supernatural

Can You Hear Him?

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On a summer night when cricket symphonies lull and soothe as the moon sails high and pinprick stars wink…He whispers in dark, nocturnal rustlings with deep, supernatural words of mystery.

When the wind shushes and sighs through the Redwood canopy as you hike and soak in the forest…He whispers timeless songs of creation.

Opening your eyes as a new day starts, before the mad rush of living takes over and you savor your morning coffee…He whispers an invitation, “Come and talk with me.”

As you putter in the garden, trimming and admiring the flowers…He whispers promises of new life and a season of rebirth in the rich scent of turned earth.

When the day is done and your tired body falls into those in-between moments before you drift off to sleep…He whispers words of rest and speaks to you in your dreams.

Can you hear Him?

When your heart feels heavy, you retreat to the hidden bench under the willow branches that skim over the pond…His whispers of healing and hope perfume the air around you.

When the cruel, hurtful words sting your heart, and tears spill over and down your cheeks…He whispers songs of love and belonging. He captures each tear. You are His.

As waves crash along the lonely beach and you fling your deepest needs and fears to the relentless tides…His whispers become a divine exchange, taking your hurt and giving you Himself. He is enough.

Taking that first frightening, tentative step of faith into something new and unknown…He whispers courage and strength into your mind, spirit, and body. He is with you. Worry must flee.

With pain so deep and raw that you have no words or tears left…His whispers become intercession in heavenly languages, traveling straight to the Holy of Holies.

Can you hear Him?

When loved ones are far away and your mind is full of frightening thoughts and the chaos of the unknown…He whispers safety and protection. Their names are written on the palm of His hands. He speaks peace, and fear bows.

When the world is filled with injustice, cruelty, and division…He whispers compassion and authority—He is King. There are none before Him. Alpha and Omega.

When self-reliance has taken its toll and you finally unclench your fists and cry to Him in exhaustion…He whispers gentle songs of rest and comfort. All is well, He’s got this.

And…

On the lighter days, when the hurry is hushed and you sit under the apple tree, talking to Him, thanking Him, and whispering that you love Him, an incense of thankfulness, praise, and love rises and dances its way to His throne. As the sacred aroma swirls and fans around Him, He sings, shouts, and prophesies over you with blessings, peace, and joy. Can you hear Him?

Moonglow

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Thin, wispy clouds veil the bright moon as it sails high. The moonglow shining in the chilly air illuminates the garden casting eerie yet beautiful shadows – mysterious and exciting. The velvety black sky is the backdrop for the constellations and planets tossed into place by Your hands. Your divine fingerprints are everywhere. Your words continuously breathing life into all things – renewing, revealing, restoring.

The cold, bright moonlight falls across my pillow bathing my face in its glow. Chilly air puffs in through the partly open window above my bed. My thin quilt gives just enough warmth to be cozy and lovely. It feels peaceful and safe. I’m seen and known, even in seasons of darkness and shadows You will find me. The Light always pierces the darkness. Things unseen are always exposed by Your light. I’m never alone.

I drift off to sleep covered by moonlight, surrounded by Your whispers in the nighttime breeze. Your fingerprints dance over my face, my heart, and my spirit soothing, revealing, renewing, and healing. Hope flows and intertwines with deep peace and unconditional love, as Your lullabies of compassion and mercy swirl and gentle the hearts and minds of those You adore and carefully watch as they slumber.

Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com

It is Good

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Morning begins as the sky blushes pink.

Tinges of sunlight peek through tree branches brightening the dew that gathered on the leaf tips.

The first gentle birdsong of the day breaks through the quiet morning in the meadow.

Nature’s alarm clock for sleepy, nestled down creatures.

Twitching noses tentatively sniff the chilled air. Who’s passed through during the night?

With that first chirp, meadow life shifts into motion for another day.

Grasses and tall flowers sway with the breeze, their stems bending low as fat bumblebees sip and tiny birds snip at seeds and insects along the delicate leaves and petals.

A mountain stream chatters and sings as it makes its way over branches and rocks.

Teeming with life, furry creatures wait motionless along the edges of the stream for their breakfast of insects, tadpoles, and crawdads. A full smorgasbord!

Far off, the repetitive pecking of a woodpecker echoes off the surrounding trees, blending in harmony with the full chorus of birdsong that resounds in the meadow.

So much life, so much beauty. Divine fingerprints everywhere.

A warmer afternoon lulls and soothes the busy inhabitants of the meadow. The pace of hunting, gathering, and gossiping fades and slows.

Traveling along its Creator made path the sun begins the descent toward the horizon.

The light and air take on a different feel – cooling, dimming, winding down.

Ethereal. Supernatural.

The day dwellers begin their tasks of settling in as snug dens and cozy nests beckon.

Night falls and the moon and stars take over the sky.

 Night dwellers stretch, sniff the cooling air, and begin their routines. Their time in the meadow has a different energy than that of the day timers.

It is a time of quiet, stealth, and keen observation. Eyes and ears always alert.

They are just as busy as the day creatures, but go about things in a careful, hushed, and methodical way.

Moonlight and shadows are their friends as mystery and other worldliness take center stage.

His Divine Presence is here in the cover of night just as much as in the light of day.

He looks at all of creation and says, “It is good.”

Psalm 90:2

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There is comfort and so much hope in this verse. Before the Earth existed, God was there. He is with you as you read this verse, and He is already in your tomorrow. His eyes are on you.

You are not lost in a crowd of millions and your voice doesn’t get drowned out by someone louder or histrionic.

You are seen and deeply treasured. Maybe sit with that for just a minute? Let it soak into your spirit. Peace be with you.

Just a Night…

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It was Just a Night…

Imagine with me, if you will, what it may have been like for the shepherds on that holiest of nights, so many years ago.

The quiet hillside breathing silently under a clear, star-filled sky; the sound of their flocks settling in, like they always did, with murmurs, rustlings, and scrabbling with the occasional noisy bleat of lambs fussing for a warm spot next to the fluffy ewes.

Shepherds, ever watchful and alert, yet calm and ready for a typical, peaceful night. Perhaps they, too, scoot in close to the warm, fuzzy sheep as the night deepens and the air cools and chills.

Quiet conversations around a small fire and a simple meal, perhaps? Jokes and a recounting of the day wan and fade as the night falls deeper and silence blankets the hillside.

It was just a night until it wasn’t…

Imagine their quiet night suddenly interrupted by the sky exploding in radiant, holy light and sound, like nothing ever seen before—certainly nothing ever seen by a group of tired shepherds outside a sleepy village on a typical night. The terror and fear must have been palpable, washing over them like a terrible nightmare, until they heard the angel’s voice saying, “Don’t be afraid! I bring you good news of great joy for everyone! The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born tonight in Bethlehem, the City of David! And this is how you will recognize Him: You will find a baby lying in a manger, wrapped snugly in strips of cloth!”

Add to this amazing announcement, this supernatural display, the addition of a vast host of the armies of heaven praising God and rejoicing at this beautiful, holy, saving gift just given to all people for all time. A gift that will never be fully understood—mocked, ridiculed, and murdered—yet the only gift that will love, redeem, and save your life and mine.

Imagine that first feeling of terror turning to incredible joy, unspeakable love, and supernatural peace that in all its Divine power was quite possibly unbearable—wild and fierce.

I can feel down to my very bones the uncontrollable need to fall to my knees in reverence, awe, fear, and worship before such an announcement! A Savior, the Messiah, the Holy One come to save—a divine encounter with the King of Kings and the heavenly host. The atmosphere must have been sizzling with a supernatural, divine portent.

When the angels departed, did the shepherds stand around arguing about what they experienced? Did they try to explain away this divine encounter with the supernatural as indigestion, an atmospheric distortion, strange cloud formations, or tainted wine? Did they minimize this gift of love so deep that human minds cannot fathom it? No, they didn’t. They believed. They sought out the Savior to see him, worship him, and accept the love gift freely given to them. They accepted it and shared it with others.

I don’t believe they slept much that night. Returning to their now still and silent hillside, I wonder if they spoke. Did they attempt to recount the events they had just witnessed? Did they fully understand the impact of what they beheld in that lowly stable? How does one explain the Divine? I wonder what changes took place silently in their hearts. Mary quietly treasured all she witnessed that night in her heart, and I believe the shepherds did the same.

It was just a night on a hillside with their sheep until it wasn’t.

1. Luke 2: 10-12

Photo credit: Burkay Canatar

Hope

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Hope

The house is silent tonight. Firelight flickers and logs snap in the woodstove. Tucked in and cozy under the quilt I feel peaceful. The only light is from the snickering fire and the Christmas lights strewn along the mantle glowing warm and soft. The small nativity scene nestled among the gentle light is beautiful. The Savior, Light of the world, Prince of Peace came for me all those years ago. He’s still coming. It wasn’t a one-time thing.

Every day He comes for me and He comes for you. The healing, the protection, the peace, the hope, and the rescue; it never stops. It renews and is reborn. His pursuit of us in the midst of the mundane and the ordinary, the fiery trials, the seasons of running from Him, the times of quiet rest, and the brilliance of joy and victory will continue until the appointed time when God Most High welcomes us Home.

This season of Advent is mysterious, supernatural, holy, and beautiful. I’m in awe of it all.

Sitting quietly before Him in the silence and peace of His presence, my heart feels full, safe, and full of hope, so much hope.

Blanket of Hope

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Romans 8:26 NLT

“And the Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. For example, we don’t know what God wants us to pray for. But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words.”

Have you ever felt so bone-deep tired from circumstances and hard life seasons that the thought of putting together coherent thoughts, words, and ideas is just too much? I have, several times, and it’s not a pleasant place to be.

This verse brings me a lot of encouragement. When I do not know what or how to pray anymore over a certain situation and simply do not have the energy, the Holy Spirit knows. He knows. When human words cannot express the longing, the need, the fear, the hope, the Holy Spirit speaks in heavenly languages straight into the Throne room, interceding on our behalf. That is beautiful. That is love. That is power and compassion that swirls in mystery and bathes us in the supernatural.

If you are in this season now and simply can’t find the words to pray, be encouraged that He hears you, He knows, and He is acting. Let the sweet blanket of hope and mercy fall on you, cover you in the language of heaven, and rest, my friend, just rest. He’s got this. All is well. You are so loved. Peace be with you.

The Invitation

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The steam from her Paris Blend morning tea dances in the breeze floating in through the patio door. It is a pretty morning. The air has that perfect blend of crisp coolness with an undercurrent of warmth. It’s going to be another lovely fall day.

Crystal’s gaze falls on the Japanese Maple in the backyard that is just beginning to turn. Her hard work re-doing the garden is paying off with bright bursts of oranges, yellows and reds as the Mums proudly display their colors.

Stepping outside to fill the bird feeders, she whistles and calls to the doves, crows, finches and various sparrows that grace her yard. Crystal loves that they wait for her every morning. They trusting and count on her. Sometimes she feels like the birds, squirrels and neighborhood cats are her only friends; the ones who look forward to seeing her and notice if she’s off schedule or away from the house. They don’t care whether her hair is wild and untamable, or if her sweats have a hole or two. The longing in her heart pops up again for someone to accept her and her quirks, flaws and humor; someone who will like her and enjoy her company without pretense, expectations and judgment. She wants to belong.

Finishing her egg white omelet and toast, Crystal hears something rustling at her front door. Curious, she wonders what her cats, Dixie and Dude, have gotten into this time. Dixie lounges on the back of the recliner watching while Dude investigates a cream-colored envelope that’s been pushed under her front door.  Lifting it up, there is nothing telling on this envelope except for her name, Crystal, in a font that seems familiar, but she can’t quite place.  It is heavy and looks to be of good quality paper. Hmmm… As she holds the envelope a gentle feeling of peace settles over her shoulders and a lovely warmth spreads through her hands, arms, and chest and seems to hover there, right over her heart. The sensation brings tears to her eyes though she isn’t sure why. The anticipation over what this simple envelope holds rises up and up as she carefully lifts the flap. Crystal slides a crisp, iridescent card out of the envelope and sees that it’s a hand-written invitation in that same beautiful script.

“Your presence is requested at my banquet. Come as you are, Crystal. You are enough. Follow the Light, you will know where to go.”

An invitation to a banquet? She’s never been invited to anything like this before. She’s uncertain what to think and do. What will she wear? It said “come as you are…” There isn’t a return address, or a location listed. How will she know what the Light looks like or where to find it? The anxiety trying to push in and distract her slowly ebbs and fades as she gazes at the envelope. There is something about the handwriting that soothes her mind and spirit. The warm feeling of safety and peace is still there, enfolding her heart.  She feels, more than she hears, a faint whisper reminding her that she knows the way.

In faded jeans and her favorite green shirt, Crystal takes a final look in the mirror. Will she fit in? The invitation says she is enough…

Feeling drawn to the nearby lake, the random words to a song she sang in a church she once attended, flit through her mind…”all who are thirsty…”.

 Approaching the lake, Crystal sees the warm autumn sunlight filtering and shimmering through the branches of the willow tree. It’s breathtaking. “Follow the Light…” the invitation said.

Reaching the tree she sits on the familiar bench, the warmth of the afternoon and the peaceful shushing of the lake lulls and quiets her mind. Her breathing slows.

Looking around, she notices a rustic wooden table that hasn’t been there before. Its simplicity is beautiful. The rough-hewn wood appears to be hand-crafted by a Master carpenter. It’s stunning as it glows and beckons her to take a seat. The chairs around this table have cushions of bright purple with gold thread woven throughout. Moving around the table, she sees her name, Crystal, on a lovely blue place card. Her name is hand-written in the same script as the invitation. This is her place, and she sits down.  

There are other place cards around the table. Each one with a name and a unique script. The space to her left is reserved for Jazz and the one to her right is for Juan Carlos. Interestingly enough the table appears small, but it isn’t. There are so many seats and so many names.

The other invitees arrive with the same look on their faces that Crystal imagines is on her own. Awe, uncertainty and hesitation, yet a longing for community and joy all mixed into one. Bill sits down across from her, joined by Wren, Miriam, Yosef, Carmen, Jessica and Braden. A bit further down Damien, Grace and Vincent find their places at the table. She looks in fascination at each person who takes a seat. The mix of humanity at this table is beautiful. Everyone is so unique and different – life experiences that are intentional and diverse yet connected in a deep and perfect way. Belonging.

Bringing her focus back to the table, Crystal sees the delicacies arranged in front of them. It appears random, yet there is perfect order here. Dishes overflow with fruit, earthen-ware jars filled to the top with honey, and baskets of fragrant, warm bread are interspersed all along the table. At each place is a tall, thin glass with mysterious etchings and symbols carved into them, understood only by the Host. These glasses are filled with clear water that sparkles, shimmers and dances in the Light that filters though the willow branches. The water captivates her with its absolute clarity and a unique fragrance that flows, caresses and feels like love. At the same moment, each guest lifts their cup and drinks deeply; it feels like healing…”all who are thirsty…”

Crystal knows that the Host is here. This is Holy ground and He sits among His guests. Supernaturally, each one of them holds His undivided attention. He speaks, heals, reveals and lavishes joy, peace and belonging on all who are at His banquet. They are all enough. There is no one at the head of this table and no one at the foot. Every place is equal, chosen and important. In His mystery and wisdom, He is everywhere at once ministering exactly what is needed. No one is taking over, minimizing, drowning out, or elevated over another. They all belong because they are all His. Agendas, politics, and man-made idols are not found here. They are not welcome and have been denied access to this banquet. Ahhh…the peace, beauty and tranquility of a table set for everyone.

As His gaze penetrates her soul, the pain and despair of feeling like an outsider and the trauma of rejection, fear and loneliness flow out of her heart and into His hands. He speaks and sings over these things in the language of heaven and Crystal’s heart is cleansed. It feels new, tender and ready to receive Him and He is enough. Her lungs fill with His breath. Her blood flows with His healing. She is ok. She is safe. She belongs to Him and that is enough. She belongs to this family seated around His banquet table. There is a place for her.

The whisper of faint singing rouses her from sleep. How long has she been here? She doesn’t remember falling asleep. This is her quiet place where she comes to talk to Him.  A gentle breeze tickles her neck and fluffs her hair. As she wakes and stretches, Crystal notices something sparkling in the reeds along the water’s edge. Curious, she moves in for a closer look. It’s a piece of gold thread. Smiling, she picks it up and wraps it in her hands, as memories fill her mind of a blessing-laden table, acceptance and her name written on a place card at His banquet.  

The Park Bench and the Willow Tree

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The Park Bench and the Willow Tree

Gentle sunbeams peek through the branches and leaves of the willow tree. The soft light covers one edge of the wooden park bench beneath its branches.

The sun hasn’t been up for long. The spring morning is quiet and cool after a clear and chilly night. The newly budding leaves are vibrant and proud. They take their job seriously as the giver of shade to the bench and those who visit it.

They are a pair, these two, often referred to as the “willow bench” by those who find solace in its shade and peace from the view of the lovely little park. The things they have heard and seen in their years together – laughter and tears, joy and pain, love and heartbreak. Anxiety and fear are lifted and soothed as the Creator’s breath blows healing in the breeze rustling the leaves and cooling the bench-sitter.

His whispered healing is found in bird song, critter antics, fellow bench sitters and simply the peace and quiet where words are not needed; where love flows and tenderly holds the wounds poured out in the freedom found under the sweeping branches.

The willow and the park bench have seen seasons come and go. Spring, with the burst of new growth and gentle light from the sun encouraging park visitors to venture out and soak up the warmth.

The coming of Summer invites families, groups, picnics and summer games of baseball, frisbee throwing and kite flying with the bench and the willow providing shade and rest.

In the Fall, the leaf-peepers and lovers of the season, with their hoodies and warm drinks in hand, walk the park with anticipation of the changing colors and that feeling of slowing down, coziness and letting go that Fall always conjures.

There are less visitors in Winter when the cold descends, and glimpses of the sun are few and far between. The park folds in on itself as the work of deep rest and hidden growth takes place.

Then there are the faithful ones who visit the bench and the willow no matter the season. They have experienced peace and deep rest here. The wooden bench and gnarled willow are old friends who know all the secrets and pining of the heart and accept and embrace it without words. These park-goers have felt the divine whispers and heavenly songs breathed out over them while sitting in nature’s silence. They have allowed the healing and supernatural presence of the Creator to bind up wounds and lift heavy burdens. With ears that hear and eyes that see, what is sought can be found in the most ordinary and beautiful places.

Summer Night

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The heat of the day is waning. A light breeze picks up in the late afternoon; its drowsy fingers shushing and weaving through the grasses, trees, and flowers. To the West, the sun begins its descent. It defiantly streaks and stains the blue of the sky with bright oranges and hues of pink as it gives way to the rising half-moon.

One can feel nature slow, sigh and release the energy of day into the quiet mystery of night. Birds make one last flight through the garden, snipping up gnats and other nighttime insects. They light on the bird baths for their last bath and sip of the evening before heading to their nests to cozy down. Safe and snug they await dawn to begin again their songs, flights and feeding.

As the moon rises higher in the darkening sky it is joined by planets and pinprick stars. Some are still quite faint as they wait their turn to burn bright in the night sky when the sun’s afterglow is finished.

As darkness deepens, night-dwellers emerge and begin rustling and creeping through the bushes and grasses, as their time to rise and go about their business has arrived. In the cover of darkness all may seem still and at rest, but it’s not. The business of nighttime is full, robust, and busy. Tiny garden mice gather and feast on the seeds the raucous birds have scattered in their feeding throughout the day.  Their nests are deep underneath the stately ferns and spreading Catmint, giving them excellent cover from the neighborhood cats that hunt and prowl. The cats are part of the night hunters as they stealthily slip between the Lavender, Guara and Sage spying and waiting for an unsuspecting meal.

Fully dark now, the symphony of crickets begins in earnest. It starts with one lone, chirping buzz and is joined by others who’ve been waiting for nightfall to begin their serenade. The crickets are soon accompanied by myriad tree frogs that inhabit the nearby marshy, open space. It becomes a stage for their croaking and singing. The songs are repetitive and peaceful, allowing the mind to disengage and just be.   

Sailing above in a carpet of stars, planets and zig zagging satellites, the half-moon is bright, cold, and austere.  The simplicity of the light and the cold shine of the moonglow quiets and soothes, gentling away the worries and stress of the day. Deep and peaceful.

Nighttime brings with it a sense of mystery and supernatural portent. Sight cannot be relied upon in the dark. Other senses move to the forefront and must decipher the unseen sounds and goings-on of the night. Discernment is heightened – the soul is what sees and hears.

You are there in the nighttime rustle of the tall grasses as Your voice whispers in the breeze – rest and peace are near. You cause the stars to sing their cold melodies as they shine down, the puzzle pieces of their scattering giving direction to the traveler and hope for the lost. Your breath is in the rustling, swooping feathers, and haunting sound of the owl’s call, as it glides unseen through the dark, cool night. You are always near, the Maestro conducting and guiding all of creation in the symphony of life. There is nowhere I can go, where You are not.

Your masterpiece of creation in the still, yet busy nighttime is just as lovely, complex, and healing as in the light of day. There is deep healing, peace, and safety in the dark. It requires us to see and hear with our souls and follow Your whispers and songs, as deep calls to deep and You call us into Your marvelous Light.