Friday, April 15, 2011


I had to sleep on the couch last night making love to a puke bowl.  (That's GOT to be an oxymoron!) The results of last night's popcorn and tears.  A little too much drama for one day, I suppose.  Too much drama for weeks now so I've got to cover my heart a bit.  Just breathe and walk and trust.

I am not even kidding that as I lay on the couch with my face in the bowl, (Okay, who washed this thing?  It smells like spaghetti sauce.), I heard from God.  Why on earth does He do things that way?

Remember that we had it out in the car?  I was furious with Him for giving me this STUPID dream.  A seed planted in unworkable ground of cracked, fissured heart.  Humiliated and dry and infertile.  My life wasted.  In waste land. (Refrains of Jimmy Buffet)  Lips chapped and bleeding from wind blown words that make a difference, how?  And that leave my heart hanging out like clothes on the line, why?  And wasn't life a little better with the whole thing covered?  I just can't get my head on straight.  Knowing the things a Christian is supposed to say.  Supposed to do.  Suppose Somebody gives me a  little help here?  Where is the Water?  So much the better not to have breathed life into my stupid writing than to have given me a taste of what it is to carry something precious.  Precious to me.

Ever really get on a roll with the Lord?  It's like your just this big giant kid taking wild swings in every direction.  I could be a cartoon character.  But can a minivan strewn with empty apologies from children leaving messes be holy?  A holy rolling sanctuary that hears you cry out that this doesn't work and that it's killing you and that He better show up or you're going to die. Hmmm.....

Back to the puke bowl and a tiny, quiet drop from Jesus.

"It does work.  Just a little each day.  You be the words and I'LL be the Word.  So, let's stop flailing about, shall we?  (Even though your flailing is exciting.)  But I do know you, my beloved.  I know that you can not write and throw a tantrum at the same time.  Trust Me.  I won't let you fall.  I PROMISE."

Heaving over the bowl,  (oh precious bowl!) I almost choke because I think the only thing I heard Him say was that He thinks I'm exciting.   Can I be UN-Christian in my speech, please?  That is freaking AWESOME!  And Who is this God, anyway, who speaks to His darling daughters with heads bowed over puke?  Who is this God Who helps us to reach and bend and try?  Again?  So.  Consider this my first entry into the very present freedom journal.

And, Jesus?  You are one CRAZY lover!


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