The Word of God and the Church

Narrow-minded could be an adjective used to describe me. I'd like to think it's just the way I view things and that I have my own ideas of what is and what should be, but I do believe those things aren't as broad as they could be. Kind of funny considering that I grew up overseas and should have a healthy respect for opinions and conclusions that differ from my own. And maybe it is that I am just confident in what I believe, but I can't help but assume I haven't moderated enough.

I do not like the church as an institution. I love the Church as the body of believers. I don't understand what the big deal is about different denominations. To me that's humanizing something that should be comfortable to everyone; its putting restrictions on following Christ and setting up fences to inhibit complete fellowship and worship. I do not agree with the majority of what the various denominations stand for. It seems to me to be man-made and not how I see heaven being. I imagine a world where anyone and everyone can worship God as they feel "led" to, come dressed as they want, lift their hands or not as they choose, sing out loud or simply feel the lyrics of adoration. I see a healthy dose of both hymns and worship songs. I see the focus being on Jesus not on what another church is doing, impressing some far off council, or constantly worrying about numbers in the pews/chairs/cushions on the floor/etc. I see accountability still in place. I see encouragement without condemnation. I see honest, genuine love practiced. I see a pastor who is so filled with a burden for his flock that he is on his knees before their Creator. I see the beauty of God being expressed in every body. I see meetings held out in the open. I see church building becoming a thing of the past. I see the believers acceptance, not mocking others and their different takes on the Bible. I see loving correction being carried out- not a hierarchy of self-righteous individuals who do not take the time to earnestly get to know the individual in error. I see a determined effort to understand one another.

The Word of God has been put into many different translations. From the pulpit, one translation is disparaged while another one is lifted up as the "true Word of God". How can they know? How can one person be so sure that their version is the correct one? Why can we not take the Bible as a whole and learn from it instead of spending our time picking it apart, keeping what we like and throwing away what we don't?

Do I think the body of believers need to meet together? Absolutely. Do I believe one denomination is higher than another? No. Do I think some denominations have serious errors in their theology? Yes. I wish the church was more open. I wish the Word of God was preached without added commentaries to the disparities of a different denomination or translation. I wish we looked to Jesus instead of to our Bible reference books. I wish we all spent more time digging into whatever translation we happen to own and allowing God to work through that. Who knows what we could do then- when we allow God to work through us.

The Eve of the Day

It is just past ten o'clock. I am a few hours away from my 27th birthday and I confess to being in a bit of turmoil over this. And I'm so out of the habit of writing that it's hard for me to organize my thoughts and put them down; something I don't think I've ever experienced. How humbling. Have you ever sat and simply thought about what you'd envisioned for yourself? I did today. I was playing my guitar (a much appreciated gift from my parents and cousin last year around this time) and I didn't think I'd be where I am. Where I am now is not bad. It's just different. I am the head of a department (albeit a small one, but one is more than none). I am paid enough for me to knock off my bills each month. I drive a distinct car whom I affectionately call "Pookie" and which I'm told fits my personality to a tea. I have the privilege of living with my cousin and our two "kids"- fluffy cats heralded Mia and Fritz and I have my own room complete with yellow comforter and a ridiculous amount of pillows (which thrills me to no end). I am independent. Here is where I'd thought I would be when I dreamed about the future...if you'd care to amuse yourself by reading this far:

Age 5: I thought I'd be living in a castle on a steady diet of peanut butter and honey sandwiches.

Age 10: I thought I'd have my own horse ranch in a place where it never rained and all I had to do was ride every day. Of course, someone else cleaned up after them.

Age 14: I thought I'd be way away from my parents and living in a place where I could turn my music up as loud as I wanted and eat in my own room.

Age 18: I thought I'd be a size 4, touring Europe, and married to a long-haired, bearded rock star who quite obviously adored me.

Age 24: I thought I'd be saved from the evils of Florida and flourishing as a missionary in East Africa, teaching children the benefits of recreational therapy. I thought I'd be making this huge, massive, gargantuan impact on the medical community of Kenya.

What I am now: Not a size four, living away from my parents, eating peanut butter and honey sandwiches as I choose, dreaming about my rock star husband, away from the evil Florida, teaching senior adults about the benefits of recreational therapy, and making an impact in my own, God-gifted, God-allowed way.

It's strange, isn't it? I will confess that I have the nasty habit of focusing on what Jesus hasn't done for me instead of focusing on what He has done. It's ugly and so wretchedly human that I have to resist the urge to smack myself. I would like to tour Europe. I would like a God-fearing man who will love me. I would like to visit Kenya again. I would not want to be a size four (where's the joy in that?). And last, but certainly not least: I would like to be utterly devoted to Jesus out of love and desire to do so, not out of duty.

In this next year, I pray I allow Him to work more in my life. I pray He shows Himself to me in a way I'll never forget. I pray I'm open to that experience. And I thank Him for the blessings He's given me.

The Final Wedding

All my friends and family were there. The whole area shimmered in gold, deep orange, and crimson with a hint of royal blue. There was not a church structure. The body of Christ made up our church. The clapping was thunderous and deafening and I know my mother cried. I wore a white dress because He said I could. It was perfect, in the words of my mother. It covered my feet when I walked, winked in the Son with diamonds, and trailed a bit behind me. There was gold etching along the split skirt and the fabric was so light it looked as if it would float away. The silk rubbed soothingly on my legs…not corsets or underskirts were needed. My song played. And it made me cry. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands lined the aisle. My hair hung free in its natural curl down my back and I could feel it tickling my shoulder blades. It was too bright up front to see Him clearly. The One I’d been waiting for since I drew breath. I had a intricate crown on my head and there were small pearls, diamonds, and white gold vines curling in and around each other. It somehow matched my hair and became a part of my head. My shoes were white satin, with a little heel and jewels I could not name wound their way between my toe and up around my ankle. The aisle I walked down was made of glass, pearls, diamonds, and was trimmed in gold curling vines imbedded with sapphires. I didn’t dare walk down it until my Father took my elbow and smiled encouragingly into my face, urging me forward. I began to feel dirty and unworthy and that same Father took a hold of my head with His two hands, looked me right in my uncertain eyes, and said in a soft, commanding voice that I knew could be heard in the very back of the Church. “You are not welcome here. Depart from my daughter. She is mine and a part of my Family” And I felt loved, cherished, beautiful, and worthy. A fountain of calla lilies, small cream colored and white roses, along with deep green vines fell from my hands to trail down the front of my dress. Their scent was like the first rain along with the comforting smell of the forest and it sent my head to spinning. He had chosen these for me. I noticed my mom and my dad. Their hands were clasped together and my dad had tears streaming down his face. I heard him say that he was proud of me and that he was moved beyond words to share this moment with me. My mom was relieved, I think. I’d made it. This day I had dreamed of was finally here. My loneliness and despair fell like a cloak and I saw it behind me. It lay in a small dull grey heap and crumbled between those precious stones I was walking on. The horrid stench was swept away by the courageous odor of anticipation and joy. My Family trampled the remaining fragments to dust. He was getting closer and closer. The One who had saved me over and over and over and over again. Even when I didn’t want to be saved. Father squeezed that hand that was loped through Him arm and I cried the harder for it. He also knew what it had taken to get to this moment. How I’d failed. How I’d succeeded through Him alone and how much I truly loved His Son, even when I didn’t show it. I heard each whisper, shout, and silent acclamation: “BK, you’re awesome!”, “I love you, Boo”, “You are so loved, Booskies.”, “I knew you’d get here, Blue Skies.”, “Rebeka, you make me smile”, and last, but loudest of all, “I have always loved you with the greatest of love, Rebeka Evelyn.” He had spoken. His voice shook me to my core and I couldn’t believe I was His. There was not a priest or alter. I was being brought to my High Priest who had willingly laid Himself down on the final alter. I saw the gaping holes in His hands, saw the same thing in His feet, but what stopped me in my tracks were His deep brown eyes and His smile. Oh, His smile. It was wide and getting wider. And it was all for me. He couldn’t stop smiling. My Father halted just a few feet in front of Him and He stretched out His left hand towards me. To my utter delight, I did not hesitate. I took it and it was firm, warm, and safe. I felt safe. So safe. He held my face just like my Father had and tenderly wiped at the tears trailing down my cheeks. I could feel His calloused thumb making gentle swipes on both sides. Satisfied, He took both my hands in His and said simply. “I did well on you. You are exquisite, beautiful beyond words. I gave my life for you and I would do it again. I can’t wait to spend eternity with you. You are so worthy of my time and attention. I love you.” I thanked Him for not giving up on me. And so it began and ended.

But I'm Already Dead....

I'm not even sure I want to post this on the internet where anybody can take a peek into my struggles, but for some reason, hand-writing isn't cutting it tonight. It almost eight o'clock on the day before I go to work. It's not work that's upsetting me. I wish I knew what was so I could fix it. I'm having a hard time trusting God and I hate it that my relationship with Him is not as natural as breathing. I hate it that I feel estranged from Him. I know it's my fault. It can't be His, so it has to be mine. I'm so lonely and I despise myself for not letting Jesus be enough. He's suppose to be. He's suppose to fill all the holes. Why the mistrust? Has He done everything to meet my needs and even my wants? Did He not get me out of Florida and back home? Has He not given me a job in my field as the head of a department? I've gotten on my knees and thanked Him for this and yet the hole remain- gaping and threatening to expand. At this moment, I feel consumed with it. I am coming to the conclusion that my expectations from this life are too high, but I feel like I'm cheating myself and those I interact with if I lower my standards. I find satisfaction in my work. I enjoy being near my family. I have a car that works. I am able to pay the majority of my bills. I have a cat who seems to enjoy my company as much as I enjoy hers. And yet the restlessness continues. Maybe I just don't love Jesus enough. Can one expect too much of God? And if I can't, perhaps it's looking at Him as a genie who will grant my wishes with a wave of His hand. I certainly don't mean to view Him in this light. I want to have the reverence and holy fear I should have when approaching His throne. But I don't. In fact, I think I stride up with a hint of accusation and cloaked in apprehension. It's times like these that thoughts of swiftly ending it creep up to haunt me. It always scares me how easily my mind turns down that road and how long my brain actively entertains those thoughts which I know are from satan himself. Oh, Jesus, why is it so much easier to believe the lies than the truth? Why can I not find satisfaction in you? Why the constant breaking, twisting, and bending of my soul? Are you truly the Prince of Peace? And if so, why can't I partake of that peace which passes all human understanding. I'm pleading with your Spirit to intervene for me. I don't understand my own prayers these days, much less what He would say, but I'm trusting He's praying in Your will. I know I was brought here for a reason. I do believe that you have a purpose for me. Should I just cling to that and forget the rest? To my readers who are traumatized by this or feel as if I'm finally at the end of my sanity, do try to relax. I am grasping at the coattails of Jesus and I'm praying He won't walk too fast and leave me in the dust.

The Inevitable Wait Period

I haven't written a thing on here for months and months and a lot has changed. I've moved from Florida to the Carolinas and am, over all, much happier. I was getting into some pretty ridiculous "extra curricular" activities while in Florida and am relieved to announce that those endeavors are no longer a part of my daily agenda. I'm living with my mother (which helps greatly) in a two bedroom apartment and, when I stepped back and considered the situation, was suprised to find that I don't think of myself as a failure for moving back in with the parents. Yes, I miss some of my complete isolation, but, as a whole, I'm in such a better place and am very grateful for the change.

I couldn't tell you how my bills are getting paid....I've been on the job hunt for the past three months and, actually, just got hired by....wait for it.....Starbucks. I start Monday and to say that I'm nervous would be an understatement. I just made the mistake of googling "working at Starbucks" and what I've discovered there has made my nervousness turn into terror. What the heck is a venti decaf two pump vanilla soy latte? And I have how much time to make it? Oy. This could be a challenging transition from calling Bingo. I'm trying my very best to look at it as a brilliant chance to learn a new skill.

I'll keep you posted....no pun intended, of course.

And then I saw....

I had a dream. It was one of those dreams which stays with you for the rest of the day and taints every aspect of your daily routine. I remember being restless as I went to bed. I was completely botching my relationship with Jesus and I knew it- not that He'd ever let me wiggle out of it, but the restlessness and discontent gave me hope despite it's uncomfortableness: God's Spirit wasn't dead within me. I had begged for His forgiveness mere days before and had even sat in the middle of a worshipping congregation, tears pouring down my face at the faithfulness of God and marveling at the fact that He was now my personal Savior. And I slipped. Not just a quick misstep, but a crashing thud in the bog of sin. I despaired as I realized the extent of my own weakness and gave myself up for lost. This overwhelming depression just as I'd praised Him for His tenacious love for me. I fell again that night. Staring entranced at the images playing before me- morbidly engrossed by their antics. I finally laid down and promptly started tossing and turning. Do you love me? was whispered to me over and over. You cannot serve two masters. tickled against my consciousness. Come away with me and be my love taunted me with hope, freedom, and a purity that could reach me to my very core. And then I slept.

There was a massive field stretching out before me. On the far side, I could barely catch a glimpse of the tall trees lining the parimeter. There were woods behind me, though I didn't remember pushing my way through the branches and I had no scratches on my arm telling me so. I was between laughing and crying and the sensation that I was being pursued wrapped itself around me like a frightening, yet comforting cloak. I wanted him to catch me, whoever it was, and I was afraid of what would happen if he did. I was wearing a light pink gown which flowed to my feet and trailed out behind me. I had no jewelry on and my hair was long and, surprisingly enough, behaving itself. I was running barefoot and the grass was soft and wet- there were no small stones or sharp branches to inhibit my progress. I heard hoofbeats behind me and my heart skipped a beat as I realized he was getting closer. I looked over my right shoulder and I saw a man dressed in a white robe which flowed behind him, flapping in the wind. He was laughing and I knew I would never hear anything as wonderful this side of heaven. His eyes were warm, a deep brown, and they spoke of his feelings for me. He stretched his arm out to me and...

I woke up. This passage immediately came to mind:

"...and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True...His eyes were like blazing fire, and on his head were many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself. He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God...on his robe and on his thigh he has this name written: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS." (Revelation 19:11-16). NIV

This passage quickly followed:

"'Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and I will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt. In that day, declares the Lord, you will call me 'my husband'; you will no longer call me 'my master'. I will remove the names of the Baals from her lips; no longer will their names be invoked.'" (Hosea 2:14-17) NIV

Many of you are aware of how much I dwell on being "pursued". In the past, this obsession has been suggested to apply to God and the spiritual aspect of me, but I've always brushed it off with a shrug and the mentality that God doesn't have skin so it doesn't work that way. I have now been proven wrong. What boggles me is this: why would God choose to speak to me in such a vivid way? It's almost like I'm sitting in Jesus' lap and he's got his arms around me.

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." (Matthew 11:29-30) The Message

Darkness and Light

It's my Saturday. It's really Tuesday, but in my mind it's Saturday. I usually despise waking up to sunlight streaming through my window, so I have the blinds closed and two dark scarves thrown haphazardly over the top guard in a vain attempt to make my hovel as dim as possible. I actually would prefer an overcast day to a sunny one. Friends gawk at me when I say this and I can't really explain it. There's nothing depressing fueling my preference: it's not because "the atmosphere matches my desire to off myself" and it's got nothing to do with having an insatiable desire to join the undead. I would just rather spend my time strolling outside during a fierce thunderstorm than basking on the beach, soaking myself in sunlight. There is something utterly breath-catching about seeing fluffy charcoal clouds rolling over top of each other, vying for the best position above your head. There is something so inexplicable about that scent right before the heavens open up. I can't think of a better sound than the patter of heavy rain drops on a tin roof. I can't imagine a better feeling than squishing across a field, drenched with steady rainfall, barefoot, enjoying the puddles swelling and oozing over my cold feet. And the rain. The sweet rain. The more of it, the better, in my book. I crave a good thunderstorm that rattles the windows and wipes every trace of grime off Toby (my car).

But, it's Saturday. And it's sunny. I use to think there was something wrong with me for not caring too much for the sun. After all, light is good...dark is bad, childishly put, of course. So, because I enjoy steel skies over blue skies, that must mean I'm a bad person...right? Obviously not, but it does give one pause.

I have a point to make, but I'm not entirely sure of what it is myself, so I think I shall sign off for now and collect my thoughts. Perhaps I'll make more sense later....