Where is your voice when you need it?

   I lost my voice! Overnight it disappeared. I know I keep misplacing things and often have to retrace my steps to recover lost items. But my voice!
   And it happened about six hours before I was scheduled to preach to my writer colleagues at The Word Writers Getaway.
   Sunday morning, I woke at at 3 am . While trying to clear a tickle in my throat, I noticed my voice was missing. I expected it would come right back.
   As I'm lying in the dark waiting for my voice to return from its unapproved leave, God starts telling me what to say at the service. You get the idea - tear up your notes and start again. In this instance it was new thoughts saying, 'Move over ideas and make room. Let me in.'
   'God, in case you haven't noticed, I've lost my voice.'
   But God seemed unconcerned about my dilemma and continued to give me things He wanted shared.
   5 am. I manage to dress without waking hubby and drive to the beach. Voice is still AWOL. The sun rises behind a bank of cloud and colours my world in golds, pinks and mauves. I sit on a rock ledge with the waves lapping at my feet and worship God silently. I wait for the miracle - for my voice to return with an apology for being absent.
    5.45 am I preach to the seagulls in a whisper. Usually, when preparing to preach I pray, 'Lord please anoint me to preach your message.' Then I open my mouth and listen to see what God has to say.
   That morning, neither I nor the seagulls could hear a thing! But I preached anyway. I am very stubborn when it comes to doing what I believe God has asked me to do.
   6.30 am. I start to walk the beach, the deserted section so no one will think I'm crazy. And I worship God with all that is me. But there is no voice to lift up. So I offer a sacrifice of whisper to my King.  By then I had activated my intercessors by text message and I knew they were fighting on my behalf. It was about 7 am before the worship turned to a crinkle and then a crackle. When I returned for breakfast at 7.30, I could converse a little with those I met.
   My new friend Amanda led worship. It was wonderful. I couldn't sing but I could add a cackle of worship to the gathered voices.
   I stood to speak. First word was silent. I cleared my voice giving me time to yell, 'God! HELP!'

   Then I could squeak. But the microphone amplified the squeak and I delivered the message that God asked me to deliver. My voice spoke for about 45 mins and then it disappeared. But what did that matter? I had done His bidding. I didn't need to talk again. And I didn't for three days.
   On the way home that afternoon, I sat in the car with my husband and watched the ocean. I felt exhausted.
   So I whispered the question. 'Is it worth the fight? Did my croaked words achieve anything? Or was I just a silenced gong and a croaking cymbal?'
   And the Lord whispered, 'My Word shall not return to me void.'
So I'm content. God whispers too!

Communicating with a new generation

My fingers fly across the keys. Backspace...backspace. I try the keys again. This time the few words are intelligible, if not accurate.
But speed is the essence.
As long as she knows what I'm saying in my message, it is enough.
I'm in a new age. I'm pastoring on line. Over the years I've pastored people in groups, over coffee and in long telephone conversations. I've learned that two people can gather together on the phone, even in different states, and there is God, right in the midst. As we have agreed in prayer, holding handsets instead of hands, I've seen miracles, healings and people set free.
But this last week or so I've been chatting on line, listening to the deep pain of wounded hearts. For the first time I have typed prayers, instructing invisible, silent friends to pray them aloud. Or I have challenged their questionable decisions and argued for wisdom as my husband has sat beside me and prayed for victory. And I have seen, or should I say, heard of little victories. I know my love has taken wings and entered homes that my arms can't access, but my messages can.
Why don't I ditch the computer, jump in my car, and pastor properly?  Well, in some cases I don't have addresses or phone numbers. These precious people can accept my love on a screen, but fear the intimacy of contact. Their shame, however false, causes them to fear rejection.

This is their language, whether we agree or not. And there, where two or three of us are gathered together on line, Christ is with us.
And I'm excited to be part of this phenomenon. I'm sure Jesus, too, would have pounded the keyboard to reach the lost and lonely. With one big difference. His typing would be more accurate then mine!

A Bucket List - It's there somewhere

   Tonight, as I go to bed, the door labelled 'Sixty-two' is right in my face. Whether I like it or not, the turnstile of life will open that door tomorrow and I'l enter the sixty-third year of my life. So, I pause to assess my life. Am I on goal? What have I achieved? Where am I going?
   Often I hear people ticking off another item on their 'bucket list', but personally I've never written 'the twenty things I want to do before I die'. I agree with bucket lists in principle. Visions and goals are very important. They help keep us focussed and on task.
   As I'm beginning to understand my life here one earth will one day come to and end, I've been considering this matter.
   I've been  on a mission trip in South Korea, revival in Florida, conference on Long Island and stood open-mouthed in Times Square New York. I've driven across the Golden gate bridge in San Francisco and walked the beaches on Hawaii. Yet none of these things were on my list. I've driven the great Ocean Road and watched the fairy penguins on Philip Island, explored Victoria and luxuriated in Port Douglas. I've watched babies being birthed, officiated at a wedding and written a book. I've lived life beyond what I could ask dream or even imagine! All this without my goals written on the wall.
   Why don't I have a bucket list, I wondered? And I realised that my list is written in my heart.
   What do I want to achieve before I die? What is at the top of my list? It hasn't changed since 1995. The closer I walk toward it, the bigger it gets. It burns in me like a fire that, in a way, is never satisfied. Will I ever be able to reach the goal?
   It started simply. I was in a chapel service one day. God asked me to preach His message. We went through the usual process that goes something like this
   Who are you talking to God? Me? Can't be? Are you joking? You're not! You can't be serious! You     know me. I've can't speak well and I have a voice like a foghorn with a cold. Me preach? I don't think so...
   But God always wins arguments. He does with me anyway.
   As I emerge from the chapel, trying to repair my face, a lady waylays me. 'God gave me this! It is for you'.
She handed me a poem that described me preaching. The fire was lit. Every year it burns stronger. Preaching the word of God satisfies me like food.

   Climbing the Eiffel Tower, taking a cruise in Alaska, or flying over the South Pole would be fantastic, but If had to choose between those and preaching God's love, hope and healing to people across my nation and beyond...let me preach any day.  
   Why? Do I want the attention and the platform? No! As I said at the beginning, I'm an old lady! But I love to see lives changed, people healed and released from years of emotional pain. I want everyone to experience the amazing love of God.
   Yes, it's my birthday and I'm excited. There is another sparkling new year in front of me that is full of unimagined adventures to fill my bucket to the brim. Yes, I'm a lucky girl.

I want what I want and I want it now!

   She stood to her full height. 'I don't want my birthday to be 'next', and I don't want it to be 'soon'.' She glared at me, tossing her long blonde hair.
   I was confused.  'When do you want your birthday to be, Honey?'
   I knew when her birthday was, and I also knew the day wouldn't be changing to suit her, but I find a little active listening works much better than an argument.
   'I want it to be NOW!'
   'Why do you want it now?'
   'Cause it Braydens' birthday tomorrow and Shi's the next day.' She struggling to hold back the tears. 'I want it to be mine.'
   I could sympathise with her. Waiting is hard to do, for anyone, especially for a little girl who is about to turn five.
   I have a T-shirt that says "I want what I want and I want it now!" I found it in a local store the day before I was preaching on revival. It perfectly summed up my sermon and my emotions.
   A couple of weeks ago, while preaching on breakthrough I nailed my colours to the wall. 'I'm sick of prophetic words telling me that revival is coming to South East Queensland. I don't want to hear any more.'
   I want what I want and I want it now. I've waited long enough. I've heard enough promises. We have the word of God. I want action and I want it NOW.
   About six years ago, I attended a conference where Apostle Barbara Yoder was speaking. What an inspiring woman of God.
   Her eyes challenged us from the platform. 'How many more generations are you going to allow to pass, before you Aussies fulfil Smith Wiggleworth's prophetic words over this nation. Will you be generation that rises up and makes revival happen in Australia.'
   I was challenged. Until that revelation, I was waiting passively to see what God was going to do. Since then I've been hungry - hungry for a mighty move of God. What am I going to do about it? I've given the rest of my life to God for revival.
   Why do I want revival? Same reason as Miss 'Soon to be Five' wants a birthday. Excitement, action and most of all - presents!

   Why do I expect revival to bring me presents? What wonderful surprises am I waiting for? I want to see people set free! Free from the bondage of addiction, hopelessness  depression, grief and sickness. I want to see broken families restored, cancer wards closed, gambling cease, prostitutes released and prisoner set free. No, I'm not dreaming the impossible. The power of God and the presence of Jesus, in the midst of us, will change people's hearts, break their anger and selfishness and renew our nation.    
   History confirms it. Prophecy predicts it. I expect it.

   As I said, 'I don't want revival 'next' or 'soon'. I want it NOW.'

Pink is the new red

    It was very exciting. This day was her very first sports day. She had been to many similiar events and cheered as her sisters won ribbon after ribbon. At last it was her turn. Today was her day.This was her kindy sports day
   There was only one problem. She was on the red team.
   Red was okay. She didn't mind, but she didn't own any red t-shirts. So Mum had loaned a shirt from her teacher. But it was branded with the word Kindy. Everyone would know it wasn't hers. There was no time to get to the shops, but Mum had a plan. This morning they were going to visit friends who had lots of red shirts and she could have one of theirs.
   But they were all too big! So many shirts, but they were for school kids and she was still a kindy kid. On the way home and she tried to listen to her Mum's gentle persuasion that the kindy shirt would be fine.
Her big sister helped her put it on. It was massive. Not too big like the others, but massive. It was all too hard for her to bear.
   'I'm not going! I hate sports days. I'm staying home all day!'
   She retreated under her bed, right to the wall where she felt safe. Where noone could laugh at her. Where there was no chance of not winning. Her sisters always won. Now she was ugly and a loser. The agony was just too much and her tears pooled onto the floor.
   'Maybe the kindy has a smaller t-shirt.' Mum always had an answer, but Mum had to work and couldn't go. Who would ask?
   'I'll talk to your teacher.' Big sisters were close to mothers, but never quite the same. She contemplated the idea.
   Mum found a big red ribbon and reluctantly she emerged to have it tied in her hair.
   Grandma tried to adjust the big shirt. It was disgusting! She took it off and searched for something else to wear until she got to kindy. In the drawer they found an old pink shirt. It matched her shorts and her cap. It was the right size. Maybe she could manage. She took a deep breathe and put it on and marched to the car.
    No one noticed. Pink is faded red really. She knew that. She wasn't wearing blue or green or yellow. She lined up with the red team and marched into the day. She even won the three legged race, until they swapped partners and tried again and then she managed to say, 'Good run,' just as Mum had taught her.
   It was such fun. And everyone won. And she was presented with a gold medal, like every other kid.
Go home? No, she didn't want to go home. She wanted to stay. Ah, yes. Miss Four loved sports day.

Some weeks feel like blah

   Thank God for the challenging weeks! As Steve said the other day, some weeks seem to blend into blaahhh. There is that sense that one has survived, rather than thrived, stayed alive rather than contributed to the on going good of either society as a whole or the fulfilment of our personal plans.

   Is that the truth? Or is it an emotional perception that pervades our thinking and we start to believe the niggling thought that we are just a waste of space?
   Or is there a reason for those times when we feel unproductive and unsuccessful?
   We measure production and success on things achieved. We are, after all, a product of the twenty-first century where great achievement is measured in gold medals, rising share prices or 'A's on a report card. 
   Yet we as people we quickly dump our 'stars' when the media discloses some impropriety. We don't even bother to check if the story is true. We don't allow for the pressure that our adulation has caused, or the fact that they are now living daily in a reality TV show environment, caused by our fascination. 
   We jump up and down on our couches in front of our wide screens and complain about the standard they are setting for our kids. We condemn their loss of control as we bellow at our kids because we are too lazy to lever our own bodies up and walk the length of the hall to relate to our family members.
   Jesus said something about exposing the splinter in the other's eye, whilst ignoring the plank in our own. We don't mean to ignore it. We just don't even realise it is there.
   But I digress.
   What is success? As a Christian, how do I measure success? I don't believe that God meant for us to live under such a hard task master as that which we place upon our own shoulders.
   We look back on a week where I have spent much time sitting in my chair due to a back problem and Steve has seen doors closing, rather than opening. Is that a wasted week? 
   I must take time to look for the flecks of gold among the dust and debris. And I see many flecks. One friend has reported complete freedom from pain after I prayed, on the phone, for the stabbing pain in her shoulders. And today I sat and held hands with an old friend that I've seen rarely in the last 25 years and listened as she poured out her struggles. I've spend the afternoon with some of my grand-kids, sat with another friend who is house bound. As I dig deeper, I've appreciated the comforts of my home which I so often take for granted and I've been reminded what a great hubby I have as he did hours of ironing!
   But what about the 'to do' lists that aren't done? The clients that haven't signed up? The person that I missed  caring for?
   Firmly, I remind myself that my task is to forget what lies behind and press onward to my calling. My first task is to worship the King of Kings, to go after His Kingdom and then everything else falls into place.
   Yes, I'm glad I remembered that. I feel better now.

The Bud Takes a Risk

I love the quote, by Anais Nin

“And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

It caused me to think ….

When a bud is closed tight, it is protected from the wind and rain.  Its delicate petals and stamens are enclosed, safe from harm, bundled up tight and secure. But the pressure is building!  Some thing is pushing them, one against the other and gossip is that at the top of the bud, the protective case has split and some of the petals are being pushed out!

Some of the petals shimmered in excitement at the prospect of being free, of being able to move as they wished, of greeting the ‘Sun’ that they had heard so much about.  Others were more cautious – fearing unnecessary change!  Now the report had come back from the top petals that the sun was dulled, and they were being battered by the wind.  They were trying to get back in the bud – and all that was doing was increasing the split – and other petals were exposed.

One big petal was very quiet in all the ensuing discussion!  He knew he was close to the Sun now. He had waited so long! He pushed up and out with all his might.  He could see the split just above him now! 

He determined to try again. ‘I must get a glimpse!’  So he focussed and tried again.  He pushed and pushed and the pressure was too much for the bud and it split down the side.  The petal turned his eyes outward.  What wonder! What fresh air!  The smells! The perfume!  The possibilities!  The freedom!

 “It is wonderful, just wonderful!” He yelled to the petals behind him, Urging the to follow.  “Come on!  Let’s show the world how beautiful we are!”

“But, the risk!” The other petals weren’t sure. “Let’s stay here – it is more comfortable now the bud is split!”

Just then a little voice was heard outside.  “Daddy, come quick.  The bud is opening!!  Look at the beautiful colour!”  

“Can you smell the perfume?”

“No, Daddy, no smell!”

 “You will be able to smell it when all the petals are open.  It will be wonderful.”

The petals were all quiet for a few moments.  Suddenly they understood!  To bloom would eventually cost them everything.  But to bloom is what they were created for.  To remain a bud and die on the vine was unthinkable.  

“We must bloom.  We must all push together.  We must be the best, most attractive bloom.  Then the bees will come and sup with us, and though we die we will actually live forever!”

PS  A week later a satisfied petal lay under the vine, blown against the fence.  His colour was fading, but his perfume was still strong.  They had done well.  The little girl had admired them everyday – but more importantly they had opened themselves completely to the Sun – and the bees had come.  And as he looked up to the vine, even now he could see the swelling, just below the last few petals, that spoke of fruit, with its promise of new life.  Near him on the ground was a bud – it had never opened itself to the Sun.  The vine had dropped it to the ground as useless.  How sad to have never experienced the Sun – to never have reached fulfilment!  How thankful he was that the big petal had the vision and courage to lead them out!