dry bones gonna dance again

I keep coming back to Ezekiel 37 lately. Whenever I open my bible, I turn there immediately. it amazes me - prophecy: instead of just saying it Himself, God says to some wayward fellow, "Hey, can you tell that guy this?" He gives us tasks and builds our confidence. God has so much confidence in His own work through us. How blessed are we to be used of our Father for good works.

The other thing about Ezekiel 37 is the process by which God brings the bones back to life. The imagery is stunning, but the process is similar to creation at the start. First, He makes the bones come back together, organized into skeletons. Then, the flesh grows up onto the bones, but there is still no breath in them. They are corpses lying around on the ground, where a few moments before there were only dry bones. Finally, God tells Ezekiel to call the breath from the four winds, into the bodies. The air fills up their lungs, lifts the now-people up from the ground, stands them on their feet - imagine the sound of "an exceedingly great army" choking on new breath, new blood pulsing in their veins. Their eyeballs creaked in their sockets until the tears rushed out of ducts that had been dry.

These dry bones could do nothing on their own. They had to rely completely on the father, not only for sustenance, but for life itself! "This is the whole house of Israel" - they had been saying, "we are ruined! We are but dry bones, our lineage is cut off!" It is the people themselves who were saying, "we're screwed up! we're through! it's over!" And God comes around, as usual, and says, "wait I have a better idea." He puts us back together and gives us new life.

Sometimes decaying things have to die completely before they can live again.

We humans must submit our own plans and expectations into that greater story. We are part of it whether we wish to be, or not. Why not make the best of it, and allow Our Father to direct our steps? He works in our best interests anyway.

kapali

Rachael brought home a travel video from Turkey today and we watched it earlier before Carissa got home with the bunk bed.

I saw Ephesus, Selçuk, Kapadokya and Konya and I wanted get on the next flight to Istanbul. That place affects me like no other place on earth. Even before I set foot on Turkish soil, I was aware of a connection that pulled at me so strong. Türkiye draws me unto itself with more strength than Latin American countries ever have.

It could be that Turkey is different from all the other places I've been, the other cultures I've encountered. But eastern Asia doesn't draw me in the same way that central Asia does. There's something else. It's entirely spiritual. My desire for Turkey engages more than my intellect or my emotions - it totally engages my spirit.

I saw the mosques, the minarets, I heard the ezan (the Muslim call to prayer) on our television, and instantly I was there, in that little Mosque we visited in Denizli, listening to the imam read the Koran over the loudspeakers. The imam (the Muslim priest) begins the call by saying, "God is great - There is one God, Allah - and Muhammad is his prophet" I heard his song and I remembered kneeling in the room upstairs where the women pray. With my head wrapped in the soft, comforting fabric of my hijab, I prayed to God for his mercy upon Turkey. He desires the same things for Turkey that I desire. I prayed to God that he would draw all people unto himself - particularly Turks, since I was in their land at the time. I prayed, "God is great, there is one God... Yhwh. Jhvh. and J. is his son." I prayed what I believe, just as they pray what they believe. But there's a crucial difference among so many similarities. I get goosebumps just thinking about it even now, hours after the video ended, months after I left my heart in Turkey.

Tugçe told me that five cups of çay a day was not enough. It was 3 p.m. And she was still singing that same song to Emre, she sang it all day long... "yanarim, yanarim, gün gece yanarim..."

She was saying, "day and night, I burn." I burn for you. And he has such a gentle heart, he could not bear to break her gentle heart as well. Her heart was so. so fragile at that point. But she is learning to be resilient. (She's learning to laugh through her tears, to love without fear...)

yanarim. i burn.

yanarim. i burn.

Türkiye - gün gece yanarim
Ben sensiz ne yaparim?
Senin için ben yanarim

I want to bring some friends from my fellowship to see, to pray for this place where my heart has become entangled. Next May, perhaps? Come with me! I want you to meet these people. Fall in love with the culture and the sights, the flowering trees, the towering minarets (can you count them all?). I want you to feel the way the air quakes at the sound of 50, 100, 150 imams singing the dusk-hour ezan. I want you to catch a glimpse of Turkey's destiny.

My mother cried when I told her we were going to Turkey. I promise to make her cry as often as necessary. I cannot escape it. My soul cannot abide passivity.

MY SOUL CANNOT ABIDE PASSIVITY.

the heavenly man

i went to bed last night around 2 a.m. knowing that in a few short hours i would be getting up to celebrate the resurrection of my Lord. As I was lying there in bed, listening to Rachael's quiet, steady breathing, a question came to my mind - one I've never had before.

What time did Jesus rise from His tomb?

I wondered if He had awoken that very hour. This brought up a series of questions that I allowed my self to wonder about... Did angels come to unwrap Him and wake Him from slumber? Or did His eyes flutter open in the dark? Did He wake up peacefully, or did He struggle and cough, choking on the stale air? What were His thoughts as the door of the tomb opened? What were His thoughts as His eyes adjusted to the brightness of the light that streamed in?

How much time passed between the moment He woke up and the moment He met the women who were coming (while it was still dark) to dress him in spices and new linen?

What did He do while the time passed? I wanted to know if He ran around the tomb dancing and shouting. Or if, instead, He meditated, had a talk with Dad, quieted His spirit in preparation for the days ahead.

Did He cross paths with some wayward soul and sit down for a bit? Exchanging stories with a drunk, he confessed "I turned water into wine once..." - the drunk decided he'd made a valuable friendship ;)

Did He wander, picking flowers, remembering the prophets' promises He was proving? Did He pray for the disciples? Did He pray for Judas? Did he decide what He should say to Peter?

Did He anticipate the earnestness of his disciple, Thomas?
Did He long for John's compassionate embrace again?
Did He miss His mother's face, scorn the tears she cried?
Did He miss the friendly company of Mary Magdalene?













Rachael and I got up at 6:10 to go to mass at Sacred Heart Catholic Church in downtown Tampa. Catholic churches make me feel so small. Not in a bad way. But in a humble way. It's humbling to go to a new place where you don't know the traditions, the customs, when you don't know to kneel before you sit, which way to "cross" yourself, when to stand, when to kneel, when to answer... what to say...

I think when the protestants broke away from the Church (when we became Catholic or Protestant) we wanted desperately to be free - from limitations, from bondage to tradition, from corruption - that we ran screaming from awe and reverence, gasping at breath, we ran toward the face of a holy God who has always wanted to gather us up in the love of His arms. But then we lost reverence. We lost awe. We lost our smallness, because after so long, we could look Him right in the face and ask... "what about THIS?"

After the service was over, we drove down the street to our own Watermark Community Church where the sound guy and the worship leader were just starting to set up. I pulled out my violin and tuned up, and got ready to worship my God in my own way. It is Easter, the day the earth shook and expelled a man from the grave, the day God unjustly saw fit to spare my unworthy soul from justice. "Come and listen to what He's done..." we invited the revelers to gather together in thanksgiving. "Were you there when they crucified my saviour?" we remembered the real human pain He experienced. "Praise Him from whom all blessings flow..."

It is in this context that I have learnt compassion. I have understood truth. I have known freedom.
And I've had goosebumps off and on since I woke up - realizing the monumental importance of this day, in the heritage of my faith. Is there more to life than simply this pitiful existence, where we attempt to grab hold of security, accomplishment and satisfaction? Yeah, there is more. It is found in the words, in the actions, in the eyes of my Jesus.

freedom

On Sunday I experienced a new sense of freedom. I had a renewed understanding of what it means to be forgiven. I sensed a nearness to the presence of God.

It was so refreshing to hear my Father's voice bringing me into the light again.

I think I'm close to breakthrough.

I had a really honest and productive (and long) conversation with my Pastor(a) yesterday evening. I wanted us to be on the same page about what life is going to mean for me from this point on. She is motivated by love for me. She affirms my sound character. She trusts that I am in the palm of God's hand. For her, this is momentous. For me, it is a long time coming. My heart is comforted by the support of my spiritual family. I think my current Fellowship will become a place where "the risk it took to to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." That is a satisfying feeling. I love my Fellowship, it has become my heart's home and I wish to spread out my roots there.

blossom

"Then the time came when the risk it took to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

Anais Nin