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

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 

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

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 

And Give Him No Rest

When I stand up I can feel the blood drain from my head to my feet and the room spins. My knees are shaking and the pins and needles cause me to wonder how long I was down. Maybe an hour, maybe only minutes. Likely minutes. It doesn't take long for nothing to be the same.

I saw him for the first time as a spirit today, not as a young man stranger, but as a small child spirit, lost. I see his grey garments and his eyes look the same way they looked when he was small, when his lip would quiver and his eyes would fill with tears.  I remember when a bee stung his lip and his tears broke my heart and at 9 years old I could not hold my heart together if his was breaking. What has happened to my heart? Now that he looks stronger and speaks harsh words and frustrates my flesh have I lost all compassion? Why now does his broken heart not break mine?

I am suddenly overwhelmed with how small he is. I see him outside the walls of Zion and all his defenses are laid down, I see him now as the 3 year old child and my heart aches to remember it all. In his grey shorts and t-shirt I am suddenly so aware of the white garment I am clothed in. His aimless wandering, and hopeless stare is making my salvation beam and the contrast breaks my heart. The teenage hardened heart, and adolescent-anger fade away and I see now a broken child. Friendless, lifeless, Fatherless. How can this small boy, this little child be left alone here? Who walked away from him, what is he doing here all alone, it isn't safe! I am filled with questions and somewhere in my heart I know I am among those to blame for his helpless state. Maybe this guilt inside is what has manifested as physical heaviness keeping me on my knees for his soul. All I know is this is dangerous ground, a battlefield, and this child is defenseless. I hear those words again "I looked for a man who would build up the wall and stand before Me in the gap on behalf of the land.". Intercession.

I am brought back to last week when I myself felt like the small boy in grey. Your grace brought me back to the cross, my pride had swelled and you in all your mercy caused me to repent. The week of darkness opened my eyes again to the reality of your justice, your law, and your saving grace. How am I now clothed in glory when last week I felt so cast off, sinful, and unable to approach the throne. Now here I am boldly at the throne of grace where I cry out with a conviction and confidence that is entirely new, the result of an assurance that only comes from the blood of the Lamb. I feel now for certain that you brought me low to save me from my flesh, my pride, myself and you brought me low, tore me open, broke me down, so that you could raise me up to this new place where I can be heard by you, for him. All is grace. Your grace over me, and your grace over him, the small white haired boy.

I remember how I stood in the same place as him once too and you bring me back to the agony and the feelings of abandonment, feelings of utter disappointment, and loneliness. The same things that broke my heart and alienated me from any sense of family are his scars too. Am I so selfish and blind to the fact that he too has been ripped apart by the inadequacy of the world, the drawn out throbbing caused by divorce, and the loneliness of being tossed between two worlds, torn by the waves of inconsistency.Why have I failed to see that this boy I aged with is also broken hearted and scarred like me? Have I like everyone else let his mask fool me? He may be a better faker than me, but he too is deeply wounded.

I see now the shadow of a boy is wandering and the paths that surround him all look the same. They are all wide and grey. There is one path though that is golden light and narrow. The boy longs to go there, the golden light calls him. I am outraged to see a man in black seated at the fork in the road trying to cause the lost boy to take another way. I label the dark man as fear and I hate him. I come against him and the Name causes him to pack up and leave but he wanders still outside the gates. He waits to steal, kill and destroy this boy and I cannot sit still. Oh Great Shepherd, come in power! He wanders and prowls and sneaks around waiting to act. How will this boy ever survive?

If I, clothed in salvation and truth and grace, still get caught and fooled by the Adversary, if I in my white garment, aware of the armor I hold, still fall into darkness and defeat, how much more danger is the darkness to this boy? In the spirit I stand up before the throne, I cry out for his protection, for someone in heaven to stand guard on his behalf. I know until the boy enters the city gates he is not safe. His grey clothing does nothing to protect him and he doesn't know the Name that has the power to save. I am troubled now by his vulnerability and You know this, your purpose hits me like a punch in my gut. You confirm in the Book what has just happened in the Spirit.

"For Zion's sake I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem's sake I will not be quiet, until her righteousness goes forth as brightness, and her salvation as a burning torch.... On your walls, O Jerusalem, I have set watchmen; all the day and all the night they shall never be silent. You who put the LORD in remembrance, take no rest, and give him no rest until he establishes Jerusalem and makes it a praise in the earth... And they shall be called The Holy People, The Redeemed of the LORD, Sought Out, A City Not Forsaken. Isaiah 62."

I tremble now at the throne. You brought me low, you lifted me up, and I open my eyes and see I am not the center. You open my eyes to the lost, the wanderers. And this small child, this precious boy, is now added to those entrusted to us who believe, and maybe only to me.

The immense responsibility feels like a burden that goes past my free will but I remember asking for this. For you to lay on my heart a burden for the lost and broken. I had no idea. I did not know the burden would be so real, so crippling, and that the lost would be someone in my own house. My child brother, my own blood. I have special authority here, I have been entrusted with much.

I will give you no rest Lord. You have bound the weight of his soul to mine, and for his sake I cannot be silent, until his salvation goes forth like a burning torch. I stand now in the gap, in the gap where the walls of Zion divide two kingdoms, the gap between the throne and the boy, darkness prowls for a while longer. I rest assured that The Day is coming and darkness will be thrown down into fire, but now, I stand guard. My weapons are mighty in you and this small boy is dead. I fight for his life with my own.

Rejoice oh my soul and have faith, this boy too will be met at the gates by the Shepherd, He will be called Sought Out. His salvation will burn like a torch. The Redeemed are crying out, the harvest is ready, and the intercessors are rising to fight for the advance of the Kingdom. Our hearts are marked by brokenness and we pray connected to the One who cries out continually on our behalf, the only One who really loves the golden haired boy enough to die for his soul.

Martina Sobey 

The Costland Cry

Standing on the shores of Charlottetown I have found a secret place. If I sit just over the bank, the rocks there are perfect chairs and the city is all around me, yet I am hidden. I am guaranteed now to meet Him here it seems, so I come here often. My obvious, yet hidden secret place. In the city, yet hidden in the cleft of the rock. I look out at the horizon where the sky and the ocean meet. Both are various shades of blue-grey. I whisper pray and feel Him asking me to lift my hands and declare His presence over this entire Island. I forget that people passing by may see a hand rising up over the bank. I am overwhelmed every time I come here by His beauty, His peace, and the way His grace crashes over me like the waves hitting the rocks. I let my feet dangle dangerously close to getting wet by the incoming sporadic waves. I am sure I feel the waves consuming me. They pull out the old self and she is taken out to sea. Each wave that hits the shore is another layer of my heart being washed by His grace. Wave after wave our city is being revived in Him.

I breathe You in, God and I can barely hold still, I feel You bursting inside of me. I pray again "Come and flood this place". Those words seem only to hold more power each time I say them. I marvel at how my life can even be used by you, and how you yourself have made me into something that you can overtake and possess. A vessel in your hands. I was cast off, rebellious, broken, dirty, and dark. Your arms pulled me in tenderly and your strength alone upholds me here before your throne where I can murmur a few words for my city. I feel so small before you, so utterly small, yet somehow you have built up my walls, I feel that my prayers are actually loosing something over this place. What if we all gathered, small before you, and asked you to flood this place like a storm?

I day dream about an army standing on the shores, broken people undone before the King, crying out for His Kingdom to invade the cost lands. They are rising up. I shout across the shores "Wake up!" I feel your people coming out of hiding to intercede for the nations. We will call them to come home. There is an army rising up. Banners wave in the sky as people choose who they are going to serve.

I am reminded of a few months ago when you asked me to raise a banner over my household, to take spiritual authority and to raise a banner that blows in the wind and waves the name of Jesus over our home. I remember when you asked me to symbolically raise up that banner, to declare the authority of Christ over our roof, and to watch salvation fall in our home. I did it, not fully understanding what it meant, and yet to see the fulfillment, it too is coming up over the shores in the waves.

Now looking over the land at the rooftops and I can almost see it with my physical eye, but more so in my spirit, red flags raised up over chosen homes that say Jesus is Lord. Red-marked by His blood, His Kingship. I call out ask say "Lift up your banners! Let His name be your strength. Let Him mark you for battle." So that's what this is. It is preparation for battle. I feel like a race horse being kept back behind a bar, waiting for the gunshot so all my stored energy can spur me forth, a freedom fighter. He strips away all the armor I thought I would need, He tells me to let go. Freedom is the armor needed for the battle of the Lord. Here on these rocks, downtown, people passing by, He has taken me away to discuss the battle, to prepare me, to wash over me with grace. Why would I ever want to be anywhere else, and how in the world am I meeting with God. Who am I that He should even be mindful of me? Yet I feel what He is showing me is that we are not nothing, we are actually His instruments and until we see ourselves as Precious to Him we cannot be used in battle. We are actually sons and daughters of the King. How is that even possible. Heaven cries out, voices declaring the worth of the Lamb. It is all about Him. That truth goes deeper and my eyes well up with tears of reverence. Two years ago I would have been bored at the name of Jesus, broken hearted, I wouldn't have thought of Him once a week. How can it be that He now consumes my every thought. He is unrelenting. An hour of meaningless thought and I am homesick. He told me something about this, that I can only love Him in response to how aware I am that He loves me. His love for me is what compels me to love Him back. He first loved us. So my heart cries "I love you", but my souls sings and I rejoice knowing that the Uncreated God said it first. Jesus the Bridegroom said I love you first. I change my I love you, to an I love you too. How humbling, and freeing, I love Him more now than before only because I see how much He loves us as His children.

I look one last time at the water and like the waves against the shore His love has moved deeper into my heart yet again. Refreshing cool, healing salt water. As I stand I say, "Come Lord Jesus come" .
Revival is coming, like a wave over our cost lands, like a tidal wave. First comes the healing oil, then comes the Kingdom. Our island will be shaken until only that which cannot be shaken remains. I see depression rates declining, empty hospital beds, churches become the place of healing, the name of Jesus will bring people of every age to tears, reverence and worship will pour out of our mouths and we will be sent out to bring the broken nations home to their First Love. PEI will be a place for the lost to be found, a place for the orphans to be loved, for the widows to be restored. Let us rise up, anointed by God, and proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.

Martina Sobey

Grief and Glory

Rain coat, purse, sweater, boots, grocery bags, I peel off and set down the heavy layers of this day. One hair pin at a time I let free the strands that were held back, tight in place, controlled. One step at a time I enter into my room, each step bringing me closer to the Sanctuary that waits for me. Every layer I shed, every bag I let free, every pin I remove, I am getting lighter and lighter. The day, the duties, the work, the routine, all becomes nothing as I aim for my quiet place, sights set on a mark, determined to get there without distraction. Clothes put away, books neatly stacked, laundry piled high, I'm coming. I whisper to Him knowing He waits for this time of day we spend together in silence. I begin to write, entering into something new, something mysterious. The adventure of finding Him and going deeper makes my heart come alive. The black sunken lines under my eyes and the drowsiness of not enough sleep are overcome by His breath, His life. Eyes shinning, heart pounding. His Presence enthralls me, calls me closer, and I am home.

Heaven becomes more tangible than earth and when I open my eyes and peek at my room it is but a shadow of where I spend my time with Him. Everything is so dim around me so I close my eyes again. I feel the lump in my throat, the longing I feel for Him, the hunger for more, for closeness. Homesick.

There is a cost for closeness, I often hear people say that. The prophetic voice often speaks those words. They ring true today. In the preciousness of this moment with Him, in the absolute closeness, almost oneness, I know this moment is not easy. These times in His presence are not cheap. Certainly not for Him, paying with His life, the cross, blood shed for me. But the closeness has not been cheap for me either. The worth of where I am is proven by the emptiness I now feel in the world, the way now nothing else can satisfy.

When He called, He said take up your cross to follow me. I think the difference between knowing of Him, and meeting Him has meant a cross to bear. I have known about Him, and His name almost my whole life. I have always talked to Him, I have years of prayer journals, Bible verses. Head knowledge. But I only met Him like this when I got down on a knee, stuck out my shoulder and hoisted my cross up, weighing me down, to begin the walk. As he brings me to the end of myself the joy and hope from heaven come to me in such fullness. The lower I go and the closer I get to Calvary, the higher I feel in my spirit and the more of Him I see. So there is suffering, and a true death to self, a putting off of the old man as Paul names it. I think I was fooled into thinking this death of self, this forsaking of my flesh would be easy. Like a click of a button or a silent prayer repeated, completed in a moment.

The world sells me the lie that we can stay the same and add Christ into our hearts and then die and go to heaven. I do not buy it. I instead sell back to the world my total self. I want nothing to do with it. I want an emptied out shell filled with Him. He will not let me settle without this fullness.

So in what feels like such a rich time of worship before the Throne, as I feel His heart minister to mine. I also feel the grief of letting go of a life, of a world.

They say letting go of everything is not needed, that a loving God gives good gifts and that sacrifice and surrender are extreme. But His word comes alive and His truth is light in all the dark places. As I move into eternal life, knowing Him, I let go of the things easily entangling and distracting, I press on. As I do two things happen.

First there is a grief, a loneliness. A sense that I do not belong in this place, that all is folly. Conversations feel foolish if they do not involve Him. My heart seems to forsake all else and only accept His Spirit. My eyes are fixed above and the earth appears so dim. Almost depressing. There is a boredom with the things passing away, and an enemies voice that says the rest of the world has more joy. I know that "joy" he speaks of is actually fleeting beauty so I let go. With grief, I let go of what has taken years to build up; pride, reputation, greed, loyalty, connection with the world. I unclench my fists and feel all my hard work become nothing. I feel the loss of friendships, of memories, and I feel the weight of what I am loosing. But I know, I know, what I am about to step into, this eternal life, far surpasses the worth of the most precious things the world could offer me. No longer of the world, I feel the sting of it. Accepting a new life, a new self, I feel how incompatible this new being is with my old life. They do not match. I ask for the Grace to know how to be alive in one world, when the Air I breathe comes from another.

Second though, in the midst of grief for a lost world, a dim vastness, there is a peace that surpassing all knowledge. There is a closeness to Him that comes only at this cost, only by forsaking self. There is a joy that may not be obvious in the midst of the world, in sinful conversations, but a joy that cannot be shaken. A joy that lights my eyes. While I may be quiet and withdrawn as the world excites itself over weekend stories, Internet fads, and sarcastic humor, I come alive in the secret places where the world feels afraid. When I am alone, without anything to distract myself with, I feel real, I used to be afraid here. But now this is my greatest source of Life. I may be perceived as one who cannot have fun, who won't let go, who is a law keeper, a rule follower. But in the secret place, like now, I break all my rules to seek Him out. I am recklessly in love. I skip class to be here. I blow off my friends, cancel my plans. Like a child who enters into a secret fort in the woods, He is my Refuge, my Fortress.

So while there is grief in the beginning, and a letting go, there is something new as well. Something I cannot describe. There is light, fullness, a sense of heaven, a closeness to Him that I did not have until I experienced the grief of denying self. Grief is dark, and lonely, but this grief is forgotten. This darkness fades and quickly passes in light of His glory. This grieving is but three days in the darkness of crucifixion, and this Glory is a lifetime of resurrections.

I feel Him inviting us to take up our cross, to bend a knee, bow to the Name above all names, free up a shoulder, and walk the walk worthy of His name. I feel Him pouring out His loving-kindness, His compassion, His gentleness, His Patience, so that we are strengthened to surrender. I feel the fullness of Glory overcoming any grief we experience when we let go of this world, compelled by our love for Him. And I feel an army of cross-bearers rising up into the heavenly places to win the lost for Jesus Christ.

Martina Sobey