Lover Has A Lover, Or, The Awful Privilege Of The Cross

Someone asked me why I have a blog last night and I said I originally started it when we found the tumor to keep people updated on my journey to physical recovery. Well, I guess now I should keep you updated on my journey to spiritual recovery.

Last December began the hardest year of my life. Don’t ask my why; it was like a switch flipped and my mental health went haywire. I had never struggled with anxiety like this before… I was profoundly afraid to be alive. In the ensuing nine months, I would also have a series of manic, depressive, and psychotic episodes (I have been diagnosed bipolar since my freshman year of college). At first, I read my bible and devotionals compulsively in a futile attempt to fix my head. Then I started taking my Adderall (prescribed legally) late at night because nighttime made me so scared and I didn’t want to face those last fading moments of consciousness before I fell asleep (for some reason, those were the scariest moments of the day for me). So I’d read, fueled by synthetic energy, until the wee hours of the morning. I also began drinking a single beer before bed because I noticed that it made the intense nightmares cease. But eventually I was drinking four blue moons a night just to face the darkness.  By the way, I’m on a score of psychoactive drugs that all say: DO NOT TAKE WITH ALCOHOL. I wasn’t even fazed by the reckless nature of my actions.

The next admission I am afraid to make. I’ve been thinking about this blog for weeks and about whether I should even mention it. But, alas, I figure it might relate to somebody out there in the world. Another form my reckless avoidance of the pain and emptiness of life has taken is sexual promiscuity. I won’t go into detail, but I used men just like I used Adderall and alcohol (and they used me too).

I take full responsibility for all of my actions. It was, after all, me who was acting. But I began to hate God. I was the friend that people looked up to in their walks with God, I was the devoted one, the sexually pure one who hadn’t even dated all through college becaue I was waiting on the man of God of my dreams. I prayed everyday for months for strength to be sexually pure and to have godly integrity. Why did God give, or allow me to have, this awful disease of the brain that literally drives me crazy?

Then, the big, grand questions started arising: why does God cause or allow suffering all over the globe? Why did God create individuals he knew wouldn’t choose him and would thus suffer an eternity of hell? And, finally, why did God create me? I so very much wish I wasn’t created, and it seems like you should ask someone’s permission before you thrust them into the cruel, dark realm of conscious existence.

Basically, I had two main questions for God: 1) are you kind? and 2) how are you involved in our suffering? (do you cause it, or just allow it, or something in between?). It seemed that everything else about loving and knowing God depended on the answers to these two questions.

I was pondering these queries one day when I remembered a story I heard about one of my friends while he was on a missions trip to Kosovo. A woman who had been working with them unexpectedly died in the hospital. My friend sat with her newly mourning husband for hours, and trust me, those first few hours of acute mourning are chaotic, intense, and confusing. “That. That is how I am involved in your suffering. I am present.” Evelyn Underhill on the Advent of the Godman writes, “The depth and the richness of his being are entirely unknown to us, poor little scraps as we are! And yet unlimited life who is Love right through-who loves and is wholly present where he loves, on every plane and at every point-so loved the world as to desire to give his essential thought, the deepest secrets of his heart to this small, fugitive, imperfect creation-to us.”

Karl Rahner wonders, “Is our grief taken from us simply because you wept too? Is our surrender to finiteness no longer a terrible act of despair, simply because you also capitulated? Does our road, which doesn’t want to end, have a happy ending despite itself, just because you are traveling with us?” #IgnatianWisdom ;) I believe our answers to these questions can change everything for our lives. I sensed the God who I tried so hard to hate saying, “It all comes down to a choice. You can choose to believe I am good or not.” Kierkegaard called it a “leap of faith.” I immediately knew my answer: I’m in.

But now that I’m in, what does that mean? I still pray everyday that I could love God. I ask him to help me love him. I engage in loving others because I am choosing to believe that God is love.

Coming to the end of this fateful and terrible year, I am learning to love God again. But I sense it is much different than the first 7 years that I spent loving him. I describe it as a weathered love, a slower love.

I now see myself more than ever as the sinful woman of the streets in Luke 7:36-50. She enters the Pharisee’s home and uses her tears to wash Jesus’ feet, she anoints him, and then wipes the evidence of messy devotion with her hair. Normally after reading this passage, I’m like, “yeah I would do that duh but like I’m glad Jesus doesn’t force me to because that seems kinda gross aka my hair is too important for that.” Today, I considered how I shower before I go on a date with a boy. I use my nicest shampoo to make the smell of my hair irresistible to them. Today, I KNEW that the first chance I get in heaven I am taking my hair down and washing Jesus’ nail-torn feet with it. I understood taking the vehicle you used for some of your greatest sins (the sinful woman most likely knew many men and would have normally used the perfume to make them intoxicated by her) and rendering it back to Jesus. It is profoundly intimate and abandoned. It’s how redemption works.

Finally, as I read the aforementioned passage by Evelyn Underhill, I came across a phrase that arrested me: the Awful Privilege of the Cross. Tears instantly formed in my weary eyes. Could it really be that, for the joy set before him, Jesus valued the privilege of loving us through the Cross? Oh, what wonder. How could I not love a man like that? You see, Jesus is not only present with us in our suffering today; he participated in it himself 2000 years ago by entering our measly and upsetting yet full of potential existence himself and completing it on the Cross. Oh, how could I not love a man like that?

Pertinent links for some of the topics discussed in this post:

Alcoholics Anonymous (also, Narcotics Anonymous)

https://www.aa.org/

National Alliance on Mental Illness

https://www.nami.org/

Luke 7:36-50

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+7%3A36-50&version=NASB

A song by Olivia Dyer about returning to God after pain and sin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mpg8WjYn2f4

Perhaps the Will of God Isn't Safe

Whenever I see runners or kids playing by the road, I compulsively pray, ‘Lord, protect them; keep them safe.’ Then today I had the thought: what if safe isn’t the will of God?

I cried myself to sleep last night. It’s surreal to feel your tears fade into unconsciousness.

One of the main Hebrew words for “wept” is bakah and it has the connotation of bitter lamentation. It’s famously used in Psalm 84: “passing through the valley of Baca”.  A Psalm of Ascent, the Israelites pass through a valley of tears before going from “strength to strength” and appearing before God in Zion.

One man also wept: Jacob. (sidenote: I appreciate that Jacob is a patriarch because he was pretty fucked up.) In Genesis 32, we read of the famous encounter between Jacob and God (or, a messenger of God). Jacob had just sent he family across the ford of Jabbok while he remained on the other side. He then encounters God and wrestles him until daybreak. But Hosea 12:3-6 illuminates this encounter and says that, “he wept and sought his favor”. This changes everything for me as I read about this encounter. Jacob wept. He practically begged for the figure’s favor. It was a true rub between man and God.

I wept as I scrolled through Reddit, looking for anything to take my mind off the sweet girl I had met with earlier that day. She was a fragile flower that I had the privilege of holding in my arms. Yes, she truly was suffering. And the worst part was, I only foresaw more suffering in her life; at least more suffering before things got better. Yes, I had walked a similar road and knew that there was more pain before even a glimpse of glory. Oh, how I wanted to save this strong, driven young woman. But that wasn’t my job. My job was to hold her in the middle of her suffering. I think that is our premier task in ministering to the beaten-down: a ministry of presence. We honestly need to shut our mouths and wrap our arms around people. For in the good-willed “Christian wisdom” we dispense, we are far less wise than we think.

This was it. This was the life I was called to. Giving everything to be present with people. Crying myself to sleep. Strangely, in these fading moments, I felt more alive than ever. It reminded me of another moment in which I held on to someone in her most profound moment of suffering. It was the saddest moment of my life, but also the most distinctly human. I would never trade these moments, though they come at the highest price.

The past few months, I have been wrestling with God like Jacob. Rather, wrestling before God with things. I remember a devotion I read when I was 16 that has stuck with me ever since. In My Utmost for His Highest on day December 16, Oswald Chambers writes, “God’s permissive will is the means whereby his sons and daughters are manifested. We are not to be like jellyfish saying, ‘It is the Lord’s will.’ We have not to but up a fight before God, not to wrestle with God, but to wrestle before God with things. Beware of squatting lazily before God instead of putting up a glorious fight so that you may lay hold of his strength.” We must remember that God is not our enemy. We must let our falling tears be intercession for God to intervene in our situations of life. Your tears are holy; let ‘em flow.

I remember my earlier thought. Perhaps the will of God isn’t safe.

“Safe?...Course He isn’t safe. But He’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

Wigilia

Only in the past two years have I started to observe the liturgical calendar devotionally. What a difference it has made in my spiritual life! It sets my life to a sacred rhythm.

One holiday that I previously overlooked, but has become my absolute favorite day of the year is Christmas Eve.

In the Midas house, we celebrate Wigilia (vigil) which almost usurps the glory of Christmas day.

My paternal grandfather is (allegedly, most likely) Polish and my paternal grandmother is Czech/Slovakian (her family’s story is def a post for another time!). So, we mix together Catholic practice from Eastern Europe and make a day of it!

The day starts with getting ready, we wear our best clothes and really do dress up (today, I will wear a purple dress, tights, and my gold bangle from Abu Dhabi). It’s an important part of the day that adds to the special feeling. This day truly is set apart for awaiting the arrival of Jesus and we want to look sharp when he comes!

Smells permeate the house. My grandmother and aunt (usually) spend the better part of the day cooking our dinner.

Around nightfall, we set out the change in the sink (I don’t know if this is even Polish0 we fill a bowl with pocket change and sudsy water and everyone washes their hands. The last person to wash their hands gets to keep the change. As you can imagine, the younger kids fight for this lucrative position J.

As night falls, the youngest child searches for the first star. When he or she sees it they rush in proclaiming it aloud. Now, we can officially start the dinner!

We sit around my grandparent’s old dark wood table. Attendance fluctuates from year to year with the only people being there EVERY year for the past 23 years are me and my grandparents.

We set an extra place at the table because, as the Polish proverb goes, “A guest in the home is God in the home.” (gość w dom, Bóg w dom)

There is a bit of hay on the table to symbolize Christ’s impoverished birth in a stable.

 We listen to an ancient cassette tape (I know, how archaic!) of my great-grandfather (affectionately known by his grandchildren as DeeDee Balajek) wish us bless us in Slovakian and wish us Merry Christmas in a thickly accented English. It is so special!

The children light the Advent wreath with its pink and purple candles.

We all participate in reading the poem “One Solitary Life” by James Allan Francis (included at the bottom, I encourage you to read this sermon excerpt!)

My grandfather explains the honey and oplatek (wafers). We dip them in honey and feed a bite to someone asking their forgiveness for all the ways we sinned against them in the past year and blessing them for the new year.

Then, the food starts!

There are an odd number of dishes—typically 7, 9, or 11.

The main dish is a hearty mushroom soup over mashed potatoes, there is some type of fruit, cheese bread (delicious) and other things. But most importantly to all the boys… the perogie!

I never really eat the food because it upsets my stomach… except for the cheese bread, I eat lots of that. We usually stop at a mcdonalds on the way back to Atlanta.

After dinner, we have dessert, but the kids are all waiting for what comes next… presents!

Every person gets to open just ONE gift on Christmas Eve. It’s usually really small, but it’s all fun!

Then, my personal favorite and classic memory among the Midas family treasures: carols! My grandfather is a great piano player so we rattle out some Christmas tunes. Somehow, “How much is that doggie in the window?” and “You are my sunshine” always make their way in, too ;).

After some more talking, laughter, alcohol consumption, kids playing with their new toys, etc., it’s time to leave and head back to the city to spend Christmas morning with my other grandma. We make our way out and everyone says they love each other. One of the most beautiful and sad memories I have from every year is all the Midases standing like silhouettes against the porch light, waving and doing big, dramatic kisses. Family, God’s greatest gift to us.

The traditions are fun and seeing my family is wonderful, but there’s another reason that Christmas Eve is so special.

It’s a day to contemplate the Advent of Christ, to hope and wait for his arrival, the first time, symbolically, and the second time, actually. We want to be ready for when he comes, and this day is a great day to posture our hearts for his coming appearance to the world.

Luke 12:35-40(NASB)

Christ says, “’Be dressed in readiness and keep your lamps lit. Be like men who are waiting for their master when he returns from the wedding feast, so that they may immediately open the door to him when he comes and knocks. Blessed are those slaves whom the master will find on alert when he comes; truly I say to you, that he will gird himself to serve, and have them recline at the table, and will come up and wait on them. Whether he comes in the second watch, or even the third, and finds them so, blessed are those slaves. But be sure of this, that if the head of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have allowed his house to be broken in to. You too, be ready; for the Son of Man is coming at an hour that you do not expect.’”

"Here is a man who was born in an obscure village as the child of a peasant woman.
He grew up in another obscure village.
He worked in a carpenter shop until he was thirty and then for three years was an itinerant preacher.
He never wrote a book.
He never held an office.
He never owned a home.
He never had a family.
He never went to college.
He never put his foot inside a big city.
He never traveled two hundred miles from the place where he was born.
He never did one of the things that usually accompany greatness.
He had no credentials but himself.
He had nothing to do with this world except the naked power of his divine manhood.
While still a young man the tide of popular opinion turned against him.
His friends ran away.
One of them denied him.
Another betrayed him.
He was turned over to his enemies.
He went through the mockery of a trial.
He was nailed upon the cross between two thieves.
His executioners gambled for the only piece of property he had on earth while he was
dying, and that was his coat.
When he was dead, he was taken down and laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend.
Nineteen wide centuries have come and gone and today he is the center of the human race and the leader of the column of progress.
I am far within the mark when I say that all the armies that ever marched, and all the navies that were ever built, and all the parliaments that ever sat and all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man upon the earth as powerfully as has this one solitary life."

Christ Is Enough: Rest (Or What To Do In Case Of A Manic Episode)

Okay, yall. So bear with me. I’m going to reference a lot of scripture, but I promise it’s all related to rest.

So, first. How does God define rest in the bible.

Definitions of Rest in the Bible

One of the passages I will be pulling in from the OT is Psalm 95. The way my concordances 

define the word rest in Psalm 95:11 is: H4496 m@nuwchah

repose or (adverbially) peacefully; figuratively consolation (specifically matrimony); hence (concretely) an abode. This is important. What the Hebrews of the day would have associated with the rest of God would be entering Canaan. Now, we know this side of the Old Covenant that there were still enemies and giants to face in the Promised Land, but the Hebrew idea of rest involved tabernacling in Canaan. Settling down and making their abode there.

The main NT passage I will be drawing from quotes from Psalm 95. Hebrews 4:3-11 discusses the believer entering into the final rest of God, thus the heavenly Canaan, eternity. Here, Jesus is the better Joshua who actually will succeed in providing true rest for his people. However, there are two words used for rest in this passage. In verse 8, rest is translated as G2664 katapauo meaning to make quiet, to cause to be at rest, to grant rest. To settle down, to colonize. Here again we see the idea of rest as making a permanent home. The next word in verse 9 that is written in the English translation as Sabbath rest is G4520 sabbatismos. This word is translated as a keeping Sabbath, the blessed rest from toils and troubles looked for in the end of the age to come by the true worshippers of God, the repose of Christianity. This type of rest is connected to heaven, our final resting place for eternity, at home in Christ’s heart.

Now, I am going to make an argument that, though the final rest is something we as believers will have to wait for until heaven, I believe that as heirs of the kingdom, we can appropriate this rest all the time in our hearts. Hear me out. God is returning to this earth to make it new. The New Jerusalem will come down to this earth. So, we can play a part in redeeming this earth now as living vessels of Sabbath rest. Listen, the rest is connected to the presence of God. In heaven, we will have this type of shalom-shalom true rest because we will finally be in the presence of God. But, if you’re a Christian, who do you have living inside of you right now? Holy Spirit! We ARE in the presence of God, all the time. So how do we appropriate this type of rest? I will discuss this later in the blog. First, I want to explain why I began studying rest in the first place.

“Christ is Enough”

I was recently sitting with a friend at dinner and talking to him about this intense loneliness I’d been feeling. I had no idea why because I have plenty of healthy, intimate friendships, a loving and engaged family, and of course, the indwelling, ever present Spirit of God. It didn’t make sense that I could feel alone and empty when I was doing everything “right.” “Christ is enough,” I asserted. “Christ is enough.” My friend looked at me and said, “Now you have to learn what that means.” I was pissed! I know what it means! I just said it, didn’t I?! I can declare fluffy Christian platitudes allllll day long. But I was finally challenged. What do those platitudes mean functionally in a life?

So a week or so later, when the feelings of loneliness hadn’t subsided, I said, “Okay, God. Teach me, show me, reveal to me, what it means that Christ is enough.” I wasn’t expecting an answer very quickly but immediately this thought popped into my head, “Christ is enough so that I can rest.” Nice! Cool. That sounds great. But still, what does it mean…

That night and following morning, I would find out. Hours crept by and I just wasn’t getting tired. I took quadruple the amount of recommended melatonin, and at 5am I even drank a beer to try to knock myself out. Nothing worked and it seemed like I was only gaining MORE energy. Then I realized, shit. Manic episode. Ughhhh. I haven’t had one since my cousin passed away and I bought a ticket to an opera in St. Petersburg, Russia (don’t worry, my dad didn’t let me go). They SUCK. For real. Especially if you know it’s just a deception that the chemicals in your brain are trying to trick you with. I felt like I could run a marathon but my body was raging against all the expense of energy. So I turned on the worship music and remembered what my campus pastor at VT, Michelle Saladino once told me. “Anna, when you’re manic, you need to rest.” That’s exactly the opposite of what your mind makes you think you need. But I realized, I may not be able to sleep, but I can still rest in Christ. I played some spontaneous worship music (shout out Bethel, love ya). And I did rest. The cool presence of the Lord invaded my soul. At that moment, I remembered what the Lord told me about Christ being enough earlier that day/night. “Christ is enough so that I can rest.” God gave me the revelation before I would need it.

How do we appropriate the rest of God?

1)   Faith I was looking into the verses in Heb. 4 that talk about people not entering in rest and hardening their hearts. Well, those verses are directly quoted from Psalm 95 which is a Psalm about the Israelites’ experience at Massah and Meribah. In Exodus 17, this Israelites start grumbling against Moses and God because they were thirsty in the wilderness. Now, their thirst was a real need that needed to be filled or they would die, but the Israelites responded to their need in the wrong way. They doubted a God who had, in multiple chapters of their story, proven he could and wanted to provide for them (don’t get me wrong, I do the same thing, but this is for teaching purposes). So Moses strikes the rock with his staff and water issues forth. (perhaps a picture of one day the streams of living water issuing forth from NT believer’s previously stony hearts? John 7:38). Verse 7 writes, “He [Moses] named the place Massah and Meribah because of the quarrel of the sons of Israel, and because they tested the Lord, saying, ‘Is the LORD among us?’” Massah means test and Meribah means quarrel. They didn’t believe that God was who he says his is. So, according to Psalm 95, God says, “Therefore I swore in my anger, truly they shall not enter into my rest.” Because of unbelief, a whole generation didn’t get to see the Promised Land. So, ask God for faith. To believe he is who he says he is. Ask who he is in your circumstance, your dire need. And believe him.

2)   Worship When any of my girls (who already know the Lord) comes ot me with any spiritual warfare or issues of dire need, I tell them to open their mouths and worship the Lord. It’s not about whether they can sing well or not, it’s about tearing down strong holds with the declared word of God. It’s about pushing back principalities of darkness that are trying to threaten them. Like Paul and Silas learned in their midnight prison cell, worship changes circumstances (whether physical chains break or not).

3)   Settle Down One of the definitions for our Hebrew word for rest is abode and one of the Greek words is defined by colonization and “settiling down”. A cool word picture of this occurs in Jeremiah 29. Jeremiah 29:4-11, “Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon, ‘Build houses and live in them; and plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and become the fathers of sons and daughters, and take wives for your sons and give your daughters to husbands, that they may bear sons and daughters, and multiply there and do not decrease. Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf; for in its welfare you will have welfare… For thus says the LORD, ‘When seventy years have been completed for Babylon, I will visit you and fulfill my good word to you, to bring you back to this place. For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope.’” Often my bipolar disorder can make me feel imprisoned and exiled, but God has a will that I would settle down and flourish still. Wherever you are may feel like a place of exile, but settle down and be fruitful and see what occurs. When we walk out the Great Commision (whether from Gen. 1:28 “Be fruitful and multiply” or Matthew 28 “Make disciples of all nations”) we will find purpose and internal rest in our “exiles”. When we choose to settle down and obey God in the midst of our heart ache, I have experienced that the Lord honors that with true, heavenly rest. Rest that cannot be stolen by times that feel like exile.

Thanks for reading, if you made it this far. I pray that you experience all the rest the Lord has for you in this season and for the rest of your life!

Wyldlife Winter Weekend 2017 and Farther Along

“So much more to life than we’ve been told
It’s full of beauty that will unfold
And shine like you struck gold my wayward son
That deadweight burden weighs a ton
Go down into the river and let it run
And wash away all the things you’ve done
Forgiveness alright”

“Farther Along” by Josh Garrels

This weekend I had the incredible privilege of leading a cabin of girls at Chesapeake, Norfolk, and Hatteras’ Wyldlife Winter Weekend. Words will never be enough to thank the Lord for allowing me to love his dear ones. I do not take the honor lightly.

Coming from leading high school and college students, middle schoolers rocked my world. They are so funny and CUTE. And it was weird to be some much older than the students I was ministering to (ten years older, to be exact). These dear girls and boys are just forming and becoming who they will be forever. As I looked around, I could see their futures stretching forth like tape. And I had the sweet gift of getting to influence where that tape would lead them. Into the Lord’s lovingkindness or not. Ultimately the choice is theirs. It’s wonderous mystery, what takes place between a soul and its Maker.

As soon as we arrived at Triple R, I was flooded with memories of my walk with the Lord and how Young Life has played such a huge role in shaping my story.

I remembered being a brooding 16 year old who just wanted a friend.

I remembered the most popular girl in school asking me to hang out.

I remembered only going to camp because I wanted more tagged pictures on Facebook (yeah… hahaha whatever it takes!)

I remembered having THE BEST week of my life at Rockbridge in July 2011.

I remembered a full-grown man dressing in a diaper as a big baby so I could laugh until it hurt.

I remembered those sweet tears I cried after hearing the cross talk and seeing scenes from The Passion.

I remembered my first twenty minutes-exactly where I sat and what I prayed about-hearing the voice of the Lord for the first time in my life, beckoning me to come home.

I remembered getting what the big picture was all about and understanding that I was now called to love my friends.

I remembered having my first kiss on a bus home from YL camp (with Will Cox standing 2 feet away… no idea what we were thinking lol).

I remembered meeting my best friends at Young Life camp. And they are still my best friends to this day, having stood by me through the hardest moments of my short life.

I remembered all of Grassfield campaigners coming to visit me in the hospital after I had a softball sized tumor removed from my pancreas.

I remembered leading at Oscar Smith high school and giving my first club talk (I cried in the bathroom beforehand because I hated public speaking).

I remember leading my first cabin of precious Great Bridge and Smith girls.

I remember praying with girls to commit their lives to Christ and invite Holy Spirit into their hearts.

I remembered that it was my old young life leader who I called when I had to go to the psych ward after a mental breakdown.

I remembered all of it, the big stuff and the little stuff.

And I got to watch a God wrote each of those kids’ stories this weekend. Some of them making a decision that would change the course of their whole life.

I got to pray with girls to accept Christ. (side note: one sweet girl I prayed with had one request upon entering new life: she wanted to dance to a nickelback song…. I know, it’s hilarious).

I got to watch friendships form that may last those girls and boys their entire lives.

And it was all a gift.

I will never be worthy to experience the fullness of life that comes with ministering the gospel of Christ. But boy am I thankful for grace.

All a gift.

The Presence of God

In 2015, I was a fiery little evangelist. I talked to anyone and everyone about Jesus. I would see a picture of someone that id never met, feel lead to go to old navy and find that very person to talk to. I would prophesy over anyone who would let me. I saw miracles and breakthrough. I felt God speaking to me to dwell in the realm of the impossible. It was a great season of harvest. But then, it wasn’t.

I was hit with the most severe depression and psychosis I’d ever faced. There was a horrible voice in my head telling me to kill myself. It screamed at me. As I sat on my floor, I felt the tender yet strong voice of God tell me to get up. Every day was a fight just to go to class or events for ministry, just to get out of bed. And there was one song that I played over and over in that season. It’s a version of “King of My Heart” sung live by Steffany Gretzinger. (Boy, is that song anointed.) I remember stomping around my apartment all by myself declaring the goodness of God. I would cry and yell and do whatever I had to proclaim what I knew to be true to an atmosphere that was threatening to take my life.

Things didn’t get better immediately. There would be months of therapy, pills, a short stay at a psych ward. I had a lymphoma scare and thought I would lose my life to metastasized cancer. No matter how I reacted to my circumstances, he didn’t change. He always had a hand on me.

It’s been a year since that trying season. Things haven’t been perfect, but I’m the healthiest I’ve been in years. I’ve been telling my friends in awe, “I feel the presence of God again. He’s speaking to me.” I have experienced personal revival especially in the past two weeks.

I think as a charismatic/Pentecostal Christian, I have overcompensated for the fear of relying too much on “feelings” in my faith by staying away from fanaticism, but can I tell you, feeling the presence of God is unlike anything you will ever experience. I feel so thankful that I have been reawakened to his presence. My lover.

A prayer I have been praying is for the Lord to take me deeper than he did in 2015. I don’t want the same; I want more! More revival! More of his presence, plain and simple.

Tonight, I went to Big House (shout out to an incredible church!). In the beautiful chapel, with light streaming through the stained-glass windows, we sang “King of My Heart”. My heart came alight as I sang the line “you are good” to a good God. I realized that I am no longer in a season of death and despair. What Satan tried to take from me, namely, my life, he could not. God wouldn’t let him. God taught me how to fight and the greatest strategy, the one that got me through, was to declare his goodness. Gritty worship to a God that sticks with us through the junkyards of life.

One of my other favorite worship songs is “Lily’s Song(Praise the Lord)” by Kristene Dimarco (really the entire Mighty album). A line (taken from Psalm 118:17) she sings declares, “I will not die; I will live, and tell of the works of the Lord.” I scream that line every time. Because no matter how many times Satan has tried to take my life, I have lived by the grace of God. I will tell of his works all the days of my life.

I sang tonight, full of a joy that for once I actually fought for. Normally, God just graces me with joy in the midst of sorrow. But this time he taught me how to fight and the result is so much sweeter. I can look back, now above the tree-line, and see how far I’ve come up the mountain. I have a history with God and a story to tell. I'm not stopping now.

Find the Steffany Gretzinger version of "King of My Heart" here

Find Kristene Dimarco's "Lily's Song(Praise the Lord)" here

Psalm 118:17 (NASB) "I will not die, but live, and tell of the works of the LORD."

To Grandpa with love

We’d been out on the water since 6 am without any luck. I think the fish knew it was too hot and rightly stuck to the bottom of the lake where our bait didn’t reach. It was nearing noon, and I was ready to call it quits, and relax in the cool basement with some biscotti and a diet caffeine-free coke (the kind in the gold cans that I only like in Georgia). I was rounding up the gear and started up the rocky path to the house when my grandpa gets a sly look on his face and says, “Hold on, you’ve never used a fly rod before, have you?” I replied, “No.” “Run up there and grab one, we’re gonna try for just a bit longer.” My countenance (probably very noticeably) fell as I pictured more hours in the sun with no reward for my efforts. But, I obeyed and got the rod.

Grandpa took me straight across the lake to the other side. One of his many “spots.” If you could have anti-hope, that’s what I had for this little lesson. Grandpa was smoking a big cigar and asked me if I wanted a puff before we started. He handed it over to me with one end completely covered with saliva (ew!), but I still tried it. I don’t think I did it right. Anyways, he taught me the basics: flick of the wrist, a few moments pause, then out of the water again. Handing the rod over to me, Grandpa had a solemn look, as if he was passing down a sacred rite that oughtn’t be derided. I cast my first few poppers a bit awkwardly but soon caught the rhythm of it. It is fun, learning something new. It has a way of reminding you that there will always be some part of you that is a child who needs to learn.

As the sun settled at its peak, I was busy casting and recasting. ‘This was fun,’ I thought, ‘not too bad.’ Little did I expect that within seconds I would see the lure submerge in a wink to my grandfather’s elation. I remembered his admonition, “Wait a second, then strike.” And soon was reeling in my surprise, sunny day fish. And what do you know, it was a Sunny! I will absolutely never, and I mean never forget the shine of blue and silver as the little fish wriggled in my hand. (That’s right, it was an average size Sunny, but don’t you forget that I hold the Sullivan Lake record with a 23lb bass!) We didn’t have a camera to take a picture, but we didn’t need one. During the burst of adrenaline, I managed to paint mental portraits of this precious moment. And now I deposit them here, for my family, for my Grandpa.

Here’s to you, Grandpa.

Love,

Anna Jo