in a house by the sea

        “First, this really just happened. It is not figurative, but literal.

        So, I was sitting, having quiet time with the Lord. I heard the wind blowing hard toward my left, but didn’t feel it blowing much where I was. As I viewed what was happening, I saw that a little whirlwind was moving through the cow pasture on the other side of the fence. It was tiny… almost just like an invisible giant was shuffling through the dirt and grass as he walked, and you could just see the dirt he was kicking up. It moved at the pace of a person walking quickly. I expected it to just be momentary, but it persisted. As it continued to move in my direction (from left to right, though still 50ft in front of me), I was just thanking the Lord for letting me see it. Honestly, my thoughts were all about “the Holy Spirit is like the wind” and things like that. I sort of expected that it would come to me and get on me and I would have some crazy awesome experience in God, but the whirlwind passed by. So I dropped my bible, leaped over the fence, and ran out after it. It must have picked up speed or something, because I had to run fast. Plus it was hard to track down, since most of it was unseen. Finally I got to it and was in it. It was amazing. I had to close my eyes because of all of the sand that was blowing around. The wind pulled my shirt up. I wonder what that looked like to the person who owned the field… a random man in green shorts runs into the middle, stops, and his shirt instantly flies up! But I just stood there. In it. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have enough time to do it. Like a lot of my experiences really, all I was able to do in the moment was be in it and allow it to happen with me in it. Then it left. And then I left. With a big smile on my face, breathing deeply. I really don’t know if I was so out of breath from running, or maybe from not breathing in the whirlwind, or maybe from something else… but my body felt emptied of air, and as I walked back I had to recollect some.

        As I approached the fence again I said, “Lord, would you please show me what that was one day? Let me know if that was you or something completely natural, or what.” I asked this with a far off expectation. I didn’t feel like I needed an answer now, but I wanted to go ahead and plant the question.

        But, He answered me instantly. “That was not me. But I do come like that. And you come to me like that.”

        Man, that was lovely. So lovely. He often speaks things like that that have few words, but carry in them the full definition of it all.

        ‘I come like that, barely seen, moving where I am moving, beyond your expectations. You cannot see me, but you see the things that I touch. You can hear the things that I move when your far away, but you can actually hear ME when you are inside of Me. And you can experience me and my touch when you are inside of Me.’

        and for myself, that affirmation that I am willing to drop my plan and method, and charge into an unknown place, not for what I know to be there, but for what I hope and trust to be there. driven into risk by pure desire for more. and more. and more.

        so anyway, I am just very very thankful this morning. what a wonderful thing. little whirlwinds. good God. amen.”

rogiaeu:

eastering:

Dear Creation,

I realize just how much I’m falling in love with you again. I’ve been so hard on myself that it became easy to be cynical over you and your heart. It’s because I could so clearly see me in you. I wasn’t happy with that. I was unsatisfied.

But understanding the joy of the Lord feels a lot like my insides coming out. His deeply seeded love for us breaks past every understanding I’ve ever had about myself and you.

I’ve been so unhappy with what I knew about humanity, Now my heart aches at the site of you. Now all I want is to see you shine. Now all I want is to see you seated right next Him.

I’m sorry that I started writing to Babylon instead of you. You’re beautiful. You’re so very beautiful.

the morning’s so gentle you could cry.

i woke before the sun came up to a hundred thousand raindrops falling through all the trees huddled around my parents’ home and the audible illusion of many voices chattering and laughing somewhere out there in the dark. it must have been some way that the water was hitting other puddles of water that gave off tones rather than splatters. it wasn’t spooky by any means; the warm hum of other voices around me has become a sense of safety to fall asleep to after many evenings in my childhood of drifting off during church gatherings and dinner parties and holiday festivities that went past my bedtime.

everything is a comfort these days, like i feel everything in the universe working together to soften and break my heart, ministering to and massaging this organ that so fervently pumps blood to all the needy places in the body.
being home does that too, softens and awakens me; everything is remembrance and so many sensitive memories and the safest place to dream.

i found a great big concordance on my parents’ bookshelf yesterday morning, much to my delight. i didn’t even have to order one!
it would almost be so nice if the days here at home would continue to be as gloomy and rainy as they have been since we’ve arrived; i could spend the entire summer hiding away in this little sanctuary of a treehouse with a single candle and a cup of tea.
but the sun will fill the sky again soon, and i will be drawn to the water’s edge and the long bike rides from island to island over rolling bridges and the shimmering bay. and i know i will be thankful for her return.

until then, the morning is so gentle you could cry, and my heart falls limp under softening hands.