Reflections

It's been a few days. I have needed the rest as I settle into Ohio again, disappointed that I am not in California, and therefore not being available to the beauty of today because I want to be in tomorrow. It's a theme of my life, losing the precious present because I wish something were different. In that frame, somehow, I also lose the joy I have just received, because even the most recent delights are overshadowed by my inability to embrace the moment for what it is now.

I am learning. One of my favorite developmental affirmations is this one: "You can take all the time you need to learn and grow." Part of growth for me is to learn to savor joy like my favorite tastes and smells, to imprint it on my memory and return to it till it becomes a part of not only my past, but my present, and my heart holds an anticipation of it in the days that are to come.

I experienced amazing things in Brazil. The presence and power of God like I have only longed for before. Joy unspeakable. A sea of love. Vibrant celebration. Miracle healing. Laughing till it hurt and spreading it like so much gold dust cast into the air. The ecstasy of praying for someone steeped in pain who in a moment's time is whole. On earth as it is in heaven.

Then I come back to my little life. To the place that still feels like "the time between," where I am coming out of years of sickness and moving toward I don't know what. My tendency to minimize, focus on pain and let downs, to shift back to the status quo remains. My heart is flooded with longings rather than satisfactions. Contentment with who I am and where God has me still eludes me. Is it that I am caught up in the prayer I prayed so often in Brazil: "More, Lord" (Mais, el Senor)? Perhaps. Or maybe my desires are good, a part of me that is ready to minister again, love more fully, embrace a new path, grow. Perhaps the dissatisfaction I feel is a catapult to help me have the courage to face all the changes that are necessary to move forward.

So today I will even embrace the longings since I have them in this moment, and just be here, in Ohio, with reflections that are a mixture of warm joy and shallow sadness and be okay with it all. Not all of life is travel, adventure, dramatic, vibrant experiences. The presence of God is in each moment, whether vibrant or dull, loud or quiet, full of miracles or the tangible realities of human longing. He is here and I am loved, circled by a joy that is not always felt, but just IS. Selah.

And since it's Resurrection weekend, a place where suffering and confusion mingle with the mightiest of miracles, I can ask for grace to fix my eyes on Jesus, and like Him (in the smallest of ways) look for the joy while enduring the pain inherent in the story of my life. After all, in order to have the glory of Easter morn, one does have to die first. But then there's Pentecost...Selah, again, but of a different tone. I think I'll reflect on that for awhile.

Parade of Love

The last service was back at the church and once again the air was filled with something tantamount to static electricity on steroids. My heart was quiet going in, and I prayed that the Lord would use me, though I wasn't feeling much. Worship was vibrant, as usual, these Brazilians know how to praise the Lord in joyful song!

What came next was something unlike anything I have ever known or experienced. Over 200 people had been away on what the church calls "an encounter weekend." It is open to those who are new to the faith, rededicated, newly touched. The parishioners formed a long double line down the center isle, much like the famed fire tunnel, and down came the parade of new or newly dedicated believers.

I compare it to a scene from an athletic event -- full of craziness, shouts of joy, people jumping on people's shoulders, and running in delight. Kinda reminded me of a team of 200 breaking through the canvas to come on to the field where wild fans clap and shout with all their might to welcome and encourage them in the fight ahead. The participants carried multi colored balloons and in all the alacrity, they popped them but the sounds were hardly heard above the din of the excited crowd. Imagine if every believer were greeted and celebrated in such a way as they entered the body of Christ?

After a prayer and a charge, the participants' families and friends were invited to come down and hug them. I began to tremble and cry as I watched the sea of love before me, touched down to my toes. A beautiful, big hearted Brazilian woman in a violet top whom I had never seen before grabbed me with the hug of a sumu wrestler, squeezing me with warmth that radiated into my being. My chin was embedded in her shoulder, and there was simply no going anywhere or moving at all. She didn't just hug for a few seconds and then let go...so..."just receive" (receba in Portuguese). I've prayed that over dozens of people in these days, and found myself unable to do anything else.

Once I was released, I sensed that a deep well had been opened inside me. I felt wave after wave of the love of God going deeper to a place within me that has never been touched or reached. Tears of delight flowed down my face for I don't know how long, but it seemed like an hour. Eventually, I went off to the side of the auditorium and squatted down while the service moved on.

At one point the purple blouse lady saw me and came over to hug again. Such a strong embrace! Occasionally we would pull back to lock eyes for a moment, tears streaming down our faces, give a little cheek kiss, then back to the big bear embrace. It was such a powerful wordless connection that it will be a salient moment of the trip, perhaps of a lifetime.

As I stood that night to pray for those who came with need, the hugger broke in to say a fond farewell, one last quick loving squeeze. I do not speak her language, and she does not speak mine, I never got her name, and likely will not see her again this side of heaven, but our souls had communicated in the truest sense of the word: communion. Love that holds no boundaries, no lack, no fear, no race, just tender loving-kindness in the deepest of heart connection.

A person comes on these trips desiring to be the hands and face of God to those who might need just such a touch, a loving lift to heart, body or soul. But tonight I stood in the place of the receiver. Kinda like the Grinch watching the Who's in Whoville -- the ones who knew how to love and celebrate like he only dreamed of alone in his cold snowy cave. And if Dr. Suess where here to measure, I think my heart, several sizes too small, grew wider and bigger this day, and I was able to enter into the love that is the heartbeat of the universe more fully than before.

I think there is a celebration of love at the center of all that is, and we gradually open to experience it more deeply as we journey through our lives. God is love, and as such He is the pathway, our fellow pilgrim, and the One we walk toward in open armed embrace. On such a path, He surprises us with moments where love breaks in, and we glimpse in part what we will someday fully know. At such times the shadows of all we missed or long for get zapped with radiant light and love and we learn to laugh with abandon and find joy even in the ordinary.

Thank you, Jesus, for extravagant love. And thank you, Brazilian sister in the purple tank top. I think the best name I could give you would be: Cindy Lou Who. "Yahoodoray, Yahoodoray, heart in heart and hand in hand..."

"A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another." John 13:34-35

Impartation

Okay. Never liked the word. Sounds super spiritual or supercilious, more than my little humble self can hold. It's a Randy Clark word: impartation. He has seen over and over that those who have special gifts of the Spirit can pray and there will be a transference, an impartation, suited somehow in just the right size for the receiver. When I was at the Healing conference in January, it was the night he spoke on impartation that brought on a rather undignified cry: sobs and shakes for over three or four hours, and I could barely walk afterwards.

So last night, when Randy went to tell stories of the Spirit landing in various ways and literally transforming others who were now making a difference on the planet, I was not shocked when the sobs and shakes started again. Not shocked, but extremely UNCOMFORTABLE. When the prayers came at the end, well, I just can't describe it in a blog, but it was amazing and overwhelming at the same time.

When we went into the service, the healings began right away, and again, my favorite part was that many were brought to salvation. Our prayer time was just to bless them with the Spirit, in other words, to impart His love and presence. I will save you the details, for, as I have said before, I have NEVER seen anything like it. And for me, part of it was that the joy often came over those I prayed with. I don't know that I have ever been a place where the presence of God was so thick.

In the midst I got to pray for a dear lady who had uterine cancer, and she said she felt something happen. She plans to go in and have it rechecked, and I do wish I could know how she fares. One of the drawbacks of this ministry approach is that it is almost hit and run, and one never knows how deeply the lives are affected.

But the fact that many are changed forever is indisputable. My little translator found me today and said that she wasn't able to help me last night because the power of God fell on her so hard that she couldn't move or speak most of the night. I think something was imparted to her...guess I just need to make peace with the word!

Joy Bearer

Yesterday morning we were at a big gym, a hollow concrete structure, old but covered in bright paints and colorful placards. It was musty in there, the air having turned heavy due to clouded skies, though it was hot enough to draw water beads across the brow.

When Rex, the speaker, was done we were invited to give a "father's blessing" to those present, and we once again were surrounded by seekers, only the focus of the prayer was to impart a sense of God's love rather than healing. I had been touched deeply by the Lord's presence earlier in the morning, and found that as I raised my little hand to pray for these dear ones, a different power seemed evident -- their faces flooded with tears, and for many if not most, along with the tears and some shaking, came joy.

People began to line up around me, bringing their friends to me if they had been touched themselves. And of course, all the while, the buoyant giggle of my own turned to LOL (laugh out loud), then to hilarious, heaving, robust chuckles that could not be contained for the sake of my little demure self. My belly began to hurt and my cheeks were sure they would be frozen in this position forever! The last set of girls I prayed for got so blasted with laughter, I wondered if I had said some cultural blunder in my new Portuguese phrases, and asked them. They shook their heads "no" since the delight kept them from speaking. Then it spread out to people who were sitting in the audience. I carried the joyful giggles onto the bus, taking another 15 minutes to calm down.

In the midst of it all, the Lord said, "You are my joy bearer." I immediately balked, relating more immediately to these years of grief and loss that trail me at times and show up like an unbidden stalker that stops me in my tracks and makes me wonder if I will ever be truly light hearted again. For I used to laugh easily and loved sparring with others, teasing with fun banter and silly stories. But the Spirit was not daunted by my hesitation, instead, it seemed that the laughter poured out all the more.

The Lord told me in January that His focus right now is not so much on healing my body, but on healing my faith and my identity. He has stayed true to this word in thousands of ways, and today was one of them. I am a joy bearer. I am. Joy is the truest emotion of the human soul for it is the very atmosphere of heaven, the evidence of the presence of God: fullness of joy. I am honored with such a truth and title, and to sense that as I lifted my hands to pray over others, joy somehow spilled out and scattered into the room. Hilarious joy, laughter with out self consciousness or reserve. The stuff of heaven came to earth in me and around me today, and I could sense myself healing on a level beyond thought or emotion, in the place of my true self, the joyful one.

I want to add that in the midst of all this a worker brought a young woman to me who had had 5 back surgeries and was in constant pain. She said her church didn't believe in healing, and so she wanted to be prayed for here. As I prayed, signs of the Spirit crept over her, and she fell under the power of God. Still, I was surprised when she came up to me a few minutes later weeping and saying, "The pain is gone!" "I came with pain and it is gone!" Talk about a reason to rejoice.

I tasted joy unspeakable and full of glory today...and I am grateful beyond words.

Acts Chapter Two

I don't know what to say or how to say it. This has been perhaps the most wonderful night of my life. What did I witness? A little down syndrome girl walked for the first time. A lady with 10 years of being crippled by fibromyalgia was completely healed, running and jumping in front of everyone as tears streamed down her face. A man who had a birth defect causing the muscles in his legs to be malformed had the constant pain leave, and found that then he could get on his knees and praise His God for the first time in His life. Person after person testified that heat came over the painful or wounded part of their body, and when they sought to move, suddenly the pain was gone. Hundreds! No exaggeration!

I walked into the auditorium and knew it was going to be a powerful night. The air was electric, people were huddled together praying expectantly, and when the worship started, young people rushed to the front and began jumping like they were each given a pogo stick. The crowd literally roared at times, vibrant with joy and ecstasy one minute, then quiet with awful honor the next.

Mid way through the service, after the first round of healing and testimonies, the speaker called forward any who by witnessing the miracles wanted to give their hearts to Jesus. Fifty people went forward, teenage guys arm in arm, parents escorting children, the elderly, some tough some tender. I could feel the angels rejoice. Such vibrant glory!

At the end I, along with the band of intercessors, was asked to step to the front to pray for people. For well over an hour I was swarmed with person after person whose hungry eyes contained a longing, all of them went home touched, most of them claiming their pain, whatever it was, was completely gone. I was shocked, yet so humbly aware of the mighty hand of God working through my feeble prayers. Back pain, headaches, a damaged neck, shoulder pain, heart pain, depression, so many people that I lost count. Hallelujah! The King reigns, and the kingdom is now.

Thanks for your prayers. Such wonders never manifest without the words of faith that the lovers of the kingdom have spoken. My heart is filled with gratitude to God and to you.

The Waves

It was our last night in the church that has lovingly welcomed us these last few days. The service began with beautiful praise music, with sounds and rhythms that made me feel right at home, and the foreign words seemed to enhance the sense of heart felt worship. Such a people of heart and zest! Little children danced in the front with beautiful banners and glittering tops, some of them in pattern, some just escaping their mothers' arms and gyrating in tune with joy. It made me laugh and think of dear Addie and Grace, how they would have fit in with this crowd!

As a team we were invited to come up to the stage to speak a word of knowledge -- a word for healing that we had prayerfully received from the Spirit. As we did, people in the crowd of 500 would stand if they had that need, and by the time we were through, well over half of the sea of people were standing.

Next we listened to a few testimonies of healing from the 2 nights prior: a little 9 year old girl who had bad astigmatism in both eyes since birth and had been completely healed, no longer needing glasses. The crowed roared with glory as she ran and hugged the team member who had prayed for her. Then there was a man who had not been able to touch his toes for many years due to the pain across his back. He kept leaning down in joyful demonstration and swiping his feet as the audience applauded. A teenager who had only 50% vision in one eye had her sight completely restored, demonstrating her new gift by making out the fingers that were held up in front of her that before would have only been a blur. A young mother, holding her toddling daughter, spoke for a long time. Her body was healed in two places: her neck, which she could barely move before, and her back, which had limited her leaning over, making it difficult to reach down and pick up her little one. She was so grateful her words spilled out with such enthusiasm that the whole room filled with excitement, but by her own estimation, the most beautiful thing that happened to her was that her spirit had been restored. Spirit, soul, body, she was made whole. Now that is good news. Sozo.

After these testimonies, many people were spontaneously healed (around 79) by the presence of God. As we were praying over those who remained, the Spirit broke over the crowd like a wave. The sermon was never preached. Chairs had to be moved as people fell, some violently and dramatically under the power of God. Soon there were the wild and woolly signs of Spirit manifestation everywhere: tears, delight, joy, hugs, shaking, people strewn everywhere on the floor, some without even being prayed for. It was like being in a tsunami of love, God rolling his children around in waves of His presence.

After a very late dinner followed by tearful hugs good bye, we climbed on the bus well after midnight. Like the night before, we began sharing the stories. Indeed, the lame walked, the blind saw, deaf had ears opened. Between tonight and the night before 25 people had come to know the Lord. At least 400 people were healed in some manner. So much joy in the camp, as they used to say.

Most of the team had been caught in the wave as well, tossed around by the mighty presence of the Lord, and hearts awakened to new levels of amazement at His wonders and His glorious power. We are told that the people and this church will never be the same, and we know that it was not our little hands that could bring such a torrent of change. We simply know that life this side of the wave now seems different, brighter, clearer, like the water of the Spirit swept away old unbelief, fear, and doubt. I'll take that kind of breaker any time! Blessed be the name of the Lord.

Deep calls to deep
in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
have swept over me.

By day the LORD directs his love,
at night his song is with me—
a prayer to the God of my life.

Psalm 42:7, 8

Sao Paulo: Joy in the morning

The long silence represents so many things: travel foibles; sleepless nights spent coughing till I choked; a packed yet delightful schedule; weariness beyond words. We spent the night in Washington D.C., ousted from our plane after many delays and settled into the Sheraton at 2:00 a.m., then up early to get a flight the next day. I was so grateful that the sinus pressure did not increase en route, another testimony to the radiance of the prayers I have been basking in.

Our arrival time in Brazil was late at night, and I had hoped to get right to sleep, but lay awake with a tickle cough that would not be nursed into submission though my tongue was swollen from so many lozenges. I spent the time praying, but wondering if I should have come, and recognized that a quiet despair like a black cloak had stolen over me. Why are things so hard? Am I always going to be sick and struggle? Fears and debilitating thoughts wove in and out of my small prayers for faith and trust that God is the one who brought me here.

My group had swarmed on me within minutes of meeting them in D.C., declaring prayers of healing and strength loudly amidst a crowd of on lookers. Some speculated that the Lord would bless my choice to come in face of such odds. He is already touching me deeply through this little band of believers as they continue to pray in faith for me, and check in on my health with tender hearts.

My first morning, Wednesday, I drew back the curtains to gaze out at clear blue sky and take in the sights of the world's second largest city, Sao Paulo. Beauty amidst chaos, wealth with a back drop of poverty, colors painted over concrete with lots of graffiti. Bustling sounds of traffic and construction set the sights to industrial music. Tropical in climate, the foliage is lush, and as I looked down the first thing that caught my eye was a tree with bright pink flowers, stretching its limbs out wide, some covered with verdant leaves and some branches stark, with only a magenta flower at the tip. It is a place of contrasts, and my heart filled with gratitude that I am here, if only to pray for a people who hunger, as I do, for the tender touch of God amidst life's trials.

As we rode the bus to the church, I noted the markings of a place teeming with life, with people of all walks and shapes and sizes. There were modern buildings with beautiful apartments next to concrete hollows, occupied by the poor. The people at the church were warm and so full of loving welcome, with faces shining and gestures of greeting from smiles to waves to hugs. With such signs of love, language knows no barrier! I reflected back over what I had just seen on my way there: the sea of needy humanity, some with sorrow etched on their faces, others with determined forceful looks. Signs of fear were everywhere -- bars and bolts on all the doors and windows whether storefront, or apartment, or driveway, or meager shelter. So much of life boils down to such fundamental emotion -- fear or love, and where we can we learn to live in and choose one over the other.

Representative of our time here, we conduct morning and evening services, then as a team we line up at the front to pray for those who would like to receive a touch for whatever reason they come: salvation, rededication, deliverance, healing, surrender, and anything else that comes of human need. So twice yesterday, I was privileged to take the hands of many people with gentle brown faces, some whose eyes were filled with tears, some fighting darkness or disease, others hungry, with a longing deep within for more of God, and pray. And He came. He came with power, with healing, with joy, with tears, with shaking, with falling, with a beckoning for some to come to their knees.

And as though I stood underneath a giant cup that was being filled with heavenly water, spilling out refreshment on all around, I experienced His presence in these ways as well. I slept through my first night last night without coughing, and I could actually lay down instead of balancing on pillows to stay upright as I tried to find a position of comfort. The mantle of despair was trounced and exchanged for a lighted cloak, a reminder that I belong to a heavenly family, and His love and light are part of our heritage, my truest identity. Indeed, it has been a time of contrasts.

Hear, O LORD, and be merciful to me;
O LORD, be my help."
You turned my wailing into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
that my heart may sing to you and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever. Psalm 30:10-12

Dull in Dulles

That describes it. Dull in Dulles. As most of you know I am coming through weeks of the heaviest cold/sinus/cough I've had in years...and am somewhat better, though still carrying it with me to dear old Brazil. I am going to be a prayer minister at a Randy Clark Healing conference, and was praying and hoping for my own miracle before stepping on the plane today. Thank you to those of you who joined in this vigil. I am thankful that at least I felt well enough to pack it all up and go, something I thought looked sketchy even a couple of days ago.

My first flight was only an hour, and I spent it trying to keep the cough down by sucking on ice, using kleenex after kleenex, and remembering the time I sat by just such a traveler and how deeply I had wished they had stayed home.

And now I sit on my long layover in D.C. Dulles Airport, wanting to download this really cool template for my blog (I did download it, just can't figure out how to get it to show up on my page.) My mind is dull. I think something must have shut down due to pure mucous invasion. Seriously. Only a few saw me a week ago when it seemed (I think this is physically impossible but somehow true) that the mucous from my nostrils emptied into my dermis, and my nose and cheeks down to my jawline ballooned out like someone with elephantitis. It was bright red (like a birthmark, honest), and really quite remarkable, lending to stolen glances and stares as I went out in public. I wish I had taken a picture. Then the whole thing peeled like a bad sunburn.

It's hard but sometimes we should document the worst days of our lives, if only to later look back with deep thankfulness that its over. I laid awake one night thinking of the young teen son of Cher in a 80's movies called MASK, made from a true story. His face hurt tremendously, and the only thing that would help was when he would intentionally dwell on beautiful things. So I, rather imperfectly, have sought to find some solace in small comforts: the beautiful spring budding outside my windows, the birds singing as they are released in the warm wind, the calls and prayers of caring friends, the sweet presence of God drifting in and out of the most mundane of days. Even having a soft warm place to nestle in and ooze in and out of sleep became precious to me.

So as I face the nine hour flight ahead, I am choosing to stay in the present moment, aware that the love of God surrounds me, and that it is His call and path I am seeking to follow. This journey to Brazil is somehow a part of it all, and so I am looking to see God's hand even in the next long flight, and trust that He has good things in store in the days to come, even if I face them with sniffles and sputters.

Life itself is never dull. Even suffering has its own sharpness, and the pain alerts the soul to how much was taken for granted before. As I have undulated up and down through the distress and improvements of recent weeks, I have been awakened again to what an honor it is to be alive and to see the glory of God in the smallest of things. Can dullness sharpen you? I think so. Actually, almost anything can, if used as an instrument in the hand of a loving God.