Ruling Authority

Then someone came and said, “Look! The men you put in jail are standing in the temple courts teaching the people.” At that, the captain went with his officers and brought the apostles. They did not use force, because they feared the people would stone them. ~ Book of Acts, Ch. 5

The ruling authority of the Jews in ancient times feared retaliation should they use force on those preaching Christ.  The people's response wasn't one of human effort, might or power, rather the Spirit of the Lord moving people to obey Him over human beings. 

Fascinating ancient story given the time we live.  Simply fascinating.

Smooth sailing is no longer an option.  Yeah!  I luv the book of Acts and all the exploration that takes place, both nautical and spiritual.

Traffic Cop Needed

I'm starting the transition from chemo to surgery, which apparently requires endless appointments if you're me.  I need a traffic cop for my cancer calendar. #dodatdance.  Just a few more appointments and I'll know more. Lol.  Even science is consumed with more, more, more!  Or maybe I should say the relationship bw insurance and medicine requires more, more, more.  Our culture is a hot mess.  Nothing left untouched by our relentless desire of "more."  More can be great, more of Christ would be dandy!  Thank you, cancer!

I have my third biopsy scheduled this morning for a new spot on my left breast at 11 o'clock.  But also showing up is a considerable reduction of the original tumor of 6.5 cm, which shrank to about 1 cm. 

My PET scan also came back "clear" with no FDG uptake, which means no visible cancer by means of the glucose injection during the PET.  Cancer feeds on sugar.  Who knew? But how did we not?  PET scans aren't 100% trustworthy, hence the new biopsy order.

The results of today will determine if I am a candidate for a lumpectomy or a mastectomy. 

We'll see what path the Lord chooses! 

Spilled Blood

Last week, I felt a craving to squirt ketchup in the snow for fun.  In that moment, it dawned on me how absolutely paradoxical the ancient texts of Isaiah are when mentioning a mysterious crimson blood making one whiter than snow; 

"Come now, and let us reason together, saith Jehovah: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool."

I can't explain it and I don't know how it works, but it does and Jesus is who he says he is.  On February 14th, 2005 I sat on my bed in agony after hearing some devastating news and something deeper in me than I knew existed called to its likeness, deeper still.  In that moment there was a supernatural exchange of power that completely took me out of myself and the words on the pages of the Bible were made alive.  I was not searching for God when He found me...but I was responding to the wooing of the Spirit, which was absolutely an unknown frontier for me.  I didn't have a clue what awaited me.  

Jeremiah 33:3 ~  Call to me and I will tell you great and UNSEARCHABLE things you do not know.

Oh!  Precious is the flow,
That makes me white as snow,
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus

luvluv
d

Spring Encapsulated

Spring encapsulated. 

Reminds me of my own delicate heart. Sometimes just as it begins to blossom, 
there's need for one more splattering reminder of winter's grasp. 

The grip of death takes hold once more, threatening to arrest nature's momentum. 
Threatening to change my spring showers into cold tears of regret.

But alas, God whispers to my budding heart, 
remain in me and I shall give you eternal life.

Thank you, Lord Majesty.

a mother's cry for help

Visualize a hole being dug deep enough for you to stand in and then dirt packed tightly around you just above your shoulders. Only your head sprouting out from the earth. No free hand to protect your most vulnerable part. No feet or legs to run away with. This is how stonings are performed in some parts of the world.

Today, I was with her in America. She was buried up to her chin, but not with dust of earth. 

Do you believe me? 

This one here, she was six feet under the stench of a world gone mad; buried deep under the lust for her baby from one, the demanding pride to reach the top of her field from another, the fear of looking bad in front of colleagues by another. The message was loud and clear. YOU are disposable. I matter, you do not.  You are merely a report from the State to me.  You aren't flesh and bone.  You aren't fearfully and wonderfully made.  And you will be used for my gain.  And when you express your pain and hurt, I will use it against you to mask my own brokenness.  

She sat quietly as long as she was able. Stones pelting her from around the room. 

But one thing was forgotten. Those rulers, those authorities, those powers of this dark world; they failed to tape her mouth shut, so they might kill her in peace and take her babies.

And what she said next cut through me like only the Word can do. It was like God peeled His breath from those ancient pages of scripture and she inhaled glory into her young lungs and He exhaled on that room and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Tears pooling, courage overtaking her and she told 'em. She said it like a low rumble of thunder from Heaven, "I'm so tired of people throwing stones at me." God gave her a voice alright and it was straight-laced with the words of Jesus.

In that moment, I felt like I was sitting right close to Stephen himself. The one our Mighty Lord stood to receive in Heaven. And that sure lights my Holy fire, because it's not every day you see Yeshua standing at the right hand of God. He mostly sits.

And I am forever grateful He gave me eyes to see. Because not everyone can. And I don't ever want to take that for granted. I was blind, but now I see, Lord Majesty.

Scribe

Pen stands astute ready to conduct symphony of dot and tittle,
and we all go marching into her soft warmth.

Peace settles into her nest,
life is pronounced.

All of my being displaced in the barrel of this object,
and there my relationship with You rests and is made known.

Sharp metal pressing character into tree flesh once more,
pointing toward that other Holy imprint of time and its great divide.

There in the suspended sacrament of B.C. and A.D.
the Word clings to pulp and the blood flows.

It echoes still- as red ink pours onto page.
Confusion leaves, focus comes and faith is strewn.

                                                      ~Delissa Jo Payne

The Crush

Hurting,

dying,

broken world with your face smashed up to the glass,

tears rolling down.

I see you and am with you in expectant hope.

I care.

I love you.

I'm coming for you.


                          ~ DJP

Who Are You, O Great Mountain?

The following truth from ancient scribe, Zechariah, has been synonymous with EVE, a lively sisterhood of women I lead in Oklahoma City, for many years.

"Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit," says the Lord of Hosts.

Only recently, have I noticed the next line of the promise from the Lord's own mouth.

"WHO ARE YOU, O great mountain*?

Before Zerubbabel you shall become a plain!
And he shall bring forth the capstone with shouts of Grace, grace to it!"

*The great mountain was a figurative reference to the great obstacles the people of Israel faced in rebuilding the temple

Christianity not being for the squeamish is taking on new meaning as of late.  An encouraging word from my pastor..."Delissa, you're already messy, there's no point in turning back now.  Just keep getting messier."

Now there's a DIRTY little secret for all Christians.  What great and timely wisdom!  The cost of discipleship is great and rips every shred of flesh straight through to the marrow of Spirit.  And it doesn't look "pretty" by our standards, but I believe it is a glorious sight to behold by the Father of Lights.

PS  WHO ARE YOU?  My favorite line in scripture right now.  :))

Thank, God!

I freakin' luv this man! Shaking things up a bit. We've got a renegade on our hands. A remnant of bygones!! 

Even though someone died, this makes me giggle. Hurry! Someone sentence me to a looney bin or a gathering of atheists for 10 yrs! I'll do it!!

SALT LAKE CITY — A district judge in Oklahoma has generated new controversy by sentencing a teenager to 10 years of church attendance, even though the judge admits it's not constitutional.

Religion News Services reports Judge Mike Norman gave Tyler Alred, 17, a 10-year deferred sentence for DUI manslaughter. Alred was driving a pickup truck that crashed and killed a passenger in December 2011.

In deferring the sentence, the judge not only ordered Alred to a decade of church attendance, but also required him to finish high school and welding school.

Alred's attorney and the victim's family agreed to the terms of the sentence.

The ACLU in Oklahoma calls the church requirement a "clear violation of the First Amendment."

Judge Norman, who has recommended church as part of sentencing in some past cases, admits the church attendance part of the sentence won't hold up legally but doubts either side in the case will appeal.

He says the sentence was the right thing to do.

The ACLU is considering its options, but according to RNS an individual or organization must have legal standing to challenge the constitutionality of the church attendance requirement.

life without parole

if life itself were flowing out of me

and i was watching it pool on the floor in puddles of red

i think i would welcome that sort of surge

the grey is wearing this freedom-fighter down to a colorless nub

i need a jolt of pain or a shock of sudden glory

it's never good when imagination goes to prison without parole

boo

I hope there are rainbow-colored cobwebs in heaven

entertaining angels?

I'm in the mood for strange.

Strange people passing my threshold.

Strange conversations.

Strange beauty.

Strangers.

Smack!

You never know around what corner it is lurking.

Waiting to grab you by the gut and wrench you into submission.

Grief is a bounty.

Full of surprises.

Whispering come closer, I understand you.

Tempting you to embrace the nothingness of sight.

Which will it be, Delissa Jo?

Waggin' My Wheel!

I'm off to find this gypsy wagon in Grandborough Fields!!

I'm going to ask them where they got their curtains and if we can play 

 a Django Reinhardt song by the campfire.

Oh, the places you'll go...with God!

Ol' Faithful

Now for the cry.

The silent warning seeps from my mind signaling my lagging body to embrace the coming wave, as I step over the threshold and shut the door on a day of these familiar tears simmering faithfully at the precipice of my lids.  How they manage to retreat in the tender moments of this day and where they go...a profound mystery.

Now what are you going to do.

My soul out in front of my flesh and bone all the day long, screaming back over the chasm, let's go...press into the pain!  But alas, this ark needed a few more nails (or closed doors) before the flood could be released and it set for sail into the unknown.

Now I'm alone.  

Time for the soul and body to keep pace.
To marry with one another and absorb the blow.
If it may, Father, let the Spirit flow into the shattered mess, instead of escaping out.

Now we are alone.

Time to turn up the heat on those raw places and boil them to overflowing in hope something delicious and palatable will grace my plate of thanks.

Hidden

Their flesh shall dissolve while they stand on their feet,
Their eyes shall dissolve in their sockets,
And their tongues shall dissolve in their mouths
                                                         ~Zechariah 14:12

PS  This is gonna be GOOD!!!

High on Prayer!

Landslide Victory!!  

Prayer gets you higher than pot! :))  

It's true.

Here are three incredibly inspiring books on the subject.  

I HIGHLY recommend investing in them.  

Still working on E.M. Bounds, 

but have read a quarter of it and the other two in the last few weeks...

I have to put them down to pray.  ;)

Obviously, the Bible is the source of all things inspiring...

studying Nehemiah's prayer life and leadership, too!!

George Muller

Delighted In God

Roger Steer

                              The Circle Maker                                     E.M. Bounds on Prayer
                                Mark Batterson                                               E.M. Bounds



PS  Eternal mysteries RULE!

REPOST from DEEPERSTORY.COM

to my future daughters [in honour of Rachel Held Evans]

by Preston Yancey

[Today, thanks to the brilliant heart of our own Sarah Bessey, some of us around the web are taking time to celebrate the life and ministry of Rachel Held Evans, whom many of us have been honoured to call teacher and friend. Today, her new book releases. We wanted to throw a book launch party for her, but geography made that difficult. So from rainy Scotland to clear-skyed Portland, we're offering digital thanks. You can read other “toasts” to Rachel at JR Goudeau’s blog and add your own.]

My dear daughters,

Someday, little ones. That’s the promise your Father made while he was still living at the end of the world, casting stones into the North Sea and whispering prayers woven with midmorning lark feathers, sent flying out over the blue.

Someday. It was repeated in meter and rhyme, a refrain in the litany of a better world longed for, a world that you do not know was dreamt for you. Dreamt for you, tangle of foreign but bonded sisters, interwoven fibers of biology and circumstance, some mine by form and some mine by reception, but all mine by Child.

You did not know your Father in the seasons when he would have described himself as uncertain concerning you. You did not know him in the days when he wondered if calling had relation to hierarchy, if there were certain ways of serving the One that was not yours to take simply because of the happy accident of your birth.

Children, you did not know him in the days he would sit at his own parents’ table, legs not quite touching the floor, dangling in rhythm as he asked for the third or fourth time, Why not? You did not know that he asked this question every season, around every bend, and though there had always been an answer, he never accepted it as truth. He entertained it, acquiesced to it, but the question of honour and valour and kingdom churned still and would not leave him until he laid out all the pieces, slowly and carefully.

You shall have heard your Mother and I talking sometimes about the people who were changing the conversation of our Faith for the better when we were coming of age. You’ll have heard us mention Hans Urs von Balthasar more than once, Ellen Davis, Alison Milbank, Eleonore Strump, Henri de Lubac, NT Wright. But you’ll have heard of the others as well, the ones who wrote popular works that brought those conversations to our kitchen tables, like Lauren Winner, Wendell Berry, Madeleine L’Engle, Maggi Dawn, and so many others that we forget who is still living here and who has since gone on to that place of glory.

You’ll have heard, too, the people we were friends with in that time where words were sculpted by digital scribe, some of those beloved friends having written some of our favourite books. Books that were important. Books that are important. Books that you might not know have a lot to do with the freedom and beauty you hear whispered against your ears before you’re put to bed for the night.

But perhaps what you won’t have heard, so I need to tell you now, is that when your Father had questions and doubts, when he was so sure about being unsure, there was a collection of certain people who made him space to ask and seek.

There’s a particular woman, daughters, that you owe a certain measure of thanks to. I have to be careful in what I say, because she is the sort of woman who would not want more credit than she thinks she deserves and she’d shy away from flattery. But you should know that Rachel Held Evans, in a world that seems so far away from now, wrote a little book that made a lot of people have a lot of conversations. They weren’t always pleasant, they weren’t always gracious, but people were talking. But before that book, before all that conversation, she was the woman who answered emails from a young man trying to figure out how to reconcile the beautiful and the true and the good. She measured her responses with kindness and mercy, made enough space to challenge and enough space to comfort.

You owe her more than you know, because her voice was the form the Holy Ghost decided to take to speak to your Father’s heart. She spoke slow and patient, and He wove her words with gentle challenge, until he finally saw the rippling, crackling light in the firmament of his wondering and saw the hope of the other side.

Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

Do you know, precious daughters, that these words were once prayed without thought for you? Do you know they were prayed in rote and haste? Do you know that now they are prayed with careful yearning, that to speak of on earth as it is in heaven is to speak of neither Jew nor Greek is to say that you are priests in your own right, servers at the same great Table?

Someday. It was the promise I made for you so very long ago. I said someday you would know that you must and shall go free, shall bear our Christ in the open fields and sing the redemption song among the wildflowers. And though she would not ask for it, though she would say that there are scores others that deserve more notice than her, I want you to know that there was a time, a place, so long ago now at the end of the world, where a woman of valour named Rachel was thinking of you, even though she had not known you, and she set words onto a page because she believed in the God who has and shall always overcome.

And when we light the candles on All Saints Day, when we sing the ancient hymns, she is near among all the others, she is not forgotten, she is not so very far away.

Love,

Your [Someday] Father

My Favorite Hymn...I knew I luved it!!

Backstory of the hymn...this woman is my she-ro!!  I think I hear her laughing all the way from future eternity.  *ting!! 

"I went for a little visit of five days," wrote Frances Havergal, explaining what prompted her to write her well-known hymn, "Take My Life and Let it Be."

"There were ten persons in the house; some were unconverted and long prayed for, some converted but not rejoicing Christians [God] gave me the prayer, 'Lord, give me all in this house.' And He just did. Before I left the house, everyone had got a blessing. The last night of my visit I was too happy to sleep and passed most of the night in renewal of my consecration, and those little couplets formed themselves and chimed in my heart one after another till they finished with "ever only, ALL FOR THEE!"

It was on this day, February 4, l874, that Frances wrote the hymn that is still sung around the world.

One of the most dedicated Christian women of the nineteenth century, Frances was the youngest child of a Church of England minister. Though she was always in frail health, she led an active life, encouraging many people to turn to Jesus and others to seek a deeper spiritual walk.

Frances had begun reading and memorizing the Bible at the age of four (eventually memorizing The Psalms, Isaiah and most of the New Testament). At seven she wrote her first poems. Several of her mature verses became hymns. In addition to "Take My Life," she wrote such favorites as "I Gave My Life for Thee," "Like a River Glorious," and "Who Is on the Lord's Side?"

Because her voice was lovely, Frances was in demand as a concert soloist. She also was a brilliant pianist and learned several modern languages as well as Greek and Hebrew. With all her education, however, Frances Havergal maintained a simple faith and confidence in her Lord. She never wrote a line of poetry without praying over it.

One of the lines of Frances Havergal's hymn says, "Take my silver and my gold; not a mite would I withhold." In 1878, four years after writing the hymn, Miss Havergal wrote a friend, The Lord has shown me another little step, and, of course, I have taken it with extreme delight. 'Take my silver and my gold' now means shipping off all my ornaments to the Church Missionary House, including a jewel cabinet that is really fit for a countess, where all will be accepted and disposed of for me...Nearly fifty articles are being packed up. I don't think I ever packed a box with such pleasure."

Lyrics:

Take my life and let it be
,

Consecrated, Lord, to Thee.


Take my moments and my days, 


Let them flow in endless praise.

Take my hands and let them move


At the impulse of Thy love.


Take my feet and let them be


Swift and beautiful for Thee.

Take my voice and let me sing,


Always, only for my King.


Take my lips and let them be


Filled with messages from Thee.

Take my silver and my gold,


Not a mite would I withhold.


Take my intellect and use


Every pow’r as Thou shalt choose.

Take my will and make it Thine,


It shall be no longer mine.


Take my heart, it is Thine own,


It shall be Thy royal throne.

Take my love, my Lord, I pour


At Thy feet its treasure store.


Take myself and I will be


Ever, only, all for Thee.

Talitha Cumi

Once, as I rode out into the woods for my health, in 1737, having alighted from my horse in a retired place, as my manner commonly has been, to walk for divine contemplation and prayer, I had a view that for me was extraordinary, of the glory of the Son of God, as Mediator between God and man, and his wonderful, great, full, pure and sweet grace and love, and meek and gentle condescension. This grace that appeared so calm and sweet, appeared also great above the heavens. The person of Christ appeared ineffably excellent with an excellency great enough to swallow up all thought and conception ... which continued as near as I can judge, about an hour; which kept me the greater part of the time in a flood of tears, and weeping aloud. 

I felt an ardency of soul to be, what I know not otherwise how to express, emptied and annihilated; to lie in the dust, and to be full of Christ alone;

 to love him with a holy and pure love; to trust in him; to live upon him; to serve and follow him; and to be perfectly sanctified and made pure, with a divine and heavenly purity. I have, several other times, had views very much of the same nature, and which have had the same effects.

~Jonathan Edwards 1703-1758~

Kilt Dead

Today at the Payne family residence, we have a little altar celebration going on. Yes, sheep are really being slaughtered. (not here, at the lake:)

Wiki: "Eid al-Adha, also called Feast of the Sacrifice, is an important 4-day religious holiday celebrated by Muslims worldwide to honor the willingness of the prophet Abraham to sacrifice his young firstborn son Ishmael as an act of submission to God.

Abraham could not bear to watch his son die so he covered his eyes by a blindfold. When he cut Ishmael's throat and removed the blindfold, he was astonished to see that Ishmael was unharmed and instead, he found a dead ram which was slaughtered. Abraham had passed the test by his willingness to carry out God's command."

To my Saudi sons: May your faith be tested and you have the willingness to respond. Um Fahhad Aldawsari, UmMohammed Aldossari, Um Munahi Alotaibi, Um Mohammed Alrashdee, Um Raed Abdullah, Um T UR K Pop, Um William Alwaile, Um Fahhad Aldawsori, Um Abbad Almutiri, UmAbdullah Almasar, Um Mohammed Alyami, Um Ali al-sagoor

PS In faith, I'm also sacrificing some of my dearest possessions a.k.a. detestable idols. Thank you for sharing the altar with me. Hallelujah!!