Delegated Authority

I work for the government in a job where I make decisions about eligibility for benefits. I apply the legislation and provide an impartial decision with reasons for that decision if I say no. My signature can also release funds to successful applicants based on an assessment of their disability.

But the power I have to make such decisions doesn't come from me. It comes from the Minister of my department. It's called "delegated authority" and it means that I have the right, as a disability adjudicator, to make decisions on behalf of the Minister. 

And it's that kind of delegated authority I would like to talk about in the spiritual sense and more specifically in the area of prayer for the sick. So welcome to the message I have burning through my heart, aching to be shared.

I went through all the gospels not that long ago, and I tried to find even one instance where Jesus ASKED GOD to heal someone or perform a miracle of any kind. Know how many times that happened?

Zero. 
Zilch. 
Nada. 
Zip.

When Jesus sent out seventy of His disciples to the countryside in pairs, He didn't tell them to ask the Father to heal, or to ask Him, even. He said, "Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons." (Matt. 10:8). So how did they do this? Yes, it was His power, His authority, but they did it like they saw Jesus do it... every single day. 

And how did Jesus do it? If He didn't pray to the Father to do it, how did He go about it? 

Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead.
From this site

Simple. 

He spoke to the problem. He didn't plead for God to take it away; He TOLD it to leave. And it did. Every. Single. Time. 

I know, I know; I can hear you now. "What about 'if it be Your will'?" Well, let's look at that. When did Jesus say that to His Father? in Gethsemane! He was facing the greatest trial of His life (spoiler: the cross!), and naturally wanted to get out of it (umm HUMAN!) and it was THEN that He said "if it be Thy will." Hmmm. NEVER did He say that phrase in relation to healing someone. That's kind of revealing in itself, isn't it?

Isn't it just? The only time He prayed ANYTHING before a miracle was at Lazarus' tomb, and ONLY for the benefit of those in earshot. And moreover, there was no request at all. When He prayed, it was to thank the Father for hearing Him. That's ALL. And then He spoke to the dead man, and called him out of the tomb. 

I know the objections. I had them too. The person doing that kind of healing has to have a lot of faith. Yes, there is a lot of faith involved.  But here's the thing. It's not YOUR faith. It's not MY faith. It's JESUS' faith.  

Hear what I have to say. Romans 6:23 - "It is by grace you have been saved through faith, and that [that is, faith] not of yourselves. It is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast." 

Not convinced? Try Galatians 2:20, the last part of the verse, "...and the life I live now, I live by faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave Himself for me..." Did you notice it doesn't say faith IN the Son of God... but faith OF the Son of God?  Folks, it's JESUS' faith! 

This means that I don't have to drum up my own faith or work myself into a frenzy for it; I just need to rely on the faith of Jesus, which is Rock-Solid! Resting in His infinite faith, I can speak to the sick (germs, sickness) with authority (because He has granted delegated authority to do so) and the sick people will recover. (That is in one of the accounts of the Great Commission, by the way.) And so can you.

Me? Really? 

Yes. You. Really.

When I first stumbled on the concept of speaking TO the problem and speaking in the authority of Jesus' faith --- it revolutionized my Christian walk. No longer was I pulling my faith up by the roots every week or so to see if it was growing. I focused on intensifying intimacy with God, and spoke to problems as they arose in the mighty name (authority) of Jesus. And let me tell you ... IT WORKS. So far, since about 2 years ago, I have lost count of the number of times people have been helped, healed, been strengthened, had needs met, and been built up physically and/or spiritually when I have used Jesus' faith and spoken into their lives - family, friends, perfect strangers, you name it, regardless of distance and regardless of whether they were aware of me doing it. 

It's amazing. It's revolutionizing. It's very humbling. And yes, it's even FUN. The feeling of being on an adventure is something I couldn't have foreseen, but it happens every time I am led to speak life or healing into someone's situation. And it happens a LOT more frequently than could be explained by just coincidence. And I am so very grateful... it's hard to describe how that is, but it just is. That He would trust me (and you) with that kind of authority - is very humbling... yet invigorating!

Let your hearts be encouraged. Let your minds be expanded. Let the peace of God reign. Let go of your doubts and let God's love motivate your spirit.  Take the place of authority you were meant to have. You will NEVER regret it.

The Broken Hallelujah

There's a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah
                        - - Leonard Cohen (1984)


I like Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" better than any other version I've ever heard.  I've heard a couple of different versions where someone (because it's in the public domain and because they liked the tune but not the words) has put different words to the music - words that they thought would be more uplifting - and while the new words were more uplifting, something inside me somehow felt like singing other words to it was being (for me) ... disloyal or wrong at a core level.

Okay, part of it is because I'm a songwriter and I know what it's like when someone takes your song and puts words in it that aren't there. It's like someone pronouncing your name wrong. Every. Time. It grates. It just does. 

But most of it (in keeping with the whole author thing) is that the original song has a message that a lot of people miss. It's about the broken hallelujah.  

Photo "Sad Woman Sitting Alone In Room"
courtesy of FrameAngel at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

As most everyone knows, the word hallelujah means "praise the Lord."  Cohen was inspired by King David's story of brokenness  -  how he fell into adultery and lost his throne over it - and still worshiped God.  David's hallelujah was a broken one. But it was a hallelujah nonetheless.

Something I heard at a worship conference years ago may help me explain what I mean.  Internationally known worship leader Bob Fitts came to lead worship at our church once, over 10 years ago, first by talking about what worship is and isn't, and then by doing it and inviting us to join in.  In his talk, he was saying that all worship is precious to God, but that the worship that arises out of our brokenness is the kind where He draws closest to us, whether we are aware of it or not. That we choose to worship Him during those times, when our hearts are breaking, touches His heart. It takes far more courage to worship God when one's world is caving in than it does when everything is going right. Especially when the worship is not asking for anything ... except possibly for an awareness of His presence.

Hence the broken hallelujah. I've been there - broken, I mean - ... many times. One important time comes to mind especially today, the 3rd anniversary of our family being informed of my daughter's death the previous night.  It's been those kinds of times when I've reached up like a drowning person only to grasp nothing but emptiness, when I have felt alone and frightened by the intensity of my emotions, when I have depleted my strength and my ability to withstand the harsh, accusing voices in my mind, that God has reached out to me and in love, mercy and grace, reminded me that He is with me and that he really loves me. His love is so great - and the worship - born from trust in that love - rises from me even through the pain. It's a broken hallelujah ... gurgling up from blubbering lips and a throat that feels swollen and choked, sobbing past hot tears and a broken heart.

Here's the secret though.  It's both a broken AND a holy hallelujah.  That's how I see Leonard Cohen's message, even if he might never have intended it that way. His original message was that the holy and the broken hallelujahs were of equal value - and in a way, yes they are. But the broken ones are holy in themselves, maybe even the most holy ones. 

There's a blaze of light 
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken hallelujah -
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelu-jah.

Undiluted, Pure Grace

Whenever I get confused about what I have to do, what God's will is for me, or whether I'm barking up the wrong tree, I always end up in either Romans 8, 1 Corinthians 5, or Galatians. 

Today, I decided to take a different tack with my approach - instead of reading a few favorite verses, I decided to read the whole book of Galatians, and in a readable, relate-able paraphrase called "The Message." I find that this paraphrase demystifies Paul's writings for me and helps me get to his intent, his real message, stripping away all the convoluted fancy talk. 

I wanted to see just what the church's problem was at Galatia. What specifically was Paul trying to correct? I wanted to see the big picture and not get "lost in the tall grass" as one acquaintance put it once. And it was so clear as I just read through all six chapters that the thing he was trying to correct was that the Galatians believed the lie. The lie is that humans can do something to make God like them more. 

What they didn't GET was that God already approved of them, had already gone to the cross for them, rescued them, and made them righteous in His sight through the sacrifice He made for them, putting them right back into the covenant that God made with Abraham: you know, the one based on faith alone, five hundred years before Moses was even born. They were stuck on keeping the law as a way to add to what Jesus had already accomplished for them; it was an insult to His grace. It detracted from it, diluted it.

To dilute something means to lessen its power by adding something else into the mix. While dilution can be a helpful thing in cases of making something more palatable or less toxic, the sense in which I mean it is of something that would be detrimental by being watered down. For example, the orphanage in Dickens' book, Oliver Twist used to water down the porridge served so that it was no longer porridge (oatmeal) at all, but gruel, or oatmeal-flavored water. It left the boys in the orphanage constantly hungry, which gave rise to Oliver's famous quote, "Please sir, may I have some more?"  

Grace gets watered down with religion - and the result is gruel. Nasty, tasteless, unsatisfying gruel. 

But people don't know the difference if that is the only diet they've ever gotten. The only way is to give them a taste of what they've been missing.

Here is a taste of Pure Grace. Jesus has done it all for you; He has already fully accepted you; there is nothing else you need to do for Him to completely love you and approve of you. God did that IN JESUS AT THE CROSS from before the foundation of the world. Nothing you can do can add to it or take away from it; the Grace of God stands alone. 

Photo "Rushing River" courtesy of Maggie Smith at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Your faith is nothing more than saying "Yes" to His Grace, believing that you can step into that stream of living water already flowing beneath your feet. He works His life out in you. 
He is with you, and as near as the breath you breathe. Always. Not just at some ornate altar somewhere, He is with you at all times, loving you, bragging you up, doting on you. 

Listen to what a friend of mine had to say about this:

It seemed that the gospel I was raised with required my faith in order for my sins to be forgiven. That God would not or could not love me until I worked faith out. This seemed to make my faith a work by which I gained or won salvation. Now I know that my faith simply accepts what is already mine. While I was a sinner Christ died and rose again for me. God has never held my sin against me. Christ was crucified before the world began. I was reconciled to God from birth. It’s all mine (and yours) now, though I won’t experience it until I believe it. However, the accepting of forgiveness does not produce it. Faith simply says ”I see it, I believe it.” Seeing it, believing it, is a work of grace, and then I have to simply say “yes” to it.

This radical shift for me has now begun to cross over into what I have as a believer. I have longed for certain gifts to be mine. Asked, begged, pleaded with God, to allow them to be in my life. Thinking that until I act in some worthy fashion and exercise my faith that they would not be manifested. But they are all mine already, and have been from the very beginning of all things, and thus certainly from the beginning of my spiritual life.

“For in him all the fullness of deity lives in bodily form, and you have been filled in him, who is the head over every ruler and authority.” (Col 2:9,10)

“For every one of God’s promises are “Yes” in him; therefore also through him the “Amen” is spoken, to the glory we give to God.” (2 Cor 1:20)

Faith just says “I see it, I believe it.” Seeing that all his gifts are mine already is a work of grace, and then I have to simply say “yes” to it.

Demanding that anyone produce the work of faith before they can be forgiven is actually a sure way to keep them from it. If faith becomes a law, a thing we must do before God will love us, then we have fallen from Grace before we ever find it. If believing that the gifts are mine is a law, a thing I must do before they can be mine then I am already insulting the Spirit of Grace. I am already far from the reality as it is in Jesus.

It’s all ours now, all we have to do is see it, believe it, and say yes to it.
    - Rev. Stephen John Fenton, 2015-04-11.

I saw this work of Grace in the heart and life of my own dad. He was a chain-smoker, started smoking when he was five years old and had tried to quit SO many times, to no avail. He struggled with it all of his life. And for decades he had been judged and condemned by the religious elite of the community - which included his own wife many times - and sometimes he had tried to change, to clean up his life. He just. couldn't. do. it. He couldn't change himself, not one iota. He couldn't understand the Bible, didn't want to read it, didn't want anything to do with the people who'd judged him...the religious ones...or the petty, vindictive god they served.

When he was 58, he had a heart attack. And one day, after having developed a respect for the pastor who went to see him every day and showed that he cared about HIM, that pastor asked him for permission to ask him a personal question. With Dad's permission, the pastor said, "Are you trusting Jesus as your only way to a relationship with God?" And Dad thought about it and then he said, "Yes." And he meant it.

In that moment, something radical changed in him; he was never the same. And all he said was, "Yes." That's pure Grace. 

Yes, he struggled with his addiction. Yes, it eventually and ultimately killed him - first laying waste to his lungs, then his brain. But the person he was when he walked out of that hospital at fifty-eight years old was a different person than he was when he went in. He found himself automatically loving Jesus. He found himself automatically wanting to spend time with Him, reading what He had to say. He became more generous, more loving, more gentle, more humble. All without even trying. Jesus was doing the working out of Grace in his life, giving him the "want to" and the power to live each moment in gratitude and in returning the great love he had been given back to the One who gave it. And at the end of his life here, not even 10 years after that heart attack, there were so many people at his funeral that folks filled the foyer, and had to stand outside the church in the cold November air. 

Grace has nothing to do with us. It has everything to do with God.

That's how it works. That's how it always works - full-strength, undiluted, pure Grace. 

Thank God!!

A God Thing

It's been a hellish week. Never mind the relentless cold, wind and yo-yo weather of Maritime winter. Never mind the mind-numbing routine of eat, work, eat, sleep and repeat. It's been especially stressful lately, and nowhere has it been more stressful than in our daughter's struggles with the health care system and the disability insurance process. 

She's been on disability insurance for two years after an accident in which she dislocated her kneecap ended eventually in first one surgery, and then another, with very little improvement. 

About 5 months ago, her insurance company told her that her DI benefits would run out at the end of February 2015 because the rules were changing from "unable to do former job" to "unable to do ANY job." She's spent the last five months gathering information about all her other disabilities, not just her knee (which is the reason we have a handicapped parking permit). The list is ... daunting: everything from TMJ disorder (that jaw thing) to problems in her neck, shoulders, and back, to psychological difficulties like PTSD and panic disorder, to migraines and multiple chemical sensitivies, to a possible carpal tunnel syndrome. Not to mention that her body is a human barometer and she has pain whenever there are storms on the way. And there have been a LOT of storms.

The last month, she's been complaining of more muscular and joint aches, more headaches, and more panic attacks. The stress of the upcoming insurance deadline (February 2015) was weighing heavily on her, and it had become so much a part of her everyday life that she wasn't even aware of it. This past weekend, her beloved iPhone (that never left her side) bit the dust, and she spent six hours dealing with sales people and insurance people while still grieving the loss of her daily companion. She did get a new phone (though not an iPhone since the newer models don't meet her criteria) but the process of change AND being around people that long AND having to talk to strangers on the phone ... gave her a panic attack when she got home. 

There have been construction workers in the house this week with jackhammers. Jackhammers. The cats have been terrified and she has been jittery and uneasy. Talk about stress.

Today, she'd gotten back from her weekly counselling session and a few errands in town, when the phone rang; it was her insurance company. They had rendered a decision on her disability insurance. 

It was favourable. They had concluded that she met the criterion of "not able to do ANY job" and her benefits would therefore be extended. 

Photo "Opening Door Knob" courtesy of
sixninepixels at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Her financial situation immediately looked a whole lot more rosy. The pressure of wondering how she was going to pay her way ... lifted.

Moreover, the insurance company is committed to providing everything she needs to become functional again. Everything. Prescriptions, travel to and from out-of-province appointments, physio, therapy, whatever she needs.

Instantly, the weight of all that hidden stress lifted from her shoulders, her back, her neck, and her jaw. 

I found out about the phone call when I phoned home from work to check on how the morning went. As my husband explained everything to me, my eyes started filling with tears because I knew how much of a relief this would be for her. How much she would feel vindicated! How much she would relax and focus on looking after herself.

It was like opening a door.

It was definitely what I call "A God Thing." Only God could have worked it out, in a time frame that would mean no interruption in benefits, for maximum stress reduction, just when she needed it most, and she knows it. She knows it. 

I know it too. This is her time.

For far too long she has been suffering, hiding, pretending not to exist. For far too long she has settled for the leftovers, not spoken up for herself, thinking that "nice guys finish last." For way too long this child of God has accepted defeat. Now it is time to start walking in victory. Now it is time to heal. Now it is time to begin to live instead of just exist. 

And I, as her mother, am in a position to be able to do support her and to be one of those who will speak healing (and not judgment) into her life: body, soul and spirit. The tide is turning; I can sense it. It's the beginning of a new way of living, of thinking, of praying, of believing for me. Of believing that God's will isn't some namby-pamby wishy-washy bunch of platitudes like 'if it's His will.' It's time to really believe and declare that He not only wants to makes something beautiful out of her life, but that He WILL do it. 

I look forward to seeing more and more "God Things" happen ... because I know that He loves beyond anything that any of us could imagine. 

Just wait.

Spotless

"... Out, damned spot! Out, I say! ...
... yet, who would have thought the old man
to have had so much blood in him ...
... What, will these hands ne'er be clean?....
... Here's the smell of the blood still:  all the
perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten
this little hand! Oh, oh! oh!!"
---- Lady MacBeth, Hamlet, Act V Scene 1

Some may recognize the above excerpts to be from Lady MacBeth's sleepwalking scene where she is out of her mind with guilt for orchestrating the king's death to advance her husband to the throne. Seeing it played out is absolutely heart-breaking, even though we know that this woman is responsible for the deaths of the king and of his family members (and others) by this point in the story. She is so frail and so overwhelmed by the weight of the consequences of her own hunger for power that she goes crazy and commits suicide. Such a tragic, hopeless end!  

Many times I see believers believe (or act as if they believe) as did poor Lady MacBeth. They wail and weep over sins they have committed, moan about how unworthy they are, beg God to forgive their sins, and do it all again the next time they think that they've done something unworthy of their calling. 

For them, and for those like them, I have good news. 

Before any of us were even born, Jesus died for all of our sin. Every sin we would ever commit was covered, eradicated, obliterated from the record books. Past, present, and future (at that time it was all future anyway!!) This not only included the sins we committed while we were still unbelievers, but also the ones we would commit afterward. 

We are spotless. Not just positionally - in reality. This is the good news: we are new creations, we are made holy and whole in His sight because we have been purchased, bought back from the slaver and set in the palace with Him as His children. Our debt is already paid. We are already clean. The glory is already given. 

We. Are. Spotless. 

His divine power has granted us all that we need for life and godliness.

He took the verdict that was written against us and nailed it to His cross. 

God has made Him to be sin for us (Him who knew no sin) that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him! 

We are holy and blameless before Him. In love He predestined us to be adopted. 

We have been saved through grace by faith, not by works, in case anyone would boast. We are His masterpiece, created in Christ Jesus. 

We. Are. Spotless. 

Photo "Waterfall In Forest" courtesy of
Witthaya Phonsawat at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Pure, clean, unsullied, without reproach. He has in love redeemed our souls from the pit of corruption, for He has cast all our sins (did you hear that? ALL our sins) behind His back. 

Spotless. 

Not someday. NOW. Not pie-in-the-sky. No, it's feet-on-the-ground every-day-every-moment HOLY, just as holy as Jesus is. Not because WE have accomplished anything but because He has regenerated us.  

This one truth, this deliriously good news, changes our piteous pleas for forgiveness, our hopeless cries of unworthiness, into worship that He has saved us and given us the right to approach Father and ask Him anything - based on what has ALREADY been done, ALREADY been given, ALREADY been provided for us to enjoy. 

There is no need to ask or cajole, to beg for His presence. He is there.

There is no need to grovel. He has given us richly all things to enjoy. Including forgiveness. It's already done, once and for all. We get to live in it all of the time.

There is no need to wonder if God will do for us what He has promised, if He has our best interest at heart. We can be confident that He loves us and that He will do whatever is best for us. No matter what!

He bought and paid for it all. He took us in from the cold, has washed us and replaced our rags with His righteousness, adopted us and given us His name. 

We. 
Are. 
Spotless. 

Believe it. Joy in it. Dare to experience, to know deep inside how deep His love is, how wide His grace is, how vast His forgiveness is, how far His compassion spreads ... and if by chance you say to yourself, "This is too good to be true," then you are only beginning to scratch the surface of how passionate He is about His relationship with you.

Ask Him. Ask Him to show you how much He loves you.
I bet that He will show you the ultimate expression of His love: Jesus - paying the ultimate price for your freedom at the cross. 

Linger there.

He. Is. Here.

The words to a little chorus we learned a few years ago are running through my head:

He is here, Hallelujah!
 He is here, Amen!
He is here, holy holy;
 I will bless His name again...
He is here, listen closely,
 Hear Him calling out your name; 
He is here; you can touch Him!
 You will never be the same.  - Kirk Talley (c) 2006

He is here. Such simple little words, but meditate on them with me for a few minutes.

He is here when we are all together worshiping. There's nothing like corporate worship to lift Him up and let us realize the truth of His presence together. I'm not talking about just singing songs; I'm talking about when hearts (not just hands or voices) are lifted in praise and gratitude and God seems to bend low to catch every word, every whisper, every tear shed. For some a mountaintop, for others a valley of weeping, He hears each heart's cry and He. Is. Here.

He is here when it's dark, when we can't see anything that is coming, when we feel at the mercy of our circumstances, and when sadness and discouragement roll over us like ocean billows. When there doesn't seem to be any hope, when there doesn't seem to be any answer, He. Is. Here. 

He is here when we think we have it covered. He is the One holding us, keeping us safe, even if we don't realize it and think that it's all our doing. He doesn't have anything to prove; He's already got it covered (He did that at the Cross) and the sooner we understand that, the sooner we will relax and not be so obsessed with getting it right. He. Is. Here.

Photo "Eagle In Flight" provided by
Jeff Ratcliff at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

He is here when we fail, when we fall. And sooner or later we will; we are human. He is still here, no matter what! His love will come up underneath us like a father eagle swoops down and catches a falling eaglet, too little to fly, on His back. He. Is. Here.

He is here when nobody else is. We long for the support of our loved ones, but the uncomfortable truth is that depending on other humans is a risky thing. Eventually, there comes a time when nobody else is in our corner. We can be alone. He. Is. Here. 

He is here when we call out to Him. Any time, anywhere, for any reason, He is delighted when we turn to Him, ask His guidance, include Him in our every day. He is waiting. Always. He. Is. Here.

He is here when we don't feel worthy. He believes in us, sees us as perfect in His sight, lifts us up and puts His stamp of approval on us. Because of the once-for-all sacrifice He made, He is enough for us when we feel "less than" - because He is "more than." And He makes us "more than" - because He. Is. Here.

He is here when we wonder where He's gone. Probably the most annoying thing about being human is that we can't see what's ahead, and we don't know what He has in store for us. Our inability to see beyond "what is" can make us uncomfortable with waiting until He opens doors for us. We spend a lot of time trying to force the lock. All the while He is preparing the way ahead of us. At such times, we can trust His love for us, trust His desire to grow inside of us what is best for us. Even when we can't figure Him out, He. Is. Here. 

He is here when we are afraid. Life can be overwhelming at times. Faced with realities like sickness, danger, even the cruelty of others, we can rely on His faithful presence. We can count on Him to be there to listen, to love, to help. We can lean on Him. He has already carried us when He carried the weight of the world on His back. He has defeated sin, death and the grave. He is the Master of the Universe. And He. Is. Here.

He is here when we step outside our comfort zones. He births the desire for something more in us, opens the door of opportunity for us and when we get ready to step through, knees can knock together! We can trust that if He brought us here, He will stay with us even if whatever it is, is hard. He can see the end from the beginning. He's got this. He's right in the middle of our situation, walking it with us, believing in us, and cheering us on. He. Is. Here.

His presence is everywhere. Like air, like life's blood, He is here. 

Listen closely; He listens to you.
Hear Him calling out your name; He's been doing it for a long time.
He is here, close as the breath you breathe.
You can touch Him; He's given His all for you; He loves you.
You will never be the same.

In Heavenly Places

"But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), and raised us up with Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the ages to come He might show the surpassing riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God, not as a result of works, so that no one may boast." - Eph. 2: 4 - 9 (NASB)

I remember reading Mark Twain's book The Prince and the Pauper (1881) when I was a young teen. It made such an impression on me, especially one of the secondary plots of the story.

For those that don't know the story, young king Edward VI (Henry VIII's son) is one of the main characters in this book (the prince) and a boy born in squalor, spending his life stealing money and food for his alcoholic father and dodging his blows when he didn't bring in enough, is the other (the pauper). Prince Edward sees this young boy (Tom) outside his gate and takes him in, cleans him up and realizes that this child is his double! They trade places "temporarily" - the prince to see what adventure lies outside the gate and the pauper to see what comforts lie within. 

While outside the gate, Edward takes a man into his confidence, Miles Hendon, a man who starts out believing the boy has gone crazy, but who humours his delusions that he is the heir to the throne, to the point of becoming like a manservant to him. He protects the boy from the pauper's father and from the elements of the society which surely would have killed the naive prince. Edward rewards him by granting Miles' request, a privilege Edward did not allow him previously, the right to "sit in his majesty's presence." 

Henry VIII dies and plans are made to place Tom (the pauper) on the throne.

Edward (with Miles' help) manages to return to the palace, interrupt the coronation, prove his identity and assume the throne, naming Tom a ward of the palace. Miles, having been detained by the palace guard, is unaware that Edward has returned to his rightful place. Miles manages to evade the palace guards and attend the last part of the coronation. He fights his way through the crowd and sees the new king in his splendor. He recognizes the boy he had come to know. 

In desperation, he does the only thing he can think to do. He rushes up to the foot of the throne, and sits cross-legged on the floor in full view of the new king and all who are present. There is an audible gasp from the crowd. The guards move in to drag him away, but Edward stops them and says that this man has been granted the right to sit in his presence and has often protected him. 

That scene in the throne room - for me - was the highlight of the story. 

Photo "Father and Daughter"
by photostock at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

To have the right to sit in the presence of the King is a privilege that God has granted to us because of what Jesus did for us on the cross, because of His great love for us (Ephesians 1). Not only does He allow us to sit in His presence, but He brings us to sit with Him in His throne, free of condemnation, safe from all who would seek to destroy us. 

His grace toward us is so complete and so permanent that He states that He HAS saved us. It's already been done! Ages ago!! We are NOW sitting in His throne with Him; this is not some pie-in-the-sky-bye-and-bye promise. Eternal life, the new creation, the reborn existence, begins at the moment we accept all that He has done as enough for us; nothing more can be added to it. Nothing.

We are fully accepted. Fully. 

Being in His throne with Him doesn't give us the right to judge another; that is God's prerogative and not ours. Not even Jesus has that right (John 12: 47 - 49). 

The more we realize how completely accepted by the Father we are, accepted in such a deep way, being loved that much with absolutely no condemnation, the more we comprehend the key to living the life of faith, that abundant life that Jesus promised in John 10:10 and which many of us have given up hoping is possible. A lot of very good things can come in and take the place of what is most important. Those good things can themselves become a form of slavery and detract from the good news of the Way Jesus died to provide.

That Way doesn't come by turning over a new leaf; it comes by Grace.
It doesn't come by behavior modification; it comes by Grace. 
It doesn't come by moral codes and church constitutions; it comes by Grace.
It doesn't happen through being busy in the Lord's work; it comes by Grace. 
It doesn't come by Jericho marches; it comes by Grace.
It doesn't even come by Bible-reading or prayer; it comes by Grace. 

The cart - as usual - is before the horse in the minds of many believers. Focusing on what our lives "should" look like, we try to produce those results without resting in the Grace of God. 

It's a recipe for bondage and burnout. Plus, it's (in effect) saying to God that Jesus' sacrifice wasn't enough. 

Let that sink in for a minute.

I'm not saying that we live in lawlessness and anarchy. Far from it! However, if we get it into our heads that keeping ourselves in the love of God means keeping the commandments, we've missed out on what Jesus died to give us freely.

So I close with a couple of verses from Galatians. And I pray that you and I will take it to heart - every day - with the highest Way (the Way of Grace) in mind.

"It was for freedom that Christ set us free; therefore keep standing firm and do not be subject again to a yoke of slavery. Behold, I Paul say to you that if you receive circumcision [substitute here: "if you follow the rules and regulations"] Christ will be of no benefit to you..." - Galatians 5: 1, 2

What matters most

We sat in a common area for visitors to our building and caught up with our friend's news. We hadn't really had a chance to touch base with him in years, just a few dribs and drabs here and there in bits and snatches of conversations we'd had. We thought to ourselves how pleasant, how calm and peaceful he was.

In the background, a chorale was practicing songs from the First and Second World Wars. I recognized, "Over there... over hill, over dale, over there," but instead of them singing, "..the Yanks are coming," they sang, "...the troops are coming." It's Canada, after all.

Our friend was telling us about his latest news.  "They knew it was cancer around the first of May. At first they thought it was mesothelioma," he continued, "which carries a maximum life expectancy of two years. And then they did some more biopsies and discovered that it was leukemia. Stage two." He paused and smiled. "Thank God. Really. I'm grateful it wasn't the one they thought it was."

We shook our heads in disbelief, and asked him if he had started any treatment yet.

"Not yet." He paused, and looked toward the right as if trying to remember something. "They said that the body builds up an immunity to the drug they use quite quickly, so if they use it too soon, it won't be as effective when the time comes to really fight it."

It. The Cancer. 

He was talking about it as a separate entity.

Asked if he would mind if we put him on our prayer chain, he grinned and said, "By all means. I believe in healing. But whether it happens or not, I'm okay with it.  I'm ready.  Everyone dies sometime."

The chorale was still practicing a French Canadian ballad: "Un Canadien errant, bani de ses foyers, parcourait en pleurant des pays étrangers..." (translation: A wandering Canadian, banished from hearth and home, went about singing in foreign lands). The haunting melody echoed in the large room and pierced my heart; it took on new meaning as our friend continued sharing his heart.

"Heaven. It's like retirement - you hear about it when you're young and it doesn't seem real, like a pipe dream or something. But I guess I'll get there before you will." Then he smiled - that slow, real, beautiful smile that always made you feel like you were the most important person in the world.

And then the smile faded. "I'm just sad for my wife, that's all."

He talked about how the cancer had forced him to make a decision to live life, really LIVE it, enjoy each day instead of one day just blending into the next mindlessly. "My wife and I have been really happy these last two years," he told us. "I've learned how to have a real God-centred marriage, something I wish I'd known the first time around. It's made such a difference. I can't believe it sometimes."

"I've been thinking a lot about the old song, 'His Eye is on the Sparrow.' He really is looking after me, and I don't have any dread of what lies ahead." 

"If I passed away tomorrow, I could still say that I've been over-blessed."

Over-blessed. Really. My throat felt tight; my eyes and nose stung. After all he'd been through already. And now this. And he felt over-blessed.

Photo "Throwing Fishing Net During Sunset"
courtesy of noomhh at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

He talked frankly about the long medical road ahead, and how he didn't know what lay in store for him in the valley of the shadow. "But surprisingly," he said, "there is absolutely no fear. I'm not afraid at all." 

"It's a long way to Tipperary, it's a long way to home..."

He asked how we were doing, and apologized for talking about himself so much. We said it was okay, that we had wanted to know how he was. We shared some of how life had been for us the last few months, and then (as time was short) we exchanged email addresses for the purpose of setting up another time to meet and connect. 

We stood up, each to go our separate ways. He spoke one final time. "If there's one thing that I want to come out of this whole thing, it's that I want God to be glorified. I want for His Kingdom to be advanced, you know?" 

We nodded, tears in our eyes. 

We know. 

Time Heals All Wounds ... Really?

Time, they say, heals all wounds. Hmm. 

How much time? How long? And ALL wounds? Oh really? 

My dad died of widespread brain cancer in 1993. He was in a lot of pain before he passed. A LOT. At the time, God gave me the grace to let him go, and I didn't wish him back because I saw how much he hurt and how helpless and afraid the pain made him. Those memories - memories of him crying out for his mama, memories of him forgetting significant portions of his life - are still as fresh as they were back in October and November 1993. 

There have been times since then - times I've been hurting - that I've missed him so much. The pain of losing him catches me off guard when I see something that reminded me of him, or hear one of the kids (usually my youngest, more about her later) say something or take an attitude that he would have. 

And today ...  today I ache to feel his arms around me again, to hold me close to his heart and murmur in my ear, in his deep, rich bass voice, that everything is going to be all right. 

Because it isn't all right. Not right now, anyway. 

I know that it will be. Someday. But not today. 

Today, I grieve. Today, my baby girl's body lies in a funeral home near Edmonton, Alberta, after a car accident that separated her spirit from it. 

They will put her earthly shell (beautiful as it is) on a plane in Edmonton on Tuesday** morning. (She never got to know the thrill of flying, feeling that surge of power as the plane accelerates, and the sudden smoothness as it lifts off the tarmac.) Her body will be flying and being delayed by layovers all day long and into the night to get here. The staff at the funeral home here need time to prepare everything - probably another day. Seeing as that would put it to a Halloween wake (not a good idea because so many parents want that evening for family time) yet another delay. Unavoidable. (** - Now postponed to Wednesday. Glad now that we opted for a Friday wake!)

We will have what folks here call "the wake" on Friday night, ten days after her accident and nine after we were notified that it happened. 

I know that in time, (and I think that this is the spirit of that saying) the sharp edge of pain will dull. Memories we have will be able to come to us without us bursting into tears at random times, because we are so keenly aware that she is gone from us. 

But that it HEALS? No. No, it is not time that heals. 

And yet.  AND YET... 

It is such a comfort to know that our baby girl had such a powerful experience with God on the night of September 17. She called us on the 18th to tell us about it. And she called her "2nd mother" (which the funeral home doesn't "get" at all ... so they're calling our Dorothy her 'godmother') and she told her too. And she told everybody who would listen, especially if they were hurting and alone, struggling with life. 

We know that we know that we know it was real. Nobody can take that away from us. It makes the grief almost bearable for me. Almost. At least I'm not curled up in a fetal position in a psychiatric ward. I might just be if it weren't for the fact that I know where she is right now. And SHE is not in that funeral home. She is with her Saviour - the One she embraced at age 3, and again at age 5, and the One to whom she responded in love and gratitude over a month ago after He made His presence felt. Powerfully. (See my post below, "Outside the Box".)

But since the accident - and I have recurring flashbacks to that moment when I learned of it and waking dreams of the moment of the crash, usually in the mornings - I have experienced some measure of healing. But not from time.

It's from love.

I cannot begin to express my gratitude for the outpouring of love that I and my family have experienced these last several days. I have remarked before that it's the kindnesses shown by people, the expressions of sympathy, the acts of love and compassion that seem to hurt the most when we are in pain. Operative word: SEEM. 

Just like it SEEMs that the antiseptic ointment stings in a cut. The stinging, we told our girls when they were growing up, is the feeling of thousands of germs dying. It is necessary for healing. 

Arms have held us, squeezed hard sometimes as we have each grieved in our own way. Hands have brought us food, made phone calls for us, watered plants at the workplace. Feet have run errands for us. We have felt protected, sheltered by close friends and protected from additional heartache by total strangers - everyone from police officers to coroners to two women we have never met who offered to go identify her body. Thank God they were spared that task - since it apparently falls to a family member to do it - and thank God that the coroner's office made it possible to do electronically rather than making us fly out there. There is healing there.

We've heard voices of people we have not heard from in decades. Last night, there was a knock at the door and there stood a neighbour - he and his wife live two houses up the street - whom we hadn't had any interaction with for over 10 years. Yet they had heard of our tragedy. He was carrying a pot of chili. His son and our girls used to play together in both our back yards when they were little. An argument over something stupid made one parent ban the other parent's kid from their property. The friendship survived between the kids, but the parents never got over it. How petty is that? He was decidedly uncomfortable and said his speech, shook our hands, gave us the pot and told us to bring it back when we were done. Gruff, yes, (just his way) but he and his wife didn't have to do that. There is healing in that.

Our daughter's friends have "friended" us, as the saying goes on Facebook. We find that while we have lost one daughter, we have gained dozens of children in the process. It has given us the unique ability to speak life and love into their lives. What a privilege. I am in awe. God has enlarged our hearts. 

Let me explain this to you because ... it is huge for me.

I used to have a saying that made people feel rather uncomfortable: "I hate kids. I even have a hard time liking my own!" When a friend was visiting here a few days ago, I was talking about some experience we'd had and I just quipped, without thinking, "I-doan-even-like kids..." and ... thankfully, she laughed. 

Photo "Sleeping Baby" by Dynamite Imagery at 
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Yet somehow, even as I spoke the words, they didn't ring as true for me. And just yesterday, I realized why. 

Since Wednesday, I've noticed a growing fundamental change in me. 

I used to stay away from babies like they were the plague. Someone would bring a kid into work and folks would gather around and make inane noises at it while it did everything from burp to gurgle to shriek. I'd flee to a far-off corner until they were done. But yesterday, though I was assured by people that I didn't need to go (I guess losing a child gives you a doctor's note), I attended our home church. And I started noticing kids. Of all ages. The baby on Melissa's hip. The pre-schooler hanging behind Lindsey with her finger in her mouth. The young 9-year-old boy who wears the suit coat to church and whose expressions of boisterous affection used to annoy me. The young people who fidget and who sometimes talk to each other throughout the service when I'm trying to hear what Pastor has to say.

And somehow, though I don't understand it, the feelings have changed. Without me trying to change them. I can't explain it. They just have. This is HUGE.  Through this crucible of fire, in a way I can't describe or take credit for, I have learned to love children. 

Who knew.

The common denominator in all of this healing, and it is still ongoing .... is not time. Time sucks, actually. Time makes people age, and time takes them away from us. What IS the common denominator is LOVE. 

Love reaches out. Love embraces, cries when you cry and laughs with you as well. Love breaks barriers. Love builds bridges, mends fences, and gives hope. Love serves. Love picks up the phone and calls. Or texts. Or sends an email with encouragement and affection. Love shows that it loves, and then it SAYS that it loves. And then it shows it some more. These are all things that my baby girl understood, because that's how she lived her life. And now she's teaching me. 

It is not TIME that heals all wounds. 

It is LOVE that heals all wounds. 

And love. never. ends.

Death, dying and living

Okay before I get going, I'm not going to talk about life after death today. I'm not going to talk about deathbed experiences or any of that stuff.  Maybe another day, but not today.

Instead, I'm going to talk about fear.

Before I got to know Jesus, I used to fear death. In a couple of senses I still do - that is, I fear the separation that it brings from loved ones and the ability of people left behind to cope with that loss (whether my death or the death of someone very close to me).  But as for death itself - thanks to my relationship with God - it holds very little terror for me, aside from that of the unknown. (After all, as a rule you only get to do it once; there are no do-overs, no second chances).

Dying, though, is a different matter. Dying is the process by which a person goes from being alive to being dead. For some, that happens in a moment of time. For others, it's a lengthy and usually quite painful experience. Since I don't know by which means I will make that transition, I do fear dying. I wonder if, should I need to undergo that painful and lengthy process, I will be able to withstand it. 

My human imagination can think of any number of ways I could pass from this world into the next. A car accident, an aneurysm, a heart attack, even a bullet during an attack - these are quick. They are unpleasant to think about - but they don't last long. On the other hand, I have seen enough human suffering to know that a lengthy illness, cancer, diabetes, or even dementia or Alzheimer's can take years of suffering to reach its ultimate end. Facing the idea of those possibilities is something that makes me quail. Never knowing when it will stop. Never knowing how quickly it will get worse. Putting my family through the stress of looking after me. These things can preoccupy me and cause me to experience an uneasiness at best and downright panic at worst. 

I take comfort in knowing that God - who loves me - will never leave or forsake me and will make a way for me to be able to bear whatever comes. 

By far the most pervading fear, though, is something that not many people talk about - largely because (I suspect) they either don't know it exists OR if they do know it exists, they don't want to admit that it does. It's the fear of living.

Yes. I experience it, and many people I have met seem to as well. 

I like the status quo. I like things predictable. Routine is big with me. I usually know on any given day what I will be doing and at what time. The danger with that is that life becomes an endless series of automaton-like moves in which my heart and mind are not engaged. It becomes comfortable. Safe. Uncomplicated. Predictable.

But is it living? 

I don't think so. It's surviving, perhaps even maintaining. However, when I compare that kind of life to the "abundant life" that Jesus promised to those who follow Him, I have to admit that it comes up short. 

Thanks to Suvro Datta for this photo,
"Lightning"
Source:  www.freedigitalphotos.net

Such a life is risky. It's dangerous to old routines, persistent and patriarchal ideas, and long-held beliefs about who really is in charge here. 

It's adventurous. 

And there is a large part of me that is terrified of living there. I may make little forays into that realm on occasion - but it has been many years since I lived consistently in that kingdom of believing big, trusting implicitly for everything, and heroically doing battle with giants (whether emotional, spiritual, financial, or physical obstacles) on a daily basis. 

I fear it. I hesitate. It requires a different kind of energy that is exhilarating and exhausting all in one, because it is not my power into which I must tap, but His. Every day. Every minute. Every second. 

More and more, though, I am convinced that it is the only place, the only lifestyle where I can truly realize (that is, achieve) the potential to which God has called me. 

Like death, like dying, truly LIVING is also not optional. Even if I'm scared. Even if it's hard. I guess that's why God has already provided everything we need. He has given us faith - trust - to live by.

If I don't live - really live - I am dead already. 

So maybe I need to, as the songwriter wrote, "pick up the mighty shield of faith, for the battle must be won; we know that Jesus Christ is risen, so the work's already done!" (Praise the Lord)

Co-workers with God

I love it when God works something out that a bunch of His people have been praying about, and allows us to participate in the outcome with the prayers and the support He allows us to offer. 

A buddy of mine was in quite a bind lately. The situation was absolutely hopeless. On a fixed income and limited in what she could pay for rent, she was told she could no longer live in her apartment, which cost $200 more per month than she could afford (long story but suffice to say that this was due to someone else's bad choices.) The apartment kept her from the elements, but that was about it. The heating was off-and-on, there was mold, there were other issues as well. And her landlord basically said, "Well if you can't afford this amount of money, you have to be out of here by the end of November." Plunged into this situation with little time to arrange for a place to stay, she put her name into subsidized housing programs; no joy there. She tried to find an apartment for the maximum she was supposed to pay on her fixed income and still leave money to buy groceries and pay other bills, but there were no apartments available that weren't (as she called them) "dives." 

Her situation was doubly compounded by the fact that any place she went would need to accept pets - in particular, cats - because her kitties are her babies; she would never go anywhere they were not welcome.

A few weeks ago, as she and others were making her situation a matter of more concentrated prayer, she received a call from a telemarketer one evening. On a whim, she answered the phone. The young man asked if she wanted to donate to some worthy cause; she was unable to and told the man a little of her situation. He asked if he could call her back, and he did a few days later with the cell phone number of her local Member of Legislative Assembly (the Canadian equivalent of a State-level elected representative). He told her to call this number and say that he had given out this number.

In fear and trembling, she did. She told her MLA the situation and he was shocked at the amount to which she was limited for rent and more shocked at her total monthly income! He asked how she even managed for groceries! Then he said to call his personal assistant on the next working day, and tell that person exactly what she had told him... which she did. Then .... nothing happened - for over a week. In the meantime, she was getting more and more desperate. Through the kindness of a friend of a friend, more options surfaced. Yet, there were no openings. So it seemed, anyway. 

A nice apartment kitchen

Last night, my friend got home from volunteering at a local charity and saw a message on her voice mail. It was Seniors housing (one of the subsidized housing programs); they wanted to talk to her. They called her again this morning. "We have a place we would like you to look at; you may not like it but why don't you come and have a look?" 

She went, bathed in prayer by all who knew about it. The moment she stepped into the place she fell head over heels in love with it. It had lots of storage space, a larger kitchen than the one she has now, and her own designated parking space, in a nice quiet neighborhood, as well as an in-house laundry - all included. Timidly, unable to believe how amazing this place was, she asked them if they took cats. 

"Yes, we do," came the answer. 

That was the clincher! They assumed she wanted some lead time to pack. "I'm already packed," she informed them, and within an hour they made arrangements for her to pick up her key. On this coming Friday the 30th - the last day of this month - the very day her lease runs out on the old apartment, she signs the papers and picks up her key.

Whether the politician was able to make a plea for her, or whether some people ahead of her on the list decided not to participate in the program any more, we don't know. All we know is that God has been in control of this process from the get-go, and He worked things out in such a way that He gets all the credit. 

Being able to be a small part of the process and having the privilege of watching this happen up close ... has been nothing short of thrilling. Hearing the excitement in her voice as she was telling me about her new place and also sharing how much better off she is now than even 2 months ago has been such an encouragement. 

I thought I'd share this story because it is often discouraging to pray and pray and pray for something that seems never to come. We think that we are not making a difference. Our faith falters. Yet Jesus said that nothing is impossible with God. So we wonder if there might be something wrong with our faith. I know I have.

I recently read an article written by a Scottish pastor who actually reads ancient Hebrew and ancient Greek. He talked about that verse and said that it was not quite translated the way that we think it was. In the original, the sentence reads more like, "What God speaks as 'rhema' (sometimes spelled 'rema') that is, His personal word to your situation, is going to happen. Period. Even if it seems impossible; if He has spoken to you, He will accomplish it."

When we pray God's "rhema" word, we can have full assurance that it will happen. My friend was led back here by God a couple of years ago from out of province - and it was like He told her in no uncertain terms that this was where she was to be; her support network was here, and she was to be here. 

So when her world toppled a couple of months ago, and this stressful situation was created through no fault of her own, the temptation was so great to question whether she'd really heard right. Yet deep in her heart she knew that God wanted her here with friends and in community with other believers. 

We as her friends and fellow-believers could co-operate with God's will for her by praying that He would provide a place for her to live. He left it to almost the last minute - as usual - but when crunch time came - He came through. And we who were praying for her were able to rejoice in her miracle, knowing that in some small way, we had the blessing of participating in it. 

I also wanted to share this story so that someday, if ever someone is in that spot, that place where all human avenues had been exhausted and it's a question of, "Will God do for me what I know He CAN do?" he or she can look at this story ... and take heart.

Sing anyway

Last Sunday I was scheduled to sing on worship team for both the morning and evening services.

I love singing; music (and especially worship music) is indistinguishable from who I am in many respects.  I love to sing; I live to sing.  It is a vehicle I can use to worship freely.  

But last Sunday I had a scratchy throat. I'd been fighting it for a couple of days, nothing serious, it was just there.  I wondered - briefly - whether I should go and sing on the worship team.  That was quickly shoved aside by my desire to blend in harmony with my team members as we lifted our voices to God.  Few things in this life give me any more pleasure than that.  

Out of the nine hours that we spent in church that day, we were singing (including practices and the services) for six hours.  Along about hour five, my throat was getting more and more raspy, more hoarse.  I wondered whether to hold back.  

"Sing anyway."  The direction came from deep within, not so much a voice as a nudge.  

I closed my eyes, dug deep, and sang. The pastor invited people to the altar.  They came, they prayed, they were prayed for.  God's presence was just gently...there. The discomfort was forgotten in the beauty of the moment.

Afterward, my throat was sore - but I considered the discomfort to be worth it.  

It has taken a few days for me to recover from that marathon session, and I'm still not able to talk for very long without coughing, but I still think it was worth it.  

There's a song the Carpenters sang in the 1970s called "Sing" - and the lyrics are running through my mind today.  They are so simple and so profound:

Sing, sing a song, 
Sing out loud, sing out strong.
Sing of good things, not bad; 
Sing of happy, not sad.
Sing.  Sing a song.
Make it simple 
    to last your whole life long.
Don't worry that it's not good enough 
    for anyone else to hear.
Just sing.  Sing a song.

Sing. Sing a song.  
Let the world sing along!
Sing of love there could be; 
Sing for you and for me.
Sing; sing a song, 
Make it simple 
    to last your whole life long.
Don't worry that it's not good enough 
   for anyone else to hear.
Just sing.  Sing a song.   
Just sing.  Sing a song. 

Whatever else is happening in my life, if I can just sing anyway, even if the song IS sad at first - I know He will touch it, redeem it, and remind me that He is always there.  Always.  

So I sing.  I sing anyway.  Join me.