A conversation
Awhile ago, I was talking to a friend. During the conversation she said something that concerned me. She said, “as long as I stay in the anointing & obey God & stay right there with Him & don’t lose the anointing or move out from under it, it’ll be okay.”
Ugh, that makes me feel sooooooooooo heavy. Can’t you just feel the weight of that statement? “As long as,” “stay in,” “don’t lose,” “move out from under.” My, aren’t you tired already? Effort, effort…effort.
So, before I hung up I entered into the arena by sharing my concern for her comment. I shared that IF it should not go in a positive manner, in the way she would like it to go…did that mean she had come out from under the anointing & lost it?
She was quiet, very quiet. I told her, if you want to do the “Christian” thing, then isn’t it true that all Christians are “anointed?” Quietly she said, yes. I said, “look, I’m concerned for you. IF this doesn’t go as you would like, then you are going to blame yourself, you are going to feel guilty & then start trying to figure out what it is you did to lose the anointing. That’s not healthy.”
I continued, “I believe that God is there for you, whether or not you believe you have the anointing. We are human, we’re not God, we doze sometimes, we get distracted…that doesn’t mean that a negative result means you did something wrong & thus lost the anointing.”
I hear this time & time again in the church. As we dug further I was able to get her to admit that she’s “trying” to stay in this so-called “anointing” in order not to miss the opportunity that is coming that God is going to use her for. Oh my this brings back memories. Even writing it makes me want to grab my pillow & lay down for a nap.
As well, she still carries guilt for her divorce from the man who was an adulterer, a wife & child abuser & who slept with their daughter. She said, well, divorce is wrong. I said, “okay ol’ wise one, I disagree with you, want to tackle that one with me?” She said, no, not really. Then she said, I know, God did make provision for it, but… AND I said, “so, when are you going to drop the ‘but’ from the equation?”
Then I asked her if her “heart was broken.” And she said, yes. I told her that time & time again, the church heaps such a weight on our shoulders that we can barely crawl out from under the burden. I reminded her that the voices she hears reinforce the burdens & that they are not offering, grace, mercy &/or freedom.
Too many people are out loving the world & they do not love themselves. Love your neighbour as you love yourself. Hmm, wasn’t that said in one of those holy books somewhere? If you are not loving yourself, then what you are doing out there is pretending. It’s a game. When you recognize the treasure you are, you in turn recognize the treasure in others. This is love, it’s also freedom.
This entry is kind of all over our conversation & I’m writing it sort of spur of the moment…this is what is coming to me now that I’ve written it. Love, freedom…mercy…stop worrying about being so “anointed.” Be merciful to yourself & take that weight off yourself of always “trying” to do it right. My goodness, we can’t do it. Yes, I know, some will say, yes we can, in Christ we can do it. Yeah, okay, whatever…then let Christ do it.
Wow, can I feel some grumbling going on within. 
Originally blogged in 2004.
The Cathedral
The Cathedral is packed, and I mean packed. We get there early so we can sit near the front for the benefit of my friend’s vision & hearing. Two married couples & myself. I’m the one that has read most of Bevere’s books & watched his videos.
The message preached is a summary of all his books. Then as the message continues towards what is the end of his formal message and the beginning of the long drawn out altar call, he starts testifying to his own personal issues with lust. Let me just say that, his approach to the topic seemed oddly celebratory & to tell you the truth, I thought, ‘geesh, the people in here are going to get “stimulated” & I don’t mean spiritually!’
The more he went into his own struggles, the more you could hear men groaning, gasping & crying. One man to my right stands up & starts speaking in tongues. He’s doing it with the air of authority, so I’m figuring okay, well he’s obviously a preacher/elder &/or resident prophet here at the Cathedral. Then a woman sounds to me like she’s giving a prophecy. John stops talking, turns towards her, waits for her to stop, and then continues. Another man comes to the front & kneels down. All the while, John keeps at it & starts working on the “sinners.”
Then he asks everyone to close their eyes. I’m thinking, ‘I’d rather not, thank you very much.’ Everyone bows their heads. He starts calling the sinners forward, people who have struggled with lust, masturbation, pornography…and they start forward. A mass of bodies streaming forward from the entire church, it’s crowded & they are packed like sardines as they push towards the front of the church. They are weeping. Suddenly, the group of people with me move. I open my eyes, & there they go off to the front. But, there is something about all this that makes me wonder…’you mean, all it takes is John Bevere & you’re convicted?’
John is now walking, pacing, prancing back & forth across the stage speaking in tongues. I decide ‘you know, this is the first time I’ve ever heard someone speak in tongues, it’s not enough to keep my eyes closed, I want to SEE this.’ So, I slowly open my eyes again & shoot, I see there are all of 7 people left sitting in the pews & I’m one of them! I slowly look around, good grief, talk about sticking out like a sore thumb! I turn my attention to the front again & John just keeps speaking in tongues, the same thing over & over & over. People are moaning, they’re falling over, they are literally desperate…for what? Aren’t they already forgiven?
I close my eyes again. I start to cry. What’s wrong with me? Shouldn’t I be up there? Why can’t I go up? I’m a sinner too. Then something inside me said, “No.” I stopped crying, sat back & watched.
When we left, there were people still flat on their backs staring at the ceiling.
Did everyone in that place that day go forward because they thought they should?
If John had jumped off the Brooklyn bridge, how many would have followed him?
Originally blogged in 2004.
You’re my good person
At the last moment, I turn to see the young eleven year old girl who lives beside me, quietly approaching me, while I work up the ground in the garden. I don’t see her until she’s right behind me.
She startles me a bit, as I’m lost in my garden world. She attempts to step into the garden in her clean white socks. “Oops,” I indicated, “better not get those socks dirty.” The mother in me is thinking her mom will take a fit if those socks join me in the dirt! I join her on the plush carpet of grass. Besides, my bare feet need some soft texture. You shouldn’t really garden in your bare feet & I don’t … usually. (*blush*)
Eleven hands me a gift. Surprised I say, “What’s this for?” “It’s for you,” she replies. “For me, what for?” She says, “because you are my good person.” I feel a pang in my heart & almost start crying on the spot. I’m her good person. Gee, I don’t know if I’ve ever had such a special compliment. I’m her good person. I understand what she is talking about. We have a bit of a history.
When she was a tiny girl, six years old, she rang my doorbell. She wanted to talk. She came to ask me if dinosaurs were real. She wanted to be a Paleontologist when she grew up & it bothered her that some of the kids at school & Sunday School said dinosaurs never existed. This led to a discussion about the Bible & about Jesus. Not knowing the territory her parents had covered with her, I made sure to go slowly & carefully through the terrain of Biblical discussion.
Later, I made sure I spoke to her mother & explained exactly the contents of our discussion. Her mother said to me, “Thank God she asked you. I wouldn’t know what to tell her.”
A couple of years later, she was sitting sadly at the corner of her property. I got down with some chalk & joined her half-hearted attempts to draw some pictures on the sidewalk. This discussion was about how parents get upset sometimes, because, well, parents are people with feelings too. Sometimes they have days when they are in bad moods. (These are my offerings to the discussion.) She responds, “Well, I just wish they wouldn’t both be in bad moods on the same day.”
Last year, I helped her start her first flower garden. We used my plants & flowers which needed to be divided anyway. This year, it’s an abundant garden & beautiful. As I helped her learn to handle the overcrowding in her garden, she quietly asked, “Mrs. Gardener, how is it that you know so much about plants & all their names?” I thought for a moment, looked like I was in serious thought & then said, “Now Eleven, you know Mrs. Gardener is a brilliant scholar!” Well, she cracked up, laughing she said, “Oh Mrs. Gardener, you are so funny. You always make me laugh.”
You see, this eleven year old, to tell you the truth has a higher IQ then I do. She’s been tested. It won’t be long & she’ll surpass me with her knowledge. Right now though, I’m the one with the wisdom & the sense of humour.
I gave her a hug & my goodness, she hugged me right back with two arms. “Thank you Eleven, thank you very much.”
I open her gift. It’s a garden fairy holding a little birdhouse on it’s lap. It’s attached to a little saucer, for water. She tells me it’s to protect the garden, the creatures in the garden & to water the little animals who inhabit the garden. I placed it on a rock, in one of my gardens. I get tears thinking about it. I love it. I’m moved that an eleven year old sees me & knows me.
Originally blogged in 2004.
A glorious fall sky
I was sitting on the swings, enjoying the summer warmth & reading a letter from my friend, who was a new mommy.
I was excited to hear how her second baby was doing & how the older child was handling a new sibling in the home.
This letter was not that kind of letter though. It wasn’t very long before I found myself, crying, tears falling on my lap. My little girl who ran to the other swing asked, “Why are you crying mommy?” She sat in her swing & waited. I explained that mommy’s friend has cancer. She’s asks, “Will she die mommy?” I say, “Well honey, all of us will die someday & yes, the cancer may make her so sick that she dies from it. You never know though. She may get better from it.”
I cried even harder. With every fiber in my being, I knew, she would not survive. I hate it when that happens. There was something inside of me, that just new.
The lump had been discovered during the pregnancy. She made the choice to wait until after delivery to have it investigated. Post-delivery, the lump was biopsied. Good news. It was not cancer. Three weeks from receiving the good news, she received a phone call. A mistake had been made. She did have cancer. A fast growing, aggressive breast cancer.
The breast had to come off. Lymph node involvement was discovered. Radiation & chemo were next. Eighteen months later, she was given a clean bill of health. No cancer. I knew different, based on my gut reaction on the swing. Oh she was happy. Cancer free, looking forward to life, being a healthy mom instead of a very sick one.
Months later, a lump in her left breast. Actually, lumps began to show up all over her body. She was full of it. She was told her prognosis was not good. The doctors wanted to remove her other breast. She said no. They radiated her a couple of times (though she’d had her full quota) to help with the inflammation. It only burned her more.
She became so exhausted in every imaginable way. Profoundly exhausted.
During various phone conversations we would talk about her children. I encouraged her to consider writing them each a journal. She thought the idea was great.
Later, during another phone conversation, I asked how the journal was going. She had put it aside. She didn’t know anymore, she was tired, too depressed, she’d get to it later. Oh my word, my heart lept into my throat, she doesn’t have until later, I quietly thought to myself. Boldly I encouraged her, to continue on & not wait. That I knew she was tired, but that I also knew that she’d grow even more discontented if those journals continued to lay there in front of her unfinished. I felt like I was taking a risk, almost coming across as insensitive. She made no indication either way that she even heard a word I said.
The end of summer had come & I visited with her in person one last time. She talked a blue streak. I sat & wondered how someone so short on lung space & on continual oxygen could talk so much. We had lunch with her children. Then, a childcare worker took the children to the park & we talked some more.
She reached over to her bedside & picked up two journals. She handed them to me. I said, “What’s this?” I was holding the journals. She told me that she had finished the journals for the children. She told me that I had convinced her to finish them during a phone conversation. “It was exactly the kick in the butt that I needed. Go ahead, open them, take a look,” she said with a smile. I gently handed them back to her, unopened. I held it together emotionally, smiled & said, “These are for your children. I don’t need to read them.” She said, “If it wasn’t for you, they never would have been done. Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” I said and we moved on to other discussions.
The night before she died, just six weeks after our last face to face visit, I called her, she was now hospitalized. Told her I’d see her tomorrow morning at 11:00 a.m. She told me not to bother, that she was so sick, that she needs so much care. I said, well, I’ll help you with your care. She agreed.
As I was saying good-bye to her, I said, “Let me tuck you in. Pull up the covers, I love you, night, night, sleep well.” She said, “I will. I love you.”
In the morning I got up & drove to the hospital. It was a two hour drive. Something told me to call first. I couldn’t. When I arrived, all her hospital equipment had been cleaned & was now sitting in the hall. I walked to the room anyway, though, I knew she was no longer there. A cleaning lady was still in the room. “May I come in?” “Yes,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Are you family?” “I’m a friend.” She smiled & I went to the window. I looked out over the scenery that was her last view of the outside world. The sky was a glorious fall sky. She had died only hours earlier.
I walked to the doorway. The cleaning lady said, “It was very quick. The doctors didn’t expect this so soon.” I shook my head & said, “No, it was perfect timing.”
Originally blogged in 2004.
Moment in time
Standing there, I see a woman in her 60’s, who I never knew until we happened to be in the hospital at the same time. She was dying. It was November, though neither of us really cared what month it was. We had other things on our minds.
One day, while walking the hall, I noticed her head was turned towards the doorway & the hall where I walked. I stopped, looked in & said, “hello.” She said, “hello” back. I said, “You can see me?” She said, “Oh yes, I see you go for your walk twice a day. You’re the girl with the neck collar on. You’re too young to have neck problems.” I’m stunned. Honestly, I thought the woman was blind. If you had seen her eyes, you would understand. She never seemed visually focused on anything & always expressionless. Her body was riddled with cancer & her body so distorted as to hardly resemble being human. Yet…all this time, she had seen me, knew I had a bad neck & was young! We talked briefly that day & I asked her if I could drop in again & she liked the idea of me popping in twice daily as I was able.
One evening, I stopped at her doorway to ask permission to come in. She nodded her head for me to come in & promptly drifted off to sleep. I recognized that rather then “sleeping” as we know it, she was drifting in & out of consciousness. I thought about how lonely it must be to be dying alone. I knew her family had been in the night before & I had no idea whether they would return this evening or not.
As she slept I felt perhaps I should leave, that our time together had come to an end. We had some good visits that included discussions about her family, her battle with cancer & the topic of God. It was her time to die. She woke up. We talked briefly & she fell asleep again.
I went to leave the room & couldn’t get out. The door was open, but it was as though an invisible barrier kept me from exiting the room. I know, I know, sounds like I lost my marbles. Believe me, I know. I backed up & again proceeded to exit the room. Thing is, I could not break through that invisible brick wall. I started to umm…freak out. And no, I was not on pain medication or any other kind of medication either.
Slightly unsettled (an understatement), I started to pace in her room. Trying to act casual I looked at her cards, her pretty plants & out the window into the world, longing for home, hubby & children. At least I knew I would be going home. She woke up & asked me if her cat was okay. I told her the kitty was safe & okay. I don’t know anything about any cats. However, she was dying. Why not give her peace about her kitty? She drifted off again.
Okay, back to the great escape that never was. Believe me, I’m talking to the person I refer to as “God” & I’m letting “God” know that I am going to leave this room. I started to rationalize with “God” that this woman was dying, that it’s too late to do a “salvation” thing with her. Besides, we’ve talked about “You” & look, she’s slipping in & out of a coma. I’m out of here.”
So, after my third attempt of trying to get out of the room I quite literally mumbled, “The nurses start their rounds here every night, there’s no time for this!” She woke up & motioned for me to sit in the chair by her bedside. I took her hand & she slipped into sleep again. Sitting there I saw a woman so physically ruined…tears in my eyes, how can one continue to live in this state?
Still I fought “God.” Her kidney’s were in failure & there was an odour that would make even the strongest noses wilt with nauseating grief. So, I talked to “God” in a not so humble tone …”God, if you want me to do this, then You had better get rid of the smell, NOW!”
Anybody want to guess what happened then?
By the time I got to the exclamation- mark tone, that came after the word NOW…the smell was gone. Trust me, I’m a medical professional, I’ll spare you the details…we’re talking big time odour…gone. Still holding her hand, I give up the fight. Hey, what would you do? Skeptical or not…by this time, you would have caved in as well.
I get up & shut the door for privacy.
She continues to drift in & out of consciousness. Each time she wakes we talk. She knows she’s dying. She appears scared. Short story, I finally, just ask her if she is afraid. She simply says, “Yes.” I ask her if she wants to know for sure that she’ll be in heaven when she dies. She says, “Yes.” I tell her how she can talk to “God” who loves her, accept Christ as her Saviour… that she can tell Him she’s afraid & wants to make peace with Him. She prays. I also pray when she’s done, thanking “God” for Elly (not her real name) & for the promise of heaven. “Amen,” and a knock comes to the door. It’s the nurses. “Want a back-rub Elly?” “Yes!” she said. I gave her a little kiss on her cheek & said, “Good night Elly. I’ll see you later.” She smiled the one & only smile I ever saw her give & she said, “Yes, I will see you later!”
That night was the only night those nurses left us to the end of their rounds. Go figure.
I turned and walked out of the room.
At 5:00 a.m. in the morning, I noticed a red rose bud, another patient had given me, had opened into full bloom over night. My heart quickened & I listened for Elly’s laboured breathing. Elly was finally at peace.
Originally blogged in 2004 about a moment in time a long time ago.
