(un)spoken word

Upon his head they set the thorns

the King of Kings

the Lord of Lords

and in his hands they drilled the nails

while his back still bled

from claws of the cat of nine tails

salt in his wounds, a pierce in his side

it was the sentence to a trial

so wrongly tried

he cried out and said “God, It’s finished, I’m done!”

though he saved the world,

many didn’t believe he was the true One

but when Life and Death did battle

with victory did win

Jesus Christ the risen Savior

seated in heaven now with Him

God the Father

our Lord and Creator

the Master the Maker

the Potter the Painter

Elohim and Adonai

Jehovah God, El Shaddai

The Great I Am

Father, Spirit, Son

the Trinity battles tooth and nail

He won’t quit on us

He cannot fail

so to Satan I say, “Let us fight you to the death!

And let the victor be the one who lives a second life.”  

I say “Let Christ fight you till the death!

And name as king the one who gives eternal life.”

see, we’ve spoken lies

and with the same lips kissed truth

we’ve knocked on hearts

and with the same fists broken through

we’ve pledged vows

but of promises, kept few

we deserve death as payment for our sins

but Christ stepped up and said “I’ll take the bill”

he gave up his spirit at the Place of the Skull

saved us on Golgotha hill

he crossed off my sin

and hung my sin on the cross

I am sought after and fought for

though I was but lost

my Jesus he came

to take away all my shame

to heal a heart full of pain

to cleanse me and disinfect me and make me brand new

it is his love and his light that brightly shines through

the window pane of my soul

he windexed and washed

the dust and grime in my life is gone

and the prince of lies has lost

absent is the heart aching

because my God is remaking

I am no longer suffocating

I used to think that

the breath in my lungs is what brought me to life

but the only oxygen that sustains me is called Jesus Christ.

She Said Yes

She said yes to him. It took a while. He had waited patiently. Every day he hoped she would see him for who he truly was: the one who would love her the best. He was jealous for her. Would tear the world apart to find her. He wanted to be the only.

They started out just friends. Went to the same Sunday school. Spent some time talking together. He would tell her stories and she would ask him questions. She thought it was like every other relationship. He would disappoint her and she would disappoint him. She broke promises she made. He would stop speaking to her.

But it wasn't really like that. He never stopped loving her, no matter what she did to him. He was always there, waiting outside the door, waiting for her fits of rage to subside. She didn't know, and he wouldn't tell her. He wanted her to love him on her own. He wanted her to choose him.

She grew up and went to college, and for a short while, they weren't on speaking terms. That's what happens after high school, right? People grow apart. He wasn't going to give up though, even if she wouldn't answer any of his calls. She wrote mean things about him in her journal and tried to block out what she knew was the truth about him.

One day he sent her a CD. She listened to it once, twice, a third time. It was then that she decided she wanted him back. The music had changed her. It had reminded her of the truth. She gave him a call and they patched things up. He took her back immediately.

Things were okay after that. There were the usual ups and downs, the roller coaster ride of relationships. After a while though, things started to spiral downward. He didn't show up when she needed him to. She felt all alone. She knew he had a caring nature, but she started to believe he cared about everyone but her. Pretty soon, she only looked for what was wrong with their relationship. She tried convincing him they should end it. He could go love someone else then.

But the truth was, he couldn't stop loving her. The truth was, he knew in his heart that they would end up together. And he wouldn't give up. "I will wait one year or I will wait five. Or even fifty if I have to. You decide." That's what he'd say. "You think a lot of things about me that aren't true. But one day you'll see me in a different way." It used to infuriate her. She wasn't convinced.

One day though, she was in a bad place. She called all of her friends, but none of them answered. Her family wasn't there either. She needed someone, and she didn't know who else to call. He picked up on the first ring. She blubbered all her problems to him. He showed up with warm arms and chocolate chip cookies. "Listen to me," he said gently. "I want you to do something for me. Do you think you could do something for me?"
"I guess maybe," she said.
"Let me love you. Look for the good. Just try it."

And then there was the day that she said yes. He popped the question, unexpectedly. People might have thought she was crazy. "Look how he's treated you" they might say. "Do you really think things will change?" She figured they had to. It had never worked when she asked him to follow her life plans. Maybe she should do this. Say yes. Commit, even if it was hard. It was the only thing she hadn't tried. It wasn't even necessarily that she wanted to say yes. It was that she knew she couldn't say no.

"You don't have to," he said. He made it so easy to back out and take the easy road. But she knew he cared. She knew he wanted this. So she fought for it. She said "yes, and I will change what I do to make you the first priority."

"But do you really want me?" he asked. "Do you want to love me now for reals?" He gave her time to decide in her heart. Her heart knew. In fact, her heart was burning for him. They weren't meant just to be casual acquaintances or long term friends. They were meant to be in love.

After some time passed, he told her "You know that time when we were fighting? When you thought I didn't care about you anymore? That broke my heart. I never stopped loving you. I knew you cried tears at night, and I wanted so badly for it to be me. I wanted it to be me with the salty pillowcase. I wanted it to be me with all the hurt. But you had practically given up on us. You wouldn't let me take any of it. I had to wait for you to reach the bottom, the very deepest pit of your soul."

"It worked," she said. "It totally sucked, but it worked. I don't want to ever do that again."

"I know," he said. "But you're mine. You're mine, and I love you, and that will never change. I will love you forever. I love to see you wake up in the mornings, and I smile when your hair gets all tangled up and you lose bobby pins in it and find them two days later, and I adore the way you care for children, and I want to be with you every moment of every single day. And then when the days end, I want to be with you forever after that. Someday I'm going to get you the most beautiful house painted with so much turquoise, and there will be typewriters everywhere and so many books it will put Belle from Beauty and the Beast to shame."

"I need you to know something," she said. "I don't think I've told you this before."
"What's that?" he said. But he already knew what she was going to say.
"You're mine," she said. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine. And I love you. I love you and you're mine."
He smiled. "I'm so glad you said yes."

those Christian stories you don't believe

Maybe you know a Christian who has told you a remarkable story about how they received a word from God. They just knew. Like, they were sitting across from a woman on a first date and the guy hears God tell him this is the girl he is going to marry. And two years later they're hitched. Or like, the person knew God wanted them to give $1,427 to a missionary, and two years later when that person is in their own financial trouble, an old friend mails them a check for $1,427.

I've heard stories like these. You want to believe them, but you have this feeling of "really? yeah right. That's cool..but for reals?"

Here is my Christian story that you might not believe. It's a little story, but it's still weird.

Tuesday night I came out of the gym. I was walking in the parking lot to my car when all of a sudden the name Malik came into my mind. I got the feeling that I needed to pray for the name, whoever it was.

I said something like "God, you know who Malik is. You know what he needs. I pray that you are with him right now and you take care of him. Take care of Malik. Actually, take care of all the Maliks in the world. You know him."

I normally don't do weird things like this. Names don't just pop into my brain on the typical Monday afternoon. God doesn't call my cell phone after dinner just to chat.

Thursday night I had the TV on and the news was going. I wasn't really paying attention because I was busy looking at things on Pinterest, but after I heard the name Malik and looked up instantly. I heard this story. An 11 year old boy in Georgia was attacked by pit bulls while trying to save his little sister. It happened Monday, the day before I said my prayer.

Maleik Carr saved his 5 year old sister Jalia.

I just stared at the screen. And then as soon as the news clip was over I googled his name to find the story. Was this weird? Yes. Does God do crazy things? Yes. Do I feel kind of strange sharing this with you? You bet. But I also thought it was cool and things like this don't happen to me. So I thought you might want to know.

Do you have your own Christian story people don't believe?

take my heart and seal it

Maybe you've heard this song called Come Thou Fount. We sing it at my church sometimes.

A part of the lyrics go
"take my heart, Lord
take and seal it
seal it for thy courts above."

I'll tell you what that means to a letter writer. If you know me, you might know that I am on the writing team for moreloveletters.com. We write anonymous letters to people who need love and encouragement. It's important and it changes lives. Besides writing to complete strangers, I like writing letters to people I know in actual real-life. 

A few weeks ago I realized I've never written a love letter to God. Sure, I've written down whiny prayers in my journal, but I have never written the Lord of Creation a letter like I've written to a stranger or friend. It's something I labor over. It's choosing just the right kind of paper and the right kind of design for the envelope. It's thinking over the words I use and tasting them on my tongue. It's a carefully thought out process--one I've never done for the Man Who Saved My Life. 

This must be rectified.

Now when I sing   
“take my heart lord
take and seal it
seal it for thy courts above”
This is the picture in my mind: I am writing a love letter to God. Professing how amazing he is. Describing all the ways he is good. Pouring out my heart to the One who matters the most. I'm using my best cursive, my fanciest paper, and my favorite pen. I'm putting my heart in that envelope. I'm handing the envelope to God and I say "Lord. Take my heart. All my love. All my passion. Take it. I want you to seal it. Seal it for when I'm with you. I want this to be saved for only you." 

Because how often do we give our hearts and our devotion to things that don't matter? I give devotion to so many worthless things. Pinterest. YouTube. Status updates. Hair. Cupcakes. Sleep. I have passion for watching episodes of Alias and Lost, for correcting spelling errors, for recycling, and for literacy. They're not necessarily bad things, but I'm not giving enough passion to the One who matters.  

Above anybody, He's the one who loves me the most. He adores me even more than my own mother. God's got baby books full of pictures. He knows the exact date I lost each of my baby teeth. He gave me the moon as a night light. 

The Lord of heaven and earth loves me so much, the least I could do is write him a proper love letter.

So take my heart, Lord.

Take and seal it.

Seal it for thy courts above.

Escaping Midnight Haunts: my story

"The Lord will protect you from all evil. He will keep your soul." Psalm 121:7

I am about to talk about a bizarre-o topic, and you may seriously start to question my brain processes, but I want to share this with you, because surely there is someone like me out there who has suffered from the same sort of torment I have. You can be rescued.

Sometimes dreams can be funny or lovely. Other times they make you not want to fall asleep, for fear of what may come.

Of all people, my friend Natalie knows of my wacked out dreams the best. We're not talking I was being chased by a purple people eater while wearing a tutu on the beach. I'm talking people straight up trying to kill me in my dreams. People that I know. I have had dreams of being pursued my viscous animals, of haunting demonic beings seeking me out, of being hung naked from the limb of a tree to die. I have drowned in my dreams, I have died in my dreams, I have been in car crashes, been buried in icy avalanches, and watched people I love take their last breath in front of me. In my dreams wolves and dogs have chewed on my arm, men have molested me, and fear has paralyzed me so much that I cannot even yell for help. It's not exactly the REM cycle people look forward to.

I have had these wacked out dreams for as long as I can remember. I used to have a reoccurring dream that I cannot even describe as anything but terrible since age six. I lived with it for years and years. Just when I thought it was gone, it would come back to haunt me as a college student sleeping in my extra long dorm room bed.

You're probably like "Joelle, lay off the mushroom consumption." I never understood where these terrible nightmares came from, because it's not like anything in real life like that ever happened to me. But I dreamt it so often it started to feel like reality. My own brain was not a safe place at night.

In February of 2011, I started to take non-prescription sleep pills because my job was stressing me out so much that I would wake up at 3am from a frightful dream of battling children who were foaming at the mouth. The pills helped me stay asleep, and they eased some of the intense dreams, but I was still getting chased on a nightly basis.

It was then that I decided to do a bit of dream research to figure out how I could control my dreams. I did things like speak into a voice recorder as soon as I woke up, and I would tell myself as much as I could about the dreams I remembered in order to improve lucidity. I tried all sorts of tricks to be able to distinguish between reality and my dream state, kind of like how Leonardo DiCaprio had that spinning top in the movie Inception.

I would pray before bed, I would read my Bible before going to sleep, but nothing worked. Then I tried something else. I found a very short verse about being protected by God, and I would say it over and over and over in my head while waiting for slumber. My goal was to have it so ingrained in my memory that I would think to say it in my dreams when I was being chased or under attack.

I read another strategy on-line about how you should confront the thing that is after you and ask it why it is trying to hurt you. I had no idea how I would make that happen, because who could  subconsciously remember to confront the enemy in a dream, when my most natural instinct was to get away or hide?

Is this taking it too far? Am I getting too weird for you? Drawing by Kaless Aradan.

As I continued with the audio narratives of the dreams that I remembered, and as I committed to memory Psalm 121:7, I tried really hard to attempt a dream confrontation.

One night it finally happened. I won't get into all of the details, but I finally was able to not be paralyzed, to be able to speak, and I yelled "Why are you after me? What do you want from me?" The people trying to kill me had nothing to say. They turned and left.

I woke up and was like "WHOA, DID THAT REALLY HAPPEN?" My bad dreams had never resulted in an ending like that. Usually I died or drowned, or I woke up from the nightmare. Never ever had the pursuer left me alone.

I felt really good that day, like I had won a battle, even if it had been in my subconscious mind.

Then came the first time I was able to recite scripture during a bad dream. I was in a dark cavern, being pursued by a band of creepy men, when I realized that what I should do is say my verse. One of the men got close to me and I shouted in his face THE LORD WILL PROTECT ME FROM ALL EVIL. HE WILL KEEP MY SOUL! I shouted it over and over, and then I stepped into a beautiful place where there was no one but me. I was safe.

Since those first times of confronting my midnight haunts, I have said Psalm 121:7 many times in my dreams. A few months after my "breakthrough" the dreams that threatened my life stopped.

I think what was the most important was that I believed in my awake state that if I said a Bible verse in my sleep, that it would save me. And what was important while I was dreaming was that I remembered the words to the verse.

I have funny dreams now. Or happy dreams. I still have some really weird dreams, but no one has tried to kill me in them. I am not fleeing from the haunts of my hippocampus.

So if you are a person who has terrible dreams where you are in danger of death or physical pain, I highly recommend that you memorize Psalm 121:7 and say it over and over before you go to bed. It has been my battle weapon, and it has never failed to rescue me from danger.

We are under Satan's attack even when we are sleeping, but more importantly, God is with us and protecting us, even in our dreams.

The Lord will protect me from all evil. He will keep my soul.

I Will Wait For You

Sometimes I really wish I had more soul. I wish I could have a rumbling voice and raise it with such enthusiasm that the whole audience gets chills. I wish people would snap their fingers when I say something clever. Basically, I wish I were black.

I discovered the wonderful poet and artist who is MissTerious Janette...Ikz (Mysterious Genetics for those of us who aren't cool enough to have a performance name).

I've watched this video like twenty nine times in the past two days. It's called I Will wait For You.

 My favorite phrases?

I called 911 but I was cardiac arrested for aidin' and abettin'...

Ready to sell my aorta for a quarter, not knowing the value of its use to me

Arteries so clogged with my will, it blocked His Will from flowing through me

So I thank Christ that his blood pressure gave this heart an attack

That flatlined my obscured vision,

Put me flat on my back....

You know, he's sorta kinda right, but sorta kinda wrong. His first name's Luke, last   name's Warm...

All he could whisper were sweet, empty, nothings...

He won't even come close

Our finger's won't even interlock

We won't even exchange breaths

Cause I have thoughts

That I've "saved as" in a file that God only equipped you to open...

I will wait for you

And I will know you

because when you speak

I will be reminded of Solomon's wisdom

Your ability to lead will remind me of Moses

Your faith will remind me of Abraham

Your confidence in God's word will remind me of Daniel

Your inspiration will remind me of Paul

Your heart for God will remind me of David

Your attention to detail will remind me of Noah

Your integrity will remind me of Joseph

Your ability to abandon your own will

will remind me of the disciples

But your ability to love selflessly and unconditionally will remind me of Christ....

But I won't need to identify you with any special Matthews or any special Marks, cause His word will be tatt'ed all over your heart.

Check out Janette at http://www.mysteriousgenetics.com/

Tear, Erase, Delete My Words

The actions of a ten-year-old should not affect me so deeply, but they do.

I realize that not many people put such high value on written words like I do, but I feel like written words are the finest gems given to us. When someone takes the time to write me a meaningful sticky note, e-mail, or hand written letter, I hold it dear to my heart. Words are my currency. And when I write words to people, I consider them diamonds. Maybe this makes me sound haughty, “My words are diamonds.” But that is the value I hold on them. If I write you a message, I think about each sentence. I give you not a piece of paper ripped out of a notebook, but a piece of my heart taken from the pages of my soul. My written words are the most precious thing I have. Other people have talents, gifts, qualities, or skills that they are fiercely protective of, but to me, the written word is the most special thing I can give.

That is why I am hurt so deeply when I see my words torn, erased, or deleted--especially when it is done right in front of me. I completely understand that other people don’t know how strongly I feel, but when I see the words that I wrote destroyed, then that is a piece of my heart that has been rejected. I feel like diamonds were given and then run through a grinder.

I have not taken enough child psychology courses to figure this thing out. He’s mad at me when I don’t recognize him for doing well; he asks for me to notice that he is being good. But when I recognize that, he sabotages himself. He won’t work for the good alone. He must do something bad first and then redeem himself by doing good.

This is not how redemption is supposed to work.

These past months have been such a test of sharing God’s love. I am tested daily, hourly--every minute in fact. I fail often. I want this child to know that I will still like him and show kindness even if he does wrong. I tell him I don’t want to be mad at him. I think to myself, “I can’t recognize his efforts in front of the class because he ruins himself afterward, so I will use the sword of love that I was gifted with--my written words.”

Sword of love, you ask? Yes. Yes, love is a battle. Sometimes loving others is easy, and other times it is not. It’s then that you have to take the sword of love that God armed you with so that you can cut through the vines that have wrapped around the body of the person you are trying to reach.

I wrote him words. They weren’t even quite diamond words, because I knew they would be too rich for him to accept. I just wrote him Sapphire words. Short, clean, simple. But with sincerity and a sparkle, you know? And what did he do? He tore them up in front of my face.

It wasn’t done in an intentionally  mean way. No, he was laughing it off and making jokes. I wonder, what was he thinking on the inside of that ten-year-old head? Was it too hard for him yet? Realizing that his teacher still cares about him, even though she gets upset at him on a daily basis? How could such a thing be true?

It’s God’s love and only God’s love. I have gone through a terrible battle to get to this place. And it’s not over. The bombs keep on dropping, the snipers keep on shooting, the poisonous gas keeps permeating the air that I breathe. I want so desperately for it to be over, but I know that the battle will continue, because I have only just begun to learn how to fight.

Diamond words are my sword, and they arm me at both sides. I will cut through the mess to show you love. 

Beautiful Loser

Sweet potatoes do I have some good stuff to tell you! That visit to Gram's house was outrageous. But this post isn't about that. I'm waiting for Grace to send me some of the photos she took. There will be an entire post dedicated to all the funny things Gram did and said; it'll just have to wait a few days. Believe me though, you'll crack a rib laughing.

Today I'm not going to give you my original content, and I'm not going to try to make you laugh. Hopefully your soul will smile instead. I want to share with you all the beautiful, raw, transparent, or inspiring things I've seen or read recently. After reading through the things I share with you below, I realized how I am just one insignificant, pathetic, beautiful loser. I'm not really going to go into what that means right now. Just read everything, all of it. It's worth it. 

  "People were created  to be loved. Things were created to be used. The reason the world is in chaos is because things are being loved and people are being used."

  

I've praised Lauren Nicole Love (Lauren Lankford) on here before because of her raw and truthful writing, and I've got more to share. Basically, if you don't read Lauren, you should. Even when Lauren was in a dark place in her life, she still wrote some beautiful things. She dug this post up from the past, and here is the tail end of it:

"Go back to your alternate universe. You’ll function out of habit enough to make it through life, but get your mind out of this, here, now, because this, THIS, is all just shit. Think about beautiful things, make beautiful things, create stories, novels, wishes, dreams, hopes, make-believe. Be over dramatic if that’s what you want. Stop boring the entire world with trying to get your shit together enough to be normal. I can’t, I try, it makes it worse. I want to NOT FIGHT the tendency to be addicted and STOP TRYING to do ‘all things in moderation.’ Be addicted. Be consumed. Just CHOOSE THE RIGHT ADDICTION. Choose what is beautiful. Choose what is worth it."

Also, Lauren shared this on her Tumblr.

Lauren also writes for A Deeper Story where she posted a piece of truth. All I can say is, Love was the plan. I think you should read it here. Because your love is broken. What kind of love do you give when she calls after six months of silence, asking for a favor? How much love do you give when he doesn't call on your birthday? You pick and choose, and your love is broken. But love was the plan.

Another thing I think is beautiful is the Daily Letter. It's worth eight minutes of your time to visit it and read a few past letters.

Max Dubinsky is another person who writes transparently. He is raw and tells you all the dirt. Like, for example, we are the scum of the earth. As the pastor at my church said last week, the truth is offensive. Indeed, it is. You will be offended by the truth. But it still needs to be told. Have you been offended by this post yet?

Max has a lot on his mind.

Max is traveling across America in a beat up Nissan and no money looking for God's love. He has just started his journey, so it's not too late to catch up on how it's going. Because it's going terribly. Read him here.

He ends his latest post by saying:
"We are often afraid to start living because we’re afraid our story won’t turn out to be about us. How devastating would that be? Maybe though, just maybe, that’s the point.  Maybe that’s why you don’t have a story to tell.  Because it’s always been about you. Could it be that your story is meant to be for someone’s glory other than you? Your story is going to be the greatest story ever told. Are you living it, or just killing time?"

My Wrap-Up

I am a beautiful loser who has lost everything. In truth, I started with nothing. But everything I thought was mine I've lost. You know what, though? It is good. I am a loser and it is good. Being a loser means that you lose. Lose it all. Your pride, your life, your selfishness. Matthew 17:24 Then Jesus said to his disciples, "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it." Are you a beautiful loser?

You’re Standing on my Property

It’s a Sunday afternoon and I’m kneeling on the carpet of my classroom, shouting at Satan to get the hell off my property. I’m in my classroom in a totally empty school, and I am requesting an army of angels be sent to battle the daily demons that sneak in with my students. I am there to ask God to take over completely, and to give me strength to fight.

Is Joelle taking this God-thing too far? you ask. Do her beliefs and her actions match with the outrageous owner of the camper trailer that waits with hundreds of pasted on words damning all those who voted for Obama to hell? My spiritual beliefs are not here to damn or pass judgment on anyone, unless it’s myself. Because I haven’t taken this “God thing” far enough.

Let me give you the scoop.

For the past six weeks I’ve been participating in a women’s Bible study at my church. It’s a Beth Moore study and the theme of it is “The Inheritance,” with the key verse being Psalm 15:5-6. “Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.”

I am not going to get into the nitty gritty of it all, but I will tell you that I recommend it. The week that most affected my life was week four, wherein I realized somebody else was standing on my property and it was my job to give them a swift kick in the pants and take it all from them.

The verses for week four focused on Joshua’s role in the exodus out of Egypt and to the Promised Land. Beth Moore points out to us that God requires his children to exercise the will and action to deliberately take what he graciously gives. Joshua 1:11 says “Go through the camp and tell the people, ‘Get your supplies ready. Three days from now you will cross the Jordan here to go in and take possession of the land the Lord your God is giving you for your own.” Joshua and the Israelites had to go and fight for what God says was theirs.

Get this in your head: God says something will be ours. He is giving it to us. But he doesn’t just hand it over easily. We have to fight for it. Why? We have to fight for it so that we are strong enough to hold onto it when it does become ours, so that the enemy cannot steal it away from us.

There is a Hebrew word, which is a form of the lexical yarash which translates to both “to inherit” and “to possess.” Interestingly, it also means “to dispossess.” God is going to give us a beautiful inheritance, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t have to take it away from somebody else first. God makes us fight.

I could get more into it, but the actual lesson is not really where I want to focus this story. I want to tell you what happened four days later. The Bible study leader had a question for us at the end of the session, and her question was “what is your property right now at this time in your life? Is somebody standing on your property?”

I knew the answer immediately. Hell yes, is someone standing on my property. It’s the devil. Satan comes to my classroom everyday. He wears his back pack and has his own desk. He takes a seat and influences my students every minute. Yes, people make their own choices, but I could feel it that Satan was trying to ruin me in my job. He was taking over everything.

The question was, what was I going to do to fight for my property? How could I kick the devil out of room C6? That following Sunday after church, I went into school (sadly, as I often do every weekend). Usually there are other teachers there as well, though most come in on Saturdays. This time, I was alone. I got to my classroom, turned the lights on, sat on the rug at the front of the room, and prayed. I prayed out loud in a strong voice and with my eyes open. I was taking this place back.

In short, I asked God to fill my classroom with his presence. To send an army of angels to protect and guard my students. To fill me with enough love so that I could give it away to the 29 children I saw everyday. There I am, on my knees on the very rug where so many mean words have been said by children to other children, where so much disrespect has taken place. And there I am, asking the Lord God in heaven to infiltrate this classroom and touch every soul that walks into it.

And then I do something that I have never done before. I command in the name of God that all the demons and evil spirits leave this place, and that they do not enter into my classroom again. It seems weird to me, it really does. Commanding something in God’s name only happens in the Bible, or on really religious television movies, or maybe by your pastor. But I knew I had the power to command something in God’s name, because I am his and his spirit is within me, and this was for his glory. I commanded out loud for the demons to leave, and then I got up off my knees and I walked around the perimeter of the room and touched all of the walls and brushed my hands across the threshold of each door. Satan was no longer welcome in this place. I was telling him to take a hike.

It was weird, that day, because I went to school to talk to two entities: God and his arch nemesis. That week before someone was speaking about how the devil cannot access your thoughts, he only guesses at what you are thinking. So saying a Biblical verse out loud is very powerful, because it hurts the ears of the devil. So even though I had prayed silently in my class for peace, all Satan was seeing was me being defeated every day. He saw me crying and yelling and being frustrated at a bunch of kids.

So that’s why I had to say it out loud, there in my classroom, not at home. I had to be there, in that room with both God and Satan, and I had to tell Satan to take his shenanigans else where, because this room was going to be for God’s glory only.

You bet I wanted a miracle. I was claiming back this earthly property that was entrusted to me. Those kids are entrusted to me for three and a half more months. I would absolutely love to tell you that on Monday morning my kids came in and showed complete 180 degree behaviors. They didn’t. But I was different. I had love in me again. I had regained patience that I had lost. You wanna know what I did?

I pulled a desk in front of that doorway and I barricaded myself in between the demons and my classroom, so that evil spirits could not enter in with my children. I sat at that desk and greeted each and every one of my students that day, giving them a smile, a sticker, a goal to make today a good day. They were weirded out by it. My students were expecting me to be working on something at my desk or around the room as usual, not sitting like some bouncer at a club, checking people in.

I’ve been sitting in my doorway every morning for three weeks now. I tell students how great it is to see them, or I ask them a question, or I give them a compliment. Satan tries to sneak in everyday. He latches on to kids and wants to destroy them and me. He’s out to ruin us.

I know a handful of my students are believers, and I know that they have God’s protection in my classroom. Interestingly, yet this makes total sense, the students who I know are believers are also the students who are the kindest, the smartest, and try the hardest. I mean, they’re nine and ten years old, but the Holy Spirit makes a difference in them. Then there are the rest of my kids who don’t have the spirit living inside of them, and they are quite susceptible to attack. Satan does his best to pitchfork them everyday.

I have this urge when I am incredibly frustrated at a kid to put my hand on their shoulder and pray out loud for them, and for Satan to leave them alone. Because I’ve done everything else a teacher can do. Divine intervention is going to be the only thing that works. There is an element of fear still in me though, because praying out loud over a student in a public school classroom can very well be over the line. I don’t want to freak any students out. But I know that this is the devil taking hold of my fear.

This property is mine until June 17^th, and I am fighting for it. I am showing God that I am a fighter, and that I will be strong enough to hold onto whatever it is that he wants to give me as an inheritance. But all my strength comes from the Lord.

God Date

It was a Friday night. I was sitting in my car in the dark, in a parking lot, crying on the phone to my best friend. After telling her things I’d never told another soul, she asked if I wanted her to come down the next day so she could be with me. I told her no, because I knew what I needed to do. I needed to go visit God.

Visiting God is not like visiting the dentist. You don’t have to make an appointment or sit in a fancy chair or wear a bib to catch your spit. It’s possible to visit God anytime, anywhere. But I knew I had to get away from everything, every distraction. I needed to return to the place I began.

The following Saturday morning I packed the backseat of my car up with everything I thought I’d need. A lunch, some water. Candles. My Bible. Pages to write on. Pens to make the words flow. The playlist on my iPod that touches my soul. And blankets, lots of blankets, because I knew it would be cold.

I left my house and drove out of town, to the country roads. I drove to the places I had not been in a long time. Everything was the same, yet different. I had never realized before how comforting I find an open field to be, how divine it is to see nothing but rows of trees and rolling hills and evergreen forests. And dirt. Oh Lord, I actually missed the dirt.

I was going back to an empty place, a place surrounded by God’s creation. When I got there, I had to park and walk down the road a bit, because they had put a fence up. Thankfully, when I got to the door, my old key still worked. The lock hadn’t changed. It took two trips to pack all my stuff in, and I took it to the room that I had envisioned myself weeping in: my old bedroom. Then I had to take a peek around before meeting God. It was my same old house, but it was very different. The oatmeal color of the walls, the soft new carpet on the floor, never used oak cabinets in the bathrooms, and most noticeably, there was no furniture. Nothing. It was exactly perfect, because having nothing around meant that I could focus on the One I came to meet.

After my curiosity was satisfied, I went back to my old bedroom and shut the door. I set a blanket on the floor, lit some vanilla scented candles, bundled up in a comforter, and lay there, staring up at the ceiling. I spoke with a raspy voice into the echoing room. God had been waiting for me.

When I pray by myself, I always pray in a whisper, even if no one else is around. I don't really know why, maybe I think it's a secret to speak with the Creator or something. But lying there, defeated, I knew this was no secret. God knew everything already. More importantly, I needed to speak the words aloud, even though my voice sounded like hell.

I prayed everything. I said all that we both already knew. I explained how I felt, even though He already knew. I stated what I wanted, even though He has His own plan. I expected to cry. I thought for sure I would. But the tears weren’t coming. So I wrote. Instead of focusing selfishly on my own pathetic story, I wrote out prayers. Prayers for the people I cared about. Because this wasn’t about me. This was about love. This was about His plan. It was about me giving up. Finally, after I said my written prayer aloud, I deviated from the script.

I finally cried. Bawled my eyes out. Hunched up in a little ball on the floor before God and wept like the child that I am. I talked to God for a long time, and then I finally shut up for a while so that I could listen.

It was amazing to hear such silence. I was so far from town, so deep in the hills, so distant from other people, that there was no noise. I want to tell you that I heard God speak to me clearly and tell me some secret message. But this isn’t an episode of Touched by an Angel.

I read my Bible, determined to find something. I focused on chapter after chapter of tiny printed font, delicately turning rice-paper-thin pages. Eventually, I broke the silence and listened to the music that praised Him. I stayed until the darkness crouched around the trees and down the hills. Then I packed up and left.

The thing is, even though I left, I didn’t leave anything. I took it all with me. Or actually, maybe I did leave something behind. I left my stubbornness. But I took everything God was trying to get into my thick skull for about forever. Because even though I knew it this whole time, I didn’t feel it. Boy, did I feel it now. This was incredibly real.

I needed to be totally head over heals in love with God. I needed to write him love letters and tell him all my problems (even though he is well aware). He is the only one who can change anything for me. I needed to 100% believe that he loves me, and he is jealous for me.

Man, oh man, is he jealous for me. He wants me to want him just as badly as I have ached to be wanted. That God, he doesn’t give up the way humans do. No, I am weak and I throw in the towel when I see there is no chance, but God, well, he puts in the work. He will work you until he gets what he wants from you, which is love. I’m glad he’s been so persistent through all these years. I want a lover who wants me so desperately that he will fight for me forever.

The King Rescues

         Once upon a time, there was a girl. She lived in the darkest place—a dungeon. She was trapped there, her feet chained in shackles. She had been there so long she couldn’t even remember her life before. Other people used to live in the dungeon with her. She watched some of them die. A few of the prisoners learned how to escape this dark place and they left her behind. She begged them to take her along, but they said they could not. Her shackles were still clamped around her ankles. 

 The girl was alone. Everything was dark and everyone she had known had left her. She had heard of fairy tales. Yes, she knew of Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty and Snow White. But the girl thought to herself, I am not a princess. And when you’re not a princess, you have to rescue yourself. No prince was coming.

The girl took rocks from the floor and banged them on her shackles, trying to break them. She tried pulling the chains from the wall. Nothing worked. She was far too weak. Frustrated, she cried. She cried every day and every night. She thought I will die in this dark place.

Just as she was as cold as an iceberg, when she was as broken as egg shells, when she was so very tired of trying to break free, a message appeared. In truth, it had always been there.

An itty bitty ray of light streamed into the dungeon, and she saw the letters. Carved into one of the stone walls that tethered her shackles were some words.

Do not be afraid, for I am with you. Do not be discouraged, for I am your King. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.

Something tugged at her soul. The King. The King. There is a King. The girl touched the words and rubbed the grime away with her fingers. She also wiped a nearby stone clean and found a different message etched upon it.

  The King is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. A righteous person may have many troubles, but the King comes to the rescue each time.

The King will rescue me.

 The harder she looked, the more she found truths engraved in the wall.

Dear friends, now we are children of the King, and what we will be has not yet been made known.

There is a King. I belong to him. And he will rescue me. I remember.

The girl remembered that she was in a castle. The dungeon of that castle yes, but a castle just the same. The thing was, the castle that she was in did not belong to the King. It belonged to the king’s enemy. The girl had been in the dungeon so long that she had completely forgotten about how the enemy had trapped her. She forgot that he was the one who put her there.

The girl tried hard to remember the face of her King. Had she ever seen him? Or had she just heard about him? These messages were about him though. She knew that.

The girl finally realized, after so much time, I am a princess. And I don't need a prince, because the King will rescue me. So she waits. She knows. She believes.  

Biblical references: Isaiah 41:10-13 /Psalm 34:18-19 /1 John 3:2