Stained...

My husband and I like to talk. We like to talk a lot. To each other, to our family, to friends... you could safely say we are chatty people. 

Every day when we wake up we have a devotional time together. It helps to get our focus where it needs to be: on the Lord, not us. Sometimes, however, we must look at ourselves to get a clear picture of where we're at with the Lord and each other. We do this willingly, this self-inspection. Personal experience has taught us with an iron fist that holding onto our rights and refusing to take an accurate account of our attitudes is disastrous at best. 

Cue the other morning: We were having a conversation just like the thousands we have had before and were on the subject of upcoming events. Planning is usually not my forte and writing things down, (a.k.a. To-Do lists), has become an integral part of my being able to function. So there we were all snuggled in our bed, birds singing outside, the majestic firs swaying in the breeze, and I mentioned an upcoming event to my dear sweet husband. (No sarcasm intended, he really is a doll.) His response was said in the most innocent way possible, and yet I felt as if I had a pitcher of cold water thrown on my soul. We rarely, and I mean RARELY, have serious disagreements or say things that are hurtful to each other. (The latter of those two never being done intentionally.) We are careful with each other. Both of us have had significant brokenness in our past, and we honor each other by being intentionally tender.

But the way those 6 words hit me was not fun.

They felt insensitive and uncaring. The very fact that I felt that way after hearing them dismayed me even further due to the knowledge that my kind husband is neither. It sent me into an inward storm that had hurricane potential. 

So, I got quiet. 

Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows that being quiet is not my strong suit either. I have learned to think things through. To pray. To ask the Lord for His perspective and wisdom on the situation. This time though, I sat with my internal twister for a while. I wondered at it. I asked my husband about it after a little time had passed. I continued to nurse the pondering. 

I got out of bed and made my way to the sink, still unusually quiet. More often than not we make protein smoothies as part of our breakfast, they are simple and easy to swallow for those days when swallowing has been an issue. I had a real beauty this particular day, full of coconut milk and blueberries. Those things, along with the mandatory pea protein and banana, made a gorgeous deep eggplant color in my see through mug. Also on this day, I was wearing one of my favorite swimsuit cover-ups turned nightshirt. It is white gauze, has long sleeves, is a tunic type shape, and reminds me of Charles Ingalls' nightshirts. (That's a winner in my book.) 

On my way to the sink I grabbed my mug for a big slurp of coolness that might soothe the burn that was happening in my throat. But instead of connecting with my mouth, the edge of the mug connected with my nightshirt right at waist level. 

No good.

Eggplant colored smoothie on my favorite Charles Ingallsesque nightshirt? I felt the twister growing. I knew the smoothie would stain. From years of experience with children and mud, children and spaghetti, teenage girls and makeup, carpet and fruit punch, and other less mentionable substances. 

Ten years ago I would have thrown it out, or maybe made a valiant effort with some store bought product and elbow grease. 

Not any more. 

I have researched ad nauseum about stain removal. I have spent countless hours trying out different formulas and homemade concoctions. The internet and I have become conspirators in the battle against the stain, and more often than not: I WIN.

Looking down at the purple blot on my gauzy white gown, I was reminded of the scripture that says that all of my righteousness is as filthy rags (Is. 64:6), and I also thought instantly of the passage that talks about the Lord presenting the Church as a glorious Bride, without spot or blemish (Eph. 5:27). 

I LOVE THAT. I have ALWAYS loved that. The idea that I will someday be presented pure, spotless, and without any blemish! Robed in HIS righteousness alone? Perfect!

The how of it all has always fascinated me. The fact that Jesus makes us pure by His blood has always intrigued my science-nerd mind. It was a teensy bit like the first time I heard about this dark blue goopy soap that you could put on a stain on a WHITE sweater and it would remove the stain without leaving a trace of ever having been there. Dark blue plus crisp white had always equaled laundry failure in my book, but I got brave one day with a sweet little shirt that had a definite pizza stain. I also had already washed and DRIED it. I thought that shirt was headed for the dumpster for sure. But lo and behold, I applied the goopy dark blue soap and left the shirt overnight before I gave it another chance in the washer and... IT WORKED!

Jesus' blood is obviously much more miraculous and awesome than my goopy blue super soap, but it does work. Gloriously so! Even after I have haphazardly made a whopper of a careless mistake, or I have let an attitude fester in the drier of my heart for days, or weeks, or years. His blood is still enough to cleanse it. 

I brushed my teeth, after finishing my lovely smoothie of course, and let the truth of these scriptures sink into the depths of me along with the berries. Jesus, once again, had calmed the storm in me with His gentle reminder of His grace toward me and how I am to extend that same grace to others. 

I headed over to the cupboard where I keep my all-purpose homemade super stain remover spray bottle and went to work on the blot, knowing full well that it would be gone after the next wash. I also spent some time talking with the Lord about the blots in my heart that keep me vulnerable to certain phrases and words that aren't even a threat anymore. 

Placing the night shirt in the laundry hamper I smiled to myself knowing that the Stain Remover was already working.

Oh my word...

'Free' is my word this year.... 

You see, every year I ask the Lord for a word. A word to learn from, frame my thoughts with, filter my attitudes, and shape my perspectives.

 A few years ago I got 'focus'. I learned much from that word, that year, about my focus. Where my thoughts were focused, where my life was focused. It was invaluable.

Then, last year, I got the word 'enough'. Boy howdy did that do a doozy on my perspective. Lots of areas where I had never realized before that I have enough.... enough love, enough stuff, enough time, enough hope, that Jesus is enough in any and every situation. The events of the last year have certainly put that word to the test and then some.

So... as 2013 was coming to a close, I once again asked the Lord for a word. I have grown to be quite excited about my word for the year, and when I received the word 'free' from Him I was thrilled. 

WHO DOESN'T WANT TO BE FREE?

Apparently the answer to that question is: Me.

At least it used to be.

Growing up I didn't have many friends. Oh, I knew a lot of people but I wouldn't say I had many close friendships. My childhood was hard, we'll leave it at that. The circumstances of my young life made it hard for me to bond and my social cues were off. Trust was an impossibility for sure. None of that lends to close life-long friendships. It is important to say that most of my friends were boys. I was a true blue tomboy growing up, and I liked it that way. Girls were hard for me to relate to, reminded me of painful things, and I chose to distance myself from nearly all girls and women for many years.

Fast forward to the last 15 years. By the grace of God, and His restorative love in my life, I have developed many strong relationships with women of all backgrounds and ages. They have become some of the greatest treasures of my life. Women's Bible study has been a life line for me for many long seasons, and the fervent prayers and encouragement that have blanketed me in some of the darkest moments of my life is nothing short of priceless. It is a rich blessing to have and to be such dear friends, sisters really, in the Lord.

No surprise then that I found myself at the Women's Retreat for our church this year. Mildly surprising perhaps due to that fact that I had been very ill for many months before. A no-longer-mystery illness that likes to flare and render me near bedridden had crept up in January  and then lowered a major boom that led the doctors at Scripps Mercy Hospital in San Diego to suspect a possible heart attack or stroke. Thankfully neither had happened. 

The why of my being at the retreat, at least from my perspective pre-retreat, was the request of my youngest daughter. It would be her first Women's Retreat and she really wanted me to be there. She had decided to go on her own, would be rooming with her future mom-in-love, and just wanted me to be close. I LOVE all that! So when she asked me to go, and I was bed-ridden near 95% at that time, I prayed. I said, "Lord, if you want me at the retreat then give me what I need to go. You know my body, you made me. You know my heart, and the desire of my girl. Have your way." I knew that I would need to be physically stronger and medically more stable to even think about going anywhere, let alone a retreat in a little over a month. I also had a little pity party about my dear friend Lydia not being able to go this year but it didn't last long. I have learned to lay those things at His feet sooner than later, and in His sweet mercy He made a way for her to go. I can't imagine anyone else as my roomate with the condition I was in.

I am usually involved with music in one way or another at retreats and women's events, I love being able to reflect the love of Jesus that way, but this year there was no need for me to do that. Not directly, not up in front, anyway. I ran sound. Never in all my years of being on worship teams and performing have I EVER run sound. Granted, this sound board was very simple to run but I had no less desire to give my 100%. So I ran sound, and I loved it. My view of the room was totally new to me; watching people listen, learn, whisper, worship. It was beautiful. To see my daughter worshipping Jesus, to laugh, to truly be at ease and enjoying her time with all of these women at her young age blessed me beyond words.

No expectations. I really had none for this retreat. I had prayers going up for strength and safety, but truly had no expectations for me to receive anything. My daughter's request had cemented my desire to go, and my prayers for strength and enough health to go had been answered. That was enough for me. 

But 'enough' was last year's word...

During Saturday morning's teaching time we were told to think about the root issue that holds us back from joy in our lives. I knew instantly. We were told to write it down, or assign it in a way of our choosing, to a rock and then dispose of said rock. I felt some resistance in me begin to rear it's ugly head.  

I had prayed since before I really knew Who I was praying to about this fear. This mind-numbing, choice controlling, breath stealing, crippling, wretched fear. Others had prayed for me. I had pages and pages of scriptures that specifically spoke about fear, I would read them out loud and ask for the fear to be removed. All of these things brought the terror levels down for a while, but the underlying feeling of dread always seemed to stay. I think I had just finally accepted the fact that I was never going to be rid of it. 

I got up from the sound booth to get my rock for the exercise and promptly picked up a smooth, round, white one. Not for me you see, for Lydia. I love rocks. I have smooth rocks of various shapes and colors all over my house, in my car, even in my guitar case, but I knew that the rock for this particular occasion wasn't to be beautiful. It was to be an ugly rock. So, I picked the lumpiest, uneven, ugly rock I could find. I tried to hand the lovely white rock to Lydia, but she quickly traded it for a thin shard of a rock that was equally as unattractive as mine.

Our assignment was to be a personal experience, so I propped my feet up on another chair and began to read the suggested Bible verses and to pray. As I ended my devotion time I asked the Lord what He would have me do with the rock. I knew that I was to write the word 'fear' on it, but I wasn't sure how He wanted me to dispose of it. I envisioned throwing it into the frigid pond in the middle of the retreat grounds. The sound of the stone plunking into those cold waters already was a welcome sound to my imagination. So, I quieted myself and awaited confirmation of my plan. Confirmation didn't come. What I heard in the quiet of my soul was, "Put it in your shoe." I love how the Lord speaks to me, always in a way that I can understand and never leaving much room for interpretation. Leaning forward I promptly unzipped the side of my knee high moccassin and put the lumpy rock in the fold next to my foot. As I began to zip my boot, however, I heard Him loud and clear: "No, no. Under." Under? Okay then. Under. I grabbed the rock and shoved it under my foot into the cramped space in my arch. Then I rezipped my boot and put my foot back up on the chair opposite me. 

I wondered if He wanted me to sit and really feel the pressure of the rock in that truly uncomfortable and tender place. So, like always, I asked. His instructions were: "I want you to get up. I want you to walk, to visit, to eat lunch, to go to the next sessions, to leave that rock right where it is and not tell a single soul by word or expression that it's there." I knew what was coming.... pain. Pain and I are not strangers. Pain of all kinds has been with me daily since I was a young girl. A little less than happily, I got up from the sound booth, gathered my things for the next session, and began to mingle with the ladies in the room. I found myself altering my walk, which caused other parts of my foot and leg to hurt. I began to dread the next place I had to go due to the difficulty the rock was causing. I walked on carpet with pain, concrete with pain, and up stairs with pain. I ate lunch with pain, mingled with  pain, and even prayed with a sweet sister with that pain, and the pain was increasing with every moment. It spread to my lower back, and eventually my shoulders. It was truly miserable. The pain the rock was causing was mind-numbing, choice controlling, breath stealing, crippling, wretched..... sound familiar?

Several times in those 4 or so hours I asked the Lord if I could remove it. I heard a gentle 'Not yet' every time. I submitted myself to trust Him, I prayed that I would learn whatever He had for me in this. I know now that no pain is wasted in His economy. 

So, I went on. I did my best to try and pay attention at the first break-out session on Loving Well. I took notes, paid close attention to the visual lesson on burdens using a backpack full of heavy rocks. It truly hit home for me. At the conclusion of the class I wondered if it might be time to remove the rock but just as I was asking the Lord if I could, I heard Lydia's voice saying, "Which session are you going to now?" Hmmmmm, there were 2 choices: the first had to do with life controlling issues, and the second had to do with fear. Kill two birds with one stone, sure why not? As long as I could use the stone in my boot...

I got up to leave the session we had just been in, and pain shot up my leg from the rock. I kept a straight face and headed across the way to the next building ever so grateful that it was close. I remember entering the room, having a short discussion with Lydia about where to sit, then feeling intensely congested with the dull throb of a headache joining the deluge of sensations to amplify the misery. The notes I took were cryptic at best but what really hit me was the song that the facilitator sang toward the end. There was a refrain that kept repeating about trusting the Lord. Choosing to trust him. The facilitator kept talking about fear and trust. Deep inside I could hear the echoes of the many times the Lord has asked me that very thing, "Do you trust Me?" I battled the physical misery and closed my eyes. 

I knew as we prayed to close the session that I was to throw the rock into the ravine behind the builidng we were in. I wondered at why the Lord would have me throw it there. I wanted that rock GONE. I was done with the pain and misery it was bringing me, done being so limited and having to fake being okay. I even questioned Him about it, "Lord, why do you want me to throw it in the ravine? I wanted this rock to be some place that it couldn't be easily recovered. Some place that even if I looked I couldn't find it. In the ravine, if I really wanted to, I could go find it.... my writing is on it...that word... F E A R."

Lydia and I got up and began to talk with other women in the room, all agreeing that what we heard was certainly much needed. As we got to the exit I asked Lydia if she would go with me out on the balcony, figuring I needed some fresh air she agreed. I then asked her if I could show her something. I loved the response of raised eyebrows and a prolonged 'yeessssss?'. Leaning over I unzipped my boot and, with a sharp inhale, removed the rock. I then told Lydia about my quiet time, about what the Lord had instructed me to do, and about the word I had written on my rock. I held the rock out for her to see the word but as I turned the rock over in my hand I realized that the writing was gone. I had written it in permanent marker... how could this be? My walking exactly as He had instructed me to had begun to remove the fear with the first step...

I told Lydia about the life-long grip that fear had had on me, and knowing my story she nodded with an understanding smile. I closed my eyes and prayed, I asked the Lord to take that fear from me, that Spirit of Fear from me, and I committed everything, all of me, all of this life to Him. I chose trust... and then I hucked that rock into the ravine never to be found again! She gave me a hug that only your closest friends can, one that communicates joy and peace and love all in one movement.

We walked back to the main meeting room with smiles on our faces and gratitude in our hearts. I knew that the Lord was doing a deep work now that He had full access to every part of me. All throughout the evening the pain in my lower back, leg, and foot was diminishing by degrees until just a lingering soreness was in the arch of my foot. Healing had certainly begun.

That evening as we laid in our beds I felt a heaviness. I assumed it was my heart as my health issue has caused it to be weak and sluggish at times. We did a short devotion and then went to sleep. I awoke about half an hour later with a jolt. I was looking for my husband despite knowing where I was and who I was with. Lydia awoke as well immediately asking if I was alright. I told her that I thought so, but that I felt strange. She got up and came over to pray for me and as she did I felt more peace and less heaviness. We both laid in our beds near an hour talking and praying. At one point I could hear a sound of heavy old chains being reeled in, getting farther and farther away. An internal hearing, like remembering an old song. We prayed again, thanking the Lord for what He was doing. Then I heard the Lord clearly say to me, "YOU are mine. You ARE mine. You are MINE." I told Lydia what I heard and she sat up in her bed stating the Lord had given her a song during the quiet time that morning. Usually in songwriting she has to record promptly or she loses the song, but not this night. She remembered it all and, as she sang it for me, the words in the chorus echoed His voice.... You are mine.... You are mine....


I fell asleep that night with the sweetest smile on my face, and I awoke with a lightness about me in the morning that I don't think I've ever had. 

Free.

Free!

I came expecting nothing. Hoping for nothing. Resigned to remain in my chains, unpleasant and crippling as they had become, they were familiar. I had learned to live with them, to make allowances, to alter my walk, to live with the devastating consequences of their ever tightening presence. 

But my word this year is FREE...

John 8:36 "So if the Son sets you free, you are truly free."


Thank you Jesus. What incredible Joy!


'My Chains Are Gone
I've Been Set Free
My God My Savior 
Has Ransomed Me'.......