September Soured Milk

10 November, 2024

Preamble

The weather just couldn’t make its mind up. With the change of season, skies were darker, and the mornings chilly enough to need a stove lit. Evenings came quicker and lights went on earlier. We just weren’t quite there yet, but real soon the heavy winter bedding would need to be dragged out.And then, Voila! The seasons changed their mind. Such vacillation! Some call it an Indian summer. The partially-filed-away-for-the-winter Summer clothing came scrambling out for a final whirl, a happy encore; and the sun shone in glorious shades of yellow and gold and light and glory. It was warm in spots…but not over warm. That’s why what happened just didn’t make sense. It hadn’t happened once that summer. Not once.The milk soured. Actually soured!One day that week I went for a cuppa, poured the milk into my tea… and found little white bits floating round my tea. That lovely homogenised cream in it had cracked! .Ugh. Take two. Start again.Next day, same story. Really thick and soured this time.On the third day, went for that afternoon cuppa… What did I find? Soured. What, again! Again? This only happens on a rare day in high summer. This is Ireland, for goodness sake, we don’t get those temperatures here except in high summer! What on earth was going on?Soured milk?It was on that third day it hit me. Young Samuel came immediately to mind. The picture of him that I’d seen in my childhood Bible, a little boy running to Eli. Then Eli’s counsel. What little Irish girl had a bible nearly 50 years ago?! Like, who had bibles? Bibles?! Not anyone who knew anyone, anyway. But nothing would have it but I wanted one for Christmas. Maybe I heard the nuns talking about bibles and not just catechisms in school? My tenth Christmas. Happily, I got it, still have it. (Actually, it was just Bible stories really, but my, were they fascinating).And here donkey’s years later, here am I’m remembering that picture of Samuel and Eli. All because of three consecutive days of soured milk. At a time of year milk doesn’t sour.What had Eli said? “When you hear it again, say, 'Speak Lord, your servant is listening.'”And that’s what my heart said.So I inclined my ear. Soured milk. What’s He saying?I pondered, seeking out the meaning.Manna in the desert goes off? Yeah maybe, not quite right though.
Good stuff goes bad in the heat? Yeah figures…but these just sounded like my head trying to figure it out.And then that phase came to mind, that one from the world of coaching I’d spent a decade in—If you can’t stand the heat get out of the kitchen.Shew! That one had a hit! Bullseye.
It was something to do with “heat” (spiritual temperature); and with the kitchen (context or the place He’s brought me to now).I waited, and He spoke in my heart.I am raising the heat for you. I have already raised it: your awareness is just catching up.Old things have already soured. They have ‘gone off’, lost their taste and their usefulness. They are not adequate for where I’m bringing you.I knew this to be true. Having this confirmation, this visible out-loud-echo, brought the recognition of my heart’s hidden truth to the surface. Where was He going with it? Where would it lead to? What should I do?Adjust to the new temperature.Adapt lifestyle, tend to the new. Build for it, pause for it, bask in it.Wow, yes. Action needed. I needed to keep working on liberating myself of other responsibilities that I might take up the joy of tending to Him; and the things that really warmed my heart. He continued to unfold revelation and direction for me.It is a season now to sit in the lovely heat, to take time in the seat of prayer. To be with Me, bathe in my Presence. Soak in the greater heat: let it penetrate.A shadow passes my mind, for the last season was hard, and I think: more burning of dross… but He is answering my thought even as I realise I’m thinking it.There is more to burn off yes, but not like before.Now, your sight—and more–needs to acclimatise. You need to acclimatise and find your feet here. Your greater wingspan.Come, sit.There are things yet to unfold.* * * * *The weather is warmer
The kitchen is hotter
I am higher up the mountains
There are new things to see, new views and vistas. New horizons.I am already up here but I am to come up here; and I am coming up here.A Door stands open in the heavens, and I am walking through.
A Truth that was, will be, and is.His words echo in the chambers of my heart, resonating with the air about me.Come, look around.
You can see best when you see from My heart.I come willingly, nothing to offer. Knowing He does all, is all.Hearts, intertwined.
Mine in His, His in mine.
Come, from the balcony of My heart the views are clearest.Come, see.
Come, be.He smiles, radiating His pleasure and expectancy.Peace pervaded. The views to come would be exciting yes, but there was no rush.Presence was here
Majesty was here
Reigning was here
Authority was hereMajestic beings were here
Authoritative beings were hereIt is an honour and a challenge to be here.
He is here.He is here, everywhere, all around. He always is: but now I could see more of Him.There is a magic carpet ride that goes into His heart, into profound intimacy.
Later it leads out of his heart, and I am a Queen riding majestically on a great white horse.A crowd of great golden-white eagles swoop alongside of us and we fly out “terrible as an army with barriers”.
His spirit rides with us: a giant eagle towering over all. .He is here, everywhere, all around.Come up here, come up here and I will show you…His voice thunders like a trumpet. Can you hear its whisper?He is here, everywhere, all aroundHe is all, in all.

Hatchlings

24 November, 2024

Preamble

The Muse was at it again. In the night watch.I had wondered why my bed was empty (sadly 😂). Now I know. ‘That one’ left, absconding to a madness that near took his sanity and his life. It would have except that Job 22:30 showed up in time and saved him. Papa, as we know, had begun forging that verse back at verse 21.Nowadays we boundary and bless him, and have moved on.It was costly beyond measure and yet it saved me too, though in a very different way.Because…that one left, but This Other One came.Deeply. Eternally faithful. He came in the majestic and He came in the mundane. Eternally faithful. Eternally to be adored.Oft times, His emissary the midnight Muse, an angelic-style wonder, heralds some of His visits. She was here again tonight and I wrote this after her kind ministrations. She is an amazing spiritual being. When she dances with sister Wisdom, the heavens dance too.Like many writings, this piece can seem like yesterday’s news. More needs to be written on the news of ‘the day before’. It will be good to write about the passageways and some of the journeying from level through to next level, the next iteration, the next evolution. But at least now this bit is written, about this stage.It is all about stages of growth. Such stages occur in a cyclical fashion, level after level. Cycling ever closer, ever upward, a spiral into glory.When we ‘ascend’, going higher in prayer, we are actually going up through layers in the spirit realm. But also in an overarching way, we go through life stages and maturation stages. We move from childhood to adulthood and on to the wisdom of Fathers. These are the obvious ones, the first ones, so to speak. But inwardly, there are stages to develop also – for personal growth is never ending and can continue to unfold. We can continue throughout these cycles – laying down, dying, rebirthing to newness. If we don’t do that: we do not stay fresh, we do not stay hot. To stay hot…. Cycle.Die. He resurrects.We know we cannot enter the new level with the old clothing. We are changed, that we may happily and safely enter the change of our heavenly terrain.Old skin must be shed.New footwear found and tried on - too big at first, just like in our childhood school years. We’ll grow into those shoes.It’s a process, with shifts up. We get established in a plateau, and then we rise up higher… treads and risers, treads and risers, just like stairs.Yes, steps and stairs.“Hatchlings” is just a snapshot of one piece of that glorious journeying.So again, depending on which progressive stages we are circling through on our journey, it may seem to be yesterday’s news but yet it’s also tomorrow’s, too! Take note!For we can and with our “Yes” we will “hatch” layer after layer, one degree of glory to another, across eternity. Cycling through newness after newness, shedding, rebuilding, unfolding all the way. Every expanding.Of the increase of His government there will be NO end.* * * * *HATCHLINGSI am an egg, just hatched.
An old-in-years and young-in-eternality hatchling.
Barely walking yet.Wish I could say it’s delightful and miraculous (it is) but instead I feel all over the place.In the quiet moments -quiet, rich, beautiful and peace-filled- I speak forth in prayer, preaching in the imaginations of my mind and heart to those I may hardly even know. Preaching in wisdom and with power. Preaching my heart out in the silence of the night or in the cool of the evening. I entertain angels, and spiritual beings, and myself. I wonder at the fluency available when there’s no-one there except my heavenly friends; and at how I am shrivelling less and less when in front of humans. In the hidden places, I had become unused to exposure.In bolder moments -speaking daringly out!- one moment I come out with power, another I come out with empty mindless chatter. Duh!Truth is, I feel all over the place, hardly knowing what mode I’m in until after the words are out. Eeek! Prophet, Oracle, Exhorter, Teacher, Healer…for goodness sake which are you? I had thought I knew. Was I only a Healer cos I was getting healed? Was I only a Teacher cos I was learning? If I open my mouth, I do not know which mode would pop out next. Help!Sigh.A critical voice in my brain counsels that I better shut up and go quickly back to oblivion but I’m not listening to that.Still, I’m left with this identity crisis.
I’m like my boys were when they hit teenager years and did not know how on earth to manage their new drives or suddenly bumped off doors and did not know what at all to do with their bigger bodies.Oh for goodness sake. Talk about wobbly in emergence. Dear oh dear.Can seem like I’m somewhere between a rabbit caught in the headlights, frozen in the shock of terror; or an excited child showing you the latest ‘toy’, the latest tool or wonder of truth that I’ve discovered.Doh!I’m His hatchling.His babe, birthed to a new level. As bad as a newborn. An old new thing come out from an egg.Emerging from a cocoon of darkness.A Hatchling!A man stepping out of a cave and blinking in the sunlight.A beleaguered warrior who fought off giants for what seemed like an age, paddling furiously in deep waters or against tidal waves, clinging to survival…suddenly out into the shallows and still flailing wildly about. Surfacing now, but still making such a splashy mess about the place.Not quite adjusted to being out.
Not quite breathing easily and freely.
Newly emerged.HIS hatchling. His.
And HE does all things well.Even you. Yes you. Me too.Trust, in a stage of emergence, becomes paramount.
Humility, in a stage of emergence, becomes key.
Groundedness and ascended exaltation wrestle for priority, moment by moment.
These things must all abide.Intimate Heavenly Union, your rescuer in deep water, remains as always your life-jacket, your modus operandi, your solace, your joy, and forever your supply line. The Breath that breathes you, and which you breathe.Remember to breathe!Hungrier now, but easily distracted, you must feed often and long. You need to, like never before.To walk close with Him like you did in the secret hidden place. The dark room where He developed you. Where intimacy became the only safe place and you learnt to drink of His depths and to climb into His heights. He was ‘your all’ then, in the most literal of ways.You would have died then (as they joke in these parts) for the company of people. Now suddenly, oh so surprisingly, there are people everywhere… and turns out its a bit scary. Its almost overwhelming after so much solitude. The bright eye of the public space is blinding after the cool darkness of obscurity.In obscurity of the wilderness, there was just Him and you. Now the place is thronging and you don’t quite know how to behave.Yet.You will, in time. Finding your feet, finding your flow and function, finding your place, it will all just take a little time.Be patient.
Fear not.A tap, a faucet shut down and air-locked will just splutter at first. No surprise there.Stay calm.
Fear not.The past will not engulf you, the future will not overwhelm you.He is at the helm. You learnt that in the dark; now you can enjoy that in the light.He is at the helm. Rest.
He is altogether trustworthy.Stay humble, stay leadable, stay teachable. Mostly, stay listening. Wait upon Him. Come down, deep deep deep down. Anchorage is there. Sustenance is there.Being out of the cave is very exciting -even if a little unnerving- do not be swayed by it! He is at the Helm here as He was there.Easy does it, it will be ok.Rest.
Trust.
Breathe.A song floats over the invisible airwaves of my heart My beloved is the most beautiful among thousands and thousands… aah, I can trust Him. I can put my trust in Him and in doing so I step INTO His faith, His very own faith. That, my friend, is ever reliable. A mustard seed of that will carry me.aaahh…I laugh, now.I sit with Him in the heavens and we laugh, together. Joy overtakes anxiety: it cannot breathe here, it shrivels and dies, unnoticed now.I nuzzle into Him, His hatchling, His babe, and feed.* * * * *THE HATCHLING BEDS
Sister Wisdom moves in the air about us, dancing quietly with ecstatic joy. Many things pulsate in the wind as in Him, I sit and view the earth.He lets me glimpse the hatching beds, oh!
He has so many hatchlings!
Oh! The beds are absolutely filled with eggs! Some barely visible, peek out and are seen. Others are vibrating with the movements of growth within. Some visibly tremble, boiling pots of potential emerging. Father’s heart has given rise to them: they are His seed.Sensing His extraordinarily patient joy, Ruach HaKodesh lets me fly with Him and we Breathe Shalom and Life over them, drawing them upward, stabilising them; just as He has done with me. Moments ago. Or was it an eternity ago? I cannot tell. Nor does it matter.Returning to Father’s side I feel the echo pulsating from Him, like as from a well of deep satisfaction; and following His gaze we look at Jesus.Stars would explode with the pride of that look.Price unbelievable had been paid and they find those hatchlings worth it. Wow. They have always found their human hatchlings worth it.Extraordinary Love.
Extraordinary Value.
Extraordinary Belief.All are called to hatch.
Some do, some don’t. The Brooding continues, unabated.
Some do a little, some do a lot. The Brooding continues.Always did, always will. As far as earth continues anyway. Maybe there would come a day He would withdraw them into Himself, I did not know. But as long as they were there, He brooded.I sensed too many things in each of those hearts to feel like I could even begin to describe them- words would be paltry. But I knew, I knew in that moment that He would see of the travail of His soul, and be satisfied. I knew that in a way that a mind is insufficient a mechanism, to be even able to know.* * * * *THE TRAVAILMy emotions had battled long against the pains of earthly life. My mind had been unable to stretch as far as comprehension, or extend to reasonableness of any sort. How could such pains as were seen on the earth ever be explicable?Inside Him that day, it was simply evident.
All pains endured by all persons in all ages occurred within Him, were felt by Him, carried by Him. Somehow, erroneously, we experienced them as merely ours, felt their appalling weight alone. But they were IN Him. It was all inside Him. He would see of the travail of His soul and be satisfied.Somehow, beyond my mind’s understanding and my emotions warring; somehow, this would be ineffably, unerringly, unfailingly, indisputably True.His travail would be satisfied.
My travail would be satisfied.
Your travail would be satisfied.It would all be worth it. Genuinely. Utterly. Unquestionably worth it.Beyond ability-to-imagine worth it.Glory beyond knowing, glory as yet unknowable, awaited. Awaited and unfolding.* * * * *EMERGEHatchlings, emerge.No matter what pain brought you this far, it will become as nothing.Emerge.
Emerge, emerge, emerge.Into the full light of the Glorious Day ahead.He has much in store for you.Eye hasn’t seen yet, ear hasn’t heard. But is beginning to.Emerge. Leave the false safety of the eggshell behind you. Hatch.Hallelu, Jah!* * * * *He watched over me, His lamp shone on my head, by his light I walked through darkness. (Job 29:3)After the anguish of His soul, He will see the Light of Life and be satisfied.
Is. 53And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into His image with intensifying glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.
Or
And we all, with unveiled face, continually seeing as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are progressively being transformed into His image from [one degree of] glory to [even more] glory, which comes from the Lord, [who is] the Spirit. 2Cor 3:18

The Mid-Night Muse

1 December, 2024

Preamble

There is a whole family of Writerly Progeny!
The Muse has long been spoken of by writers and symbolizes the creative spark that drives the writing process. For some it is something mystical, even divine, others see it merely as a metaphor for the creative process.

So we have the classic Muse, but in these Creative writing pieces we also have The Drummer, The Baker, The Dancer, The Muse and the Ploughman….for now, let’s briefly hear about…

The Mid-night Muse

It is that hour when all decent God-fearing people are in their beds.But not the writer or the poet or the dreamer, for sleep gone, abandoned in the chase of head swimming with mermaid words and half sentences - darting here and there, and then gone. You know this means that lack of sleep will turn your morning into drudgery and your achy throat into something fruitier.You know you're stealing from tomorrow.And you just can't help it.That baby of a story or an idea or an emergent, forming, gestating thought is kicking away inside your heart and there's nothing for it except to crawl yourself out of bed and let it wriggle about on paper so that you, finally, can get on with the business of sleeping.Because The Midnight Muse is feeling active and she has no concern, not a whit, for how you feel.Sometimes a sentence will suffice. Sometimes a paragraph.Other times it's a herd of unruly children - manners left at home - running about in your head, and they not even potty trained. Half-developed ideas, leaking all over the place, run amok; so that a poor sentence doesn't know which way to turn, pulled this way and that. Frozen in indecision, hardly a lost and miserable line will settle down and find a resting place.But in any case that's where I'm headed this very minute - back to my own nocturnal resting place. The midnight muse has been pampered just a little and and now the call of orange lamplight and dancing shadows is about, beckoning a tired body into warm flannel sheets, a cosy duvet, and a soft pillow that awaits a quiet, rested…sleepy…head.I just hope that brood of prowling sentences, progeny of a Midnight Muse, will shut up...just for now.