compassion

Divine Exchange

~ Extravagant Hope ~ 2 Comments

Maybe this time, I tell myself.  I can do it.  I’m strong, I can handle this.  I strain to see.  I try to remember how it looks, but it’s been a long time.  A primal knowledge in my soul tells me that I need to see it, must find it again, but things are obscured through the webs; my vision seems cloudy and I can’t clearly make out the shapes in the strangely filtered light.  Frustration wells up inside as the heaviness settles back in to take the place I’ve given it. When did that happen?  Did I give it permission?  I used to hear, but the sounds I’m searching for are muffled now in my ears; very faint and far off; disturbed by an odd rattling, scraping sound. Frustration, blindness and confusion; is this where I’ve settled?  “Maybe if I get up and move around I can get a better view; this odd lighting is the problem, “I decide.  With that decision made, I make my move to stand and am confronted with the source of the rattling, scraping sounds; thick, heavy, rusted chains.  My chains.  Mine.  I can’t get up and move around for a better view, because I am bound to this place of filtered light, muffled sounds and intolerable frustration.  Why? When? How?  Panicked, I struggle and fight, then in exhaustion I slump down in defeat.  Tears begin to fall from my eyes and spatter down on the ground all around me.  Am I bound here forever? Is there no escape, no way out?  Dark images flicker across my line of vision; stealthy movements threaten and mock.  Is that faint laughter I hear?  I didn’t start out here, bound like this, in chains like a condemned prisoner.  Who put me here? What did I do?  “Please,” I call out, “someone, will you help me?” I don’t belong here.  I want out.  “Someone, rescue me!”

I hear faint movement coming from all around me.  The dark shapes are shrouded by the obscure, filtered light, but I sense them coming closer, bold and violent; mocking in their approach.  “Help yourself,” one hisses in my ear, arrogance and fear scenting its breath, mocking laughter flowing from its tongue.  As hopelessness starts to fall, I look more closely at my surroundings. I am elevated on a mass of circular stones with faded words written on each one.  They are carefully arranged and set just so, in a small clearing.  Like an altar.  All beauty has been methodically wiped away, revealing only dust, barrenness and grotesquely twisted roots, thrusting up out of the ground.  The harsh loneliness of this place is terrifying.  Wait…I can see more clearly now; this used to be shadow-like and obscure, but now I sense the light shifting; brighter, clearer, full.  I don’t like what I see.  Webs from something horrid and smothering have been woven around, above and below my prison, trapping me; altering my view; skewing my perspective.  “Lies,” a Voice gently says, “lies that have kept you snugly ensconced on your altar of self.”  Altar of self.  Yes, that is exactly what this is.  As recognition of my pridefully built, self imposed prison floods my awareness; I realize that I cannot get out on my own.  I have locked myself in.  Trapped.  The mocking laughter swells and I feel the heaviness trying to descend again, the weight of my chains pulling cruelly at my limbs.  I am at the end of my self.  ”ENOUGH!” I shout.  “Please, Jesus, You have the keys…set me free!”

The mocking laughter is silenced by my words.  The atmosphere shifts and grows completely still, except for a deep vibration I feel surging up from the altar on which I stand, as it cracks in two. I look down and see a clear stream of water gushing out from that crack.  You stoop down and scoop the water in Your hands and offer it to me.   I see the silvery scars on Your hands and a song I can’t name, but deeply understand, floods my soul.  Thirst quenching.  A divine exchange is taking place here and my cracked altar becomes the catalyst.

The sounds and scents I have longed for begin to reach me.  Sweet laughter, gentle voices, Spirit breath, heavenly song.  Delicate and powerful, they flow all around me, bathing me in sounds and scents so sweet and pure that my breath comes in gasps; expelling the dust and debris that accumulated in my spirit as I worshipped at the altar of self.  I again breathe You in deeply, richly, slowly.  Freedom bathes me, ministering to the wounds inflicted by the stones named Fear, Pain, Loneliness, Pride, Rebellion, Abuse that I used to build my altar.  I feel lighter, clean, loved.  Heavy, rusted chains break apart and fall away from me.  I dance before you with abandon, unashamed, cleansed; my weakened muscles growing stronger and more nimble.  The heaviness is gone and a gentle, but vibrant spirit of praise now clothes me.   “Climb down, child, get down off of your broken altar.  Take the stones with you; they have a purpose to fulfill here.  There is something you need to see again.”  I fill my white robe of praise with all of those stones. Somehow they all fit.  I follow You out of the clearing where that altar once stood. As I go, new life is sprouting up. The gnarled roots of bitterness and rage, rejection and vengeance are sprouting into lovely trees of forgiveness, peace, Sonship and humility.  “Stop here, beloved.  Now You must use these stones to build your steps leading up to My Cross.”  I look up at the Cross and it speaks to me of ultimate sacrifice, profound mercy, joy indescribable, unmatched beauty and plentiful grace, even grace for one who built her own altar of self-protection. Tears of gratitude and love wash over my face and spill down onto my hands as I build those steps. It is hard work.  My building stops at times, as I find a tenacious tendril of frustration or pride trying to creep in over and around my stones, but I rip it out with Your strength in my hands.  As I lift my stones into place, I notice that where my tears have fallen shoots of brilliant green are pushing their way out of the rich soil.  As the sprouts emerge, You bend down and I see You writing something in the dark ground and I hear You speaking tenderly to the new sprouts. Your voice is the nourishment they need as they continue to grow. You rejoice over the harvest that only You can see.

My steps are built. They are placed firmly and deeply into the ground at the foot of Your Cross. Engraved by Your hand on that first step are the words Nisi Dominus Frustra.  “Come up, Daughter.  Come up higher to the very foot and find rest. Up here is what you have been searching for in vain.”  I ascend those steps in anticipation. As I come closer, I stop for a moment and look back down, surveying where I started.  My tears watered what You divinely planted and I see beauty stretching out below me and Your Cross is beauty before me.  I feel a shout that I absolutely cannot for the life of me contain, rising up in my throat, so I shout! It is a shout of pure joy, a song from my spirit to Yours.  A harvest will be reaped from my pain that I never thought I had a right to know. It is a beautiful inheritance.  It is You.

Yearning

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

There it is again.  I feel it rising up from somewhere deep inside.  It is difficult to describe, but there it is all the same.  I want it to have a name.  Somehow that will make it seem safe and predictable, possibly even controllable.  However, it is anything but safe and predictable, most certainly not controllable.  It is pressure that builds and needs a release; a cry from the deep that can only be satisfied by an answering calm, a gentling of the urgency; a whispered word, saying “Peace, be still child; how very close I am to you.”  It is birthed in quiet moments of meditation and worship, where time ceases to exist and I know I have Your undivided attention.  It is a place where my voice, my love and the groaning of Your Spirit, mix and intertwine in the Heavenlies, bringing delight to Your heart; setting into motion things I could never comprehend.  It is so beautiful, yet not safe and certainly not predictable; uncontrollable.  This it comes surging up as I fall to my knees in awe of all that You are; knowing that the small bit I know of You is almost more than I can bear.  To know that there is more, that You are richer and more brilliant than my most vivid dreams frightens me, because that, too, is not safe, is not predictable and cannot be contained.  No, it is holy, a consuming fire, pure and wild; it’s more fierce and passionate than I can handle on my own.

At times, it swells up when my fingers finally release their death grip on what I knew all along I could never control or hold onto, yet almost died in the trying.  I hear it in the sound of chains falling and walls crumbling, as another stronghold tumbles to the ground; the scent of victory overcoming the stench of defeat. It comes as a wave, a pounding of the heart, as Your anointing falls when obedience calls and is answered with “Yes Lord, here I am.”  It is there when the howling loneliness calls out for filling, clawing in desperation until Your presence is given permission to enfold and permeate the void.  I sense it’s presence when joy unspeakable and peace that passes all understanding snaps like a banner in the wind, high above the circumstances and distractions of life, proclaiming that Jehovah Nissi is my covering and victory, shielding me with love.

As I wait in Your presence, I am beginning to understand what it is.  It is desire for You so indescribable it hurts, a needy emptiness that can only be filled by all that You are. It is the craving my spirit discerns can only be satisfied when I am forever in Your presence for all eternity. It is an obsession that keeps me hungry and thirsty for revelation and wisdom; for truth and a startling intimacy found only with You. No, it isn’t safe or predictable; it’s certainly not controllable, but I know it will be with me until I see You face to face. I am learning to love it, not fear it, to embrace the wildness and fierceness of it.  I will welcome it with open arms and tender heart.  Its name is yearning.

Faces of Peace

~ Extravagant Hope ~ 1 Comment

I am on a constant journey to find peace. It is something I crave on a soul deep, inner man deep, level. It is difficult to describe, but it is there and it is insistent.  I search for rest, because I am weary. It is not always the feeling of overwhelming exhaustion or the desperation of drowning kind of weariness, but sometimes it is. Life is showing me that peace has many different faces and it invades every situation. It can be quiet and unobserved, waiting to be noticed and when it is noticed, brings surprise and a deep sense of well-being. This happens in the wee hours of the morning, while rocking a tired, cranky baby; back and forth, back and forth, praying for rest and calm until suddenly you feel it – peace. It was there waiting, gently and softly. Rest. Peace. Joy. Love. All is well, you are safe and secure. Sheltered.

Peace is there on an ordinary day, when things are flowing smoothly and life is pleasant and people are kind. Peace was there before the day started off well, before everyone got up and got ready for work and school on time, before lunches were remembered and PE clothes were grabbed on the way out the door, before the house emptied and things were quiet. Peace was already there, waiting and present and real.

Peace is there in the absence of storms, just as real and alive and powerful, as it is in the midst of grueling trials and storms that seem to have no end. Peace is there, strong and powerful and full of compassion, when the Doctor opens the door to your room, takes a deep breath and says, “I’m so sorry. You have breast cancer.” It is there. Peace is what keeps you from losing yourself to terror when desperation blasts in and you feel like you are drowning and have no control. Peace is there in the middle of the fears of the “what-if’s” saying, “Yes! What if you are healed? What if you are well taken care of and deeply loved, what if you are never, ever alone in the midst of this, what if you are held in arms that are bigger than all your fears, what if you have shelter in the midst of all this hurt and chaos? What if? What if…

Peace reminds you that it was there before this storm hit and it will be there forever after. Peace lifts your face and asks you to fasten your gaze steadily into the eyes of Jesus, the Prince of Peace. It is Jesus, peace is Jesus. Such calm, such safety, such lovely rest.

On this journey of mine, I have discovered time and again, that my searching and desire for peace leads directly to Jesus.  Every single time. I won’t find it inside myself, in my own strength. That will fall short every time. I know. I have tried over and over to be self-reliant and strong enough. The One who created me, when I was but a thought in His mind, the One who formed every single part of me, all my weaknesses and failings and all my strengths and gifts – He wants me to feel peace, to feel Him working out all things for good, according to that beautiful, unique plan that is my life. Your life. The time He took to carefully place us right where we are, surrounded by the people and circumstances that He brought into being, tells me that He knows what He is doing. He is the Master planner. He knows how it all ends. We win because He is victorious over death and sin. It is good. He’s got me, He’s got you. It is ok to not know what to do, if you know the One who does. It is ok to not have it figured out and planned and plotted. He already did that. It’s done. Can you and I walk this out? The not knowing? We can. We do it every day, don’t we? We wake up and just go. However, the going is so much easier when we understand and truly believe that He has us in His hands and that nothing, nothing at all, comes toward us, His children, that He has not first filtered through hands of love, a mind of infinite wisdom and a heart that loves us so intensely, intimately and fiercely, that He allowed His beloved Son to die for us, to take all this on for us, to forgive us and to become our Peace. This is a wild love. It is not tame and it is not controllable. Yet, in this fierce and protective love, we find the greatest of peace. Jesus.

Melissa Giomi, October 7, 2015

Hidden in Silence

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

The storm is on the horizon. I see it coming, but from far away it doesn’t seem so violent. It doesn’t seem like something that really needs attention. Not a big deal. It was only a little side step off the path, just a tiny compromise, a quick detour. Surely this other, smoother way will lead to the same destination? I didn’t care for the rocky terrain up ahead or the steep ascent I’d be required to make further along. This approaching storm will blow over; it will pass to the left or the right of me; maybe bring a touch of rain, a bit of thunder; but manageable, definitely manageable.  I will ride it out like I always do. In fact, this will be fun, exciting, an adventure! Permission is given and Rebellion takes a deeper hold with a sibilant slither. It invites some friends to come with it.  This gives me a delicious feeling of strength and confidence.  I will manage. I’m in control.

The storm is here. It begins as a stiff breeze, bringing a noticeable change to the air around me. Pin prick feelings of edginess. “Silliness,” I say. “There’s nothing to get all worked up over. It will pass right by me.” Won’t it?

The storm is here. It does not pass me by. It does not veer off to the right or to the left. It comes straight to me. The stiff breeze turns to wind; a rising, howling, screeching wind. Pounding and scouring; it rages. The rains pelt, sting and bruise. Thunder deafens and lightening blinds. All my protective armor of misunderstood self-reliance is violently shorn away.  Rebellion is brought low. There is nothing left of my well insulated life that I padded with denial, supported with beams of pride and girded up with planks of lukewarm complacency. The storm takes my painstakingly fretted over structure and has swept it away. I suppose at the very back of my mind I always knew it would. But self-reliance is addicting. Rebellion masks itself as a unique strength of character, which ushers in Pride and Arrogance and an entitled sense of self-righteousness.  I feel the vulnerability of having nothing to cling to, of nakedness and unworthiness. I sit in deep silence. It is deafening. “What do I have left?” I softly cry.  You have removed all of it in one fell swoop. “Nothing left,” I think. This is just barren ruins of what used to be; of the things and accomplishments that I thought I had brought about and earned from all of my hard work for You.  Wasn’t I entitled to it? Silence.  “Where are You then?” I shout out.  Silence.  “Where were You when I made these poor choices? Why weren’t You shouting at me to stop, to change direction, to wait? Why were You silent? Haven’t You seen all I’ve been doing, all the hard work and tireless effort? All I have accomplished for You has worn me out. I am closed off, fearful and competitive. I feel like I will never be enough!”  Silence. “Do I even matter?”

“Yes.”

What was that? Was that a voice in the silence? My ears have become accustomed to hearing only my own voice and words that I want to hear; other voices that knew where the less traveled path would lead me and were deeply afraid I might choose it.  How hard they worked to seduce me with visions of recognition, accomplishment, and worth! How well they convinced me that I was doing it all for You. Self-reliance, Idolatry and Pride merrily hissed and whispered in my ears exactly what I wanted to hear, which effectively drowned out that one Voice I so desperately needed to hear. Yours.

In the silence of the storm’s aftermath, as Your whispered words reverberate in the stillness, I do remember the other path; the one from which I was so easily lured away.  It seemed less traveled, a little lonely even. There were definitely a few boulders and rocky terrain; a few very steep and narrow parts that looked daunting and difficult. It looked too hard and I was tired.  Surely the comfortable looking, wide path was good enough. Lovely trees, flowering bushes, gentle slopes.  Peaceful easiness that required little, but cost a lot. I see that now.  I close my eyes and I remember the little frisson of cold, creeping along my spine, as I turned away and headed along the wide, lovely path; the small Voice was quickly drowned out by singing birds and the sly smile of Rebellion. Idolatry and Arrogance beckoned and I hurried to them. Traveling along day after day, the calm routine of the well- traveled path began to numb the Voice into a breathy Whisper, barely noticeable, but still there. I knew it was there. I didn’t want it to be there. What a conundrum! I started out wanting to hear from You and seek You with all my heart, yet I didn’t want You here, on this easy, well-traveled path, filled with so many others who welcomed me and congratulated me and told me You were here, because  I knew this wasn’t where I would truly, honestly, completely find You. I was deceived and had no idea how to get back to you. Hopelessness told me it was too late; that You would be so very disappointed. Fear declared that it would be too hard to go back and that at least I was comfortable on this path. It was at least predictable.

“What now, Father?” I ask, “What now?” “Follow My voice,” You say. “I’m just over here, keep coming, keep walking, look straight ahead. You will know what to do.” I stand and look straight ahead. There is a small clearing just beyond the wreckage the storm produced. I have to clamber over strewn debris, broken idols, vestiges of what used to be and navigate some ruts and gouges in the ground, but I get to the clearing.  It is bright here. There is fresh air. Floating feathers; this is Holy ground. There is a pool that is deep, clear and lovely in the clearing, being fed by a bubbling stream. I walk to the edge of it. I see my reflection. I’m dismayed. I’m dirty.  I’m covered in debris and mud and my hair is tangled up with sticks and things I’ve collected along the way. The water looks so refreshing and inviting! Cool and pure.  Am I brave enough to step in? Am I willing to be cleansed? The stench of all I have believed and rejected, attempted and failed, attracted and repulsed is overwhelming. I want to live again, fully live, so I take the plunge and enter this pool of living water. As I go deeper in, I sense such peace. Here is undeserved mercy. Here is deep love and compassion. Here is being fully known. There is healing happening here; rejuvenation, rebirth, new life.  The striving, searching, desperation and fear are being washed away. Their voices are fading to nothing. I hear Your voice now.  I hear singing and prophesy. I hear joy and acceptance. You tell me I am enough.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! 2 Corinthians 5:17

Something to ponder…

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

Someone needs to hear this tonight or maybe it’s just for me… God loves you. He made you. He knows everything about you and loves all of it. Your weaknesses and struggles are not driving Him away from you. He is there always, as close as your next breath. You are seen and known and have God’s undivided attention. You name is engraved on the palms of His hands. You have tremendous value and purpose. You are here for a reason. God makes no mistakes. You are not a random happening. Those places in your heart that hurt; the place in your soul that has been so wounded has not gone unnoticed by God. He saw, He knows and He grieves.  If you give it to Him, He will take it and redeem it; He wants to do this for you. He can restore and transform those places that seem too lost, too broken, and too ugly. The secret hurt isn’t hidden from Him. He is “the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were.”(1) He knows all about the anger, the bitterness and resentments; failures and victories and joyful A-ha moments. He looks on you with eyes of love, compassion, joy and mercy. You are His greatest delight and lovely treasure. You are His child. Your voice is music, love and joy to Him. Talk to Him; He loves to listen. You are covered in grace, redeemed and delivered and so very loved by God. Sit with these thoughts for a bit. Let them permeate and percolate into your mind, spirit and body.  Rest in these words and flourish!

“The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.” (2) .

(1) Romans 4:17 b  (2) Zephaniah 3:17