He Calls Me Gem

Today marks the day my Dad died, 9 years ago. I was always ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’. He wasn’t perfect (because who is?!), but he was my hero, and I admired, respected, and loved him immeasurably. Since a child, I fretted and cried thinking about the day he would die and if I would be able to handle it. I began praying when I was a child that God would help and comfort me when the dreaded day should come. I didn’t know he would only be 55, and I would only be 31.

It was God’s grace that my heart could be full (one last time) as I spoke with him the morning of the last day that his heart would beat. I called him on the phone since we live many provinces away. I remember we spoke about my brother who was having a rough time in life and had currently been undergoing a strained relationship with him, and my Dad’s expressed love for his son, and his unshakeable confidence that he would return to the Lord. He teased me about being like one of the women he casually and lovingly adopted as his own daughter who lived nearby. I told him about my ultrasound that week and the suspect that I may be carrying twins. We laughed (because you just didn’t talk to Dad without also having a few laughs, even if, no especially if, there were also tears), and we chatted. As always, bringing our conversation to a close and saying goodbye was hard. We always said, “I love you.” Always.

When I was a young child, probably 7 years of age or so, I was staying with my favourite great Aunt for a sleepover. My Dad dropped by after work on his bike, before heading home, to say a quick hello. I was too busy playing to stop and say goodbye to my Dad as he left, and he began to ride away down the busy city street. Urgency rose in my heart and I yelled from the veranda for him to stop at the 4 way street lights ahead. My Aunt hoisted me over the safety gate and I ran down the sidewalk to say goodbye, hug him, and tell him that I loved him. My Aunt spoke with me on that occasion about the importance of never missing an opportunity to tell those we care about how we feel. That was a marker moment for me in time, and I have always, always been very open and vocal about my feelings for those I care about.

The call came late at night while my family and I were all snuggled securely and soundly into bed. Finding out my Dad had had a massive heart attack stopped my world on it’s axis. The fragility of life met me smack in the face. I called my siblings and my aunt to regurgitate the news that I was having trouble swallowing. We grieved deeply together in disbelief.

The following days are a blur for me. I have snippets of memories. I remember calling my best friend in Ottawa and how sad she was with me. I remember calling my cousin and how sad she was with me. I remember calling my girlfriend here and how she declared immediately she was coming over. When she came, she hugged me, did my dishes, and handed me an envelope with $800 because the Lord told her to give her best gift to us, and she obeyed (even though it cost her everything she had). It helped pay for our plane tickets to go to the funeral. I remember sifting through photographs in a panic coming to grips with the fact that memories and photos were now all I had left, and distinctly not being able to come to terms with the fact that there weren’t enough of either.

I don’t remember who took our children, but probably the same friend that always took the opportunity to help us out. I remember driving to the airport with caring and well-meaning friends who were dropping us off, and them talking about life, and me feeling like I wanted to scream at them to just stop talking because my life had just been so drastically altered I just needed to be still and quiet. I remember writing a message to share at my Dad’s funeral on the plane and how it all felt so surreal. I remember staying at my Dad’s pastor’s home and how calm, quiet, and peaceful it was to be there. I remember how my husband held me all through the night as I slept in starts and fits, crying as I slept and crying as I woke, with no seeming reprieve from the pain of loss except to call on Jesus and be held. I remember not being able to, at first, walk toward the open casket and how I was gripping my husbands arm so tightly telling him I didn’t think I could do this, my knees weak with fear to face the inevitable. I remember one of my Dad’s brothers and his wife flying out to be with us- one out of his eight siblings because no one could afford to travel. I remember being horrified at being able to see the stitches where they clearly must have cut my dad’s head open for the autopsy and how that sent chills of horror down my body. I remember one of my step-sister’s collapsing as she approached Dad’s lifeless body. I remember my brother in shock talking to Dad as though he were alive, wanting with everything within him to shake his hand one more time, to laugh one more time, to hug him one more time, to talk to him one more time. I remember my sister and brother and I saying our last goodbye, all together, tears and snot and unabashed grief pouring itself out. I remember the awful, terrible, un-matched sound of grieving wails that are guttural and primal coming from mine and my loved ones very widely torn open souls.

I remember courage imparted to me from on High to speak Truth and Gospel about my Dad and about the hope of the resurrection we have in Jesus. I remember kind words and kind gestures from strangers who knew my Dad. I remember sitting in a restaurant with family and feeling empty and exhausted. I remember wanting something of my Dad’s to take back home with me desperately; to search through his things, but wanting to be respectful of his wife who was not ready for that step. Instead, I just took a shirt of his that I had bought for him years earlier that he wore proudly and remembered to wear (as a beautiful gesture) the day before my wedding. I remember laughter, a kind of out of control, goose-pimply, comic relief in the midst of tragedy as my sister and I picked out my Dad’s urn. I remember us laughing ridiculously and shamelessly about not wanting to drop my Dad, or put him in the trunk, as I carried his ashes from the funeral parlour, and remarking about what things he would be saying to us right at those moments in humour. I remember the ugly cries as my brother, my sister and I all took pictures together at the airport, after the worst reunion, and the last time we have all been together since. I remember soberly carrying what was left of Dad through airport security.

And then we were home. And there were children and a home to tend to. There was life to return to after meeting with death. It was a jolt of reality that I didn’t know how to embrace. My unpredictable outbursts of grief scared my children, which halted my comfort and ability to grieve openly. So, on the first year of the anniversary of my Dad’s death, and every year since, I have requested my husband take the day off and he has lovingly agreed. He stays with the kids and does most of the care and I quietly try to take the freedom to be by myself and grieve however I need to. I look at as many photos as I can. I record and reread all of my memories with my Dad. I look for, and watch, that one video I have of him talking and laughing and telling me he loves me. I give myself permission to cry. I allow myself to feel all of the feelings deeply. Today, I blog. It’s my way to grieve, and not forget.

I miss my Dad so much. For the longest time, it was strange. Because we lived so far away from one another, I had to remind myself often that he wasn’t just ‘ far away’, but actually dead and gone. I couldn’t call him to tell him something funny, or ask his advice, or vent, or chat, or check the facts about something I vaguely remember. I couldn’t dream or beg for another visit sometime in the future. He is with Jesus, and Jesus is in me, but we are not together. And my heart aches because time passes slowly for the grieving heart.

In 2002, my Dad gave me a book with an inscription in it. It’s only the second thing that I have with his writing on it. He didn’t like to write often since he struggled to reach grade 8 and his penmanship, grammar and spelling were embarrassing for him. I treasure his hen scratches and the love that is behind each difficult letter for him to have scribed. Ironically, the book is entitled, “Hugs from Heaven”.

This past weekend my husband had the exciting opportunity of being one of the participating artists at a tremendous event here on P.E.I., called ‘Art in the Open’. He has been preparing for a while now, but particularly feverishly so in the last week leading up to it. While other artists had the benefit of doing most or all of their work beforehand and then reconstructing their installations in a public arena, my husband had to do as much preparatory work as he could, and then spend the day creating his piece. He cleverly fashioned an Anamorphic Chalk Art piece, which is a drawing constructed on the ashphalt with precise dimensions to allow for a 3D illusion at a particular viewing distance and angle when completed.

We arrived at his assigned site just after 8 a.m. on Saturday morning, and he was permitted time to work until 4 in the afternoon, when the Festival officially began. Our 3 children were with us the entire time- and I must say, aside from a terribly bloody nose accident from one child while attempting a parkour move on freshly kissed bleachers with the morning dew- they get three cheers for being golden children. They entertained themselves with games and books. I packed all kinds of snacks and drinks to keep their bellies satisfied and their bodies hydrated. I even brought along a couple of blankets, a fold up table, and a camping cot, all of which proved to be excellent additions to a day in the park away from home.

As we arrived, it occurred to me that I did not bring along anything to entertain myself as we were about to embark on this marathon-of-a-day. Turns out, that wasn’t necessary. I thoroughly enjoyed offering my extra pair of hands to help plot my husband’s 20’x10′ grid on the ground, anticipating my Artist’s next need for colours of chalk, pastels and charcoal, doting on him with snacks and drinks, juggling the children’s needs, and generally just being there to encourage him and pray him through roadblocks he encountered along the way. The children and I even had the chance to colour in some of the grid with the base colours required before he did the work of texturing and detailing.

At 4:00 in the afternoon, it was quitting time. The Festival was to begin and it was time to tidy up and let go of all of the criticisms of ‘what could be better if I had more time’ and be at peace with the product of hard labour. By this time, the kids are hungry (again), so we take a jaunt down to a nearby public restroom to get cleaned up and return to the site to cook some hotdogs on our Coleman camping stove (again, kudos to the Mama- me- who felt good about having planned ahead on that one!). It isn’t until about 7:45 when the annual ‘March of the Crows’ (anyone can join in this fun tradition- dress up like a crow, caw together, and go for a little march together……) commences that the people start coming by in droves. One thing I frustratingly notice is that, despite the fact that we have a posterboard of explanation, people will not take the time to read. Not understanding that the drawing is to be viewed from a specific vantage point, I fear people are not appreciating the art piece for what it could be. I decide I need to be my husband’s spokesperson and the 50% extroverted personality part of me kicks in. I begin ushering people to the accurate viewing angle and distance. The best part of the evening is seeing the reaction on people’s faces when they ‘see’ the image in 3 dimensional. So rewarding! And I’m not even the artist!!! I tell you, I was one proud wife.

We peeled out of Victoria Park at midnight, me driving and only now realizing I’m sunburned, with our babies tuckered out in the back, and my husband spent. When we arrived home, we brought the cooler in the house and left everything else in the van. We put the cooler items in the fridge, kissed our kids and sent them off to bed, giving them permission to not brush their teeth for tonight, and barely made it to bed ourselves. Aching, we lay beside each other with little energy to weakly muster an “I love you”, and fell asleep, satisfied with the day’s work the Lord gave us.

In the wee hours of the morning, one of our children wakes and is sick. My husband sacrificially drags himself out of bed to lie with her, rub her back, pray with her, and get her medicine. It’s when he returns to bed that I realize we may have overdid it. Our little people are more exhausted than perhaps they ever have been, and my husband and I are physically sore and exhausted from a demanding and intense day. We make a decision that it is in everyone’s best interest to stay home on this Sunday morning from church, take it easy, and rest up.

It feels strangely out of place to be staying home on a Sunday morning. As I wake late, I try to figure out a way to still make it happen in 15 minutes. Can we all hurry and get ready and make it in time? Can I orchestrate a Mad Dash of washing up, dressing up, eating up, brushing up and getting out the door? The thought in itself if defeating, and I decide that I’m pushing it, and need to acquiesce. It’s in this moment that I realize something that thrills my heart: I will miss being ‘at church’. I want to be ‘at church’. I want to be with the other saints. I want to worship. I want to join the many other genuine voices of song and prayer and expectation as we wait on our Lord together. I want to be with my family.

Of the many reasons I go ‘to church’, one of them is NOT that I have to. It isn’t because of tradition. It isn’t because I feel like I belong to a great club. It’s not that someone is making me. It is not that I feel I need to maintain some sort of perfect attendance. It’s not because I’m concerned about my citizenship in heaven. It’s not because I feel guilty when I don’t. I don’t go to church out of habit. I go to church because it’s the highlight of my week. Of all the choices I’ve made personally through the week to invest in my relationship with God, coming together with all of the other members of the Body of Christ, that are also seeking to follow, honour, and obey Him, is the celebration of those choices. It’s like the ‘work’ of daily dying to self and living for Christ through the week are the ingredients being mixed together and baked, and coming together with other believers on Sunday is applying generously the icing on the cake. As Christians, we get to ‘have our cake and eat it, too.’ (Isn’t that what cake is for anyway?!?) Psalm 34:8 says, “Taste and see that the Lord is good.” Daily, on my own, I am able to accept Christ’s invitation to partake of the abundant table that the Lord has prepared for me in the presence of my enemies (Psalm 23:5), but there is something about God’s presence among His people when they are all together that is unlike anything else (Psalm 133:1). The feast He has for us on a Sunday morning (or any other time of gathering with other Christians in Truth and Spirit)- there is something uniquely special about it. When I’ve had a rough week, and I’ve not felt like I’ve focussed well enough on my Lord or been particularly ‘holy’ in my actions, deeds, or words, I *still* want to go ‘to church’ because I know it is a place of grace and encouragement and strength. I know God wants to both use me and bless me in community. And I am so fulfilled in that, His purpose for me. I know that the Almighty God is ready to speak to those who have ears to hear what the Spirit is saying to our church (Revelation 3:22) and His Word is Life-breath to me. I want to have open ears and be present in His Presence. I don’t want to miss out on those powerful corporate moments where God Himself is speaking, leading, and encouraging us. Hearing from God is unmatchable. I belong with these people that make up His Bride. I am home among them because their Home is in Christ.

I’m grateful to the Lord for bringing my family into a community of people who are zealous for Christ. Apart from my Bible College experience, this is the first time in my life that I have been surrounded by so many people in one place genuinely living their lives for Christ with passion and endurance. I feel like we are a part of a real Acts church, and I pant for the awesome work I know He will do among this humble people of prayer. He has already given us glimpses of what is to come. My family and I GET to be a part of a 1 Peter 3:8 congregation: like-minded, sympathetic, loving, compassionate, and humble. I learn so much from this grace-filled people of His heart. I enjoy their company. Mostly, I enjoy God’s presence thick among us.

It’s not that everyone is defectless in our growing community. There are those struggling with finances, those struggling with depression, those struggling with addictions, those struggling with loneliness, those struggling with parenting, those struggling with poor choices, and the list goes on. No! These people are far from perfect. What they are, though, is forgiven and humble with each other. There is a deep knowing that we all require the same grace from the same God and are required to offer it to one another. There is a deep understanding that God is doing a deep work in each of us that often our physical eyes can’t see. There is an expectation that we all know as Christ-followers that we are to behave as He did and does. There is a hope that together we can forebear one with another as the Lord has called us to do– to weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who rejoice- because we serve a God who cares and who listens to us. There is a seriousness with which we take God’s commandment to ‘go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation” (Mark 16:15) and that includes reminding one another to keep Christ-focussed as we busily go about our day to day living.

Hebrews 10:24-25 says that we should “not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing”. Certainly that is so. Likewise, we should not be meeting merely out of habit. If going to church has become a habit, clearly the heart’s life blood has slowly leaked out of the purpose. What a tragedy to be missing out on meeting together with the Living God along with others who are intensely seeking His face! What a waste of a Sunday morning! Corporately worshipping our Creator is meant to be adventurous and stimulating. It should cause us to feel elated with the truth of His immeasurable love for us as we connect with Him. This, paired with a trembling fear of honouring Him. It should be one of the crowning moments in our week. It’s the Icing at the end of our Cake week and the Springboard for Diving into Living Waters going into the next week. Going from strength to strength, and being changed from glory to glory, we need Sunday mornings together with a group of 1 Peter 3:8 Christians. Wherever we are (geographically speaking, but also spiritually so), being transformed into His image, we can look forward to going ‘to church’ on Sunday morning if we are ‘being the Church’ through the week.

I had a dream last night. Dressed in a pristinely white wedding dress, I was making myself busy about my house, cleaning. I was expecting and preparing for guests who were to witness my marriage to my husband. As I worked, I nonchalantly glanced out of the window from a second floor. I was surprised to find people were running about in what seemed like the streets below, or perhaps a courtyard. Suddenly (as is apropos for dreams), locations shifted. I was not in my home any longer. It was as if I was in the second storey of a school. Wondering what all of the panic was about, I questioned people about what was happening. People were running in every direction, yelling that danger was approaching. From the look on their faces, while still not knowing the source of this mayhem, I seemed to personally register that it must be a gunman.

Quickly, I looked to my children (who became present in the scene) and I said, “Hurry! Let’s look for a furnace room! We can hide in there! There are so many classes, no one will think to look for people there.” However, as I opened every door that would allow us exit from the room, I discovered that it was a closet stacked high with tables and chairs. There was no place to escape or hide from the fast approaching threat.

Within moments, Evil incarnate entered the room we were in, looking like a regular young man, but with colourless, pale, almost charcoal skin and hate in it’s eyes. With nowhere to run, and not knowing what else to do, I turned to face Evil. With my hands at my side, I closed my eyes tightly and with all of my might I began to sing in spiritual tongues. Periodically, I opened my eyes. Evil stayed in it’s place, mocking and accusing, except no matter what Evil said, I sang louder, drowning out Evil’s voice.

Evil only had a voice. It had no power. It could not touch me. In fact, as I sang in a spiritual tongue for what seemed like hours, I finally transitioned to worshipping Jesus in English. I noticed, then, that I was still stationed upright, facing Evil, with my arms at my side, and wearing my pure white dress for marriage. My children, and now others, were all in the room. Some were sitting! As I transitioned into English, all of these relaxed looking bystanders began joining me in worship in song to the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords, in one accord.

Later (Evil must have fled and I was alone), I was moving about in the streets. I was trying to hide behind cars and get away, but as I did, Evil always came up to where I was and found me. Each time I was terrified, but as Evil approached, I stood at attention and sang in tongues in worship. Each time I sang loudly, with my arms at my side, my eyes squeezed shut and focussed on Jesus, still clad in my beautiful wedding gown. Evil could not break through my worship.

The last scene took place as I was passing through some sort of dark and grungy, shady casino. Evil was busy gambling and when I walked by, he was enticed by me. He turned to me, and expressed how much he coveted the impressive power I had. He invited me to join him so he could have access to it. Instead, I gently leaned over into a satchel he had sitting beside him, and reached in, pulling out all kinds of glorious jewels- sapphires, rubies, diamonds, all sparkling so majestically- and I walked on by myself, jewels in possession.

Then I woke up.

As I lay in bed, groggy, in that passage place from dream world to real world, I mulled over my dream. As I slowly awoke, I began praying. God gave me an interpretation to my dream.

First, what you must know is that I have been struggling for over a month now, more intensely in the last couple of weeks. I have spent a lot of time feeling attacked in my mind and emotions. I have spent hours crying, sometimes daily. I have spent time feeling discouraged, and weary of enduring. I have spent a lot of time sharing my heart with the Lord, and being angry for things not working out the way I thought they would based on the faith that I (thought) I had in God about particular things. I have wondered if He is a God of Promises, Faithfulness and Goodness because I haven’t seen His promises being fulfilled in my life and the life of my family in the particular stresses and tensions that we have been struggling in, and seeking God for deliverance of, for literally years now.

Second, you need to know that my ‘normal’ doesn’t include struggling with depression. I tend to be an optimistic, full of hope, faith-filled woman of God with excitement and enthusiasm about life and living for Christ. While I have my down days like everyone else, I usually bounce back rather quick. This is not me parading proudly. It’s just how God has made me, even though I walk hand in hand with many in my close circle who wax weakly and wearily in this area. This stint of despair that I have felt has been long and painful for me since it’s particularly foreign to me. I have continued to talk to God, read my bible, and enter into worship, but there has been a deep mourning in my heart that I haven’t known how to lift on my own. I have told the Lord that I have lost my hope, that I have no more waiting left in me, and that I no longer fit the description of ‘woman of faith’. I have told my Lord, that if He wanted me to be a woman like that, then He was going to have to resurrect it in me because I am simply empty, distraught, and exhausted.

Hallelujah! God is a God of communion and communication! He hears and He answers.

Here’s what He told me my dream means:

I am covered by the blood of Lamb; wearing His robes of righteousness. I am part of His pure spotless Bride. While the Enemy may be attacking as I ready myself for God and go about the business He has for me to accomplish, I don’t have to worry about having enough strength to fight. I don’t have to be a strong woman of faith, or hope. I don’t have to search for a place to hide in hysteria. What I do have to do? (It’s so simple!!) I just have to be the Jesus-Worshipper I already am. The Enemy’s venemous words fall on deaf ears for the one who is too busy focussing on Jesus with all of their might. In the process, there is a drowning out and an active making ineffective the voice of the Enemy when we worship.

My hands were at my sides because there was no power in fighting with them. I felt like I was cornered, left vulnerable and unprotected. I felt like I had no other choice, and was at a loss of what to do to defend myself from Evil, but because my heart belongs to Jesus, I essentially know Who my Safe Place is, and I can press in closer to Him in worship any time I feel like I’m being overwhelmed by the Enemy. The power is in worshipping the One with all of the power.

As I worship boldly and loudly, those who don’t want to hear it will fall to the wayside. I don’t have to concern myself with getting it wrong, or coming on too strong for unbelievers because while some will close their ears and turn their heads, others are watching and listening intently (like my children). As a result of choosing worship as my weapon of defence choice, onlookers are learning, gleaning and being grafted in because they are witnessing a power greater than that in the world through my bold and steadfast action of worship.

The jewels? Well, firstly, in my adult lifetime, God has spoken many powerful, beautiful, and incredible words over me about being precious in His sight; about being His Gem. Hence, my blog title. I believe this part of my dream, though, means this: Satan comes to kill, steal, and destroy, but our inheritance in Christ is taking back all that Satan thinks He has won over, or brags that he is gaining. We do that because, and through, the power of Jesus’ sacrifice and victory on the cross. I don’t have to dance with the Devil to repossess what He has taken. Because the same power that raised Jesus from the dead lives in me, I can reach right over into his bag of jewels and take back what is mine in Christ and walk away. Jewels don’t belong to Satan. Jewels belong to Jesus. Since I am a child of God, all that belongs to Him is my inheritance.

I just get so charged thinking about how God speaks so clearly to us, especially since I, personally, can be so daft at times. I love the fact that God chooses to speak to us, period! I can never wrap my mind around that truth. It’s fascinating and awe inspiring that Big God (All God) chooses to speak to Little Me (Nothing Me). I just want to worship Him for that alone! My heart is so thankful!!

The interesting thing is that God has been leading me for days now, up to this dream, and He’s been helping me to connect the Dot to Dots of the whole picture He has drawn. On Saturday, God led me to Isaiah 54:10-17 in my quiet time with Him. On Sunday a sweet sister in Christ prayed over me and told me I didn’t have to worry about trying to conjure up enough strength to be who I was supposed to be in Christ- that I just had to choose to worship. Last night, sweet family in Christ spoke Psalm 46 over me during a prayer time. Everything links so perfectly. And guess what? Somehow miraculously, I feel like I’ve made it through to the other side of this dark haze I’ve been walking through. It rained hard all night long, and this morning the sun is shining brightly and the skies are blue. Feels so symbolic of my spiritual state. I feel like I’m myself again, strong in Him because He has provided the strength. His Voice inspires and builds up. Oh! How grateful I am that I can hear Him! How grateful I am that He has lifted me up out of the ashes of mourning and has outfitted me with dancing clothes of joy once again. Praise you Jesus!

Note that nothing in my circumstances has changed. It’s always Jesus’ precious presence that makes all of the difference to every instance. When God speaks to me, I feel like a million bucks. I am empowered. I feel like I can go anywhere, be anything, and do anything in Him. So what if the Enemy is drawing near?!! God has made me a Worshipper, and as I worship, nothing can touch me, and everything else truly fades away. So, off I go. It’s time to crank up the volume and let ‘er rip! It is well with my soul.

P.S. If you didn’t already, go back and click on the link for those scriptures, especially the Isaiah reference. You’ll be so giddy seeing and making all of the connections! I am!

I’ve been reading through the book of Daniel with my children lately. Interestingly enough, one of the most popular stories in Daniel doesn’t actually include him whatsoever. This is a story of 3 plus 1, but Daniel isn’t counted as either.

In chapter 3 (and the first part of 4), 3 Jewish men’s names were changed by King Nebuchadnezzar in an attempt to strip them of all of their identity. Among those in captivity, Hannaniah, Mishael and Azariah were assigned new Babylonian names: Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego (1:7). The King was foolish and proud. He did not know that when one is a child of the One True God, identity can never be taken. These men grew in knowledge and intelligence. ‘Something’ about these men stood out, and they were promoted into the kings personal service as “administrators of the province of Babylon” (2:49).

As time goes on, King Nebuchadnezzar’s pride grows and he builds “an image of gold, the height of which was sixty cubits and its width six cubits” (3:1). That’s almost 27.5 meters high and almost 3 meters wide. That’s big! It matches the king’s magnified self-importance well. Nebuchadnezzar sets rule that “at the moment you hear the sound of the horn, flute, lyre, trigon, psaltery, bagpipe and all kinds of music, you are to fall down and worship the golden image” (3:5)

Enter the tattletales; the ones who notice that there are 3 men who refuse to bow down and worship. The tattletales are quick to remind the king about the penalty for not doing so: “Whoever does not fall down and worship shall be cast into the midst of a furnace of blazing fire” (3:11). The king summons the naughty 3, and in a rage, he questions, “Is it true?” (because how dare anyone be opposed to the king?!) (3:14). He gives the three men opportunity to obey once more, and reminds them of their fate if they choose not to. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego are solid. They stand in the confidence of their God and declare God’s capability to deliver them out of the king’s hands, and yet they are humble enough to recognize their position in relation to God- that they don’t wield Him like a good luck charm- and that “EVEN IF He does not [deliver them], let it be known to you, O king, that we are not going to serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up (3:18).

This is where it gets good.

Mr. Proud Pants is “filled with wrath” (3:19). He orders the furnace be turned up seven times hotter than it is usually heated. He commands “certain valiant warriors” (3:20) to tie the 3 men up. Moreover, these men are “tied up in their trousers, their coats, their caps and their other clothes” (3:21). The king intended to make them as flammable as he possibly could!!! The men were ordered to be cast into the blazing fire, but as the ‘certain valiant warriors’ approached the furnace, “the flame of the fire slew those men” (3:22). Those ‘certain valiant warriors’ were toast! Burnt toast! In the ruckus of all of this, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego fall in, still tied up.

[Now, let’s pause here for a second. As one of my children inquired absurdly, “What kind of furnace is so big that 3 people can fit in it?!!?”. The footnotes in my bible explain that the furnace was not a little cook stove. It would have been a huge industrial furnace used to make bricks or smelting metals. *Light Bulb* Out of the mouth of my youngest at the ripe new age of 7, so matter of factly I might add, “Yeah, it was probably the furnace the king used to make his gold statue in.” Wow. Okay, un-pause. I’ll come back to that.]

Then, Nebuchadnezzar notices something unusual, to say the least, “Look! I see four men loosed and walking about in the midst of the fire without harm, and the appearance of the fourth is like a son of the gods!” (3:25). Recognizing the 3 men who were walking about in the wildfire as “servants of the Most High God” (3:26), the king calls them out of the fire. Out of the furnace with the heat turned up 7 times hotter, out of the furnace with flames so hungry that the ‘certain valiant warriors’ don’t even get to the mouth of the furnace without getting eaten alive, come trotting 3 out of those 4 figures the king counted in the fire. Gathering around, the king’s posse frisk and reconnoiter the men and discover that “the fire had no effect on the bodies of these men NOR was the hair on their head singed, NOR were their trousers damaged, NOR had the smell of fire even come upon them. (3:27).

When’s the last time you’ve been around a campfire? The smell of that fire permeates everything, even when you choose to sit comfortably back a few feet on your lawn chair. These men were IN the fire, and came out not even with a whiff of fire upon them! Have you ever quickly opened your oven to reclaim the yumminess in there, only to have the heat blast your face suprisingly and melt your mascara’d eyelashes together? These men were IN the fire, and not even a hair was singed on their bodies! Further, the only thing that WAS burned were their bindings! How does a blazing furnace accepting 3 especially-made-flammable men burn only the ropes tying them up and leave the rest of their bodies unharmed?!

The witnesses are shocked. Heavens! It’s shocking for me to read this account thousands of years later! I can’t even imagine! In response to this astounding display of God’s power, the king makes a proclamation that “any people, nation or tongue that speaks anything offensive against the God of Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego shall be torn limb from limb and their houses reduced to a rubbish heap, inasmuch there is no other god who is able to deliver in this way” (3:29). The king gathers the attention of all and pronounces, “It has seemed good to me to declare the signs and wonders which the Most High God has done or me. How great are His signs. And how mighty are His wonders! His kingdom is an everlasting kingdom and His dominion is from generation to generation” (4:2).

God means to use the fiery furnaces of our life to make known his glory among the nations.

Are you going through something in your life right now that feels like the heat is being turned up to a shockingly high temperature? Do you feel like the Enemy has been doing his best to make you as flammable as you possibly can be so that he can watch you burn and die? Well, there’s good news for you, then. If your identity is in Christ, if you have not made excuses about why you can’t follow God, if you have been steadfast in proclaiming that He is God and the sole God deserving of worship in your life, even when everyone else around you is going in the opposite direction, you are in a good position. If you feel like everyone is looking at you as you press in to God and wondering why ‘bad things happen to good people’ or are questioning the goodness of God to those He calls His own, you are not alone. If you are choosing to be true to God no matter the punishment or pressure around you, God is on your side. You are ripe for God to make demonstration of His glory and power to those around you.

[If you can’t honestly say these things are true of you, you can repent right now, and still know the assurance of His presence with you. You can ask forgiveness. You can humbly admit that you have missed the mark and are a sinner, and that you are in need of Jesus. You can ask the Holy Spirit to visit with you and stay, and enjoy a peace with the God who made you and loves you. God isn’t looking to slap your fingers with his holy ruler on the desk of your life, with a stern look on His face, at all of your shortcomings and sin. He is a perfect Heavenly Father, with kindness toward you, and good things in store for you as you choose to make him the Master of your heart and life. No more guilt and condemnation for those who are in Jesus Christ!]

God wants you to know that you are not in the fiery furnace because you have done something wrong. Quite the opposite: it is because you have followed Him obediently. He wants you to know that the fiery furnace is the place where He wants to burn off all of the things that hold you in bondage. He wants you to move about freely, even in the middle of the fire, because He is the 4th Person right down in the nitty gritty heat with you. The furnace in this story may very well have been the the same furnace that Nebuchadnezzar’s gold was melted and fashioned into an image, but this furnace is also the place where 3 precious men made in God’s image were tested and were purged from the flames well and whole. [See, told you I’d come back to that.]

I want to encourage you: Don’t lose heart! Just because there is opposition in your life does not mean that you are left vulnerable and unprotected. Let it be known to all who know you, just like the 3 men in this story, that God is with you. Nebuchadnezzar didn’t just call God, God. He called Him the “The God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego”. Isn’t that powerful and affirming? It is wonderful for our allegiances to be associated with the God who saves. It is wonderful for our names to be counted with God Almighty’s. What a witness for eye-witnesses to see that we choose to worship our God, no matter what, and that He gives us a freedom in the middle of the pressures and stresses of life to walk about and meander freely in that which would strangle them in flames! People need to see that God is in the fire with us, and that He is the one who makes the difference between surviving and going up in flames. Not so that we can be exalted, but so that God can SHOW THE WORLD Who He is! People are watching you, Christian. People are noticing how you live your life, where your devotion lies, how far you are willing to be serious with your faith, and how you deal with the blows of life. Remember Whose you are, speak with confidence in the God who is able, and when you find yourself in the fiery furnace, BREATHE! God will not let you die. He will not leave you on your own. He will be with you, doing the work that only He can do, so that others will see their need for a God like *that!

I had a brutal second half of the week last week. It came on the heels of attending an inspirational homeschooling conference which reminded me, with deep clarity, of who God has made me to be and what He is calling me to become; choosing to step out into the freedom God was granting me to begin a blogging adventure with Him; my husband’s job promotion; and a weekend-away cottage contest win for my family. ‘They’ say that when you have a mountain peak experience, you can expect that a dramatic collapsed sinkhole is just around the corner. Spiritually speaking, Christians remind one another that Satan always comes to steal that newfound joy. That awareness is intended, I think, to make us gird ourselves up with strength so that we don’t give in. We’re not supposed to succumb to the temptation to be discouraged because that would mean Satan wins, and who wants that?!

I’m a (mostly) positive person- bubbly, cheerful, optimistic. But I found myself the last half of last week feeling exhausted in ways I couldn’t put my finger on. I sat in the sun, after such a long, drab winter, and I could only peg my feelings as depression. This, followed by an emotional and spiritual ’high’ of God speaking, God moving, and God answering prayers only days before. A series of items sucked that vibrant life right out of me: the brakes on our van broke; we received potentially very bad health news from a loved one; a letter, outlining a financial burden we have, showed up in the mailbox; and one “sorry to be the bearer of bad news” e-mail rocked our world. Frankly, I felt like we were sucker-punched in the gut. It gets so weary to feel like you’re making headway only to have to backpedal a mile back- once again. It’s easy to feel the twinkle of ‘The-Hope-of-Better-Things-to-Come’ snuffed out when it appears as though everything is suddenly catastrophic around you. It’s almost as if you can feel the downward spiral of your spirit falling.

On Friday, I now felt physically miserable. Guilt laden, I made myself nap. (The guilt part necessary because what good Mother lets herself sleep in the middle of the afternoon when there are three children needing to be taken care of, education to be imparted, and a dirty house crying ‘Mercy!’?!). I didn’t wake up feeling better. I chose not to go out with some girlfriends in the evening, and then poured my heart out to my husband when he arrived home. He prayed over me and I slept like a rock that night. Saturday morning I awoke feeling less Zombie-esque. I put Songza on as I was cleaning up the kitchen (because I had left everything the evening before and yesterday’s chores were now today’s chores), and I heard a song that touched a chord in me. Tears began to fall from my eyes and cascade down my cheeks, and God communicated a revelation to me through these lyrics,”Something’s about to break. Seasons are bound to change.”

You see, whenever I have these encouraging seasons that breathe life into me, and then they are followed by discouraging circumstances, Satan has this habit of whispering into my ear, “See? Nothing is changing. Everything will always be the same. It’s useless. It’s hopeless. You’ll never get from A to B.”

The devil is a Liar.

These last couple of months, God has been doing a real work in my heart. I have been confronted with sin in my life by the God of Gentleness. It has hurt me, for Him to show me parts of myself that I don’t know how to handle or fix, but it has made me desperate for the God who *is able. And I know that this is a result of His great love for me. As I press in closer to Him, His desire is to further refine me. The closer I become to Him, the more the sin in my life is exposed. I am “vulnerable and laid bare before the one with whom I have to do” (Hebrews 4:13), not so that I am left as prey for the predator, but so that He can make me more holy, as He is holy. He knows He is a safe place for my weaknesses, as I choose to confess, surrender, and submit to Him in new areas of my life. He wants all of me, and all of that transition is going to take my entire life. God has no beginning and no end. He is never-ending. I am far from perfect, and I learn stubbornly and slowly. It will take the whole of my life to continue to allow Him to point out the crevices in my heart that still require a bending to His character, will, and ways.

Satan is working overtime. He is trying to get me to believe that God is impotent. He wants me to believe that God is not doing a good work in me. He wants me to focus on trying to fix the things that go wrong. Better yet, he wants me often to feel like the things that do go wrong are my fault, so that I am self-depreciating and powerless.

Luke 9:23-25 says, “And He was saying to them all, “If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow Me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake, he is the one will will save it. For what is a man profited if he gains the whole world, and loses or forfeits himself?”

I’ve always looked at that piece of scripture as speaking to the sin we must allow to be crucified in ourselves. This time, God added something to that understanding. I listened to this song, as I washed those dishes, and God showed me something specifically. He helped me to see that part of that sin that needs to be crucified in me (in everyone) is the need to control things. That part of me that says, “I have to worry about this because this matters. I have to beg God to fix this; to show up. I have to stress about this because if t, u, and v happens then x, y, and z will happen and that’s just the worst thing that could happen.”

Is this fear? Yes! The root, though? Pride. A pride that doesn’t come out of confidence. Parading Pride that is followed by Fear. Why? Because it can’t deliver. Pride that is ineffective. False, self-deceptive pride because it is birthed out of my inability to be strong, and not out of the efficacy of the Almighty Father.

God says, all that matters is that you “Seek first My kingdom, and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matthew 7:11). All of my needs will be tended to, flowing naturally out of my relationship with my Abba Father, who also happens to be the Giver of good and perfect gifts. (James 1:17; Psalm 84:11; Romans 8:32)

God says, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5) He is already with me, because He is always with me. My job is to open my eyes and see Him. (Deuteronomy 31:6)

God says, “In all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28) It doesn’t matter what the outcome is, because I can trust that it is all according to His good plan, which concerns itself with my good. (2 Corinthians 4:15)

So, there’s been this mountaintop experience, and here comes the pits! And suddenly, I’ve had an ‘Ah-Ha!’ moment because these latest discouraging events are only events. Nothing has shifted that matters. (Numbers 23:19; Deuteronomy 32:4; Psalm 18:2; Psalm 55:19; Hebrews 13:8; James 1:17). “For God’s gifts and His call are irrevocable.” (Romans 11:9). If my focus is on Christ, then, I am truly secure. (Why have I read this before and ‘known’ this before, but am only really seeing this, in this way, now?!)

The questions remain then: What are these unfavourable events really about? Are they about me needing to ‘get a grip’ so Satan doesn’t get the upper hand in my heart and life? Maybe. Are they about God growing my resilience and testing me to see if I’ll remain faithful in the midst of trials and tribulations? Maybe. Are they about a God who is at the very core, not good; Who is playing and toying with our emotions? Unequivocally no! Well then, maybe…..just maybe…..they *are about shifting my perspective really seeing. Maybe this is about maturity- getting beyond juggling all of the reasons why these seemingly negative things might have happened, fighting off the enemy who chastises that God really isn’t at work, and that He isn’t really good at the heart of His real character. Maybe this is about outdistancing Satan who occupies and entertains himself by accusing me of doing something wrong, distracting me into fretting about it, and pressuring me to plan in a frenzy of confusion how I might possibly go about doing something right to fix it all.

Perhaps this is about rest.

Perhaps this is about choosing what matters- choosing not to lose or forfeit my soul, choosing to believe that God is on His throne, choosing to receive the invitation to sit with Him, all curled up on His lap nestled into His breast where His heart for me beats beneath. Instead of treading water all the live long day and night to figure out our problems and wrestle with what we could possibly do to bring relief to the situation, what a novel idea: I can relax my panicked feet and arms in the Rivers of Living Water and know that I won’t drown in this storm. I can have confidence that my life is preserved by resting in His. All of my fears of ‘what could be’ or even the reality of ‘what will be’ will be washed away by the crashing waves of Truth.

Yesterday, I was blown away by a time of worship in our personal corporate body of believers. I was in awe that He chooses to continue to speak to me and breathe life into me as I seek after Him. There is refreshment in God’s voice in my life. Afterward, I was at the grocery store carefully calculating what we could(n’t) afford for groceries when God aimed His generosity at the target of my heart. Surprisingly, friends of ours (a brother and sister in Christ) found themselves in line behind us, and they ended up offering to pay for our groceries. Tears welled up in my eyes at the goodness of God to us and all of the ways He has lined up these ordained moments to bless us. Feeling so good- on a high- we got home only to find our fridge broken. (Are you even surprised?!) We spent the afternoon transitioning into an apartment sized fridge for a family of 5, and ridding ourselves of our broken one. What I really thought I should be doing (what I really wanted to be doing), was executing my plans to busy myself preparing a Turkey dinner for a family we love who is grieving a terrible loss. We had invited them for a Sunday dinner. Talk about an opportunity to put into practice my faith in the God who just revealed to me a new Truth! The addage may be, “It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back”, but if each time a straw is thrown my way, I give it up to God, and I choose to rest in Him (instead of stressing about a new problem and feeling overwhelmed with all of the fiery darts thrown my way), then the wind of God’s Spirit just comes and chases that bramble away. There is no accumulation on the camel’s back. There is no piece of straw heavy enough that it causes me to break.

When I was in labour for my children (and this is going to sound crazy to some…), I LOVED it. I relished in every contraction. You know why? I knew that these labour pains were producing something incredible. Every successive contraction brought me closer to the birth of the miracle that was growing inside of me. I embraced the pain, breathed through every contraction, looked straight into my husband’s eyes, fully confident that ‘this too shall pass’. Applying that principle, I’m pregnant with the Holy Spirit. He is making a miracle of my life, and out of my life. He has made me pregnant with good things. He IS ‘completing the good work He has began in me’ (Philipians 1:6), even when I can’t see it right there in my belly. I don’t have to figure things out. I don’t have to manage all of the insurmountable issues that I can’t control. I don’t have to fear that I’m the cause of things, or that it’s up to me to work things out. I can embrace the pain, breathe deep the breath of God, look straight into my Father’s eyes, fully confident that ‘this too shall pass’. Soon, I will give birth to something beautiful. And even though it hurts right now, God will make it all worthwhile. He is producing something incredible in me (Romans 5:3-5)- more space for Himself. And that’s all that really matters.

Hi! My name is Emily. My friends call me Em. God calls me Gem.

I’m a talker. A sharer. Some say I share too much. I say, God made me this way. Why? Cuz He wants me to tell the world about how good and faithful He has been to me.  He also wants to remind *you that you’re not alone. Life is meant to be shared.

I’ve been thinking and dreaming about this blog for years now. Many have told me that ‘Facebook isn’t the place to write a short novel as your status’. It hasn’t been until now, though, that I have felt released to share in this broader space. I certainly do so with shallow breaths, sweaty palms, and a rapid heart rate.

Who would have thought that God would call me to incept my blogging adventure sharing about the very thing that I’d love to successfully be able to hide from the world- my personal and private war with my weight?!

I recently turned 39. I’ve battled with my self-image since puberty, but it wasn’t until I had my first (of three) child(ren) that being overweight became my new (seemingly solidified) identity. I will have struggled with being overweight now for 1/4 of my life. I’m on my way to 1/2 if I don’t start surrendering to God in this area of my life. So, here I am, feeling challenged to begin a year-long journey with the Lord, and to document it here.

I’ve felt convicted, in the last year, about my passion for sharing the gospel. How could I continue to encourage marriage partners on their death bed that they could find resurrection in Christ? How could I continue to preach freedom from drugs and alcohol? How could I continue to speak of the goodness of God to bring hope and strength to the helpless, hopeless soul? How could I continue to appeal to others about the healing power of Jesus? How could I continue to plead with those who have encountered wretched, heart wrenching experiences in life that there is a God who loves in the midst of that? How could I elicit others- family, friends, strangers- to trust in Jesus and His ability to bring complete resurrection, restoration, and re-creation to the murdered, stolen, and destroyed areas of hearts and lives, all the while being completely enslaved to my weight myself? How could I talk about the Good News and not apply it to myself? Isn’t it more powerful to share a testimony than it is to deliver a sermon?

My heart is to see the captives set free. God has the ability to do that. I am chief captive. If I am to speak and walk and entreat others to trust that God is able, so too, must I realize He is more than able, in my own life, to breathe life into me and my hopeless estate. It’s true that He wants to work through me mightily. It’s more important that He works *in me mightily first.

The thing is, progressive culture says, ‘We are not equal to our weight’. Yet, many blogs have been completely devoted to weight loss. I’d like to go against the grain. Since I am not the sum of my weight, I’ve decided that the sum of what I share here will not solely be about my weight. The measurements of Emily are more than the numbers on a scale. I’d like to share with you what God is teaching, convicting, and showing me in my life- in all areas. Aren’t we supposed to have a focus? Yes. Indeed! My focus is Christ. Not always wholly and perfectly, but it’s my aim. So, I’m beginning my blogging journey with a call from God to document a year long journey, but to do so along with all of the other things that make me, well…..me!

Want to be an eye witness to what God will do in me as I learn to trust Him and surrender in this area? Want to hear about how God is working in my life?  Will you let me write a diary to your heart? Will you join me as I follow where God leads and watch Him help me gain victory in reclaiming my body for Christ? I’d be ever grateful for the encouragement and company on this hard journey. I choose to believe: With God all things are possible.