Spiritual Flesh and Blood 5

There was another life that affected my own as much as anything that happened during my childhood.  He was formed out of the dust of the ground and I was made from the ribs of his body.  I was completely oblivious to the life of a little boy who was as much me as I was myself.

He was not loved by his parents, but he was provided for.  Concurrent to the day of my mother’s funeral, his father called him into his office.  The little boy wore a designer baby blue suit tailored to fit him, made of shorts at the bottom to show his knee socks and leather two toned shoes.  His bowl haircut and chubby cheeks showed his youth more than his dress or his serious expression. He walked with fear, wishing he had not carried his airplane into his father’s presence.  His father leaned forward from behind his large desk.  The sun shone in from the large window behind him so that the little boy could only see his large silhouette.

Invisible demons stroked his father, “Yes.  Yes.  You are powerful.  What is this thing that lingers in your presence.  Make him leave.”  His father listened to this inner conversation as he stared down at him.  He thought about his personal power and accomplishments.  Who was this person that was not respectful of what he had accomplished?

The little boy paused, not knowing that the silence was awkward, knowing only that it was fearful.  His heart was beating quickly.

A beautiful woman wearing a dress suit and her hair tied up in a bun walked over and leaned down and whispered into his father’s ear.  His father did not change his expression or even seem to notice, except that he gave her a single nod.

Then his father addressed him.  He spoke for the first time since the boy had entered the room.  It was two words but it turned all the mystery and awe the little boy had concerning this man into one thing:  hate.

“Go away.” These two words his father coldly addressed toward him.  He gave no reason for having called him there.  What he felt now was what he had always felt about his son.  His father felt he had never wanted him.

To be continued…

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Spiritual Flesh and Blood 4

Her death was an emptiness that would haunt my life and I did not know how to fill that void.  My father shut himself off inside his church.  He was a pastor who was closed off to his children.  We were now nothing but a reminder of the wife he lost.  We were nothing but a burden like predicted.

My father hid in his work, not knowing how to deal with his own hurt.  Loss of love hurts so badly.  When he was alone, he would think about us and how he wanted to love us and help us.  He thought about how much we must be hurting also.  That is because his heart was good.  He would promise himself that he would do things better.  He would be a better father.  But he did not pray concerning us.  He did not call on God to be our father.  He tried to do it in his own power.  And whenever he was in our presence, Demon Suffering squeezed his throat so that the right words would not come out and my father would run from our presence to seek relief from that pain that he always felt when he was around us.

And then a new demon joined my father:  Demon Regret.  Now he could never be a father again.  He had messed everything up in our family.  He quit trying.

To be continued…

Spiritual Flesh and Blood 3

The funeral of my mother at the age of five altered my life forever.  We had been a happy family.  I was not only provided for, but I had been invested in.  I had been the child of my parents’ happy marriage which had spilled over into a happy home.  My father, a manly man, had been so pleased to work hard to provide for his wife and children.  He felt he was good and he felt God was repaying him with this happy life.  With the death of my mother, I also lost my father.  He could not be father and mother, so he decided to be neither.  I lost my childhood.  I lost my innocent happiness.  I stood at her funeral, holding the hand of an aunt that I did not know, and so unsure of the new emotion that I felt:  fear.  I was a motherless child.  

After the ceremony, the few people my family knew in our little town gathered at our house.  It was a small simple farmhouse but my mother had made it a home.  With her death, even our home died.  Now it was just a house.  It suddenly lacked the charm that comes when there is happiness in the air.  I stood in the corner near the staircase.  I was blocked by a wall, but around the opening I could hear relatives whispering, “What will Matthew do with these children now?  What a burden for him.”

No, I was not the only child of Matthew and Grace Parker.  I was one of three children.  I had a brother, David, who was four years older and a sister, Fern, who was two years younger.

The whispers continued, “She always spoiled them and now he is going to have to pay the price.”

“Well, I think he deserves it.  He should have taken better care of her.  It is his fault this happened.”

“All I know is that children are expensive.  He doesn’t have any money.”

“Well, I happen to know where he can find a new wife.  That is the only solution I know of.”

“You are exactly right.  I mean it.  I agree with you.  And he’d better come to terms with that sooner than later.”

This was followed by small snickers.  They were not possessed by demons.  These people had been saved by God.  But they had been stopped in their footsteps.  They refused to fight.  They stood in their comforts of life and did not want to be burdened by the troubles of this world.  When they were tempted, they quietly gave in and kept it hidden.  When demons told them to judge, they gladly obliged.  They were modern day Pharisees.  The demons could not enter their bodies, but they could sit on their shoulders and whisper into their ears and influence their thoughts and actions.  The demons promised comfort in this world in exchange for their cooperation.

This is how the community felt about their responsibility to fill in the motherly gap that we now inherited.  There was never a solution or an attempt at one.  Our happy home was never happy again.  We had lost Eden.

To be continued…

Spiritual Flesh and Blood 1

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.  Ephesians 6:12

My life is a meaningful story.  The author is God.

On the night I was born, in response to the miracle of life, an army of angels gathered in the heavenly realms.  They were great in number and they were fitted for battle, covered from head to foot with thick gold armor.  They resemble men of great strength but they are fairer with a heavenly translucency that shines from within.  They march with organized strength and determination toward the spiritual forces of evil awaiting them.

Opposing them is an army of demons.  In form, demons are terrifying creatures.  They were not protected by armor but they stood in height much taller than the angels even though they stand hunched over at the shoulders, a mix of human and beast.  Most of them are mangled and injured in some form.  They have bite marks or bleeding open wounds.  This is from the many times they have turned on one another.  They are a noisy and uncontrolled army.  Sometimes it appears that there is a dark cloud that moves with them, but upon closer inspection, it is their constant transformation from spiritual to physical.  They outnumber their opposition in mass so large that their number can not be counted.

At my birth, the demons hissed and shrieked and cried out.  Dark powers know the potential of a small baby.  A seed grows into an oak tree.  Tidal waves are made of small drops of water. Revolutions begin with a single being.  The dark world seeks to destroy the human race one life at a time.

In response, the angels began a beautiful song that started in a soft whisper but grew in volume.  It was a message, a statement of power.  The angels were not opening their mouths but they were glowing, and the light around them and through them grew brighter and brighter.  The demons held their ears and shielded their eyes.

With a great crescendo, there was complete silence.  An angel named “Life” stepped forth.  He spoke with a deep booming voice that commanded attention, “Turn to me.  Give me your regard!”

The demon crowd continued to shield their eyes.  Among the howls and expressions of pain, an authority among them hissed with a painful scream, “We loath your light.”

The light dimmed until the demons slowly turned their heads and gave their notice.

Life continued, “Show me an opponent.  Give me an equal.  I will crush you.  I fight for the Lord, the God of Heaven and Earth.  This child has been claimed since the foundation of the earth.  You fight in vain.  Dare to stand against me and let me remind you of when my God crushed your god and flung him into Hell.  And let me foretell of macerating you for eternity.  My Lord God will reign forever.”  He paused a moment and then his voice boomed again with an intensity of authority and frustration, “Is there no one?”

A demon stepped forward, leaving the cloud, and assuming a more stable form.  Demons alter between many appearances.  A dark cloud is their appearance when they stand in a group in the heavenly realms but while roaming the earth, they inhabit beautiful human forms.  They prefer the company of other demons.  When they stand alone and the spiritual eye sees them for what they are, they are seen as individual tangible grotesque beings.  This outspoken demon was smoky in color.  He looked like a mangled and deformed tall brown bear fused with a man.  He had patches of missing fur and scars and mutilations covering his body that did not make him look weak, they only added to his hideousness.  He moved as a creature of strength.  His presence commanded respect and fright.  He spoke with a low guttural sound of hostility and a dark vapor escaped from his mouth and nostrils when he talked.  “My names is Death.  I was there with Cain while he slew his brother Abel.  I drank the blood when infants were sacrificed in Peru.  I shriek with delight while families are slaughtered during present day genocides in Africa.  I stand as a proud parent while followers rape young women in the Middle East.  I find glorious excitement while politicians waver under personal glories to the downfall of a great country in the fragile United States of America.”

“America,” he hissed, “bites the hand of God who has blessed her.  Oh so soon will be her downfall.”

“I am your equal opponent.  Me!”  He snarled.  “Me!  I will fight you.  I will find pleasure in her suffering.  I will add her to my trophies.  I will slaughter those she loves.  I will abort her children.  I will begin by killing her mother!”

The army behind him joined him in taunts and shouts of approval.  Encouraged by them, he shouted, “I will tear her husband from her!  I will spit in her face!”

He turned back toward the host of angels, “I will claim her to suffer for eternity by my side.  I will drink plentifully of her pain and it will satisfy my lustful desires of human sin and suffering.”  Excited with the satisfaction he thought was soon to come, he cried out, “I am hungry!  Hungry!  I will bring agony and torment and I will…”

“Enough!”  Angel Life interrupted, “Enough!  You speak with pride but you lack authority. This child will be protected by me.  I was there when God formed Adam from the dust of the ground and breathed life into his nostrils.  I was there when the human baby, Jesus Christ, came into the world in a small stable to conquer you and your army and your god forever.  But you only speak of the past and soon to be because you fear the future and you know what is to come.  In the future, I will be there at the side of this baby when she crosses over from that world into eternal life.  And in the future, I will be there when my God conquers Death and Pain and Suffering once and for all and claims the victory over this war.  And I will be there for all eternity praising Jesus Christ as God and Savior over all humanity.  This is already certain.  Her pain will be temporary and I will guide her in life.  You forget that you cannot persuade me with your empty lies.  Another has been chosen to be joined with her in life.  He is guarded by Angel Victory.  You can hurl on them physical pain and suffering and even death but you can only battle for a short period.  How pathetic you are when you stand against Life and Victory!  These words are trustworthy and true.”

Unlike the distracted demon, unable to concentrate because his mind was preoccupied by his own lustful cravings, the angel stood fixed and tall and peered straight toward the demonic murky cloud, with resolute confidence never turning to the left or right or looking for support from the military force that stood organized behind him.  With confidence in God he served, Life raised his sword and cried out, “Defend this child of God!”

The multitude of angels raised their swords and spears in unison and cried out, “Amen!”

To be continued…

 

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The reward for completion is that her little eight year old fingers get to erase the completed chore off our dry erase To Do list. 

Laundry. Check. Make beds. Check. Grocery shopping. Check. We have gotten to the point in our summer day where the next item to be completed is reading. 

She reads the coming “chore” as…just that…a chore. But she curls up on the sofa pillow with a throw to one of both of our favorite books, Trumpet of the Swan. It is the first time SHE is reading the book to herself, but it has already been read to her two times. (I adore books that are so good that they must be read more than once. In the words of CS Lewis, “I can’t imagine a man really enjoying a book and only reading it once.”

I hear a deep roll of thunder in the distance promising relief from the drought. The moment could not be any more perfect. It is that time when all is at peace and my heart is happy. 

Madison looks up from her book giggling. When she gets excited, she gives two really deep breaths and then continues with something she is eager to share. Her chore has become a love and now she can’t put the book down. 

I am quite a long distance from being what I want to be as a mother. Sadly, it is not hard to find fault with my accomplishments. However, I swell with pride and thanksgiving that I have passed on a love of books to my daughter. 

READ. Learn. It is one of the greatest accomplishments this life has to offer. And once you have become an accomplished reader, pass it on. 

Warmer Snow

The weatherman was always wrong. Why couldn’t he have been wrong this time? The woman did her best to snuggle her knees to her chest and pull her body back under the overhang. The concrete stair she laid upon was frozen. Paused for eternity, this frozen night lingered for all of eternity. Her layers of thin clothes did not begin to warm her body. She rested her head on a cardboard box taken from beside the dumpster. She sought the refuge of sleep but her toes and hands and cheeks kept protesting the cold.

She remembered it. Focusing on it’s memory, hoping it would bring her some warmth. She must have been eleven years old. Her body in the warm house in clean but hand me down jammies. A little too old to sleep in her parent’s bed, still she tiptoed into her parents’ room…the door squeaked as she cracked it, “I can’t sleep.”

“Come and join me in my dreams. I was just about to leave.” Her mother was always one with a great imagination.

She climbed over her father and slid into the covers between them. “Let us pray. Heavenly Father. Thank you so much for my family. We thank you for our warm home. I pray that we will love and serve you. Amen.”

Those words played over and over in her head, “Thank you for our warm home. Thank you for our warm home.” She closed her eyes and could feel the soft mattress under her. Her mother’s arm lay across her snuggling them together. “Thank you for our warm home.”

Maybe she should just go inside? Was this a cold protest or did she really hate that man inside that much? Perhaps she should have grabbed a coat and some boots before she stormed outside. She stood up, walked up the steps and walked inside.

He still sat there at the living room table, sipping a bourbon and reading stocks on his phone. He did not look up. He perhaps did not know that she had spent the last two hours on their freezing back steps. Had he been sitting there for two hours?

“Will you be coming up to bed?” No answer.

“Did you know I was outside in the snow?” No answer

“I love you.” No answer. Did she? Did she love him? She had given him the last twenty two years of her life. She raised two of his children, oversaw his home, and attended his fancy parties. But he had given her money in response. Lots of money. Perhaps it was just a business deal? Was she ever loved?

Yes. She turned around and walked outside. She lay back down on the frozen concrete floor. She remembered her father’s words, “Thank you so much for our warm home.”

The maid found her frozen to death on the stair the next morning.

There was no question why she did it. No wonder why she did not walk into the heated, unlocked house. Her husband gave funeral arrangement orders and then returned to work that same day.

Someone somewhere left a note upon her grave, “The snow is warmer than a house with no love.”

The Needless Journey

Energized by the crowd, he shook to loosen his muscles, stretched his arms across his body, and then lifted them and waved.  The people cheered and sent him on his way.  The sun warmed his body, skin exposed in his summer attire.  He felt as if he could run forever, like he had wings carrying him along the way.  Those he passed waved and called him out by name.  He ran and ran and ran.

The day got long and his legs began to ache.  It was time for a break.  Pushing his body, he jogged to the next street and then found a nice restaurant.  The staff was friendly, delivering his cuisine with a smile and with kind comments of wander and amazement of his successes.  His waitress was pretty and she smiled long smiles and laughed at appropriate times.  “You are so big and strong.  But I think it would help if you would take some food with you.”  So she packed him a bag of food and sent him on his way.

Carrying the bag of food in one hand, he continued on his travels.  Running and then  eventually slowing his pace to a jog.  On and on down the dirt road.  The area was not as populated now.  He jogged past cornfields and he jogged past fruit groves.  But there was a pain in his calves he could ignore no longer.  He jogged and jogged and jogged and carried his bag of food.

He needed a place to sleep and finally he came upon a barn.  Calling out, a gruff voice answered, “Who is there?”  He did not sound so kind but upon explaining his journey he responded, “This once, I will allow you but take this sleeping bag with you on your travels, you should not be trespassing on private property.”  He thanked him and laid down to rest his body.  With the sun going down, he laid down on the hay.  With the call of the rooster, he awoke with a jerk.  He did not mean to sleep this long.  He must continue on his journey.  So he stood and stretched his aching body.  He carried his bag of food in one hand and his sleeping bag in the other hand and he walked and walked and walked.

There was not a part of his body that did not call out for relief.  His feet were blistered from his old shoes, stomach achy from improper nutrition, back sore from lack of a comfortable night’s rest, and his very skin was red from the sun that shone down and mocked him.  The hardest part of his journey set in his path, he tried not to think of the tall mountain, it seemed impossible, he just put one foot in front of the other and continued on his way.

Needing rest, there was none to be found and soon he found himself at the foot of the mountain.  Looking up, he could not see the top.  There was only one thing to be done, his arms hung by his side, each clutching their materials and one foot at a time, he continued on his journey.  He climbed and climbed and climbed.

The air grew thinner and he soon found that he was lacking in clothing.  Chills formed on his legs and arms.  The wind began to blow and pushed against him.  He tried to cover himself with the sleeping bag.  Clutching the ends and pulling them up around his chin, he continued.  His bare, scrawny legs dangling out and shaking from exhaustion and cold.

Nothing filled his mind, nothing sang, nothing laughed, nothing smiled.  The journey.  He pressed on and on and on, pushing into the cold, bitter wind, fighting the physical pains of his body and ignoring his lack of company.  He suffered and suffered and suffered.

In the distance, something glowed.  It became the focus of his mind.  He pushed and pushed and pushed.  One step, then another, then another.  He lost track of time.  He did not know how long his journey had lasted, but one more step he must take.  His body fought back hard and his will pushed him another step until he collapsed in front of the glow that had grown until, in his last recollection, he realized it was coming from a fire, shinning through a window, placed in a large house.  And he collapsed at the door.

The shock of hospitality.  Taken inside from the now snowy woods was instant relief.  To rest in front of the glowing fire brought more than he had hoped for.  The offer of a hot bath was more than he could comprehend.  The hot dinner that was placed before him was more than he could put into words.  And the invitation of staying in the plush bed finally brought tears to his eyes.  He had reached his destination.  His son climbed up into his lap and hugged his neck.  His wife stared into his eyes and made him promise never to leave them ever again.  He had found what he had been searching for:  home.

Giving Everything For Nothing

Knowing very well what I wanted in life, I set out to accomplish it. Looking to my left then turning away, looking to my right and then turning away, looking straight forward, there in the far distance I saw it.

Jesus said to me, “Child turn around.”

I pointed in excitement and answered, “No Jesus. Look! Do you see it? That is what I want.” And I took off running.

I could hear Jesus calling my name but I was to determined in my path to give him notice. I ran and ran and ran. His voice grew lighter and lighter.

I was tired. I spent all my energy and all my resources but I would do anything to reach my goal. Tired, hungry, and weak I ran on.

There. So close. I could see it. I was so close to what I had always wanted. Soon it would be in my hands and it would be mine forever.

One last step. I reached out and touched it. Cold. Solid. Flat. It was a mirror. A reflection. If I had only listened, Jesus had been calling me to turn around. It had been right there behind me all along.

Christmas Shopping Accomplished Here

There is that person that has everything.  That person that you have no clue what to get for them.

 Problem solved.  Checked off the list.  Accomplished.

They will like it upon opening.  They will love it upon reading.

Merry Christmas!

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