Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good,
for His Steadfast love endures forever.
Psalm 136
Some time has passed since I last posted here. I write blog after blog and they just sit there unfinished. When asked, I describe what I am doing right now as "working and living". It really sounds riveting. But the last six months or so have been just that. There have been high's and lo's of course and 'working and living' is never really as simple as it sounds, however my life has been fairly steady for a while.
When I first met Christ and really gave Him my life, I was awakened and revived. I had been stuck in my walk with the Lord before He rescued me. Stuck in my life in many ways. Relatively hopeless. I pretty much gave up on ever really knowing God. So when He found me, it was a 180 degree turn around. My life held such contrast and change. Everyday was a revelation and I couldn't write down my thoughts and feelings fast enough. Scripture was food to me. There was so much in my life that was out of order and off track. My past was being dealt with, my sin removed, addiction overcome, and my broken heart was being mended. It was a season of knowing Him and being known by Him for the first time. I love looking back at this 'first-love' journey. My whole world collided with His Kingdom and it was a bit of a whirlwind. My journey was anything but neat and tidy. For me entering into an intimate close relationship with the Lord was the hardest thing I have done. And obviously the most satisfying. Knowing Him meant unknowing a lot of other things. It was messy and chaotic and everything in my life was shaken. My mistakes were many and it was anything but smooth. God took things from me that were causing me pain and He filled me with new life. I'm not exaggerating, if someone even said the name Jesus, I would feel it in my heart. It was the falling in love kind of time. If you asked me, I would have told you; I don't think I'll be a nurse...work? no way! I think I will do something crazy. I will probably move somewhere dangerous. I wanted to please God with a life not normal. I wanted to be brave and just jump into this life of faith head first, no looking back. I would have days of such restlessness and be just about ready to leave nursing school and become a single pastor in Africa or anything reckless. I could say now that it was all just emotion and immaturity, but really, I was just in love. Jesus was becoming the center of my life. His love was taking over me and I wanted my life on the outside to display His worth and the love I felt for Him on the inside. There were days I just felt like I would explode if I had to do things like study for an exam or empty the dishwasher. Unless it had Jesus written on it I was bored. I had my heart set on radical living and the practical routine side of things made me cringe.
So when I say now that I'm just 'wokring and living' it isn't casual to me. It has been quite a process to become okay with that. I haven't felt radical or insanely courageous, and I am not walking the streets of poverty proclaiming the gospel. I wake up, and I go to work. Full time. More often than not I am packing a lunch, cleaning my room, driving to town and working. I love my friends and I just live. I could make it sound really boring, and then there are days with a lot of excitment, but overall, my life on the outside is just life right now.
After my initial season of growth and falling in love with the Lord, I was challenged in many areas. The past few years were not tragic, but they were far from smooth sailing. I had a few significant relational loses and many of the things I had felt the Lord was really doing in my life changed or ended. It felt at the time like the main areas I had invested my newly healed, passionate heart, had ended in just more breaking. I spent months wrestling with doubt and anxiety. Anxiety that made me not want to leave my room. Anxiety that woke me with a thumping in my chest that said today is already a fail. Confusion made reading my Bible a challenge. Fear to try again in any capacity was tangible, I could feel it in my stomach. I felt like I had my name written down with one failed attempt at whole hearted living for Jesus. I worried that my love for Him was fading, or that my life was not going to be worthy of His calling. I felt that no matter how I lived my day it was just not going to be enough. I worried that I was just being selfish and inward, or that I just hadn't been diligent enough in searching out my own weaknesses. Things were grey to me and meaningless. Decisions were such a struggle and I constantly had this nagging fear that I was going to become complacent and slip back into my old life. Spiritually, I was crippled, I was paralyzed. I replayed scenarios in my head and analyzed them inside and out to see where I had gone off track. I kept doing the things I knew I should do spiritually, but I felt so lost. I felt like I was wrestling with God and growing tired. I feared I would give up. After a season when He had been speaking to me all the time, I found myself hearing nothing. I graduated, got a job and moved. I was thankful and somewhat excited but I had no real sense of being in His will. I felt impartial to where I worked. I was so worried that my love and faith was going to run out, or that His patience would come to an end. I felt passion fading and what I spent so much time avoiding became my life.
The mundane.
I hated it at first. I resisted it. I squirmed and questioned. I listened to every intense motivational sermon I could find. Destiny, intersession, 24hr prayer, missions, evangelism, and on and on. I condemned myself in every way possible, I tossed and turned anxiously and tried to will my life to be different. I didn't like the path I was on, it was so plain and dim to me. I missed passion and love and learning and growing. The love and passion for Christ I had built my life on was being tested. I worried that my faith would not stand. I searched my heart day and night for what I was doing wrong, I confessed sins that I don't even think I committed! I was desperate to be out of the fog. I would get myself so distraught. Anxiety took the place of joy. I tried everything I had ever heard of to get myself right again with this silent God and I was tired. I came to the end of my solutions and efforts. After like six months.
Day by day, with the months passing, I just kept living. That's it. I had no supernatural light bulb moment, no one spoke over me in a crowd. I didn't hear a voice in my dream. I didn't wake up one day and just feel better. I just kept working and living. I read some good books, had some good prayer times. Over and over. I grew tired of trying to change God's will. I put aside all the convicting sermons and started to just read His Words. The basics only. I chose to become clay. I stopped screaming at the Potter and anxiously clutching what I thought I should be. And slowly, really slowly, my white knuckled fists began to open. It wasn't magical, it wasn't instant. Time passed, and I lived.
Anxiety haunted me by times, but I found myself picturing that clay, and seeing my hands open. I found myself submitting to Him in surrender and receiving whatever the day would hold. I stopped hoping for big crazy things, and started to just hope for Him. I stopped looking at the outer things of my day, and started laying myself before Him in abandonment and just saying 'whatever you want, You are the One who made me, I am Yours'. I stopped putting pressure on myself to be more and slowly opened up my closed off heart again to let Him be all. I learned slowly, one moment at a time that He had never left, that I was in His perfect will by surrender not by effort. By letting go not by striving. He told me again of His love and gentleness towards me. His mercy. His grace. He spoke quietly, in small things, He spoke healing instead of condemnation. He was the same One I had known at first. I forgot. He reminded me daily and I began to let go.
I cannot explain the sweetness of surrender and how it soothed my anxiety. The way His sovereignty gave me peace that let me breathe deep again. And what I found incredible was that time had passed, I had done nothing insane with my life for God, I had nothing really to give Him but my fears and weaknesses, and as I just kept living, He kept loving.
You know the word enduring means continuing, or long lasting. The synonyms strike me too: remain, abide, stay, to persist, to continue, to suffer-long.
To live on.
The opposite of short-lived or fading. To live on forever.
In Psalm 136 the writer gets it. Twenty six times he writes. His love endures. His steadfast love endures. Forever. Over and over He endures.
His enduring, steady love slowly changed my heart again. Freedom came soft and sweet. Time passed. He taught me about the mundane and how to live it with thanksgiving while pursuing excellence. He spoke of the value of the unseen things. Of character worthy of calling. He is breathing meaning into work and lunch making. He is making the small things matter and showing me that all is eternal in His eyes. Time keeps passing here. He is breathing meaning into everything. Dry bones coming back to life. He is reminding me of the numbered hairs on my head, and how to be present. How to receive His will for me today open handed, without protesting and without fear of missing His purposes. Or fear of being too dark for Him to fix. He reminds me of simplicity and worship. He reminds me of His love that started everything and He takes me back to a place where He is enough, and He says that I am too because I have Him.
Each day the sun rises and some days I wake with anxiety and some days I wake full of joy, and He whispers to my heart that He is faithful like the sun. That He endures through the winter. That sometimes the trial is not obvious and drastic like I picture it to be, sometimes the trial is just time. And the answer is not super-spiritual, the answer is to live on. Because my life is hidden in Him now. And He lives on and on. He never quits. He never quits in the valleys and the mountains, and He never quits in the day to day level walking either. He can make the straight and plain full of meaning and color.
If you want to test His enduring love, keep living. Live your life just as it is today, keep going. Don't long for what is different until you see His enduring love in today. Paul says "continue in what you have heard". See if there is ever a day that His love stops. Twenty six times they write it in this Psalm. I used to skim it and say I get the point. But I read it slow now because each morning He is there in the faithful sun rising. We keep living and it keeps rising. We live and His love lives on. Forever.
The flame of love in my heart for Jesus has not gone out, it has not flickered or grown dim. The light maybe doesn't show itself in loud obvious 'africa' dreams like it has before. The flame in my heart has just kept on because His love for me has kept on. The flame of His love dances in me and you now with a story of a life lived out on earth and a Life laid down into the earth. It amazes me, I wake and He loves. The sun sets and rises. He rises. Time keeps passing and my life is small but His love still shines like the sun, in brilliance and power. The mundane becomes weighty glory, a testimony of enduring, long-suffering love.
Love that lasts and lasts and lasts.
Martina
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Monday, June 16, 2014
Tattoos and Fearless Love
On my 18th birthday I ventured to a tattoo shop. I drew a heart on my foot with permanent marker forever and I knew what I wanted. I knew a lot of things then.
The heart means nothing at first glance, just a simple black outline, but to me it has layers and layers of truth.
As a die hard Taylor Swift fan I saw it once drawn on her foot and couldn't help but love it. Like the curls in my hair and posters on my wall I copied her. I strummed her songs spent time dwelling on small heart breaks and I wrote her lyrics on my mirror. I am thankful for the ways I have grown up and out grown many things! I would be embarrassed to know how many hours I spent on YouTube and how many times I have listened to all of her songs. I still remember the day I clicked "select all" and closed my eyes tightly while I pressed delete. I let go of an obsession, an idol, and a distraction but, there was something that Taylor Swift used to say that always resonated with me, and until now I thought I had let it go with the music. She said it and sang it and the tattoo for me was a symbol of it.
Love is fearless.
Stay with me and pretend it doesn't sounds cliche. I am starting to think it might be one of the most profound things I know in my heart.
Last week I got stuck in my grade 12 year book and searched the pages to find my picture. The quote under my picture that I chose to summarize my 12 years of public school and who I thought I was, was this:
"Letting go is fearless, then moving on and being alright, that's fearless too."
I honestly can't remember what I had on my heart in grade 12 to let go of or what I was thinking then. But I understand it now. Taylor Swift and her hundreds of breakup/love songs taught me at least one real valuable truth. True love is fearless.
I look at my tattoo and think of being immature and young and obsessed with girly music and pretty hair. But what I was really thinking when I let a stranger engrave it into my skin was this: that love is fearless.
She meant it different maybe. But to me it meant that love doesn't stop for fear. And that love keeps on when it shouldn't. Past brokenness. That even when crushed and bruised love gets up and goes again. To love after being hurt by love is to live without fear. To let go of wounds and to move on in freedom is fearless. I remember all this. I used to be so passionate about this idea of always living with my whole heart even after being broken or tainted or disappointed.
But I gave Taylor Swift way too much credit for this little lyric.
He said it first when He promised that perfect love casts out all fear. It is the same truth.
I think I knew more at 18 than I do now. Not knowledge or wisdom really, but I had a real desire to love regardless of anytime love had torn me.
Life is full of aches and disappointments, but life is full of love too. And when love rises up to love again, fear bows. I used to really know this. And maybe I am starting to know it deeper. This year, my heart has retreated in fear. Because to avoid hurt, the heart can lock itself away and with no risk it can be safe and whole. Without trusting fully and wholly, the heart can't be shattered.
My heart hides. And safe and whole and comfortable is fearful.
I didn't know about the tattoo yesterday and I had forgotten about my 18 year old self but when I quiet down my soul at bedtime and whisper to Him, I ask Him what the remedy is for a heart that is afraid. I ask Him if a fragile heart afraid of breaking can be any use at all to him. I ask him how I can put my whole heart into anything if it is still so fragmented. I ask him how I can trust fully without risk. I ask him to release my heart that is caged and to show me how to live with eyes wide open full again.
I stare at my foot.
My Love for you is fearless. My perfect love actually casts out all fear. My love for you did not back down when faced with death by a cross. When faced with pain and heartbreak my love endured. When your heart is afraid, when you cannot trust, when fear is crippling, even then my Love is not afraid. I was broken for you, I bled for you, I let my heart break for you and even still my love lives on wthout fear. Free yourself from fear by receiving my fearless love.
Fear lost power when He spoke.
One by one I lay them down at his feet. The fear of failure. Fear of shame. The fear of not being enough, or being too much. The fear of hurting the people around me. The fear of being abandoned. The fear of rejection. The fear of man. The fear of a bad reputation. Fear of not being loved, accepted. Fear of change. The fear of instability. The fear of moving. The fear of shaking. The fear of trusting. The fear of letting someone in. The fear of being seen. The fear of being known. The fear of knowing who I really am. The fear of my own nature. The fear of seeing myself. The fear of my own unfaithfulness. The fear of falling away. The fear of loving fully.
Crashing down heavy these fears are overcome by just a simple phrase that I have known before.
Love is fearless. His love for me is fearless.
I have been broken already, and I have already been hurt by love, and hurt others by my love and yet in the breaking I was okay. And they are okay too. His hands are steadfast and never once was I alone. The things I fear so much never really had any power to destroy me. The power they had came from me. I had given fear permission to keep me caged from whole-hearted love. No more. I shed this lie like the cold of winter and I let fearless love come to life in me.
There is a seed inside somewhere and in this shaking something is coming up from the ground. This caged heart will have wings again and with eyes wide open it will soar in freedom. The freedom is this: His perfect love casts out all fear. I play the song again and breathe it in deep.
You make me brave
You make me brave
You call me out beyond the shore
Into the waves
You make me brave
You make me brave
No fear can hinder now
The Love that made a way
Let His fearless love for you make your heart brave. Lay down your fears at His feet and speak over yourself of the enduring love of Christ. We are called to be brave. We are called to love fully. We are made to fearlessly love the One who loved us first, and to love the ones He made. Throw off the fears that have no real power and lay hold of the power of His whole hearted love for you. He makes us brave. Our hearts are aching to live brave, and the world is groaning for the Church to demonstrate this enduring fearless love.
Get a tattoo, write it on paper, write in on your heart, just know it. Make sure you know it deep. His love for you is fearless. And His perfect love casts out all fear.
Martina Sobey
The heart means nothing at first glance, just a simple black outline, but to me it has layers and layers of truth.
As a die hard Taylor Swift fan I saw it once drawn on her foot and couldn't help but love it. Like the curls in my hair and posters on my wall I copied her. I strummed her songs spent time dwelling on small heart breaks and I wrote her lyrics on my mirror. I am thankful for the ways I have grown up and out grown many things! I would be embarrassed to know how many hours I spent on YouTube and how many times I have listened to all of her songs. I still remember the day I clicked "select all" and closed my eyes tightly while I pressed delete. I let go of an obsession, an idol, and a distraction but, there was something that Taylor Swift used to say that always resonated with me, and until now I thought I had let it go with the music. She said it and sang it and the tattoo for me was a symbol of it.
Love is fearless.
Stay with me and pretend it doesn't sounds cliche. I am starting to think it might be one of the most profound things I know in my heart.
Last week I got stuck in my grade 12 year book and searched the pages to find my picture. The quote under my picture that I chose to summarize my 12 years of public school and who I thought I was, was this:
"Letting go is fearless, then moving on and being alright, that's fearless too."
I honestly can't remember what I had on my heart in grade 12 to let go of or what I was thinking then. But I understand it now. Taylor Swift and her hundreds of breakup/love songs taught me at least one real valuable truth. True love is fearless.
I look at my tattoo and think of being immature and young and obsessed with girly music and pretty hair. But what I was really thinking when I let a stranger engrave it into my skin was this: that love is fearless.
She meant it different maybe. But to me it meant that love doesn't stop for fear. And that love keeps on when it shouldn't. Past brokenness. That even when crushed and bruised love gets up and goes again. To love after being hurt by love is to live without fear. To let go of wounds and to move on in freedom is fearless. I remember all this. I used to be so passionate about this idea of always living with my whole heart even after being broken or tainted or disappointed.
But I gave Taylor Swift way too much credit for this little lyric.
He said it first when He promised that perfect love casts out all fear. It is the same truth.
I think I knew more at 18 than I do now. Not knowledge or wisdom really, but I had a real desire to love regardless of anytime love had torn me.
Life is full of aches and disappointments, but life is full of love too. And when love rises up to love again, fear bows. I used to really know this. And maybe I am starting to know it deeper. This year, my heart has retreated in fear. Because to avoid hurt, the heart can lock itself away and with no risk it can be safe and whole. Without trusting fully and wholly, the heart can't be shattered.
My heart hides. And safe and whole and comfortable is fearful.
I didn't know about the tattoo yesterday and I had forgotten about my 18 year old self but when I quiet down my soul at bedtime and whisper to Him, I ask Him what the remedy is for a heart that is afraid. I ask Him if a fragile heart afraid of breaking can be any use at all to him. I ask him how I can put my whole heart into anything if it is still so fragmented. I ask him how I can trust fully without risk. I ask him to release my heart that is caged and to show me how to live with eyes wide open full again.
I stare at my foot.
My Love for you is fearless. My perfect love actually casts out all fear. My love for you did not back down when faced with death by a cross. When faced with pain and heartbreak my love endured. When your heart is afraid, when you cannot trust, when fear is crippling, even then my Love is not afraid. I was broken for you, I bled for you, I let my heart break for you and even still my love lives on wthout fear. Free yourself from fear by receiving my fearless love.
Fear lost power when He spoke.
One by one I lay them down at his feet. The fear of failure. Fear of shame. The fear of not being enough, or being too much. The fear of hurting the people around me. The fear of being abandoned. The fear of rejection. The fear of man. The fear of a bad reputation. Fear of not being loved, accepted. Fear of change. The fear of instability. The fear of moving. The fear of shaking. The fear of trusting. The fear of letting someone in. The fear of being seen. The fear of being known. The fear of knowing who I really am. The fear of my own nature. The fear of seeing myself. The fear of my own unfaithfulness. The fear of falling away. The fear of loving fully.
Crashing down heavy these fears are overcome by just a simple phrase that I have known before.
Love is fearless. His love for me is fearless.
I have been broken already, and I have already been hurt by love, and hurt others by my love and yet in the breaking I was okay. And they are okay too. His hands are steadfast and never once was I alone. The things I fear so much never really had any power to destroy me. The power they had came from me. I had given fear permission to keep me caged from whole-hearted love. No more. I shed this lie like the cold of winter and I let fearless love come to life in me.
There is a seed inside somewhere and in this shaking something is coming up from the ground. This caged heart will have wings again and with eyes wide open it will soar in freedom. The freedom is this: His perfect love casts out all fear. I play the song again and breathe it in deep.
You make me brave
You make me brave
You call me out beyond the shore
Into the waves
You make me brave
You make me brave
No fear can hinder now
The Love that made a way
Let His fearless love for you make your heart brave. Lay down your fears at His feet and speak over yourself of the enduring love of Christ. We are called to be brave. We are called to love fully. We are made to fearlessly love the One who loved us first, and to love the ones He made. Throw off the fears that have no real power and lay hold of the power of His whole hearted love for you. He makes us brave. Our hearts are aching to live brave, and the world is groaning for the Church to demonstrate this enduring fearless love.
Get a tattoo, write it on paper, write in on your heart, just know it. Make sure you know it deep. His love for you is fearless. And His perfect love casts out all fear.
Martina Sobey
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Unshakable Trust
Sitting in Starbucks, where I admit to enjoy the odd latte and perhaps do my best studying, I find myself peering out the window instead of at my notes. I look out at sun bright hope and people on street corners breathing in light and I almost see the weight of winter falling from shoulders that stood heavy for months. Spring air has transferred into our steps and we bounce down the street with this sense of newness and joy. From behind the glass, in this way too expense coffee shop that I love, I hear a siren. An ambulance zooms by and here holding my expensive drink I see what happens, if I look close enough. The spring air fooled us, because as the lights go by flashing the street corners are full of people who thawed so quickly yet become instantly frozen. A lady holding a toddler, a man in a suit, an older woman asking for spare change, and a few junior high girls in jean jackets. We all become still and whatever made us walk with our heads held high is shaken and for just a brief moment we all become the same. The ambulance blares and the cars pull over and that could be someone we know, someone we love, someone we need. Or it could be us. Spring attire and fresh air masks the fear like the paper-thin clouds screen the sunlight and we all pretend we are secure. We call ourselves equipped and how well we hide the fear, yet how easily our defenses become ineffective when outcomes are beyond our realm of control. Like a house of cards we crumble inside. But the siren fades into the street noise and the man in the suit walks by the lady looking for change and I continue to fake study but what if the siren didn't fade away? What if it got closer? What happens when the siren comes to our house and the noise only gets loader and the rescue vehicle is really for us? Does our thin layer mask hold up against the fear any better than the house of cards in the wind?
Some of us claim that Christ is enough, that God is our anchor, and I believe He is. With no intention to quench faith but rather to fan the flame, I wonder to myself many things. Is He enough? Is He enough if the earthquake shakes my country, if the siren arrives to my house? The question is not whether or not He is, rather whether or not I will let Him be. Will I put my trust in Him?
The world is so fragile. Our lives are so fragile. Yet we run around and so desperately hold together the broken pieces and tightly aim to control what really cannot be contained. But our world so easily shaken is longing for Christ to be revealed. For the name of the unshakable One to be made known. The business man and the jean jacket girls they are longing too. We are all longing and aching for something truly steadfast, something to trust in.
If we believe in Him then we know what He tells us, that to find our lives we must lose them. When trials come and suffering burns at our faith like the fire and gold we lose our lives and in His death we are united and He reveals True Life. The siren is still load and we have ears that ring and hearts that break and we are not numb to the pain around us, neither is He. But if He is enough, if the songs we sing are true, if the Word we have surrendered to is really from His mouth then when the news broadcasts the corruption and the media feeds off the insecurity, what happens within us? What is the purpose in the chaos and what is He doing when all we can see is the shaking ground?
I have not experienced death, only watched as other families have, but I have been shaken. I have been in the heat of the fire when everything within me burns and cries for something better and something easier and a way that is not painful. I have been ashamed and bound by the pain of my mistakes and my heart has been torn and stretched. I have certainly felt the earthquakes moving beneath me. I have heard the siren in my own life and have crumbled like the cards and have come crashing down under disappointment.Yet I can't help but know that in those moments of laying bare before Him and crying out in utter weakness, those are the moments I have seen Him, the moments that allow me to know Him. In those moments of beholding Him, something happened and I was changed. He has made a covenant of love with us that He cannot break, and our Father, the great Vinedresser has said that as we behold like in a mirror the glory of God we will be transformed into His image. Christ is the image of the invisible God. He is making us new in the image of His glory. And the earth is waiting for the sons of God to be revealed. We know the verses, we hear the sermons. And sometimes we hear the sirens. How do the sounds become one?
This siren means something, maybe a call to the saints to persevere, a call to the lost to come find refuge in the One who cannot fail. Whatever its meaning may be, I often miss it. This siren blaring all day somewhere in the world, screaming of its frailty, groaning for redemption.
I think what the siren becomes is a song. Not a melody. Because I know what is going on inside that vehicle and it isn't peaceful and it doesn't look like beauty. But this song is bold. It is a compilation of notes and beats that challenge and test what is within us. It is a song that is being sung over this earth that does not cry out to idols and to what can be so easily shifted. This song is bigger than that. This song is the song of the multitudes, the song of all creation, the song of the Spirit and the Bride. They sing, and we sing, "Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come". If we listen to the song we will hear that it is rising up from the ashes and from the places where the earthquake has shaken the dust and where the earth is wounded. If we will still ourselves we will hear this war-song rising and declaring over our lives of the faithfulness of God. I am wondering if that song becomes loader in the shaking, or maybe our ears become more sensitive. But I hear it rising and seeping through the cracks of insufficiency of this life and it brings with it power and strength. If we will hear it, and believe it, maybe this song of praise to our Jesus who cannot be changed will actually transform us into His image. Maybe we will become who we really are, which is a people who cannot be moved.
I see here on the street corners a deeper truth. In the trials and in the suffering, God is. He is. And He always will be. In His great wisdom as vinedresser He is transforming us into the very image of Christ. So from the ashes, when the fire dies down, when the waves settle, and when the shaking subsides, we are not ruined, we are not down cast, and we are not dead. We instead rise from the earth to the sound of a song of worship to the King of all kings. We rise as the sons of God and we are clothed in white, spotless before the throne of all grace, perfect and purified.
Deep within us there lies faith that has been refined, hope that has not disappointed us, love that overcame the grave, and an unshakable trust.
Martina Sobey
Some of us claim that Christ is enough, that God is our anchor, and I believe He is. With no intention to quench faith but rather to fan the flame, I wonder to myself many things. Is He enough? Is He enough if the earthquake shakes my country, if the siren arrives to my house? The question is not whether or not He is, rather whether or not I will let Him be. Will I put my trust in Him?
The world is so fragile. Our lives are so fragile. Yet we run around and so desperately hold together the broken pieces and tightly aim to control what really cannot be contained. But our world so easily shaken is longing for Christ to be revealed. For the name of the unshakable One to be made known. The business man and the jean jacket girls they are longing too. We are all longing and aching for something truly steadfast, something to trust in.
If we believe in Him then we know what He tells us, that to find our lives we must lose them. When trials come and suffering burns at our faith like the fire and gold we lose our lives and in His death we are united and He reveals True Life. The siren is still load and we have ears that ring and hearts that break and we are not numb to the pain around us, neither is He. But if He is enough, if the songs we sing are true, if the Word we have surrendered to is really from His mouth then when the news broadcasts the corruption and the media feeds off the insecurity, what happens within us? What is the purpose in the chaos and what is He doing when all we can see is the shaking ground?
I have not experienced death, only watched as other families have, but I have been shaken. I have been in the heat of the fire when everything within me burns and cries for something better and something easier and a way that is not painful. I have been ashamed and bound by the pain of my mistakes and my heart has been torn and stretched. I have certainly felt the earthquakes moving beneath me. I have heard the siren in my own life and have crumbled like the cards and have come crashing down under disappointment.Yet I can't help but know that in those moments of laying bare before Him and crying out in utter weakness, those are the moments I have seen Him, the moments that allow me to know Him. In those moments of beholding Him, something happened and I was changed. He has made a covenant of love with us that He cannot break, and our Father, the great Vinedresser has said that as we behold like in a mirror the glory of God we will be transformed into His image. Christ is the image of the invisible God. He is making us new in the image of His glory. And the earth is waiting for the sons of God to be revealed. We know the verses, we hear the sermons. And sometimes we hear the sirens. How do the sounds become one?
This siren means something, maybe a call to the saints to persevere, a call to the lost to come find refuge in the One who cannot fail. Whatever its meaning may be, I often miss it. This siren blaring all day somewhere in the world, screaming of its frailty, groaning for redemption.
I think what the siren becomes is a song. Not a melody. Because I know what is going on inside that vehicle and it isn't peaceful and it doesn't look like beauty. But this song is bold. It is a compilation of notes and beats that challenge and test what is within us. It is a song that is being sung over this earth that does not cry out to idols and to what can be so easily shifted. This song is bigger than that. This song is the song of the multitudes, the song of all creation, the song of the Spirit and the Bride. They sing, and we sing, "Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come". If we listen to the song we will hear that it is rising up from the ashes and from the places where the earthquake has shaken the dust and where the earth is wounded. If we will still ourselves we will hear this war-song rising and declaring over our lives of the faithfulness of God. I am wondering if that song becomes loader in the shaking, or maybe our ears become more sensitive. But I hear it rising and seeping through the cracks of insufficiency of this life and it brings with it power and strength. If we will hear it, and believe it, maybe this song of praise to our Jesus who cannot be changed will actually transform us into His image. Maybe we will become who we really are, which is a people who cannot be moved.
I see here on the street corners a deeper truth. In the trials and in the suffering, God is. He is. And He always will be. In His great wisdom as vinedresser He is transforming us into the very image of Christ. So from the ashes, when the fire dies down, when the waves settle, and when the shaking subsides, we are not ruined, we are not down cast, and we are not dead. We instead rise from the earth to the sound of a song of worship to the King of all kings. We rise as the sons of God and we are clothed in white, spotless before the throne of all grace, perfect and purified.
Deep within us there lies faith that has been refined, hope that has not disappointed us, love that overcame the grave, and an unshakable trust.
Martina Sobey
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Intimacy
And here is what I am going to do, I'm going to start all over again. I'm taking her back out into the wilderness where we had our first date, and I'll court her. I'll give her bouquets of roses, I'll turn heartbreak valley into acres of hope. She'll respond like she did as a young girl, those days when she was fresh out of Egypt. At that time, you'll address me 'Dear Husband'! Never again will you address me, 'My- Slave Master'. I'll wash your mouth out with soap, get rid of all the dirty false god names, not so much as a whisper of those names again. Hosea 2 The Message
Marriage, we know is a picture of Christ the Bridegroom and the church, His Bride. I believe that to be true. I have heard the sermons and I have analyzed the scriptures and I get it. Christ as Husband, me as Bride. Sounds great to me in theory. Who wouldn't want to be that precious and prized to be the Bride of Jesus! Who wouldn't want to be that intimately associated with Him! I sing the songs about being His beloved, and I journal all these deep womanly prayers about being His beautiful Bride, and until now, I was hiding. My heart was pretending to be okay with it, avoiding the shaking truth of what I really feel.
Because to me marriage is not a picture of me and my Jesus. Marriage is not the perfect picture of intimacy, and covenant love. To me, and many others I am sure, marriage is a source of heartbreak. Not beauty. Marriage means fighting and screaming and hating and piercing words and division and heart scarred and deep scar wounds.
Marriage to me means cheating and lying and stealing and breaking. Marriage means loss. It means shame. Marriage to me means broken promises, failed attempts, and love fake, easily shaken.
In a world of pretty close to 50/50 chances of survival, the let down is so common that it is almost not allowed to hurt. If the majority of us are touched by the tearing of families and the dividing walls and paperwork and money and two Christmas trees, we can't all react the way we want to or our world would crumble. So we say we are fortunate, we are privileged, we are living first world, we are fine.
Two years now of inner healing, and layers peeling back and water washing darkness and wounds healing slow. Yet only now could my heart open enough to see it. Only now am I made strong enough to let the wave of truth hit me. Only now is my heart ready to handle what it means for me to be called a Bride and to be joined as one to someone else, even if that is Our Perfect Jesus.
I am sure that each day I spend in the secret place with Him only breaks me down deeper, but this breaking and tearing is for healing. It is for refining and perfection and redemption. Deeper into the secret place with Him than ever before, I feel weaker still. Two years of crying out for the filling of His Spirit, two years of calling out closer, deeper, more. Two years of stones removed, roots pulled out, and new roots going deep. Two years of wondering what was left standing between me and Him. Here it is.
Fear.
Bowed low in a room of 3000 people, He sends a woman to me with His message. She sits, her spirit sings over me, I weep and she somehow reads deeper into my being than I ever seemed to. Her eyes became His and when she spoke I knew it was directly from Him. Without me saying anything she answered my prayers. Then she looked at me and point blank said "Go ask the Holy Spirit to show you why you are afraid to receive from Him, intimacy is not something to be afraid of ".
God is good, but He lets me get away with no nonsense. So I sit crying with my head bowed, journal opened. "Holy Spirit, why am I afraid?" Almost before I can think the words I know the truth. Infused from His Spirit to my inner being, now rising to my soul. Striving fades and from the dust, I am standing up, ready now to face the fight. The fight of intimacy.
Intimacy to me has meant invasion. Regret, nightmares, it meant divorce, adultery, it meant impurity, it meant violation and young hearts broken. It meant saying yes and allowing the destruction of soul, the ties of darkness and the mark of shame. No one to blame but self, yet somehow feeling like a victimm not of the face next to mine, but a victim of the Enemy and his schemes to steal anything pure.
I hear the words now that I heard in a sermon once "The Holy Spirit is the most intimate part of God, He comes to consecrate us to the Bridegroom". At the time I thought nothing of these words but now they are a sword tearing down high strongholds I have carefully built stone by stone.
All this time, loving the concept of being a Bride, yet never seeing how it came against every day I have lived in fear of consecration, fear of being truly seen by someone else. I break again. I can almost feel an ache inside that is stretching my heart and making more room for Him.
Memories flood and I feel the weight of sin and pain weighing heavy on my heart. But without a word, without even a prayer, I lift my hands, palms up.
I see the threat of that closeness, the risk of being seen again and denied, I feel the pain fresh and searing, I remember the regret. But God, my God, He is not a man that He should lie. He is God. He is Jesus. I brave the storm, and I take the risk. I open my hands to receive now anything that the Spirit wants to give. I feel I am flying now in freedom.
Out of my mouth bursts forth a new language. A language between my spirit and His. A channel has opened. It is a channel of intimacy. And the cost is great. It means letting go. It means fear falling down hard, and it means nakedness of soul.
This intimacy means courage. It means stripping myself bare before the King of Kings, in my weakness, in my sin and shame, it means coming to Him with no covering and letting Him truly see me, over and over again until every part of me belongs wholly to Him.
I remember now the vision last year in this same room, in this same church, at a conference like this one, with a different set of worshipers, I remember what row I stood in,and the worship band that was playing when He showed me myself dressed as the Bride at the Marriage supper. I remember the way my heart broke in half when I realized one year ago that He loved me, deep. I had no idea what was underneath, or what comes after the celebration and supper. Consummation. From the marriage supper to the inner chambers. Weird, bizarre, new. Yet biblical and pure. The cloud of witnesses before us always have this in common, they experience intimacy with the Divine. I forget sometimes the He died to unite us to God in Oneness. Nothing is closer than Oneness. And nothing represents that in our world better than marriage. Do we ever really open our hearts to believe that God wants that with us?
Only now one year later can my heart even allow for that to be true. How gentle and kind and slow and loving is my King. Never forcefully, always invited in. I love my God. And I am sure I have never loved anything or anyone as deeply as I love Him now. Yet next year I hope it is new again, and each year the love goes deeper and the intimacy grows more precious and the moments together in prayer and worship are moments that define my life and who I am. This moment of breakthrough is one I will remember.
He washed my mouth of false god fears and left my heart beating bare before Him. He did what He promised. He brought me back to Toronto where me and the Bridegroom had our first date, and He gently allured my heart. He again captured my attention, and my mouth no longer cries out with the names of shame and mistakes and falsehood. My voice cries from deep within, in a new language, pure, desperate, in love, "My Husband"!
Martina Sobey
Marriage, we know is a picture of Christ the Bridegroom and the church, His Bride. I believe that to be true. I have heard the sermons and I have analyzed the scriptures and I get it. Christ as Husband, me as Bride. Sounds great to me in theory. Who wouldn't want to be that precious and prized to be the Bride of Jesus! Who wouldn't want to be that intimately associated with Him! I sing the songs about being His beloved, and I journal all these deep womanly prayers about being His beautiful Bride, and until now, I was hiding. My heart was pretending to be okay with it, avoiding the shaking truth of what I really feel.
Because to me marriage is not a picture of me and my Jesus. Marriage is not the perfect picture of intimacy, and covenant love. To me, and many others I am sure, marriage is a source of heartbreak. Not beauty. Marriage means fighting and screaming and hating and piercing words and division and heart scarred and deep scar wounds.
Marriage to me means cheating and lying and stealing and breaking. Marriage means loss. It means shame. Marriage to me means broken promises, failed attempts, and love fake, easily shaken.
In a world of pretty close to 50/50 chances of survival, the let down is so common that it is almost not allowed to hurt. If the majority of us are touched by the tearing of families and the dividing walls and paperwork and money and two Christmas trees, we can't all react the way we want to or our world would crumble. So we say we are fortunate, we are privileged, we are living first world, we are fine.
Two years now of inner healing, and layers peeling back and water washing darkness and wounds healing slow. Yet only now could my heart open enough to see it. Only now am I made strong enough to let the wave of truth hit me. Only now is my heart ready to handle what it means for me to be called a Bride and to be joined as one to someone else, even if that is Our Perfect Jesus.
I am sure that each day I spend in the secret place with Him only breaks me down deeper, but this breaking and tearing is for healing. It is for refining and perfection and redemption. Deeper into the secret place with Him than ever before, I feel weaker still. Two years of crying out for the filling of His Spirit, two years of calling out closer, deeper, more. Two years of stones removed, roots pulled out, and new roots going deep. Two years of wondering what was left standing between me and Him. Here it is.
Fear.
Bowed low in a room of 3000 people, He sends a woman to me with His message. She sits, her spirit sings over me, I weep and she somehow reads deeper into my being than I ever seemed to. Her eyes became His and when she spoke I knew it was directly from Him. Without me saying anything she answered my prayers. Then she looked at me and point blank said "Go ask the Holy Spirit to show you why you are afraid to receive from Him, intimacy is not something to be afraid of ".
God is good, but He lets me get away with no nonsense. So I sit crying with my head bowed, journal opened. "Holy Spirit, why am I afraid?" Almost before I can think the words I know the truth. Infused from His Spirit to my inner being, now rising to my soul. Striving fades and from the dust, I am standing up, ready now to face the fight. The fight of intimacy.
Intimacy to me has meant invasion. Regret, nightmares, it meant divorce, adultery, it meant impurity, it meant violation and young hearts broken. It meant saying yes and allowing the destruction of soul, the ties of darkness and the mark of shame. No one to blame but self, yet somehow feeling like a victimm not of the face next to mine, but a victim of the Enemy and his schemes to steal anything pure.
I hear the words now that I heard in a sermon once "The Holy Spirit is the most intimate part of God, He comes to consecrate us to the Bridegroom". At the time I thought nothing of these words but now they are a sword tearing down high strongholds I have carefully built stone by stone.
All this time, loving the concept of being a Bride, yet never seeing how it came against every day I have lived in fear of consecration, fear of being truly seen by someone else. I break again. I can almost feel an ache inside that is stretching my heart and making more room for Him.
Memories flood and I feel the weight of sin and pain weighing heavy on my heart. But without a word, without even a prayer, I lift my hands, palms up.
I see the threat of that closeness, the risk of being seen again and denied, I feel the pain fresh and searing, I remember the regret. But God, my God, He is not a man that He should lie. He is God. He is Jesus. I brave the storm, and I take the risk. I open my hands to receive now anything that the Spirit wants to give. I feel I am flying now in freedom.
Out of my mouth bursts forth a new language. A language between my spirit and His. A channel has opened. It is a channel of intimacy. And the cost is great. It means letting go. It means fear falling down hard, and it means nakedness of soul.
This intimacy means courage. It means stripping myself bare before the King of Kings, in my weakness, in my sin and shame, it means coming to Him with no covering and letting Him truly see me, over and over again until every part of me belongs wholly to Him.
I remember now the vision last year in this same room, in this same church, at a conference like this one, with a different set of worshipers, I remember what row I stood in,and the worship band that was playing when He showed me myself dressed as the Bride at the Marriage supper. I remember the way my heart broke in half when I realized one year ago that He loved me, deep. I had no idea what was underneath, or what comes after the celebration and supper. Consummation. From the marriage supper to the inner chambers. Weird, bizarre, new. Yet biblical and pure. The cloud of witnesses before us always have this in common, they experience intimacy with the Divine. I forget sometimes the He died to unite us to God in Oneness. Nothing is closer than Oneness. And nothing represents that in our world better than marriage. Do we ever really open our hearts to believe that God wants that with us?
Only now one year later can my heart even allow for that to be true. How gentle and kind and slow and loving is my King. Never forcefully, always invited in. I love my God. And I am sure I have never loved anything or anyone as deeply as I love Him now. Yet next year I hope it is new again, and each year the love goes deeper and the intimacy grows more precious and the moments together in prayer and worship are moments that define my life and who I am. This moment of breakthrough is one I will remember.
He washed my mouth of false god fears and left my heart beating bare before Him. He did what He promised. He brought me back to Toronto where me and the Bridegroom had our first date, and He gently allured my heart. He again captured my attention, and my mouth no longer cries out with the names of shame and mistakes and falsehood. My voice cries from deep within, in a new language, pure, desperate, in love, "My Husband"!
Martina Sobey
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Seeing God
I walk-run down the hallway and I can hear the beeping. I go fast not wanting to miss the best parts. I feel myself almost excited to watch someone be fixed and to be a part of the gore. Hospital has become a place of rush and thrill. Alarming noises that ring in my ears for hours now ring sometimes in my sleep. That beeping I hear means something. A heart is beating too fast, or too slow, breathing is stopping, blood pressure rising or falling. An inside world being monitored by outside machines. Beeping and beeping and body failing and failing. Poking and sticking. Taking blood and pushing fluid. More beeping. Routine. Silence becomes abnormal. I look around and in a room of wires and machines and needles and drugs, bodies blend with the machinery and we make ourselves fit into to the list of steps. Could it be that I blend here too? Pain, blood, medicine and gauze. Normal. But the beeping in my ears has made me deaf. My ears long to hear again.
Leaning slight on tip toes I find myself eager to see. Always getting closer, moving one step to the left, I want the best view. Head wound ripped open, ugly, torn, bleeding. Hair matted with blood and skull peeking through broken layers of skin. I see but sometimes long to un-see, and I secretly close my eyes or squint. But can we ever half-see? The eye, even if squinting is either open or closed. Now opened wide I see gore and mess and I am fine. I blend. But at home before I sleep I cry out for true vision and feel the sting of this man's head wound. Here in this room of professionals I suppress and push down the Compassionate One inside me in order to be like them. Blue scrubs all the same, we are just a part of the room, a part of the procedure. We are following steps and completing tasks and chatting about lunch. Does anyone see the broken skin wide open? Beneath this skin is a soul and while his head is broken and his body is failing his soul must be searching. The ears deaf to the beeping now eyes blinded to pain. Why can't I just be quiet and interested in this room full of eyes all amused by the intensity? Why can I not stand and watch and feel nothing, why am I making it personal? It is not my head torn open or my skin being poked. It is not my heart making the machine beep. But 12 hours of holding sharp instruments pinching skin, writing numbers on a page and talking science I become blind too. I try to cover my inner eye. Maybe I am torn open, and maybe I close my eyes afraid that in the mirror I will see the same gore and mess I see here now. Maybe the layers of gauze I opened for this procedure have somehow been packed into my own heart wounds. Covered up means no sight. Blinded by self-protection. Sometimes the dressing meant to keep a wound clean causes infection. Sometimes new skin must be exposed to air to breathe and heal. I cover the wound in front of me and I cover myself too. The skin of my soul heals fast to the gauze meant to protect me. But if ever true healing is to come that gauze needs to be torn away. I can't live blind.
I drive home and the sun looks like fire and His glory pierces my heart. My eyes close squinty and water to protect themselves from light. But driving now I fling eyelids open. Four weeks of beeping and watching their pain and guarding myself from feeling it comes now as a wave hard against my chest. I didn't even realize I had closed my eyes and covered my ears but now tears well and my eyes sting and loud noise causes my sensitive ears to ache. Patients become people and my blindness becomes sight. My ears that had dulled now hear too loud. I break and their pain becomes my pain. Instead of medication and band aids my heart groans for true healing. So the Healer whispers soft:
Open your eyes, open your ears. Hear my voice and behold my glory. Take down the shield you are using to cover your afraid eyes, open wide, see them the way I do, and then you will see me.
He has been drawing and tugging and now even in His gentleness something has snapped. His hands are slow and He waits for me to be ready yet I feel it, a piercing of my defenses. I have been living with eyes closed and ears plugged because to see and hear means to know the suffering. To live opened up means to stand close enough to see it all and hear the breaking. To be present in the trauma means to be stained by blood and soiled by the mess. I have been there physically, I have been looking and listening and learning. I am a hungry student wanting to see it all. But inside I have been moving with eyes squinty and ears plugged and hands covered safe in gloves. Numbness and sameness make me blend and I too talk about my lunch while a wife cries and a little brother holds pudgy hands that shake.
I feel the invitation now because I am drowning in the darkness of blindness. He is light. I have been pleading to see His face and behold His glory and hear His voice during this semester of school in the hospital but I've closed my senses. To see Him I have to be willing to see it all. To be filled with Him fully I can't live closed shut. I have to be torn open with rended flesh. But won't I break open if I feel it all the time? Won't I be wounded and crazy and burnt out if I am really that opened to the pain of every person I meet? What about boundaries and safety? They teach us empathy in school, but we all demonstrate distance and protection. We claim compassion but only from behind the glass with hands in gloves and mask over mouth. But He teaches death to self and washing dirty feet and cross over shoulder and life laid to be slaughtered. And I want to see Him. I want to see Him if it means only being blinded again by glory like Paul.
It will look weak in a world of speed and intensity. It may mean I go slow while everyone else moves fast, patients in and out. I will look broken and my tears might be awkward falling to the ground as people work. But He wept. And His tears made the dead come to life. His willingness to live wide opened and to be wounded by love was so powerful that the thief went to paradise and the prostitute fell at His feet restored. He reached down to the leper with an un-gloved hand. His compassion made dead people walk out of graves.
With eyes opened there is risk. I will see things that traumatize and the pain of other people will touch me and I will feel it. But to live blind is loss. I might be safe from seeing them, but then I don't see Him. And if I don't see Him I am dead, and my heart fades slower and the machines beep and the alarms go off and I too will blend in with the noise. I don't know what it will look like to see everything through teary eyes all the time but I can't live under wrapped gauze and self-protection. I can't be His hands and feet if I am numb to the ground I walk on. I want to feel intensely the way He does. I want the dead around me to be raised up because of the One who lives in me, I want their wounds to be healed by His stripes. I want to see His power and His glory fill our hospital. And if I want to see Him, I will have to open my eyes wide and bare myself to see everything.
Driving home I let out a sigh and let go of the bandage I've been holding firm against my own wounds. I release the images of people suffering and the stories of death and dying. I let the tears ruin my makeup. I make a silent vow to the One I am chasing after. I tell Him I will live with eyes wide open and I repent of all the self-protecting fear. I cry out to Him and He cleanses my heart and reminds me of the promise He gave for all of us:
And you all, with unveiled faces will behold me as in a mirror. As you behold me, you are being transformed yourselves into My very image from glory to glory. Blessed are the pure at heart for they will see Me. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with your whole heart.
With eyes covered by self-protection I look in the mirror and I see the reflection of brokenness in this world. But with a face unveiled I behold Him in all His glory and am transformed into His very image. With eyes opened brave to peer into the broken hearts I will feel weak and vulnerable with them but I will not be stained and ruined by their pain, instead I will look more and more like Him. The drive home from another day at work is almost over and I roll down my windows and blast the heat. Exposed to the cold and icy wind I can breathe deep the fresh air and let the tears on my face dry. I missed the feeling of fresh air this winter because I was afraid of the cold. Freedom comes and windows are rolled down just in time for spirng.
Martina Sobey
Leaning slight on tip toes I find myself eager to see. Always getting closer, moving one step to the left, I want the best view. Head wound ripped open, ugly, torn, bleeding. Hair matted with blood and skull peeking through broken layers of skin. I see but sometimes long to un-see, and I secretly close my eyes or squint. But can we ever half-see? The eye, even if squinting is either open or closed. Now opened wide I see gore and mess and I am fine. I blend. But at home before I sleep I cry out for true vision and feel the sting of this man's head wound. Here in this room of professionals I suppress and push down the Compassionate One inside me in order to be like them. Blue scrubs all the same, we are just a part of the room, a part of the procedure. We are following steps and completing tasks and chatting about lunch. Does anyone see the broken skin wide open? Beneath this skin is a soul and while his head is broken and his body is failing his soul must be searching. The ears deaf to the beeping now eyes blinded to pain. Why can't I just be quiet and interested in this room full of eyes all amused by the intensity? Why can I not stand and watch and feel nothing, why am I making it personal? It is not my head torn open or my skin being poked. It is not my heart making the machine beep. But 12 hours of holding sharp instruments pinching skin, writing numbers on a page and talking science I become blind too. I try to cover my inner eye. Maybe I am torn open, and maybe I close my eyes afraid that in the mirror I will see the same gore and mess I see here now. Maybe the layers of gauze I opened for this procedure have somehow been packed into my own heart wounds. Covered up means no sight. Blinded by self-protection. Sometimes the dressing meant to keep a wound clean causes infection. Sometimes new skin must be exposed to air to breathe and heal. I cover the wound in front of me and I cover myself too. The skin of my soul heals fast to the gauze meant to protect me. But if ever true healing is to come that gauze needs to be torn away. I can't live blind.
I drive home and the sun looks like fire and His glory pierces my heart. My eyes close squinty and water to protect themselves from light. But driving now I fling eyelids open. Four weeks of beeping and watching their pain and guarding myself from feeling it comes now as a wave hard against my chest. I didn't even realize I had closed my eyes and covered my ears but now tears well and my eyes sting and loud noise causes my sensitive ears to ache. Patients become people and my blindness becomes sight. My ears that had dulled now hear too loud. I break and their pain becomes my pain. Instead of medication and band aids my heart groans for true healing. So the Healer whispers soft:
Open your eyes, open your ears. Hear my voice and behold my glory. Take down the shield you are using to cover your afraid eyes, open wide, see them the way I do, and then you will see me.
He has been drawing and tugging and now even in His gentleness something has snapped. His hands are slow and He waits for me to be ready yet I feel it, a piercing of my defenses. I have been living with eyes closed and ears plugged because to see and hear means to know the suffering. To live opened up means to stand close enough to see it all and hear the breaking. To be present in the trauma means to be stained by blood and soiled by the mess. I have been there physically, I have been looking and listening and learning. I am a hungry student wanting to see it all. But inside I have been moving with eyes squinty and ears plugged and hands covered safe in gloves. Numbness and sameness make me blend and I too talk about my lunch while a wife cries and a little brother holds pudgy hands that shake.
I feel the invitation now because I am drowning in the darkness of blindness. He is light. I have been pleading to see His face and behold His glory and hear His voice during this semester of school in the hospital but I've closed my senses. To see Him I have to be willing to see it all. To be filled with Him fully I can't live closed shut. I have to be torn open with rended flesh. But won't I break open if I feel it all the time? Won't I be wounded and crazy and burnt out if I am really that opened to the pain of every person I meet? What about boundaries and safety? They teach us empathy in school, but we all demonstrate distance and protection. We claim compassion but only from behind the glass with hands in gloves and mask over mouth. But He teaches death to self and washing dirty feet and cross over shoulder and life laid to be slaughtered. And I want to see Him. I want to see Him if it means only being blinded again by glory like Paul.
It will look weak in a world of speed and intensity. It may mean I go slow while everyone else moves fast, patients in and out. I will look broken and my tears might be awkward falling to the ground as people work. But He wept. And His tears made the dead come to life. His willingness to live wide opened and to be wounded by love was so powerful that the thief went to paradise and the prostitute fell at His feet restored. He reached down to the leper with an un-gloved hand. His compassion made dead people walk out of graves.
With eyes opened there is risk. I will see things that traumatize and the pain of other people will touch me and I will feel it. But to live blind is loss. I might be safe from seeing them, but then I don't see Him. And if I don't see Him I am dead, and my heart fades slower and the machines beep and the alarms go off and I too will blend in with the noise. I don't know what it will look like to see everything through teary eyes all the time but I can't live under wrapped gauze and self-protection. I can't be His hands and feet if I am numb to the ground I walk on. I want to feel intensely the way He does. I want the dead around me to be raised up because of the One who lives in me, I want their wounds to be healed by His stripes. I want to see His power and His glory fill our hospital. And if I want to see Him, I will have to open my eyes wide and bare myself to see everything.
Driving home I let out a sigh and let go of the bandage I've been holding firm against my own wounds. I release the images of people suffering and the stories of death and dying. I let the tears ruin my makeup. I make a silent vow to the One I am chasing after. I tell Him I will live with eyes wide open and I repent of all the self-protecting fear. I cry out to Him and He cleanses my heart and reminds me of the promise He gave for all of us:
And you all, with unveiled faces will behold me as in a mirror. As you behold me, you are being transformed yourselves into My very image from glory to glory. Blessed are the pure at heart for they will see Me. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with your whole heart.
With eyes covered by self-protection I look in the mirror and I see the reflection of brokenness in this world. But with a face unveiled I behold Him in all His glory and am transformed into His very image. With eyes opened brave to peer into the broken hearts I will feel weak and vulnerable with them but I will not be stained and ruined by their pain, instead I will look more and more like Him. The drive home from another day at work is almost over and I roll down my windows and blast the heat. Exposed to the cold and icy wind I can breathe deep the fresh air and let the tears on my face dry. I missed the feeling of fresh air this winter because I was afraid of the cold. Freedom comes and windows are rolled down just in time for spirng.
Martina Sobey
Friday, January 17, 2014
Abba's Arms
I have this dream sometimes, the faces change and the situation is different but the dream is always the same. It is a dream of shame, of falling into the same situation over and over again and being found out, usually by people I feel have it more together than I do. In this dream I am exposed and wrong and dirty and often feel like I cannot face myself in the mirror, let alone look upon His glory. I never know where the dream comes from, or what it means but I assume it comes from some fear I have buried deep inside that I am not pure, or that I am a disappointment to Father. However it happens, every time I wake up feeling like the day is tainted, already stained red. I usually feel my heart pounding with shame and see myself hiding like Eve in the garden, the fear of Him knowing my every thought just makes my heart go hard, like a stone.
This time it was different though, I laid in bed and was immediately reminded of something.
I flashed back to a few days ago when He gave me a picture of His love for me. It had been a while since I felt Him close and I knew it was because my striving and desire to earn His grace was in the way of His goodness. But when I threw up my hands and laid down my efforts, He was closer than my breath. His arms always opened. He filled and flooded my imagination and I saw Jesus sitting in a garden, much like the secret garden, on a marble bench. The gate to the garden was open just enough to peek in and see Him sitting there, waiting. It seemed to me like He had been there a while. I wondered if I was interrupting something but He glanced over at me and locked eyes with mine and motioned for me to come. Some time passed as I paced outside the garden gates. I considered not going in, but something about the way He looked at me I knew I wouldn't be whole until I did.
I looked down at my white garment and saw the right arm of it was stained red, suddenly I was afraid that He would notice, afraid I was too unclean. But again He looked and His eyes beckoned, so I shoved my arm behind me and ventured into the lush garden. When I got closer, I knelt down and with my head facing the ground I rested against His knees. It felt safer down there and I knew I could keep my arm hidden in hopes He would not see the stain. My shame could remain a secret. I felt a hand against my chin and He lifted my head up, gazing upon Him I knew He must see everything. His expression was one inviting me to bare my shame and trust Him. After a while I lifted my arm to show Him, unsure of what else to do. I saw the garment was white again. I removed the sleeve and my arm too, was perfect. The black and red wound I was trying so hard to hide was actually gone. Frantically I looked at my other arm thinking I must be mistaken, but as I looked up to Him I saw the stains slowly disappear from the right side of His garment.
He took it.
When I realized the shame I was so afraid to show Him was actually already paid for, already taken, I was somewhat lost. I wondered what people do in the garden with Him when they are truly free. He didn't ask me of anything, He just sat quietly with me. The desire came over me to dance. I was always afraid knowing my garment would slip and anyone watching would see my wound, my shame. But now I am truly free to be seen.
In this secret garden I danced before Him effortlessly. I felt freedom for what must have been the first time. While spinning around Him I saw His eyes and the moment ended as I looked and saw He was weeping.
I play through this image over and over in light of this recurring dream, wondering how they connect. Remembering also the woman with the bleeding who pressed into the crowd to touch Jesus' garment, knowing she would be healed instantly. I considered her shame. Bleeding for twelve years, all her money spent on doctors, the law of Moses calls her unclean, stained garment, shame. I feel my heart and hers becoming one. Reading the familiar Gospel story of her healing once again I read what Jesus said to her. He said "Daughter, your faith has made you well, go in peace."
Daughter?
Why did the Son, the middle aged man, call this woman daughter? She very well could have been older than Him. The words come to mind and repeat from Colossians, Jesus is the exact representation of the Father. He called her daughter because He came to earth to reveal the Father's heart. I see pieces coming together and I feel I am about to be overwhelmed again by His goodness.
The dream, the picture of the wound, dancing before Him, being called daughter. I see it. My heart knows it. My shame has been a thick barrier keeping me from trusting the goodness of the Father's love. Jesus, always leading us to the Father, took me to the garden to remove my shame so that I could hear the Father say, "Daughter".
Now for the first time this dream does not scare me. Instead of hiding the red stain and letting shame hold me captive, I take my fears and failures and I run. I run into arms that are huge and strong and stretched wide. I feel I am five years old again running to my dad. As soon as my heart reaches His arms my shame crumbles. The darkness cannot overcome His light. I see light wash over my mind and He makes me forget the images of the dream that haunt me. I feel I am falling apart and He alone is holding me together.
What was meant to keep me away from Him just became a force that drove me deeper into His embrace.
My head buried in His chest, my shame overcome by His love. His heart revealed in His Son. This is Our God.
I hear Him say daughter and my heart fuses to His. Perfect freedom, free to dance, in my Abba's arms.
Martina Sobey
This time it was different though, I laid in bed and was immediately reminded of something.
I flashed back to a few days ago when He gave me a picture of His love for me. It had been a while since I felt Him close and I knew it was because my striving and desire to earn His grace was in the way of His goodness. But when I threw up my hands and laid down my efforts, He was closer than my breath. His arms always opened. He filled and flooded my imagination and I saw Jesus sitting in a garden, much like the secret garden, on a marble bench. The gate to the garden was open just enough to peek in and see Him sitting there, waiting. It seemed to me like He had been there a while. I wondered if I was interrupting something but He glanced over at me and locked eyes with mine and motioned for me to come. Some time passed as I paced outside the garden gates. I considered not going in, but something about the way He looked at me I knew I wouldn't be whole until I did.
I looked down at my white garment and saw the right arm of it was stained red, suddenly I was afraid that He would notice, afraid I was too unclean. But again He looked and His eyes beckoned, so I shoved my arm behind me and ventured into the lush garden. When I got closer, I knelt down and with my head facing the ground I rested against His knees. It felt safer down there and I knew I could keep my arm hidden in hopes He would not see the stain. My shame could remain a secret. I felt a hand against my chin and He lifted my head up, gazing upon Him I knew He must see everything. His expression was one inviting me to bare my shame and trust Him. After a while I lifted my arm to show Him, unsure of what else to do. I saw the garment was white again. I removed the sleeve and my arm too, was perfect. The black and red wound I was trying so hard to hide was actually gone. Frantically I looked at my other arm thinking I must be mistaken, but as I looked up to Him I saw the stains slowly disappear from the right side of His garment.
He took it.
When I realized the shame I was so afraid to show Him was actually already paid for, already taken, I was somewhat lost. I wondered what people do in the garden with Him when they are truly free. He didn't ask me of anything, He just sat quietly with me. The desire came over me to dance. I was always afraid knowing my garment would slip and anyone watching would see my wound, my shame. But now I am truly free to be seen.
In this secret garden I danced before Him effortlessly. I felt freedom for what must have been the first time. While spinning around Him I saw His eyes and the moment ended as I looked and saw He was weeping.
I play through this image over and over in light of this recurring dream, wondering how they connect. Remembering also the woman with the bleeding who pressed into the crowd to touch Jesus' garment, knowing she would be healed instantly. I considered her shame. Bleeding for twelve years, all her money spent on doctors, the law of Moses calls her unclean, stained garment, shame. I feel my heart and hers becoming one. Reading the familiar Gospel story of her healing once again I read what Jesus said to her. He said "Daughter, your faith has made you well, go in peace."
Daughter?
Why did the Son, the middle aged man, call this woman daughter? She very well could have been older than Him. The words come to mind and repeat from Colossians, Jesus is the exact representation of the Father. He called her daughter because He came to earth to reveal the Father's heart. I see pieces coming together and I feel I am about to be overwhelmed again by His goodness.
The dream, the picture of the wound, dancing before Him, being called daughter. I see it. My heart knows it. My shame has been a thick barrier keeping me from trusting the goodness of the Father's love. Jesus, always leading us to the Father, took me to the garden to remove my shame so that I could hear the Father say, "Daughter".
Now for the first time this dream does not scare me. Instead of hiding the red stain and letting shame hold me captive, I take my fears and failures and I run. I run into arms that are huge and strong and stretched wide. I feel I am five years old again running to my dad. As soon as my heart reaches His arms my shame crumbles. The darkness cannot overcome His light. I see light wash over my mind and He makes me forget the images of the dream that haunt me. I feel I am falling apart and He alone is holding me together.
What was meant to keep me away from Him just became a force that drove me deeper into His embrace.
My head buried in His chest, my shame overcome by His love. His heart revealed in His Son. This is Our God.
I hear Him say daughter and my heart fuses to His. Perfect freedom, free to dance, in my Abba's arms.
Martina Sobey
Thursday, November 28, 2013
He is the Great I AM
I hear the opening of cupboards and the bathroom door shut in the hotel room. She is awake, the Prophet. I know it is morning, time to wake up. My eyes stay shut while I move slowly, upright. I whisper surrendering thoughts to Him, fresh mercies come with the morning. I wonder what He can show us today during this time set apart to soak up His beauty through His creation in Maine, US. That thought compels me to put on my sneakers and pack my journal. It is still dark outside which reminds me the sun is on its way, the reason I am awake.
We walk side by side to the waterside Him, me and her, we tread through the dark of the morning with our minds fixed on the sunrise, our eyes shine light.The sky in the distance is dark, but less dark than before. Hope is rising. The chains are being opened, the fetter smashed. Our hearts are getting more free each moment.
We sit apart, quiet, she and I. Two hearts, hungry for His beauty. We agree, we are part of One Body and therefore what we ask will be done. Show us Your glory; our heart's cry.
We sit against the cold stone and hold back shivers, faith in the sun that shall soon warm our cold bones from their slumber. Faithful like the sunrise, I tell Him who He is to me and He reminds me of the mountain tops and the heights He is calling us to walk on. Minutes of anticipation feel like hours, time is multiplied and peace floods like a river, anxiety holds no power and He rules over the water, waves calmed by His outstretched hand.
Then the dark was invaded with pink, beauty of places above reflected before my eyes as they scanned to see, slow to take it in, unable to keep up with the splendor. Orange like fire rises parting the clouds and consuming the remnant. Darkness defeated, corners invaded. Chains falling off and hitting the ground, the sound of freedom beams from the Sun. Like a burning coal of a long flaming fire You rise over the horizon. I stare right at You and feel my retinas burn, marked by Your light. I am small. Still able to stand in the midst of such glory, how can that be? I am amazed, yet I know I should be even more so. Your fire burns, clears the sky, clouds flee, so does the enemy and the fog over my heart. I am restless now and I know I cannot stay here on level ground. I am moved and stirred, muscles ready to burst forth and propel me upward, to the heights.Your power ready to explode.
Today is Yours, and I am Yours. Everything is. Your name called the light into existence, and I become a faded memory, all I see is You. Let Your storm crash over me in power and shake me until all that remains is You in me. Let only that which comes from you be left standing.
I ask now boldly, Father show me Your heart. You declare over me "I am the great I AM". Yes You are, I cry, wonder struck, captivated. How can I be silent, my lungs are longing to cry out worship, voice waiting to cry Holy. All the hosts of heaven have beat me to it, and creation itself is groaning.
Take me higher, deeper, stir up reverence. Holy Spirit I am Yours. I am after Your heart. Complete death of flesh and utter abandonment of self is the only logical response. I am sold.
I can only imagine what the Prophet is seeing right now and I realize the joy of the Body, of being a part of a corporate Bride. This may be the first time I've said that and not felt tied to a dead corpse of 'the church'. For once that bond makes me feel alive, I see her eyes are transparent, she smiles freedom and so do I.
After breakfast we come together, this time as four. We pray for our day, for mountains to move, for miracles, for Your protection. One prays for those being persecuted and we cry out for our brothers and sisters being tortured. In power we stand in gap. Your Spirit has arrested our hearts and told us to pray. Moved by Your might we stand silent. Hearts in awe. Ready for the day now, confident we will see You.
Walking paths through trees, we walk in Him, completely unified and marred by Your beauty, we are fearless. Trees look like an army, limbs raised high in worship, calling out Your name. We walk righteous in Christ knowing our every step is established in Him. We walk as planted trees, rooted and abiding, the fruit is bursting and Your glory calls it out.
I ask for an eagle to fly overhead, knowing you hear my every prayer.
We stop abruptly at the beauty, the sight of You. Immovable mountain raised before our eyes. No one speaks because our hearts are stilled by Your majesty. An eagle soars over the mountain top and I am beside myself. My eyes well up with tears. Who can measure Your worth? I set my sights to the top of that mountain and I can see it, I imagine a mountain gazelle swiftly reaching unheard of places. I see the legs so steady and quick to reach those high places. I recall the Prophet reading Your Word to me, that I will have hinds feet and reach those high dangerous places, that You will make me able to walk up there. It all comes together and I weep. How can I be called higher, how can I go, I am so weak. But You have laid Your promises all around me so I will walk by faith.
Our faith releases power to move the mountains and I imagine that power being poured out of our hands. You give the picture of the mountain the rocks, the calloused hearts being broken by the seeds we plant. That as we sow into the kingdom the trees will grow and their roots will crack open the hardened hearts. Revival. I cannot help but feel now as one fighter in the army of God. Victory beats my heart and runs in my veins. I feel it rising. Again today, I am sold.
Love like wind blows, power. Love like the sparkling sea up ahead, extravagant. Love like the shocking cool water on our bare feet, refreshing. Love like the burning sun overhead, consuming fire. Love like the sail of the boat moving slowly, patience. Love like the immovable, strong rocks, it bears all things. Love like the eagle that flies overhead again, freedom.
In Your Presence is the fullness of joy. Every single moment of this day was absolutely filled with your power, your voice, your miracles. You were everywhere. You always are.
Tomorrow I will set my standards that high: to see You in everything I do. You are the objective of every action, the goal of every effort. You are the prize of every test. You are always that present. I open my heart, my eyes, my ears to You. Make yourself known.
You are the Great I AM, and I am Yours.
Martina Sobey
We walk side by side to the waterside Him, me and her, we tread through the dark of the morning with our minds fixed on the sunrise, our eyes shine light.The sky in the distance is dark, but less dark than before. Hope is rising. The chains are being opened, the fetter smashed. Our hearts are getting more free each moment.
We sit apart, quiet, she and I. Two hearts, hungry for His beauty. We agree, we are part of One Body and therefore what we ask will be done. Show us Your glory; our heart's cry.
We sit against the cold stone and hold back shivers, faith in the sun that shall soon warm our cold bones from their slumber. Faithful like the sunrise, I tell Him who He is to me and He reminds me of the mountain tops and the heights He is calling us to walk on. Minutes of anticipation feel like hours, time is multiplied and peace floods like a river, anxiety holds no power and He rules over the water, waves calmed by His outstretched hand.
Then the dark was invaded with pink, beauty of places above reflected before my eyes as they scanned to see, slow to take it in, unable to keep up with the splendor. Orange like fire rises parting the clouds and consuming the remnant. Darkness defeated, corners invaded. Chains falling off and hitting the ground, the sound of freedom beams from the Sun. Like a burning coal of a long flaming fire You rise over the horizon. I stare right at You and feel my retinas burn, marked by Your light. I am small. Still able to stand in the midst of such glory, how can that be? I am amazed, yet I know I should be even more so. Your fire burns, clears the sky, clouds flee, so does the enemy and the fog over my heart. I am restless now and I know I cannot stay here on level ground. I am moved and stirred, muscles ready to burst forth and propel me upward, to the heights.Your power ready to explode.
Today is Yours, and I am Yours. Everything is. Your name called the light into existence, and I become a faded memory, all I see is You. Let Your storm crash over me in power and shake me until all that remains is You in me. Let only that which comes from you be left standing.
I ask now boldly, Father show me Your heart. You declare over me "I am the great I AM". Yes You are, I cry, wonder struck, captivated. How can I be silent, my lungs are longing to cry out worship, voice waiting to cry Holy. All the hosts of heaven have beat me to it, and creation itself is groaning.
Take me higher, deeper, stir up reverence. Holy Spirit I am Yours. I am after Your heart. Complete death of flesh and utter abandonment of self is the only logical response. I am sold.
I can only imagine what the Prophet is seeing right now and I realize the joy of the Body, of being a part of a corporate Bride. This may be the first time I've said that and not felt tied to a dead corpse of 'the church'. For once that bond makes me feel alive, I see her eyes are transparent, she smiles freedom and so do I.
After breakfast we come together, this time as four. We pray for our day, for mountains to move, for miracles, for Your protection. One prays for those being persecuted and we cry out for our brothers and sisters being tortured. In power we stand in gap. Your Spirit has arrested our hearts and told us to pray. Moved by Your might we stand silent. Hearts in awe. Ready for the day now, confident we will see You.
Walking paths through trees, we walk in Him, completely unified and marred by Your beauty, we are fearless. Trees look like an army, limbs raised high in worship, calling out Your name. We walk righteous in Christ knowing our every step is established in Him. We walk as planted trees, rooted and abiding, the fruit is bursting and Your glory calls it out.
I ask for an eagle to fly overhead, knowing you hear my every prayer.
We stop abruptly at the beauty, the sight of You. Immovable mountain raised before our eyes. No one speaks because our hearts are stilled by Your majesty. An eagle soars over the mountain top and I am beside myself. My eyes well up with tears. Who can measure Your worth? I set my sights to the top of that mountain and I can see it, I imagine a mountain gazelle swiftly reaching unheard of places. I see the legs so steady and quick to reach those high places. I recall the Prophet reading Your Word to me, that I will have hinds feet and reach those high dangerous places, that You will make me able to walk up there. It all comes together and I weep. How can I be called higher, how can I go, I am so weak. But You have laid Your promises all around me so I will walk by faith.
Our faith releases power to move the mountains and I imagine that power being poured out of our hands. You give the picture of the mountain the rocks, the calloused hearts being broken by the seeds we plant. That as we sow into the kingdom the trees will grow and their roots will crack open the hardened hearts. Revival. I cannot help but feel now as one fighter in the army of God. Victory beats my heart and runs in my veins. I feel it rising. Again today, I am sold.
Love like wind blows, power. Love like the sparkling sea up ahead, extravagant. Love like the shocking cool water on our bare feet, refreshing. Love like the burning sun overhead, consuming fire. Love like the sail of the boat moving slowly, patience. Love like the immovable, strong rocks, it bears all things. Love like the eagle that flies overhead again, freedom.
In Your Presence is the fullness of joy. Every single moment of this day was absolutely filled with your power, your voice, your miracles. You were everywhere. You always are.
Tomorrow I will set my standards that high: to see You in everything I do. You are the objective of every action, the goal of every effort. You are the prize of every test. You are always that present. I open my heart, my eyes, my ears to You. Make yourself known.
You are the Great I AM, and I am Yours.
Martina Sobey
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