Just Assume it’s Poisonous

This is much awaited, I am sure. Amidst being situated in a house with 11 other girls, going to lectures, fulfilling work duties, and seeking the Lord in an environment I am most foreign to...some of my good intentions fall to the wayside. This blog being such an intention that I would like to see realized.

I find myself often wondering if I could truly abandon myself to such a lifestyle. The past two weeks we were involved in a prayer seminar. Anxiously I have anticipated these two weeks unaware of the cost. I have never been so tired, so emotionally spent, so soaked in prayer, worship, and praise. Every morning, afternoon, and evening we were being taught and exhorted in the area of prayer and worship. When I wanted to pray, I was asked to pray. When it was too early to pray, I was asked to pray; when my body wanted to lay down and “check-out” I was asked to pray. When I thought I was done praying I was challenged to pray more. When I wanted to eat I was urged to pray. Is this what Paul said when he exclaimed, “Pray without ceasing!” and “Pray for ALL men.” I prayed when my prayer was, “Lord I cannot pray anymore.” And even this, this was not even the beginning of the challenge. This section of the blog is dedicated to praising the Lord. Holy, Holy, Holy is He...and thus began the battle...

Waking up every morning at 5:30 so as to be able to take a shower before 11 other girls filter into the bathroom is a challenge. Waking up early to have time with the Lord, also a challenge (in the back of my mind always lurks many excuses as to why I do not need to have a quiet time in the morning seeing as every activity throughout the day will be directly linked to the Lord, but my heart knows better). With more impatience than an alarm clock, my heart beckons me out of bed. Praying when I am tired is one thing because I can pray, “Lord, I am tired.” Now praising, praising the Lord is a completely separate ordeal. It is the great separation of self and Spirit. Praising is so other than my being, so other than everything my flesh binds me to. During these days, these hours, I sought Psalm after Psalm for guidance. I diligently read them and prayed the words that were fearfully composed onto paper, “Praise the Lord, my heart praises the Lord”, “Sing praises to the Lord”, “The Lord is good, my soul will Praise Him”. During worship when I wanted to mentally retreat into daydreams and thoughts about the future, even lunch, I was exhorted, “Thank the Lord for His character” and after what seemed many long mornings spent speaking out His character our evenings were laced with the same exhortation, “Thank the Lord for His character. Speak out who He is.” And when I thought, surely I have spoken all that I can, all that I know about His character we were called back at night to gather and thank the Lord again, praise His name, for He is Holy. If I can praise the Lord when I am tired I truly believe it will prepare for the time when I will have to praise the Lord in the midst of such remarkable heart ache and loss.
Wednesday... this is the love of the Lord. After dinner as we are entering into another time of teaching and praising some music played in the background and a few girls and I started to dance. Worship became a huge dance party with everyone smiling and throwing a most wonderful dance party for the Lord. He is so much fun and He gives rest to the weary, even in the form of a dance party!

After two weeks, Friday night arrives with much anticipation. I remember kneeling in a most reverent position softly asking the Lord for relief and He, who is most gentle, encouraged me that this is not a 2 week seminar but this is now my life. Everything in me agreed with His words - this tiredness was most rewarding and I want to always be praying like this, always be praising. So on Saturday morning when I woke up at noon, which I NEVER do, looking forward to embracing the weekend with idleness... I braced my mind and chose to continue pray and praise in a manner worthy of the Lord.

So it is. With words that do my experience little justice I send this to you all hoping it is an encouragement. And for those of you who want to take a nap after reading this may it be so because I want to sleep after recalling the experience!

All Pedestrians: Please Beware of Vehicles

To introduce this blog to the thoughts that stir in my mind and play on my heart I have decided I would take excerpts from journal entries of the past weeks. Here is my glimpse....

Now this...this is surreal. This journal, which is my companion at Starbucks and Barnes and Noble in beautiful Colorado Springs currently sits atop a caramel marble tabletop owned by D’Bella Coffee Shop planted directly across the Townsville beach, known to the community as The Strand.

The coffee here is rich with flavor that most writers describe coffee as having and foam that reminds me of a mix between a marshmallow and a cloud.

The stars are different, the feel of my skin is different, even the way I hear music is different. My Lord is the same, we travel together and He whispers He loves me the same...in the gentle, creative ways my heart seeks for.

His kindnesses make their grand appearances daily: I just had a sip of my Australian coffee and after removing the smooth glass from my weeping lips the marshmallow cloud foam now has the mark of a heart within its glass home. He loves deep, continuously creating.

I'm used to hearing Damien Rice paired with the chattering voices of Starbucks and now his voice is accompanied by wild birds and the Australian wind which comes with much anticipation carrying the salt from the ocean and landing in my hair, on my lips. It is the same song, same melodies, same artist, yet my ears hear it differently.
The importance and glory of His character, which is never changing, now have a new brilliance in my mind.

Lectures have proved to stretch me greatly, continuously I am seeking His voice and to my astonishment He is ALWAYS answering, ALWAYS speaking...

This psalm I cannot let go from my mind. It plays over and over again. My heart and mind as two lovers dancing together asking the DJ to play their song one more time. I recite the psalm and dance too:


Psalm 104
Bless the LORD, O my soul!
O LORD my God, You are very great;
You are clothed with splendor and majesty,
Covering Yourself with light as with a cloak,
Stretching out heaven like a tent curtain.
He lays the beams of His upper chambers in the waters;
He makes the clouds His chariot;
He walks upon the wings of the wind;
He makes the winds His messengers,
Flaming fire His ministers.
He established the earth upon its foundations,
So that it will not totter forever and ever.
You covered it with the deep as with a garment;
The waters were standing above the mountains.
At Your rebuke they fled,
At the sound of Your thunder they hurried away.
The mountains rose; the valleys sank down
To the place which You established for them.
You set a boundary that they may not pass over,
So that they will not return to cover the earth.
He sends forth springs in the valleys;
They flow between the mountains;
They give drink to every beast of the field;
The wild donkeys quench their thirst.
Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell;
They lift up their voices among the branches.
He waters the mountains from His upper chambers;
The earth is satisfied with the fruit of His works.
He causes the grass to grow for the cattle,
And vegetation for the labor of man,
So that he may bring forth food from the earth,
And wine which makes man's heart glad,
So that he may make his face glisten with oil,
And food which sustains man's heart.
The trees of the LORD drink their fill,
The cedars of Lebanon which He planted,
Where the birds build their nests,
And the stork, whose home is the fir trees.
The high mountains are for the wild goats;
The cliffs are a refuge for the shephanim.
He made the moon for the seasons;
The sun knows the place of its setting.
You appoint darkness and it becomes night,
In which all the beasts of the forest prowl about.
The young lions roar after their prey
And seek their food from God.
When the sun rises they withdraw
And lie down in their dens.
Man goes forth to his work
And to his labor until evening.
O LORD, how many are Your works!
In wisdom You have made them all;
The earth is full of Your possessions.
There is the sea, great and broad,
In which are swarms without number,
Animals both small and great.
There the ships move along,
And Leviathan, which You have formed to sport in it.
They all wait for You
To )give them their food in [g]due season.
You give to them, they gather it up;
You open Your hand, they are satisfied with good.
You hide Your face, they are dismayed;
You take away their spirit, they expire
And return to their dust.
You send forth Your Spirit, they are created;
And You renew the face of the ground.
Let the glory of the LORD endure forever;
Let the LORD be glad in His works;
He looks at the earth, and it trembles;
He touches the mountains, and they smoke.
I will sing to the LORD as long as I live;
I will sing praise to my God while I have my being.
Let my meditation be pleasing to Him;
As for me, I shall be glad in the LORD.
Let sinners be consumed from the earth
And let the wicked be no more
Bless the LORD, O my soul
Praise the LORD!

My life has been one of great change for me. I live in a basement with 12 other girls. This basement was quickly furnished just weeks before we arrived. We have one shower, one refrigerator (which becomes increasingly full), and one washer. After washing our clothes we hang them on the line to dry. All dishes are hand washed.

I was in shock upon first arriving yet it has now become my home and it is the people in this shanty basement that makes me proud of what the Lord has given! I have often wondered what it would be like to live as this for the rest of my life – without the finer things. Surprisingly, I know that I could live like this for the true gifts (fellowship, quietness, serving, receiving, hearing, praying, worshiping) become illuminated as all other “gifts” (money, a nice wardrobe, a car, air conditioning) lose their potency. Nothing compares to hearing the voice of the Lord (not that one needs to be in a basement to do so), nothing compares to living with a group of women who share the same heart for the hurting and the social injustices of the world, nothing compares to kneeling down with someone you have only known for 4 weeks and petitioning the Lord for healing, for blessing, for His presence. My heart falls in love daily with the simplicity of life, the clarity of mind.

May we move forward to encourage one another, to draw near to Him, to usher in the Kingdom of Heaven,
Amen

Heaps, Love, and Rubbish - the ways of Australia

Over-stimulated.

This would be my word to describe the past week. Exactly a week ago today I landed in Townsville and have hit the ground running ever since. Writing, which is a deep passion of mine, has been on hold as I have not found the time nor the words to explain everything I am experiencing.

So far, I thoroughly enjoy the girls and leaders I have gotten to know a bit. Everyone here is so encouraging and pursuing holiness with a fierceness that I desire to have. The Lord draws ever near with each day; this week has been a week of reminders – reminder of His love, of His grace, of His call on my life. It is good to be reminded, so good to be loved by Him.

I am dealing with questions and struggles while being here that I did not think I would face. Hurts from my past have already come up and the reoccurring question, “Am I willing to obey in all aspects of my life to follow His call?” is daily on my mind. Missions are not for the weak, I hear that a lot. I would say being on the mission field is a constant reminder of who I truly am without Christ’s blood: how weak, how unable, how messy, and selfish. It is like carrying a mirror around with me everywhere I go that has my flesh displayed to everyone, a most humbling experience. And this is why I draw near to God, for I would be utterly crushed under the weight of all that I am without Him, brokenness and abandonment to self feels unfeasible and so my clingy hand is courageously before Him at all times, “More Lord, More Abba. I need more of You.” I am in tears as I break my week down into moment by moment.

7 days. 7 days of tears. 7 days of weakening. 7 days of bewilderment. 7 days of doubt. 7 days of drawing near. It has only been 7 days….

Thank you for your prayers as I have more confidence in your prayers than I will ever be able to express….

Leather bound books that contain much more than their binding will ever admit...

4 months I think….I’m to uninterested to go and actually count but apparently amused enough to mention that it has been approx 4 months since posting in this blog.

I have taken a much fought against hiatus from writing…like some kind of liquidation sale on my thoughts and heart – everything has got to go!! Journaling, poetry, blogging,..I wish I could say that I chose to give-up writing and just incubate (or as a dear friend would say, ruminate) on the art of writing, but this was not my choice. It felt as if it had just left me, at one point I was a writer and now I am not…

I think I suspect what the Lord might be up to; it has only take 4 months (approx). I read now, everything. Not just Christian books or non-fiction books…EVERYTHING. I think it is amazing some of the writers I have read (Thoreau, Milton, Oliver), it amazes me that the Lord would be so gracious to grant such amazing talent to people who were/are proclaimed atheists.

Anyway, I came upon this book about a month ago called Reading Like a Writer and another concerning the books and poems that every writer should read. I have realized that my inability to write has probably been because of my lack of knowledge, I have hit a wall and explored and in a sense “mastered” what little I already knew about writing. And the little that I have learned truly is modest, not to be confused with insignificant. Mostly, what it looks like to just pick up a pen and turn my emotions/never-ending thoughts/contemplations into words. And then once I realized how to do that I tried to train myself in how to organize and make sense of the words I wrote. And that is as far as I have come and now I have stopped. There is so so much more to writing and even more so concerning the art of reading and now I have become like a little book worm desiring to know EVERYTHING. I mean, it is incredible to me that Fydor Dotstoevsky sat down in the 1800s and wrote a book called Crime and Punishment and people in the 21st century have great interest in what this man had to say. Why? What did he say? How did he say? Why did he choose the characters he did to communicate his point? With what ethical and spiritual vantage point were the lenses he peered through?

I can say that I have been aware of these aspects of writing, but not skilled. I am a detective without a microscope: I know what should be sought after but I do not have the tools necessary to continue the search…

On another note, I am currently reading Henry David Thoreau’s writings, namely Waldon and Civil Disobedience. I cannot wait to get more into the latter work because this essay, which he wrote while sitting in jail, is one that influenced Ghandi and Martin Luther King Jr greatly…and our world has experienced the fruit of it.

I have a lot to say about Thoreau, not all of it good. He seemed like quite a pessimist who did not like people and was happy to die alone pushing away every single one of his friends.

Anyway, the reason I bring up Thoreau is because he said something that I have long chewed on concerning the definition of a poet, “(A poet) is a poet first in what he did and next in what he wrote” (15). –The Portable Thoreau

AND:

“The poet’s noblest work, Thoreau added as a corollary, was his life; and his poetry would grow out of his life. But the poetry would never be as important as his life” (21).

Cheers!

Hemmingway, Picasso, and Chatwin

Wow...the first entry in my new blog. Surely it is expected to be quite epic. You know grab the reader so they keep on reading. I doubt any of my blogs will be so ethereal. I guess it depends on the reader, but I so selfishly am most concerned about what the writer thinks (me), that's why I started this blog. Not for you...but me.

Today I bought a Moleskine journal. It is my first amongst my many journals. The front of this unopened journal reads the teasing words, "The legendary notebook of Hemmingway, Picasso, and Chatwin." Does this speak of hope for poor writers or did Moleskine feel it of importance that I be informed?! I secretly want it to be a promise. Maybe one day it will read Hemmingway, Picasso, Chatwin, AND Mullins...but actually not Mullins. I would be much more content if they use my husband’s last name. Although I will probably have no say in it because I will be dead but I will have arrived-ha!


No more about Moleskine...the journal taunts me as it sets in front of me. I can no longer blog, I must write. My thoughts and heart belong to those pages and to my Lord. This blog can have some of them:)