Worship and Bondage - take two

Last Monday, I was a very disobedient daughter. I woke to prayers spilling out of my lips, and my Father's voice very clearly calling me to worship. "Today, you worship me." Anger overtook me, and all I could think about was how the LAST thing I wanted to do with God, or for God was to worship Him. Wasn't it enough that we were finally on speaking terms after two weeks of grief? Apparently not. . .

I got up, got my day started. . .all the while, that call to join Him in the intimate place of worship was still hammering on my heart. And I was still doing my level best to ignore it. I took the kids to school and went on into my office. And THAT was when things got interesting. I had about an hour before my secretary got in, and I powered up my computer and started some correspondence that needed to be done. I got it all done. . .was just htiting the "send" button when she got there. I went out to the front office to speak to her, and the very moment I walked back into MY office, the power shut down. I turned around to say something to her, and realized the power was on in the rest of the building. . .just not my office. Huh. Weird. Must be a fuse or something. So down to the basement I went, only to find the panel was right as rain. No flipped switches, no nothing. I shut everything down, turned it all back on, and went back upstairs. Nothing. But, it was only on ONE side of the building, and in one space. MY OFFICE. So, I went to the other room, to use the spare computer. I couldn't pull up a single one of my files. . .everyone elses, no problem. But mine were inaccessable no matter what I did. Huh. Weird.

And then, that voice, "Come. . .worship me." Ahh. . .the disobedient daughter now realizes that her Father is making a point.

I told Amanda I was leaving for the day, and went home to get my iPod and let my husband know I'd be unreachable the rest of the day. I headed for my church; a place where I could be "alone" in a sea of people.
I managed to find a quiet corner in the chapel only to have God tell me "no" until I realized He wanted me right up front at the altar. Grrrrr. So there I went; turned on the iPod; and waited. Now, understand I'm a worshiper, it's what I do. Music hits my ears and my soul cries out to God. Usually. Most of the time. But not today. Today I must WORK for it. And that really pisses me off. So I find some music that is anything but the typical music I usually use for worship; a little Third Day anybody? A heavy, throbbing beat and Mac Powell's voice in my ears, "Can you hear Him calling? Lift up your face!" This seemed just right - certainly not "angry" music by any means, but definitely not Kim Walker either. Just right.

That is, until the words begin to sink in. And then God started with the pictures. As soon as I realized the words were having an effect, I began to see the images He was laying on my heart. When it was over with, I was on my face, worship pouring out of not just my heart, but my lips as well. My Deliverer found me there, with a resistant spirit, an angry heart, and clenched lips. . .and He released me from the bondage that had held me for weeks. My grief began to slip; the strongest holds were broken, and for the first time in weeks I saw the Father who was grieving with me, not laughing at me. I saw the face of the one Whose own heart was aching when my son left this world and arrived in Eternity. This was the moment when God became Papa again - gone was the judge who'd deemed me unworthy of being a mother again, and here was the Father whose arms were my refuge.

Worship - it breaks serious bondage.

A Willing Slave

 I've recently rediscovered Laura Story after following her for years as a writer, and sole contributor to Siler's Bald. She is an amazing writer, composer, and singer, and her hauntingly sweet voice touches something deep inside of me. In a recent search on iTunes for her newest release, Blessings, I found an album full of beautiful classics. It's been some time since I held a hymnal in my hands, inhaling the scent of those brittle, old pages that are coated with generations of the anointing of worshipers. I love the newer music, especially love prophetic worship for which there is no PowerPoint to follow or words on a page for that matter. But there really is something about the music of those who broke away from the oppressive religious dogma and found freedom in their new lives.


  


Bondage and worship are funny things when you think about it. A lot of people don't worship because of bondage, and a lot of people are freed from bondage through their worship. The founders of our faith had an intimate understanding of this concept, and through their rebellion and persistance we are now FREE to worship in the manner that suits our spirits and speaks to God.


 
All of that to share a new revelation of an old song that Laura Story recorded. Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing. I'm sure most of us know the song and have probably sung it at some point in our lives. Standing in a row of pews, scanning the three lines of words that were broken by the musical notes we had to follow. ::: raises hand:::: I've been there. It's a classic opener and closer. Lot's of "thee's" and "thou's" sprinkled throughout as well. Recently, we sang this in our church; make that "mega church." The sound of three thousand voices rising to sing this song was quite beautiful, but there was ONE line that positively wrecked me, and I slipped out of the aisle and hit my knees with my face to the floor. Even before they sang the words, I remembed them, and it moved something deep inside of me. "Oh to grace how a debtor, daily I'm constrained to be. Let thy goodness like a fetter bind my wandering heart to Thee." Do you know what a fetter is? It's like a shackle. It was used to constrain slaves; it's a form of bondage.  And yet, the writer (Robert Robertson; likely freed from relgious bondage himself) is pleading to be fettered, to be enslaved.

What an amazingly beautiful picture of the desire we have for our Papa God.

How I long to be fettered to the One who puts His love song inside of me. If I can for one moment in time somehow breach the constraints of time and space to touch His ear with that song pouring out of me, then I'll have succeeded as a worshiper.

I Will Carry You

I Will Carry You

There were photographs I wanted to take
Things I wanted to show you
Sing sweet lullabies, wipe your teary eyes
Who could love you like this?

People say that I am brave but I'm not
Truth is I'm barely hanging on
But there's a greater story
Written long before me
Because He loves you like this

So I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All my life
And I will praise the One Who's chosen me
To carry you

Such a short time
Such a long road
All this madness

But I know
That the silence
Has brought me to His voice
And He says,

"I've shown her photographs of time beginning
Walked her through the parted seas
Angel lullabies, no more teary eyes
Who could love her like this?"

I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All your life
And I will praise the One Who's chosen Me
To carry you

Healing. . .

It doesn't come easy. Anyone who's suffered knows what I'm talking about. . .those moments when you just rage at a God you can't see, the Father you don't feel, and the questions that have no answers at all. It's a dark place, a void of sorts where reality is suspended and all you know is pain like you've never known before. THAT place is the place He takes you to just before healing begins. And if you aren't willing to go there, you'll never experience healing.

I'm there right now. It isn't fun, and it's pretty damn miserable. My heart breaks on a daily basis, sometimes by the hour. A song plays on the radio and tears start running down my face. I hear a baby cry in Walmart, knowing that sound won't ever be heard in my home again, and suddenly I can't breathe. I am in the doctor's office weekly at this point, cursing my wretched reproductive system and wishing I were a man. I am almost at the place where I think it would be better to be completely childless than to be a partial mother.

And yet, even in this place of misery and darkness, light peeks in. It comes in the way of that still, small voice urging, and whispering, "Come, worship Me today." It comes by way of the people who understand the grief I'm experiencing, and willingly walk alongside of me in the midst of it. It comes from "sisters" who have also travelled this road, who know what's behind the tears and the fake smiles. God shows me His hands when I become willing to see them.

Climbing out of the pit

This pit sucks. Fair warning, if you can't handle frank and possible offensive rants at God, then stop reading now. I'm a rock chuckin' sort of mood and guess who my target is?

This week, I had surgery to have our blessed little boy removed from my body. Since then, I've developed some infections that are driving me nuts, and am on enough drugs to start my own pharmacy. The only thing I'm missing at this point, God, are some boils. Bring 'em on.

Because here's the thing - as pissed off as I am right now, YOU'RE still God and I'm still Holli. Holli, you know the woman who has submitted her life wholly to Your will? The woman who left everything and everyone she knew and loved in Augusta GA and came to Cincinnati with $1000 in her pocket because you said, "Go." The girl who endured unbelievable amounts of trauma as a child, but still chose You. No offense Lord, but I get the feeling You don't even know who I am sometimes. And sometimes, that's ok. But when I need You, and it sure feels like You're not there, then no, we ain't ok. We are so far from ok that we're not even in the same stratosphere.

I'm sick and tired of being sick. I'm fed up with you knocking me up only to take my babies from me. I'm tired of having chronic infections that eat holes in my body. Seriously? I am sick of losing people I love to CANCER. Isn't it about time You did something about that shit? I am so done watching "men of GOD-uh" molest people into miracles and signs and wonders that aren't real. I'm pissed off that my husband and I strive to live a life that places us exactly in the middle of Your will, and no matter how obedient we are, big balls of poop keep rolling down the hill onto us. My husband is a good man, struggling to provide for his family, and he looses his job. You couldn't have done something about that?

Frankly God - it sure feels a lot safer right down here in the pit. I mean, short of a cave in, what else are You gonna drop on me that's going to somehow irrevocably change me?

Oh ha haa.  A rope. Gee thanks God. Just when I needed a laugh.