I know we all talk about living a lifestyle of thankfulness, and not just on Thanksgiving - and I wholeheartedly agree. But there is also much to be said about setting aside a specific time to remember all the things God has done. When times are hard, the things we are thankful for can be something to hang onto and something to remember when it doesn't seem like there is anything to celebrate.
Now, I'm the happiest I've ever been, so I have lots to celebrate and lots to be thankful for. Therefore, here are just a few of the things I'm thankful for. I'm writing them down so I can look back later and see that God never stops doing good things. Behold my list! Not in any particular order.
1. God defied all logic and brought me here out of a situation that should have only brought sorrow. I'm so grateful to my family and friends that helped me get here.
2. God turned me inside-out and made me into a different person. Not just a new person, but the person I was supposed to be in the first place. So whole...
3. He put people in my life to come alongside me. I can't possibly describe the furious love in my heart for my friends and family, old and new, that He has placed into my life.
4. He showed me a future too awesome to hope for and too crazy to dream. Gave me things to accomplish so far beyond my ability, so far over my head, that I know He's going to be there for the rest of my life because it wouldn't work without Him.
5. He gave me Himself. Totally, absolutely, without measure. He is teaching me who I really am and who He really is. He lets Himself be found when I look for Him.
6. He gave me joy. Abundant, bubbling, overflowing joy that I've never experienced before. I kinda like it.
So, that is the list of major life-changing things... Then there's all the other stuff like food and clothes and a place to live and music and art and oxygen and more food. There is so much to be thankful for that this writing and my brain simply doesn't have room to contain it all. If you wish, I'd love it if you'd comment with some things you're thankful for. You don't have to. Just a suggestion. But even if you don't, find something God has done for you to hang onto. It helps you find the sunshine in life. :)
Peace out!
--Gracey
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Version 3.0
It is becoming increasingly difficult to describe my encounters with God and the ways they change me. I think it's because they are unprecedented in my life and I no longer have any basis for comparison. Last week set my foundation in concrete. This weekend blew the roof off.
It began with a visit. I mentioned my pastors, the Trusslers, in my last blog. They've also become my spiritual parents and taken me under their wings in quite a few different ways. Well, this last weekend, they had a friend coming into town to visit. I'm not gonna tell you her name just because I'm not sure how she'd feel about that. I guess we can call her Meg. Anna was quite excited for me to meet her friend, because she's extremely prophetic. Technically, "extremely prophetic" isn't even the right word. She's a prophet.
So I got to meet Anna's prophet friend, and the first thing she did upon meeting me was to look me dead in the eye and say, "You are me." Atomic bomb. I know I'm prophetic. But prophetic on a Meg-like level is big. She gave me a prophetic word about my ministry, saying that my ministry is like a race car. Most people get normal cars. But mine is a race car because it's extra fast and extra powerful, but also requires extra skill, precision and training. She also told me I have to be extra careful with my words, because they're a lot like Elisha's words. Because of the words Elisha spoke, forty-two kids got eaten by a bear. That's power. Yikes.
But it was so good because her word, unlike the others I've received about the power of my words and my voice, had direction and push behind them. It wasn't just "look, here's this huge power, have fun!" It was "you have this huge power, and this is how you invest and steward it properly."
Bam. Suddenly, it is something that I don't just have, but something that is desperately needed, to the point where I need to train for it. Because using it improperly is like playing with the launch buttons in a nuclear missile silo. Unless you know what you're doing, don't effing touch that!
So then, she decided to be my mentor and made my heart so very happy, and then I was told that prophets generally mentor other prophets. Whoa. So... what exactly is that implying? So I was asking God about it. The convo went kind of like this:
Me: "Okay, so what gives? Am I prophetic, or am I a prophet?"
God: "Well, you are extremely prophetic. But you aren't a prophet until I call you and set you in that office."
Me: "Mkay. Got it."
The next morning was Sunday. My throat was all wack, so I sat with God in worship and He just talked to me. We were getting toward the end of worship, and I was talking to God about my future. I have always known and felt that He is my only future. I am not cut out for a regular 9 - 5 job that shifts my focus away from him. Not as a lifetime career. I have a very one-track mind that causes me to put my focus on one thing and neglect another, and if I have to choose between focusing my whole heart and passion on Him and not eating because I can't afford food, I will dig in the dumpster and focus the rest of my attention on Him. But I didn't know how I could do that. Have my job be just to focus on Him.
"Well," God said. "What are your dreams and your heart for?"
"I don't really know, God... I know I used to have them, but I can't remember..."
"Well, what did you write on your BSSM application?"
"Ohhh... I wanted to bring your real heart to your people. To teach them who they really are and who you really are. 'Cause I remember when I didn't have a clue..."
That was when He said:
"I send you to my church, to my people. You will teach them who they are and who I am, you will wake them up to my heart."
The sense of calling echoed within me at that moment. This is it. The rest of my life. This is what I'm meant for. All my dreams and the heart that I had for what I want to do came flooding back.
About thirty seconds later, my pastor Beto got up to the podium and started asking God to restore to us our dreams, visions and heart for Him. I'm sitting there listening to that and thinking, "God, is that you or is it just my own wishful thinking?"
And He went, "I just had Beto get up and confirm it for you! Write the freaking thing down!"
So I did. So begins the weight of a destiny with impact. Am I prophetic? Most definitely. Am I a prophet? Not yet. Will I be? Someday, I believe so.
Meet Grace 3.0, the version with purpose.
Peace out.
--Grace Grace
It began with a visit. I mentioned my pastors, the Trusslers, in my last blog. They've also become my spiritual parents and taken me under their wings in quite a few different ways. Well, this last weekend, they had a friend coming into town to visit. I'm not gonna tell you her name just because I'm not sure how she'd feel about that. I guess we can call her Meg. Anna was quite excited for me to meet her friend, because she's extremely prophetic. Technically, "extremely prophetic" isn't even the right word. She's a prophet.
So I got to meet Anna's prophet friend, and the first thing she did upon meeting me was to look me dead in the eye and say, "You are me." Atomic bomb. I know I'm prophetic. But prophetic on a Meg-like level is big. She gave me a prophetic word about my ministry, saying that my ministry is like a race car. Most people get normal cars. But mine is a race car because it's extra fast and extra powerful, but also requires extra skill, precision and training. She also told me I have to be extra careful with my words, because they're a lot like Elisha's words. Because of the words Elisha spoke, forty-two kids got eaten by a bear. That's power. Yikes.
But it was so good because her word, unlike the others I've received about the power of my words and my voice, had direction and push behind them. It wasn't just "look, here's this huge power, have fun!" It was "you have this huge power, and this is how you invest and steward it properly."
Bam. Suddenly, it is something that I don't just have, but something that is desperately needed, to the point where I need to train for it. Because using it improperly is like playing with the launch buttons in a nuclear missile silo. Unless you know what you're doing, don't effing touch that!
So then, she decided to be my mentor and made my heart so very happy, and then I was told that prophets generally mentor other prophets. Whoa. So... what exactly is that implying? So I was asking God about it. The convo went kind of like this:
Me: "Okay, so what gives? Am I prophetic, or am I a prophet?"
God: "Well, you are extremely prophetic. But you aren't a prophet until I call you and set you in that office."
Me: "Mkay. Got it."
The next morning was Sunday. My throat was all wack, so I sat with God in worship and He just talked to me. We were getting toward the end of worship, and I was talking to God about my future. I have always known and felt that He is my only future. I am not cut out for a regular 9 - 5 job that shifts my focus away from him. Not as a lifetime career. I have a very one-track mind that causes me to put my focus on one thing and neglect another, and if I have to choose between focusing my whole heart and passion on Him and not eating because I can't afford food, I will dig in the dumpster and focus the rest of my attention on Him. But I didn't know how I could do that. Have my job be just to focus on Him.
"Well," God said. "What are your dreams and your heart for?"
"I don't really know, God... I know I used to have them, but I can't remember..."
"Well, what did you write on your BSSM application?"
"Ohhh... I wanted to bring your real heart to your people. To teach them who they really are and who you really are. 'Cause I remember when I didn't have a clue..."
That was when He said:
"I send you to my church, to my people. You will teach them who they are and who I am, you will wake them up to my heart."
The sense of calling echoed within me at that moment. This is it. The rest of my life. This is what I'm meant for. All my dreams and the heart that I had for what I want to do came flooding back.
About thirty seconds later, my pastor Beto got up to the podium and started asking God to restore to us our dreams, visions and heart for Him. I'm sitting there listening to that and thinking, "God, is that you or is it just my own wishful thinking?"
And He went, "I just had Beto get up and confirm it for you! Write the freaking thing down!"
So I did. So begins the weight of a destiny with impact. Am I prophetic? Most definitely. Am I a prophet? Not yet. Will I be? Someday, I believe so.
Meet Grace 3.0, the version with purpose.
Peace out.
--Grace Grace
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
My Story. (Long...)
I have been trying repeatedly to write down and explain exactly what it is that has happened to me; this radical transformation that I have undergone. But the truth is that all the words in my extensive vocabulary fall pitifully short of an accurate description of what has happened to me. It is extremely long, but I want you to understand fully the predicament I was in, from which I have been rescued.
Imagine if you would, that my whole life, my spine has been out of wack. And my back has always caused me great pain because of this. But suddenly, God comes along, flips me upside down, gives one great big shake, and snap! Suddenly, everything lines up. No more pain, no more crouching over, no more constant agonizing over, "Is my back going to hurt today, or will it be mostly okay? Can I bend down and pick that up without causing agony for the rest of the day?" In a sense, that's what God did to me this last week.
(Note to the reader: This story isn't pretty. But it does have a happy ending.)
It all began the Saturday before Halloween. BSSD had a Halloween party. I was staying with my pastors, who were helping out with some of the stuff. I got into the party, and at first, it was okay. But then, I started to get a little anxious. Walking onto the open space of the theater floor made me cringe. The large gathering of people made me nervous. Then it snowballed. A lot. And I found myself hiding in the dark in between rows of seats, full of fear. When finally I admitted to myself that I needed to leave ASAP and got Anna, one of the pastors, to take me home, I bolted out to the car.
She dropped me off at her home, and because she was helping, she had to return to take care of some things. At first I'd calmed down a little on the way home, but once she left, it got worse and worse. Rudy, my pastor, got home first, and found me hiding under a fortress of couch cushions that I'd built because I couldn't stand the thought of showing anyone my face. I'd never had such an urge to hide in a small, dark space before, but I decided it was far too loony for me to hide in a closet. I wanted to maintain some shred of sanity.
Rudy was very gentle about it. He didn't push, but gently coaxed me out from under my cushion fortress. We talked and carefully brought up the root behind the panic attack. I've been uncomfortable with open spaces most of my life. Not having a place to hide was a difficulty I've had to learn to live with. But something about the party and the people that night set it off to a whole new level.
After talking with Rudy and Anna about it, and a lot of listening, the fear began to subside. But when the fear disappeared, the pain set in. I've been through a lot of pain in my life. Physical pain and I are not strangers in the slightest. That was the most intense pain I've ever been in. I felt like there were knives in between my ribs, and iron bands surrounding my chest to push them in farther. My stomach cavity was being violently ripped open, and I couldn't breathe.
When it got to the point that I would either have to take something to knock me out for a while or go to the E.R., which would be expensive and incredibly painful, I finally caved and took the knockout stuff. I don't even know how long it took for me to sit up long enough to get that little chore done. Enough said. It was bad.
So. I was knocked out. For a few hours. Didn't sleep worth a darn otherwise, but did get a lot of reading done that night. Was pretty sick the next day. Sick enough to miss morning church. And when I went to evening church, I stayed in a little side room off the sanctuary. Trying hard to participate, but not really in the game enough to pay attention. This was where God began to comfort me with Himself. The sermon, on which I was supposed to be taking notes, completely bypassed my brain. I literally remember two words: Daddy's home. And in reality, I think that was all I needed to hear.
Monday was okay enough that I returned to the girls' house. Monday night, no sleep. Tuesday dawned with a dose of awful. I found myself sitting in a corner in Revival Group (a small family-group of students and mentors) and literally hiding my face with the blanket I carry around to keep me warm.
Furthermore, when I took the issue to God, what I got was a vision that - in my mind - couldn't possibly have been from God. I saw myself standing, facing a gray concrete wall. It had newspaper clippings pasted on it. Each clipping represented a memory or an experience that was just plain bad. The wall itself, representing my past, was just plain awful, and I hated it. I was so full of hurt and anger and fear, that I knew I had to bring down that wall. I attacked it with a sledgehammer and managed to knock a hole through to the other side. But when I saw the other side and realized that on the other side was open space, I flipped. I was more afraid of the open space on the other side than I was of the wall. I couldn't take down the wall. So, rage and hurt welling up inside me, I began to attack myself instead. The vision ended with me standing, staring at the wall, arms and hands completely mangled and dripping blood all over the floor.
It couldn't be from God. It just couldn't. It was awful and gruesome and didn't end with hope or happiness, and I didn't know what to do with it.
Things escalated from there, and one of the other pastors noticed that I wasn't doing so hot. After a painful (for me) conversation, I found myself sitting in my group-leader's office. She let me hang out and have my breakdown in a corner away from people, thank goodness.
By this time, I was absolutely convinced that I was going crazy. I was positive that I was headed for the loony-bin. Anna showed up, assured me that I was not, in fact, crazy, and whisked me away to her house away from prying eyes. Again, under the watchful eyes and wise words of Rudy and Anna, I was able to calm down. But we all figured it would be a better idea if I stayed there until I was able to get a sozo (inner-healing thing with Holy Spirit) scheduled and knock this thing out.
Wednesday began tenuously. Up until that point, I'd been fine in the big open space that was the sanctuary. But that morning, I walked in and immediately felt the anxiety. After some heavy-duty prayer and having one of my pastors by my side the whole time, I was okay in the sanctuary. But while I was worshiping, I was quite dizzy, and so I lay down on the floor to worship from there. Not anything unusual, and Chelsey stuck by me, still praying.
That was when the terror hit. It was so far beyond panic that it was ridiculous. I remember voices over me, me begging in a pathetic whimper for someone to get me out of there, then being stood up and attempting to bolt out of the sanctuary. I was told one of my friends tried to pick me up and carry me to "safety," but I shoved him off. I don't remember any of that, and the only reason I know who was even there was because I was told later. This was a terror that erased my mind. I didn't know who I was or who anyone else was or anything else. All I knew was this fear that had such a grip on me that I had to get away from it.
Once again, Rudy had to talk me down. And once again, I was back in the sanctuary, cowering and hiding my face. Then it was the end of the day and I was over on the side of the sanctuary, still hiding. My friend Daniel came over by me, sat down and put his arm around me. The fact that his touch was comforting to me was a revelation to me of how desperate I was. I have never liked for people to touch me. Only very certain people. But it was good. And he didn't really talk to me, which was good. Then, quietly, he began to sing in his deep, low voice. And instantly, I knew the song he was singing. He called it "the Israeli peace song." Its real name was "Oseh Shalom," a beautiful Hebrew song that my mom used to sing to me when I was little.
It calmed me so much, and knowing that he couldn't possibly have known its history for me told me that Daddy-God was in it, and He was comforting me, too. The next day, I left for school with a game-plan. I didn't wear glasses or contacts, because I decided to pretend that if I couldn't see people, they couldn't see me. It actually worked fairly well. There were still times when I had to retreat into a room by myself and sing to myself to calm me down, but even though there were times that I hid, I did not have a major panic attack that day. I left school feeling sunshine for the first time in too long.
That night, I was typing out in my computer some prophetic words I had gotten, and some letters that God was writing me. (God writes me letters. No joke.) I found, in my notebook, the awful vision that I'd seen Tuesday. And I read it again. And it suddenly clicked. The open space on the other side of the wall wasn't just open space. It was freedom. Freedom from the past, freedom from all my fears, just... freedom. And it terrified me. So much that I abandoned attacking the wall and began to attack myself instead. Then it clicked that that's exactly what the panic attacks were: Me attacking myself. From that second, I knew there were not going to be any more. They were done for.
I had a sozo scheduled for Sunday, but it looked less and less like I'd actually need it. The panic attacks completely disappeared, and joy returned to my life for the first time in ages. Sunday came, and I went ahead with the sozo anyway, just to make sure that this thing was kicked in the teeth forever. God blew my mind.
(Note to the reader: If you aren't familiar with visions or sozos or anything like that, this gets weird. Bear with me.)
I was in that little room again, with the concrete wall, looking at the open space on the other side. A green meadow with trees on the other side of it. I was right where I left off, holding that hammer and dripping blood all over the floor. But then Daddy-God showed up. He took the hammer out of my hand and dropped it on the floor. He hugged me to Him, not caring that I was dripping blood all over Him. It simply didn't matter to Him. But then, it was strange. Every time I went to try and knock the wall down again, He pulled the hammer out of my hand or stood in my way, and wouldn't let me touch the wall.
He showed me a desk on the other side of the room, piled with the same kinds of newspaper clippings that were pasted to the wall. He didn't like them. Jesus came, and he started ripping up the clippings, but they were mending themselves as he tore them. "You're not letting them go," He told me. They wouldn't rip. Holy Spirit was called in on the job. Instead of ripping them, I began to sweep them into a trashcan near the desk. It took work to get them to stay. Finally, all but three pieces of paper were in the trashcan. Holy Spirit set it on fire.
Three pieces of paper remained on the desk. I couldn't read them. I don't know what they said. But I knew the wall couldn't come down until I knew what they were and could burn them with the others. I peered again through the hole in the wall. Freedom was out there. But Jesus would have none of it. With firm insistence that it wasn't time yet, He positioned Himself in front of the hole, blocking the view. Blocking anything from coming into the room, and stopping me from continuing to try to beat down the wall.
Daddy sat me down on the other side of the room and just held me. Holy Spirit came and took my hands, examining the bleeding wounds. "We need to take care of this first," He said. He got a bowl of water and began to gently wash the wounds. It stung, but when He was finished, the blood was gone. The flesh was still some chewed up, but the bleeding had stopped.
So with Jesus guarding the hole and the wall, and Holy Spirit and Daddy sitting with me and holding me, I settled in to wait until I was ready to read the papers and knock down the wall. The wall is still there. But I'm with my Daddy, so it's okay. The room isn't scary anymore.
That night, my buddy Aaron, who sees spiritual things like crazy, told me that he saw I was a different person. "This morning, when I looked at you, I saw black rocks and black clouds," he said. "But now I see a meadow with sunshine and trees on the other side." I hadn't told Aaron about the meadow being my freedom. That night, Daddy wrote me another letter. I'd been concerned that the wall was never going to come down, that I'd never be ready for it to be broken down. But here's what He told me:
"You ask me how it is that you know I will take the wall down. I created you for freedom. It was for freedom I set you free. Just because the wall is still there at this moment does not mean you are not free. I see it all from an eternal perspective, and from my reality, the wall has already been removed. You are free."
With that realization, the last vestige of fear broke off me and fell whimpering to the floor. I really was, really am free. Free and fearless. The wall is still there. I'm still in that room. But I'm free because I'm with my Daddy, who already took down the wall. I know. It doesn't really make a lot of sense. But I'm a new person.
So that's my story. The whole shabang. How God triumphed over fear in my life and made me whole. The three papers on the desk, they don't even bother me. They'll be read when they are read, and until then, I'm more okay than I've ever been. It is my sincere desire that by reading this, you can find a grain of hope to hold onto for when times suck. Because if God can make me a new person in a week... He can do anything.
Peace and Shalom to you all.
Love,
Anna Grace
P.S.: Oh, and in case you were thinking that the vision I saw was just something in my head that I was imagining, Anna came to me later and described the room to me. She saw it too.
Imagine if you would, that my whole life, my spine has been out of wack. And my back has always caused me great pain because of this. But suddenly, God comes along, flips me upside down, gives one great big shake, and snap! Suddenly, everything lines up. No more pain, no more crouching over, no more constant agonizing over, "Is my back going to hurt today, or will it be mostly okay? Can I bend down and pick that up without causing agony for the rest of the day?" In a sense, that's what God did to me this last week.
(Note to the reader: This story isn't pretty. But it does have a happy ending.)
It all began the Saturday before Halloween. BSSD had a Halloween party. I was staying with my pastors, who were helping out with some of the stuff. I got into the party, and at first, it was okay. But then, I started to get a little anxious. Walking onto the open space of the theater floor made me cringe. The large gathering of people made me nervous. Then it snowballed. A lot. And I found myself hiding in the dark in between rows of seats, full of fear. When finally I admitted to myself that I needed to leave ASAP and got Anna, one of the pastors, to take me home, I bolted out to the car.
She dropped me off at her home, and because she was helping, she had to return to take care of some things. At first I'd calmed down a little on the way home, but once she left, it got worse and worse. Rudy, my pastor, got home first, and found me hiding under a fortress of couch cushions that I'd built because I couldn't stand the thought of showing anyone my face. I'd never had such an urge to hide in a small, dark space before, but I decided it was far too loony for me to hide in a closet. I wanted to maintain some shred of sanity.
Rudy was very gentle about it. He didn't push, but gently coaxed me out from under my cushion fortress. We talked and carefully brought up the root behind the panic attack. I've been uncomfortable with open spaces most of my life. Not having a place to hide was a difficulty I've had to learn to live with. But something about the party and the people that night set it off to a whole new level.
After talking with Rudy and Anna about it, and a lot of listening, the fear began to subside. But when the fear disappeared, the pain set in. I've been through a lot of pain in my life. Physical pain and I are not strangers in the slightest. That was the most intense pain I've ever been in. I felt like there were knives in between my ribs, and iron bands surrounding my chest to push them in farther. My stomach cavity was being violently ripped open, and I couldn't breathe.
When it got to the point that I would either have to take something to knock me out for a while or go to the E.R., which would be expensive and incredibly painful, I finally caved and took the knockout stuff. I don't even know how long it took for me to sit up long enough to get that little chore done. Enough said. It was bad.
So. I was knocked out. For a few hours. Didn't sleep worth a darn otherwise, but did get a lot of reading done that night. Was pretty sick the next day. Sick enough to miss morning church. And when I went to evening church, I stayed in a little side room off the sanctuary. Trying hard to participate, but not really in the game enough to pay attention. This was where God began to comfort me with Himself. The sermon, on which I was supposed to be taking notes, completely bypassed my brain. I literally remember two words: Daddy's home. And in reality, I think that was all I needed to hear.
Monday was okay enough that I returned to the girls' house. Monday night, no sleep. Tuesday dawned with a dose of awful. I found myself sitting in a corner in Revival Group (a small family-group of students and mentors) and literally hiding my face with the blanket I carry around to keep me warm.
Furthermore, when I took the issue to God, what I got was a vision that - in my mind - couldn't possibly have been from God. I saw myself standing, facing a gray concrete wall. It had newspaper clippings pasted on it. Each clipping represented a memory or an experience that was just plain bad. The wall itself, representing my past, was just plain awful, and I hated it. I was so full of hurt and anger and fear, that I knew I had to bring down that wall. I attacked it with a sledgehammer and managed to knock a hole through to the other side. But when I saw the other side and realized that on the other side was open space, I flipped. I was more afraid of the open space on the other side than I was of the wall. I couldn't take down the wall. So, rage and hurt welling up inside me, I began to attack myself instead. The vision ended with me standing, staring at the wall, arms and hands completely mangled and dripping blood all over the floor.
It couldn't be from God. It just couldn't. It was awful and gruesome and didn't end with hope or happiness, and I didn't know what to do with it.
Things escalated from there, and one of the other pastors noticed that I wasn't doing so hot. After a painful (for me) conversation, I found myself sitting in my group-leader's office. She let me hang out and have my breakdown in a corner away from people, thank goodness.
By this time, I was absolutely convinced that I was going crazy. I was positive that I was headed for the loony-bin. Anna showed up, assured me that I was not, in fact, crazy, and whisked me away to her house away from prying eyes. Again, under the watchful eyes and wise words of Rudy and Anna, I was able to calm down. But we all figured it would be a better idea if I stayed there until I was able to get a sozo (inner-healing thing with Holy Spirit) scheduled and knock this thing out.
Wednesday began tenuously. Up until that point, I'd been fine in the big open space that was the sanctuary. But that morning, I walked in and immediately felt the anxiety. After some heavy-duty prayer and having one of my pastors by my side the whole time, I was okay in the sanctuary. But while I was worshiping, I was quite dizzy, and so I lay down on the floor to worship from there. Not anything unusual, and Chelsey stuck by me, still praying.
That was when the terror hit. It was so far beyond panic that it was ridiculous. I remember voices over me, me begging in a pathetic whimper for someone to get me out of there, then being stood up and attempting to bolt out of the sanctuary. I was told one of my friends tried to pick me up and carry me to "safety," but I shoved him off. I don't remember any of that, and the only reason I know who was even there was because I was told later. This was a terror that erased my mind. I didn't know who I was or who anyone else was or anything else. All I knew was this fear that had such a grip on me that I had to get away from it.
Once again, Rudy had to talk me down. And once again, I was back in the sanctuary, cowering and hiding my face. Then it was the end of the day and I was over on the side of the sanctuary, still hiding. My friend Daniel came over by me, sat down and put his arm around me. The fact that his touch was comforting to me was a revelation to me of how desperate I was. I have never liked for people to touch me. Only very certain people. But it was good. And he didn't really talk to me, which was good. Then, quietly, he began to sing in his deep, low voice. And instantly, I knew the song he was singing. He called it "the Israeli peace song." Its real name was "Oseh Shalom," a beautiful Hebrew song that my mom used to sing to me when I was little.
It calmed me so much, and knowing that he couldn't possibly have known its history for me told me that Daddy-God was in it, and He was comforting me, too. The next day, I left for school with a game-plan. I didn't wear glasses or contacts, because I decided to pretend that if I couldn't see people, they couldn't see me. It actually worked fairly well. There were still times when I had to retreat into a room by myself and sing to myself to calm me down, but even though there were times that I hid, I did not have a major panic attack that day. I left school feeling sunshine for the first time in too long.
That night, I was typing out in my computer some prophetic words I had gotten, and some letters that God was writing me. (God writes me letters. No joke.) I found, in my notebook, the awful vision that I'd seen Tuesday. And I read it again. And it suddenly clicked. The open space on the other side of the wall wasn't just open space. It was freedom. Freedom from the past, freedom from all my fears, just... freedom. And it terrified me. So much that I abandoned attacking the wall and began to attack myself instead. Then it clicked that that's exactly what the panic attacks were: Me attacking myself. From that second, I knew there were not going to be any more. They were done for.
I had a sozo scheduled for Sunday, but it looked less and less like I'd actually need it. The panic attacks completely disappeared, and joy returned to my life for the first time in ages. Sunday came, and I went ahead with the sozo anyway, just to make sure that this thing was kicked in the teeth forever. God blew my mind.
(Note to the reader: If you aren't familiar with visions or sozos or anything like that, this gets weird. Bear with me.)
I was in that little room again, with the concrete wall, looking at the open space on the other side. A green meadow with trees on the other side of it. I was right where I left off, holding that hammer and dripping blood all over the floor. But then Daddy-God showed up. He took the hammer out of my hand and dropped it on the floor. He hugged me to Him, not caring that I was dripping blood all over Him. It simply didn't matter to Him. But then, it was strange. Every time I went to try and knock the wall down again, He pulled the hammer out of my hand or stood in my way, and wouldn't let me touch the wall.
He showed me a desk on the other side of the room, piled with the same kinds of newspaper clippings that were pasted to the wall. He didn't like them. Jesus came, and he started ripping up the clippings, but they were mending themselves as he tore them. "You're not letting them go," He told me. They wouldn't rip. Holy Spirit was called in on the job. Instead of ripping them, I began to sweep them into a trashcan near the desk. It took work to get them to stay. Finally, all but three pieces of paper were in the trashcan. Holy Spirit set it on fire.
Three pieces of paper remained on the desk. I couldn't read them. I don't know what they said. But I knew the wall couldn't come down until I knew what they were and could burn them with the others. I peered again through the hole in the wall. Freedom was out there. But Jesus would have none of it. With firm insistence that it wasn't time yet, He positioned Himself in front of the hole, blocking the view. Blocking anything from coming into the room, and stopping me from continuing to try to beat down the wall.
Daddy sat me down on the other side of the room and just held me. Holy Spirit came and took my hands, examining the bleeding wounds. "We need to take care of this first," He said. He got a bowl of water and began to gently wash the wounds. It stung, but when He was finished, the blood was gone. The flesh was still some chewed up, but the bleeding had stopped.
So with Jesus guarding the hole and the wall, and Holy Spirit and Daddy sitting with me and holding me, I settled in to wait until I was ready to read the papers and knock down the wall. The wall is still there. But I'm with my Daddy, so it's okay. The room isn't scary anymore.
That night, my buddy Aaron, who sees spiritual things like crazy, told me that he saw I was a different person. "This morning, when I looked at you, I saw black rocks and black clouds," he said. "But now I see a meadow with sunshine and trees on the other side." I hadn't told Aaron about the meadow being my freedom. That night, Daddy wrote me another letter. I'd been concerned that the wall was never going to come down, that I'd never be ready for it to be broken down. But here's what He told me:
"You ask me how it is that you know I will take the wall down. I created you for freedom. It was for freedom I set you free. Just because the wall is still there at this moment does not mean you are not free. I see it all from an eternal perspective, and from my reality, the wall has already been removed. You are free."
With that realization, the last vestige of fear broke off me and fell whimpering to the floor. I really was, really am free. Free and fearless. The wall is still there. I'm still in that room. But I'm free because I'm with my Daddy, who already took down the wall. I know. It doesn't really make a lot of sense. But I'm a new person.
So that's my story. The whole shabang. How God triumphed over fear in my life and made me whole. The three papers on the desk, they don't even bother me. They'll be read when they are read, and until then, I'm more okay than I've ever been. It is my sincere desire that by reading this, you can find a grain of hope to hold onto for when times suck. Because if God can make me a new person in a week... He can do anything.
Peace and Shalom to you all.
Love,
Anna Grace
P.S.: Oh, and in case you were thinking that the vision I saw was just something in my head that I was imagining, Anna came to me later and described the room to me. She saw it too.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Grace!
I have decided that from here on out, I will be known as Anna Grace, and not just by Anna. I know I sign all my posts that way, but it is my intention to fully integrate that into my whole life, and here's why.
When I was little, I used to hate my name. It seemed so boring to me. But now I love it. I love the fact that I'm named for my great-grandmother. I love the fact that my first name means "grace" and my middle name is Grace. I love how beautiful it is when you put them together. Even more than that is the sheer meaning of it.
Names are prophetic. Their meanings speak into lives. That's why God changed Abram's name to Abraham, meaning "father of nations," long before Abraham had any children. Every time someone called to him, "Hey, Abraham!" speaking out that destiny called it forth into being.
Firstly, let me just say that I need grace. Lots and lots of grace. But so does the rest of the world. They are hungry and thirsty for it because so much of the Christian world denies it to them. They say, "Yes, we'll take you, but first change every little detail about your life because it doesn't suit us." And when they stumble or make an error, the community is so quick to say, "Well, obviously you aren't suited for a righteous life. So we're gonna have to let you go for the good of the rest of us." The church eats its wounded, and it's so wrong that it breaks my heart.
I am given in my name, a double portion of grace, and this is how I choose to take it, step into it, and walk in it. In Anna Grace, there is grace for me, and grace for the rest of the world. By taking my full name I receive enough grace for it to overflow to the hurting world around me.
Last night at church, God really touched me concerning this. We were singing this song. I think it's from one of the Psalms, but the first part goes, "There is a river whose streams make glad the city of our God." The second part, though, was what God dropped into my heart and said, "This is for you."
"There is a fountain full of Grace, and it flows from Emmanuel's veins."
Grace. That's me. I'm in Him, He's in me, flowing Jesus' blood full of Grace all the way over me and through me, and I flow directly from Him. The picture I got was so beautiful and personal that I almost cried. I'm not a crier. Really, really not a crier. But it was just God whispering to me, "See, Grace? This is who you are."
"It came and it healed me. It came and refreshed me. It came and washed my sins away."
This is what Grace is for. This is what Grace does. Heals, refreshes, washes away sins. It was such a resounding revelation and confirmation of my identity and purpose that it took my breath away. There is such thirst in the world for this kind of grace, and it's my purpose to bring it to them because God has given me an abundance.
I am Anna Grace. And this is what I do.
Peace out.
--Anna Grace
When I was little, I used to hate my name. It seemed so boring to me. But now I love it. I love the fact that I'm named for my great-grandmother. I love the fact that my first name means "grace" and my middle name is Grace. I love how beautiful it is when you put them together. Even more than that is the sheer meaning of it.
Names are prophetic. Their meanings speak into lives. That's why God changed Abram's name to Abraham, meaning "father of nations," long before Abraham had any children. Every time someone called to him, "Hey, Abraham!" speaking out that destiny called it forth into being.
Firstly, let me just say that I need grace. Lots and lots of grace. But so does the rest of the world. They are hungry and thirsty for it because so much of the Christian world denies it to them. They say, "Yes, we'll take you, but first change every little detail about your life because it doesn't suit us." And when they stumble or make an error, the community is so quick to say, "Well, obviously you aren't suited for a righteous life. So we're gonna have to let you go for the good of the rest of us." The church eats its wounded, and it's so wrong that it breaks my heart.
I am given in my name, a double portion of grace, and this is how I choose to take it, step into it, and walk in it. In Anna Grace, there is grace for me, and grace for the rest of the world. By taking my full name I receive enough grace for it to overflow to the hurting world around me.
Last night at church, God really touched me concerning this. We were singing this song. I think it's from one of the Psalms, but the first part goes, "There is a river whose streams make glad the city of our God." The second part, though, was what God dropped into my heart and said, "This is for you."
"There is a fountain full of Grace, and it flows from Emmanuel's veins."
Grace. That's me. I'm in Him, He's in me, flowing Jesus' blood full of Grace all the way over me and through me, and I flow directly from Him. The picture I got was so beautiful and personal that I almost cried. I'm not a crier. Really, really not a crier. But it was just God whispering to me, "See, Grace? This is who you are."
"It came and it healed me. It came and refreshed me. It came and washed my sins away."
This is what Grace is for. This is what Grace does. Heals, refreshes, washes away sins. It was such a resounding revelation and confirmation of my identity and purpose that it took my breath away. There is such thirst in the world for this kind of grace, and it's my purpose to bring it to them because God has given me an abundance.
I am Anna Grace. And this is what I do.
Peace out.
--Anna Grace
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Just so you know...
Howdy ya'll! I know I haven't posted in a while, I just wanted to drop a quick line and let you know that's intentional. God hasn't stopped doing stuff in me. It's pretty freaking amazing. But it's personal enough that I'm not gonna post it on the world-wide web. If you want to know, ask me. :)
Much love,
Anna Grace
Much love,
Anna Grace
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Learning to listen.
Nothing is how I thought it was. I'm not even how I thought I was. Thoughts and feelings that I thought were mine, half the time they're not even me. I can see in my little mind's eye the look of confusion upon your face. Therefore, allow me to explain.
Firstly, if this has ever happened before, I will just say that I was not aware of it. But what I am learning is that in all this scope of what I call "me," are all these thoughts and feelings, yes? But God also speaks in thoughts and feelings. So does the enemy. We came up with a pretty good paradigm to determine which is which: God = good, devil = bad.
Well, let me just tell you what happened first so I can have time to organize the explanation in my head. Okay, so we're in Denny's. Probably about twenty of us. They had trouble fitting us all. But one of the interns here, Josh, was sitting right next to me. He's super prophetic. It's pretty awesome. So we played some 'word of knowledge' games. Basically, what happens is that you ask Holy Spirit for a little bit of info on a person that you couldn't possibly have known, and then listen for what He tells you.
Josh pretty much told me my life story. With details I've not mentioned to anyone here, and almost nobody at home. And then decided it was time for me to try it. Since I'd never done this before, I wasn't real hopeful that I could do it. But I asked Holy Spirit to show me some stuff and sat back and waited. What I got was random pictures and words. But I'm learning that God likes to talk to me like that, so I wrote everything down. And when I was ready, I began spouting off my random words and pictures. And was stunned to find out that they actually meant something to him. The random picture of grass being cut was nonsense to me, but became relevant when he told me he is a landscaper. It went on and on.
The next morning we were sitting at breakfast. Having discovered that I can hear God's voice and not muck it up, I decided I will practice it at every opportunity I get. So I sat with Josh at breakfast again to practice. This time was much more difficult. I was having a hard time clearing out my head to listen. I told Josh what was going on, and he helped me narrow stuff down and figured out that a lot of it was coming off other people in the room. I kept hearing the word "tattoo." Josh encouraged me to ask what direction it was coming from. I felt like it was coming from down the table, and when Josh asked, we found out that one of my buddies at the end of the table had been thinking about tattoos.
So apparently, according to Josh, once I'm all trained up, I'll be crazy prophetic too. Which I'm pretty excited about. The cool thing is that this is something that is not just for me to read other people, but for me to read God. And that way, we are gonna be like two peas in a pod! I will keep practicing. This whole getting-to-know-God thing is a ton of fun.
I'll bet you can't wait to read what happens next week...
Peace out!
--Anna Grace
Firstly, if this has ever happened before, I will just say that I was not aware of it. But what I am learning is that in all this scope of what I call "me," are all these thoughts and feelings, yes? But God also speaks in thoughts and feelings. So does the enemy. We came up with a pretty good paradigm to determine which is which: God = good, devil = bad.
Well, let me just tell you what happened first so I can have time to organize the explanation in my head. Okay, so we're in Denny's. Probably about twenty of us. They had trouble fitting us all. But one of the interns here, Josh, was sitting right next to me. He's super prophetic. It's pretty awesome. So we played some 'word of knowledge' games. Basically, what happens is that you ask Holy Spirit for a little bit of info on a person that you couldn't possibly have known, and then listen for what He tells you.
Josh pretty much told me my life story. With details I've not mentioned to anyone here, and almost nobody at home. And then decided it was time for me to try it. Since I'd never done this before, I wasn't real hopeful that I could do it. But I asked Holy Spirit to show me some stuff and sat back and waited. What I got was random pictures and words. But I'm learning that God likes to talk to me like that, so I wrote everything down. And when I was ready, I began spouting off my random words and pictures. And was stunned to find out that they actually meant something to him. The random picture of grass being cut was nonsense to me, but became relevant when he told me he is a landscaper. It went on and on.
The next morning we were sitting at breakfast. Having discovered that I can hear God's voice and not muck it up, I decided I will practice it at every opportunity I get. So I sat with Josh at breakfast again to practice. This time was much more difficult. I was having a hard time clearing out my head to listen. I told Josh what was going on, and he helped me narrow stuff down and figured out that a lot of it was coming off other people in the room. I kept hearing the word "tattoo." Josh encouraged me to ask what direction it was coming from. I felt like it was coming from down the table, and when Josh asked, we found out that one of my buddies at the end of the table had been thinking about tattoos.
So apparently, according to Josh, once I'm all trained up, I'll be crazy prophetic too. Which I'm pretty excited about. The cool thing is that this is something that is not just for me to read other people, but for me to read God. And that way, we are gonna be like two peas in a pod! I will keep practicing. This whole getting-to-know-God thing is a ton of fun.
I'll bet you can't wait to read what happens next week...
Peace out!
--Anna Grace
Friday, September 24, 2010
Playing in the sand.
This week has been good, with yesterday being the highlight. We had a guest worship-leader at school whose style didn't really fit with me, so I had a hard time with worship this week. But God has been revealing stuff to me about me that I didn't even realize was there. I won't really get into that now.
But I will tell you about yesterday, which was way cool. It started with breakfast, to which I felt very late because I didn't wake up until ten minutes before I headed out the door. But I was sitting down enjoying a cinnamon-raisin bagel with butter and jam when I heard Rudy call my name and the names of some other girls near me. He pulled us aside and introduced us to a lady from our host church. She had come in to ask for prayer because she was having terrible congestion and couldn't breathe. So us girls prayed for her. And when we were finished, she had tears in her eyes. She looked up and took a deep breath. Her airways were clear, she could breathe deeply and normally.
It was the first time I have prayed for anyone and seen instant healing, and I'm glad it won't be the last. I begin to understand why Bill Johnson calls it "Christian recreation." Their healing heals something in me. And I understand more than ever now that He really is listening, and He doesn't just watch from afar, He touches people.
Later in the afternoon, one of my classes went on a field trip to the beach in Trinidad. It was beautiful. The whole point was to invite Holy Spirit to come and play with us, get to know Him a little better. I wasn't feeling particularly well, so instead of running off down the beach and exploring, I parked myself in the sand and started to make a sand-sculpture because art becomes an obsession that leaves me no focus room for pain. It took a while. Everyone else was wandering back up the beach toward me to leave when I finished it - a sandy seagull - and I headed toward the water to rinse off my hands. Holy Spirit had been with me the whole time, just hanging out. We chit-chatted a little about nothing important. When I headed to the water, just sort of forgetting He was there, I thought to myself, "Man, I love playing in the sand!" Looking down, I saw beautiful patterns in the sand from the breaking waves and retreating water, and heard Him say, "Me too..."
Nothing big or important, maybe, but it really touched my heart. God likes to play in the sand. He really likes to play in the sand with me. 'Cause I'm his favorite. But that's another story for another time.
Peace out!
--Anna Grace
But I will tell you about yesterday, which was way cool. It started with breakfast, to which I felt very late because I didn't wake up until ten minutes before I headed out the door. But I was sitting down enjoying a cinnamon-raisin bagel with butter and jam when I heard Rudy call my name and the names of some other girls near me. He pulled us aside and introduced us to a lady from our host church. She had come in to ask for prayer because she was having terrible congestion and couldn't breathe. So us girls prayed for her. And when we were finished, she had tears in her eyes. She looked up and took a deep breath. Her airways were clear, she could breathe deeply and normally.
It was the first time I have prayed for anyone and seen instant healing, and I'm glad it won't be the last. I begin to understand why Bill Johnson calls it "Christian recreation." Their healing heals something in me. And I understand more than ever now that He really is listening, and He doesn't just watch from afar, He touches people.
Later in the afternoon, one of my classes went on a field trip to the beach in Trinidad. It was beautiful. The whole point was to invite Holy Spirit to come and play with us, get to know Him a little better. I wasn't feeling particularly well, so instead of running off down the beach and exploring, I parked myself in the sand and started to make a sand-sculpture because art becomes an obsession that leaves me no focus room for pain. It took a while. Everyone else was wandering back up the beach toward me to leave when I finished it - a sandy seagull - and I headed toward the water to rinse off my hands. Holy Spirit had been with me the whole time, just hanging out. We chit-chatted a little about nothing important. When I headed to the water, just sort of forgetting He was there, I thought to myself, "Man, I love playing in the sand!" Looking down, I saw beautiful patterns in the sand from the breaking waves and retreating water, and heard Him say, "Me too..."
Nothing big or important, maybe, but it really touched my heart. God likes to play in the sand. He really likes to play in the sand with me. 'Cause I'm his favorite. But that's another story for another time.
Peace out!
--Anna Grace
Monday, September 20, 2010
Peace like a river.
It really feels like the theme for this weekend has been peace. Right now I feel like I'm floating in a river of peace. Waves of stillness and calm washing over me. And before you get too wrapped up in the why of it, let me tell you the story of this weekend.
Firstly, the previous week was not really that happy. We had to tell our testimonies, and for those of you who know mine, you know it's not something I like to do. Makes me feel all raw and brings up ickies. So I was dealing with those ickies, and then on Friday, I got smacked down with missing ChaCha (Joe) so I was fighting that all day. Saturday morning was really when it all blew up. I discovered via a frantic Facebook message that a close friend had gone missing Thursday evening. I don't know if you've ever had a friend disappear, but let me tell you that there isn't much that will take your mind off it. Or stop it from wandering to all those things that could have happened. And I couldn't stop thinking about his family or feeling their heartbreak. I don't think I've ever prayed quite so unceasingly or desperately.
Sunday morning I didn't want to go to church. I didn't feel like surrounding myself with cheery people. Love them, but being around cheery people when you are heartbroken is like salt in a wound. Furthermore, trying to really enter into worship and lose yourself in it doesn't totally work when your mind and heart are all wrapped up in pain. I was in the midst of trying to wrestle myself into a worshipful state of mind (haha.) when God decided it was time to have a little chat with me. It went sort of like this:
"Are you ready to let go of this yet?"
"No."
"You know part of me is mystery. This is a mystery I want you to embrace. Trust me on this."
(From here I was trying to remind myself that God is a good guy...) "But I need to know where he is, know that he's safe."
"Is he YOUR responsibility or mine? You really want that weight? Can you help him?"
"Oh. Yeah. I guess that's right."
There were another few moments of wrestling with myself, and I decided to let it all go. Believe that God is good like He says He is, believe that He cared about Vince and his family even more than I do, and that it's all in His hand. And I decided to let him take care of it instead of trying to take it all on myself. At that instant, waves of peace began to roll over me. To lift me up and carry me away. And just like that, worship was over.
When Marty got up and announced that he was going to talk about peace, I almost laughed. "You're a little late on the bandwagon, buddy," I thought to myself. Peace prevailed for that whole afternoon. My focus shifted. Instead of praying for Vince's safety, I prayed instead for his family's peace and that Vince would choose to go home. I knew he was safe.
(Note to the reader: It looks like a happy ending here, but the story isn't over.)
Later that evening I was in the car with some other girls, driving to our evening church service in Arcata. That was when I received a text message with the news that the home church I attended back in Cedar City was no more. My peace fled from me and everything that I'd thought I had dealt with buried me like an avalanche. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.
I got to church, and sure enough, there are all those cheery people again. I made it through the prayer meeting before church somehow. Holy Spirit was there having fun with people, but I felt like the island in the river, surrounded by all the goodness, but not part of the flow. So this time I initiated the conversation with God.
"Okay, God. I see you're here. I see you on all these other folks, but where are you for me? Where do I need to be to find you?"
"I'm in peace."
"Yeah. That's funny. I tried that earlier, if you remember correctly."
"Yeah, I know. You jumped out. I didn't. I'm still here."
"I can't do that right now. I just can't. You have to come get me and pull me to where you are."
"How about you come to me this time?"
(Trying not to be frustrated at God...)(grumblegrumble)"I don't wanna..."
(Here I imagine God raising an eyebrow at me.)
"Okay, fine. You're good and got it all under control and all that jazz. Are we good?"
Apparently, we were good. My peace returned hardcore and worship was incredible after that. There wasn't anyone near me that I knew well enough to be okay tagging them with a glory ball, or I would have, I was so full of Jesus juice!
Anyway, the rest of the story is happy ending. My peace stayed put. And having a little practice finding it on purpose, peace is mine and I don't have to even ask for it anymore. I know where it lives.
Oh, the other happy ending - My friend was found safe and sound and he will be coming home. See? God's got it good.
Peace out, my friends!
--Anna Grace
Firstly, the previous week was not really that happy. We had to tell our testimonies, and for those of you who know mine, you know it's not something I like to do. Makes me feel all raw and brings up ickies. So I was dealing with those ickies, and then on Friday, I got smacked down with missing ChaCha (Joe) so I was fighting that all day. Saturday morning was really when it all blew up. I discovered via a frantic Facebook message that a close friend had gone missing Thursday evening. I don't know if you've ever had a friend disappear, but let me tell you that there isn't much that will take your mind off it. Or stop it from wandering to all those things that could have happened. And I couldn't stop thinking about his family or feeling their heartbreak. I don't think I've ever prayed quite so unceasingly or desperately.
Sunday morning I didn't want to go to church. I didn't feel like surrounding myself with cheery people. Love them, but being around cheery people when you are heartbroken is like salt in a wound. Furthermore, trying to really enter into worship and lose yourself in it doesn't totally work when your mind and heart are all wrapped up in pain. I was in the midst of trying to wrestle myself into a worshipful state of mind (haha.) when God decided it was time to have a little chat with me. It went sort of like this:
"Are you ready to let go of this yet?"
"No."
"You know part of me is mystery. This is a mystery I want you to embrace. Trust me on this."
(From here I was trying to remind myself that God is a good guy...) "But I need to know where he is, know that he's safe."
"Is he YOUR responsibility or mine? You really want that weight? Can you help him?"
"Oh. Yeah. I guess that's right."
There were another few moments of wrestling with myself, and I decided to let it all go. Believe that God is good like He says He is, believe that He cared about Vince and his family even more than I do, and that it's all in His hand. And I decided to let him take care of it instead of trying to take it all on myself. At that instant, waves of peace began to roll over me. To lift me up and carry me away. And just like that, worship was over.
When Marty got up and announced that he was going to talk about peace, I almost laughed. "You're a little late on the bandwagon, buddy," I thought to myself. Peace prevailed for that whole afternoon. My focus shifted. Instead of praying for Vince's safety, I prayed instead for his family's peace and that Vince would choose to go home. I knew he was safe.
(Note to the reader: It looks like a happy ending here, but the story isn't over.)
Later that evening I was in the car with some other girls, driving to our evening church service in Arcata. That was when I received a text message with the news that the home church I attended back in Cedar City was no more. My peace fled from me and everything that I'd thought I had dealt with buried me like an avalanche. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.
I got to church, and sure enough, there are all those cheery people again. I made it through the prayer meeting before church somehow. Holy Spirit was there having fun with people, but I felt like the island in the river, surrounded by all the goodness, but not part of the flow. So this time I initiated the conversation with God.
"Okay, God. I see you're here. I see you on all these other folks, but where are you for me? Where do I need to be to find you?"
"I'm in peace."
"Yeah. That's funny. I tried that earlier, if you remember correctly."
"Yeah, I know. You jumped out. I didn't. I'm still here."
"I can't do that right now. I just can't. You have to come get me and pull me to where you are."
"How about you come to me this time?"
(Trying not to be frustrated at God...)(grumblegrumble)"I don't wanna..."
(Here I imagine God raising an eyebrow at me.)
"Okay, fine. You're good and got it all under control and all that jazz. Are we good?"
Apparently, we were good. My peace returned hardcore and worship was incredible after that. There wasn't anyone near me that I knew well enough to be okay tagging them with a glory ball, or I would have, I was so full of Jesus juice!
Anyway, the rest of the story is happy ending. My peace stayed put. And having a little practice finding it on purpose, peace is mine and I don't have to even ask for it anymore. I know where it lives.
Oh, the other happy ending - My friend was found safe and sound and he will be coming home. See? God's got it good.
Peace out, my friends!
--Anna Grace
Thursday, September 16, 2010
The Promised Blog!
Okay, so I promised all my friends that I would start this blog up again when I got to where I was going. I was toying with the idea of deleting the former posts and just starting again, but going back through them, I don't think I will. So I will just post a quick update before giving more updates on what I've learned.
My last post (cough)February(cough) detailed my plans to attend The Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry in Redding, California. Let me tell you what actually happened. So, where we left off, I was crazy excited to attend BSSM. Suddenly, I realized that the way I was feeling about BSSM was that if I didn't make it, if I didn't get accepted my life would be worth nothing. I just knew that if I didn't get in, that I had no destiny and would be doomed to a mediocre life forever. When I realized how I was feeling about that, I had to stop and ask myself why. Because God doesn't make people feel that way. So that was when I told God that if BSSM wasn't what He had for me, I was cool with that. But I begged Him just to not leave me hanging, and if BSSM wasn't it, I desperately needed a different direction.
My answer came in the form of an email stating that I had not been accepted into the Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry, but that the Bethel School of Supernatural Discipleship would be a much better fit. I felt like I'd been dropped off a cliff. Pushed out of an airplane. The foundation of the world had dropped from underneath me and I was falling into panic and confusion. Not too long after this, I received a phone call from BSSD Director Willy Bowles.
As we talked about BSSD in my phone interview, I was relieved that this interview was a lot more like a conversation than an interrogation, and throughout the conversation, I always felt like the expectation was already there for me to attend. It ended with the affirmation that I was in. Suddenly, the fall from the cliff turned into a bungee jump. There really was a cord attached. God had caught me.
With no idea how I was going to pay for it, I began to save up money. During this time, my family in Cedar City was going through some hard times. My "daddy," was diagnosed with liver cancer earlier in the year and Jesus took him home. Later that year, I got sick and had to take two weeks off work. All the money that I'd painstakingly saved to pay for school, which was still nowhere near what I needed, went to my living expenses during that time. My faith-o-meter, already stretched by the stupid illness, dropped to zero.
Imagine then, how I felt when my family approached me and told me they had decided to use the money that Joe had left to pay for my school. All of it. My heart broke and mended all in one action. Once again, God stepped in and rescued me, despite my own failure.
So ends the story of how I ended up here and begins another story entirely. The story to come I will attempt to post on Fridays or Saturdays, just to keep you all updated. For however many people read this, anyway, this will be the primary place for updates. For small details of things that have already happened here, see my Facebook notes.
More to come!
--Anna Grace
My last post (cough)February(cough) detailed my plans to attend The Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry in Redding, California. Let me tell you what actually happened. So, where we left off, I was crazy excited to attend BSSM. Suddenly, I realized that the way I was feeling about BSSM was that if I didn't make it, if I didn't get accepted my life would be worth nothing. I just knew that if I didn't get in, that I had no destiny and would be doomed to a mediocre life forever. When I realized how I was feeling about that, I had to stop and ask myself why. Because God doesn't make people feel that way. So that was when I told God that if BSSM wasn't what He had for me, I was cool with that. But I begged Him just to not leave me hanging, and if BSSM wasn't it, I desperately needed a different direction.
My answer came in the form of an email stating that I had not been accepted into the Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry, but that the Bethel School of Supernatural Discipleship would be a much better fit. I felt like I'd been dropped off a cliff. Pushed out of an airplane. The foundation of the world had dropped from underneath me and I was falling into panic and confusion. Not too long after this, I received a phone call from BSSD Director Willy Bowles.
As we talked about BSSD in my phone interview, I was relieved that this interview was a lot more like a conversation than an interrogation, and throughout the conversation, I always felt like the expectation was already there for me to attend. It ended with the affirmation that I was in. Suddenly, the fall from the cliff turned into a bungee jump. There really was a cord attached. God had caught me.
With no idea how I was going to pay for it, I began to save up money. During this time, my family in Cedar City was going through some hard times. My "daddy," was diagnosed with liver cancer earlier in the year and Jesus took him home. Later that year, I got sick and had to take two weeks off work. All the money that I'd painstakingly saved to pay for school, which was still nowhere near what I needed, went to my living expenses during that time. My faith-o-meter, already stretched by the stupid illness, dropped to zero.
Imagine then, how I felt when my family approached me and told me they had decided to use the money that Joe had left to pay for my school. All of it. My heart broke and mended all in one action. Once again, God stepped in and rescued me, despite my own failure.
So ends the story of how I ended up here and begins another story entirely. The story to come I will attempt to post on Fridays or Saturdays, just to keep you all updated. For however many people read this, anyway, this will be the primary place for updates. For small details of things that have already happened here, see my Facebook notes.
More to come!
--Anna Grace
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
How he loves me...
Okay, so here's the deal. In my overhasty zeal to post every day, I neglected to remember that I'm not going to have internet access every day. More like once a week. So. I will be posting once a week. Tuesdays – just one more reason for Tuesdays to be awesome. And instead of bringing you my study for every day, I'm going to sort of pick a central theme for the week – something God has really impressed upon my heart for a particular week, and I'm going to focus on it all week long. I will study and write on it on my breaks/lunches at work, so that way I can bring you the insight of an entire week of study and contemplation rather than just my few minutes in the morning.
Also, just in case you hadn't heard yet, I have applied for the Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry. (Can I get a Hoo-RAH!) Also in case you haven't heard, I am ridiculously excited to hear back from them. I've been jumping up and down and giddy like a child dizzy on lemonade. Uber-awesome. I'd appreciate it if you, dear reader, would pray for me. Firstly, this is no small endeavor. I (if I get in) will be leaving my home, family, friends, job, and all I have known to move to a foreign land. ('Cause really, how much more foreign does it get than California?) I am starting to save up right now, as much as I can without starving, but I am going to need God's provision big-time – not only to pay for the school, but for me to live while I am there. No way on earth I'm gonna be able to do this without His help, so I'll be able to tell if it was Him or my idea fairly easily... :P
So the thing that really smacked me this week – one of the things, anyway – was a fairly simple concept, but one that is so incredibly profound that I often find myself jabbering mindlessly about because I just can't help it. But yesterday, it struck me in a whole, brand-new sort of way. God loves me. I mean... really. We say it all the time. We say it and repeat it so often that sometimes it just starts to turn into some sort of mindless mantra that we just repeat to try to make ourselves feel better whenever something goes wrong. We sing children's songs. Jesus loves me, this I know. But it smacked me so hard yesterday. In a good way, obviously.
Oftentimes we think we're supposed to keep our attention on God because He has His attention on Him, so we're supposed to be matching that. (Okay fine, not necessarily “we” since I don't know that anybody else ever thinks that. “I.”) I then find it so much harder to keep my gaze on Him, because I sort of get caught up in “well, if I'm paying total attention to Him, and He's paying attention to Him, then who's paying attention to me?” Selfish creature that I am, I have to wonder. That was when He decided to speak to me gently but profoundly. His attention isn't on Him. It's on me. All of it. It may be a little odd to use the word “obsession” on God, because that's normally associated with mental disorders. But I'm going to brave the social stigma and use it. God is obsessed with me. He can't take His eyes off me. I think it is somewhere in Job that says, “where can I go to hide from God's presence? Will the darkness hide me from his gaze?” He strains His eyes looking for me! And even though sometimes it doesn't seem like it, his ear is tuned, just waiting for me to breathe the slightest whisper of His name.
So. This is what I get from it. If God's focus is on me, and my focus is on me... then who is paying attention to God? I mean... God has feelings. And I know that if that was the case with me, I would feel so lonely and ignored... I think so much of the time I'm focused on me, I forget God. It's not necessarily that I “shouldn't” focus on me, but more that I don't have any need to. God's covering my back, and in the process, leaving His own heart exposed when I'm not there to meet it. I never really understood before why people would use the phrase “ministering to the heart of God.” I can't believe it's taken me this long to understand that He built us to need to be loved because that's what He needs, too.
It's hard to think about the fact that the things I don't do hurting God's feelings as much as the things I do that are wrong. Even so much as keeping my attention on me just because I'm afraid I'll get ignored otherwise. King David put it quite nicely, I think. “I was senseless and ignorant; I was a brute beast before you.” Ps. 73:22. In Anna language: “I didn't think, and therefore I was a jerk.” Perhaps King David's version was a little more poetic. I'll let you decide. Anyway. The point being that I'm tired of being a jerk to God. Realizing this just added a whole other dynamic layer to the relationship and pulled my King a little more out of dusty pages. I love it when He breathes new life into an old idea. God loves me. What a concept.
More to come!
Love,
Anna Grace
Also, just in case you hadn't heard yet, I have applied for the Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry. (Can I get a Hoo-RAH!) Also in case you haven't heard, I am ridiculously excited to hear back from them. I've been jumping up and down and giddy like a child dizzy on lemonade. Uber-awesome. I'd appreciate it if you, dear reader, would pray for me. Firstly, this is no small endeavor. I (if I get in) will be leaving my home, family, friends, job, and all I have known to move to a foreign land. ('Cause really, how much more foreign does it get than California?) I am starting to save up right now, as much as I can without starving, but I am going to need God's provision big-time – not only to pay for the school, but for me to live while I am there. No way on earth I'm gonna be able to do this without His help, so I'll be able to tell if it was Him or my idea fairly easily... :P
So the thing that really smacked me this week – one of the things, anyway – was a fairly simple concept, but one that is so incredibly profound that I often find myself jabbering mindlessly about because I just can't help it. But yesterday, it struck me in a whole, brand-new sort of way. God loves me. I mean... really. We say it all the time. We say it and repeat it so often that sometimes it just starts to turn into some sort of mindless mantra that we just repeat to try to make ourselves feel better whenever something goes wrong. We sing children's songs. Jesus loves me, this I know. But it smacked me so hard yesterday. In a good way, obviously.
Oftentimes we think we're supposed to keep our attention on God because He has His attention on Him, so we're supposed to be matching that. (Okay fine, not necessarily “we” since I don't know that anybody else ever thinks that. “I.”) I then find it so much harder to keep my gaze on Him, because I sort of get caught up in “well, if I'm paying total attention to Him, and He's paying attention to Him, then who's paying attention to me?” Selfish creature that I am, I have to wonder. That was when He decided to speak to me gently but profoundly. His attention isn't on Him. It's on me. All of it. It may be a little odd to use the word “obsession” on God, because that's normally associated with mental disorders. But I'm going to brave the social stigma and use it. God is obsessed with me. He can't take His eyes off me. I think it is somewhere in Job that says, “where can I go to hide from God's presence? Will the darkness hide me from his gaze?” He strains His eyes looking for me! And even though sometimes it doesn't seem like it, his ear is tuned, just waiting for me to breathe the slightest whisper of His name.
So. This is what I get from it. If God's focus is on me, and my focus is on me... then who is paying attention to God? I mean... God has feelings. And I know that if that was the case with me, I would feel so lonely and ignored... I think so much of the time I'm focused on me, I forget God. It's not necessarily that I “shouldn't” focus on me, but more that I don't have any need to. God's covering my back, and in the process, leaving His own heart exposed when I'm not there to meet it. I never really understood before why people would use the phrase “ministering to the heart of God.” I can't believe it's taken me this long to understand that He built us to need to be loved because that's what He needs, too.
It's hard to think about the fact that the things I don't do hurting God's feelings as much as the things I do that are wrong. Even so much as keeping my attention on me just because I'm afraid I'll get ignored otherwise. King David put it quite nicely, I think. “I was senseless and ignorant; I was a brute beast before you.” Ps. 73:22. In Anna language: “I didn't think, and therefore I was a jerk.” Perhaps King David's version was a little more poetic. I'll let you decide. Anyway. The point being that I'm tired of being a jerk to God. Realizing this just added a whole other dynamic layer to the relationship and pulled my King a little more out of dusty pages. I love it when He breathes new life into an old idea. God loves me. What a concept.
More to come!
Love,
Anna Grace
Saturday, January 23, 2010
The Mechanics of a Plea
Today's word to me sort of made me want to punch things a little. Is that allowed? I mean, not that it made me angry, it was more in a sort of, "hey, me too, so what's going on here?!" sort of way.
Psalm 6:2 - "Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am faint; Oh Lord, heal me, for my bones are in agony."
My bones aren't the problem, but the gist of the message fits. Next verse: "My soul is in anguish. How long, O Lord, how long?" Yep. I know that feeling fairly well, too. You be sick long enough and it's not just about the body anymore. It sucks away at peace and happiness in your life, draining joy from even the simplest of things. How to get that back again? Turn your gaze up - right back where it belongs (as I say to myself, "self..."). "Turn, O Lord, and deliver me; save me because of your unfailing love."
Having been in just such a position (being sort of still there), I know just the tone that comes from it. Sort of a "please help me, Lord, but I don't blame you if you don't." Then there is sort of a trying to remember just why it is that God would bother to listen to such a lowly creature as me, and a little bit more desperation gets thrown into the mix. "No one remembers you when he is dead. Who praises you from the grave?" Now I don't know if David was actually sick enough to die when he wrote this. What I do know is that the human mind is great at seizing upon the most morbid of outcomes to a situation and convincing the rest of said human that it's the only outcome possible. Thus, at times, unnecessary fear enters into the situation. Even enough to keep one up night after night in turmoil, which doesn't help the health situation either.
"I am worn out from groaning; all night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears." It's pretty amazing how a bad situation can turn into a soul-sucking situation with the right/wrong application of psychological principles and self-pity. Don't get me wrong - been there, done that, and it pretty much sucks. It's really really hard to see out of that dark cloud you wrap yourself in when you're that miserable. But I still kind of wanted to tell David to go buy some chocolate to make him feel better. I kind of think he must have, and had a good friend around to remind him the answer to his problem was there all along, because he does get it in the end.
"The Lord has heard my cry for mercy; the Lord accepts my prayer." Ahhh. Sweet relief. Sort of like, "oh yeah! I'm not alone in this thing after all..." Now for me, I'm sort of at a mix between the "Deliver-Me-O-Lord" stage and the "Lord-Has-Heard-My-Cry" stage. Not healed yet, but remembering I'm not alone. Wondering why I'm not healed, because I know that God didn't make me sick, doesn't want me to be sick, and wants to heal me. The obstacle is on my end. So really I just have to keep praying that He'll show me what that is.
You know how you can feel like you know God really well in one area, because He has repeatedly shown Himself to be unfailing in that area. You know you can trust Him there. But then there's another area where the waters still seem muddy. You've asked and asked, begged and pleaded, and nothing seems to change? Like, the God who provides for me so unfailingly is the same God who heals me? But I'm still diseased! That sort of thing. Anyway. It's on the way. I'm waiting for it. Looking forward to knowing Him as the Healer in a personal, unshakable way.
Friday, January 22, 2010
One of Us.
Luke 9:49-50
"'Master,' said John, 'we saw a man driving out demons in your name and we tried to stop him because he was not one of us.'
'Do not stop him,' Jesus said, 'for whoever is not against you is for you.'"
Whoa. Wait a sec. What happened there? John, and evidently the other disciples as well, seem to have got a little mixed up over the mission. Didn't Jesus send them out to heal the sick and cast demons out of the populace? Suddenly, someone else shows up who has come alongside them to do the same, in the same manner, and the focus of the mission shifts away from delivering people from their afflictions. Suddenly it is more important to be "one of us" than it is to do what Jesus said to go do.
Now, certainly I can understand a little bit of what the disciples may have been concerned about. I mean, after all, what do we really know about this character? We don't know him, remember? How do we know he isn't some kind of horrible person? The town drunk, or the jerk next door that yells at his kids and kicks the cat? Is that really the person we want to be broadcasting the name of Jesus all over the known world?
This I think is something that is important to note. John and the disciples are not upset with this man for trying to cast out demons in Jesus' name. They are upset because he is doing it. Because this man is commanding demons to leave in the name of Jesus, and the demons are fleeing. This tells me two things that the disciples probably ought have paid a little attention to: a) Just a guess, but I'm sort of thinking that it was Jesus and the power of his name that was casting out the demons, and this stranger was merely the tool that was employed to bring freedom to afflicted souls. b) That it probably doesn't matter what sort of fellow this man was. He was using the name of Jesus, knowing it had power, and the Lord honored that.
After all, if Jesus only used perfect vessels, where would any of us be besides tossed in the trash? Tax-collectors, prostitutes, the unwashed and unclean all carried out his purposes, and did he not love them dearly? He even embraced into the fold a man who was a notorious murderer of his beloved children! How likely is it that some stranger on the street could compare with any of those?
Taken with a grain of salt, I would imagine that what the disciples missed here was that the important thing is not who is wielding the name, but what he is doing with it, and this mission is something that Jesus clearly approved. He who is not against you is for you. "Guys, quit nitpicking and leave the dude alone! He's doing the same thing I told you to do! Be happy he's helping me, would you?"
Anyway. Food for thought.
Much love,
Anna Grace
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The Quest for More! (The pilot episode...)
Okay, so since this is the first post on this blog, I figure it would be good if I was to explain my intentions/desires/hopes/etc. for writing this. May this mark the beginning (well... depending on from whose perspective, maybe the middle...?) of a journey to smash the despicable yoke of the mediocre off my neck. That's right. This Quest for More is a Quest for Greatness. Why capitalize those words, you may ask? Because they are Important. Pay attention. This Greatness I seek, it goes beyond merely human objectives of fame and glory, the frail fickle name I could make for myself among feeble man who are here for a day and gone like grass withering on a rooftop. No, the Greatness I seek to acquire is an eternal remembrance. To rock heaven and earth with my devotion so that the foundations of the earth are shaken to the core by what their Creator sends me to do for Him. This is my Quest. That I can disappear so that He can occupy the space left in my wake.
The Bible is full of stories of mediocre men and women leading their mediocre lives. They think they are safe because they're just enough on the right side of the fence not to get nailed, but in reality, there is not a one of them that doesn't still come to the same sticky end as those who didn't bother hopping the fence at all. I will not suffer the disgrace of living under mediocrity when all authority in heaven and on the earth has been given to my Lord and Master, who lends that same to me in His name and waits to see how I will use it - or if I will at all. So many don't.
Therefore - my objectives, in as much sense as I can make of them.
1. Learn to listen to the voice of God. God by very nature is The Word. He never ceases to speak truths, commands, and even gentle requests. I have got to learn to shut up and listen so I can figure out what it is that He is saying so that I can go do it!
2. Learn about the Holy Spirit, how to release Him. The Holy Spirit, residing in us, is the very person of the power of God. How is it that we can have the power of God living in our very bodies and feel and remain so powerless?
3. Learn to sanctify my life - walk where Jesus would walk, talk what Jesus would talk. If I'm taking Him with me wherever I go, it stands to reason I should probably go wherever He points me. Which leads right back to the 'listening to His voice' thing.
4. (This really should be number one, but these aren't ranked in order of Importance.) Love God. Love Him so much that I explode. When He asks me, "how far are you willing to bend over backward to get what I have to give you," I want to be able to reply every time without hesitation, "until my spine snaps."
Now for the real question. How do I accomplish all of this? That's the awesome part - the part that you, dear reader, get to share and observe. I don't. God gets to do it all. All I have to do is draw nearer, closer, inseparable from Him, and He'll take care of it.
Thus the point of this blog, be any of you slightly interested. Based loosely on my studies with my LifeJournal, I've noticed that I don't have enough room in that dear little book to write everything that crosses my mind or every verse that speaks to me and catches my attention. Therefore, the overflow will be landing here, not only so that I can have a record of it, but so that you, dear reader, may have the opportunity to add your own insights. I greatly value any pearls of wisdom you may choose to share concerning anything I post here. Furthermore, it is my hope that however many or few of you choose to read this commentary will honor me by holding me accountable, not only in what I write, but when I don't.
As I've already started my LifeJournal, you're going to be dropped in on existing story, sort of. Not too far, mind you. But as it is nearly midnight and I work tomorrow, I will be starting with tomorrow's reading. God be with us all in our dreams tonight.
Much love,
Anna Grace
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