When a new athlete worries about their speed or strength compared to others, the words of encouragement are:

Keep going. You’ll get there.
It’s all good, as long as you get there.

With my mind in its hurried state, I lost focus on my breathing and what my body is capable of (or not), working at a feverish pace. A friend said, “At that rate, you’ll get there sooner.” As if on cue, my heart began pounding in my chest, a sure sign to slow down.

The goal this morning was health, but the true goal is heaven. My heart was yelling, “If you don’t slow down, you’ll get there soon all right!”

I took off on a jog in the cold winter air, away from the noise to a place I had heard God’s voice before. He was there waiting.

As long as you get HERE.
Keep going, I will be your strength.

Thoughts of stopping short of the finish line faded. My legs felt a surge of power, my breath, a second wind.

By the Grace of God, I had finished the race today.

Now, on to finish THE RACE.

As long as you get there.

 

Special thanks to Gracie Cassias for loaning her sky.

The news of the passing of the sweetest lady struck me deeply. Her husband has been a friend and mentor for decades and every encounter with the two of them was a blessing, some of my favorite days. She has certainly earned her heavenly reward for putting up with the likes of him, and in extension, me.

I have never been comfortable with funerals or open caskets. All that remained was an empty shell of this crumbling mortal frame and memories held in the hearts they loved and who loved them dearly. My heart is broken for the man she walked beside for the better part of fifty-eight years.

My wife worked for a funeral home, and she approached it as an opportunity to serve, an honor to care especially in the face of such tragedy. Each person, whether breathing or not, is precious soul, a child of God, worthy of the utmost respect and dignity. The lesson was not lost on me.

Though we all face the moment we return to dust, it’s the in-between that matters most.

In My Utmost for His Highest – Jan 15, Oswald Chambers spoke of a white funeral, a death to our old selves:

There must be a white funeral, a death with only one resurrection … a redirection into the life of Jesus Christ.

He asks a hard question: Has there been a point in your life you now mark as your last day? Have you had your white funeral?

I’ve known people who can recite the day, time and place of their rescue. They celebrate a Re-Birthday. I don’t recall a single day, but many. God’s mercies are new every morning and that is good because the adversary’s schemes renew each day as well.

Then He (Jesus) said to them all, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow Me.” Luke 9:23

There is great joy in heaven when the lamb who was lost is found, when the prodigal son returns. If I were only steadfast enough not to stumble, one white funeral would be enough. But the Lord knows me and knows I am not. I am grateful He is patient and forgiving as I strive to be a man after His own heart.

Lord, as we lay our sweet friend to rest and You welcome her into Your loving arms, help me to leave my old self in the grave as well. Buried beneath earth and flowers, returning to dust but never forgotten.

 

Please pray for my dear friends.
God knows who and why.

I found myself in an oh too familiar space, lost in the crowd, the starter’s pistol at the ready. As the race began, trophy seekers surged to the front with wannabe’s close on their heels. There were moments when I advanced and others when I fell behind, but I found my pace, regulated my breathing and pressed on. Competitors flew by in hurried strides methodically switching from lane to lane, yet I refused to let another’s journey affect my own.

Comfortable in my own strength, I was not prepared for the hill ahead and stumbled into the dirt. A caring set of Hands lifted me and set me back on my way though it took a while to shake off the mud. Regaining my step, I looked up to see no one in front of me, no one behind, only the sound of lungs drawing an icy breath on a chilled January morning … and one set of footsteps.

Had I made a wrong turn? Did I not follow direction or completely ignore them? It wouldn’t be the first time. Continuing along a predawn path, I heard a gentle whisper:

This is where you hear My voice.
Away from the noise of this world, in this space, in this moment.
When I walked the earth with human feet, I sought these moments to commune with the Father, to rest, to recharge, to discern His will for My life.

Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where He prayed. Mark 1:35

You have felt this calling too.
When your heart can take no more, you seek someplace quiet, even if just a breath completing some mundane chore. There has been laughter, there have been tears and sometimes no words at all. A moment to commune with the Father.
Do not miss these moments.

I turned the corner to see the others had run well ahead of me, yet I continued on.

Just the sound of my breath, and two sets of footsteps.

 

Be Blessed in Great Measure