Too Many Snapshots

I could see her from behind doing the dishes but what was it about that scene that froze me in my tracks? I felt a longing to rush up to her and cling to her and yet somehow I felt that I had done something wrong, was I to blame?

It suddenly dawned upon me that I was a little boy and resting upon my right shoulder was a warm firm hand lovingly squeezing me in light of my speeded up heart beat and a stiffness that seem to come over me.
I turned and somehow I recognized this man, yes, it was Jesus, and with his concerned but smiling face, he said, Son, it’s okay, your not to blame for this, it’s not your fault! Let me take this out of your heart and mind, never to hurt you again.

This was but one of God knows how many Kodak moments, snapshots taken inside my little child world, and as a grown up I have come to realize that children are great observers but very poor at interpreting what they have observed.
In a blur which seemed slow compared to how rapidly I was being communicated to by Jesus about what I was seeing, I was being set free from something that had deeply entrenched, burrowed itself like a living parasite deep within my soul.
He was saying to me, that my mother, the person I was standing behind was deeply wounded and infected with what had infected every person ever born, she and her world like mine had been misshaped by the same lies she to was born with and into.
There was some inner turmoil eating away at the little of any identity she had left, and somehow it was that which I perceived as being my fault that she was very upset, mad and hurt because of me, it must have been my fault!

All of what I have shared here was what happened today, this afternoon shortly after laying down to get some rest, as I have been home since Friday of last week with a vicious cold. Father was bringing to the surface unresolved issues, conflicts that were still causing fearfully learned sin responses (habit patterns) to things in my world I am living in as a soon to be 60 year old man, wow.

I so love this God who I see ever more clearly as my loving Father, who’s delight is in making us free, as it says, “Whom the Son sets free, is free indeed.

Rich

The Unforced Rhythms of Grace

No, it is not yours to open buds into blossoms.
Shake the bud, strike it; it is beyond your power to make it blossom.
Your touch soils it, you tear its petals to pieces and strew them in the dust.
But no colours appear, and no perfume.
Ah! It is not for you to open the bud into blossom.

He who can open the bud does it so simply.
He gives it a glance, and the life-sap stirs through its veins.
At his breath the flower spreads its wings and flutters in the wind.
Colours flush out like heart-longings, the perfume betrays a sweet secret.
He who can open the buds does it so simply.

(From the Indian poet, Tagore).

This poem speaks of the wonder of His love and power stirring within those places in my life that cry out Abba, Father!

Rich