Wednesday, November 9, 2016

God Fathers

God fathers lead their children to the cross.

They help them to count the cost.

They do their best to discipline without anger.

They open the pages of the Word and say, "See here."

God fathers speak openly of Jesus.

They tell their children that He is coming soon.

They teach them to put their hope in Him.

They fall on their knees beside their beds and surrender their wills to Christ.

God fathers tug on their daughters' pony tails.

Tell them to stand straight and tall.

Tell them that their souls are beautiful.

That their smiles are lovely to behold.

God fathers teach their sons the value of a good wife.

They model hard work and faithfulness.

Even unto frailty.  Even unto death.

They live with integrity.

They rise early to greet the Son and to open the Word.

They spend their lives clinging to their hope in Him.

They etch the Name above all Names upon the hearts of their children.

These good fathers.

God fathers.


In honor of Mr. Fowler and Mr. Sheldrup for raising God daughters who have blessed and shaped my life all the more into the likeness of Jesus Christ.

Sunday, October 30, 2016

Oh, Joy. It's Surrender Again

And when we surrender...

     There is JOY.

          And where there is joy.

               The difficulty of this life fades away.

          Fades into Glory.


I've been wanting to use that word.



Saturday, October 29, 2016

Bloody White Flag


A military term.

If I were sharp enough I would pipe in drums of war to this post.

Does music still get piped in?

What are we all doing on these weird devises anyway?

Oh...for old school pen and paper, records on the record player in my sister's room and...

Give me that old time religion.

Now where was I?

Surrender or something?

The truth is,  I wandered as far as a girl could from the line.

Quit my dreams and just walked into the inferno of this world thinking...

"I got this."  (I majored in English so I get to say, 'I got this.')

And when I fell hard and realized, "No.  I ain't got this."



He was there.

And when the lights came on in my dull mind, I thought Love would be easy.

I thought loving Christ would make life smooth and happy and... easy.

You know...  Because You're mine, I walk the line, right?

But I could make a list of hard things that we have walked through as a family.

That I have walked through alone.

Hard.  Humiliating.  Frustrating.  Terrifying.  Excrutiating.

The last twelve months have caused me to cry repeatedly,

"Lord!  I so ain't got this!"

Just today.

A thousand times... today.

For the last several months though,  I've had my feet up over my head.


Losing my grip on Hope.

My Hope in Him.

I can live without a lot of things, ($47.97 in my checking account right NOW) but I can't live without Hope.

Ugh...being a Christian is not easy, and I would like very much to stay in my pajamas.

But instead I put on my armor,  and I charge into battle against a culture that thinks I've lost my marbles.

I get into the fray of all my fears.

Draw swords with depression and anxiety and always feeling like I don't belong.

Go to the death with lies I have believed and lies I have told.

Fight hand to hand, punching the life out of my wretched flesh that whines incessantly,


Kill them all and take no prisoners.

And when I stagger from the field of battle injured and bloodied by war?

And my Jesus asks for more???

Ah yes,  let's get real.

I've had all the hard I can do, and my heart is breaking.

My body is aching, my mind can't process it all, and my foot is literally broken!

Turns out Pat Benetar had something right.

Love really IS a battlefield.

But I have been fighting the wrong fight.

Wrestling with this Christ and begging for my way.

That for once I would just get...

My Cotton Pickin' Way.

"God, PLEASE, do not send me on another tour of duty."

He meets me again, but is not swayed, and I wonder why my Father doesn't just take me in His arms?

Instead He takes out the maps. (Metaphorically speaking...I don't know how He actually does it.)

He talks to me about His strategy, and it's a two word conversation.

"Total. Surrender."

"Lord!  I can't do this!  I can't fight anymore!"

He looks at me with fire in His eyes.  (Metaphorically.
Believe me, I don't know how He actually does it.  If I did, I would do it to my kids so that they would help with the dishes.)

It's like one torch touching another,  and I too am set ablaze.

I am a living inferno.

Wilma Wallace.  Brave Heart, the sequel.

And therein lies another one of the great tensions of the Christian life.

When we surrender to Jesus, He gives us the power to live for Him.

To be mocked because of Him.  (Are you mockin' my husband?  Because you better not be!)

To carry our own cross.

When we say, "Lord take my life, and use it for any purpose."

He then fills us, and fulfills us as we leave our hiding places to engage in His battle.

The battle for freedom, truth, righteousness.

And Love.

We lift our swords and roar until our throats tear and bleed.

We turn into the fray.

And we fight.


Friday, October 28, 2016


It's been a long time since I picked up my pen.
My sword.

It's been too long since I opened my heart.
To the world.

Because you know us sensitive types.
The way we bleed.

The way we see everyone's pain.
The whole world's need.

Sometimes I close my eyes.
Imagine a field of wild flowers.

And I spin my wild self in it.
Turn my face up and laugh for hours.

And in my mind He sees me.
Picks me a bouquet of blue.

He touches my cheek
And laughs loud too.

Then we sit together.
He and I in that field.

He points me to the cross.
And I yield.

I yield.

And so it comes again to this...


Wednesday, October 26, 2016

And So It Comes Again To This...


Surrender all.

Your dreams.

"Goodbye dreams."

Don't Surrender.

Don't Surrender all.

Close your heart.

Close your heart right in.

Get no rest in Him.

And die love.

Dead heart.


Surrender all.


Tuesday, October 27, 2015

On the Resurrection

Back in December of 2010, the second Saturday of that month to be exact, the Lord showed me something in what I can only describe as a vision.  I was kneeling and waiting for Him to let me know how to pray for a particular thing that morning.  Since nothing came right away, I sat in silence with Him.  And, out of nowhere and nothing, I saw Jesus' tomb.  The stone was rolled away and in it's place was empty blackness.  He was no longer there.  At the time I understood this to mean that not only had the physical body of Christ risen from the dead, but that the Church, the Body of Christ was, in a sense, unaware that this resurrection was true for them. Us. Me.

This picture was confirmed in a couple ways...once in a song called Christ Is Risen by Matt Maher.  The words so PERFECTLY described the vision. Then, again in a sermon I heard not long after. 

But, just over one week ago, after some seriously uncomfortable and terrifying conversations with a few people and Daddy God, I realized that I needed to walk out of the darkness. 

Into the Light. 

I needed to personally "go there" myself and take hold of the promise.

Abundant LIFE.

Resurrection LIFE.

The Bible says:
And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit, who lives in you. 
Romans 8:11

I am reminded of Jesus' words to 4-day-dead, Lazarus, 
"Lazarus, come out!"
 John 11:43b

I am sensing Him calling me out. Coaxing me, ever so gently. Wooing me, if you will. 

I believe He's calling you out, too. 

Can you hear Him?

Wendy :)

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Twenty-One Gun Salute- Day Twenty-One

Never Go Against The Family

I admit that for a few days I went fetal at night and sobbed silently into my pillow.  When we lost
The Twenty-one,  I was consumed with grief and terror.  My feet began to slip.  No sleep.  My bed became a sanctuary for silent tears in the night because...
How do you speak of such things in the day?

What can turn a wonder bread, stay at home, homeschooling woman into a radical?

Try messing with her brothers.  
Try severing their heads and stacking them, lifeless, on the backs of their shoulders.  
Try sending a video all around the world that shows them being brutally murdered. 
Try filming waves of their blood washing up on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea.
Try stealing the testimony of THE MEN OF THE NATION OF THE CROSS, just try it!
Try to destroy this outpouring of love for The Twenty-one.
Try making a mockery of Jesus Christ.

God.  Will.  Not.  Be.  Mocked.


ISIS, you don't know what you've done.

Your wickedness has birthed a Christian radical.  A woman, Christian radical.

Because I can't tolerate tolerance any more.

Our dread of being intolerant has given birth to a God- hating nation that...
wouldn't know truth if it cut off its head.
Who will seek the truth?  Who will open the pages of The Word and inquire of Him?  Who will know The Truth so The Truth can set him free?

And Christians, just as we are given the free gift of salvation when we repent of sin and trust in the saving grace of Jesus Christ, we are promised persecution.   Are we now ashamed of the gospel, even though it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes?  (See Romans 1:6)  Are we hiding comfortably?  Comfortably numb?

I begin to understand how we can bless our enemies, not curse them, and this is the gift
of THE TWENTY-ONE.  How do you turn mild mannered women into radicals?  How do you get mama bears roused from slumbering hibernation?

You mess with her family.

Sound the trumpets!  Awake, Oh Sleeper!  Awake!  

The dying embers of our eternal destiny are being fanned into flames, and it makes me want to laugh! If I perish, I perish and...Oh death, where is your sting? 

This is the last shot of the twenty-one gun salute, and time for me to say good-bye to my brothers. It is a message, written in my heart's blood as an unashamed woman of...
                                                                        The Nation of the Cross.